A Divided Inheritance

by Deborah Swift

  Her father was talking animatedly, looking more vibrant than she had seen him in many months, hanging on Zachary’s words. And when Father replied, Zachary cocked his head to one side, listening, his face all bruised like a prize-fighter. To her chagrin, any disagreement between Zachary and her father had obviously been mended.

  The servants whispered to each other as Zachary went by, and cast sidelong looks at each other. She frowned at them, of course, but said nothing. It was hurtful that Father had not taken her into his confidence about her cousin’s injuries.

  Their routine persisted all that week, but Father no longer brought her the books from the business, or asked her advice. She missed going up into town. Things were happening behind closed doors that she was no longer privy to, and she became consumed with curiosity to know what passed between her father and her cousin.

  In the long evenings, whilst the men hid out in her Father’s chamber, she sat before the spitting fire in the kitchen, with Goody Turner and the dogs for company, needle in hand. She was attempting to adapt one of Mother’s rose-coloured silk suits into a tolerably fashionable style. It was difficult enough to persuade Father to pay attention to the household expenses, let alone pay any mind to how she was dressed. For a lace importer he had scant idea of how lace should look ruffled around a sleeve, or as a trim on a boned bodice. To him it was just so many yards of profit.

  Earlier in the week she had asked him, ‘Might I have a few pounds to buy stuff for a new gown, Father? Summer is coming and I’m still in last year’s winter wool.’

  ‘Your apparel seems fine to me, Elspet. But are you going someplace where you will have need of it?’

  ‘No, Father. It’s just that Mr Bradstone—’

  ‘I’m sure Bradstone would prefer a sensible wife – one who does not fritter away his hard-earned coin – to a wind-brained woman in the latest gown. You are already a handsome-looking girl without needing any assistance from the draper.’

  So that was that. But it preyed on her mind. The house looked down-at-heel, and it injured her sense of pride. It was not even that she wanted Mr Bradstone to like her – indeed, she rather hoped he would not; the last thing she wanted was to be married to some boorish northern fur-farmer. But she would like to look as though she was worth marrying, at least, and not be subjected to his humiliating scorn.

  So now she sat painstakingly unpicking and re-seaming the stiff silk sleeves, feeling the cool material slide through her fingers as she sewed. Diver sat on her lap, with his tousled head in the way as usual, but she had not the heart to move him.

  Her enforced solitude gave her plenty of time to think. She pondered over the gossip about Zachary. It couldn’t be true, could it? Did not Father say he and his sister had been estranged? Perhaps that was a good reason why they had led such separate lives, that she had fallen into some unspeakable low-life. But no, it was too ridiculous. No relation of her straight-laced father could be involved in any criminal profession; she refused to believe it.

  Martha laced her into the rose-coloured bodice and tucked in the ends. ‘You look beautiful, mistress,’ she said, ‘like a flower in a garden.’

  ‘Thank you, Martha. I’m glad you did not say which flower. Loosestrife, probably; they’re the ones sticking up above all the rest.’

  ‘No, mistress. A rose. The pink suits you. Just your hair to dress now.’

  ‘You flatter me. Anyway, no need to spend too long with my hair. Father seems to think Mr Bradstone is a pious recusant who doesn’t want a wife interested in gowns and so forth.’ She sighed. ‘And anyway, he’s from out of town, where they’ll have no idea of fashion.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Martha’s grunt was disapproving.

  She swivelled round. ‘Oh Martha, don’t tell, but I’m not sure I even want to meet a dull furrier from some out-of-the-way town I’ve never heard of. He’ll probably smell of old pelts and the tannery.’

  ‘Let me just pin the lace cap in place, at least. You’d best look respectable.’

  She fidgeted as Martha pushed her head back round, then pulled and pinched at the back of her hair.

  ‘Done,’ Martha said. And it was just in time, for the big bell was ringing and she heard the manservant answer the door. Her father’s falsely genial voice followed, then Zachary’s slightly nasal tones.

  She raised her eyebrows at Martha, who said, ‘Best get on down.’

  ‘I suppose I have to?’

  ‘Can’t say, mistress, but Mr Leviston, well, he don’t like to be kept waiting.’

