'Leave her to me, my lord.'
*
Jane wept inconsolably as Elinor guided her up to her bedroom, persuaded her to undress, and go to bed.
'I'll bring your dinner up to you,' she said, but Jane shook her head and declared she could not eat a morsel.
'I've been so foolish!' she declared when she was in bed and reclining on the pillows. Her sobs had ceased, but she was twisting a handkerchief into knots.
'How do you mean?'
'I'm no longer Lady Tremaine!' Jane exclaimed. 'I married William because I wanted to have a title, be someone people looked up to!'
Elinor had long suspected this, and she had no consoling words for her sister.
'You could not have guessed Edmund was still alive and might return,' was all she could manage.
'No, of course not, and it's so strange he has. What on earth could have kept him away from us for so long? If only he had come back before I married William!'
'My dearest, it's useless wishing the past has not happened. What we need to consider now is what you mean to do.'
'What can I do? I'm trapped! I'm married to William, and Edmund is disgusted with me. I could tell, by the way he looked at me. Even if William died tomorrow, Edmund would never again want to marry me!'
'Is that all you care for, gaining a title?' Elinor asked, permitting her disgust with Jane to show. Edmund deserved better, and she supposed it was fortunate for him Jane was no longer within his reach.
Jane began to sob again, but managing to spell out her frustration.
'You may scoff, but what have you done to mend our situation? When Papa died and left us with nothing, marriage was the only possibility. You know I could never become a governess or teacher, I'm no blue stocking like you! Edmund liked me, he was always polite, so why shouldn't I have married him? If only we could have been wed before he went back to the army! Then this disaster would not have happened, I would not be tied to William, carrying his beastly child, and having to live the rest of my life in some tiny house near Bude!'
'You might have been thought a widow, and might have remarried, which would have been even more of a disaster!'
'You are unkind.'
'Never mind that. You will grow accustomed,' Elinor said, and recalled the packet Mr Bellamy had given her earlier that day. 'I have something for you. Remember, Mr Bellamy wanted to see you, but you were too ill to go?'
'What is it?' Jane asked, with a sigh.
'I'll fetch it.'
When Jane saw the miniature and the message on the back she began to smile reminiscently.
'Richard! Oh, how well I recall him, so handsome, and so much in love with me! But his papa would not hear of our marriage. He said we were too young, and sent Richard away to the West Indies, where his uncle had a plantation. Oh, if only he were here now, he would rescue me!'
'How could he?' Elinor demanded, thoroughly tired of her sister's megrims.
Jane smiled. 'He was six years older than I, so elegant, and his family were wealthy, though they were only ship owners. He would take me out of this disaster, I know.'
'Leave William? You would break your marriage vows?'
'Why not? William has broken them, he did so from the start. Richard would treat me like a queen! I can just imagine us, living on a tropical island, free of all the problems I'm beset with here.'
Elinor forbore saying Richard was probably thousands of miles away, might be married himself, and what did Jane intend to do while she was breeding? Her sister had never been sensible, just determined to have everything as she wanted for her own greatest comfort.
'Go to sleep now, if you don't want any dinner.'
*
Elinor was too curious to miss dinner herself. She changed into one of her better gowns and went downstairs to find Edmund closeted with Mr Bellamy in the library, while William and his sister and mother were nowhere to be seen.
Gooch was arranging drinks on a side table in the drawing room. He gave Elinor a cheerful smile.
'It's good to have the master back, Miss,' he said. 'I wonder what he's been doing all this time, not coming home?'
'No doubt he will tell us,' Elinor said. She knew she ought to depress his familiarity, but she was, after all, little more than a servant herself.
'Mrs Tremaine has gone to dress, and Miss Amelia,' Gooch said. 'Will Miss Jane, or do I still call her Lady Tremaine, come down to dinner?'
'I suppose she is now Mrs Tremaine,' Elinor said. How confusing. 'No, she won't come down, she's prostrate in bed. But perhaps you could ask Molly to take up a tray later?'
