“We can get rid of some of the furniture in this house for a start.” Nina made a contemptuous sweep with her arm to indicate the cluttered, crowded room. “There’s far too much of it. We could raise enough to make some small show of payment to Dominic.”
“No!” Amelia cried, outraged. “It’s mine! All mine!”
Nina rounded on her. “Only because over the years you deviously replaced everything that should have been Tansy’s with an eye to establishing yourself more securely at Rushmere.”
“That’s a lie!” Amelia shrieked, looking frightened.
“No, it’s not. You thought yourself clever, but in a court of law it would all be awarded to Tansy, because she was left the contents of the house and you have nothing to prove that Papa intended any of it to be solely yours.”
“I may not have proof, but he did mean it to be mine alone.”
“Why was everything at Rushmere bequeathed to Tansy then?”
Amelia burst into a hysterical sobbing that was entirely different from her previous tears, and she waved her arms about. “Why are you torturing me? We’re all using the furniture, aren’t we? Tansy knows she would hear no protest from me on the grounds of strangers sitting in the chairs, at the tables, and sleeping in the beds if she made Rushmere a hostelry, but it is the shame of the project that will fall on our heads that upsets me. People will think us common! Common! There’s no disgrace in all the world to compare with being thought common.”
“What makes you think —” Nina began dangerously.
“Nina, be silent!” Unexpectedly Tansy crashed a fist for order on the side table on which she had placed the tray, making everything on it rattle. “I will not have this stupid quarrelling. Amelia, sit down and dry your eyes. The furniture is yours and there’s an end to it. I appreciate your cooperation in letting me have full use of it for guests should my plan be carried out, but you still haven’t said if you have anything else to suggest.” She paused, looking inquiringly at Amelia, who shook her head miserably, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose. “Well, that’s it then. I shall go ahead with my idea.”
“But you mustn’t,” Nina wailed in anguish. “Oh, you cannot deny me the time I need!”
Tansy raised her eyebrows. “For what?”
“To get Edward’s ring on my finger.”
“Are you really serious?” Tansy questioned with concern.
Nina’s face was wrenched in new appeal. “Give me six months. That’s all I ask. If by then I’m not betrothed to Edward and the date set for our wedding you may go ahead with your plan for Rushmere without any opposition from me.”
“Six months is a long time. That brings us toward the end of April. The racing season will be in full swing and the Derby little more than three weeks distant.” Although she spoke firmly, compassion and sisterly love moved her deeply, for she saw how desperate Nina was in her plea.
“I would ask for less time if I could,” the girl cried, “but Edward is twenty-seven years old — that’s old enough to be wary of rushing into anything. With the exception of Dominic he’s probably the most eligible bachelor for miles around —”
“He is,” Amelia endorsed eagerly, all personal animosity toward Nina forgotten in a greater cause at stake. “Lord of the Manor, heir to a title, Master of Foxhounds, a magistrate. And wealthy — heaven alone knows how wealthy. I cannot tell you how many young ladies have pursued him in his time — and are still trying to catch him.” She threw up her hands. “All in vain.”
“— and I intend to succeed in getting him to propose to me where all others have failed,” Nina continued breathlessly.
“And she can do it!” Amelia exclaimed excitedly. She took hold of Nina’s shoulder and gave her a shove forward as though exhibiting a piece of merchandise. “Look at her. She has beauty and character and intelligence. She’ll outshine all the little ninnies who weary him with their ogling and fan-fluttering. I know men — I’ve seen the bored look in his eyes sometimes. They like someone who’s — different.” Her voice trailed away — Nina having wrenched herself free with a withering glance that reminded her they were all too painfully aware of from whom she had been different — and her lips quivered as she fell silent.
