Banishment (Daughters of Mannerling 1) Read online

  How well they did it, what an act, he thought as they clustered about him without one word of recrimination, all asking questions about his welfare.

  ‘I regret to say that a bolt of lightning struck me,’ he said, holding on to a chairback for support. ‘I was knocked unconscious. The physician said it was a miracle I was not struck dead. Imagine my horror when I regained my senses to remember with my first waking thought poor Miss Isabella. “Do not move,” they cried, but I was determined. I rode hell for leather back to the field and found Miss Isabella gone. I came straight here.’

  ‘Do sit down, Mr Judd. Betty, fetch the brandy,’ said Lady Beverley. The sisters, with the exception of Isabella, murmured little sympathetic noises. But the storm did not break until after I had been in that field for hours, thought Isabella. And if he rushed straight here, then how is it he has changed his clothes?

  Her heart felt heavy and she became aware that the rest were darting anxious little looks in her direction. She forced herself to ask solicitously after his welfare. They all fussed about him, placing him in the best chair by the fire, finding him a footstool for his feet, and putting a silk cushion behind his head.

  ‘So how did you get home, Miss Isabella?’ he finally asked, those odd light-green eyes of his fixed on her face.

  ‘Lord Fitzpatrick came by and drove me here,’ said Isabella.

  ‘Fitzpatrick, hey? I sent him an invitation to call, which he refused. Who does he think he is, hey? But he’ll come to my ball. They’ll all come to Mannerling for a ball.’

  Lady Beverley gave a little preliminary cough. ‘I would like to offer my services to you, Mr Judd. We have given many balls at Mannerling and I am accounted a fine hostess.’

  ‘No need for that,’ he said, ‘Miss Isabella here can give me any advice I need.’ He was beginning to enjoy the comedy, to enjoy the triumphant exchange of glances that this last statement had caused.

  ‘I should consider myself honoured,’ said Isabella politely.

  Mr Judd said he could do with some help in drawing up the invitation list. He had meant to ask Mr Ducket, but they had told him at the inn at Hedgefield that Mr Ducket had left. ‘We can start now,’ said Isabella. She produced sheets of paper and a lead pencil and then Lady Beverley began to tell her which names to write down. To Mr Judd’s malicious and secret glee, Lady Beverley began to forget that it was not she who was giving the ball and said things like, ‘I suppose we shall have to ask the Tomneys, although they are really quite common and the daughter is a hoyden; and put down the Franks, unexceptionable, although I believe she drinks.’

  Look at ’em, marvelled Mr Judd, lost their house and lost their lands and pretty much all of their possessions and yet as proud and haughty as ever.

  Well, well, pride could be lost, too, and he, Ajax Judd, was going to see to that!

  FIVE

  Better be courted and jilted

  Than never be courted at all

  THOMAS CAMPBELL

  Isabella looked foward to her ride with the viscount. There was nothing to worry her there. She could be herself, be easy and friendly, not try to pretend to like a man she secretly despised. For she was now honest enough to admit to herself that she did not particularly like Mr Judd. But she lived in a world where ladies of the ton married men every day whom they did not particularly like – because families or lawyers or both had arranged the match, or simply because a lady just had to get married. And as the eldest sister, she felt the pressure from the others to get them back their home.

  Mrs Kennedy arrived with the viscount in separate carriages, with Satan tied to the viscount’s curricle, which was a signal for Lady Beverley to retire to her bedchamber with a headache. Secretly she blamed her husband for all the indignities that had been heaped on her head, and Lady Beverley considered the affection with which even Jessica had begun to greet the arrival of Mrs Kennedy just one of those indignities.

  She did not object to Isabella’s riding out with the viscount. She felt that perhaps Mr Judd might be spurred to warmer behaviour if he thought he had a rival.

  The day was fresh and windy, with great white clouds tumbling across the sky. Isabella praised Mrs Kennedy’s needlework to her nephew and the viscount laughed and said if they ever lost all their money, he was sure his aunt could support him by turning professional dressmaker. Then he said, ‘And what of Judd? What had befallen him?’

  ‘Mr Judd said he had been struck by lightning and passed out.’

