‘Perhaps you can help me, Miss Trumble,’ he said, after the tea-tray had been brought in.
‘I will be glad to help you in any way I can,’ said Miss Trumble, thinking what a sensible and reliable young man he was.
‘I have been thinking,’ said Perry, ‘that it is about time I got to know some of the local county. What do you suggest? A fête? A ball? Start off with a turtle supper?’
Miss Trumble concealed her surprise. Then she said tentatively, ‘I will be glad to supply you with the names of your neighbours, those that are suitable. Are you acting on behalf of Lord Saint Clair?’
‘I doubt if we shall be seeing him,’ he said
smoothly. ‘Earl Durbridge, my uncle, has put me in charge. I plan to be here for some time.’
‘Indeed, sir. Then, if you will supply me with pen and paper, I will make you out a list.’
He ushered her over to a writing-desk by the window, opened the lid, and stood behind her when she sat down at it, rubbing his hands. ‘Now, I want you, Miss…?’
‘Trumble.’
‘Trumble. I want you to put opposite each name a thumbnail sketch, and some idea of rank. People without titles can be of the first stare, you know.’
‘I know,’ said Miss Trumble, beginning to write.
‘What is it, Henry?’ she heard him ask, and then a footman replying, ‘This express has just come for you, sir. And, sir, no one has found such a shawl as Miss Trumble says that Lady Beverley left.’
‘Oh, give it here. Keep on writing, Miss Tremble.’
‘Trumble.’
She heard him crackle open the seal. Then she heard him draw in his breath in a sharp hiss. She swung round in her chair and looked up at him. His face was a mask of baffled fury.
‘Not bad news, I trust?’ she asked.
‘What, no! None of your business. Be off with you. I have matters to attend to here.’
Miss Trumble rose and curtsied.
The footman held open the double doors of
the saloon and then closed them behind her. Miss Trumble paused on the landing, making a great business of pulling on her gloves in case any servant should see her.
‘I shall be leaving tomorrow,’ she heard Perry say in a thin voice. ‘You are to make Mannerling ready for Lord Saint Clair.’
‘When does he arrive, sir?’
‘In a mere week’s time, with guests, and one of them is his intended bride, Belinda Beverley.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘That’s one of those damned Beverleys who have always been plotting and scheming to get this place back.’ Perry promptly forgot that only a short time ago he had been in sympathy with the Beverleys’ ambitions. ‘Demme, that was the Beverley governess that was just here. And I entertained her! Pah! I’ll scotch their schemes.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘And don’t you go blabbing any of this in the servants’ hall, mind.’
‘No, sir, I am the soul of discretion.’
‘See that you are. What a wretched coil. I never thought Toby Saint Clair would comply with his father’s wishes. He’ll run Mannerling into the ground; you’ll see.’
The voices suddenly came nearer the door. Miss Trumble sped lightly down the stairs.
‘So that is that,’ she said to Barry as he drove her homewards. ‘As I see it, this Mr. Vane
wants Mannerling for himself. Oh, my poor Belinda. But if Saint Clair is bringing Belinda here and Mr. Vane is absent, there is little he can do.’
* * *
Belinda could not know the plans to invite her to Mannerling because so far Lord St. Clair had forgotten to tell her or make a point of seeing her. First there was a prize-fight on the Sussex Downs and then the roistering that followed afterwards to keep him out of town. Nor had he thought whom else to invite to the country.
Long experience had trained him to say he would do something to please his father and then, when the threat of disinheritance had disappeared, to promptly forget what it was he had promised.
So Belinda attended balls, parties, routs, and the opera, relieved that she had no longer to play the part of a silly miss. To her mother’s distress, she began to disaffect suitors by her ‘masculine’ conversation, for Belinda was interested in military and political matters in a way that no young lady should be. As it also got about that she had little dowry to speak of, she lost any attractions she might have had for a gentleman who was prepared to overlook the handicap of intelligence in a future bride for the sake of money.
Belinda appeared deaf to criticism, and her sister Abigail, who had luckily married a highly intelligent man, was of no help at all, or so Lady Beverley constantly moaned. She blamed Miss Trumble for this unmaidenly curse of superior education that had been inflicted on Belinda.
