The Folly (14 page)

Lady Evans went to an escritoire in the corner and picked up two letters and handed them to Miss Trumble.

“You will excuse me for a moment.” Miss Trumble opened the letters and scanned them swiftly. “No, they do not contain news of the mysterious Mr. Cater but of the Santertons. There is not much. Only that business about the late Mr. Santerton having died under mysterious circumstances. Minerva is considered of flighty temperament and given to outbursts of rage. But the general opinion is that she
had nothing to do with her husband’s death. All hysterical gossip fuelled by the lady’s unpopularity in her county. Nothing really that I did not know already. I am awaiting news of Mr. Cater.”

“Why?”

“He wishes to propose to Rachel.”

“Then she is very lucky. He is rich and handsome.”

“And unknown. And residing at the Green Man and not at a private residence. I must find out more. Have you heard the news of the death at Mannerling?”

“The footman? Yes, that Irish aunt of Fitzpatrick’s was amazing brave.”

“She is an exceptional lady.”

“So what is behind the trouble at Mannerling, unless this footman was simply deranged?”

“That I do not know. Perhaps that wretched house has put its spell on the Santertons and they are trying to scare Charles Blackwood out of it, and yet Minerva obviously wants to marry him, in which case she would get Mannerling as well.”

“I heard something of Charles Blackwood’s marriage,” said Lady Evans.

“Indeed? What was it?”

“Only rumours that his late wife was too free with her favours, and among her own servants, too.”

“That might explain a certain sadness and reserve in him.”

“Are you scheming to get him for one of your girls?”

“I never scheme.”

“And are you not supposed to be instructing the Mannerling children?”

“Not today. Their father has taken them to some fair. Do you think it will rain?”

“I do not think so.”

“Pity.”

“Why? You do not want to get wet on the road home.”

“I just wanted to know that someone’s drive might be curtailed.”

“Miss Rachel,” Mr. Cater was saying, “did your mama mention to you that I wish to pay my addresses to you?”

Rachel looked at him, startled. “No, sir.”

“But it would not distress you?”

Rachel gazed down at her hands. Here was a chance of a good marriage to a rich and handsome man. It was unusual that her mother had not leaped at the offer. Charles’s face seemed to rise up before her.

“What did my mother say?”

“Lady Beverley suggested we give it a little more time.”

“I think that is very wise,” said Rachel, her heart beginning to beat hard and her head full of confused and muddled thoughts.

“I have plans,” he said slowly, “great plans. I have decided to return to the Indies soon and sell my property and settle in England. I need a good house, good land…and a wife.”

“I am very honoured—very flattered,” said Rachel. “I realize you would like an answer before you return. Give me some time to think.”

“As you will. But may I make a suggestion?”

“Certainly.”

“I feel that spinster of a governess has too much influence on your family. I would not discuss this with her.”

“Miss Trumble is kind and wise.”

“But what can a shrivelled-up old spinster know of marriage?”

“I am sorry,” said Rachel stiffly. “I will brook no criticism of Miss Trumble.”

“You must forgive me then. I am anxious to secure you.”

Rachel cast a quick little sideways glance at his face. Perhaps, she thought, if he had claimed to be in love with her, had taken her in his arms, she might have been swayed. But there seemed nothing of the lover about him. They had reached Brookfield House. Rachel reluctantly offered him refreshment. He was about to accept when he saw Miss Trumble come out of the house and stand on the doorstep, awaiting their arrival. Her eyes were shrewd and assessing as she looked at him. He shook his head and declined Rachel’s offer.

“I have been waiting for you,” said Miss Trumble, following Rachel into the house. “Did Mr. Cater propose to you?”

Rachel nodded. “I asked him to give me a little more time, although he appears anxious to get an answer soon. He returns soon to the Indies and plans to sell up and buy a property in England.”

“Interesting,” said Miss Trumble.

“Do you think I should accept?”

“That is for you to decide, Rachel, but we do not know anything about him, really, or his family, or his background. Perhaps we will find out something soon.”

There was a rumble of carriage wheels outside. Miss Trumble went back to the doorway and looked out. “Why, it is Mr. Blackwood and the general and the children.”