  ‘But you had been there for ages when I found you and the storm had not yet started!’

  ‘That is what he says and I must believe him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It would be impolite to do otherwise.’

  ‘And did Sir William and Lady Beverley give him his character for having abandoned their daughter?’

  ‘They could hardly do that when the contrite gentleman came straight to Brookfield to give his apologies and say he had been struck by lightning.’

  ‘His clothes all charred?’

  ‘He had his evening clothes on.’

  ‘Hardly the young Lochinvar riding directly to his lady’s side.’

  ‘Let us not talk about him. Have you received a call from our good vicar?’

  ‘Ah, Mr Stoppard and his daughter Mary. Yes, they called several times.’

  ‘They have not called on us once,’ said Isabella bitterly.

  ‘That was always the way of toad-eaters. Talking of toad-eaters, have you ever seen one of those mountebanks’ creatures actually eat a toad?’

  ‘Once, when I was small, when our nurse took us to the fair. She lost her employ with us because of it.’

  Their horses were ambling slowly together under the trees. Isabella still vividly remembered that day. Mountebanks and their toad-eaters were popular figures. After the toad-eater had swallowed a toad and slumped to the boards of the mountebank’s stage, the mountebank or quack would force a cure-all through the supposedly dying lips of the toad-eater, who would then leap to his feet. The mountebank would then make his way through the crowd, selling his cure-all to the gullible. Isabella remembered standing in the crowd watching the performance, remembered how frightened they had all been of the noise and jostling of the fair, of the crowd of ballad singers, bear wards, geomancers, hocus-pocus men, jugglers, mandrake men, merry andrews, puppet masters, rope dancers, tooth drawers, and tumblers. How on their return to the cool elegance of Mannerling they had told their mother of the visit to the fair, how Lady Beverley’s thin lips had folded into an even thinner line, and how the old nurse had been sent packing. And she remembered the nurse’s tears and her own guilt, knowing somehow that the nurse had only sought to entertain them and that they should not have complained.

  ‘Why on earth did she lose her job with you?’ she realized the viscount was asking.

  She gave a weak smile and said, ‘Visits to fairs were not approved of by my parents.’

  ‘And did you terrifying children subsequently get rid of any governess who did not please you?’

  Isabella bit her lip. ‘Such governesses as we have had, and the one Lizzie and the twins had before we moved to Brookfield, were sad, respectable creatures. I sometimes fret that our schooling has been genteel rather than educational, but after what happened to Nurse, we all made sure we did not complain. What can such women do if they are turned off without a reference?’

  ‘And yet turned off they were, for you said “governesses.” ’

  ‘Ah, well, as to that, Mama would meet someone at a rout or ball who would puff themselves up over the accomplishments of their daughters, accomplishments we did not excel in, such as water-colour painting or pianoforte playing, and so another governess had to be found to compete. But Mama always thought she was doing the best for us,’ added Isabella loyally.

  ‘You do not seem to have had a normal childhood. Did you not play in the stables or the hayloft or get up to any mischief?’

  Isabella gave a little sigh. ‘I suppose w
e did not. It was always borne in us that we were ladies of fortune and rank and must always speak in low voices, never show vulgar animation, and yet we were happy. We had Mannerling, you see.’

  And Mannerling, he thought, became substitute for human love and affection.

  He felt he should begin to back away from her and not get too close. If he married her, then he would have the weight of the Beverley family around his neck. The first thing that selfish old charlatan, Sir William, would want him to do would be to buy back Mannerling from Judd, which of course he would not. Then he had to think more clearly about Isabella’s character and not be blinded by her beauty. Perhaps the damage had already been done and she could never love anyone better than she loved Mannerling.

  ‘Let’s gallop,’ he said abruptly. They spurred their horses and side by side raced down the bridle-path and out into the open country. Isabella felt a sudden rush of freedom and joy, as if she were flying away from all her cares – from Mr Judd, from the almost constant shadow of the Beverleys’s ruin.

  The great horse surged under her as if infected by her gladness. With a feeling of triumph, she came abreast of the viscount and they hurtled out of the trees and across the fields, finally coming to a stop where the fields met the Hedgefield road.

