“What are you telling me?” Westlake exclaimed, a look of shocked anger on his face. “This is unconscionable.”
“I think so too. I’m appalled that Ada was exposed to such a situation.”
“Really, I—” Ada protested faintly. “I am quite all right.”
“You’re in shock, anyone can see it,” Laurence said tenderly, his gaze protective.
“My dear Ada,” her father said. “I am so sorry I was not there to shield you from such impertinence. I feel ashamed that it was allowed to happen.” He scowled, and Ada felt the weight of anger that clung around his shoulders. “If I had known when I adopted William…but it is too late now. My only desire is to secure a future for you and Georgiana—a future for Somerton.”
Ada nodded. Laurence spoke next, not to the earl, but to her. “Lord Westlake has stopped William’s allowance, so we hope he will run up no more debts. But we must act to reassure people. And there is only one way to do that.” His gaze met Ada’s, and he took her gloved hand in his. She was aware of the thin layer of leather that separated them. “Let us set a date, Ada. It is the right thing to do. For me, for you—for Somerton.”
Ada looked deep into his eyes. She saw the warmest respect, the deepest affection. She looked to her father. He had turned away discreetly as Laurence spoke, but she saw the white hair glinting at his temples. It had not been there a month ago.
She took a deep breath and drew herself up. “And Oxford?” she faltered, feeling low for bargaining.
Laurence’s words tumbled eagerly over each other. “As soon as we are married. It’s unconventional, but why shouldn’t we take rooms there? You can attend the university. I can easily travel to London when Parliament is in session, and I shall enjoy revisiting my old haunts.”
Ada looked at her father. Part of her almost wanted him to forbid it. But he spread his hands. “Once you are married to Laurence, you are his. I think women’s education unnecessary, and I can’t understand why you wouldn’t rather be decorating Gravelley Park, but if you prefer to take a degree, why not?” He smiled. “Married women are allowed a latitude that unmarried women are not.”
“And I will be the most generous husband,” Laurence said warmly. “Just say when. Everything can be arranged—we can be granted a special license if necessary.”
“The twenty-first of August,” Ada said quietly.
It was the date that had been running through her head ever since that morning, the day Ravi would be waiting under the great clock at Paddington Station. She was doing the right thing, she knew it; and yet she felt as if two halves of her soul were slipping apart. She was too weak, too easily tempted. It was unthinkable to betray Laurence. She could never see Ravi again, and he knew that. The best thing to do was to put the meeting entirely out of her own power.
“Let us be married on the twenty-first of August at midday,” she said again.
Laurence clasped her hands tightly. His voice trembled, triumphant. “You will make me the happiest man alive!”
He drew her close. Ada’s father coughed and took a few hasty steps away, appearing to have become very interested in the fronds of a palm tree. Laurence held Ada’s wrists so tightly that the kiss he drew her into was awkward, uncomfortable. Their lips met, and yet she still felt detached from herself, as if something divided them, or divided herself from herself.
It will take time, she told herself. But I have done the right thing.
By the time they returned to the house, Ada was exhausted from the countess’s barrage of instructions, advice, and commands about wedding preparations. Her father had announced the news at once, and there had been no other subject of conversation since.
“Your bridesmaids will be Charlotte, Georgiana, and Rose,” the countess went on as they stepped down from the motorcar onto the sun-glaring pavement. “And Lady Gertrude and Lady Cynthia.”
“But why?” Ada exclaimed, roused at last to respond. “I don’t even like them. Nor do they like me.”
“It makes no difference. I promised their mothers, and these things are very important. Now, about the conveyance. I expect we shall hire a landau, and then I think it may be best to hire a chef to arrange the wedding breakfast. We will need a special license because of the time of day, but since Laurence’s godfather is the Archbishop of Canterbury, that should not be too difficult to arrange.”
Ada stepped with relief into the coolness of the hall and handed her hat to Sanders. The countess’s words seemed to have nothing to do with her. It was just another ball or tea dance that was being arranged, another grand society event. Was Rose back? That was Ada’s only thought. She pushed any thought of Ravi out of her mind. That was over.