Rachel went out with her. Her heart lurched as she saw Charles. Was she really becoming enamoured of him, or was it because of Mannerling?

Miss Trumble welcomed them all and ushered them into the parlour and then went to fetch her mistress. The children were bubbling with excitement over their day at the fair. Beth sat on Rachel’s lap and Mark at her feet as with shining eyes they described their day.

“Now, now,” she interrupted them at last. “Let me remove my bonnet and gloves. I am just this minute returned from a drive.”

Lady Beverley, Belinda, Lizzie, and Miss Trumble entered the room just in time to hear Rachel’s last sentence.

“Ah, you had a pleasant time with Mr. Cater, I hope?” asked Lady Beverley. She turned to the general. “Mr. Cater is desirous of wedding our little Rachel, but our stern governess demands caution. But then elderly spinsters were always cautious, were they not?”

“Mama!” protested Lizzie.

Charles looked sharply at Rachel. He had always thought her a pretty girl, but far too young for him, and then that Beverley obsession with Mannerling was always at the back of his mind. But there was something so lovable about her, so vulnerable, as she sat there with Beth on her knees and Mark at her feet.

She looked up then and met his eyes and found herself trapped in his gaze. Her cheeks flushed pink.

“And did you accept the proposal?” asked Charles.

“I do not know what to do,” said Rachel. “I think it would be better to wait a little to find out more about our Mr. Cater.”

Rachel urged Beth down onto the floor next to Mark, for her legs had begun to tremble under that gaze. She was intensely aware of him and at the same time frightened to look at him again.

“So how do you go on, Miss Trumble?” asked the general. “You should have been with us this day to keep these unruly brats in order.”

“You should have asked me to accompany you, dear General,” said Lady Beverley just as if she had never damned fairs as vulgar. “I am excellent with children.”

As she never even looked at Mark or Beth or talked to them, the general wondered if she had even had much conversation with her own daughters.

He was irritated with Lady Beverley and he had not liked that remark about elderly spinsters one bit.

“We should be pleased to see you at Mannerling soon, Miss Trumble,” said the general. “The gardens are looking very fine.”

“The gardens were always accounted beautiful,” said Lady Beverley before Miss Trumble could reply. “And yes, we would be delighted to accept your invitation. Would tomorrow be suitable?”

The general rolled his eyes at his son, but Mark cried excitedly, “Please say you’ll come, Rachel. We can have such larks!”

“It is up to your father,” said Rachel quietly.

“Miss Rachel to you, Mark,” said Charles, sounding
half-amused, half-exasperated. “Oh, very well. I shall send the carriage for you all at three.”

“Unfortunately, Miss Trumble will be needed here.” Lady Beverley smoothed the folds of her gown, a hard little smile on her face.

“In that case,” said the general, “we will leave it until Miss Trumble is free.”

“What is it that you wish Miss Trumble to do?” asked Rachel. “Perhaps I could stay behind and help.”

“Now I come to think of it,” said her mother, throwing her a baffled look, “it was but a trifling matter and can wait until another day. Yes, we are pleased to accept your invitation, Mr. Blackwood.”

They rose to take their leave. The girls and Lady Beverley walked out to the carriage with them.

Charles took Rachel’s hand in his and bent and kissed it. “Until tomorrow,” he said. She felt a surge of sheer gladness rush through her body. She smiled at him suddenly, a blinding, bewitching smile. He smiled back until an impatient little cough from Lady Beverley brought him to his senses and he realized he was holding her hand in a tight grip.

After they had gone, Rachel went up to her room and locked the door. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

Mr. Cater was in the drawing-room at Mannerling. “You had the right of it,” he said to Minerva. “She has not accepted my proposal…yet…and I know it is all the fault of that governess. Rachel don’t rate her own mother very highly, but she dotes on that shrivelled bag of bones.”

“Such an
old
woman,” cooed Minerva. “The old are so frail and subject to heart attacks, apoplexies…and…er…
accidents
.”

They both regarded each other for a moment and then Mr. Cater gave a little nod.

Charles entered the room and stopped short at the sight of Mr. Cater.

“My apologies.” Mr. Cater rose to his feet and made his best bow. “I was passing and called to see you.”

