Diamonds and Deceit (At Somerton)

by Rasheed, Leila

  “How feudal!” Charlotte said with a laugh. “I can’t imagine Ward doing as much for me.”

  “Well, I’m delighted that someone at least considers our feelings!” The countess sounded furious, but Rose could see that beneath her sharp voice she was scared. “You don’t seem to consider what people may say—”

  “I don’t care what people say!” Sebastian snapped. Rose flinched, and the people around them turned in surprise.

  “Hush!” the countess hissed. “Keep your voice down. Journalists are everywhere.”

  “Good, perhaps one of them will report the truth for once.”

  “Be careful what you wish for.” The countess’s voice was icy, but Rose heard the fear underneath the ice. She remembered what Sebastian had said at the exhibition. She had never believed she could feel sorry for the countess, but she found she did.

  “I know what I want, Mother. I know for the first time what truly matters. And I am not ashamed of it. On the contrary, I’m proud.”

  Sebastian turned and stormed away, pushing through the crowd until he disappeared in the direction of the exit. Slowly, like water filling a footprint at the edge of the sea, the conversation flowed back. But Rose could feel the piercing glances and hear the murmurs, as if the sea were whispering rumors to curious ears.

  “I’ve had enough of this cacophony.” The countess’s voice was brittle.

  “Oh, no,” Rose exclaimed. “You can’t wish to go now—not without seeing the second half.”

  “I don’t expect it gets any better,” Charlotte sighed, following her mother out of the box.

  “Better! It was wonderful.” Rose turned to Ada, who was hanging back, silent. “Ada, you agree with me, don’t you? The power of the rite, that poor girl dancing herself to death, sacrificing herself—”

  “Excuse me.” Ada’s voice sounded strangled, and she rose to her feet. She pushed her way out of the box. Rose, startled and anxious, followed her. Ada moved like a sleepwalker, feeling her way to the wall, and steadied herself against it.

  “Are you faint?” the countess demanded. She beckoned to a steward. “Some iced water for Lady Ada.” The steward bowed and hurried away at once.

  “Ada, do you feel unwell?” Rose fanned her with the program.

  “I’m sorry.” Ada drew a deep breath. “It was a little hot in there.”

  “Of course, it was.”

  “Just a few moments to compose myself, and I shall be able to leave.”

  The iced water arrived and Ada drank gratefully.

  “Let’s go,” the countess said impatiently.

  Rose could do nothing but follow her to the exit. As they made their way through the crowd its movement pushed her sideways and a strong hand steadied her. She looked up to see Alexander. She couldn’t stop the smile of happiness that broke over her face. But to her surprise he seemed determined not to meet her eyes and swiftly let go of her arm. She looked into his face, searching and surprised. He was blushing.

  “Your Grace!” came the countess’s voice, ringing over her shoulder. Rose started and turned around. The countess and Charlotte were heading toward them.

  The countess spoke first. “Where have you been? So naughty of you to invite us and then not be there.” Her words were playful, but Rose could see she was irritated.

  Alexander cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “I must apologize, I meant to join you in the second half.” Rose wondered if he was telling the truth.

  “I am so grateful for your invitation,” Charlotte said. “It’s a wonderful piece—so new, so fresh, so modern.”

  Rose stared at her in astonishment.

  Alexander smiled, looking relieved to see Charlotte. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I saw it in rehearsal and it was a marvelous experience. So few people seem to have understood it properly.”

  “Oh, I adore anything by Stravinsky,” Charlotte said firmly. “Which is your favorite piece?”

  “If I had to choose, I would say The Firebird.”

  “Ah yes.” Charlotte breathed, a hand playing with the carnelian pendant at her neck. “The thrill of the chase… Eastern decadence…the passion of the music…”

  Alexander smiled, looking half embarrassed and half amused. He glanced at Rose, but then looked back at Charlotte, as she said, “So you’ll join us for the second half of the program?”

  “In fact, I’m afraid I’ve been called away—urgent business.” He didn’t look back at Rose. “I do hope you enjoy it, though.”

