“A boy pushed them into her hands in the street.”
“But I know this writing—”
Anne could not finish the thought before the door opened and Ellis reappeared. “Are you ready for me, ma’am?”
Anne nodded and James started to gather up the bundle as Ellis crossed the room to join her mistress. Then she stopped with a gasp and her hand flew to her mouth. She was quite unprepared for the sight of the papers in Anne’s hands, and she’d spoken before she could regain control of her senses. “Where did you get those?” she said, only hearing the words after she had spoken them. Then, faced by their stares, Ellis made a desperate bid to save herself. “I mean, what interesting-looking papers, ma’am.”
Anne was the next to speak. There were not too many candidates, after all, if the papers had been copied by someone whose writing was familiar to her. And it was Ellis who had welcomed Croft when she first arrived. “Would you like to tell me about them, Ellis?” She studied the floundering maid, this woman who had helped her and served her for thirty years and yet about whom she knew so little. Could she, Anne, have betrayed her employer of thirty years if their roles had been reversed? She doubted it, but then she’d never had to endure the bitter tests of humiliation and survival that were so often the hallmarks of a servant’s life.
James was becoming impatient. “If there is anything you can tell us to diminish your guilt, now is the time to say it.”
Ellis’s mind was in turmoil. Of course she should have insisted Mr. Bellasis read the copies and then burn them in front of her eyes. But would he have obeyed her? Probably not. She was thinking fast. Her job was gone, she could not save it, but she might at least manage to stay out of prison. “It was Mr. Turton, sir. It was him what found them in Miss Croft’s bag, and he made the copies.”
“On whose orders?”
Ellis thought. She’d lied about Turton searching for the papers, but was there any point in lying further? Would it benefit her to save Mr. Bellasis? No. He wouldn’t pay her any more now. What would he have to gain by it? But then, there were her references to consider. How was she to get another job without good references? And Mrs. Trenchard wouldn’t want to give them, that was certain. Ellis started to weep. She had always been quite good at weeping when it was required. “I’m ever so sorry, ma’am. If I’d known it might hurt you, I’d never have gone near the whole business.”
“You watched Turton copy out Miss Sophia’s letters, yet you never thought it might hurt me?” Anne’s tone had become hard.
James was fidgeting. “The point is, who were they copied for?”
Ellis decided some direct talk might save time. “I know I’ve lost my place, sir. But I’m not a bad woman.”
“You’re not a good one,” said Anne with some asperity.
“I’ve been weak. I know that. But if I have no references, I’ll starve.”
“I see.” James was in command of the situation at once. He understood what they were being told sooner than his wife. “You’re saying that if we will give you some sort of reference, you will tell us who asked for the copies to be made. Is that it?”
Of course that was exactly it, so Ellis was silent. She stood there before them, staring down at her hands.
“Very well.” James silenced his wife with a gesture when it looked as if she might intervene. “We will give you a reference, not a glowing one, but a reference that should make it possible for you to find gainful employment.”
Ellis sighed with relief. She was glad she’d had the presence of mind to bargain with her last chip. “Mr. Turton made the copies for Mr. Bellasis, sir.”
Anne looked up, startled. “Mr. John Bellasis? Lady Brockenhurst’s nephew?”
Ellis nodded. “That’s the one, ma’am.”
James was thinking. “Of course it was John Bellasis. And he’ll have been the one to look into the man Bouverie. Which we should have done twenty years ago. If Bouverie was a fake, then John Bellasis would still be the next Earl. If Bouverie was genuine, then Bellasis would have nothing.” He had forgotten Ellis’s presence for a moment, but a discreet cough from Anne brought him back to the present.
“What was your role in all this, Ellis?” Anne said.
The woman hesitated. How much should she tell? She’d got her reference now, and she knew the Trenchards well enough to be sure they would not go back on their word. Still, there was no need to tell them more than was necessary. “Mr. Turton made me take the copies around to Mr. Bellasis’s rooms.”
