‘The most romantic thing,’ she plunged into it. ‘Only imagine his turning out to be my foster-brother, Giles Trentham, with a new name.’
‘Romantic indeed,’ his tone was dry. ‘But do not let him overwork you just the same. As to the plan Nelson made with his captains, fetch me pen and paper, and I will do my best to explain.’
‘Oh, I do thank you,’ she said at last. ‘Now I see just what poor Tremadoc meant.’
‘Have you your notes here? Perhaps if I were to look at them, I might be able to help?’
‘Oh, no, thank you! I keep them upstairs in my room, and they are quite illegible, I am afraid. He composed in such haste; it was all I could do to keep up with him.’
‘A remarkable man. There is to be a volume of sermons too, by what I hear.’
‘Yes, I hope so.’ This was all dangerous ground. She had always been afraid that he might recognise his own thoughts behind the words she had put into Tremadoc’s mouth. The longer publication of the sermons was put off, the happier she would be. She changed the subject. ‘Have you been in town long? What is the news from Oldchurch?’
‘Only since yesterday. It’s been a sad business down at Oldchurch. It will be a long day, I am afraid, before the poor women there realise how much better off they are without those sordid husbands of theirs. The more I have learned of the Oldchurch Club, the more I detest it. You must always remember, Mrs Tremadoc, that those men’s murdering your husband was in its way a very positive tribute to him.’
‘Cold comfort,’ she said.
‘But truth.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I know how you value the truth. I learned that as John Gerard. That was a happy time. I hope you have forgiven me the deception.’
‘I’d be an ingrate if I hadn’t, considering that it saved my life.’ She remembered those moments in the vault, felt uncontrollable colour rise in her face, and looked down at her notes to conceal it. ‘I shall never be able to thank you enough.’
‘The fact that you are alive will do! Caroline…’ He stopped, her weeds reminding him that it was still grossly too soon. ‘I think you should call at Chevenham House.’ It was his turn to change the subject. ‘The Duchess is very far from well. She misses you, I think.’
So he had gone there first. ‘I am not going out yet,’ she said coldly, and rose to her feet. ‘I must not keep you, Mr Mattingley. You will have a million friends to see, now that you are back in town.’
‘I am keeping you from your labours. Forgive me.’ He turned towards the door, turned back again. ‘You do look tired. I wish you would let me take you for a drive, or better still a ride in the park. I have a filly would suit you to a nicety, and it’s not too cold, if you dress warmly…Today? Tomorrow? I am at your service. It would put some colour in your cheeks.’
‘I’m sorry you find me so hag-ridden. It’s a bad time with me, and, I thank you, Mr Mattingley, but I am not going out at the moment.’
‘Of course not.’ He knew it for an absurd suggestion. ‘But let me send the filly, and a groom to escort you. There could be no impropriety in that. Please?’
‘I must be the judge of my own proprieties.’ She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Mr Mattingley, and thank you.’
Left alone, she would not let herself think about him, but went to work with a will while his elucidation of Aboukir Bay was fresh in her mind. Writing steadily for a couple of hours, she forgot everything else as she always did in the absorbed happiness of composition. And yet, this canto, supposedly by Tremadoc, really was extraordinarily difficult to write. She had been reduced to what she knew was shameless padding and had dragged in a description of a wild garden at Nelson’s house at Merton that was, in fact, her own beloved garden at Llanfryn. Writing it had given her the same pleasure and release she had had from the sonnets to Blakeney, and, to her relief, Giles had shown no signs of recognising the garden where he had grown up.
At last she stopped, tears in her eyes, and inspiration failing her. She put down the pen and leaned her head tiredly in her hands. Mattingley was right. She was exhausted. Only the need to finish the poem kept her going. Another few days and it would be done. What would she do then?
My occupation will be gone, she thought. The poem was a debt she owed Tremadoc. With it done, she would have to face her own bleak future. She must be some use in the world. Go to Amelia after all? Amelia was apparently the only person who needed her. No, for the moment Mrs Tremadoc did. And, besides, more than ever she was reluctant to have any dealings with Chevenham House. Mattingley had gone there first. He must be dangling after the Duchess again. What a sigh of relief he must have breathed when she refused his second offer of marriage; Mattingley the unmarrying man.
