Hope (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 6)

by Mary Kingswood

  “Or so he says. Will you introduce me?”

  Hugo hesitated. “Do you really want to know? If it is something unbecoming in Cousin Sara’s past, would it not be better left there? Especially as you may become more than cousins before too long.”

  “All the more reason to ask questions,” Henry said, with sudden force. “I am done with secretive wives, Hugo. I do not like to speak ill of your mama, but Vivienne tormented me for years, and if I am to marry Sara, then by God, I will know everything there is to know about her.”

  So when they had provisioned the ladies, Hugo led his father to where Carpenter and his family sat nibbling at ratafia cakes and sipping champagne, and made the introductions.

  After the usual exchange of pleasantries, Henry said in genial tones, “I understand you met my cousin, Lady Sara Allamont, in Shropshire?”

  Carpenter instantly looked uncomfortable, fiddling with his shirt collar as if it were too tight. “Oh, no, no, no, sir, not at all. I was quite mistaken on that point, as I have explained to your son. You know how it is when first one comes into a new neighbourhood, one imagines every face is familiar.”

  Henry smiled, not in the least deterred. “It is very warm in here, is it not? The supper room is always so abominably crowded. Let us step outside for a little air.”

  Carpenter looked anything but happy with this suggestion, but meekly he followed Henry into the passageway outside and then to a secluded spot hidden amongst potted shrubs on the gallery. Hugo, thoroughly intrigued now, brought up the rear.

  “Now, Mr Carpenter,” Henry said. “We are quite alone here, and we are all men of the world, are we not? So you need not fear to tell me exactly where you saw this lady who looks just like Lady Sara.”

  Carpenter licked his lips, and looked all around before speaking. “You will understand, I am sure, Mr Allamont, that I am not a married man — have never been married, you understand — so… there are occasions when…”

  He grew puce with embarrassment, but Henry roared with laughter.

  “Oh, Mr Carpenter, how splendid! How absolutely and thoroughly splendid! So you met her in a brothel!”

  8: Inspecting The Hall

  Hugo could not in the least understand his father’s glee at the revelation that Lady Sara had been mistaken for a woman of low reputation.

  “I see nothing amusing in the situation in the slightest,” he hissed at his father, after Mr Carpenter had given them all the details of the establishment in question. “You will have all sorts of men claiming acquaintance with Cousin Sara, and think how tedious it will be.”

  “Oh Hugo, you can be so stuffy sometimes,” Henry said. “Do you see nothing funny about it? If it were really her, then of course it would not be funny at all, but since it is not…”

  “Hope thought Carpenter might have met Lady Matilda instead, for they are very alike, I am told—” He stopped, for his father’s laughter had dropped away in an instant. “What is it? It could not be Lady Matilda either, you know, for she is every bit as much an earl’s daughter as her sister, and just as unlikely to be found in such a place. Besides, she is in London, and Carpenter has never been to London.”

  Henry took a long breath. “London. Yes, of course. I cannot imagine what I was thinking, for of course it could not be Tilly either.”