Belinda did not even seem to have a proper fear of spinsterhood. A woman who did not marry might just as well not exist. She could perhaps make herself useful in the family, taking over some of the role of unpaid housekeeper. Had she money, she might become a fashionable eccentric. But without it, she might be condemned to the life of a governess.
Love did not normally enter into marriage among the upper classes. Marriage was a business arrangement. When a woman married, her husband was her absolute master, with total rights over the children. If they separated, though it might be his fault, she was totally dependent on him for access to her children.
Fear of being left on the shelf drove the terrified débutantes into preening and flirting, giggling, talking baby talk and bad French. Behind each débutante was a powerful family who expected the horrendous expense of a Season to be paid back in full by an advantageous marriage.
Belinda, however, was being brought out by
a rich and indulgent elder sister who had married for love. Abigail’s husband had made Lady Beverley a generous present of money so that her daughter could boast a fine dowry. But the miserly Lady Beverley had squirrelled the money away for her own use. For had not four of her daughters married well with only modest dowries? Money was not to be wasted when beauty could bring the same result.
Abigail was in blissful ignorance of this state of affairs, and being too high-minded to gossip was not aware that society believed Belinda to be badly dowered.
And so, at a very grand ball, even little Lizzie was startled to see that Belinda was actually having to sit out during a waltz at which she, Lizzie, being partnered by a jolly young captain, was taking the floor. Lizzie was not aware of her own popularity. Lady Beverley had dinned into her from an early age that her looks were ‘unfortunate.’
Lord Gyre noticed the phenomenon of dance-less Belinda as well. He turned to his friend, Gurney Burke. ‘The Beverley charmer does not seem to be taking this Season. What can have gone wrong with our simpering miss?’
‘I have heard that Miss Belinda has a sharp brain and likes to talk of politics, women’s rights, and military matters,’ remarked Gurney, a plump, easy-going gentleman.
‘You amaze me. I thought her the most empty-headed simpering miss I had ever come
across. But then, I also heard of the Beverleys’ ambitions to regain Mannerling, their old home. So perhaps Miss Belinda was only simpering and ogling to ensnare Saint Clair.’ He studied Belinda curiously. He noticed that she did not have the disconsolate look of most wallflowers. She sat calmly, the many flounces of her muslin gown cascading to her small feet. She had a little smile on her mouth as she watched her sister.
She intrigued him. He would try to secure her for the supper dance and see which face she presented to him.
To his surprise, when he bowed before her and asked her to dance, a little flash of dislike darted like a fish at the back of her beautiful eyes before they became a polite blank. Belinda did not want to dance with this man who had mocked her. But, she thought rapidly, if she refused him then the laws of society decreed that she would not be able to dance with anyone else and she would have to join her mother at the supper-table and listen to her seemingly endless list of complaints and disappointments. After what seemed to him an unconscionable length of time, although in fact it was only a few moments, Belinda rose and curtsied and allowed him to lead her into the set of a country dance.
She danced beautifully but did not try to converse. At the end of the dance, he held out his arm. She placed her gloved fingertips
delicately on it and he led her into the supper-room.
On the way in, Belinda nodded or exchanged greetings with acquaintances. Finally, when they were seated and food and wine had been served to them, he said, ‘Are you still bored by the Season, Miss Beverley?’
She regarded him coolly. ‘I am not so much bored, my lord, as bewildered and depressed.’
‘Indeed! Why?’
‘It is like being part of a pretty auction with myself as one of the cows, waiting for a bidder.’
‘You mean you feel you must find a husband?’
Her beautiful mouth curled in a mocking smile. ‘Why not? This is what all this charade is about.’
‘I do not like the picture of the cattle market. Inelegant.’
‘Then perhaps we are like elaborately dressed dolls on the toy-shop shelf waiting for a buyer.’
‘I was not aware you were a cynic.’
‘Believe me, sir, I am all things that are unfashionable. One of them is that I have a very healthy appetite.’
‘And I am stopping you eating by my questions? Fall to, Miss Beverley. I shall not disturb you until you are chopped and watered.’
With mixed feelings of pique and amusement, he watched the fair Belinda settle
down to enjoy her food.