She rang for Mrs Jones and spent the rest of the day very busily checking stores in Mrs Tremadoc’s disorganised household. From the evidence of domestic chaos, she could tell that the old lady must have been much iller than anyone realised. If Tremadoc had only told her his mother was not well, she might have gone to London to look after her. Everything would have been quite different.
Foolish to think like that. A waste of time. Everything seemed a waste of time just now. Everything except the poem.
‘I’m tired, Mrs Jones,’ she said suddenly. ‘I think perhaps I will go to bed early and have a tray there. Just some broth?’
‘You don’t eat enough to keep a sparrow alive,’ protested Mrs Jones. ‘You get to bed, Mrs Tremadoc, my dear, and let me and Cook alone to send up something that will do you good.’
‘Why, thank you.’ The unexpected endearment had brought tears to her eyes. ‘You’re all very good to me.’
‘We love you,’ said Mrs Jones, surprising her.
Giles was to call next morning and Caroline refused breakfast in bed and was in her study early to copy out yesterday’s stanzas. To her relief, they read well and she was able to greet Giles with confidence when he arrived:
‘Not much longer now. I think you are safe for publication on the ninth. There is only the death of Nelson and then the lament for him by the Spirit of History. I think I should be able to have them copied in a week or so.’
‘You will be stopping work for Christmas, surely?’
‘Christmas?’ She looked at him vaguely. ‘Why?’
‘Caroline, I’m ashamed. I have been letting you overwork yourself shockingly. You look exhausted this morning. You must give yourself a little holiday over Christmas, even if it might mean we are a day or two late with the poem. What is that compared to your health? In fact,’ he coloured, ‘I have an invitation for you.’
‘An invitation?’
‘Yes, to dine at Chevenham House, quite in a family way, on Boxing Night. You will enjoy the celebrations there, I am sure, though of course it must be quiet this year because of Nelson’s death. All the more suitable for your first venture into society. There can be nothing improper in your going to what is in effect your home, Carrie.’
‘I do not quite understand,’ she said. ‘How does it come about that you bring this invitation, Giles?’ She had fallen without thinking into the old habit of Christian names and now sometimes wished she had not.
‘Why’ — his colour was higher than ever — ‘I took the liberty of calling on your mother yesterday. I felt it only right that I should, in all the circumstances. Did you know that that husband of hers has died at last? In debt, of course, at Pau. I felt it the least I could do to go and pay her my condolences.’ He laughed. ‘If they were in order, which I doubt! But she received me more than kindly, Carrie, and sent all sorts of messages to you. What a delightful woman she is! I am surprised you have not spoken of her more. And beautiful! She quite outshines that poor, bloated Duchess, and the cross-tempered daughter. It’s no wonder there are odds being laid in the clubs now as to what might happen if the Duchess should die.’
‘Die? The Duchess? What do you mean?’ Mattingley had said the Duchess was not well, but she had assumed that it was another of the migraine headaches that had always plagued her
.
‘She don’t look a bit well,’ said Giles. ‘Oh, merry as a grig on the surface, but hag-ridden underneath, if you understand me.’
Caroline did, only too well. It was the way she felt herself. ‘I must go to see her,’ she said. ‘As to Boxing Night, I will think about it. You are invited too, I collect?’
‘Why, yes, Mrs Winterton was so kind as to do so when she made me the bearer of her message. The Duke will be at home for Christmas, she tells me, and young Blakeney hopes to get leave. It will be quite a family reunion. Mrs Winterton urges that you come, Carrie. She wants you and the Duke reconciled, she says.’
‘Reconciled? You two have been mighty confidential.’
‘She was kindness itself and treated me like the old friend that I am.’ A look of self-satisfaction made him suddenly a stranger. ‘We have been plotting together for your good, Carrie. She quite understands how important the success of your husband’s poem must be to your prospects, and undertakes to do all she can to promote it.’
‘That’s why you wanted to meet her!’
‘That, Carrie, and other things which we will not discuss for the present. Now, I must leave you to your invaluable labours. May I carry your acceptance to Chevenham House?’
‘I mean to call there myself, thank you.’
‘I am delighted to hear it.’ He was full of irrepressible good humour.
