by Mary Nichols
Sophie had never uttered a word about a cousin, not even when he had gently probed, and he was beginning to wonder if she existed at all. But that led to all manner of other questions. Who was the young lady he was entertaining under his roof and what did she know of the exiled Edward Mountforest? Was she a confidence trickster, in which case she was a consummate actress and he was the greatest gull of all time.
He had given her a home and employment, which had moved her smoothly from a servant to being one of the family. Had she engineered that? But how? She had not asked him to pretend she was a cousin; he alone was responsible for that. He was sure she could never bamboozle his aunt Agatha. Come to that, just what was Aunt Agatha’s game?
The wind was rising and it was beginning to rain; what had been little ripples on the Thames were now large waves, surging against the dockside, making the ships swing at their moorings. The tide had turned, the Silken Maid would not dock today and he was no nearer having his questions answered. He went in search of a hackney to convey him home. He had taken a box at the theatre for that evening having arranged for the Besthorpe family to meet Sophie and her parents there.
He would continue to go to the docks every day until the Season ended and it was time to return to the country. Most of the haute monde had already gone with the lavish entertainments and matchmaking being almost over for another year. Unless something happened in the next two weeks he would be taking Lucy back to Cavenham, still unattached, but she was very young; there would be other years. If he could afford it. It all hinged on the return of the Silken Maid.
He arrived home with little time to spare and went straight up to his dressing-room where his valet was waiting. His evening clothes—frilled shirt, black pantaloon-trousers and black tailcoat, white brocade waistcoat and black cravat—were laid out on the bed, and his fob, quizzing glass and rings lay on the chest, together with a lace-edged handkerchief.
‘My lord, we must make haste,’ Simmonds said, helping him off with his frockcoat. ‘Mrs Standon and the young ladies are ready and waiting in the drawing-room.’
Twenty minutes later he joined them, immaculately clad, and ushered them out to the waiting carriage. His unease over the Silken Maid was set aside as they rattled through the streets and he endeavoured to apologise for his tardiness.
Emma hadn’t wanted to come, but as usual Mrs Standon and Lucy between them had outmanoeuvred her. She could not possibly be tired, they said, she had done nothing strenuous all day; she had admitted she had never been to a play before and it was the last outing of the Season; her gown had been especially commissioned for the occasion and paid for by Dominic, who would be dreadfully disappointed if he could not show her off in it.
It was easier to consent than fight them, though she was left wondering, as she did every single day, why Mrs Standon should take such an interest in her. She felt like a fly caught in a spider’s web, whose struggles to free itself were bound to be in vain.
She had helped Lucy to dress in ivory crêpe, added an amethyst necklace, part of the family collection of jewels, which Emma supposed would soon be gracing Sophie’s slender neck, dressed her hair and then turned to her own toilette.
Her gown of the palest blue mousseline de soie, was caught beneath the bust with a cluster of tiny silk forget-me-nots, tied with a green satin ribbon whose long ends drifted down the gathers of the skirt. The low round neckline and the bands of the little puffed sleeves were threaded with tiny blue beads. It was the creation of one of London’s foremost mantua makers and the most beautiful garment she had ever worn.
It was complemented by a fine gauze shawl in tones of blue, green and silver, blending into each other like the colours of a sparkling sea. A matching scarf was tied about her hair with its ends floating over one ear. She would not admit, even to herself, that she longed for Dominic’s look of approval, a sign that he saw her as a woman in her own right and not an adjunct of his sister.
However, he was so late arriving home and so anxious not to keep Sophie waiting that he hardly noticed her. ‘Which is no more than you deserve for your vanity,’ she scolded herself. Later, when they met Sophie, who was dazzling in amber lace which was sewn all over with amber and jet beads in a pattern which emphasised her willowy build and shimmered as she moved, Emma realised she had been outclassed. She called herself all kinds of a fool and set about enjoying the entertainment.
