The Remarkable Life and Times of Eliza Rose (33 page)

Eliza’s first thought was that the constabulary were after her and that he’d come to warn her of it. ‘You hoped … to find me in,’ she stammered. ‘But why?’

‘Nothing untoward, I assure you.’ He looked at her closely. ‘Mistress Rose, you’ve gone quite pale.’

‘But why were you coming to find me?’

‘Because there’s someone who wishes to speak with you.’

‘Someone connected with the law?’ Eliza asked in a flurry. ‘For I can assure you that it certainly wasn’t me.’

He looked at her curiously. ‘
What
wasn’t you?’

Eliza shook her head, blushing. ‘Nothing! I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn.’

He smiled. ‘I’ve no idea why this lady wishes to speak to you, but I’m sure it’s nothing untoward. She knows I’m acquainted with Nell and yourself, and asked me to approach you.’

‘A woman?’ Eliza asked, and her next thought was that it was one of Nell’s rivals for the king’s affections, somehow trying to obtain information about her.

He nodded.

‘Is it Louise de Keroualle?’

He laughed. ‘Good lord, no. It is Lady Lucinda Monteagle.’

Eliza’s jaw dropped. ‘Henry Monteagle’s mother? Why should that lady want to see me?’

‘I haven’t the least idea. Perhaps,’ he shrugged, ‘perhaps to offer you a job in the household?’ He frowned. ‘No, it can’t be that, for she said that it was on a matter of great delicacy. Have you met her before?’

‘Just briefly, in church at the funeral. And I have also seen her two daughters. They are very lovely,’ she couldn’t resist adding.

Valentine Howard didn’t comment on this, but offered her his arm. ‘Would you consider coming to Lady Monteagle’s residence with me now? I told her that I’d try and bring you to speak with her straight away.’

‘Right at this moment?’ Eliza looked down at the striped wool jacket she was wearing. ‘I’m not dressed to visit a household in mourning. And besides,’ she looked at him anxiously, ‘how can a mere maid visit a titled lady?’

‘I don’t think she’s even thought of that, for she seemed most anxious to see you. Almost … agitated.’

Eliza, feeling troubled, began to walk with him out of the Exchange. She knew she didn’t have to go, but to refuse to attend on such a lady would be rude in the extreme. Besides, the thought of promenading on Valentine Howard’s arm was irresistible.

‘Do you think, perhaps, she has heard of Henry Monteagle’s reputation – that is,’ she corrected herself, ‘of his
misunderstandings
with me, and wants to apologise?’

Valentine stiffened slightly and Eliza wondered if she’d offended him. ‘I think not,’ he said, and then shrugged. ‘But I don’t know. I’m just to deliver you and leave you to her good offices.’

Lady Monteagle, apparently, had rented a house by the river so that she could be close to her daughters and supervise their welfare while they were at court. It should have been a pleasant walk to her house alongside the Thames, for Eliza was with the man she thought so highly of, it was a brilliant, crisp day and the sun was sparkling on the river’s wavelets – but she was much too anxious to enjoy it. Was she to go to the main front door, or round to the servants’ quarters? Had she, perhaps, without thinking, said something unkind to Lady Monteagle in the church and was now to be reprimanded? Or had Lady Monteagle heard that Eliza had accused her son of violence and was going to have her arrested for slander? Whatever it was, she would not, she hoped, be called upon to pretend sorrow at Henry Monteagle’s untimely death, for this she wouldn’t be able to do.

The windows of the large house were draped outside with black, and the Monteagle hatchments hung on a flagpole, signifying the death of the head of the family. The whole house seemed so frighteningly oppressive that, on Valentine leaving her at the front door, Eliza felt almost disposed to run away. He’d knocked at the door before bowing and departing, however, so before Eliza could act upon the urge to bolt, the door was opened by a maid in black cap and uniform.

‘Your mistress, please,’ Eliza said with as much poise as she could summon. ‘Lady Monteagle.’

The maid nodded without speaking and took her into a dimly lit drawing room, its pictures turned to the wall, its mirrors hung about with black crêpe. A great bunch of blue-flowered rosemary stood on a table; its scent the only pleasing feature of the room. Although there was a small fire burning in the grate this did little to heat the place and Eliza stood before it, reflecting and fearing the circumstances that might have caused her to be there.