Left alone, she thought for a few angry moments, then rang for Mrs Jones, ordered the carriage and hurried upstairs for bonnet and pelisse.
At Chevenham House, nothing had changed except the Duchess’ looks, which horrified her. Frances Winterton, who had been ailing when she last saw her, almost a year and a half before, was in blooming health now, but the Duchess was grey beneath an unsuccessful camouflage of powder and rouge. There was something almost indecent about seeing the two of them together, and it was disconcerting, too, to notice that the servants seemed to turn for their orders rather to Mrs Winterton than to their mistress. Was control of Chevenham House slipping into those grasping little hands before its mistress had even died?
‘I thought my emissary would be successful,’ said Mrs Winterton when the first greetings were over. ‘What a sly creature you are, and what a good mother I am to forgive you for letting me learn your romantic tale from servants’ gossip and the romantic hero himself.’
‘Romantic hero?’
‘Your long-lost brother. If that is what you call him.’ She laughed her knowing little laugh. ‘And for so long as you wish to.’ She patted the sofa beside her. ‘Come and sit beside me, and tell me all about this marvellous poem of poor Tremadoc’s. To tell truth, I never thought he had it in him. You must be a remarkable influence, child. I have commissioned your Giles Comfrey to bind me up a complete copy the minute the new canto is ready.’
‘It’s very good,’ the Duchess leaned forward on the chaise-longue. ‘I most particularly like the Spirits of Good and Evil, and the elegy for Mr Burke. That was a master-stroke. I hope there is to be an elegy for our poor lost Nelson by the Spirit of Good.’
‘There is indeed. I am…’ She had almost said writing it. ‘Transcribing it now. I am glad you liked the elegy, ma’am. Mr Tremadoc was pleased with it, too.’ This was entirely true.
‘The poor man. I was so very sorry, Caroline.’ She held out her hand and Caroline, who had so far stood awkwardly enough between the two of them, went straight to her, subsided on the floor beside her, and burst into tears.
‘That’s good. That’s what you need.’ The Duchess was stroking her hair. ‘Cry it out, Caroline. You were always too proud for your own good. Let the tears come now; they will help.’
‘What a scene of high tragedy!’ said Frances Winterton impatiently. ‘Anyone would think you had lost the man you loved, Carrie, rather than the one you had to marry.’
‘That will do, Frances.’ The Duchess spoke with sudden authority. ‘We have all lost a man of genius and must mourn him as such.’ She turned the conversation. ‘How is your poor mother-in-law, Caroline? I was sorry to hear about that too.’
‘Quite helpless,’ Caroline looked up at her and fought to control the tears. ‘It is only a question of time, I am afraid.’
‘And you are looking after her. That is as it should be. Afterwards, it will be time to think about your future.’
‘I have a crystal ball that shows it,’ said Frances Winterton. ‘We were always a romantic family.’ She laughed. ‘Now, Carrie, dry those ridiculous tears and tell me all about the pious Purchases of Denton Hall. How I laughed when Mattingley told us he had taken you there! I should just have liked to see poor old Uncle Dick’s face when he found himself lumbered with my daughter. And that puritanical cit of a wife he married! I wager she wasn’t best pleased to see you.’
‘They were kindness itself!’ said Caroline, wishing her mother would not use the nickname she hated.
‘And you came away just as soon as you could. No need to tell me! No need of a crystal ball either. Those gawking boys fell in love with you, of course, and poor Uncle Dick was neither to hold nor to bind. Oh, I wish I could have been there to see the havoc you wreaked among them. I almost begin to think you are my daughter after all. I must tell the Duke how our little shrimp is coming out. You’re coming on Boxing Night, of course, to draw the King with us and make that handsome cavalier of yours known to the Duke. And to Blakeney!’
Caroline kissed the Duchess and rose to her feet. ‘Mr Comfrey will most certainly come,’ she said. ‘But you must forgive me if I do not commit myself until the day. It must depend on how Mrs Tremadoc is.’
‘Quite right,’ said the Duchess. ‘But we will hope to see you, Caroline.’