Nina returned to her emotional attack on Tansy. “As his wife I’ll receive a handsome spending allowance — I intend to make sure of that. Out of it I shall donate regularly toward Papa’s debts until they are paid off.” She tossed her head, becoming more defiant under her sister’s quiet, assessing stare that seemed to see right into her innermost thoughts. “I’m his daughter too. You have no moral right to deny me a share of the obligation and neither can you stop me paying Dominic back all that is owing him once it lies in my power to do so. Oh, I’ll fall in love with Edward, if that’s what is worrying you. It must be the easiest thing in the world to love a rich young man, especially when he is tall and good-looking.”
Tansy’s penetrating gaze remained fixed on her sister. “Does a marriage of wealth and position mean so much to you?”
“It does,” Nina answered fervently. “It’s what I’ve always wanted above all else. Never to be poor or shabby again. To have jewels and furs and a carriage of my own to ride in, servants to wait on me and nothing to soil my hands. Don’t deny me those six months. If you go ahead with turning Rushmere into a lodging house my chance will be gone forever.”
Judith, ever soft-hearted, looked toward Tansy and spoke persuasively. “Do let Nina have her chance. It’s true that people like Sarah would never call on us again once Rushmere becomes a lodging house. That wouldn’t bother you or me, but it does Nina and Amelia.”
Tansy thoughtfully picked up the tray again and lodged it against her hip before giving her reply. “You shall have your six months, Nina. I would have felt happier if your first priority had been love, but I hope most sincerely that during the time I’ve allowed you, you’ll find love to be more important than all the rest.” Her expression was gentle. “I want you to forget about Papa’s debts. You must have nothing to burden you, nothing to create difficulties between you and Edward should you wed. I’ll manage somehow.” Her mouth twitched into an amused, self-mocking smile, her eyes twinkling. “I’m not our thrifty, penny-watching mother’s child for nothing, and I’ll find some way to sort things out and make ends meet.”
Nina was intensely relieved that her wild and somewhat foolish offer to settle their father’s debts had not been taken up. How could she be sure that Edward, whom she had yet to know and discover on a deeper level, would allow her to let money he had intended for her adornment go toward another purpose to which he might be inexorably opposed? It was one thing for him to approve of a man’s gaming debts being settled, but another to be expected to contribute toward them himself. But there was one point on which she was not clear.
“If I’m not to help financially after I’m married, how can you manage?”
“You’ll be helping in another way, Nina — by setting your stamp of approval on my taking in guests at Rushmere when the six months is up and in time for the Derby. You, as lady of the Manor, a position above criticism or reproach, will set the lead simply by receiving us in your home as you would anywhere and in any circumstances. Everybody else will follow suit, and Amelia need never fear ostracism again through this venture of mine.” She paused as all three of her listeners gave little exclamations of mingled surprise and relief that for the present moment all foreseeable problems appeared solved, and then she gave Nina a constrained, sisterly smile. “I suppose all that remains is for me to wish you luck.”
Nina came up to her and with a rare show of affection looped an arm around her neck, their faces coming together with a pressure of cheeks. “Thank you, Tansy. You wished me love, too. I hope I find it.”
In the kitchen washing the glasses Tansy thought about Adam with a bittersweet longing. He haunted her more often than she cared to count up, although she knew that vain hankerings after what might have been were the greatest folly. Love. Would it e
ver come to her with its rich fulfilment of heart, mind, and body? Unaccountably her thoughts turned to Dominic and anger stirred again in her as she recalled his words. If only some magic, wand-like touch could free her from him in an instant! In a way he owned her. The roof over her head, the ground on which she stood, and even — indirectly — the clothes she wore on her back were all bonded to him. The debts she had to settle had become a deeply personal issue between them. It was as though she and Dominic faced each other with rapiers in a duel and although he had all the advantages, her triumph would be all the greater when she could pierce him at the heart. She paused, having taken up the cloth to dry and polish the glasses, and she daydreamed of the moment when she would throw the last golden sovereign down before him and be free of him at last. But that day was a long way off. With a shake of her head she rubbed vigorously at the crystal, making it sparkle.