It was when the lights went up for the intermission and people began to move about, visiting neighbouring boxes and exchanging the latest gossip, that Dominic turned to Emma with a smile which reminded her of the tiger rug she had on the floor of her room. Its teeth were bared, though it was not so much a snarl as a smile, as if it knew something its hunters did not. When she mentioned this to her father he had laughed and hugged her to him. ‘Who knows what secrets lie in a tiger’s head?’ he had said. She felt suddenly exposed, as if Lord Besthorpe had deduced everything. Or perhaps someone had told him her secret.
‘You look very fine tonight, Emma.’ He had been sitting beside her with Sophie on his other side, but Sophie had moved away to speak to her father who was seated at the back of the box. Emma had been uncomfortably aware of the Viscount, almost breathing down her neck, all evening.
‘Thank you, my lord, but the credit is yours. I am afraid your aunt has had the account sent to you.’
‘On my instructions, my dear. She was quite right, you know, it was not the thing to neglect your wardrobe when you are one of the family, so to speak.’
He had spoken very quietly and her answer was also in an undertone. ‘It was not in the least necessary. I should have remained no more than Lucy’s maid. To have raised me up as you have was, perhaps, not fair to me.’
He was startled. ‘Why not?’
‘I must drop back to what I was when you have finished with me and that will come very hard.’
‘You make it sound as if I shall cast you off like an old shoe.’
‘But you will, won’t you? You have no choice.’
‘Never say I have no choice, Miss Woodhill. I have always had a choice. I am man enough to do as I please. And suffer the consequences of my actions.’
‘I think not, sir. You are bound by convention and etiquette and honour as every man worthy of the name of gentleman is.’
‘True,’ he said, with a sigh which made her turn and look at him in surprise. ‘I wish the female of the species were equally bound. In their book, truthfulness is often replaced by artfulness and etiquette an excuse for duplicity.’
Her breath caught in her throat. More than ever he reminded her of the tiger, smooth, supple, but oh, so very dangerous. ‘That is not fair, my lord. You cannot paint all womankind with the same brush.’ She had to turn the conversation to another subject or be left wallowing helplessly. ‘But I collect you are referring to the play. The heroine is, indeed, a schemer, but perhaps she is the one with no choice.’
‘We shall see,’ he said, enigmatically, as the orchestra began tuning up for the second half and everyone resumed their seats, including Sophie, who sat down beside Dominic and slipped her arm under his. Emma, who could not bear to see them thus, turned her head to concentrate on the stage.
Two weeks later, the whole household except for the housekeeper and a nucleus of servants, who always remained at Bedford Row, prepared to leave town for Cavenham. This involved a great exodus of baggage, trunks, personal effects, the best crockery and silver, all the bills and correspondence pertaining to the running of a great house, jewellery boxes, hatboxes, saddles and tackle, even the riding horses, which had been sent ahead the day before with Martin and another groom, whose task it was to arrange for the change of horses at each stage.
Emma assumed her services would be dispensed with now that Lucy’s Season was over and she had mixed feelings about it. Her own bags and trunk were packed with the clothes she had brought with her; those which had been purchased for her since Mrs Standon arrived, remained in the closet; she could not, in hon
esty, take them with her.
In one way she would be glad to escape from the retribution which she was sure would not be long in coming if she remained in the household; the other side of the coin was that she had nowhere to go. She had spent a sleepless night worrying about it and wondering if she would be given any wages before she went. She could hardly expect to be paid considering the luxurious way she had been living as part of the family, but without currency she would be hard put to pay for a night’s board and lodging.
Neither had she made any progress towards discovering the truth about her father’s exile; Mrs Standon had never mentioned it again, but once she did, once it all came out into the open again, she would be damned in the eyes of Society for biting the hand that fed, which was how everyone would look at it. Worse than Society’s condemnation, would be losing Dominic’s good opinion of her.
But was it lost already? Was the smiling tiger about to pounce? He had been about the house all day, supervising the packing and stowing of the luggage on to the large covered cart which was to accompany the coach.