He promised to do that and departed, just as Mrs Tremaine entered the drawing room, followed by her daughter. She glared at Elinor, then seated herself near the fireplace where a small fire burned, despite its being June. Amelia sat beside her and they conversed in low voices. Elinor, deploring their bad manners, picked up a magazine and tried to concentrate. It was unavailing. She had read one paragraph three times without taking in a word when Edmund, or his lordship, she ought to become used to calling him, entered the room.
He smiled at her. He had such an attractive smile. He had changed into evening clothes, presumably what had been left here before he rejoined the army. He glanced at Mrs Tremaine, grimaced, and came to sit beside Elinor.
'Mr Bellamy has gone back to Plymouth. He says there is a great deal to do, but he will come again tomorrow. How is Jane?'
'Distraught, not surprisingly. I've insisted she stays in bed.'
'Do you know, I scarcely recognised her? I'm not sure how much you heard in Mr Bellamy's office, but the truth is I lost my memory and it is only gradually coming back. That is why I was away for so long, I didn't know who I was.'
'How dreadful that must have been! But you are home now.'
'And recalling a good deal more so that I am bewildered by it all. Your father is the rector, is he not?'
'He was, my lord, but he died soon after you went back to the army.'
'I am sorry. Did he leave you well provided for?'
'Not at all. We were almost destitute. If it had not been for Jonah letting us have the lodge without rent I don't know what would have become of us. That is why Jane accepted William's proposal,' she added.
'I see. Is she happy?'
'You must ask her, my lord. At the moment she is suffering all the discomforts of pregnancy, she is not herself.'
There was time for no more. William, sporting so many fobs and seals he glittered, entered the room. Elinor thought how much better Edmund, in his simple but elegant clothes, looked.
'If I accept your story, I can't yet go back to Bude,' William said, his tone aggressive. 'I let my house there until the end of the year.'
'My dear cousin, I have no desire to turn you out. There is so much to discuss, I need to catch up with what has been happening here.'
'I haven't wasted your blunt, if that's what you mean!'
'I don't, and I'm sure you have looked after the estate. You are welcome to remain for as long as you wish.'
William looked anything but pleased.
'My mother and sister will not relish being regarded here as your pensioners.'
'Have I suggested they will be so regarded?'
William glanced at him under lowered brows.
'Is your mother coming back here? My mother and yours do not get on,' he said bluntly.
'I am sure we can come to some suitable arrangement. Perhaps they would like to live in the Dower House for the time being, if it is in a fit state? My mother will be here within a few days, but I doubt she will want it. When you go to Bude you can make different arrangements.'
'When I do they will have nowhere to go, for the house is small, not big enough for us all now I am married, and will soon have an heir.'
Was he being deliberately provocative, flaunting Jane and her condition before his cousin? Edmund did not react. Did he care or not?
'Which would always have been the position whenever you married. This is
why I suggested the Dower House for now, where your mother can have her own servants and manage things as she wishes.'
'There won't be room for me and Jane there.'
'I did not suggest it. You will remain here, helping me.'
'Your pensioner!'
'My cousin.'
*
CHAPTER 7
Edmund offered his arm to Mrs Tremaine as Gooch, in a somewhat gloomy voice, announced dinner was ready. She glared at him, then pointedly moved to where her son waited and took his arm. When he looked at Amelia, she stepped back as though afraid of an attack, so he shrugged and smiled at Elinor. She was frowning, but she took his arm and allowed him to lead her from the room. She at least was behaving sensibly. He was somewhat surprised William's mother had not forced her son to go in front.
Gooch had laid the table so that all the places were at one end. Was this a tactful way of recognising the new situation at the Court, or a deliberate snub to Mrs Tremaine? It rather pointedly prevented her from assuming the seat at the bottom of the table opposite Edmund. She had to sit on Edmund's right, with her son next to her. Amelia, ushered to the seat on his left, shuddered and slipped into the chair next to it, leaving that seat for Elinor. Edmund suppressed a sigh. Was this what it was to be like? But he thought again that Elinor was a far better dinner companion than Amelia.
