Diamonds and Deceit (At Somerton)

by Rasheed, Leila

  Ada looked after her sister in astonishment and then smiled with pride. Perhaps it had been a good thing to leave Georgiana behind, after all. She certainly seemed to have grown up and developed a healthy amount of authority. Mrs. McRory had better have some excellent explanation, Ada thought.

  As Georgiana reached the baize door, it swung open, almost hitting her in the face. James started, a look of horror on his face.

  “Beg pardon, my lady, I didn’t expect you!” He was clutching an immense gleaming silver tureen.

  “Please don’t apologize. Is Mrs. McRory here?” She walked ahead without waiting for an answer. The servants’ corridor was a hive of activity; she could smell silver polish and hear the cook shouting at the tweeny for not making the wedding cake icing stiff enough. The staff who saw Georgiana in her bridesmaid dress marching toward the housekeeper’s room did double takes. A maid scampered out of the kitchen, saw Georgiana, gasped, and reversed at speed. Georgiana glimpsed the rose-pink garlands the maids were stitching at the kitchen table, the towering bulk of the wedding cake. Cooper she glimpsed in his pantry, dusting off the best vintages.

  “Mrs. McRory!” she demanded, marching into the housekeeper’s room without the courtesy of a knock. The housekeeper was almost invisible, lost among a fortress of accounts. “I demand to know why you have dismissed Priya. I find it extraordinary that such a valued and essential member of staff has been sent away without even a reference.”

  Mrs. McRory, who had bobbed up from her chair as soon as she entered, pinched her mouth to the size of a pea and raised her eyebrows. “Valued and essential—hmmph!” She sniffed.

  “I beg your pardon,” Georgiana exclaimed, shocked at her disrespectful attitude.

  “Oh, no, my lady. If that is the kind of person the Averleys consider valued and essential, well, very well, but I had no idea that was the kind of household I was entering and I certainly think, my lady, if it were not for your youth and my great regard for your esteemed father—no, not a moment longer, indeed, my lady, not for all the tea in China!”

  Georgiana swayed slightly under the onslaught. “I don’t follow in the slightest,” she said. “Are you trying to suggest that Priya was in some way guilty—”

  “Guilty! Oh yes, doomed and damned, my lady, no matter what latitude the gentry may allow themselves—and indeed I am no stranger to such shocking revelations—but in this house, I certainly felt myself safe from—But clearly, no better than London!”

  Georgiana took a deep breath. All she could make out was that Mrs. McRory thought Priya guilty of something dreadful. Perhaps something had been stolen, and they were blaming the foreigner.

  “Whatever is missing,” she said quietly, “I can assure you I have the greatest confidence in Priya, and I am sure she is not to blame.”

  “Hmmph! What’s missing cannot be returned, my lady.”

  “Broken, then—”

  “Hmmph! Shattered beyond redemption, but it’s her own fault!”

  “Mrs. McRory, if only I could speak to Priya, I am sure we could clear this all up—”

  “You’ll have to look for her in London, then. She left on the first train.”

  “What do you mean?” Georgiana exclaimed. “Why? How? Is there anyone to meet her?”

  “Oh, she has a friend all right, though if he’ll look after her now—well, some are lucky and some not so lucky.” Mrs. McRory nodded savagely. “And now, my lady, if you will forgive me, I have a wedding to organize.”

  Georgiana found herself most politely buffeted out of the door.

  She stood, blank and confused and angry, in the servants’ corridor. What could Priya possibly have done to deserve this? What would Michael say? He had asked Georgiana to look after Priya. And now…

  Georgiana turned and went to the stairs, fists clenched, mind working fast, ignoring the servants who peeped at her from the kitchen. She could speak to her father, beg him to use all his influence to find Priya. But London was so big! She had only passed through it once, on her way back from India, but she recalled the steam of the railway station, the roaring of the traffic, the hustle of the crowds. How could anyone find one girl there?

  As Georgiana reached the steps, she met Annie coming down them. The housemaid’s eyes widened as she saw her, and she at once drew back, flattening herself against the wall to let Georgiana pass.