Roger came home soon afterward. When he had removed his mud-caked boots at the kitchen porch he entered, tired and hungry and smelling of straw and horses. While he scrubbed the day’s grime from his hands at the sink Tansy took food from the pantry for him. He was in an elated mood.
“You should have seen Young Oberon at the gallops!” His eyes glowed and he half-turned from the kitchen sink, scattering soapsuds. “He went into his canter with a proud head as if he knew he had advanced in his training beyond the others. I kept alongside on my hack and watched every move he made, every twitch of his ear. He doesn’t like falling leaves. Fortunately the branches are more or less bare now, but it was a gusty morning and I saw how startled he was when an odd one came drifting past his nose. I think he can be wilful, too. Once, for no reason at all that I could see — probably sheer contrariness inside his head — he went spinning off and sent some of the other yearlings into confusion. If I’d been in his saddle I would have checked him quicker than the stable lad who was riding him.” He dried his hands. “Mr. Kirby — that’s Mr. Reade’s trainer whom he mentioned yesterday — has given me permission to ride Young Oberon to the gallops tomorrow morning, a distance of about half a mile which has been strewn with soft bracken now the frosts have come, and after that I’ll have to hand over, but it’s a start.”
“A start and a finish, I would say.” Tansy put down a dish of cold, boiled ham with a little thump. “You wanted to ride the colt just once, I remember you telling me. Tomorrow that wish will be fulfilled.” Her look held a blend of anxiety and pity. “Don’t reach out after more, Roger. It can’t be. For reasons I don’t feel able to disclose to you I know that the sooner you turn your back on the Ainderly Hall stables the better it will be.”
His expression became deflated and the sullen set to his mouth as he jerked out the chair from under the kitchen table to sit down showed that he did not agree with her. “Just because we owe that money —” he muttered.
“No, it’s more than that. Far more. I swear it.”
He gave an uncomfortable shrug to his shoulders, which showed that whatever her belief he was certain he would not go along with it. “Today was the happiest day in my whole life,” he stated stubbornly, attacking his supper.
“I’m sure it was,” she said understandingly.
His eyes flicked toward her. She had taken a seat on the bench on the opposite side of the table, leaning both arms on it, and he was encouraged by her tone to mention Young Oberon again, the light coming back into his face. “Mr. Kirby told me that there’s little doubt that Young Oberon’s name will be written down for the Derby next spring — a whole year before the one that he’ll actually run if nothing unforeseen occurs — and his selection, like all the other entries, will be based on his breeding, which in his case has that special strain of the great Eclipse’s blood.” He swallowed a mouthful of cold potato and ham.
“What happens if a horse which has been entered for the Derby doesn’t live up to its promise over the interim period?” she asked, cutting him another slice of bread.
“There are three forfeit stages when an entry can be withdrawn,” he informed her authoritatively. “There were one hundred and eighty-eight entries last year, Mr. Kirby told me, but in the end only thirty-two ran. That was an exceptionally big field, too. Usually the number is quite a few less. Think of all the hundreds of pounds in accumulated entry fees that are added to the great Derby prize when so many drop out!”
“I heard today that Edward Taylor of Cudlingham Manor has an entry running next year. His sister called this afternoon and told us she saw you talking to her brother. What happened? Any luck?”
His face fell again and his appetite seemed to wane. “That’s the fourth place I went to. Mr. Harris, the head stable lad at Ainderly Hall, advised me to try a stud at Ewell first, but it was a wasted journey. I tried a couple of other stables, but even if they would have taken me on neither offered the kind of place I wanted. Then I walked all the way back to Cudlingham again and went to the Manor.”
“Well?”
“I’m to go back again tomorrow. Mr. Taylor said I could speak to his trainer.” He frowned, puzzled. “It’s funny, but I had the impression that he wouldn’t have bothered to give me a minute of his time if I hadn’t introduced myself the way Mama always said a gentleman should.” A grin lifted his permanently freckled cheeks. “I bet she would have been proud of me. Remember how she was always quoting that manners maketh man?”