  But Hugo looked at him oddly, all the same. Just for a moment, his father had considered the idea possible.

  ~~~~~

  The notice of the betrothal was posted in all the appropriate places, Mr Endercott’s services were engaged for the required day and Hope began to believe that the wedding was now a certain thing, and not some ephemeral event in the far-distant future. The only disruption to the steady progress towards matrimony was a succession of young men claiming to be Ernest, or occasionally Frank, but Hugo soon became adept at testing them and every one was found wanting.

  The pleasant summer weather came to an abrupt end with unseasonable gales and drenching rain showers. Hope and her mother had three times to postpone an expedition to Brinchester to see about her wedding clothes, and even when a dry day finally appeared, their journey was so slowed by deep mud that they were forced to stay overnight in the town.

  “At least all this dirt will make it impossible for anyone to come to this wretched viewing,” Lady Sara said.

  In this she was to be disappointed. The bishop’s agents arrived two days before, armed with long lists of those with appointments to view the property, and Hugo was kept fully occupied determining which rooms were to be available for examination, and which were out of bounds. The prospective purchasers were to be shepherded about in small groups, to avoid unexpected encounters.

  “All this upheaval is the outside of enough,” Lady Sara said, as they sat at breakfast the morning before the day appointed for the viewing. “I cannot bear to see strangers tramping hither and thither as if they had any right to be here. Allamont Hall is not for sale, and why these people are coming here at all is more than I can understand.”

  “They are coming because you agreed to allow the Hall to be viewed, Mama,” Hope said with a little smile.

  “Oh. Well, that was very foolish of me,” she said crossly. “I suppose I did not like to disoblige the bishop, but perhaps a little more firmness would have been preferable, in retrospect. I shall spend the day with Grace and the baby, I think. Shall you accompany me, Hope?”

  “I believe I will stay here, Mama, if you do not object. It does not seem right to leave Hugo to bear the whole burden.”

  “It is no great burden to me,” he said. “Go with your mama if you wish.”

  “I should like to stay with you,” she said shyly. “I cannot be much help, but at least you will have someone to talk to from time to time.”

  “Well, that is very amiable of you,” he said, with a pleased smile. “Thank you.”

  “There, that is settled,” Lady Sara said, rising and smoothing down her skirts. “Hope, will you come with me to my sitting room?”

  Surprised, Hope scurried after her mother, her heart sinking to her boots. A summons was usually bad news — some transgression or other, a task not completed to her mother’s satisfaction, or notice of a tedious chore. But she consoled herself with the heartening thought that she would not be subject to her mother’s whims for much longer. In just a few weeks she would herself be mistress of Allamont Hall, and no one could make her feel like a recalcitrant child any more.

  The sitting room looked rather sad. Several of the heavier items of furniture had already been moved to the Dower House, and even though the rest had been shuffled around to hide the gaps, there were still indentations in the carpet to show where they had once stood.

  Lady Sara said nothing about it, however, settling herself in a wing chair near the fire and indicating that Hope should sit in the other one.

  “Now, dear, you will soon be a married woman, so we must talk a little about the ways of men.”

  Whatever Hope had expected, this was a surprise, and she found herself blushing crimson.

  Her mother laughed. “You are not going to be missish, I hope, or scandalised by a little plain speaking. It is important that you know what to expect.”

  “Of course, Mama,” Hope murmured. “Although… Hugo did say that perhaps we would not… we need not…”

  Here words failed her, and she dared not look her mother in the eye. However, Lady Sara said in the calmest tones imaginable, “That is a sensible arrangement, perhaps, to begin with, but you may find in the end that it does not answer. You will want children, and Hugo… Hugo is too young and active a man not to want something more, in time, so unless you are content for him to take a mistress, you would be advised to oblige him.”

  Hope’s embarrassment was so great that she could not say a word, but her mother’s placid voice soothed her agitation.

  “All you need to know about men, dear, is that they are easy to please. The intimacy of the marriage bed is the greatest delight to them. They desire it of
all things, and so women have power over them. There are times in every man’s life when the world seems to be a harsh and unforgiving place, and then his wife may offer him the comfort of her arms. Remember that, and your husband will be your devoted slave. Forget it, and he will look elsewhere. Now, pour us both a little ratafia, dear, and settle down comfortably, and I will explain everything to you.”

  ~~~~~

  Despite Hugo’s claim that the day was no burden, it was, nevertheless, a long and dreary affair. For hour after hour, carriages drew up at the door, hats, gloves and canes were handed to the footman, cards were sent in to the empty room beside the winter parlour where the bishop’s agents had established themselves, and small groups were led through the drawing room and saloons, up the stairs to the principal bedrooms and back down again to view the kitchens, pantries and outbuildings.