Chapter Twenty
Giles called on Christmas Day. ‘Sweets to the sweet.’ He handed Caroline a huge bouquet of showy, scentless hothouse flowers. ‘I knew you would not allow me to give you the kind of gift I would wish to. These are merely a token of my…what shall I call it? My devotion! But you still look tired, Carrie. Perhaps a touch of colour for Chevenham House tomorrow? The Duke is a great connoisseur of beauty, from what I have heard.’ He seated himself comfortably while she rang for a maid to put the flowers in water. ‘Do you remember that time he came to Llanfryn, and how he called you a little shrimp? Lord, I was angry.’
‘You said I was the wisest shrimp in Christendom.’ It was heart-warming to remember it.
‘Only after he had gone, thank God. I must have had some sense, even then. Enough to be civil to a Duke! I still can’t quite believe he’s your father, Carrie.’
‘He hardly behaves as if he were!’
‘Now, Carrie.’ He shook a warning finger at her. ‘That is no way to speak of your father. I think I begin to understand what your mother means about this little critical way of yours. Your father is a great man, with a great man’s responsibilities.’
‘Great?’
‘A Duke. And that reminds me, do you not think, since it is Christmas, and a little for the Duchess’ sake, that you should abandon those unbecoming blacks of yours just for tomorrow?’
‘I am not at all sure that I shall go tomorrow.’
‘Not go? I never heard such nonsense in my life. Not go to meet the Duke and his heir?’ His voice was rising and she turned with relief as the maid announced, ‘Mr Mattingley.’
He, too, carried flowers, a fragrant little bunch of violets. ‘I am come to wish you the happiest possible Christmas, to give you these, and to bring all kinds of loving messages from the ladies at Chevenham House.’ He had been looking Giles up and down, now held out his hand. ‘You must be the long-lost brother. How do you do, Mr Comfrey? I hear great things of your new publishing house. I’m Mattingley.’ His tone suggested an ‘of course’.
‘Thank you. Yes, I am hoping to make Mrs Tremadoc’s fortune for her.’
‘And your own?’
‘Well.’ Giles laughed, not quite happily. ‘It goes together. I am to thank you, Mr Mattingley, for your kindness to my little sister
Carrie. A highly romantic story.’
‘I have thanked Mr Mattingley myself.’ Caroline sat down and gestured them to do likewise. How strange it was that when confronted with Mattingley, Giles’ careful elegance looked just slightly wrong. ‘And I wish you would not call me Carrie, Giles.’ It had annoyed her more than she had recognised at the time to have her mother pick up the nickname from Giles.
‘Brother and sister indeed.’ There was a laugh in Mattingley’s voice. ‘I am come to take my leave of you, Mrs Tremadoc.’ His entire attention was centred on her now. ‘I have received an urgent summons home to Hallam.’
‘How pleasant to have a country seat,’ said Giles.
‘I find it a responsibility, Mr Comfrey.’
‘You will not be at Chevenham House tomorrow?’ asked Caroline.
‘Alas, no. But I hope you will. I know how much they look forward to seeing you.’
The Duchess? Once again, he had been to Chevenham House first. What had he given the Duchess for Christmas?
‘I was telling Mr Comfrey,’ she said, ‘that I will have to see how my mother-in-law is before I decide whether to go. I think there is a change in her condition.’
‘I am sorry.’ He thought about it. ‘Or should I be glad for her?’
‘You should be glad for Carrie,’ said Giles. ‘Tied by the leg as she has been.’
‘Doing her duty, Mr Comfrey?’ Mattingley rose to his feet and Caroline was aware as always of the controlled strength that had helped to save her life. ‘Do you know, I find myself in agreement with Mrs Tremadoc. Caroline is a very much prettier name than Carrie.’
‘You think so?’ Giles had remained seated, now rose reluctantly as Caroline did. ‘I like to remember that we are family, Carrie and I.’ He sat down again after Mattingley had left. ‘Your mother’s right about him. Proud as be-damned! No wonder they call him “Mattingley the unmarrying man” in the clubs. I suppose if Princess Charlotte were a little older he might consider her, but I doubt he could bring himself to bear her tomboy manners, even with the reversion of a throne. He probably thinks a Mattingley worth ten of the House of Hanover anyway. I hope you’ve not let yourself be bamboozled by those grand airs of his, Carrie.’
The Lost Garden (The Purchas Family Series Book 5) Page 30
