“He’s been shooting in Yorkshire. He’ll be back tomorrow, or so he said. I’ll send a telegram to confirm he’s to come here and not go on to Hampshire.” She thought for a moment. “If Mr. Trenchard was successful in getting the marriage accepted, how did he explain your daughter’s surname on the registry of the birth?”
Anne smiled. “All husbands are the legal fathers of any children born during a marriage.”
“Even when they’re dead?”
“If a child is born within nine months of a husband’s death, the legal assumption obtains that he is the father, whether or not the wife took his name, whether or not he is named as the father in the registry.”
“Can a husband not repudiate a baby?”
Anne thought. “There must be some mechanism for that, but in this instance one look at Charles’s face tells us all who his father was.”
“True enough.” And now, at last, the warm glow of relief and real joy was beginning to flood through the Countess. They had an heir, whom she already admired greatly, and he would soon have a family for her and Peregrine to love.
Anne must have been entertaining similar thoughts as she suddenly asked: “Where is Lady Maria? What does she know?”
Caroline nodded. “I’ve told her Charles is our grandson, as I thought then it might be enough to soothe the feelings of her mother. In fact, I was wrong, but that is what she knows.” She smoothed her skirts, relishing the knowledge of the news she’d have to tell the girl when she came back.
“Where is she now?” said Anne.
“With Lady Templemore. Her brother arrived from Ireland last night, and a footman brought a summons this morning. She’s gone there for dinner, partly to see him and partly to ask for his help in talking her mother around. I am tempted to send a note saying no such persuasion will now be necessary, but I suppose it must play itself out.”
Reginald Grey, sixth Earl of Templemore, was a man of real principle, if a little less passionate about his beliefs than his sister. He was handsome in his way, and upright, if perhaps a shade dull. But he loved his sibling fiercely. They had gone through a lot together, Maria and he, crouching behind the landing balustrade to listen from the nursery floor to the battles being waged below, and those unsettling years had created a bond between them that would not be easily broken, as their mother gloomily acknowledged. The family was sitting together in Lady Templemore’s drawing room, and it was easy to see that the mood in the room was not encouraging.
“How are things at home?” said Maria, in an attempt to move the talk along. She was wearing an evening frock in pale green silk, with embroidery around the low neck setting off her well-formed shoulders and bosom, even if the effect was wasted on her brother.
“Very good. We’ve lost two tenants recently, but I’ve taken their land in hand. I suppose I must be farming about a thousand acres directly. And I’ve decided to make more of the library. There’s a man coming to see me when I get back about installing new bookcases and moving down the chimneypiece from the Blue Bedroom. I think it’ll work well.”
Maria was listening intently, as if to show she was an adult making adult choices. “I’m sure. Papa would have liked the idea of that.”
“Your father never read a book in his life,” said Lady Templemore. “Not if he could avoid it.” She rose to rearrange the Meissen figures on the mantel shelf. She was not making things easy.
Reggie Templemore decided there was no point in avoiding the subject any longer. “I gather from your letters that you two have been at odds recently.”
Lady Templemore ceased her attentions to the display on the chimneypiece. “You gather correctly,” she said.
Maria decided to take the bull by the horns. “I have met the man I am going to marry. I hope this can be done with your permission and your blessing. I would like to walk down the aisle on your arm. But whether or not you approve, I will not marry anyone else.”
Reggie held up his palms as if to calm a frightened horse. “Whoa.” He smiled as he spoke, attempting to take the anger out of the situation. “There’s no need for fighting talk, not when it’s only the three of us here.”
“Maria has thrown away a great opportunity that would have transformed both our lives. She can hardly expect me to approve of her decision.” Corinne returned to her seat. If the moment for the discussion had arrived, she might as well involve herself in it.
Reggie waited for the ruffled feathers to settle back into place. “I do not know this man, of course. And I am sorry if Maria is not to wield the power to do good that was on offer, but I cannot pretend to any strong pangs of grief at the thought of losing John Bellasis as a brother-in-law. His personality was never as attractive as his position.”
“Thank you,” said Maria, as if her brother had already won the argument. “He didn’t like me and I didn’t like him. That’s all there was to it.”
“Then why did you accept him?” said her mother.
“Because you made me feel that, if I didn’t, I was a bad daughter.”
“That’s right. Blame me. You always do.”
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. Hard as it was to believe, Lady Templemore had the uncomfortable sensation that matters were sliding out of her control. She had hoped her son might talk some sense into his sister, but he seemed to have sided with Maria from the start. “I do not think you understand, Reggie. The man she has chosen as a husband is a bastard and a tradesman.” It was hard to tell which she thought the worst insult.
“Strong talk, Mama.” Reggie was not sure he was quite comfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. “Maria?”
Naturally, Maria was made uncomfortable by this since, as far as she knew, both her mother’s accusations were quite true. Charles was a bastard, and he was a tradesman. She corrected the facts a little as she answered him, but she could not transform them. “It’s true he is the illegitimate son of a nobleman, received and welcomed by his father’s family. And he is a respected cotton mill owner in Manchester with plans to expand and develop his business.” As she spoke her tone grew more confident. “You’ll like him enormously,” she added for good measure. “I know you will.” To be fair, she was reasonably sure this was true.