She was carrying one of Lucy’s hatboxes down the stairs to be added to the pile of trunks and boxes stacked in the hall, when she met his lordship coming out of the library, closely followed by a manservant carrying a box of books.
She put the hatbox down and stepped towards him. ‘My lord, may I speak to you?’
‘Why, naturally, you may. Come into the library.’ He nodded to the servant to continue with his load, and ushered her into the room, shutting the door behind them.
‘Sit down, Emma.’
‘I would rather stand, my lord.’ She paused long enough for him to see that she was struggling for words and to notice that she was, once again, wearing that hideous brown bombazine. ‘I do not know quite what to say. You have been so very kind to me but when I said you were also unfair, I meant it. You see, now you are repairing to the country, I have nowhere to go and must find lodgings until I secure another position…’
‘Why?’ he demanded.
‘Why?’ she asked, puzzled. ‘I can’t stay here when you and Lucy have gone to the country, can I?’
‘I cannot for the life of me think why you should want to.’
‘I don’t. My lord, this is very difficult. You said fifty pounds a year to be paid every month and though I have had more than that in kindnesses, kindnesses do not pay rent. I have been with you three months and a quarter of fifty pounds is…’
‘I am perfectly able to calculate it,’ he said, with some asperity. ‘And if you are complaining about not being paid, then I can only say it was an oversight and will be put right immediately.’ He took a key from a bunch on the slender chain tucked into his waistcoat pocket and unlocked a drawer. ‘What I do not understand is why you should choose to abandon Lucy in this fashion, without a word of warning. She will be heartbroken.’
‘Abandon her, my lord? I don’t understand. Am I not to be dismissed? I assumed that as the Season was over…’
He laughed suddenly. ‘Oh, my dear Emma, what a ninny you are! As if we could dream of parting with you. Lucy needs you as much as ever; conventions apply almost as much in the country as in the town and, as you so correctly pointed out to me, I am bound by them. You are coming with us and you will stay until Captain O’Connor returns from India.’
He paused and searched her face for signs of guilt, discomfort, shame even, but all he saw were two green eyes, brimming over with tears. He took a step towards her to comfort her but, knowing what would happen, he checked himself and allowed his hands to fall to his sides. ‘Unless there is some pressing reason why you should not?’
‘No, my lord.’ She blinked rapidly, but one tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. At Cavenham House she would be very close to Teddy and she longed to see him again. It was three months since she had last seen him; though they had corresponded, it was not the same as talking to him face to face. Was he also having trouble over his identity? She smiled and he was left dazzled by it. ‘I will be happy to accompany Lucy to Cavenham, my lord.’
‘Good. And do you think you could forget this “my lord” nonsense? Nothing has changed, you know. Cousins we remain.’
‘I must go and finish Lucy’s packing,’ she said and rushed from the room, leaving him twirling the little key in his fingers, lost in thought. He smiled and counted out fifty sovereigns into a small bag which he slipped into his pocket, before relocking the drawer. Later he would give it to her. Lucy had pin money, why shouldn’t she?
They left very early the following morning, with Emma sitting beside Lucy, facing Dominic and Mrs Standon, who was to stay at Cavenham House for a few weeks before continuing her journey by Mail to her home in Harrogate. Their progress was slow because the coach went at the speed of the baggage cart which followed them.
‘Leaving it behind to go at its own pace would invite highway robbery,’ Dominic explained, as they settled in their seats and he gave the order to proceed. ‘The roads are full of soldiers and sailors home from the war with no means of livelihood, who have turned to crime.’
‘How sad for them,’ Emma said. ‘To fight for one’s king and country, to risk death and injury and then be thrown aside when victory comes. Can nothing be done for them?’
‘Your soft heart does you credit,’ he said, not daring to look into her eyes for fear his sharp-eyed aunt would read the truth in his glance, a truth Emma herself seemed completely unaware of. But then, she was no doubt pining for Captain O’Connor. ‘We do what we can, but there are so many.’
