Rebel Heiress (11 page)

Lady Marchmont greeted Henrietta with enthusiasm. ‘The very person. I am choosing my gown for the Birthday and you
shall give me your advice, for' — she sounded rather surprised — ‘I must tell you that I find your taste quite admirable. Now: Which is it to be — the rose-coloured satin with silver gauze or the scarlet with blond?'

Henrietta voted at once for the rose colour and gauze, wondering as she did so at a certain vulgar tendency in Lady Marchmont's usually impeccable taste. ‘But, ma'am,' she went on, ‘it is about clothes I am come to speak to you, or rather about Madame Bégué's account, which I find myself quite unable to understand.' She took out the note and handed it to her stepmother. ‘You see this first item, of two hundred guineas I cannot rightly comprehend it. The rest is clear enough: the dresses she made for me, the extra charge for speed, and the riding habit we commissioned afterwards. But why this two hundred guineas?'

Lady Marchmont had been looking increasingly embarrassed. ‘Why, my dear creature, how could I have forgot to explain it to you? But indeed I was quite sure I had. Do you not remember that first day, when all was such confusion and Madame Bégué arrived in so ill a humour? And how long I took to soothe her down? Why, she positively refused to make for you until I had settled my own account. Of course it was the grossest impudence, and ordinarily I would simply have sent her about her business, but you had to have the dresses, my love, did you not? So there was nothing for it but to promise you would pay off my arrears with your first bill. After all, it makes not the slightest difference, does it? It is all your dear father's money; it is but a question of which purse it comes from. And to tell truth I have not a feather left to fly with this quarter. But, come' — she made a gallant effort to change the subject — ‘what are you to wear for the Birthday? Cedric told me yesterday he expected you to be the belle of the day and we must not disappoint him, must we?'

There was much in this speech that was unpleasant to Henrietta, but little that she could do about any of it. If her stepmother had promised in her name that she would pay off Madam Bégué, of course she must do so, while inwardly resolving to change her dressmaker. But it was the reference to Cedric that really discomposed her. She had noticed with increasing discomfort Lady Marchmont's tendency to make these coy remarks about Cedric, and found them disturbingly difficult to laugh off. It was not that she had the slightest feeling
beyond a tolerant friendship for him, nor indeed had he ever given her cause to suspect anything more on his part. But to listen to her stepmother, one would have thought an engagement imminent. It troubled Henrietta; sometimes it almost frightened her. Still, she consoled herself, nobody could force her into an engagement, and her father had certainly never given any hint that he had such a project in mind. As for her, she was still haunted, dreaming and awake, by the memory of a strong handclasp, blue eyes and friendly talk in a country lane. Compared to Charles Rivers, Cedric Beaufrage and his friends were merely negligible. Indeed, now that the first dazzle of life in society was wearing off, she was increasingly aware that the people who visited Lady Marchmont were not quite the ones she herself would wish to make friends of, let alone consider marrying. That they were gay, and charming, and in the first rank of the
ton
there could be no question — or could there? Too young and too inexperienced to be quite sure on this point, Henrietta had nevertheless noticed that although her father's political associates always came to her stepmother's parties, they usually came without their wives. And though their sons hung around Lady Marchmont's carriage, their daughters stayed at home. The Harrowby girls had had the best of reasons for not attending the ball Lady Marchmont had given for Henrietta, but the fact remained they had not come. Henrietta had noticed, and minded, this particularly, because she had taken such a liking to Susan Harrowby when she had met her, once, in the Ladies' Gallery of the House of Lords.

But her stepmother had returned to the serious question of her Birthday dress. ‘I said white, my dearest creature, with just the merest
soupçon
of silver. It will make an admirable foil for my rose colour.'

‘But I am afraid I shall not be able to attend the Birthday,' Henrietta said. ‘Or at least not if I cannot go without a new gown.'

‘Not attend the Birthday! What madness is this! Of course I admit it is little better than mockery, with the poor old King as mad as Mahomet, but the fact remains that to stay away would be ruin. And of course you must have a new dress. Depend upon it, there will be plenty of eyes to see if we are stinting you. You would not wish to cast doubts on your dear father's generosity, would you?'