  Georgiana hesitated. She recalled all Mrs. Cliffe had told her about preserving a proper boundary between servant and mistress, but these were special circumstances. She cleared her throat and, unable to conceal her embarrassment, said, “Annie—er—excuse me—but I must ask you something.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Annie’s whisper was almost inaudible, and she did not look up.

  Georgiana moved closer, glancing behind her to make sure no one was listening to their conversation. She spoke in an undertone. “I must be terribly stupid, but I don’t understand what Priya is supposed to have done. Has something very valuable gone missing? Whatever it is, I am certain she could have nothing to do with it—”

  Annie raised her eyes to her.

  Georgiana stopped, struck by the startled look on Annie’s face. “What is it, Annie? What has happened? Please tell me. I am responsible for everyone here, and if there is any way of helping Priya I must do it.”

  “M-my lady, didn’t you know?” Annie whispered. “Priya’s in trouble. She’s pregnant, miss.”

  Georgiana stared at her in horrified disbelief.

  Michael, she thought. She turned on her heel and ran up the stairs without another word to Annie. Two thoughts stood out with the brightness of headlights. She must write to Michael instantly, and she must hide this scandal from her family. If Priya were ever to be able to return to Somerton, the secret must be kept at any cost.

  Palesbury

  “Georgiana, are you quite all right?” Ada asked as they sat in the carriage, on their way down the lane to the church. Green hedgerows rose to either side and the sky was bright with sunshine, the air full of summer birdsong. Behind them in the second carriage were the earl, Charlotte, Lady Gertrude, and Lady Cynthia, who had arrived that morning.

  Georgiana started. “Yes—oh yes.” She knew she sounded distracted, but hurried on. “I was just thinking that it does seem so strange to have a rehearsal.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t like to attempt it without one.” Ada smiled at her sister. She wasn’t fooled by Georgiana’s act, but she was touched by her brave attempt to seem unconcerned. It was clear that her little sister had begun to feel responsible for the staff at Somerton, and the bad news about Priya had shaken her.

  “Yes, but it makes me think of a stage play,” Georgiana said, with a small sigh. “I suppose I always thought that weddings just…happened.” She waved her hand vaguely.

  Ada exchanged an amused glance with Rose. The countess sniffed.

  “And I never imagined there was so much for the solicitors to do,” Georgiana continued.

  Ada looked down. Georgiana had touched a sore spot. No matter how much Laurence assured her that the legal matters were simply a matter of convention, she disliked all the wrangling between Mr. Hobbes and Mr. Branford greatly.

  “I think you have a mistaken impression of marriage in general, Georgiana dear,” the countess said. “Probably from reading novels. A marriage among important families is the union of two grand estates. Naturally there is a good deal of legal business to conclude.”

  “That’s just what I mean, it’s as if Gravelley Park and Somerton are getting married, not Laurence and Ada—”

  Georgiana stopped short as Rose frowned and whispered, “Georgie!”

  “Oh, I am sorry, Ada—I didn’t mean—I know you love each other very much, and I didn’t mean to imply—” Georgiana exclaimed, blushing in anguish.

  “Of course I know what you mean,” Ada said soothingly, but she couldn’t stop herself flushing red. Georgiana had a knack of stumbling upon the truth. To her relief, she saw the gray stone spire of the ch
urch coming up before them. As they turned into the churchyard she could see that Laurence’s motorcar was already there, a startlingly modern sight next to the comfortable old country church, with its honeysuckle-wreathed lych-gate and the carefully tended gravestones gathered around it. She descended, looking around for Laurence, and Rose followed, while Gertrude, Cynthia, and Charlotte got down from the other carriage, fussing about their dresses.

  Lady Emily was standing with the rector by the doors. As she walked up the winding path toward them, smiling a greeting, Ada saw another woman, by the looks of her a lady’s maid, standing discreetly to one side. A flash of yellow hair showed under her hat.

  “Isn’t that Ward?” Rose exclaimed. “What is she doing here?”

  “Yes,” said Ada, following her gaze. “You’re right.” She glanced back at Charlotte, who was walking behind them up the path. She too was looking at Ward, and Ada noticed that her face seemed pale.