Reggie was quite moved by his sister’s enthusiasm. Clearly she thought this man weighed equally with John Bellasis in the great scales of life. He found himself wishing that it could be so. “May we know the name of the nobleman who is so pleased to have an illegitimate son?”
Maria hesitated. She didn’t believe she had the right to name the Brockenhursts, not without their permission. “Actually, his father is dead,” she said. “It’s his grandparents who have welcomed him into their lives. But I’m not at liberty to name them just yet.”
Witnessing her daughter’s confidence that this nonentity could somehow be made to look the equal of her former suitor was driving Corinne to distraction. She turned to face them both, shrugging her shoulders as she did so. “But surely, when you match him against John Bellasis—”
“Mama.” Even Reggie was beginning to resist his mother’s obstinacy. “John Bellasis has gone and he will not be back. We couldn’t revive that even if we wanted to.”
“Which we do not!” added Maria, as forcefully as she dared.
“But a tradesman?” Corinne was not going to give in without a fight.
“Eight years ago—”
“Really, Maria. No more about the Stephensons.”
“No, not this time. I just wanted to remind you that Lady Charlotte Bertie married John Guest, and he was an ironmaster.” Maria had done her homework. She could probably list every mismatch in London’s recent history. “They’re received everywhere.”
Her mother was not so easily defeated. “Mr. Guest was also very rich and a Member of Parliament. Mr. Pope is neither.”
“But he will be both.” Maria did not of course have any idea if Charles even wanted to be a Member of Parliament, but she was certainly not going to allow any Welsh iron man
to have the advantage.
“And you say his grandparents welcome him, but his father is dead?”
Maria looked nervously at her mother. Had she revealed too much? Had Lady Templemore guessed the connection with the Brockenhursts? Why had she been so detailed in her description? But before she could add anything more to the discussion, the door opened and the butler appeared. Dinner, it seemed, was ready.
“Thank you, Stratton, we’ll be there in just a moment.” Reggie spoke with the conviction of the man of the house, even though he was almost never there.
His mother looked at him in surprise. She’d been adjusting a loose shawl around her shoulders in preparation for the chill of the dining room below and was not aware of any reason for them to linger. But the man had nodded and retreated and the three of them were alone once more.
Reggie spoke. “I will see this man, Mr. Pope. I will send a message in the morning, and I am sure he will make time for me—”
“Of course he will!” said Maria, making a mental note to send a message of her own to Bishopsgate. A message that would get there first.
Reggie continued. For a man of twenty, he really did have authority, and Maria felt proud to call him her brother. “I will listen to what he has to say, and, Mama, I cannot promise to support your stance. If the man is a gentleman, then I suggest we should talk instead about real conditions, real agreements, by which he would protect Maria’s future and earn the right to join our family.”
Corinne threw back her head in disgust. “So you are defeated.”
Reggie was a match for her. “I am realistic. If Maria will not marry any other man, then let us at least try to see if we can come to terms with this one. In the end, Mama, I’m afraid your choice is going to be simple. You must decide whether you wish to get on with your children or live at war with them. Now, shall we go down?”
Susan Trenchard was checking her rooms. Everything they were taking was packed except for the clothes and things she would need on the journey. They were moving to Somerset. Anne had advised against traveling so far much later in the pregnancy, and so they had decided to go now. Susan did not relish it, either the journey or their future in the country, but she accepted both. They had a job ahead of them, to make the house and the estate their own, and she would like to get the nurseries into a respectable condition, even if superstition prevented her from redecorating them before the birth of the child. The only thing that concerned her was Oliver. True to their agreement, they had never mentioned the paternity of the baby since that night, and nor did she intend to, ever again. But he was still preoccupied, even maudlin, and she wondered if he was coming to regret his decision to go along with her plans. He could be difficult, as she knew well enough, and she prayed that he was not getting ready to be difficult now.
One case stood open in the corner, to take whatever was left. The rest had been carried out to the vast traveling carriage that had made its way up from Somerset and waited now in the mews behind the house. A hall boy would guard it overnight, and then they would leave as soon as they had breakfasted. Unlike her mother-in-law, she intended to make it to Glanville in two days, and for that they needed an early start. As she looked at the clothes she had retained for traveling, the door opened and Oliver came in.
“Are you ready to go down?”
She nodded. She was wearing a simple gray dress, which would be useful for the night they must spend at the coaching inn on the way. It was quite becoming but not as formal as James usually demanded. “I know this isn’t very smart, but I’ve kept a silver necklace out that may raise its rank a bit. Speer took it down to clean, and she’ll be back in a moment.”
Oliver was hardly listening. He nodded without comment, glancing around the room. “Will you miss London?”
“We’ll be back for the Season.” She spoke happily, because that was what she had decided. To be a happy wife from here on in.
“It’s a long way off.” But Oliver was not sneering or angry or even drunk; he sounded more wistful. Maybe he was worried for her. He slumped into a chair near the fire, glancing around him as if he were looking for something, but she could not guess what it might be.