“Well, well, that was a delightful afternoon after all, and we have restocked the gardens.” The countess swept into the drawing room, carrying her new bonsai tree. “Ah, Sebastian, do look. Isn’t this a vision? I imagine the whole of the south end re-landscaped and a miniature fairyland created. I must redecorate the Russian rooms too—Japan is sure to be the next craze, if the enthusiasm for these little trees is anything to go by, and I intend to be the first to introduce it. I was lucky to secure this one—I had to practically wrest it from the claws of Mrs. Verulam.” She placed the bonsai on the sideboard. Ada walked in after her to find Sebastian standing at the sideboard, reading The Times. Rose was nowhere to be seen.
Sebastian cast a glance toward the tree. “Very nice, Mother,” he said without enthusiasm, and returned at once to the newspapers.
“Well, you are gloomy.” The countess sniffed and went to sit on the sofa, her silken skirts rustling and falling into elegant pleats. “What happened? Has your tailor disappointed you again?”
“I do hope not,” Charlotte chimed in. “I was so looking forward to seeing you as Sinbad tonight.” She perched in the chair next to her mother. She had been rather silent for the afternoon, but now she cast a mocking glance toward her brother. “Pale-blue silk harem pants, the rumor goes.”
“Oh, do shut up,” Sebastian snapped. The countess raised an eyebrow. Ada was startled, but as Sebastian continued to turn the pages of the newspapers, she began to realize what might be wrong. She stood and moved as if casually toward the sideboard. Glancing over his shoulder she saw that she was correct. The headline, in letters as black as mourning, read “Somerton murder scandal: Campbell pleads guilty, transferred to Pentonville.” There was a grainy photograph of Oliver, surrounded by walls of policemen, being escorted into the police wagon.
Charlotte assumed an expression of deep hurt. “Too much champagne last night? Too little?”
Sebastian slapped the paper closed and turned to face his mother and sister for the first time. “I wish you could understand that there are more important things in the world than your wretched social merry-go-round,” he said.
“That will do.” The countess’s voice was at its coldest. “I expect to see you in better spirits this evening, or you may consider your account at Pennycuick of Jermyn Street closed.”
Sebastian’s face hardened. Ada took a quick step toward him. But a sudden, violent shrilling shattered the tension. Ada started. “What on earth is that awful noise?” She covered her ears.
The countess looked baffled. “I have no idea. Is it something in the street?”
Charlotte went to the window.
Almost as soon as it had begun, the noise ended. There was the sound of Sanders speaking in the hall.
“Who—?” The countess interrupted herself with a laugh. “Of course, the telephone! I quite forgot I’d had one installed.”
“Well, is it always going to make that dreadful noise?” Charlotte looked appalled. “Couldn’t it play a pleasant piece of music to alert our attention, perhaps? There must be a way to arrange it.”
There was a discreet knock on the door, and Sanders entered. “The telephone for you, sir,” he addressed Sebastian. “Master Michael calling.”
“Michael!” the countess exclaimed. “What has he done now
?”
Sebastian left the room, and the countess and Charlotte looked at each other with deep suspicion.
“I don’t see why you have to assume he’s done wrong,” Ada said mildly.
The countess sniffed, and Charlotte cast Ada a withering glance. “My dear, let us be realistic. He’s probably been expelled again.”
“If he has,” the countess said, reddening, “I shall disown him.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t!” Ada exclaimed. But the conversation was interrupted as Sebastian raced back into the room.
“Sebastian, what has happened?” the countess demanded. “You look as if you have swallowed a jumping bean.”
“I can’t explain. There’s no time. I have to be off—Good-bye, Mother—please make my excuses to Mrs. Verulam.”
Ada looked at him in astonishment. The countess started to her feet. “Sebastian, what are you saying? Where are you going?”
“Something’s come up, Mother. I’m sorry.”
Sanders appeared at the door with Sebastian’s hat and coat, the footman hovering behind with the cane. Sebastian snatched them and headed for the door, pulling on his coat as he went.
