The Emperor (26 page)

‘
Well, he hasn't died of it. Weston says he's being sent
home to recuperate, but it's a great disappointment to Their
Lordships.'

‘
I remember Flora's first husband, my cousin Thomas,
talking about Nelson when he was quite a young captain,'
Jemima said. 'As I remember, Thomas didn't think much of
him - thought him ambitious and rash, even a little mad.'

‘
Lots of people don't like him,' Lucy said. 'Ask Charles.
Hannibal Harvey says he's a little, vain, posturing, effeminate man, and as conceited as a turkey; but Weston says he's
a fine sailor, and the men love him, and that his rashness
often brings off good results.’

Jemima was noticing that there was an awful lot of
'Weston says' in Lucy's conversation; but Mary Ann was
looking frankly bored with all this naval chatter, and as Lucy
paused for breath, she said as if it were still the subject
under discussion, ‘So your ladyship will have the children
here with you? I think we should put you and your husband
in the great bedchamber.'

‘
He wouldn't stay there if you did,' Lucy said abruptly.
‘Chetwyn always sleeps in the bachelor wing when he comes
here. Mrs Mappin will have had his old room prepared, I
dare say. Must I have that great barn of a room, though,
 
Mother? I told Chetwyn when he wanted me to come up
early, that it would save trouble if he came on his own; then
I could have taken the children straight to Shawes.'

‘It's no trouble, my love,' Jemima said hastily, thinking
that if Lucy was going to snub Mrs James quite so blatantly,
she would have done better to stay at Shawes. 'You can
have Louisa's bed in my room; or Ned could move into the
bachelor wing, and you could have the north bedroom. Yes,
perhaps that would be best. My dear,' she turned to her
daughter-in-law with a tactful smile, 'perhaps you would see
to that for me?’

When Mary Ann had left the room, Jemima turned to
her daughter. 'Really, Lucy, you must try not to he so rude.'

‘Was I rude?' Lucy said in surprise. 'I thought
she
was
rude, talking
in
front of you as though she was already
mistress, and you dead and buried. Why do you stand for it,
Mother?'

‘
Mainly because she has so much to put up with already,
from James,' said Jemima. 'He ignores her almost
completely, as though she did not exist.'

‘
That doesn't sound so hard to bear,' Lucy said. 'I don't
see very much of Chetwyn, but I'm not unhappy. Look at
the way he dashed off with Ned the moment he arrived –
hardly even stopped to make his bow to you. It doesn't
trouble me. I have my own life, and she should have hers. Where is James, by the way?'

‘He is gone into York, for a sitting with Lord Ashley's
new wife – he is painting her portrait. It is good to know for
once that he's safely occupied, and not getting into trouble.'

‘Does he still see Mary Skelwith?' Lucy asked. Jemima looked startled.

‘Why do you ask that?'

‘Oh, something Chetwyn said, about something John Anstey had let drop. I just assumed – but I dare say there's nothing in it after all,' Lucy said hastily, and changed the subject. ‘So Héloïse is gone to her new house? Have you seen it?'

‘Not since she moved in,' Jemima said. 'I mean to go up
after race week – I cannot possibly spare the time while
that's in the offing. You shall come with me, Lucy dear, and
 
see it for yourself. It is an easy carriage-ride, and the roads are very good,' she added, with a glance towards Lucy's
swelling shape. 'Charles and Roberta made her such a
generous gift for her moving-in, you know: a full set of
china and household linen, very handsome indeed, so
Mappin says. Mrs Beech told her, for of course I did oot see
it myself. And he removed all her furniture for her from London at his own expense. She will hardly need to buy anything, except the furniture for the servants' rooms.’

Then Mrs Mappin came in with an anxious look on her face over some domestic problem, which put an end to conversation for some time.

*

Lucy was forced to send some of the plethora of nurserymaids over to Shawes during the course of the day, with a note to Roberta asking her to accommodate them for her temporarily in the more extensive servants' quarters there.
Even so, it took the nursery all day to settle, and requests
kept coming down for arbitration, while Lucy, little as she cared to involve herself with the governance of children of such tender age, was driven to deal with personally, rather than allow Mrs James to make the dispositions.

She was still up in the nursery when James arrived home
in time to dress for dinner and, as his custom usually was, went straight up to the nursery to see Fanny.

He arrived in the doorway in his top-boots and breeches,
bringing with him a pleasant smell of out of doors and
horses, to find Lucy, looking the epitome of fashion in her
high-waisted muslin gown and cropped head, trying to
soothe Hippolyta, who had discovered that Fanny now slept
in the bed which used to be her own when she lived at
Morland Place. Fanny, who was clinging to her mattress
with both hands, as if she thought it might be snatched from
her, and looking mulish, saw her father instantly, and flung
herself out of bed to run to him crying, 'Papa's home!
Papa's home!’

Lucy turned, and stared, for she had not seen her brother
for many months, and was shocked at how worn and
haggard he looked, despite the smile he bestowed on his small daughter as she leaped like a monkey into his arms.

‘And looking every bit properly dressed for the nursery,
in all his dirt and sweat,' she said lightly, to cover her
feelings.

James gave her an ironic smile. 'Believe me, ma'am, I
look every bit as suited to my environment as you do.' He
came across the room, with Fanny on his hip, to kiss his
sister. 'Well, Lucy!'

‘Well, Jamie,' Lucy replied in kind, returning the kiss.

He looked around him at the confusion of boxes and uniformed maids. ‘So you have brought Small Polly and Flaminia to visit my little princess, have you?'