  He made a movement as if to leave, but Charlotte spoke again. “I’ve been working on that little self-portrait you saw, and it is so much improved. I want to thank you for your help.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied. “I’m sure it’s down to your talent and not my advice.”

  He turned to go. Charlotte darted away from her mother and placed a hand on his arm. In a voice so low that only Rose heard, she asked, “Did you receive my note about the exhibition?”

  “I did,” he answered in the same low voice. “I would certainly be interested in seeing it—”

  Charlotte gave him a dazzling smile as she stepped back. “Tomorrow,” she mouthed at him. “Send your car.”

  Alexander made them an awkward bow and hurried away. The crowd swallowed him up.

  Rose didn’t realize she was staring after him until she heard Ada’s sympathetic voice in her ear. “Come on, Rose. Let’s go.”

  “I don’t understand—” Rose was still looking after him, though he had long vanished into the crowd. She felt too shocked even to weep. Was it her rudeness about his art? But no—why would he then have made a special effort to invite her to the Rite?

  “What is there to understand? The man is clearly a cad.” Ada’s voice trembled, and Rose knew she was furious with Alexander. But there had to be some explanation, some reason. She began to follow in the direction he had gone, but Ada drew her back. Rose turned to her, confused. On Ada’s face she saw her own pain mirrored.

  “Rose, don’t make a spectacle of yourself.” Ada spoke clearly and with quiet authority.

  “But—”

  “Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you’re hurt. Walk away without looking back.”

  For an instant Ada was the mistress again, and Rose the maid. Rose allowed Ada to lead her away, one hand resting protectively on her arm. She glanced back once, but Alexander had disappeared into the crowd.

  Somerton

  Georgiana was nervous as she came down the vast staircase to dinner. She could hear William’s voice from the drawing room. He was clearly already more than a little drunk.

  “Got a tip for the Kempton races…Lord MacIvory…fine sportsman.”

  Georgiana curled her lip. She knew that to William, sportsman meant someone who sat on the edges of sport, drinking and betting. She walked into the drawing room. Lady Edith was sitting on the sofa close to the windows, fretfully flapping at her pugs, who were gathered around her ankles. The little dogs yapped and nipped, leaping up to try to catch her draping sleeves. William, glass in hand, lolled in a chair with his back to her. Michael stood, looking as if he would like to leave the room altogether, by the door to the dining room. The potted palms cast shadows over his face, but Georgiana could tell he was scowling by the way his hands were forced deep into his pockets.

  “Good evening, everyone,” she said, trying to be as bright as possible. She needed at least Edith to be in a good mood if she was to get her to agree to engage Mrs. McRory. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

  “Dinner is served.” Cooper, who had been waiting just inside the dining room door, opened the doors with a deep bow.

  “I suppose you may think it’s a good evening,” Edith said as they went in to dinner. The table was laid with silver and crystal, gleaming in the candlelight. “I suppose it must be quite pleasant for you with nothing to do all day but play the piano and ride and enjoy yourself.” Her pugs scampered after her.

  “Well,” said Georgiana, maintaining her
good-tempered smile as Cooper held her seat out for her, “I actually wanted to speak to you about—”

  “When one is a mother there is simply nothing but trouble and distress,” Edith went on without listening to her. She examined the menu with a sigh. “Dear me, Cook has so little imagination. If we had only engaged a French chef as I asked—”

  William waved his empty glass at the butler, who instantly moved to fill it. “Westlake’s cheap, that’s the problem,” he announced. “He has no idea of how a man of property must present himself.” The footmen moved around the table, serving the soup course.

  “As you do, you mean?” Michael said with a sneer. Georgiana winced, but Edith was speaking over him, and William didn’t hear.

  “Augustus is such a sensitive child and Priya certainly has a way of managing him, but she is so nervous,” Edith continued. “I merely enter the nursery and she starts as if she has seen a ghost. I sometimes wonder if she has. Indians are so attuned to the supernatural.” She gave a dramatic shiver.