As Gooch poured wine, William looked at Edmund.
'I suppose you will want me to vacate the main bedroom suite? But my room and Jane's are connected, and she is unwell. She cannot be dislodged for the moment.'
'As it was my mother who used that suite, with my father when he was alive, I have never used that room. I have always slept in the one next to it. Perhaps Jane will be well enough to move tomorrow, so that my mother can use it when she arrives, as she surely will in a day or so.'
'She will be quite ready to move in the morning, your lordship,' Elinor said. 'I will see to it. Where will she and William be accommodated?'
'There is a similar suite in the east wing. The rooms are as large, and connected.'
William began to protest that as they faced to the east they caught the wind, and Edmund was aware of Elinor stifling a laugh. Was it simply William's amour propre that was injured, or was there some reason other than potential winds for his apparent dislike of the move?
He thrust speculation away and tried to think of topics suitable for conversation while Gooch and the footman were in the room. Having experienced the open antagonism of his aunt, he had no certainty she would bother to hide her rancour at his return, and her son's dislodgement. No one had yet asked him for details of what he had been doing for the past year, and having related these to both lawyers he had little wish to repeat them, though he wondered at their apparent lack of interest. He fell back on the weather.
'It is cold for June,' he began. 'And I see you have had as much rain in England as there was in France. Has it ruined the crops?'
Mrs Tremaine unexpectedly responded.
'You won't get as much for them this year as you may have thought,' she said, open satisfaction in her voice.
Edmund smiled at her. If she was going to allow her antagonism to show even on such innocuous topics, he would reply in kind.
'What a pity. But William will still have the rent from his house at Bude. That won't change because of the weather.'
'That's a tiny amount!' William said. 'Is there a room near our new bedrooms for Elinor? She has been acting as Jane's maid, and has a room close by, for convenience.'
Perhaps Jane wanted her sister close by, but it was not appropriate, even though she had now become plain Mrs Tremaine, that her sister should become just a lady's maid. He glanced at Elinor, but she was gazing at her plate and would not meet his eye.
'Jane has no maid of her own?'
'Her sister can repay our hospitality by working for us,' Mrs Tremaine said. spitting out the words.
'But it is now my hospitality, and I cannot permit her to become a servant for me,' Edmund replied. 'We will promote one of the housemaids, perhaps, unless, William, you wish to engage an experienced lady's maid for your wife?'
'That chit Molly would be suitable,' William said quickly.
Elinor gasped, and Edmund glanced at her. She was frowning at William, shaking her head. Then she looked up at Gooch, who was in the process of removing plates. The butler, his face impassive, somehow mishandled a plate and tipped the contents into William's lap. William leapt to his feet, cursing the man, and mopping sauce from his clothes. Elinor seemed to have developed a severe cough and was holding her napkin in front of her face. There were undercurrents here he needed to explore.
*
William had excused himself, and the ladies had retired to bed instead of moving to the drawing room. Mrs Tremaine made no attempt at a polite excuse, but marched up the stairs, Amelia trailing after her. Elinor sighed and said to Edmund she must go to Jane. Edmund was relieved, thankful he did not have to act the host any longer. He had been helping the smugglers and walking to Plymouth the previous night, and was eager for his soft feather mattress. He had become used to sleeping on hard beds, or heaps of hay, and now wanted only to sink into his old bed and sleep the clock round.
His old valet had been dismissed, Gooch had informed him, when news came of his supposed death. He would need to engage another. The second footman, Barton, had helped him change before dinner, and was waiting for him when he went upstairs. He had, he explained, brushed his lordship's clothes and pressed the coat he had been wearing.
'In case you wish to wear it tomorrow, my lord. And I did my best with the boots.'