The journey was exquisite torture for Emma who had never been so long in his lordship’s company, and certainly not at such close proximity, with knee almost touching knee, and every jolt threatening to catapult her into his lap. Whenever she looked up she found herself gazing into brown eyes that seemed to be quizzing her, probing, delving into the very depths of her guilt. She was sure her eyes and the warm flush that suffused her cheeks gave her away. She turned to gaze out of the window as they left London behind and set out north-eastwards towards Chigwell.
Their steady pace gave Emma the opportunity to see the countryside which was all very new to her, and for some time there was silence, broken only by the steady clopping of the horses’ hooves, the rattle of harness and the creak of the springs. Now and again she heard the gruff voice of their driver as he called to the horses. Before long light snores told them Mrs Standon was catching up on lost sleep.
‘Oh, this is so very boring,’ Lucy said. ’emma, why are you so quiet?’
‘I was thinking.’
‘What about?’
‘India, and how different the countryside is here. I think it is the scale of everything, I suppose.’
‘Do tell us about India, Emma,’ Dominic said, noticing her wistful look. ‘I believe you are homesick for it sometimes.’
‘If I am homesick, it is for the people I left behind, my father, my friends, the servants, who were also friends…’
‘And Miss Mountforest?’ he suggested.
She was startled for a moment, then said, ‘Yes, Miss Mountforest too.’
‘You were close?’
‘Yes.’
‘And yet she never spoke of English relations?’
‘No.’ She managed a smile, though it was an effort. ‘But you have said that Miss Sophie Mountforest has never mentioned having kin in India. If the brothers were estranged, it is hardly surprising, is it?’
‘Have you noticed a family likeness between your Miss Mountforest and Sophie?’ Lucy asked.
‘I cannot say I have. But the Viscount is very like P—’ She stopped suddenly when she realised what she had been about to say. ‘I mean there is something about him that reminds me of Major Mountforest. It is the eyes, and the forehead, I think. The mouth is very different.’
‘Tell us about Major Mountforest,’ Dominic said. ‘I assume from the title he was an army man.’
‘He was with the Indian army and was a very brave and honourable man.
I never heard him utter a bad word about anyone, not even his enemies. He would fight them because he was a soldier and that was what he had been trained to do, but he also understood the culture of the Moslems, the Hindus, the Sikhs and Buddhists which make up the country, which is not a single country at all but many different ones, with different traditions, different climates. Europeans have taken over vast tracts of it, but they have hardly touched the real India.’
She paused; it was difficult to speak of her father in that, impersonal way and she had to be very careful not to say ‘Papa’, but the opportunity to put the record straight was too good to miss. ‘Major Mountforest realised that. He was always respectful to the natives and did his best not to upset them by trampling over their most treasured beliefs, as some have done. He cared for people, whatever their colour and creed. The servants would have died for him. I believe one of them did.’
‘Go on.’
He was looking at her intently but she forced herself to meet his gaze, though her heart was pounding. Now she had started, she must not lose her nerve. ‘His name was Chinkara. It means gazelle in Hindi.’ She smiled, remembering the little Indian with affection, and went on to talk of Chinkara and what she had learned of that last dreadful battle in the hills of Nepal. Once she began the words flowed easily and she was soon talking about Sita, and Calcutta, with its cosmopolitan population, the fort and the temples, the narrow alleyways, the surrounding plains and jheels, shallow marshy lakes.
From there, gently encouraged by Dominic who seemed genuinely interested, she went on to speak of the mountains where they went to stay during the oppressive heat of the summer. She talked of forests and ravines, of tigers and wildflowers, of elephants and festivals. She forgot Aunt Agatha, gently snoring, and Lucy, listening to every word; she was talking to him and him alone, sharing something of herself with him. They hardly noticed the stops to change the horses every dozen or so miles, which scarcely took three minutes.