Anne nodded. “Very well. You may go. You may stay the night here, but you will leave tomorrow. With your reference.”
Ellis bobbed a curtsy and left the room, closing the door gently behind her. Things could be worse, she thought as she started down the stairs. She’d been paid well enough until the end, and she had some money saved, thanks to her tips from Mr. B. She’d find another job with someone too stupid and selfish to take the trouble to look into her past.
Back in the room, James Trenchard took his wife’s hand. “We mustn’t tell anyone. Not Charles Pope, not the Brockenhursts, not the family. We must have this information on the clergyman checked and rechecked until we know for certain that Sophia’s marriage was legal. Then we must investigate how we have it registered with the authorities. I do not want to raise anyone’s hopes only to let them down.”
Anne nodded. Of course she was happy. She was delirious with joy. But there were elements of the story that didn’t quite seem logical. If John Bellasis had gone to the trouble of researching the marriage, why would he not guard the information closely? Surely he would have been praying that the validity of the marriage would remain a secret. Edmund was dead. Sophia was dead. Bouverie was dead. The only proof was the paper he’d commissioned, and if he’d burned it, no one would have been any the wiser. So why did he let it out of his hands so carelessly? And who was this boy who gave the bundle to Susan in the street?
“There’s something else.” James’s voice brought her back into the present. “It was driven out of my mind for a moment, but you’ll be very happy.” He paused for effect. “Susan is pregnant.”
It was like an answer to Anne’s unspoken question. “Is she, really?” She arranged the expression on her face to one of delight.
James nodded, grinning from ear to ear. “She just told me. Over ten years with Oliver, and nothing. We’d all given up. And yet now she’s going to have a baby. Isn’t it extraordinary? What can have changed?”
“What indeed?” said Anne.
Oliver was late arriving home, and Susan was dressed and ready when he looked into her room.
“I think I’ll go on down,” she said.
“Do. Start dinner if you like.”
She could see he was angry. Had he and James had another quarrel? He was swaying a little and held on to the door frame to steady himself. So he was drunk. Never mind. She would go down and use the time she had alone with his parents as best she could. She was guessing her way through this trial, but if she could only get it right, if she could only carry them with her, then disaster might be avoided. Oliver would be her greatest test, but there was no point in speaking to him while he was in this state. The key to it was courage, and while Susan might have been short of some of the other virtues, she did not lack that.
When she reached the drawing room, her parents-in-law were there and waiting. She approached Anne with a sinking stomach. Of all of them, Anne was the one with enough brains and enough understanding of human nature to guess the truth. “Has Father told you?” She waited, patiently, for the reaction.
“He has,” said Anne. “Congratulations.” But her tone was not delirious. She looked at her daughter-in-law through new eyes.
“Go on!” shouted James from across the room. “Give her a kiss!”
Anne leaned forward and planted a cool peck on Susan’s cheek.
Susan dutifully kissed her back. “Oliver may be a while. He’d only just arrived home when I came down. He says we’re to go in without him, i
f we want.”
“Oh, I think we can wait,” said Anne, coolly. “James? Have you spoken to Turton?”
Her husband shook his head. “I thought I’d leave it until after dinner. Or is that cowardly?”
“It’s important that he hears it from you and not from Ellis, although we may already be too late.”
“Quite right.” Her husband nodded briskly. “I suppose we’d better give him some sort of reference as well, if she’s to have one. I’ll look out a couple of bottles of champagne while I’m down there.” In another moment he was gone and the two women were alone.
Susan had dressed carefully but demurely for the evening. She wore a shirt of pale russet chiffon and a darker russet wide silk skirt. Her hair was arranged in a simple chignon with becoming curls in front of her ears. The effect she was striving for was well-bred simplicity, a good woman, pure, upright, a pillar of society. That was how she wanted to look, as Anne recognized well enough.
“Shall we sit down?’ said Anne, and they did, choosing two pretty gilded chairs on either side of the marble chimneypiece. After a moment, Anne continued. “Why did John Bellasis give you those papers?”
