Intrigue (Daughters of Mannerling 2) Page 2

  ‘Ah, as to that, I had no immediate need of money, having saved from my previous employ. But thank you for telling me this. I shall demand my wages immediately. There was no question of a trial, believe me.’

  Miss Trumble said good night to him and returned to the house. Bracing her shoulders, she went into the parlour where Lady Beverley was seated at her desk, going over the household accounts.

  ‘My lady,’ began Miss Trumble.

  Lady Beverley turned round and gave a gracious smile. In that moment, the ghost of a pretty young girl appeared behind her faded and discontented features, showing that she had once been as beautiful as her daughters.

  ‘I did not receive my wages on quarter-day, my lady.’

  Lady Beverley stood up and began to walk about the room, picking things up and then discarding them. ‘As to that,’ she said finally, ‘I understood you were here on trial, and I have not yet received your references.’

  ‘I was not aware that I was here on trial. Perhaps I should seek other employ?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Lady Beverley with a trace of petulance in her voice that showed she had realized she would have to pay the governess’s wages after all. She was proud of this elderly governess with her aristocratic air and manners, which Lady Beverley felt added to the family’s consequence. ‘I shall have the money for you in the morning. I would also like you to accompany us to this ball.’

  ‘In what capacity, my lady?’

  ‘Why, as chaperone to my girls.’

  ‘But you will be there yourself, and I have not been invited.’

  ‘No matter,’ said Lady Beverley haughtily. ‘I will send a note by Barry informing the Deverses that you will be accompanying us.’

  Miss Trumble was about to protest, but the protest died on her lips. She was suddenly curious to see for the first time this great mansion that held the Beverleys in thrall.

  Jessica peered round her bedroom door and watched the thin, erect back of the governess ascending to her room at the top of the house. She waited until the bobbing light of Miss Trumble’s bed-candle had disappeared around a turn in the stairs before she retreated into her room and firmly closed the door.

  ‘Now we can talk freely,’ she said to her sisters, who were sprawled about the room. ‘To be fair, one cannot expect such as a mere governess to understand our love of Mannerling. Do you think Mr Harry Devers will be fetched by the blue muslin or the white?’

  Rachel said, ‘I think you should borrow my silver overdress.’

  ‘But that is your favourite, besides being quite the prettiest thing you have.’

  Abigail, Rachel’s twin, said, ‘But it is you, Jessica, who is to marry Mr Devers and get our home back for us, so I think you should have the pick of what we have.’

  The others murmured their agreement.

  Lizzie looked around at her sisters. ‘If only we knew more about these Deverses. Barry could tell us, I am sure, but Mama says we are not to speak to him or to any of the other servants.’

  ‘Quite right, too,’ said Belinda languidly. ‘We had begun to forget our station in life.’

  ‘And yet,’ said Abigail, her fair hair glinting in the soft light from the oil-lamp, ‘servants’ gossip could be so useful. All we know is that the Deverses are very high in the instep.’

  ‘So are we,’ said Jessica. ‘It means they will not have vulgarized Mannerling like Mary and the dreadful Judd did.’

  ‘Try on your ball gown and let’s have a rehearsal,’ urged Lizzie.

  So, laughing and giggling, they helped Jessica into the white muslin gown and the silver gauze overdress. Abigail then acted the part of Harry Devers, and Jessica flirted so outrageously that they were soon all helpless with laughter.

  Upstairs Miss Trumble heard that laughter and wished in her heart that all the joy and excitement were for a worthier reason.

  Two days before the ball, Miss Trumble gave up all efforts at trying to teach her overexcited charges and obtained Lady Beverley’s permission to take the carriage into the neighbouring town of Hedgefield. Barry was driving. It was another perfect day. Miss Trumble realized as they drove farther away from Brookfield House that she had been beginning to find the atmosphere of almost mad excitement very disturbing. How five intelligent and beautiful girls could suddenly decide that it was only a matter of time before they all returned to Mannerling was beyond her. If by any remote chance Harry Devers proposed to Jessica and married her, what then? How could the rest of the Beverley family take up residence, with Mr and Mrs Devers very much alive? Besides, there had been no gossip at all about young Harry planning to sell out of the army. He was home only on leave.

