Louisa Elliott

by Ann Victoria Roberts

  Tommy had joined him for a while, to make arrangements for the following day; but as they left after evening stables, the feasibility of riding to hounds was very much in question. By noon the brief sun had disappeared, swallowed by a thick pall of fog rolling upriver from the coast. As the two men laughingly struggled to find their way home from the Barracks, they could taste sulphur in the saturated air; the effort of finding the Queen Anne house seemed to preclude any idea of returning later to eat in the Mess. On a decision to review their hunting prospects the following morning, they parted outside Robert’s door.

  Inside, the fire was blazing a warm welcome, the lamps were lit and Louisa’s photograph seemed to send him a happy smile. Throwing off his damp cloak, Robert sank into the chair beside the hearth and yawned. His eyes were stinging from the fog and he was unaccountably tired, glad of the excuse not to have to turn out again within the hour. Momentarily, he closed his eyes, then Harris came in and, following the set routine, removed Robert’s boots before beginning to lay out his clothes for the evening.

  ‘There’s no need, Harris, I’ll not be going out again. I’ll write some letters and have an early night. Anything will do for supper — bread and cheese, a slice of ham – anything. And some coffee, a pot of good hot coffee with a tot of rum in it to thaw me out.’

  Less than an hour later he was ensconced at his desk, with a reply to Louisa’s letter already underway. He lit a cigar and began a fresh page.

  ‘Bearing in mind what was discussed before you left, I accepted an invitation to tea at the Bainbridge (fils) villa on Tuesday afternoon. After two refusals, I was afraid I might be coolly received (not that it would have mattered in the least), but in fact Rachel welcomed me most warmly. She seems to regard my presence at her little gatherings as something of a feather in her cap. (Although I cannot help but wonder what her attitude would be if she knew of our relationship!)

  ‘Before I went, the thought of what I should say caused me some considerable anxiety, yet once she gave me her attention, it was quite surprisingly easy. I began by commenting on the length of time she had been married, and playing the role I had set myself, referred to the elopement as a truly romantic gesture. (Yes, you may laugh, my darling!) I asked how had her father taken the news, and had he forgiven her yet?

  ‘To expect concern from Rachel was perhaps naive, but I did. There was none that I could see. She laughed, and said her father was quite implacable. Then I asked after her little sister. Did she not miss the child, or think the little one might pine for her? At that, I admit, the laughter ceased. I saw I had struck an exceedingly painful blow, and was almost sorry for it.

  ‘Improvising as I went along, I said I had met up with the child on the Knavesmire, in the company of a servant (describing Moira as well as memory served) that I had not immediately known Victoria, she being so much thinner than I recalled, but she had hailed me as I rode by.

  ‘Rachel was much affected by this imaginative tale, whereupon I went on to suggest that she might communicate with either her sister or the maid, perhaps arrange a meeting one afternoon. She said her father would know her handwriting! (Does she have no intelligence at all? Truly, I had thought her more practised in the art of subterfuge!) So then it was necessary to explain that if she printed the address badly and posted the letter in town, her father would be none the wiser.

  ‘So, my love, distasteful though it was, I have done as much as you asked of me, and I hope this is an end of it. I can understand in part your concern for the child, although why you or I should continue to inconvenience ourselves on the Tempests’ behalf is quite beyond me. The child is no longer your responsibility, and now that Rachel is aware of the problem, you must try to forget it. It concerns me that the father may see your hand in this kind of interference, and he is too vindictive not to find means of making you suffer for that.’

  With a sigh, Robert laid down his pen and stood up. Throwing the butt of his cigar into the fireplace, he bent to the warming coffee-pot; the liquid was bitter and black, just palatable with an added tot of rum. As he drank, his eyes scanned the pages he had written. At the last line, he sighed again, hoping it really was the end of Louisa’s involvement with the Tempests; even their name gave him a feeling of disquiet.