Tansy nodded, smiling, and was glad that they were reaching the stage when they could talk about the parents they had lost with love and humour and less pain. “She had quotes for everything. I’ll have to watch myself or I’ll carry on the same habit. I found myself telling Nina never to count chickens after our visitor had left. You see, we learned that Edward Taylor appears to be somewhat attracted to Nina.” She chuckled. “I dare say it was your surname more than your manners that won you that interview with his trainer tomorrow.”
He was amused by the little joke against his own conceit, sharing her chuckles, and with a return to something of their old comradeship of the past they sat talking in the kitchen for quite a time, she telling him all that had taken place that afternoon and of the arrangement settled upon to help Nina win the man she wanted. Only then did they join the others.
When the evening ended and all had said good night, Tansy went in search of a book to read in bed for a little while. The bookcase where she had surprised Amelia late at night was full of volumes on horses, flat racing, and steeplechasing, the few she picked out at random all bearing her father’s name in his own handwriting on the flyleaf. She smiled to herself, returning a history of horse racing to a shelf. In spite of a complete lack of literary interest in anything else, her father had amassed a fine collection on his favourite topic, some of the volumes being quite old and several that were surely museum pieces. A wide gap showed where Amelia must have withdrawn at least three good-sized books. The outline of them still showed in a faint edge of dust. Tansy thought it strange that Amelia should have found the subject of horse breeding or horse racing relaxing midnight reading, but there was no accounting for what other people enjoyed and she herself would prefer a work of fiction, something by Mr. Dickens or one of the new lady writers.
She was about to close the glass doors of the bookcase when she realized that her father’s small library was hers, and she held the doors wide for a few moments longer, her gaze lingering affectionately on the leather-bound backs, some gilt embossed, in variegated autumnal hues, that stood neatly side by side. Out of all the contents of the house originally intended for her only these were left. She would treasure them all the more for it.
A further search of some bookshelves in another room yielded at least a dozen books on etiquette and the social graces belonging to Amelia, and a stack of somewhat lurid romances that were also hers. She was about to give up when she found among them a well-thumbed, battered book of plays. With interest she took it up to bed and read far into the night. When she closed the book, and before turning out the lamp, she used as a bookmark one of the programmes that
she had discovered tucked into the back of it. A particular actress’s name was featured in the cast of each one, but always in a minor role. Mrs. Amelia Rose St. Clair.
Next morning Tansy told Amelia of her discovery, and saw her give an unhappy start, her colour fluctuating. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to pry. I was hunting for something to read and chose the plays. I had looked through two or three of the programmes before I noticed that the same name was listed in every one.”
Amelia’s expression settled to one of resignation. “I suppose you were bound to find out sooner or later that I was once on the stage.” She let her graceful shoulders rise and fall on a little sigh. “I need hardly say I toured with a travelling company of worldwide repute. That is how I met Oliver. He came to the performance of a melodrama when the day’s races were over. I only had a small part — for some reason which I can’t quite recall now I wasn’t playing the lead for once,” she interjected quickly, forgetting that Tansy, having seen those programmes, must have gained a good idea of her humble rating as an actress, “and when he came round afterward to the back of the tent — er, I mean the stage door—he said he hadn’t been able to take his eyes from me and had no notion of what the drama he had viewed was about.” Suddenly she sucked her lower lip under her pearly teeth in abashment, her round eyes becoming rounder. “Perhaps I shouldn’t talk about my meeting with your father.”
Tansy thought with irritation that Amelia may not have been very accomplished on the stage, but she was full of little actressy tricks and mannerisms. “You’ve told me quite enough. I should like to finish reading the plays if you have no objection.”
“Read them by all means!” Amelia flung out her hands extravagantly, seeming to take Tansy’s interest in the plays as an indirect compliment to herself. She looked singularly well pleased as she trotted away.
The Marlows Page 12