  ‘Is Mannerling so very beautiful?’ she asked Barry.

  ‘So people do reckon, miss,’ said Barry. ‘I can’t see it myself, having taken the place in dislike on account of what it nearly did to Miss Isabella, not to mention poor little Miss Lizzie trying to drown herself.’

  ‘Is it haunted?’

  ‘No, but ’twill be if there are any more deaths. John, an oily footman who worked for the Beverleys, then Mr Judd and who is now with the Deverses told me last market day that he had seen the ghost of Mr Judd, but he always was a silly fellow.’

  ‘Have you seen the Deverses?’ asked Miss Trumble as they began to drive into the centre of Hedgefield.

  Barry nodded. ‘They were in town last market day. Why, there they are!’ He pointed with his whip.

  A tall lady and gentleman were standing outside the Green Man, followed by a lady’s-maid and two footmen. Mrs Devers was expensively and fashionably gowned. Her husband was a miracle of good tailoring. He wore a white wig, curled and pomaded, under a high-crowned beaver. With them was a younger man, possibly in his early thirties. He was standing with his hat in his hand. His black hair was cut in a fashionable Brutus crop. He had a clever, handsome face, a proud nose, and intelligent black eyes.

  ‘That must be Mr Harry with them,’ said Barry, ‘although he’s older than I was led to believe.’

  For the first time, Miss Trumble began to have some hopes about the Deverses. Mr and Mrs Devers were pretty much what she had imagined them to be. But their son appeared intelligent, good humoured, and very, very attractive.

  Perhaps this ball might not be so bad after all.

  Jessica found herself becoming increasingly nervous about the ball. It is very easy to allow other people to put you into roles and you may end up acting that role for the rest of your life. Jessica had certainly maintained that Isabella lacked ‘bottom,’ that she should have kept her sights on Mannerling and forgotten about love, the implication being that she, Jessica, would never have been so weak. And so her sisters looked up to her as a strong character, the sister of iron, and Jessica came to believe that was exactly what she was. But when she was alone, she felt weak and vulnerable and prey to doubts. Had her parents been more loving and less proud, then perhaps Mannerling would not have been so predominant in her thoughts. As children when they long for home think of their mother and father, so Jessica thought of the cool elegant rooms of Mannerling and remembered her days there as being full of sunshine and laughter, which had not been at all the case. She forgot that her hitherto uneducated mind had made many of the days long and tedious, particularly after the long winters set in.

  So basically rather timid and shy, Jessica, like most shy people, found it easier to play the part thrust on her, and the bolder and more ‘clear-headed’ she seemed in her ambitions, the more her sisters appeared to admire her.

  She was taking one of her solitary, restless walks around the garden one evening when she was joined by Lizzie. Like her sisters, Jessica never liked to dwell too deeply on Lizzie’s attempted suicide, putting it down to the temporary madness of a delicate nature. As other girls might find excuses for the monstrous behaviour of a drunken father, so did Jessica shy away from the truth that an obsession with Mannerling had nearly killed Lizzie.

  But Lizzie with her fey features seemed quite cheerful and relaxed as she smiled up at her sister, but then she, thought Jessica with another stab of worry, was not obliged to save the family fortunes.

  ‘It is all very exciting, is it not?’ ventured Lizzie. ‘Of course you will be successful, Jessica. You always are.’

  ‘At what?’ asked Jessica with a sudden stab of cynicism. ‘I have been hitherto put to no great test apart from deciding which gown to wear.’

  ‘But you are so strong!’ said Lizzie, her green eyes alight with admiration, that admiration which was so essential to the bolstering of Jessica’s flagging spirits.

  ‘Lizzie,’ protested Jessica, ‘you are surely the only one who will not be disappointed if I fail. As you said, it is only a building.’

  ‘That was before the invitations came,’ said Lizzie. ‘I could not help remembering how upset and miserable Isabella was when she thought she had to marry Mr Judd. But you will not be like that, Jessica. Nothing worries you. I envy you.’

  ‘What worries me,’ said Jessica slowly, ‘is that if I fail, you might try to do something stupid again, Lizzie.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Lizzie quickly. ‘I am so ashamed of that. I would never try to take my own life again, no matter what happened. I . . . I love you, Jessica, and I am most proud of you.’

