Jasper was saying that the Earl had made an offer for the whole of the Tarrant estate, an offer which was too good to refuse. …
“You can’t sell to him!” Sir John lumbered forward. “You agreed to sell to me!”
“If you had dealt fairly by me,” said Jasper, “I would have done so. But week by week you have dropped the price until I could not cover my father’s debts if I sold to you. The Earl has been more than generous; he will pay me enough to buy you, Aunt, an annuity. Sophia, there is to be a small dowry for you, too. Will you not thank him?”
“I will not thank him,” said Sophia. “His action is despicable, and so is he!”
Few were near enough to hear her words, and none understood them, except for the Earl and Miss Tarrant. Philip bowed to Sophia, and turned to address the guests. He did not raise his voice, but it carried well. He said he had long wished for a residence in their part of the country, but that the Manor House had been too dilapidated to be suitable. He understood that his ex-bailiff, Mr. Farrow, had not discharged his duties properly, but a new man was to be appointed who would redress any grievances the villagers might have. He himself was obliged to go to Hanover with His Majesty that summer, but hoped to stay at the Hall in the autumn, when the workmen would have finished their repairs and alterations. His new bailiff would have orders to avail himself of local materials and labor wherever possible, in order to stimulate trade in the county.
“Three cheers for the Earl!” cried Job, the miller. Most of the guests followed Job’s lead, and then crowded round the Earl to be introduced.
“Cleverly handled,” said Mr. Carramine in Sophia’s ear. “He’ll be the most popular landlord the county’s ever known.”
“Mr. Carramine, can’t you stop this sale? Can’t you see he’s buying the Hall to revenge himself on me, to deprive me of my home?”
“Gave him the brush-off, did you? Well, if you prefer Sir John … that’s your affair. I must be off, my dear. There’s a thousand things to be done if I’m to go to London with him. Yes, he’s offered me a place in his coach when he goes. We have an appointment with someone in Whitehall, you know. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world!”
“And I am off to … guess where!” cried Jasper.
“France?” said Miss Tarrant. Tears sparkled on her cheeks.
“If you say so, dearest Aunt.” Jasper kissed her. “Come now; smile. You knew I had to go.”
“But not like this!”
“Not so fast!” Sir John thrust his bulk between them. “What about the five hundred your father owed me?”
“He owed you nothing. You have often boasted that you were too fly to lend him anything.”
“Maybe so. Maybe I didn’t boast of it, but I did lend him five hundred last autumn. You have cheated me of the Hall; will you cheat me of my money, too?”
The Tarrants looked at each other. They found it difficult to believe in this newly-disclosed debt.
“You have his note of hand?” asked Jasper.
There was a moment of hesitation. “Not here,” said Sir John. “The signature is almost illegible. He was drunk at the time. But I can bring an independent witness to the transaction, if you doubt my word.”
“You shall be paid in full,” said Jasper, “If it takes the money I would have given Sophia for her dowry.”
“Well, as to that,” said Sir John. “I fancied living here at the Hall, and didn’t mind taking Nan along with Sophia—then. But if I’m not to have the Hall, I’ll be damned if I’ll take the witch to live with us. I’ll take Sophia, as I said I would; a taste of my whip now and then will keep her in order and cure her temper, but …”
“I cannot leave Aunt Nan,” said Sophia.
Miss Tarrant drew herself up. “My dear, you must think of your own future. If there is enough money, I will rent a cottage nearby. If not, I can always go to my cousin in York, who needs someone to help nurse his wife.”
“No,” said Sophia, “It will not do. It seems I have deceived myself not only about Philip, but about my reasons for wishing to marry Sir John. I have been foolish, and I shall pay for it, but I will not compound the injury by making Sir John pay for it, too.” She swept him a curtsey. “You are right, sir—I would have made you a very bad wife. I wish you better luck elsewhere.”
“What?” Sir John’s cheeks became purple. “I would have you know, miss, that there is many a fine woman this side of Lewes who would be delighted to become Lady Bladen.”