“Sebastian!” The countess’s voice was almost a shriek. She ran after him into the hall. “Is this to do with Oliver?”
Sebastian’s silence was answer enough.
“You cannot go. What will people think?” she hissed.
“I don’t care. I don’t care anymore.” Sebastian went out the door, his hat askew. The footman who leapt to open it for him was too late. The countess took a few more steps after him, then stopped, clenching her fists. Ada, who had followed her in concern, saw her face reflected in the hall mirror. She expected to see fury in it, but to her astonishment, she saw fear. What was the countess so afraid of? she wondered. Just before the door swung shut behind Sebastian, she saw a determined, rough-looking man cross the road beyond him.
Somerton
Georgiana came in from her early morning ride with color in her cheeks and a spring in her step. The day was perfect for riding, glorious sunshine, and she hardly felt tired at all. The country air was doing her good. Even better, Mrs. McRory seemed to have a very strong whip hand over the staff, and the servants were all scurrying around like mice who had met the cat. As she crossed the hall she spotted a letter on the table, addressed to her. She picked it up and saw that the return address was Eton School.
“Michael!” she exclaimed. With a little skip of happiness she went into the breakfast room, and seated herself to read. The footman brought tea and she read the letter as she waited for it to brew. She had been a little nervous to hear from him, but the first lines reassured her at once. He was having a “ripping time,” cricket was “top hole,” and even the “beaks” were “pukka.” She couldn’t stop a smile bubbling up, even under the solemn eye of the butler. Michael was all extremes.
But then her face clouded.
Please look after Priya for me. I often feel that she is not telling me everything in her letters. I suspect she wants to protect me from knowing how badly Edith treats her. I’m concerned about her—do ask after her, please, Georgie. And tell her I love her.
Georgiana remembered with a guilty start that it had been a while since she had last seen Priya, walking across the lawn as she usually did for afternoon walks with Augustus in tow. She rang the bell and waited until Cooper came up.
“Oh, Cooper,” she began. “I just wondered if you had heard anything about Priya. The nursemaid, you know. I feel a little anxious about her since she is a foreigner here, and of course quite isolated from the rest of the staff.” She hesitated. Cooper was looking uncomfortable. “Is anything the matter?”
“No, no, my lady. Not at all. Only that I am afraid to say that Priya is indisposed at the present time.”
“Oh dear! A summer cold, I expect?”
“Yes, I expect so.” Cooper sounded ever more wretched. Georgiana sat forward.
“Are you quite sure nothing is the matter?”
“Quite—it has been a little difficult to accustom ourselves to Mrs. McRory’s ways, that is all, my lady.”
Alarm bells rang at once in Georgiana’s mind. “I see. Is there any special trouble?”
“No, no. That is, the third housemaid has given notice.”
“Oh dear,” Georgiana exclaimed.
“It is regrettable, but I hope we will be able to fill her position.”
“I’m sure you will.” Georgiana was worried, though. It would put more of a burden on the remaining staff. “Is there anything you would like me to do? To say to Mrs. McRory?” she offered valiantly, though the thought made her a little nervous.
“Thank you, but no, my lady.” Cooper sounded firm, if embarrassed. “Please do not trouble yourself.”
Georgiana nodded and allowed him to leave. She was not as confident as he was—but she knew that it was never wise to meddle too much in the affairs of the downstairs world. Cooper and Mrs. McRory would have to settle their differences as best they could. She turned to her writing desk; a reply to Michael was a pleasure she would indulge at once. He would be glad to know that Priya merely had a cold.
London
“Breathe in, my lady.” Céline’s soft French accent soothed Ada’s nerves. She obediently held her breath while Céline laced the corset tight. She wrung her hands as she stood before the glass, hardly aware of her own reflection, slim and white as a candle.
“You’ve heard nothing from Lady Rose.”
“No, my lady.”