Of course the question was a shock, catching Susan off guard for a moment. Her breath stuck in her throat, but she stopped herself from lying just in time. Her mother-in-law had guessed the truth, or at least some of it, and the younger woman had the sure sense that she might just possibly get through if she spoke boldly, but she knew she would not if she hid behind lies.
“He didn’t. I took them.”
Anne nodded. She almost liked Susan for not attempting to deceive her further. “May I ask why?”
“He told me they proved that Charles Pope was legitimate and the heir to his uncle, and that once they were shown to the right people, he, John, would lose everything. You couldn’t have known any of that, or why was Mr. Pope left toiling away in some dirty mill in the north?”
“We knew there was a marriage, but we did not believe it was genuine.”
“John seemed to think you’d have the facts investigated when you saw the original letters, and then you’d learn the truth.”
Anne sighed. “And so we should have, a quarter of a century ago. But now Mr. Bellasis has done it for us. It’s ironic, really. If he’d left well enough alone we would probably have been none the wiser.” This thought had only just occurred to Anne. It made her dizzy. “Why did you want to harm him? If you were lovers?”
Again, the boldness of the question winded Susan for a second time, but she was in deep by now. Only the truth would suffice. “I wanted him to marry me, if I divorced Oliver. I never dreamed of such a thing when I thought he would become Lord Brockenhurst—or if I did, I knew it was just a dream. But when he was only the penniless son of a younger son, it did not seem outlandish. I shall have more money than him. Much more.”
“I agree with you.” Anne sounded as if they were discussing the merits and demerits of a new cook. “I should have thought you might have been the answer to his prayers.”
“Well, I wasn’t,” said Susan. “He laughed in my face at my presumption.”
“I see.” Anne did see. Susan had been dazzled by this handsome man with his style and his Society manner. They had met when she was lonely and barren and unloved. “So you aren’t barren, after all,” she added. “That must be a relief, albeit a complicated one.”
Susan almost smiled. “If I’d known the fault lay with Oliver and not with me, I’d have been more careful.” How strange this exchange felt. She looked around the room, with its pleasant colors and gleaming furniture and pictures, a room she knew so well but would never think of in the same way again. They were talking like two equals now, two friends even, which in one way was extraordinary when Susan thought about it, although she had always had a higher opinion of Anne than of any other member of the family.
“And this is the point.” Her mother-in-law’s voice became more serious again. “Oliver is unable to father children.” There was real sorrow in her tone and so there should be, thought Susan. It is terrible for a mother to know that her son can never have an heir.
“It seems he cannot father them with me. But then, Napoléon couldn’t have children with Josephine but had a son with Marie Louise.”
“Oliver is not Napoléon,” said Anne with a certain finality. She was thinking. There was a silence between them, interrupted only by the ticking clock on the mantel shelf and the burning coal shifting noisily in the grate. Then she looked at Susan directly. “I want to be sure about the deal you are offering.”
“Deal?” Susan had not thought of it as a deal.
“You want to stay with Oliver now that your exit route with John Bellasis has been cut off?”
Susan’s heart was thudding in her chest. The next few minutes would decide her fate. “I would like to stay in this family, yes.”
There was a sudden yapping that made them both jump. Agnes had woken from her place on the hearthrug and was pushing against Anne’s skirts, begging to be lifted. Once the dog had been settled in her lap, Anne continued. “How will you handle Oliver? I assume he must know the child is not his.”
Susan nodded. “Yes, he will know. But leave Oliver to me.”
“What do you want of us, then, James and me?” Anne was curious to see how much of this was planned. In fact, Susan was making it up as she went along, but she had enough style to make the whole business sound premeditated.
“I want Oliver to see how pleased Father is by the news, how overjoyed, how proud of his son, how happy. It is a long time since Oliver made his father happy.”
Anne did not say anything for a while. The silence was long enough for Susan to wonder whether the surreal conversation had come to an end. But then Anne did speak. “You mean, you want Oliver to understand that he has a great deal to gain if he accepts the child as his?”