‘Papa, that girl wants to sleep in my bed, but she sha'n't,
shall she?' Fanny asked, pointing at Hippolyta with a
mixture of anxiety and disdain.

‘
Why, no, my star, why should she?' James said. 'But
don't you remember your cousin who used to live here with
you?' Fanny shook her head, and then buried her face in her
father's neck in an access of shyness.

‘
It's my bed,' Hippolyta repeated for the tenth time. 'I
was here first.'

‘
True, Little Polly, but possession is nine-tenths of the
law, don't you know that?' James said.

‘
Of course she doesn't,' Lucy said briskly. 'Don't talk
such nonsense, Jamie, and don't interfere, please. I had but
just got them settled. Hippolyta, you are to sleep over there.
Get into bed at once. And you, Fanny, say goodnight to
Papa quickly. It's time he was dressing for dinner.’

Fanny looked at her aunt's unsmiling face, and, feeling the safe citadel of her father's arms around her, allowed her lower lip to jut. 'Don't want to,' she said, with the assurance of one used to having Caesar's ear. 'Papa have dinner with me.'

‘Nonsense. Kiss Papa goodnight and get down at once,'
Lucy said, but Fanny only turned her face away from her to
lavish an accomplished smile on her father.

‘Me loves Papa,' she cooed, and was not disappointed of the result.

‘Who's Papa's little sweetheart?' James inquired rhetorically.

‘
Me!' said Fanny triumphantly, and turned her head
briefly to give Lucy a look which challenged her quite
plainly to do something about
that
if she could.

Lucy sighed. 'Really, James, it's quite sickening to see how you go on. Do put that child down and say goodnight.
The dressing bell went ten minutes ago, and I want to talk to
you.’

But Fanny did not like to be dismissed so peremptorily, and it was another ten minutes before brother and sister
stepped outside into the passage, only to find Durban
hovering, with hot water and evening clothes in his eye.

‘You'd better be quick, Luce,' James said, amused. 'My time is not my own, you see.'

‘
Oh, never mind,' said Lucy crossly. 'I only wanted to tell
you that I am having Héloïse's ponies brought up from Wolvercote. Well, don't look so stony about it — you gave
them to her, you know, and I see no reason why she
shouldn't have them now she is settled in her own house.
She will need some form of transport.'

‘As you say,' James said expressionlessly. 'But what is it to do with me?'

‘You have her phaeton, of course. I want to know if you will let her have it back, for I can have Parslow drive it up for her when the ponies arrive. He can lead a horse behind and ride back, and I thought —'

‘Thank you,' James said smoothly. 'If there are any
arrangements to be made, I will make them. When the
ponies arrive, you may have them sent to me here.’

Lucy looked exasperated. 'There's no need to sound as
though I were trying to steal them! Have a little sense,
James. If the ponies come here, it is bound to cause a stir.
Questions will be asked. If you have the phaeton sent
quietly over to Shawes, it can all be done there without
anyone knowing of it.'

‘By anyone, you mean my wife, of course,' James said bitterly.

‘Oh, for goodness sake!' Lucy exclaimed. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Lucy turned away. 'Do just as you please. I have to dress.'

*

 
Race week was always a time of great activity and excitement at Morland Place. Apart from all the festivities associ
ated with it, there was a great deal of hard work involved,
for Jemima and Ned were producing half a dozen horses for the races, and even with Chetwyn's willing assistance, there was so much to do that James was drawn in to help. Lucy longed to take his place, and bewailed her condition, but
Jemima forbade her to come anywhere near the horses, and
for once Lucy saw the sense in the ban.

‘
I'm hoping so much that this is a boy, and then, you
know, I shall have it all behind me. It would be foolish to
risk it at this stage.’

Jemima's preoccupation at the stable gave Mary Ann an
opportunity to be active about the house, and though the
older servants still shewed an annoying tendency to want to confirm her orders with 'the mistress', the younger ones
accepted her easily enough. There was to be a special dinner
on the first day of the races, on which Mary Ann was concentrating her efforts. Though only a family affair, it was
to be quite grand: Lord and Lady Chelmsford were to be
there, Horatio and Lady Barbara, Mr and Mrs John Anstey, and Charles's cousins, Maurice Viscount Ballincrea and his
sister the Honourable Helena McNeill, who were coming
down from their Northumberland estate to stay the week at Shawes.

Mary Ann felt that if she organized the dinner, and it
went well, it would establish her credit in the household, and
perhaps persuade Lady Morland to allow her to take over
the running of the house. Organizing the dinner was harder than she had expected, however, for Jemima had long ago
stopped trying to interfere with her cook, Monsieur
Barnard, and he had become alarmingly autocratic. He
refused to admit he spoke any English, but when Mary Ann,
who had been taught French by the nuns in the convent
where she had her education, went to the kitchen to inter
view him, he pretended, most maliciously she thought, not
to understand her French either.

It was a long and painful interview for both of them. Half way through, Barnard picked up his sharpest butcher's knife from the table nearby, and brandished it as he spoke, a
 
gesture he had often found effective in discouraging inter
ference from his employers; but Mary Ann was made of
sterner stuff. She had been mistress of her own household
since an early age, was a Roman Catholic, and a daughter of
the new class of manufacturing rich into the bargain. She
ignored the knife entirely, drew Barnard over to the
Household Book on the side table by the sheer force of her
steely gaze, and began to turn the pages and suggest menus,
overcoming the problem of his non-comprehension simply by
ignoring it.