‘But that is the whole point,' said Henrietta. ‘When I have
settled this bill of Madame Bégué's, I shall be penniless until I receive my next quarter's allowance.'

‘Fiddlestick,' said her stepmother. ‘What a monstrous Boston miss you are yet, to be sure. Madame Bégué does not expect to have her bill settled all at once; she would much liefer make you a fine new dress. She has told me already that your appearance at Devonshire House last week was worth several good commissions to her. No, no, leave me alone to deal with her, and do you be choosing between white and the cream coloured satin. This is your province. Leave high finance to me, who am expert at it.'

But Henrietta, who did not like her kind of expertise, stood firm. The bill must be paid at once, and indeed, the money was sent off that very day, much to the amazement of Madame Bégué. As for the Birthday, she would go gladly — in her twice-worn white satin, which she and Rose would retrim with blond. To her surprise, Lady Marchmont gave in without further protest. It was so unlike her that Henrietta felt puzzled and faintly anxious. Could she really have been vanquished so easily?

A few days later she learned her mistake. Joining her father at the breakfast table she found him silent and glum. Her questions about his speech the night before were met with grudging monosyllables; her description of her own evening met with no better a reception. Her father said, ‘Oh,' and ‘Yes,' and ‘Very true' and returned to his perusal of the
Morning Post
.

At last she poured out his second cup of tea, put her elbows on the table and looked at him steadily over the newspaper. ‘Father,' she said.

‘Yes?' There was no ‘my dear' today.

‘Something is wrong. What is it?'

Thus directly attacked, he put down the paper at last and looked at her. ‘Yes, something is wrong indeed. I am disappointed in you, Henrietta. I had meant to sign my will this morning. I thought I knew, at last, what to do with my property. I thought I could have confidence in you. But now what am I to think?'

‘About what, sir?' She continued to gaze at him steadily, in honest bewilderment.

‘Why, about you, to be sure. I had thought we trusted each other. Fool that I am, I thought I could treat you as the son I never had. I suppose I should have known better. Women are
all the same. It is not the extravagance I mind so much, though that is bad enough, but to commission your stepmother to approach me on your behalf! Am I so formidable that you cannot face me yourself? I — I am an old man this morning.'

It was true; his face was as drawn and grey as it had been on the day of Henrietta's arrival. A great light had dawned on her as he spoke, and now she was too angry to consider her words. ‘I think you must explain yourself more fully, sir.'

‘Explain myself? I hardly see the need.' He was angry too and glared back at her across the table. It struck her as a great improvement on his previous remoteness.

‘Do you not? Well, then, pray tell what is this “commission” I have given Lady Marchmont?'

‘Why, to ask for an advance on your allowance, of course. For a Birthday dress, of all fripperies. Oh, I know I was not to mention it to you. It was to be a surprise, a spontaneous gesture of affection. Spontaneous gesture!' He spat out the words. ‘Pah!'

‘And you believed all that?' She was angrier than ever. ‘I think it is I who have a right to be disappointed. Had you not enough confidence in me to ask, before you flew into a passion, whether I had really done such a thing? I, to ask Lady Marchmont to intercede with you! Father, you should have known me better.' She was sorry the moment she had said it. She had never meant to let him see the distrust she felt for her stepmother. But it was too late now.

He thought for a moment, then reached across the table to take her hand. ‘You are right. I owe you an apology. Forgive me.'

‘Of course.' She was close to tears.

‘And the less we say about it, I think, the better,' he went on. ‘Though the fact remains, my dear, that you have got through a most remarkable deal of money since you have been here. I wonder … But did I not ask you particularly not to make any loans!'

‘Yes, Father.' This was coming uncomfortably near the bone. ‘Believe me, I have not done so. At least —' She paused. How could she explain without seeming to accuse her stepmother?

‘At least not voluntarily, perhaps? Ah, well, best leave it alone. I will not ask you for an accounting this time, and you shall have your advance even if you did not ask for it. I cannot have you looking shabby at the Birthday. Your stepmother is
in the right of it there. We have had enough of rumours as it is.'

