The Regency (3 page)

The moment came; Beamish yelled, and though he did not
drop the candle, he tilted it so wildly that wax splashed down
onto the floor. Smiling with satisfaction, Fanny eased herself
backwards and out into the little passageway which led to the
spiral stairs, intent on putting as much distance between her
self and the crime as possible. Then, finding herself opposite
the door to the dressing-room of the great bedchamber, she
stopped, and her smile faded.

Beyond the dressing-room, in the great bedchamber itself,
in the massive, carved bed in which she herself had been born
and would one day die, the ancestral Butts bed which
belonged to her, as did everything in the house, her father lay
at this very moment with
that woman.
Fanny's brows drew
down into a scowl. She hated the Frenchwoman, not for taking
her mother's place — for Fanny had never cared a jot for
her mother, and did not believe her father had, either — but
for stealing her father's love. Before the Frenchwoman came,
all Papa's love had been for Fanny. She had come first with
him, and she could not endure to lose her place to another.

Her hand went automatically to the doorknob, and for a
moment she considered marching in, disturbing them, dem
anding Papa's attention, his love, his caresses. But common
sense intervened; she paused, imagining the scene, seeing how
angry he would be. He would side with
that woman,
against
her. Grief came to reinforce anger; she clenched her hands
with frustration. Her left hand still gripped the length of pipe;
she frowned down at it a moment; and then suddenly jerked
it up and used its rough end to score a short and violent
runnel down the polished wood of the door.

I'll shew her!
she thought.
I'll get even with her somehow!
She dragged the sharp metal down the door-panel again and
again in an ecstasy of hatred. Somehow, someday, she would
make the Frenchwoman pay for stealing her father away
from her; she would make her suffer!
The dressing-bell began to ring, startling her out of her
black passion. Fifteen minutes until first mass! Fanny stared
at the door with faint shock. Had she really done that?' The
gouges shewed pale in the old, dark wood. It was seasoned
mahogany, and though she had not managed to score it very
deeply, someone was bound to notice sooner or later. Well, let
them, she thought defiantly. They couldn't prove it was she,
any more than they could over those silly old dresses.

But there were footsteps on the spiral stair, the light run
ning feet of Héloïse's maid, Marie, coming up to dress her
mistress for chapel. Fanny looked around her for a hiding place. The stairs went on further up for another half-turn,
ending in a blank stone wall, and Fanny ran quickly up and
crouched there, pressing herself against the central pillar and
peering down onto the landing below.

Marie appeared, her hair neatly hidden under a linen cap with long ribbons which Fanny's fingers longed to tweak, a
silk chemise folded over her arm. She walked straight for
ward, opened the dressing-room door, and went in, without,
apparently, noticing the scratches. As the door closed behind
her, Fanny sighed with relief. The landing was perhaps
the damage might go unnoticed for weeks, or for ever.

*

When nursery breakfast was over, Jenny always brought the children downstairs to the dining-room. Fanny, entering cau
tiously, could tell at once by the atmosphere that the damage
to the dressing-room door had not yet been discovered.
Breakfast was finished, but no-one seemed in a hurry to get
up. Papa and Father Aislaby had newspapers open in front of
them, and Madame and Mathilde were looking through a
ladies' journal together. Even Uncle Ned, who always went straight about his business as soon as he had swallowed the
last mouthful, was lingering. His face was normally dour and
grim — Papa said he hadn't smiled since the death of Uncle
Chetwyn, who had been his best friend — but today he looked
almost cheerful, leaning back in his chair in the first patch of
sunshine they had seen for ten days.

His new hound, Tiger, had its great foolish head jammed
into his lap, its eyes closed blissfully as he pulled its ears over
and over through his hands. Uncle Ned's old bitch, Brach,
had had to be put down just before Christmas, and her long
time mate, Leaky, had simply pined away within a week.
Tiger was one of their great-great-grandchildren, grey and
wolf-eyed like them, but with handsome black-and-russet
brindling over the quarters.

Fanny pouted a little at the thought of her own wolfhound,
Puppy, whom Uncle Ned had banned from the house
because, he said, it was so bad-mannered. But he always
brought his dogs in. And Madame had her hound Kithra at
her feet under the table, too. Unfair!
Fanny would have gone straight in, but Uncle Ned and
Papa were talking, and Jenny caught her wrist and frowned,
and made her wait at the door.