  Emily wore a smart walking suit, clearly made in Paris. She smiled as she greeted them. and the rector murmured modestly and hung back.

  “Good morning,” Emily said as they reached her. “Laurence drives so fast, we’ve been here for half an hour. He’s inside, inspecting the memorial stones. He is a keen amateur historian, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Let’s join him.” Ada took Emily’s arm and turned to the church. The countess hung back, staring at the maid, who had stepped forward to follow them.

  “I see you have employed Ward,” she said.

  Emily turned to follow her gaze. Her smile was quite genuine as she replied, “Yes, I was surprised Charlotte let her go. She’s an excellent lady’s maid. Very knowledgeable…about all kinds of matters.”

  Arm in arm, Ada and Emily walked into the church.

  Charlotte twisted the ribbon of her reticule through gloved fingers as she followed the others into the church. Stella Ward, here! And in the service of Emily Fintan, of all people. She could feel her heart hammering under her corset, anger and fear drumming through her veins. She couldn’t hide it from herself. Ward had outplayed her. Charlotte had been so concerned with attacking Rose and Ada that she had forgotten to defend herself.

  Laurence came down the aisle toward them, the verger one obsequious step behind him. He took Ada’s hands in his own, but Charlotte barely listened to their greetings. She risked a quick glance behind her. Ward had followed them but remained at the rear of the church. As she watched, the maid seated herself in one of the pews at a respectful distance from the ladies and gentlemen.

  “Miss Templeton, would you be kind enough to move slightly to the left, which will be your position on the blessed day itself.…” The rector’s voice intruded, and Charlotte turned around. She smiled sweetly and stepped to the left to allow Ada to move forward. She glanced again to the pew at the rear of the church where Ward sat, her head modestly bowed, as she waited for her mistress. The hat shaded her face.

  The rehearsal wore on, and Charlotte hardly managed not to scream in irritation as the organist played “The Voice That Breathed O’er Eden” over and over again. Think! she told herself. There had to be some way to bribe or bully Ward into holding her tongue about her and Laurence. Her mother’s elegantly straight back was turned, but she glanced back once, and the expression on her face left Charlotte in no doubt that she understood the gravity of the situation.

  Ada and Laurence stood together in front of the altar while the rector fussed around them, positioning them like two mannequins. Laurence looked awkward and irritated, Ada pale and silent. She followed the rector’s instructions with docile obedience.

  But I know the truth, thought Charlotte, allowing her gaze to run over Ada, allowing her fear to metamorphose into anger. I know what a hypocrite you are. You kissed that Indian boy. Perhaps you went further. You imagine you can preserve that mask of icy virtue, you imagine you can smile at Laurence while never letting him know the truth, that you’re not as pure as he fondly imagines. Well, I shall whisk away the veil. I shall expose you for what you really are—no better than the rest of us.

  Charlotte held her reticule tightly. The letters were in there, stamped and addressed. When they left the church she would have nothing to do but slip them into the postbox at the gate and let Her Majesty’s Royal Mail do the rest for her. If only she could stop thinking about Blanchford and Lady Helen Fairfax. The image of them dancing together, perfectly in love, kept recurring to her, and it plucked her conscience uncomfortably. If I have the chance, she thought, I will make sure that whatever misunderstanding my mother caused between them is cleared up.

  The rehearsal wore on, the rector timing the procession down the aisle with his large, unfashionable pocket watch. Through it all Charlotte was aware of the figure at the back of the church—as ominous as the grinning skeleton with a scythe that leant against one of the old memorial stones set into church wall.

  “Finally over,” the countess sighed, smoothing a wrinkle from her impeccable gloves, as she turned away from the couple at the altar. She paused by Charlotte, and murmured: “Rather worrying, don’t you think? I hope you have been discreet.”

  “Of course I have. Do you take me for a fool?” Charlotte was aware that she sounded guilty.

  “Not in the least. I don’t feel the need to repeat our conversation of the other evening.” She raised an eyebrow and walked down to the carriage.

  Charlotte followed, hating her mother. But then she clutched the silk tassel of her reticule, aware of the letters inside it. No, she couldn’t hate her mother. But she could hate Ada. Ada, who thought she could break all the rules and get away with it. Ada, who was going to marry Laurence.