  Jessica’s eyes filled suddenly with tears, and she turned her head away, glad of the increasing darkness of the summer’s evening. She wished suddenly for someone to lean on, someone in whom she could confide her weakness.

  ‘Come in, girls. You are out in that damp night air, are you not?’ came Lady Beverley’s voice from the parlour window.

  Lizzie turned and scampered back towards the house. With lagging steps, Jessica followed her.

  TWO

  Ha! Ha! Family Pride, how do yo
u like that, my buck?

  W. S. GILBERT

  On the day of the ball, Brookfield House was filled with the smells of lotions, pomades, washes, and hot hair from the frequent use of curling tongs.

  To the sisters’ surprise, Miss Trumble insisted on helping with the preparations and proved to be an excellent hairdresser. She also knew how to drape a shawl to perfection and how to make head-dresses of real flowers.

  Jessica felt the day was flying past at a great rate. She had hoped it would go more slowly so that she could dream, could savour the moment when she would be back at Mannerling again.

  But all too soon the great moment arrived when they climbed into the rented carriage with Barry up on the box in a second-hand livery and white wig and cocked hat. It was a tight squeeze inside the carriage, and the sisters squabbled about crushed gowns. But as they turned in at the great gates of Mannerling, an almost religious silence fell on them.

  Miss Trumble found herself becoming nervous. In their silence, the Beverley sisters seemed fragile and vulnerable.

  Then the carriage stopped. Miss Trumble followed them out and stood for a moment looking up at the house. It was large and graceful, with two wings springing out from a central block and a porticoed entrance, but she could not see that it was anything out of the common way.

  In silence they entered the hall. It was imposing. A double staircase rose from the hall to the chain of saloons on the first floor where the ball was being held. White marble statues of Roman gods and goddesses stood on the white-and-black-tiled floor. Huge arrangements of hothouse flowers scented the air. They went to the room off the hall to leave their wraps; the housemaid Betty, elevated to lady’s-maid, following them. It was when they were ready to go out again and up the stairs that Lady Beverley noticed with surprise the richness of her governess’s gown. Miss Trumble was wearing a dull-gold silk gown of a cut that Lady Beverley felt was more modish than her own. ‘You are very fine, Miss Trumble,’ she said with a sour note in her voice. ‘My previous employer was very generous,’ said Miss Trumble placidly. ‘This is one of her gowns. Shall we go upstairs?’

  Lady Beverley led the way, and the others walked behind. Miss Trumble hoped that the Deverses would not protest at her presence. But when she curtsied to Mr and Mrs Devers and their son Harry, she promptly forgot her own worries in a sharp stab of disappointment. For Harry was not the attractive, intelligent-looking man she had seen outside the Green Man in Hedgefield. Certainly Harry Devers was handsome, tall with fair hair and fine grey eyes. He had a square jaw and trim waist. But there was a raffishness emanating from him, and she did not like the way his eyes ranged over the sisters, settling on Jessica with a predatory look.

  They went on into the ballroom, which was composed of three saloons. Under the painted ceilings, dancers were performing the cotillion. ‘Dear me,’ said Jessica, fanning herself vigorously, ‘there is Mary Stoppard; I mean Mary Judd. Also, there are a number of quite undistinguished people here.’

  ‘Mannerling looks beautiful,’ said Lizzie. ‘Do you think they still have the portraits of our ancestors in the Long Gallery?’

  ‘It does not matter,’ said Jessica. ‘Mr Harry is an extremely handsome and agreeable man, do you not think?’

  When the cotillion ended, Miss Trumble saw with satisfaction that all her charges had partners for the next dance, and so she made her way to a row of chairs against the wall. She sat down next to a stout lady who introduced herself as Miss Turlow. On learning she was sitting next to a mere governess, Miss Turlow was inclined to cut this Miss Trumble, but her desire for gossip was too great.

  ‘I am surprised to see the Beverleys here,’ began Miss Turlow. ‘I heard from my maid that the Deverses finally decided to invite them because they thought it might be sport to watch one of the young ladies trying to ensnare their son. I called at the vicarage and I said to Mrs Judd that they would not come, being insulted by such a last-minute invitation, but she said they would be so desperate to see if there might not be any way they could get their hands on Mannerling again, that no insult would stop them from attending.’