A sudden hubbub, and the Earl was bowing over their hands, saying everything that was correct in his light, unstressed voice. Jasper seized Sophia’s arm and asked if he might tell the Earl that her marriage with Sir John would not now be taking place.
“I forbid you to mention it,” said Sophia, sinking into a curtsey, as Philip bowed above her. Her eyes glittered. He was saying something complimentary to Jasper about his sister’s being a true Rose of Tarrant Hall. And then he was gone and the room was dark, and all was despair.
As the Earl drove under the ancient gateway and down the winding lane to the highway, he turned to Mr. Denbigh and asked him to take some notes on the work he wished done at Tarrant Hall.
“I want the Ram and the Rose on the stone gateway replaced with the crest of the Swan. …”
Chapter Six
Sophia sighed, and then wished she hadn’t, for her corsets hurt her. It was a hot day at the end of August, and she was sitting in the sewing-room at the top of her aunt Midmain’s house in London, mending a lace tippet. There was barely a trace left of the careless girl who had scrambled over stiles and through hedges at Hamberley. Her skin was pale, she had lost weight, and she was dressed in the plain black gown and white apron of an upper servant—or poor relation.
Sir Richard’s debts had been greater even than they had feared, and when all was settled, Aunt Nan had taken her leave of them to go to her cousin in York, and Sophia had sought refuge with her aunt in Town. Her youth and beauty, her untidiness and poverty, all irritated Lady Midmain, who did not like to admit to the existence of a niece of marriageable age. Sophia was trussed into a corset and given a cast-off dress of her ladyship’s; she might stay, if she made herself useful and kept out of the way. But Sophia’s height and manner did not aid her; and she was all too noticeable, especially to Lady Midmain’s admirers. Then came the rumor that the Young Pretender had landed in Scotland, and that Jasper Tarrant had been seen with the Jacobite forces. Lady Midmain said she was sure she would not have taken Sophia in if she had known that Jasper was a traitor.
Sophia denied the charge, but could not say where Jasper was, for no one had heard of him since he left Tarrant Hall at the end of March. Lady Midmain brooded on the subject for some days, and then, after losing a particularly large sum at cards, announced her decision as to Sophia’s future. The girl might stay, because Heaven knew it was not in her ladyship’s nature to turn her brother’s child onto the streets, but she was not to appear in company any longer, and would defray the expenses of her keep by assisting the housekeeper with the care of the linen. Thus Sophia donned black gown, cap and apron, and went to live in the attics.
If she raged, she did so in the solitude of her bare bedroom. She had no illusions about her aunt; Lady Midmain would turn her onto the streets, if Sophia gave her sufficient cause by behaving badly. She did not complain of her lot to her Aunt Nan, who was being very brave about her post in her cousin’s house, but who could not disguise the fact that her health had not been good that summer, for her handwriting quavered all over the paper, like that of an old woman. Sophia wrote to Mr. Carramine, but did not receive any reply. At first she was indignant that he should have neglected her, but then, as the weeks wore on, and her own once splendid health became undermined by the low diet served to the servants at Lady Midmain’s, she grew to accept the fact that she was no longer of consequence to anyone. As if to underline this, Marjorie Bladen wrote to say that Sophia would hardly know Tarrant Hall now that the outbuildings had been cle
ared away, and a new drive made. Marjorie was to spend the autum in Town with her father, who was still looking for a bride. The letter had concluded with a request for news from Jasper—which Sophia could not provide—and the hope that the writer might meet her old friend often during her visit to London. Sophia did not ask Lady Midmain if she would be permitted to receive a visit from Marjorie, for she knew that it would be forbidden.