“Do not let me delay your departure,” said Charles stiffly.

“We have had such a comfortable coze,” said Minerva brightly. “Mr. Cater has proposed to Rachel Beverley.”

“Indeed,” remarked Charles, his face stiff.

“I will walk downstairs with you.” Minerva got up gracefully and looped the lace train of her gown over her arm. Minerva was very fond of trains and Charles wondered if she would ever take her leave or whether Mannerling was to be perpetually haunted by the swish of her gowns on the stairs or along the corridors.

“He looks on me as a rival,” muttered Mr. Cater as they went downstairs. “I can see it on his face.”

“Then do something about that governess,” hissed Minerva. “Leave Blackwood to me.”

She turned and went back upstairs. “Such a charming man, Mr. Cater,” she sighed. “Rachel Beverley would do very well to marry him. Of course we all know what is holding her back.”

“That being?” demanded Charles moodily.

“I think your intimacy with the Beverleys has
raised their hopes of getting back into Mannerling again.”

“I do not think that troubles them any longer.” Charles leaned with one hunched shoulder against a curtain and stared out moodily across the park.

She gave a tinkling little laugh. “With their ambitious reputation? Do not be so naïve. If the daughter’s ambition is not apparent to you, only look at the mother. She would have demanded her daughter marry Mr. Cater were she not so blatantly setting her cap at the general.”

“I have things to attend to.” Charles strode from the room. But the poison she had poured in his ear worked its way into his brain. Had he not suffered enough from having been married to a jade who had only wanted his money?

But he now hated Minerva with a passion for having disillusioned him. The happiness and elation he had felt earlier were all gone. He went in search of his father and found him in the library.

“Father!”

“Hey, m’boy, you look like the devil. What’s amiss?”

“I think the Santertons have outstayed their welcome and I am anxious to see them gone.”

“Difficult,” said the general. “Short of telling ’em bluntly to get out, I don’t think you’ll move them. Anyway, Minerva Santerton wants you to propose and she’ll hang around until all hope is gone.”

“And how is all hope to go?”

“Wouldn’t fancy that pretty Rachel, would you?”

“I have no desire to realize the Beverley ambitions of getting Mannerling back.”

“Apart from the mother, I don’t think they have
any. Tell you what, you could tell Minerva that you are proposing marriage to the Beverley chit. Bet you she leaves prompt.”

“And what if Miss Rachel finds out from Minerva that I am supposed to be about to propose to her?”

“Well, she won’t. What’s Minerva going to do, hey? Ride over to Brookfield House and make a scene? Hardly. Tell her, my boy, she’ll go off, and then you’ll be free of the woman and her boring brother.”

Charles paced up and down. “It might work. I think it might just work. I’ll do it!”

At dinner that evening, Charles said, “I was taken aback by your remarks about the Beverleys, Miss Santerton.”

“Minerva,” she corrected with a smile.

“You see,” said Charles earnestly, “I myself have proposed to Rachel and been accepted.”

Minerva’s eyes flashed blue fire.

“You said nothing of this!”

“There was really no reason for me to discuss my private affairs,” said Charles.

“But is this official?”

“Not yet,” put in the general. “Rachel and Charles have got to get to know each other a little better before Lady Beverley calls down the lawyers and marriage settlements on all our heads. It’s still all a secret. Pray do not say anything.”

George Santerton had been drinking, as usual, too much before he even sat down to dinner.

“May as well leave tomorrow, sis,” he said sleepily. “Nothing for you here.”

“I do not know what you are talking about,”
snapped Minerva. She had a determined chin and a Roman nose. How odd, thought Charles, that he had not noticed before how prominent her nose was.

“But,” she went on, “I had intended to announce our immediate departure. May I wish you joy? The Beverleys will be in alt at having their ambitions fulfilled.”

“As to that, if you mean to regain Mannerling, that will not be the case,” said Charles.

“How so?” slurred George.

“I have decided I do not like the place. Is that not so, Father? We plan to sell.”

“That’s it, my boy,” said the general, although the sale of Mannerling was news to him.

“And little Miss Rachel knows of this proposed sale?” demanded Minerva, her eyes narrowing.

“Yes,” said Charles, deciding to add one more lie.