  ‘Bravo!’ he cried. ‘You ride well.’

  Isabella glowed with pleasure, her eyes meeting his in open friendship. ‘Let us ride on to the Green Man,’ he said, ‘and have something to drink.’

  They cantered into Hedgefield and into the courtyard of the inn.

  He lifted her down from the saddle and she lowered her eyelashes and turned slightly pink as she felt the pressure of his hands at her waist.

  He looked at her quizzically as he led her into the inn, at her averted face.

  But when they were seated and sharing a jug of lemonade, she appeared to recover her composure. She was beginning to chat happily about the fine points of Satan when the vicar and his daughter walked into the tap.

  ‘Oh, Miss Beverley,’ cooed Mary, stopping by their table and dropping a curtsy. ‘Have you seen Mr Judd?’

  ‘No,’ said Isabella. The landlord came into the tap at that moment and the vicar called to him, ‘Have you seen Mr Judd of Mannerling?’

  ‘Not since yesterday,’ said the landlord. ‘He was playing cards here all afternoon.’

  ‘You cannot mean Mr Judd,’ exclaimed Isabella. ‘He was struck by lightning, was he not?’

  The landlord scratched his head. ‘Reckon I would ha’ heard of that, had it happened.’

  ‘What gave you such a quaint notion!’ declared Mary.

  Stiff-necked pride stopped Isabella from saying that it was none other than Mr Judd himself who had told her so. The viscount, to her relief, remained silent. Mary’s black eyes darted from one to the other. Then she said, ‘We have received our invitations to the ball at Mannerling.’

  Isabella felt another shock go through her. No invitations had arrived at Brookfield House. ‘Of course,’ Mary went on, ‘it will not be so grand as it was in Sir William’s day.’

  ‘Do not let us keep you,’ said the viscount in a flat voice.

  ‘Oh . . . yes, we will be on our way,’ said Mr Stoppard hurriedly. ‘I shall be calling on you soon, Lord Fitzpatrick.’

  ‘Pray do not. Mrs Kennedy, my aunt, is not in the best of health and we do not wish visitors.’

  ‘In that case, we will eagerly await her recovery,’ said the vicar, a red spot on each cheek. He recognized a snub, and so he should, thought Isabella bitterly. He had already had a long life of toadying and must have become used to it.

  ‘Dreadful people,’ murmured the viscount, and despite her distaste for them, Isabella was surprised at the extent of her own dislike. The toadying Stoppards had been so much part of the Mannerling life that until the Fall, as she called their ruin to herself, she had taken such grovelling adulation as her due. Again a picture of Mr Judd rose up in her mind. To go to such lengths for such a man! And then she was suddenly impatient with the viscount’s company, for it was surely his company which was making her lose sight of her objective.

  The viscount watched amused as different emotions followed each other on Isabella’s face like cloud shadows crossing a field.

  He suddenly thought with a tug at his heart that if she would forget about Mannerling completely, if he could be sure of that, then he would ask her to marry him. Certainly the Beverleys in their pride had warned him off, but their circumstances were different now and they could not afford to be so choosey.

  John, the footman from Mannerling, stood over in a corner with a tankard of shrub and covertly watched the couple. He was anxious to ingratiate himself with his master, Mr Judd, who was threatening to turn him into a hermit. The gossip among the Mannerling servants was that Mr Judd would marry Miss Isabella Beverley. Did Mr Judd know of the courtship of Lord Fitzpatrick? Besides, such a piece of gossip might make Mr Judd lose interest in this eldest Beverley daughter and that might be all to the good. Too many of the servants had shown their open dislike of the Beverleys, their lack of sympathy for the family’s plight. If Isabella were to become mistress of Mannerling, she might persuade her husband to get rid of them all and hire new ones.

  He slid quietly out before the couple could see him. He had been sent to check on how the repairs to the carriage were coming along and had already done that. So he rode back to Mannerling and asked the butler if he might see Mr Judd in private. The butler, Chubb, frowned and said anything that had to be said to the master must be said through him, and so John retreated, balked. But he waited for an opportune moment, which came in the early evening, when he saw Mr Judd walking in the grounds smoking a cheroot.