Often she thought of the Earl, and how he was faring in Hanover with the King. Often she wondered—especially when she went to bed—what her fate might have been if she had accepted his offer. He would never know how nearly she had accepted it … how much she had wanted to do so … how many times the memory of his face had come between her and her work. …
She hated him. It was he, and he alone, who had been responsible for their present plight. Jasper, out with the rebels; her aunt, slaving away at a task too great for her physical strength; and herself in tears in a hot room on a lovely summer’s day. Down below in the pretty garden, the guests wandered among the orange trees which had been set out in green-painted tubs. It was one of her aunt’s At Homes, which were always well attended. Her uncle would be bustling about, trying to appear more important than he was, hanging on the words of anyone who might help him to a sinecure, and worrying about the bills. He had been timidly kind to Sophia at first, but had learned to ignore her, under his wife’s tuition. Today he would be busier than ever, for the King had returned from Hanover and there would be fresh scandal to glean from those who had been with him. Sophia wondered if the Earl were married again by this time. She wondered why she continued to think of him.
The door opened to reveal the butler, looking flustered. Someone had called to see Miss Tarrant. The butler was set aside. A tall, elegant man entered: He was wearing a watered brown-silk suit and a shining white wig; he was powdered and patched and carried a lace handkerchief, which he was using as a fan. Not a stranger, but Philip Rich. No, not Philip Rich; but the Earl of Rame.
She sat with her needle poised and her mouth open, staring.
He produced a quizzing glass and surveyed the room, her work and her attire. His fingernails were polished pink. “Deplorable,” he said flatly.
She had forgotten that he never raised his voice and rarely exhibited emotion. She stumbled to her feet, her work slipping to the floor. She put a hand to her collar and felt the rough stuff of the unbecoming gown. She remembered the frightful cap she wore. She knew she could never have looked more plain.
She curtseyed. Her hands were trembling, so she clasped them in front of her. Would he notice? Yes, of course he would. He noticed everything. He did not smile, but then, he did not smile readily. He looked well, she thought; better than he had done in the spring. There was an air of competence about him which surely had not been there before?
“I see that Miss Tarrant is not dressed for company today, so I will take a dish of tea with her before joining Lady Midmain downstairs.” A coin was dropped into the butler’s hand, and disappeared. “I assume we will not be disturbed, in this out of the way place?”
“Certainly not, my lord.” The butler bowed and withdrew.
The Earl inspected a rickety chair. “Will it bear my weight?” he wondered.
In confusion, she begged him to sit. Then she was angry that he was so much in command of the situation. He waited for her to sit. She did so, feeling helpless.
“You must not scold your butler. I enquired if you were at home, and his answer was evasive, not to say incoherent. The only word I could make out clearly was ‘sewing-room,’ so I asked him to show me the way to the sewing-room. I daresay I would not have done so if I had realized it was up three flights of stairs, but there you are.”
“Why are you here? To gloat?”
“How ungenerous of you to question the motives of one who comes to relieve the monotony of the sick … I mean, the sewing-room … for you. Yet, perhaps you are right. I must admit to a certain sense of satisfaction, a sense that justice had perhaps been done, when I read your letter. I beg your pardon; the letter you wrote to Mr. Carramine. He has been abroad much of the summer, and only received your letter last week. He could not come to Town to see you himself, so he sent your letter on to me to deal with. He was surprised and shocked—as I was—to hear that you had not married Sir John Bladen. We had pictured you deep in wedded bliss these many months. What was your brother thinking of to allow this to happen to you?”
“I have not heard from him for months. He is out with the rebels. Didn’t you know?”
“Some such rumor had reached my ears, but I had disregarded it.”
“It is not wise to claim acquaintance with me or my brother nowadays. You will find few people bold enough to do so.”
He raised black-pencilled eyebrows. “Attendance at Court would be thin if everyone who had a brother or cousin or friend with Jacobite sympathies were to be excluded. Half the nobility of Scotland have sent their wives, relations or friends to protest that while such and such a person may be a rebel, they themselves are loyal. Has Lady Midmain made a servant of you because your brother is a suspected Jacobite?”
“That is what she says.”
“I suspect her ladyship has allowed her vanity to overrule her common sense. Her raddled complexion and thinning hair would not show to advantage beside the looks which you once possessed.” He put up his glass again. “My admiration for your aunt increases; I would not have thought it possible to reduce you to insignificance.”