  As she drew near the group, Charlotte heard Lady Emily’s mischievous giggle. They had been friends once, and Charlotte had ruined their friendship just to spite Laurence. Had it really been worth it?

  The women had not noticed her. Ada stood a little to the side, Rose and Georgiana beside her. Gertrude and Cynthia leaned in eagerly, like the geese on the pond pecking for worms. Emily had something in her hand—Charlotte saw a flash of scarlet silk. The sight stirred a sudden memory in her. She stopped dead.

  “But, my dear Emily,” Gertrude was saying, her voice sharp with greedy curiosity, “what are you suggesting? You can’t possibly mean—”

  “All I can tell you is what my lady’s maid said.” Emily’s voice dripped with malice. “She tells me that undressing Charlotte that evening she noticed that one of the silk roses on her dress was torn. Well, it seems that one of the maids found the missing petals in the laundry room, of all places! And more than that, she says she saw how they were torn.…”

  Charlotte felt herself turn cold. Into her mind’s eye flashed the image of a Lalique vase about to meet a marble floor. Her reputation, her last chance—her last season—were about to shatter. In an instant she realized that everyone she had ever called a friend over the last few seasons had become her enemy. The man she loved had become an opponent. Even her maid had betrayed her. She was completely alone.

  “Oh, but that rose belongs to me,” Ada said.

  Lady Gertrude’s face fell. Lady Cynthia raised an eyebrow. Emily stared at her speechlessly.

  “To you, Ada?” Rose asked.

  “Yes.” Ada reached out and plucked the crumpled petals from Emily’s hand. “It was my corsage on the evening of the countess’s garden party. I noticed that I had torn it somehow that evening. I have been wondering where the lost petals had got to.”

  “But the maid’s story—” Lady Gertrude said hopefully.

  Ada shrugged, meeting her eyes levelly. “Perhaps the petals were left in the laundry room for Céline to fix. Who knows? Besides, as we all know.…”

  “Servants have such vivid imaginations,” Rose finished. She and Ada exchanged a slight smile.

  Emily’s mouth twisted as if she had tasted a lemon. Charlotte stood behind them, thunderstruck, silent.

  “It certainly is true, one cannot trust a word a servant says,” Lady
Cynthia said, nodding wisely.

  Lady Gertrude still looked disappointed, but she turned away with a shrug. One by one, the others followed her down to the carriages.

  Charlotte was left alone. She stood in the midst of the gravestones, halfway down the path that led from the church to the waiting carriages. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. For the first time in her life, she had no idea how to behave, what to think, what to say. Ada had saved her reputation. There was no denying it. But why? And…what had she done to deserve it?

  Her mother looked out of the carriage and beckoned. Charlotte started as if recalled to life, and walked down to the carriage.

  “Do hurry, dear, we have so much to do,” her mother said as Charlotte reached the carriage door. “Didn’t you say you had letters to post?”

  Charlotte hesitated a second before replying.

  “No, there’s no need. I have changed my mind,” she said. Only the heightened color on her cheekbones betrayed the confusion within as she took her place in the carriage next to her mother.

  Somerton

  Ada felt tired as she entered Somerton on her way back from the church. Yet she knew she had to hide her fatigue. She should not make things difficult for the staff, she told herself. Her job was simple: to walk where she was led, to smile when she was expected to, to say I do at the right moment. And in return she would make her family happy and have her greatest wish fulfilled, to study at Oxford.

  Ada saw Cooper carrying a large parcel to the blue sitting room.

  “Not more wedding gifts!” she exclaimed. “That is—how lovely. Who is it from?”

  “Lord Fintan, my lady,” Cooper said.

  “Oh!” Ada was startled. She followed Cooper in. Despite her father’s objections—“It looks like a floor of Selfridges”—the countess had followed the fashion and turned the room into a kind of shrine. Silver, jewels, boxes made of rare woods, crystal vases, gold scent bottles, exquisite paintings and bronzes—all had been catalogued by Cooper and formed a glittering display. Ada hovered as Cooper unwrapped the package. She sniffed as a familiar scent wafted out: old paper and leather bindings.