  Georgiana did not dare look at Michael. Instead, she pushed her soup to one side and leaned forward. “Of course everything has been in so much disorder since Mrs. Cliffe handed in her notice,” she said, “but I am delighted to say that we have found an excellent possibility to replace her.”

  “Really?” Edith did not sound convinced. “I hope she is not too expensive.”

  “Very reasonable, really. She previously worked for the Duke of Westminster,” Georgiana said, hoping that this would impress Edith.

  “Oh indeed?” Edith looked happier.

  “Yes, and so if you are agreeable, I would like to write and offer her the position.”

  “Down, Cupid! Oh dear, no, not on the carpet—not again.” Edith looked up from the pug as a footman hurried up with a cloth. “Yes, yes, that is all very well, but what shall I do about the nursemaid? I wonder if her brain is quite all right? Sometimes she seems quite lost in her own thoughts.”

  “She does own those, you know,” Michael muttered, but only loud enough for Georgiana to hear. She knew how much it must be costing him to control himself and not speak out in Priya’s defense, and she was grateful for his strength. If anyone guessed their relationship, Priya would be the one in trouble.

  “So I hear you’re not going back to Eton?” William boomed from the other end of the table. “That’s right, lad, school is for milksops. I got out as soon as I could.”

  “But university—” Georgiana began.

  “Oh, that’s for muffs. I never went, and look at me now.” His face was red, and strands of soup were caught in his moustache. “Wine, Cooper.”

  Georgiana glanced at Michael. The look of disgust on his face was plain. Perhaps, she thought, she would yet find herself in the extraordinary position of being grateful to cousin William.

  As soon as supper was over, Georgiana rose and met Edith on the way out. “So may I engage her? Mrs. McRory, that is?” she said eagerly.

  “Oh, very well. I suppose we have to have someone. But it is a great inconvenience to me, personally.” Edith tossed her head and floated off in a mist of Russian scarves and a foam of slobbering pugs. “Come, sweeties. Sugared almonds for you now.”

  Georgiana hesitated. Instead of following William and Edith into the drawing room, she turned aside. Michael had excused himself and turned to go in the opposite direction. She followed him.

  She found him in the library, standing by the great globe that she remembered her father examining so often as he worked. The oak bookcases loomed over him, a smell of leather and paper and old cigar smoke filled the room. Michael was gazing at India on the map. He looked up when she came in.

  “I just wanted to say how grateful I am that you did not make a scene at supper,” Georgiana said quietly. They hadn’t spoken in private since their argument, and she was a little nervous about how he would react. “It must have been very difficult, but I know you did the right thing, for Priya.”

  Michael gave her a small, unhappy smile. “Everything I do is for her. I want to make her proud, as proud of me as I am of her.”

  Georgiana came closer to him, touched by the affection in his voice. “She will be. I know she will be.”

  “But not if I turn out like that bounder.” With a tilt of a chin he indicated the drawing room, and William.

  “You won’t. How could you?”

  “Did you hear what he said about not going to university? I don’t want anyone comparing me to him.”

  Georgiana looked at him hopefully. Michael gave the globe a last spin. “Oh, stop looking at me like that. You were right, all right? I freely admit it.”

  “Oh, Michael!” Georgiana clapped her hands. “So you’re going back to Eton?”

  “Thinking about it,” he said grumpily, but he caught her eye and smiled, a proper, mischievous Michael smile, the kind she hadn’t seen for a long time. “To tell you the truth,” he admitted, pushing his hand through his tousled hair, “I feel I’ve been a bit of an oaf to you. I’m sorry, Georgie.”

  Georgiana impetuously threw her arms around him and hugged him. A second later she drew back, blushing. “I’m so sorry—but I’m so pleased. For you and for Priya.”

  He smiled at her. “We’ll never forget all you’ve done for us, Georgie. You’re more my sister than Charlotte ever was, you know that.”

  Georgiana smiled back. She was aware of a soft bruised thing in her chest that might be her heart. But whether it was aching because she felt the pain of his love for Priya or because she wanted that love for herself, she didn’t know.

  She had always thought that when she fell in love, it would be obvious. But it seemed things weren’t that simple. Nothing was simple at all.