  He darted out of the door and approached him. ‘Sir,’ he began, coming up to him.

  Mr Judd swung round, his eyes narrowing as he observed his least favourite footman.

  ‘I have come by some intelligence that may amaze you,’ said John pompously.

  ‘I doubt it.’ Mr Judd dropped his smouldering cheroot on the lawn and ground it in with his heel.

  ‘I saw Miss Isabella Beverley in the Green Man with Lord Fitzpatrick.’

  Mr Judd looked at his footman with narrowed eyes. ‘And what’s that to do with me, popinjay?’

  ‘Well, sir, they were very close, if you take my meaning. All alone, too. No maid or footman.’

  Mr Judd strode away and John tittuped after him on his high heels.

  The master of Mannerling was thinking furiously. This was not working out as he had planned. He must behave in a warmer manner towards Isabella. He had deliberately not sent out the Beverleys’s invitation to his ball so as to ‘make them sweat a bit,’ as he maliciously put it to himself.

  He stopped so abruptly that John nearly cannoned into him. ‘You can be of use to me,’ said Mr Judd. ‘I want you to go direct to Brookfield House. I found the Beverleys’s invitations still on my desk. Take the carriage. I want you to bring Miss Isabella back with you . . . for dinner. I will write a letter.’

  He strode off towards the house, with the footman mincing after him.

  Isabella and the viscount rode easily and companionably back to Brookfield House. For the time being, Isabella had forgotten about Mr Judd and about her ambition to marry him. But Lady Beverley herself came out to meet her daughter. ‘Do come into the house immediately, Isabella,’ she cried. ‘We have such news.’

  The viscount dismounted and lifted Isabella down under the hard stare of Lady Beverley’s disapproving eyes. ‘Perhaps Lord Fitzpatrick would care to step inside for a glass of wine,’ said Isabella.

  ‘Oh, I am sure he has much to attend to,’ said Lady Beverley hurriedly.

  Isabella turned red with mortification at her mother’s rudeness. The viscount swung himself easily into his curricle, touched his hat, and rode off, with Satan following behind.

  ‘How could you?’ fumed Isabella as she followed her mother into the house. ‘How rude! And after all Lord Fitzpatrick’s
kindness.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Lady Beverley eagerly. ‘You must get changed and put on one of your prettiest gowns. The Mannerling carriage is round the back, with John, the footman, waiting for you. You are to go to dinner at Mannerling!’

  Isabella stood stock-still in the dark hall. In her mind’s eye another Isabella raced away across the fields on Satan’s back, happy and free.

  ‘And he has sent the invitations to his ball with such a pretty note of apology saying he had found them down the back of his desk. Good heavens, child, do not stand there as if you had been struck by lightning like Mr Judd. Bustle about!’

  ‘Mr Judd was not struck by lightning,’ said Isabella flatly. ‘He was playing cards in the Green Man yesterday.’

  ‘What? Oh, why are we wasting time? Betty! Betty! Come and see to your mistress and get a good gown on. You are to go to Mannerling with Miss Isabella!’

  Isabella sat in the Mannerling carriage an hour later, scented and pomaded and wearing a heavy gold silk dinner gown. Betty covertly watched Isabella’s sad face and wondered not for the first time why miss did not settle for the handsome viscount instead of wasting time with such a dreadful man as Mr Judd.

  The weather had changed again, to match Isabella’s mood. Rain pattered on the roof of the carriage, and as they turned in at the gates of Mannerling, the wind rose in a great gust which sounded like an enormous sigh.

  Isabella wondered if Mrs Judd disapproved of her or if that lady had a perpetually sour air and expression. Conversation during dinner was extremely stilted. Mrs Judd complained about the size of Mannerling and the uppitiness of the servants. Mr Judd ate great quantities of food and occasionally broke off from eating to pay Isabella a heavy compliment which did not please her. She wished he would not speak with his mouth full or declare that the best way to eat peas was with a knife smeared in butter, and only man-milliners chased them around the plate with a two-pronged fork.

  I am going to marry this man, thought Isabella bleakly, and therefore this will be just the first of many such evenings. But Mrs Judd would not stay in residence, and surely he would let her family move back with her.