  Elspet sighed and tied her shawl tightly around her shoulders. It was not yet summer, and there was a draught blowing in from the bluster outside. She would certainly have need of a wrap in their hall – Father had asked for the fire to be lit only an hour ago, as usual, despite their guest.

  As she descended the stairs with Martha behind her, men’s laughter drifted up. She pushed at the door and Father turned in greeting. But her eyes were fixed on the other two men. Zachary was dressed in a showy crimson doublet with gold-coloured slashing, surely new. She wished she did not know every item in his trunk. He was pointing out something in the yard to the green-clad stranger, who had his back to them. Her first thought was, ‘Praise the Lord, but he’s tall.’ He towered over Zachary, and had to stoop to follow the line of the smaller man’s arm.

  ‘Mr Bradstone, this is my daughter Elspet.’

  Mr Bradstone turned around and smiled. She let her knees bend and heard the rustle of Martha’s skirts as she dipped behind her. Blood rushed to her face. It was as if she was all at once on fire. For he was surely the finest-looking man she had ever seen. And fashionable. She felt instantly the faded shabbiness of the room, and of her home-sewn gown.

  ‘At last. Your father has told me so much about you.’ Mr Bradstone smiled and bowed elegantly, removing his feather-trimmed hat and showing a crop of glossy brown hair.

  ‘Has he?’ she stammered, staring up at him like a fool. He was much taller than she.

  Why had not Father told her? But of course, he would not notice. He’d said he was fine-looking, but Hugh Bradstone was not just attractive, he was impossibly handsome. She felt caught, like a goose in a pen, with all the men staring at her discomfiture. She managed to stumble out a greeting and a curtsey.

  ‘So it’s finished, is it, Cousin Elspet?’ Zachary said, nodding at the gown.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, with embarrassment, wishing her cousin would not draw attention to it.

  ‘Well, it took long enough. But it is a fetching colour on you,’ he said. His tone made her feel as if it certainly was not.

  ‘Thank you, cousin.’ She twisted her hands together, unable to move, for now everyone was appraising her gown. She hoped to goodness the unpicking marks did not show.

  ‘Elspet always fills a gown well,’ said Father. ‘She has fashioned the gown herself from an old one of my wife’s.’

  She cringed inwardly. Oh Father, she thought, for heaven’s sake do not tell him it is a second-hand gown; what will he think of us? As it was, she was sure Mr Bradstone already thought them quite behind the times with their chilly chambers and lack of wall-hangings. And she was surely not pretty enough for a man such as he. She could think of nothing to say; she was shrinking with shame.

  ‘A seamstress, then? It is very well done,’ Hugh Bradstone said politely to break the silence.

  She was of course well aware that he had no option but to say this. Zachary sat down in his chair, looking amused, as if they were putting on a show just for his entertainment. She cast him a cold look.

  Mr Bradstone, however, continued, ‘And is the trim Leviston’s lace?’

  Father nodded, and puffed out his chest. ‘Finest anywhere, that. Elspet, come here so Mr Bradstone can see.’

  Obediently she approached Mr Bradstone and held out her sleeve.

  ‘May I?’ He lifted her arm and turned it this way and that. She was aware he must be looking down on the top of her head and the hastily pinned cap. ‘Very f
ine,’ he said, and caught her eye. To her surprise, the look contained a twinkle of amusement and plainly said, ‘We must be indulgent to your father.’ When she withdrew her arm the heat of his fingers still lingered on her skin.

  The talk turned to ships and colonies and where the imported fur originated. The men seemed to have forgotten she was there. She fanned herself with the lace ends of her cap to cool her face. It seemed hours until they all sat down.

  At last the maidservants bustled in with the platters and the board was soon filled with dishes of meats and fowl. She was seated opposite Mr Bradstone. He was just as striking close up, with a small, neat beard above his white ruff. He spoke in a cultured voice, his eyes were very pale blue and she noticed that the irises were almost white at the centre.

  When he saw her looking, he smiled and her stomach lurched before she ventured what she hoped was a demure smile back. This might be the man she would marry. It sharpened her senses. She took in everything about him. Her hand strayed up to pat her hair. Why had she not heeded Martha and let her dress it properly?