  London

  Charlotte came down the stairs of Milborough House with the unhurried elegance of one who knows the race is already won. She cast a glance toward the mirror on the landing, and smiled. Her new Poiret hat was the smartest pink and black, a charming brooch of jet and rose amethyst set it off, and the cut of her bodice was daringly modern. She adjusted the brim of her hat just a touch, so it dipped below one eye, and arranged the coils of the necklace so the eye was drawn inward and downward.

  Nothing stood between her and the duke now. The Huntleighs were an old family, and no matter how unconventional he liked to think himself, this one would never marry a housemaid. Before long, a ring—indeed, the Huntleigh parure ring—would be on her finger. Then it would be time to humiliate Laurence. It was lovely to have something to look forward to.

  She went on down the steps, smiling to herself. Sunbeams poured through the fanlight and spread across the boldly tiled floor, reflecting off the gilded frames, the mirrors, the silver bowl crammed with roses that decorated the hall table. It was such a dazzling picture that for a second Charlotte could not tell where the sound of sobbing came from. She blinked, and realized there was a girl sitting on a small, battered suitcase by the door. Hardly a girl—she looked to be about Charlotte’s own age. The inelegant way she was slumped, her red hands and cheeks, her common, clumpy shoes, her unfashionable dress, all proclaimed her to be a servant.

  Charlotte was a little taken aback. The girl did not seem to have noticed her at all; she was sobbing too hard. Charlotte hesitated. If she went over there she might end up being wept on, and her pale-pink suede gloves would not take that well. But she could not quite bring herself to walk straight past the girl as if she were a piece of furniture. Charlotte took another, indecisive step forward.

  The girl started at the sound of footsteps. She looked up, then leapt to her feet like a startled rabbit. “I’m so sorry, my lady,” she blurted. She gulped and swallowed back tears.

  Charlotte murmured something and made to walk past her. But the sound of the girl’s muffled, swallowed sobs plucked at something in her. She knew what it was like to cry alone and try to hide it.

  She turned to the girl. “May I ask”—her voice came out sharp—“what on earth is the matter? And,” she added, h
er curiosity increasing, “who you are?”

  The girl gulped and rubbed her nose with a plain white handkerchief. Charlotte watched her uncomfortably, half wishing she had said nothing.

  “I—I’m Annie Bailey, my lady. Housemaid at Somerton.” Her sobs threatened to overwhelm her again. “Least I w-was.”

  “Annie!” Charlotte was startled. Yes, of course there was something familiar about her. “But what are you doing here?”

  Annie burst into fresh tears as she began to explain. Charlotte listened in astonishment. It was hard to sort the words from the sobs, but eventually she began to piece together the story. The girl had had some farfetched idea about being lady’s maid to Rose, she had come down here, and Rose, unsurprisingly, had told her to go back again. Charlotte was not sure whether to laugh or lose her temper. It was too ridiculous. And yet of course one would have expected this kind of situation to arise following the Earl’s insane decision to adopt his illegitimate daughter.

  “And sh-she told me go to back to Somerton,” Annie finished with a sniff. “I can’t go back. They’ll all mock me.”

  “Oh dear,” Charlotte murmured. She was thinking quickly.

  “She s-said it would cause trouble for her if I stayed.”

  “Oh, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Charlotte placed a hand—gingerly—on the girl’s shoulder. Annie looked up in surprise. Charlotte forced a smile, trying not to think of the grease that was probably adhering to her suede glove even now.

  “My dear, I can’t bear to see you so upset. Anyone can see you are well turned out and would make an excellent lady’s maid.”

  “That’s just what I said. But Rose—I mean, Lady Rose—wouldn’t listen.”

  “Extraordinary.” Charlotte shook her head sadly. “She has become so headstrong this season. Almost as if she were getting ideas beyond her station.” Then, as if struck by a sudden and delightful idea, she clapped her hands. “I know! Why shouldn’t you stay and be my maid?” Charlotte had enough faith in her own taste to feel it was worth a risk.

  “Your maid, my lady?” Annie gasped.