Intrigue (Daughters of Mannerling 2) (11 page)

‘Agreed. You do not need to go. I shall accept.’

Honoria stared at him. It was something to do with Jessica Beverley. She must go with him.

‘On the other hand,’ she said with affected casualness, ‘it might be amusing to see this mansion which so obsesses the Beverleys.’

‘And how do you know it so obsesses the Beverleys?’

‘Something the youngest said. Brother, I must tell you, Jessica Beverley is not for you.’

‘I know that. Her engagement to Harry Devers is to be announced at the ball.’

‘Then why . . . ? Oh, no matter,’ said Honoria, still feeling weak and shaken. He must have somehow found out about her letter to Mrs Devers. That must have been in the letter he received. She suddenly hated Jessica Beverley from the bottom of her heart. The girl might be obsessed with Mannerling, but her normally calm, sensible, and intelligent brother was obsessed with
her
!

Miss Trumble escaped from the excitement of the invitations to the ball and sought out Barry. ‘The thing that worries me, Barry,’ she said with a sigh, ‘is that I cannot help having a feeling that Honoria Sommerville engineered the whole thing. I hate that woman.’

‘That would be Mr Robert’s sister. How could she do that?’

‘She befriended Lizzie, a most uncharacteristic thing for her to do – I am persuaded of that. She was talking to Lizzie by the lake at Tarrant Hall the day before our departure. Lizzie told them something, something that excited them all, and then they said they must return because Lady Beverley was ill, and yet, you must admit, she has never been in better spirits.’

‘It is a pity,’ said Barry. ‘Robert Sommerville is a fine man.’

‘If Jessica marries Harry Devers, I really think I will give up my post here and return home.’

‘And where is home, miss?’

‘Oh, not that far away,’ said Miss Trumble vaguely.

‘It would be a pity to abandon the others to their fate.’

‘I do not think anything can be done with them.’ Miss Trumble kicked at the grass with her shoe.

‘I thought the same about Miss Isabella, but she married a fine man.’

‘We’ll see,’ was all Miss Trumble would say.

Barry watched her slim upright figure as she walked away. There was a mystery about Miss Trumble. He knew from gossip that her references had never arrived. He wondered who she really was. He hoped she would not leave. If she did, he would be tempted to take up Isabella’s, Lady Fitzpatrick’s, offer and go to join her household in Ireland. He wished from the bottom of his heart that the Beverley girls were as wise as they were beautiful.

We make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villains by necessity, fools by heavenly compulsion.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Jessica paced nervously up and down the garden as the day of the ball approached, increasingly nervous, increasingly ill at ease, her hair brushed loosely down about her shoulders. She was not expecting Harry to call. His last call had been on the Wednesday of the week before. He had said he would be busy right up until the ball. He had been warm and affectionate, and she had felt happy and secure when he left. But contrary to what she had been told, absence did not seem to be making the heart grow fonder. What Robert had told her of Harry’s character began to worry her for the first time, and besides, she had begun to dream of Robert, sensuous, languorous dreams that no lady should have. She began to feel haunted by Robert Sommerville. She was beginning to have a wish, which she kept trying to drive out of her head, that Harry would not propose to her. Had not Isabella at that fatal ball at Mannerling been so sure that Mr Judd would propose to her? And had not he humiliated her by proposing to Mary Stoppard?

But Lord Fitzpatrick had been deeply in love with Isabella and had forgiven her for her pursuit of Judd. That she, Jessica, might have made her ambitions regarding Mannerling plain enough and vulgar enough to be instrumental in spoiling any chance she might have had with Robert was something she preferred not to think about. She tried to tell herself that her duty lay with Mannerling and with Harry Devers, and to fight down any weak thought that if she escaped marriage to him, life might be pleasant again. She could not confide in Miss Trumble, but at last did tell her sisters of her doubts. Belinda said firmly – and the others agreed – that her nerves were understandable. She was merely frightened that she might undergo the same treatment as Mr Judd had meted out to Isabella.

‘It’s a little like bride nerves, I think,’ said Lizzie with a quaint air of wisdom. ‘And only think, Jessica! You will be home again.’

That lifted Jessica’s spirits, but that night she dreamt of Robert again and awoke with tears streaming down her face, for in her dream he had come to Mannerling and she was married to Harry and Robert had stared at her with contempt and said, ‘I told you you would be miserable.’