  At first, Hugo was astonished at the number of potential purchasers. Where had they all come from, so many people who wished to buy the Hall? But then he began to recognise names and faces, and realised that his future home was become an attraction for all the idly curious of the county, people who had never been on social terms with the Allamonts and had come, as they would to a fair or a market day, to gaze at a spectacle and later describing it to their friends. He imagined them mentally noting every sideboard, every painting, every vase, every vista from window or door, and then whispering around the dinner table, ‘Only two decent pictures in the whole place, and as for the drawing room furniture—! So shabby, my dear, that I should be ashamed to own it.’ And it was shabby, he acknowledged. The Hall had been fitted out in the first style and with little expense spared, but nothing had changed in more than twenty years. Every room was just as it had been when Hugo had visited as a boy. That would change when he was the owner, he was determined on that. Just a few more weeks and all this would be his.

  So when one or two came to him in the book room with questions about the income from the tenant farmers or the acreage of land under the plough or the number of birds to be shot in season, he had no hesitation in refusing to divulge any such information. “Allamont Hall is not for sale,” he said to one after another, and very few looked surprised at the news.

  Hope stayed in the morning room for most of the day, so whenever there was a lull in the tramp of feet through the entrance hall, Hugo went through to see her. Each time she looked up with a pleased smile on her face, and the sight of her gave him a little thrill of happiness. His wife, or so she would very soon be, and what man would not be delighted at the prospect? Then he would fret over whether she was truly to be his wife or not, and wonder just how he could broach the subject. How very awkward it all was!

  Late in the afternoon, the flood of visitors had slowed to a trickle, and Hugo ventured out to visit Hope again, and perhaps entice her back to the book room for a few kisses. The entrance hall was empty for once, except for one man gazing raptly at the large portrait of Lady Sara hanging on one wall.

  Hearing Hugo’s approach, the man said, “Beautiful, is she not? A most striking lady.”

  The man turned to face him, revealing a pleasant if undistinguished countenance. He was not much older than Hugo, much the same height although more solidly built. He was rather sombrely dressed, in the manner of a burgher of the town, his clothes well made but not in the first style of fashion.

  Hugo grunted. “Have you become separated from your group, sir? Or are you awaiting your carriage?”

  “Neither,” he said, with a gentle smile. “How are you, Hugo?”

  Hugo quirked an eyebrow. “You have the advantage of me, sir,” he said stiffly.

  “Do you not recognise me, cousin? I am Frank.”

  Hugo huffed impatiently. “Of course you are. That is to say, you are the third Frank so far — I daresay there will be more. There have been five Ernests to date. Why did you choose Frank, may I ask? For Ernest is a better bet for this game, being the elder of the brothers.”

  The stranger only laughed at this, not in the least discomfited. “I chose Frank because I am Frank — the real Frank.”

  “Then you will not mind answering some questions,” Hugo said crossly.

  “Oh, a test! What a splendid idea. Go ahead, cousin.”

  Hugo had been through the conversation so many times that he ploughed straight ahead. “What was the name of the head groom’s dog?”

  “Lord, that smelly beast? Sandy. It was just that colour, a washed out shade of pale brown. Nasty, vicious thing it was. It bit me more than once.”

  Hugo’s other eyebrow rose, and a frisson of alarm passed through him. “Very well. What happened on the stairs?”

  “The stairs?”

  He frowned, and Hugo’s spirits rose. The dog was perhaps a lucky guess, or he may have known someone local who had told him of it, but the staircase incident was known only to the Allamont children. Hugo himself had not known about it until Hope and Belle had spoken of it.

  But then the man’s face darkened. “You must be talking about that monstrous urn thing that stood just on the half-landing there. I broke it when we came down in the night for something to eat after Papa had sent us to bed with no supper. We picked up every piece and hid them all in the remaining urn, and then put that into the attic, and then we moved the other set from the gallery to take their place. They were quite the wrong colour, but no one ever spoke of it. Papa did not notice, thank God, and if anyone else realised, they were kind enough to say nothing. My God, but I was so scared! He would have beaten us bloody if he had known. I am sure the thing was worth a fortune, for all it was so ugly.”

  Hugo stared at him, his stomach knotted with disappointment. Surely the Hall could not be snatched away from him at the very last moment? It was too much to be borne. But there was yet one more question, and he had to ask all three. It would be remiss not to.