  ‘We cull mostly beaver,’ he was saying. ‘I employ about two hundred trappers out there.’

  ‘Two hundred?’ Father sucked on his lips. He was impressed.

  ‘I think most of the London milliners have beaverskin from Bradstone’s now. And coney, and musquash. The New World gives us access to more plentiful skins than we could ever obtain in England. I just struck lucky and had ships ready at the right time.’

  When he said ‘struck lucky’, she registered the slight Northern flatness to his vowels, but it only made his voice more appealing.

  ‘Do you wear fur, Miss Elspet?’ he asked.

  ‘I haven’t—’ she began, but Father threw her a pointed look. ‘Oh yes,’ she blurted out, ‘I love fur.’

  And it was true; in the winter her fur-lined cloak was one of her most prized possessions. She loved the softness and warmth of its lining. But she had not had a new one for nigh on three years and it was rubbed almost bald from wear.

  ‘Then I shall send enough pale coney to your dressmaker for a new winter cloak.’

  She replied, ‘Sir, you are too kind, there is no need—’

  Zachary interrupted her. ‘Cousin Elspet is skilled with the needle. Perhaps she will look to her father’s purse and make her own.’

  ‘Delighted,’ said Father, thankfully overriding them both. ‘You’ll give him the name of your dressmaker, won’t you, Elspet?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, thinking to herself that she hadn’t been near Taylor’s shop for almost a twelvemonth and he would be mightily surprised to see her there after all this time.

  Aware of Zachary’s glances, she tried to fix him with a look which would deter him from giving Mr Bradstone any further humiliating details about her circumstances.

  So the food was served, and her choice of dishes went down exceedingly well, though Zachary was always first to the plate again, notwithstanding they were entertaining. She tried to eat daintily, as her father had suggested, which was easier than usual, as her stomach was so fluttery she could barely touch a bite.

  Taking courage, she asked Mr Bradstone, ‘Are you often in town?’

  At the same time Zachary enquired, ‘Do you fence?’ But Zachary’s voice was the louder.

  She hung on Mr Bradstone’s answer.

  ‘Passably well,’ he said, pausing to chew. ‘These days I carry a powder weapon for my own safety as well as a rapier. My days of fighting for the cause are over, however. I am concentrating on business now. And, you know, on board ship I’ve found it is as well to have a gun rather than a sword – such a confined space, you see.’

  ‘What sort? I mean, who made it?’ Zachary asked, leaning forward.

  ‘I left them in the hall. They’re a pair of Mitchison’s pistols, from Goldsmith’s Row. Nice walnut stocks. Actually, I’m quite pleased with them. You can come and take a look after dinner. What about you?’

  ‘Zachary has a fine collection of swords, I’ve never seen so many . . .’ Too late she realized her mistake and shut her mouth abruptly.

  ‘Yes, you had a very good look at all my possessions.’ Zachary spoke in a low and level voice.

  ‘Is that so? What do you mean?’ Father asked, obviously sensing something odd.

  She pressed the backs of her hands to her face, now uncomfortably hot.

  ‘Oh nothing,’ Zachary said airily. ‘Elspet and I were just getting acquainted.’

  ‘It was a misunderstanding, Father,’ she said miserably.

  Father frowned and gave her a look she recognized as his ‘I am ashamed of you’ expression.

  During this little interchange Mr Bradstone had been casting his eyes from one to the other of them with puzzlement. There was an awkward silence. Zachary raised his eyebrows at her.

  Mr Bradstone was the soul of tact for, seeing her discomfiture, he changed the subject. ‘This is a splendid house. How many chambers have you here, Mr Leviston?’

  ‘Oh, there are a dozen,’ Father replied with relief. ‘Of course. I should have thought. You will want to see all that. I’ll take you around afterwards. Zachary can keep Elspet company whilst I give you a tour.’

  ‘I’ll come with you, Father,’ she said, hurriedly.