  Miss Trumble stood up, turned, and looked down at Miss Turlow. ‘You are a malicious and unkind gossip,’ she said. She walked away and left an enemy behind her.

  But try as she would, Miss Trumble could not quite escape hearing more cruel gossip about the Beverleys. Her heart sank Their ambition was so obvious, so vulgarly obvious, and they had probably offended quite a number of people in the days of their greatness. She at last found a seat in a corner.

  ‘May I fetch you some refreshment, ma’am?’ The voice was husky, light, and pleasant. She looked up into the face of the man she had mistaken for Harry Devers.

  ‘You are most kind. A glass of champagne would be most welcome.’

  He bowed and went off and then returned after only a few minutes carrying two glasses of champagne. He handed one to her, looked around, saw a small rout chair a little way away, fetched it, and drew it up next to her.

  ‘You should be dancing with the pretty ladies,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘But thank you for the champagne. You are a relative of the Deverses?’

  ‘I am Harry’s cousin. Allow me to present myself. Robert Sommerville, at your service.’

  ‘I am Miss Trumble, governess to the Beverley sisters.’

  ‘Ah, the beautiful Beverleys. They used to live here, did they not?’

  ‘Yes, Mannerling was once their home.’

  ‘We are in the same line of business, Miss Trumble.’

  ‘Indeed, sir? You look much too grand to be a tutor.’

  ‘And you appear too grande-dame to be a governess. I am a professor at Oxford University.’

  ‘Of what, sir?’

  ‘Dead languages, Miss Trumble. Latin and Greek.’

  ‘Ah, that explains it.’

  ‘My dry-as-dust manner?’

  ‘No, sir. I saw you in Hedgefield and thought you might be the son of the house. By your clothes and manner, you could be any Bond Street aristocrat, were it not for your obvious intelligence.’

  ‘And you do not credit dandies with intelligence?’

  ‘I am often too severe in my judgements, I admit.’

  ‘You said you were governess to the Beverley sisters.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘But not to all of them? The beauty of the family, the eldest, is surely past the age of needing a governess.’

  ‘I am unusual in that I consider a few ladylike accomplishments do not make an education. With Lady Beverley’s permission, I am educating them in what I consider a proper manner, that is, in mathematics, physics, and chemistry. We have not yet started on the dead languages.’

  ‘You will turn them into the sort of ladies a man like me dreams about, beautiful and educated.’

  ‘You are a rara avis, sir. Most gentlemen are supposed to prefer stupid women.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘I have certainly found it so.’

  ‘If that is the case, and you have five marriageable young ladies to school, why did you decide to give them the sort of education usually only taught to men?’

  ‘In the hope that they can produce intelligent sons, but more than that. When their looks have gone, they will need something to furnish their empty days.’

  His black eyes were shrewd and sympathetic. Did Miss Trumble feel she had once lost love through being too clever?

  Lady Beverley appeared before them. Miss Trumble rose to her feet, as did Robert Sommerville. She introduced him. Lady Beverley, on learning that he was a relative of the family, was all that was gracious, but she was annoyed with her governess, who had no right to be sitting, chatting with a guest on what had looked from across the floor to be equal terms. Besides, her gown was much too modish for her lowly station. ‘I would like you to find Betty and fetch my vinaigrette,’ said Lady Beverley.

  Miss Trumble curtsied and left. ‘You are fortunate in having such a charming and highly intelligent governess,’ said Robert.

  Lady Beverley promptly forgot that she had been annoyed with the governess. ‘You have the right of it. We Beverleys can still command the best.’

  Her face brightened perceptibly. Robert followed her gaze. Harry Devers was dancing with Jessica. They made a handsome couple. Jessica’s silver overdress and filmy muslin gown floated out around her body. It was the year in which skirts had been raised enough to show a glimpse of the ankles. Jessica Beverley’s were excellent, thought the professor dreamily. He decided to see if he could secure a dance with her, preferably the supper one, to see if her character matched her beauty. Then he smiled to himself. If Harry Devers had not already secured that supper dance, then someone else must have booked it.