“Put that glass down,” she snapped. “You are not so short-sighted that you cannot see me at a distance of two paces.”
“How well I remember those shrewish tones. Your spirit is not quite broken, I see.”
The door opened, and the butler and a footman brought in the paraphernalia for making tea. The Earl proceeded to make polite conversation.
“Did you know I am to be congratulated on the birth of a new cousin? A boy, too. My uncle is beside himself with delight, only tempered with the reflection that he must go into mourning for his wife, who died as the child was born. I truly believe that Lord Lincoln mourns more sincerely for her than my uncle.”
“Why should that be?”
“Did you not know that she was Lincoln’s first love? They could not marry, because he had many debts and she had nothing but her looks. So he married his first cousin, to please his uncle Newcastle, and my uncle Carteret married her. The cream of the joke was that Lincoln, being a Gentleman of the Bedchamber, had to present the new Lady Carteret to the King on the occasion of her marriage. The King was much amused.”
“How heartless of you all to laugh at what must have been a painful situation!”
The Earl signed to the servants to leave.
“No,” he said quietly. “You misunderstand, as usual. Lincoln made the right decision; he gave up a romantic interest in a lady who would have brought him nothing but a life of worry over money, and instead he married a girl he has known from childhood, who has much affection for him, and who brings him the certainty of a political career and wealth. The lady kept her pose as Romantic Love until the very end, and my uncle got himself an heir. There is a sense of fitness about it, don’t you see that? You understood it yourself once, when you decided to marry Sir John Bladen. You refused what I offered you, for a life of security, and you were right to do so. I had a decision to make then, and I made the wrong one; it was a moment of madness on my part, but it is over. I am glad you rejected my offer. You had more sense on that occasion than I did.”
“Is that meant to be an apology?”
“N-no. For if I insulted you, you returned the compliment, did you not?”
“And in revenge, you ruined me.”
“Come, now; I had no idea you would refuse to marry Sir John. All I wished to do was …”
“… to deprive me of everything in the world that I loved.”
“Do sticks and stones mean more to you than your family and friends?”
“No, or I would hav
e married Sir John, would I not?”
“I do not know. Your motives, like mine, appear to be very mixed.”
The kettle emitted steam, and she tipped the boiling water into the teapot. The fragrance of China tea filled the room. She thought that Lady Midmain would soon know her niece had had a visitor, for the butler would have had to apply to the housekeeper for access to the China tea, which was kept locked in a chest, and only doled out on special occasions. Servants—and Miss Tarrant—were not normally allowed to drink China tea.
He accepted a cup of tea, and observed that her cap put fifteen years on her age. She took it off, and shook her hair around her shoulders; curling one or two long locks round her fingers, she brought the longest forward to lie over her breast. She watched his eyes, and saw them widen before he turned his head away. He was not as unaffected by her presence as he pretended. There was an uneasy silence. Twice she opened her mouth to make some comment and desisted. He was studying the fingernails of his right hand, his tea forgotten. She wished she knew what he was thinking.
He said, “What do you think of the fashionable world, now that you have had a chance of observing it at close quarters?”
“I? I have seen nothing, done nothing, and been nowhere. No, I lie. I went to one rout party when I first came to London, and knocked over a china ornament. I also went with my aunt to a card party, but as I do not play cards, I sat in a corner all evening and no one spoke to me. I do not blame them,” said Sophia grimly. “My hair was unfashionably dressed, I wore a dress of my aunt’s which was far too short-for me, and I broke the fan she gave me to carry. Oh yes, and I scandalized my hostess by discussing farming methods with her son, and trying to talk politics to her uncle. My aunt was ashamed of me, and swore she would never take me out again.”
“She is a very foolish woman. Granted, your path would have been easier if you had been fair and petite and known how to flirt, but …” He moved to the window and surveyed the company below. Laughter and the clatter of cups delighted the ear. “Do you want a taste of that?” He indicated the party below. “Suppose your hair was properly done, and your dress suitable, do you think you could hold your own down there?”
The Tarrant Rose Page 11