“He will be the winner by it.” Susan was actually coming to believe this.
Anne nodded slowly. “I will do my best, and I will keep your secret, on one condition. If you will live at Glanville.”
Susan stared at her. Live in Somerset? Two or even three days’ journey from the capital? “Live there?” she said, as if it must have been a question intended for someone else.
“Yes. Live there. And I will keep your secret.”
Susan was beginning to understand that she had no choice in the matter. Anne spoke as if she were asking a question when in fact she was giving an order.
She had not finished. “It’s time for us to admit that Oliver will never be happy in the career James has mapped out for him. He will never make his mark in development or trade or any of it. Very well. Let him be a country gentleman. That’s what he wants. Who knows? He might be a success.” In truth, the loss of Glanville was a dagger to her heart. It was like the loss of a limb; worse, the loss of half her life. Glanville had been her love and her joy, but she knew it would be her child’s redemption and so it must be. “I will continue to visit, but not as the mistress of the place. From now on, that would be your position. If you’ll take it on. Will you?”
Susan already knew no other decision was possible. What contrasting fates lay ahead? On the one hand, to be a divorced, adulterous wife with a bastard child, living in exile, alone and rejected by anyone of even the smallest pretensions. On the other, to find herself the mistress of a great house in the West Country, with a husband and a son or daughter, playing her role in county society. It wasn’t exactly difficult. But…
“Could I come up to London for the Season?”
Anne smiled for the first time since Susan had entered the room. “Yes. You will come here for two months every year.”
“And I may make the occasional visit?”
“You may. Although I think you’ll be surprised by how much you enjoy country life once you enter into it.” Anne paused. “I have one other condition.”
Susan tensed. So far, this was an arrangement she could live with if she had to. And she had to.
“What is it?”
“James must never know. This baby will be his grandchild, and he must never even suspect anything else.”
Susan nodded. “If it is left to me, he will never know a thing, and I will do my best to make sure Oliver never gives us away. But now I have a condition.”
Anne was surprised. “Are you in a position to make conditions?”
“I think I can make this one. Oliver must never suspect that you know the truth. The child’s beginnings will be our secret, Oliver’s and mine. Only then will he be able to protect his dignity.”
Anne nodded. “I see that. Yes. You have my word.”
“Your word on what?” James’s voice startled them, but Anne was always in control of her own reactions.
“That they will have Glanville for their use. A child should grow up in the country. Did you find the champagne?”
“I’ve asked for it at the end of dinner.”
How easily she could distract him. Before James could make any further comment, the door opened and Oliver came in. He had changed and splashed some water on his face, which seemed to have sobered him up, much to Susan’s relief. Although strange thoughts assailed her as she looked at her husband. By the time she slept tonight, her future life would have been decided, one way or the other.
As his son entered the room, James let out a spontaneous cheer. “Hurrah! My dearest boy!” he shouted, grinning from ear to ear. “Many congratulations!” He was hugging the young man so tightly he couldn’t see the look of bewilderment on his face.
Oliver looked over at his mother and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she talked firmly across him. “This is wonderful news, Oliver. Susan and I have been discussing things, and I might as well say it now: You are to have Glanville. You must give up your London work and retire to Somerset.”
“What’s this? You never said he’d have to retire.” James broke loose from the embrace, but Anne silenced him with a gesture of her hand.
“There’s plenty of money. Why not? What are we trying to prove? Oliver was born to be a squire, not a businessman.” Anne looked at her husband. She knew this was one of those moments in a marriage when a key decision is taken, almost by chance, that will change everything. James had wanted his son to follow in his footsteps ever since Oliver was a boy, and it had led to failure and resentment and to the pair of them falling out to the extent that they could barely speak. “Wouldn’t you rather admire him than feel disappointed all the time?” she murmured into his ear. “Do your business with Charles. Let Oliver go his own way.”
Julian Fellowes's Belgravia Page 35