She smiled. “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong,” she said.
He did not deny it, which confirmed that something was amiss. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
But the door opened and the maid returned, holding the filigree necklace Susan had spoken of, and in another moment it had been fastened around her mistress’s neck. Susan and Oliver were ready to descend.
Charles Pope was torn. He’d only recently welcomed his mother to London and installed her in the rooms he had taken for them both in High Holborn. She’d been in the City for less than a week, and, although she professed excitement at this new turn her life had taken, she was also nervous to find herself in the rattle and clatter of a modern city after a lifetime in a rural village. He felt he should go home and see to her comfort, for a few more days at least, but instead he stared at the note in his hand. It had been delivered not much more than an hour earlier.
Dear Mr. Pope,
I wonder if you will indulge me with your company this evening. Very possibly not, after the last time we met, when I allowed my anger to overtake my manners. But I believe it would add greatly to the happiness of a man we both hold dear if we could manage to settle our differences. I am sure they are of my making and not yours, but I would take it as a great compliment if you would indulge me in this. I will be at the Black Raven on Allhallows Lane at eleven. I cannot get there sooner as I have committed myself elsewhere, but I would prefer to get things settled sooner rather than later.
Yours, Oliver Trenchard
Charles had read it several times by this point. The letter was undated and did not bear an address, but he had no reason to question its authenticity. James had shown him some notes Oliver had submitted on the Isle of Dogs development and the writing certainly looked genuine. And he knew only too well that he had caused difficulties between James and his son. It would be a good thing if they could move past their troubles, since it was a poor return, after all James had done for him, to make trouble in the family. For a moment he thought he might carry the letter to James’s house in Eaton Square, but then wouldn’t that be defeating the object? To call James’s attention to the quarrel before there was a solution? He did not know the public house named in the message, but he was familiar with Allhallows Lane, a narrow alleyway not far from Bishopsgate on the river’s edge and walkable from his office. Why must it be so late? If Oliver was busy that evening, why not just leave it for another day? But then, if he objected to the time, might it not be interpreted as a refusal to patch things up, when the truth was that he wanted nothing more?
In the end, he decided to walk back to his rooms, settle his mother, eat something with her and, after that, keep the appointment. She would retire to bed as soon as he left, if not before, and there was both a landlady and his own servant to keep an eye on her. With that in mind, he called for his coat.
Maria, her brother, and her mother had spoken of little that was contentious at dinner. They were served by the butler and the solitary footman and Corinne did not care to advertise her family’s difficulties to the servants. So they had discussed Reggie’s plans for Balligrey and gossiped about their friends and relations in Ireland until it was almost possible to forget that Maria and her mother were engaged in a struggle that could only end in victory for one of them. “You’re very secretive about your own life,” said Maria playfully. “Is there anything you ought to tell us?”
Reggie smiled as he reached for his glass. “Experience has taught me to keep my cards close to my chest.”
“That sounds promising. Doesn’t it, Mama?”
But Lady Templemore was not prepared to be drawn into merry banter when she had such heavy thoughts weighing on her mind. “I’m sure Reggie will tell us when he’s ready,” she said, nodding to the footman that they h
ad finished. The man stepped in to remove the plates.
“I don’t want to wait,” said Maria, but she did not succeed in getting much more out of her brother. Only that he “might” have found the daughter of some friends of their parents very “congenial,” and it was “possible” that something could come of it.
“If her parents really are old friends, then that in itself is balm to this wounded soul,” said Corinne when the servants were momentarily out of the room, but she did not attempt to elaborate.
Only later, when they were back in the drawing room and the servants had left them, did she speak to any purpose. “Very well,” she said.
Maria was taken unawares, halfway through pouring a cup of coffee for herself. She looked up. “Very well what?”
“I will wait for Reggie’s verdict. If he likes your Mr. Pope, if he approves the match, then I will try to follow suit. He is the head of the family now. It is he who will carry the burden of this man as a brother-in-law. I will be dead soon, so what does my opinion matter?” She sat back on the sofa with a sigh, suggesting a vaguely infirm condition, and picked up her fan from the table by her elbow.
For a moment, neither Maria nor Reggie moved. Then the girl threw herself on her knees before her mother and, seizing her hands, began to kiss them as tears coursed down her cheeks. “Thank you, dearest, most darling Mama. Thank you. You won’t regret it.”
“I am regretting it now,” said Lady Templemore. “But I cannot fight both my children. I am too weak. I will try my best to like him, this man who has stolen my daughter’s future.”
Maria looked up at her. “He hasn’t stolen it, Mama. I have given him my future quite freely.” At least the mother did not pull her hands away, letting them rest in her daughter’s, and although she shed a few tears that night as she lay in bed, over the loss of the paradise she had dreamed of, still, all things considered, Corinne Templemore preferred to be on good terms rather than bad when it came to her children. They had been down a difficult, rocky path together while their father was alive, and it did not suit her to fight with them now.
Julian Fellowes's Belgravia Page 37