‘You can quite sec why Grenville is so keen on the Catholic
emancipation,' James was saying. 'He and his friends only ever had three policies; and now slavery's been abolished, and no-one in their right minds would advocate Parliamentary reform, when the country's seething with anti Jacobin
feeling, and all the new industrial nabobs are clamouring for representation —'

‘
Well, who in his right mind would have brought forward
this Catholic Militia Bill, either?' Ned challenged. 'It hadn't a
chance of getting through.'

‘
What else could they do?' James asked lazily. 'They hadn't
another idea between them, and they have to talk about
something in the Chamber, after all. And they nearly got it
past the King.'

‘
By trickery,' Ned snorted. 'The King must have had a fit
when he was told what he almost signed. Catholics allowed to
be staff officers? Nonsense! The Duke of York would have
died of rage! Saving your presence, Father,' he added hastily,
seeing Father Aislaby's raised eyebrows.
'I've
nothing against
the idea, but you know what these fanatical anti-papists are!'

‘
What's an anti-papist, Uncle Ned?' Fanny asked with
interest. James, whose back had been to her, turned and
smiled a welcome.

‘Fanny, love! Come here and kiss me, you pretty thing!’

Fanny ran to him, glad of the excuse to omit the customary
formal curtsey to Héloïse. Jenny bid the little children, Sophie
and Thomas, to go to Madame, and glared at Fanny, who
merely glared back, kissed her father, climbed onto his lap
and repeated her question. 'What are anti-papists?'

‘
Silly people, Fanny,' Ned said shortly. 'Nothing you need
know about.'

‘
Don't interrupt and ask questions, Miss Fanny,' Jenny
reproved sternly. 'Speak only when you're spoken to.’

Ned pushed back his chair and got up. 'I must be off. But
it'll mean the end of this Government, Jamie, you mark my
words. The King'll never forgive 'em. They'll be out before
the month, and good riddance! Ministry of All-the-Talents,
indeed! The only talent they shewed was in doing nothing.'

‘Are you going out to Twelvetrees?' James asked.

‘
Yes — we've ten colts to cut. Want to come and give a
hand?' Ned asked.

James laughed. 'No, no, I'll forgo my share of the treat,
thank you. I've got that pair of bays to school for Mrs
Micklethwaite, if they're going to be ready by the end of the
month. I just wanted you to have someone bring the training-
phaeton down for me, so that I can take them out this
morning.'

‘Very well, I'll see to it.’

Father Aislaby got up too, and he and Ned went to the door together, going out as Ottershaw, the butler, came in.

‘
Excuse me, my lady,' he said, looking at Héloïse, 'but Mr
and Miss Keating have called, asking for Miss Nortiboys.' No inducement could persuade the English servants to pronounce
Mathilde's name any other way. 'I did mention you were still
at breakfast, my lady —’

Mathilde looked up, and her guilty blush clashed with her
hair. 'Oh, Madame, I forgot to mention! Patience asked me
on Sunday if I would spend the day with her today. She said
she might persuade her brother to drive over and take me in
to York, but I didn't know they would come so early.'

‘
It doesn't matter,
chérie,'
Héloïse and good-naturedly. 'We
had finished anyway. Please ask them to step in, Ottershaw.
And you may clear.'

‘
I beg your pardon, my lady, but Mr and Miss Keating are
waiting at the door, in a sporting vehicle, my lady.'

‘Good heavens, they must be in a hurry! Run and fetch your
bonnet, then, Mathilde. Be so good to tell them, Ottershaw,
that Miss Nordubois is coming.'

‘
I imagine, knowing Tom Keating, that he's having diffi
culty holding his horses,' James said as Ottershaw went out.
‘He has a propensity to buy horses he can't handle, which his
father must deplore! I wish you may not be overturned,
Mathilde. Do you entirely trust this beau of yours?’

Mathilde blushed even harder. 'Oh, yes, sir! I mean, he
isn't my beau, but I'm sure he drives very well!'

‘
James, don't tease!' Héloïse intervened. 'Run along,
Mathilde. And don't spend all your allowance in one shop!
Remember you will want all sorts of things for the ball next
week.'

‘Yes, Madame. No, Madame.’

James halted her at the door. 'Who brings you home?'

‘
Oh, I expect Tom — that is, Mr Keating —' Mathilde
stammered.

‘
Not alone,' James said firmly. ‘If his sister does not accom
pany you, then a servant must: Do you understand?'

‘
Yes, sir. Of course,' Mathilde said, and dropped a hasty
curtsey and hurried out.

Fanny, sitting on her father's lap, was an interested witness
to all this, and thought with contempt that Mathilde was par
ticularly ugly when she blushed, for it made her freckles stand
out and drew attention to her horrible red hair.