  She must steer Mr Bradstone away from the upper chamber where the panelling had been eaten by the worm, and have him look at the fine portrait of her mother rather than the disintegrating drapes on the beds. Besides, she had no wish to be alone with her irritating cousin. God forbid. She would much rather find out more about Mr Bradstone.

  But Father was firm. ‘No. I have a few things to discuss with Mr Bradstone, and we will be better undisturbed.’ He gave her a meaningful nod and smile, which Mr Bradstone could not help but see, but did his best to politely ignore.

  ‘You have a house in Yorkshire, I believe?’ she asked him.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Several, actually. The chief being an estate of about four hundred acres. Mostly flax, some cattle. A fine deer park too. I have a good overseer to look to it while I’m away.’

  ‘And how far away are you from London?’

  ‘Four, maybe three days’ ride in fine weather. A stone’s throw from the city of York.’ He seemed amused by her questioning, but answered with a frank gaze.

  ‘It sounds very nice,’ she said, regretting instantly such a feeble response. ‘I have never been to York.’

  ‘Then we must remedy that,’ he said, and Father smiled.

  ‘Come,’ Father said to Zachary, ‘let’s take a look at Hugh’s pistols before Hugh and I take a tour of the house.’

  ‘Mistress Leviston,’ Bradstone made a farewell bow and she dropped a curtsey again, lower than before. He met her eyes as she rose, and nodded to her. It was a nod of acceptance. She could not help it, but she beamed at him like a child. Father and Zachary followed him into the hall. As soon as they were gone, she rang the bell and sent for Martha.

  ‘I know,’ she said, before Elspet had said a word. ‘You want me to dress your hair.’

  ‘How did you—?’

  ‘He’s a fine figure of a man. Such good legs. And his clothes! Cut velvet and shoes made of Spanish leather!’

  She did not chide Martha for her forwardness. ‘I know. He’s not at all what I had expected.’

  ‘Your father has his head fixed on good and proper.’

  ‘He’s so tall. He looks down on me.’

  ‘Now sit still and I’ll dress your hair, I have the pins here.’

  She fidgeted in the chair as Martha tugged and skewered her hair into place. Just as she had finished, Zachary returned.

  ‘You may go, Martha,’ he said.

  ‘But she—’ Elspet protested, but Zachary was giving Martha a look.

  ‘I’ve finished, mistress,’ Martha said, bobbing hurriedly to Zachary and bustling away.

  Elspet turned to face the window, annoyed that he should be using his authority so freely in her house.

 
‘You’ve changed your hair,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ She turned. ‘Martha noticed a few pins were loose.’

  ‘If I were you, I’d be careful not to wear your heart too much on your sleeve, cousin.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, covering her embarrassment by brushing down her skirts.

  ‘A man likes a chase. It is the hunting instinct.’

  She could not believe her ears. ‘You are too impertinent. It is none of your business.’

  ‘Ah, but it is. Your father has taken care to find you a good match, and they are not so easy to come by. I would not have him disappointed.’

  ‘He won’t be disappointed.’

  ‘Good, because the furrier has coin to invest in the business.’

  ‘And do my feelings in the matter count for nothing?’

  He shrugged.

  She let out a long sigh, then took a deep breath. Perhaps it was her fault they seemed to always be at sixes and sevens. ‘Look, cousin, I know we did not get off to a good start, but I want us to be friends for my father’s sake. And I know I am at fault here; I did not bid you a proper welcome and I looked at your things without asking. My behaviour was unforgivable. I’m sorry.’

  He turned away, and for a moment she thought he was not going to reply, but then he said, ‘Why? Why were you snooping in my room?’

  ‘I was curious, that’s all. Wouldn’t you be? Father had never told me anything about you or your family, and he still hasn’t. It’s remiss of him, and the servants have started gossiping already, making up all manner of nonsense –’

  ‘What? What have they been saying?’

  ‘I dare not even repeat it.’

  ‘Then why bring it up at all?’ He glared at her.

  The door flew open and Father and Mr Bradstone breezed in, laughing together at some joke. She remembered her manners, glanced helplessly at her cousin and went to greet them. Zachary moved nonchalantly to the side, as if the conversation had never happened, and sat down with one leg hitched over the other on one of the upright chairs.