At last he said, ‘May I speak now?’
‘If you wish.’
‘Are you usually so blunt?’
‘Not always. If I am hunting, I can be quite empty-headed and frivolous.’
‘Then I should be relieved that I am obviously not one of your quarries. But why? I am titled and rich and not deformed.’
‘You do not have the necessary requirement, my lord.’
His strange eyes flashed with anger. ‘The necessary requirement being Mannerling.’
‘Ah, you have heard all the old Beverley scandals,’ she said lightly. ‘Who has not? And you are shocked and disgusted at such unmaidenly behaviour. Think of your own house and lands, my lord. If both were taken from you, would you not do everything in your power to reclaim them?’
‘Of course. But I am a man.’
Belinda regarded him seriously. ‘Think of what you have just said. Does it not strike you as ridiculous? I confess when I go to the play to have much sympathy with old Shylock. When he begins his famous speech, ‘When you prick us, do we not bleed?’ he is saying, ‘Am I not a human being with human feelings just like you?’
He gave a reluctant laugh. ‘You must admit that masculine ambition does not sit well on beauty.’
‘No, I will not admit it. Women have every right to be as ambitious as men. But men are never thwarted so much in their ambitions. Women cannot join the army or navy, fight for their country, take a profession—they cannot even find work as a stay-maker. So what is left? Governess or seamstress; shop work, but only in a confectioner’s; inn skivvy—badly paid, degrading work.’
‘You invite me to be as blunt as you. How can women take any masculine jobs when their function in life is to bear children?’
‘Once a year, until they die. Women should be allowed a choice—profession or motherhood.’
‘It is no use kicking against the pricks, Miss Beverley. That state of affairs will never happen.’
‘So do you also consider education for women a waste of time, my lord?’
‘Gently born ladies are always educated, Miss Belinda.’
‘You pretend not to know what I mean. I am talking about education in the so-called masculine sciences, chemistry and mathematics.’
‘And you have been educated in such?’
‘Thoroughly, my lord. We have an excellent governess.’
‘And a most unusual one. You are fortunate.’
‘You approve!’
‘Oh, yes, beauty such as yours combined with
a well-informed mind is enchanting.’
Belinda made a disappointed moue. ‘Ah, you are flirting. But I am all out of blushes and simpers tonight, my lord. And here is this magnificent pudding lying in front of me, as yet untouched.’
‘Go to it! More wine?’
‘A glass of water, if you please, my lord.’
He waved to a waiter and asked him to fetch a pitcher of water and two glasses.
‘You do not eat your pudding, my lord?’
‘I do not like sweet things, Miss Beverley, and that includes silly débutantes, one of which you have hitherto given an excellent imitation of. Was that to ensnare Saint Clair?’
Afterwards, Belinda was to wonder miserably if she had run mad. But for the heady moment, she was enjoying being truthful. She smiled at him and he felt his heart give a treacherous lurch. ‘Of course.’
‘Now, Miss Beverley, let us be sensible. I like Saint Clair because he is harmless and without vice. But what is the charm of this house, this Mannerling, that can cause you to contemplate having to play such a role for the rest of your life?’
‘It is a role I would have to play only until such time as I was married, my lord.’
‘And love does not enter into your speculations?’
‘No, my lord. My elder sisters are fortunate, I suppose, but I can find nothing of that gentler
emotion in me. I think I would love my children and educate them well.’
‘But your frivolous husband, supposing it were Saint Clair, might have other ideas. We, in society, do not love our children.’ A trace of bitterness crept into his voice. ‘They are often sent out to foster-mothers and then returned to the nursery, only to see their parents on high days and holidays, when they are presented before them in their best clothes for a few moments. For a boy there is a tutor, then school, and then the army.’
‘Such having been your own experience?’
‘Such having been every boy’s experience, Miss Beverley. Give up your pursuit of Saint Clair, and try to find someone a trifle more intelligent. There are such men.’
‘Alas, Saint Clair has given up his pursuit of me.’
‘Which all goes to show his lack of worth. Shall we return to the ballroom?’
Belinda felt a stab of caution. ‘My lord, I must beg of you not to repeat any of our conversation. I do not know what came over me this evening.’