‘Rumours, sir?'

‘I fear so, my dear, and not pleasant ones. We could hardly have expected that the world would take your sudden appearance quite without question. Luckily, you have had a good friend in Mr. Brummel, and, of course, a champion in me. But why did you think your Cousin George appeared so unexpectedly to visit us the other day? Did you not know that until your appearance he had considered himself my heir? No, no, never trouble yourself about him; he had no grounds for doing so. I earned my fortune too hardly to leave it at a milksop's disposal. You must know, my dear, that my title is about the sum of what I inherited from my father. What I have, I made, and consider myself free to dispose of as I please. Until you came, I had thought of making Cedric my heir. He is a butterfly, it is true, but an honest enough one. And, I confess, my good opinion of him has been confirmed by the way he has taken your coming. Both he and his mother have been … You know well enough how good they have been to you. You should have heard the setdown Lady Marchmont gave your Cousin George. “Papers?” said she. “And what right have you to be asking to see Henrietta's papers? If her father and I are satisfied, what is it to you?” I was pleased with her, I can tell you. But just the same, my dear, it puts me in mind that it would, perhaps, be best if I were to have those same papers to show to Stevenage, who is coming today with the draft of my will. You do not have to convince me who you are, but he will be the happier for the sight of them.'

Henrietta had been thinking quickly. ‘Of course,' she said. ‘And perhaps he will be so good as to keep them for me. They are, at present, with a friend, for safekeeping. I will fetch them for you this morning.'

‘With a friend?' He looked his surprise.

‘Yes.' The less she explained, the better. She had cast more than enough doubt on Lady Marchmont already today. No need to let her father know that she suspected Lady Marchmont herself of having put Cousin George up to enquiring about her papers. Easy enough, then, to acquire merit by seeming to scout his suggestions. The plan had failed because of her father's confidence in her. But suppose her papers had been destroyed, as Lady Marchmont doubtless thought they were,
and suppose he had indeed asked for them to show to Cousin George? Well, it would have been unpleasant enough in all conscience. As it was, she excused herself quickly and sent for a sedan chair. It was high time, anyway, that she paid a visit to Miss Gilbert, who had written her the kindest of notes on receipt of the packet.

She found her as warmhearted and much more eccentric than her brother. Her house was full of stray cats who had made their home with her, and lived, it was easy to see, in the lap of luxury. She seemed to find nothing out of the way in Henrietta's either sending or reclaiming the packet and was much more interested in discussing the latest scandal. Was Princess Charlotte really in love with her illegitimate cousin! After they had disposed of this entrancing possibility, and a glass of ratafia, Henrietta reluctantly took her leave. It was strange to find herself so much more at home in this undeniably shabby, untidy and catridden house than in her stepmother's elegant apartments.

Back at Marchmont House, she went straight to her father's study and handed him the packet of papers. ‘There,' she said, ‘I am glad to be rid of them.'

He gave her a shrewd look. ‘You do not, I collect, intend to tell me what you had done with them, or why?'

‘But of course. They were with Miss Gilbert, Captain Gilbert's sister. She is the most remarkable old lady you ever saw.' And by describing Miss Gilbert and her menagerie she hoped to distract her father from the other half of his question, the why. At any rate he did not press it, but told her instead that he had had, that very day, news of the parliamentary opening he hoped, at her request, to obtain for Captain Gilbert's young brother. ‘We are almost sure of a dissolution before autumn. That will be the time for him to make the attempt. As for these' — he tapped the little bundle of papers with a snuff-stained forefinger — ‘Stevenage shall take charge of them for us when he brings my will for me to sign. I want all right and tight about that, and no chance of trouble for you when I am gone. It's a heavy responsibility I'm leaving you, but I know you will bear it gallantly. Besides' — he smiled up at her — ‘I don't intend to die for many years yet, and hope to see you married first, with a husband to take care of you. Ha!' His sharp eye had noted her blush. ‘So there
is
someone?'