Edmund shook his head.
'My old clothes seem to fit me still. They will do until I can order some new ones made. After what I have been wearing for the past year the coat Mr Bellamy provided seemed luxury, but it does not fit nearly so well as the others I left here.'
'They were made by a London tailor, I think,' Barton offered.
'Scott. When matters are more settled here I must go to London. I need new shirts and boots, too. Fashions appear to have changed, if what Mr Tremaine was wearing is any guide.'
Barton coughed. 'I believe his lord – that is, Mr Tremaine, affects a style such as I understand the London dandies employ.'
'You follow fashion?' Edmund was amused.
'I have an ambition to become a gentleman's gentleman,' Barton confessed.
'Well, you may valet me for now. We'll see how you go on.'
He got rid of the ecstatic Barton, refusing to allow him to pull the bed curtains closed, and insisting on leaving the window open.
'I've been used to sleeping in the open,' he said, chuckling at the man's look of astonishment. 'Ah, but this is luxury!' he murmured, sinking into the soft mattress.
He grinned ruefully when he recalled Mrs Tremaine's disgust at his survival. It was understandable, he decided, when it meant her son losing his new title and fortune, but her open opposition showed a rather stupid lack of common sense. Had she and William been less aggressive, less furious, he might well have been generous. Not now. To permit William and Jane to remain at the Court, and his mother and sister to occupy the Dower House for the next six months until they could return to Bude was, he felt, generosity enough.
What of Jane? He could not recall what had made him offer for her, though his memory on most other matters seemed to have reawakened now he was at home. He had seen so little of her since his return, and this when she was startled and distressed, as well as suffering the ills of pregnancy, and he had no memory of how he must once have felt for her. Had he loved her? Had she been like her sister? He could not recall Elinor from these times, but calculated she must have been at school when he and Jane became betrothed. She was prettier than Jane, even in her simple gowns. Did he wish Jane had waited? He did not know, but whatever his own feelings, it was no matter since she had married William. Would she be happy? Probably not, he concluded. Not only did she lose her position, one she probably felt was her
due after her betrothal to himself, but she would have to live with a resentful husband and an appalling mother-in-law. Amelia, he considered, was a pale imitation of her mother. She had said nothing during dinner, and appeared frightened of him. Well, six months would soon pass, with all he had to do in reacquainting himself with the estate, then he would be rid of them all.
He turned over. The bed was deliciously soft, though after his sleeping arrangements in France felt over-warm. He thrust off one of the blankets, closed his eyes, and tried to banish from his thoughts the problems he was facing. He was just dropping into sleep when he heard screams coming, he decided, from directly above him in the attics. Then there were running footsteps, and the sounds of an argument. Sighing, he rose from the bed, cast off his nightcap, and dragged on a dressing gown Barton had left on a chair beside the fireplace. He'd better investigate.
*
He recalled the secondary staircase that led to the attic floor, and went towards it. There was enough moonlight flooding through the windows for him to see his way without the need of a candle. On the attic floor, when he reached it, there were several candles, and they lit a scene of excited chaos.
He recognised his cousin, wearing a gorgeously flowered dressing gown and a nightcap that was tilted over one eye. Elinor was there, also wearing a dressing gown, but this one was old and shabby. Her hair was loose, and she wore no cap. She was holding a smelling bottle, though no one appeared to want it. Among the several maidservants he recognised Cook, sitting on a stool and supporting a young girl no more than twelve years old in her arms. The child was wrapped in a blanket, but he could see she was shivering. She was probably one of the kitchen maids, and she was sobbing hysterically.
'What the deuce is going on?' he demanded.
'A nightmare,' William said before anyone else could answer. 'I heard her screaming and thought she was being attacked. I came to see what was happening.'
'Which is why you was in 'er room trying to quieten 'er by holding yer 'and over her mouth!' one of the maids said. 'You got there very fast, up them stairs, before any of us that 'ave rooms next door managed it!'
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