Lady Monteagle entered the room wearing dull pearls and flowing black garments, her long grey hair plaited down her back. She seemed, as Valentine had said, nervous and troubled.

‘You are Eliza Rose,’ she said, her voice low, and Eliza curtsied. ‘Please sit down, for I scarcely know where to begin and the telling of this will take some long time.’

Eliza, stunned by these words, sat on a stiff chair by the window and began to feel terribly afeared. What
could
she have done to deserve this? Lady Monteagle stood in front of the fire for a moment, and then
began to pace the floor. The more she paced, the more anxious Eliza became, for it was clear that something very serious and troubling was about to be imparted and she couldn’t begin to think what this might be.

After some moments, Lady Monteagle suddenly looked at her with brimming eyes and cried out in a distracted voice, ‘What would you think of a mother who gave away her child?’

Eliza stared at her. Had the poor lady been rendered mad by the death of her son?

‘You’d condemn such a woman, would you not? There can be no excuse for such an uncaring and unnatural act!’

Eliza shivered all over. She looked for the bell-pull by the fireplace so that, if necessary, she could summon Lady Monteagle’s maid and ask to be shown out again.

‘Oh, it is all too horrendous and I cannot begin to explain,’ Lady Monteagle went on, wringing her hands. ‘And I have no excuses for it – only to say that my children and I would have been turned out on to the streets.’

Eliza didn’t speak, startled as she was into complete silence.

‘Daughters were not good enough for him!’ continued the dowager in a distracted voice. ‘We would have been thrown out and starved to death if I hadn’t given him an heir!’

At these words, something stirred inside Eliza. Something … a tiny spark of – not yet an understanding of what was afoot; but something like a mixture of anticipation, expectation and wonder.

Just at this moment, before her feelings and
thoughts had had time to unravel themselves, there came the sound of footsteps outside the door and it burst open to reveal the Monteagle sisters, both dressed in deepest black, their dark wavy hair unbraided.

‘Is she come yet?’ the younger girl said urgently before she was even halfway through the door, and then they both looked at Eliza and clapped their hands to their mouths in identical manner. The younger girl continued, ‘Oh Mamma! We didn’t realise.’

‘We are so sorry,’ said the other, and she took her sister’s arm and tugged her out of the room.

‘Call us in soon, Mamma!’ said the first, as if reluctant to go, and she looked at Eliza and smiled at her with such happiness and joy that the door had no sooner closed than Eliza, for some reason which she was for ever after at a loss to explain, burst into tears. Distressed and confused, she rose from the chair at the same time as Lady Monteagle, who took two steps towards her and clasped her arms about her tightly.

‘Oh, my dearest, darling child!’ said Lady Monteagle. ‘Oh, my own heart, I’ve found you at last!’

Fully thirty minutes later, Eliza still had not spoken, for at first she’d been crying too hard to speak, then she’d been too stunned and incredulous. Finally, sitting on the window seat with her head on Lady Monteagle’s lap, she’d asked her to tell the story over again.

‘Of course I will,’ said Lady Monteagle. She went on, ‘Your father, Lord Monteagle, married me solely so that he could have an heir. I’d gone ten years without conceiving, then had your two sisters a year
apart. When I found out that I’d conceived again I knew, because of my age, that this was possibly my last chance to have a child. He said that if I didn’t produce a boy to take his title, then he’d divorce me and cast me out on to the streets.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Sadly, I was bullied throughout my pregnancy upon this matter, so my mother and I contrived a plan. There was a woman in the village –’

‘Mrs Rose?’

‘Mrs Rose,’ the dowager agreed, ‘who was expecting a child at exactly the same time. She’d already produced three boys and swore she was having another, and being very poor, was only too pleased to be given the means to improve her situation. My mother, therefore, arranged that if she had a boy, it would be substituted for my child – which I already felt sure would be another girl.

‘All happened as predicted, and the changeover of the babies was effected by means of a secret passage which ran from our castle into the local church. I then announced to my happy husband that he had an heir to his fortune and his title. The Rose family moved some distance off and I never heard from them again, although every so often I made discreet enquiries to ascertain that you, Eliza, were alive and well.’ Here Lady Monteagle looked down at her child and fondly stroked her cheek.