“I’m frightened, Céline. I can’t imagine she has gone willingly. I can’t think her so foolish. The duke has such a dreadful reputation. Do you think he could have harmed her, forced her.…” Her voice trailed off. She hardly knew what she was suggesting, only that the thought of it filled her with terror. She sat down suddenly on the bed, as her head spun. “Oh, I can’t go to this ball. Not with Rose missing.”
“My lady, you must.” Céline crouched by her side, her face full of anxiety. “I’m sure she is in no danger.”
“How can I keep lying to my father, the countess, to everyone?” Tears ran down Ada’s face. “How can I lie to Laurence? He’ll see I am agitated, he will know, and he will ask me—and what can I say?” The thought of Laurence’s penetrating gaze terrified her most of all. How could she admit that her sister had gone away with a such a man as the Duke of Huntleigh? He would despise Rose, and she couldn’t bear that.
“Please, my lady. You’ve got to be strong. We have to keep this secret. If we hear nothing from Lady Rose or from the duke by tomorrow morning, then we must tell someone. But Lady Rose’s reputation is at stake. You know what that means as well as I.”
Ada nodded silently. Rose, a former housemaid with nothing but her beauty and title to recommend her, needed her reputation as a gambler needed an ace. “You’re right, Céline.”
She stood and allowed Céline to slide the dress over her head. Céline knelt at her feet and stitched the last few pearls to the hem of the dress. As Ada looked at herself in the mirror, gleaming in the gathering shadows, she remembered another evening, when Rose had dressed her—the way her heart had pounded then, at the thought that she would soon be meeting Ravi. But that dress had been pink and gold like the sunset. This one was pure white. So much had changed, not merely the dress. She would marry Laurence, and she had to make herself forget Ravi entirely.
Ada pulled on her long kid gloves sprinkled with pearls like dewdrops, and slipped on her dancing shoes.
I look like a bride, she thought.… Or a virgin sacrifice.
Ada remembered that horrible concert—The Rite of Spring—she had gone to with Rose. That dance had haunted her dreams ever since, its cruel power, the terrified girl trapped within the circle and dancing herself to death. Sacrificed, so that the wheel of the year could turn, remorselessly, round and round, like the everlasting wheel of the seasons, the turning of dancers coupled in vast ballrooms, a world where there was no escape, no breaking of the
circle ever allowed.…
She made a slight, desperate noise, her heart pounding.
“My lady?” Céline glanced up.
“Nothing,” Ada said, managing to smile.
“There, my lady.” Céline stepped back to examine her with an expert eye. “Perfect.”
Ada stood and turned around in the mirror. Her thick dark hair was simply swept up, secured with a jeweled band. The dress was light to wear, yet the pearls gave it a pleasing weight when she turned, and made the silk brush her hips so the shape of her body was momentarily revealed.
“It’s your work that is perfect, Céline,” she said in admiration. “You are an artist.”
Céline blushed and curtsied. “I love fabric, my lady. I love working with it.”
“Well, we are lucky to have you. Shall we go?”
The countess met them in the corridor, resplendent in heavy gold lace, sable bands, and deep cream silk, with strand after strand of pearls falling to her waist. A huge ostrich-feather fan in her hand fluttered and flirted with the air. She looked Ada up and down.
“Very elegant, very appropriate,” she commented. “It’s not so important now, of course, that the date has been set and the invitations sent out.”
“Invitations sent out?” Ada said, sharply. “But we only arranged it this afternoon—”
“Oh, I am always prepared.”
“And whom have you invited to my wedding, may I ask?” Ada was angry, and she was also frightened. The machinery was rolling into action sooner even than she had expected.
“Just the usual people, those who matter. The Duchess of Ellingborough, of course, a few bishops, my bridge circle…” They went down the stairs, to join the men, who waited below.
“Ada,” her father said fondly as she came down the stairs. Ada saw the affectionate expression in Laurence’s eyes as he stepped forward to take her hand, and her seething anger calmed somewhat.
“You look exquisite,” he told her. “As perfect as a marble Venus.” He glanced to the countess and added, “And no one would take you for anything other than her sister.”
Diamonds and Deceit (At Somerton) Page 17