  “What happened to the cockerel?”

  The man’s face twisted in some violent emotion. “Ernest killed it with his bare hands, tearing it apart. Lord, Hugo, must you bring up such evil memories?”

  “It really is you,” Hugo whispered. “There is one other for you to meet.”

  He strode across to the morning room, flinging open the door. Hope looked up eagerly, but then her face dropped.

  “Hugo? What is wrong?”

  “Come outside,” he said, tucking her arm into his. “There is someone here.”

  Meekly she went with him, and when she saw the man standing there, a little smile playing about his lips, she smiled in response. “Good day to you, sir.”

  He bowed formally to her, but said nothing, waiting.

  Hugo watched her face, open and unsuspecting, not recognising the visitor. Then her expression changed, puzzled. “I feel as if I should know you, sir.”

  “You do not recognise him?” Hugo said. “He answered all the questions correctly.”

  “Then it must be… Ernest? No, you are not Ernest. You must be Frank.” But she sounded doubtful.

  “No one recognises me,” he said. “I have the world’s most forgettable face.”

  Hope gasped. “But your voice — that I recognise! Frank? Is it really you?”

  She burst into tears.

  9: Freedom

  Frank’s smile vanished at once. “No, oh no! You must not cry! Everything will be fine, Hope, never fear.”

  “How can it be fine?” she sobbed. “Hugo has done everything for this place, he knows and loves every inch of it, he deserves it, and now you walk in and whisk it away from under his nose. It is so unfair!”

  “I have no intention of whisking anything away from the two of you,” Frank said firmly. “The last thing I wish for is to be stuck here for the rest of my life, I assure you. Good Lord, to be a country gentleman, caught in the web of propriety, moving in the same confined circles for ever? It would be suffocating, and I value my freedom too much.” He spun round at the sound of voices on the landing above. “Someone is coming. Shall we discuss this in the book room?”

&n
bsp; They followed him in, for he needed no guidance to find his way there, and Hugo closed the door behind them.

  “Goodness, this room has changed,” Frank said, gazing around him. “It was such a dark, dismal place in Papa’s time. Or perhaps that was my fear of him that painted it in gloomy colours in my mind. But I like those landscapes on the wall, and you have a new rug in front of the fire. These chairs are different, but I see that you still have Papa’s chair in that corner. I’d have burnt it, if I’d been here. And you fellows are new, too.” He bent down to stroke the dogs, who were wagging their tails and sniffing him hopefully. “Oh, I beg your pardon, madam, for you are no fellow, I observe. No, I have nothing for you in that pocket, only some sugar for my horse.”

  Hugo could not help laughing, but now that he no longer doubted the visitor’s identity, he needed the important question settled at once. “What did you mean by saying you will not take anything away from us? Does that mean we must expect Ernest to appear on the doorstep before long?”

  Frank rose slowly, his face darkening again. “As to Ernest, I have no idea where he is. He may be dead, for all I know, and good riddance. But for myself, I have no intention of laying claim to the estate, so you need not fear to lose it, Hugo. It is yours and Hope’s and I wish you joy of it, and a long and happy marriage here.”

  Hope gave a squeak, and hurled herself at her brother. “Thank you, thank you! Although — it is yours by right, you know. Papa left it to you in his will. Well, to Ernest or to you, and Hugo is —” She threw her betrothed an apologetic glance. “Hugo is the last resort. Otherwise, it goes to the church.”

  “So I understand,” Frank said. “That was what first alerted me to the situation, for I saw the notice of sale in the newspaper. ‘Under the terms of the last will and testament of the late William Allamont Esq of Lower Brinford in the county of Brinshire.’ Six weeks ago today I read those words, and until that moment I had not had the least notion that Papa was dead.”

  “Oh, Frank!” Hope said, kneeling at his feet amongst the dogs and taking his hand. “Were you hiding from him all this time? How dreadful! Papa never understood in the least why you ran away, but the rest of us did, and we never blamed you, never! How terrified you must have been!”