Then the time began to hurtle by as everyone except Jessica and Miss Trumble fretted over what she would wear to secure the affections of Harry. Jessica insisted on wearing a simple white ball gown that she had worn only once before. It was high-waisted and flounced at the hem in the current fashion. Miss Trumble surprised her by presenting her with a rich and gaudy Indian shawl, all reds and golds. It was soft and warm, rich and dramatic. It was obviously a very expensive gift, but Miss Trumble said quietly that her previous employer had been very generous. ‘Who was your previous employer?’ asked Jessica.

‘Yes, I think that shawl becomes you,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘I have a painted fan that would go very well with it.’

‘Have you noticed,’ asked Belinda when their governess had left the room, ‘that she never talks about her previous employ, nor has she given Mama any references? I do hope there is nothing sinister in our Miss Trumble’s past.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Jessica. ‘I cannot see the correct Miss Trumble doing anything wrong. I wish I could talk to her about Mr Harry.’

Belinda looked alarmed. ‘You must not! She does not approve. She would try to persuade you to allow Mr Sommerville to court you.’

‘After our departure from Tarrant Hall and Mama’s obvious lie about being ill, I doubt very much Mr Sommerville wants to see any of us again.’ And with that, Jessica burst into tears.

Belinda looked at her weeping sister in exasperation. ‘Never tell me you have formed a tendre for Mr Sommerville! It is the outside of enough. First Isabella, and now you.’

Jessica dried her eyes and said shakily, ‘It is nothing. I am simply worried that I shall fail.’ Belinda’s face cleared and she gave her a fierce hug. ‘You will not fail.’

And after Belinda had left, Jessica thought gloomily that she had sounded exactly like Lady Macbeth.

Once more to Mannerling, nervous, hopeful, and excited. Miss Trumble had never voiced the full extent of her disapproval aloud, but it was obvious to all the Beverleys that she considered Harry Devers not a suitable gentleman, and so she had been left behind. So, too, had Barry, for this time the Mannerling coach, coachman, and footmen had been sent to convey the Beverleys, a mark of distinction that made Lady Beverley begin to relax. Nothing could go wrong this time. Mannerling was as good as theirs.

Miss Trumble waved them goodbye and walked around the back of the house in search of Barry. She found him sitting on an old kitchen chair, smoking a clay pipe. He stood up when he saw her. ‘They’ve gone?’

‘Yes, Barry, and I would dearly like to have gone with them this time. I keep praying that Harry Devers has put his wild past behind him. I also keep hoping that there is some fair heiress there to take his attention.’

‘Reckon us might be able to have a look,’ said Barry.

‘How so?’

‘They’ve gone off in the Mannerling coach. We could take out the carriage and horse from the stable here and ride over.’

‘And then what? Turn up at the ball arm in arm?’

‘You joke, miss. No, we could leave the carriage with the others. The Mannerling servants will be too busy to bother about us. We could go round by the back stairs and up to the musicians’ gallery. They’ll be playing and won’t pay us much heed. We could stand at the back of the band and watch the dancing.’

‘You are sure that Lady Beverley will not see us?’

‘It is a cold night. Take a warm wrap for her and leave it with the ladies’ cloaks. That’s in a little room off the great hall. Then if asked, you can say you were concerned that she might be too cold on the journey home and brought the shawl and left it downstairs with Betty, and then, as you were at Mannerling, decided to discreetly view the dancing.’

‘You seem remarkably well informed as to the geography of Mannerling, Barry.’

‘I got to know the house well when the Deverses first took up residence, for my lady was always sending me over there with some gift. Then the servants were as proud of the house as their masters and took me around and bragged about how fine everything was.’

‘Then we shall try.’

‘We’ll treat it like a military campaign, miss.’

‘Ah,’ said Miss Trumble, ‘you have forgot that at least in any military campaign there is hope of success.’

For the first time in her life, the magic of Mannerling failed to reach Jessica as she mounted the staircase to the chain of saloons that formed the ballroom. Mrs Devers surveyed her with cold eyes, Mr Devers wearily. Harry beamed at her as she curtsied low. Jessica moved on into the ballroom. Her eyes flew immediately to Robert Sommerville’s handsome face. And then an odd thing happened. It seemed as if his face were bright, lit from within, and that the rest of the ballroom and guests had faded into a vague greyness. He bowed slightly and turned and walked away and all the noise and chatter of the ballroom came flooding back.