After a moment she resumed, ‘When my husband died my first thought was to find you, and I engaged searchers to monitor your movements, only to find that you’d gone to London.’

‘I heard that someone was asking questions about me …’

Lady Monteagle nodded. ‘I persevered with trying to find you, but when I did, I couldn’t bring myself to depose Henry. When he died in the duel, however, I was naturally very sad, but knew that nothing could stop me from now claiming you as my own … ’

There followed a long, long silence, with Lady Monteagle stroking Eliza’s hair with great tenderness, and Eliza sighing and catching her breath and then sighing again.

‘It is the most miraculous fairy tale,’ she said at last, ‘and one that I can scarce bring myself to believe.’

‘I assure you that it’s all true,’ said Lady Monteagle.

‘I am of the nobility, then!’ Eliza said, and she began laughing, hardly unable to comprehend such a thing, let alone the implications. What might Valentine have to say to her about it? Indeed, what might she say to him?

‘You are of the nobility,’ confirmed Lady Monteagle. ‘Although you mustn’t allow that fact to change you. You have land and property – and a title, too, if you wish to use it.’

‘Can I have singing lessons?’

Lady Monteagle smiled, surprised. ‘Singing lessons, dancing lessons – and anything else you might care for.’

Eliza thought about this. No more would she be beholden to anyone for her keep and her welfare; she was her own person and would be able to do whatever she wished with her life. And best of all …

‘I have you – and sisters!’ Eliza said joyfully.

‘You have sisters,’ Lady Monteagle confirmed. ‘And Kathryn and Maria know the situation and are probably outside the door at this very moment waiting
anxiously to be let in.’

‘Kathryn and Maria,’ Eliza repeated wonderingly, remembering now that Jemima’s mother had mistaken her for a Maria.

‘Do you want to meet them properly now?’

‘Oh, I do,’ Eliza said. She looked at her mother shyly. ‘Before that, though, will you tell me the story again, for I feel I can’t hear it often enough.’

Lady Monteagle smiled. ‘Whatever you wish,’ she said, ‘for we have the rest of our lives together now.’ She took a breath and began, ‘Once upon a time, there was a beautiful child born in a castle …’

Epilogue

The castle bedroom is large and richly furnished. Paintings and costly tapestries line the walls and in its centre is a vast four-poster bed.

The casements are open wide and the breeze catches the fine silk curtains and billows them across the room. The girl walks about the room slowly, admiring the intricate tapestries and carefully examining each picture in turn. She is looking for family likenesses, for these are her ancestors.

Crossing then to the window, she sees the shimmering water of the castle moat outside, the trees turning golden and, in the distance, the Quantock Hills, purple with heather. She flings her arms out wide as if to embrace them all, and then hugs herself and laughs out loud for no apparent reason.

Her mother comes in and, seeing her daughter laughing, joins in. ‘I thought it was right that you should have this room,’ she says.

‘The room where I was born …’

Her mother inclines her head. ‘Which saw a great deal of unhappiness.’

‘But now all departed and disappeared!’

The older woman catches her hand and holds it tightly. ‘But I came to tell you that we have a visitor
downstairs.’

‘Already! How do the neighbours even know we’ve arrived?’

‘Not a neighbour! This is someone from London.’

The girl smiles. ‘I wondered how long it would take for the news to spread.’

‘He says that your story is being told all across the city from the court to the coffee houses.’

‘
He
?’ The girl’s face suddenly lights up. ‘You don’t mean
he
? It couldn’t possibly be …’

‘It is,’ the other woman laughs, for she already knows the state of her daughter’s heart. ‘He says he came pell-mell along the Bath Road and changed horse three times.’

The girl’s cheeks colour pink. ‘But what could he possibly – I mean, what shall I say to him?’ She indicates their surroundings. ‘How can I begin to tell him all that’s happened?’

‘You must speak the truth. Explain how it occurred, and tell him that you knew nothing about your provenance until I told you of it five days ago.’

The girl suddenly gasps. ‘And what if he is here to ask me …?’ And then she stops and thinks a little. ‘But in truth he should
not
be here to ask anything, for I wasn’t good enough for him before, when I had nothing, was I?’

Her mother smiles ruefully.

‘And now that my situation is different, he seems very quick to change his mind!’