She looked around her and then up to the painted ceilings, to the rollicking gods and goddesses. If she played her cards right, all this would soon be hers again. ‘Not yours,’ said a voice in her head, ‘always your husband’s. A woman has no say in anything.’

But soon Harry was at her side, asking for a dance. Harry was very sober. He did not want to be humiliated again, the way he had been by that fool of a Habard girl. His predatory eyes covertly took inventory of every charm of Jessica’s body that he could see, and he dreamt lecherously of the bits that he could not. Jessica thought only of Mannerling, wondering why the fascination the house held for her should have suddenly deserted her. The evening dragged on. She was always aware of Robert, of his partners, waiting always for him to approach, but he did not. His sister, Honoria, was there. Lizzie had gone up to speak to her, but Honoria had been dismissive. Lizzie had served her purpose. The little girl bored her now.

And then, just before the supper dance, there was a roll of drums. Mr Devers held up his hands for silence. ‘My son has an important announcement to make,’ he said.

Harry took his place. Up in the musicians’ gallery, Miss Trumble sent up a prayer. Barry stood beside her, a comforting and solid figure.

‘My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,’ said Harry proudly. ‘I wish to announce my engagement. But I must tell you, I have not yet asked the lady to marry me.’

There was a buzz of excitement. Jessica was aware of Robert’s eyes on her face, of her sisters clustering around her, of the tension emanating from her mother. Lizzie’s green eyes were like emeralds.

Harry held out one hand in a theatrical gesture. ‘Miss Jessica Beverley,’ he said, ‘will you do me the very great honour of accepting my hand in marriage?’

There was a silence. Jessica glanced up as if aware in that moment of being watched from above and saw Miss Trumble at the back of the musicians’ gallery. Miss Trumble shook her head, begging Jessica to refuse. Then Lizzie gave Jessica an angry little push in the small of the back and Jessica began to walk slowly forwards. People parted to let her through, Robert, Honoria, Mary Judd among them.

Harry seized Jessica’s hand in his own. Her face was very white, he noticed. He had a sudden awful feeling she was about to refuse him. She curtsied and he bent his head over her as if listening to what she was saying. Then he straightened up, holding her hand in a fierce grip. ‘The lady says yes,’ he announced.

There was a roar of applause. Jessica looked around her, bewildered. ‘You did mean yes, did you not?’ said Harry in her ear, and she nodded dumbly. She had succeeded where Isabella had failed. The musicians began to play a waltz. She stumbled slightly as she moved in Harry’s arms. Faces came and went in front of her wide-eyed gaze: Mary Judd, hard and bitter; Honoria with an odd mocking, triumphant gleam in her eyes; her sisters, radiant and happy. And then she looked up at the possessive look in Harry’s eyes. She immediately looked away and up toward the musicians’ gallery. But Miss Trumble had gone.

Miss Trumble and Barry made their way silently out of Mannerling and round to their carriage. When they reached the gates of Mannerling, Miss Trumble was the first to break the silence as she sat beside Barry, wrapped in a bearskin traveling rug.

‘So that is that.’

‘I suppose so, miss. And yet . . .’

‘And yet what?’

‘There is still hope.’

Miss Trumble looked upwards towards the uncaring stars. ‘I see none. Do you think the stars influence our destinies, Barry?’

‘I think often it is us, miss, who make things the way they are. But have you considered that Mr Harry might yet, before the wedding day, reveal himself in his true colours? If he lives up to his reputation with women, then there is hope that he might.’

‘He may, like most of his kind, have settled on a gently bred lady to ornament his home and will seek his pleasures among the Cyprians of London.’

‘I do not think you really believe that.’

There was a short silence and then Miss Trumble said sadly, ‘Perhaps you are right. I did not like the way he looked at her. God help Jessica Beverley.’

Jessica had moved into the supper room on the arm of Harry Devers. She overheard Miss Turlow saying loudly, ‘Well, that lot have finally secured the prize.’ Robert was passing Miss Turlow when she spoke and that fact added to Jessica’s misery. Why should she feel so wretched when she had finally secured what they had all only dreamt of?