  In many ways, much as he had grown to love York, he knew he would be glad to leave. In some other place, where Louisa was a stranger, gossip would present less of a problem. Although it was only an educated guess, if his next posting was to Dublin, there she could be protected. The Duncannons might not be in the same league as Charlotte’s titled relatives, but they were not without friends amongst the older Irish gentry. Having led the social life of a hermit since his marriage, Robert felt that perhaps the time had come for him to refresh some of those old connections, and if sympathy had to be bought at the cost of a few words in the right ears, then he was quite prepared to do it. Once, he would have died rather than admit to Charlotte’s insanity, but not anymore. The price had been paid a hundredfold. In future, Louisa would be by his side, and he was determined she should be accepted.

  Taking up his pen again, Robert wrote: ‘Since you are to be away rather longer than we first thought, I have asked for leave at the end of next week. Not to come to Blankney, although that would have been delightful, but to go to Ireland. There are some matters of business to which I must attend, and while you are otherwise occupied seems a good time.

  ‘Also, the Adjutant informs me today that I am rostered for duty at Christmas, so my heartsearching on that score is now settled. I intend to persuade Letty to come over here for Christmas, bringing Georgina, of course.

  ‘It will be good to see the child again, for I confess she grows more and more delightful, and I long for you to meet her. I am sure you will love her, for like her father she is both intelligent and charming. She is, however, prettier and more modest!

  ‘In the meantime, I shall take the opportunity to view the worst of the Dublin house. If we are to live there, then certain rooms must be refurbished. It shames me to admit this, but the place has been sadly neglected, and I cannot bear for you to see it in its present state.

  ‘No doubt I shall be in York again before you, counting the hours and minutes to your return. I have missed you most dreadfully, and am determined you shall not leave me again, not even on a mission of mercy! Having said that, however, I should like you to give your cousins my warmest regards, also good wishes for Jenny’s speedy recovery.

  ‘Until we meet again, my darling, I send you all my love – Robert.’

  Nine

  Three days before Christmas, Robert walked briskly into the station, consulted the arrivals board, purchased a penny ticket and found his way through the subway to the right platform. An east wind was funneling through, and chilled, he hugged his overcoat closer. The clock showed twenty-seven minutes past eleven; five minutes to wait if the train was on time.

  Porters hovered, blowing on mittened fingers, ready to offer assistance to the next batch of alighting passengers; slipping a silver sixpence into one ready palm, Robert issued instructions, promising another when the luggage was safely delivered to the Station Hotel. He glanced at the clock again, marking the fact that the train was a minute late; then he heard its rumbling approach, seconds later seeing it, black livery wreathed about with steam, hissing and groaning past him, until, like some monstrous animal, it came to rest with a heaving sigh.

  He saw Georgina’s face first, hands waving excitedly from the window, then Letty’s tall figure, hair awry as usual, broad-brimmed hat perched like a boat atop a wave. As soon as the door opened, Georgina flew into his arms, her warm and eager little body clinging hard, as though she would never let him go. He swept her up with delight, hugging his sister with a free arm, greeting the maid by name as she bobbed a curtsey, her rosy Irish face full of smiles.

  While Bridget directed the porter towards their luggage, Robert took his daughter to see the engine, still hissing quietly, still emitting an occasional
puff of steam as though anxious to be gone. Awed and impressed, Georgina watched with round eyes as a cleaner bravely polished brass rails and plates, running a soft cloth over red, grey and cream lines on engine and tender. Catching her eye, the fireman winked and smiled, a pink and white beam in that grimy face. The driver touched his cap to them, and Robert smilingly returned a half-salute as he led Georgina away. She went reluctantly, constantly turning, until the walls of the subway finally cut the engine from view.

  In the tunnel, she found her voice, relating the high points of the journey and asking questions so fast there was no space for anyone to reply.

  ‘I thought children were supposed to be seen and not heard?’ Robert ruefully asked, noting the several heads which turned and smiled at that high, piping, demanding little voice.

  ‘Not this one,’ Letty replied equably. ‘She has everyone organized, from Bridget to the butler. Isn’t that so, Bridget?’

  ‘Then I don’t stand a chance,’ Robert commented, returning the brightly beaming smile his daughter offered.

  ‘Do you know, Daddy, the boat was going up and down and round and round — such fun it was! And I liked it, but Auntie and Bridget made me lie down. They weren’t liking it at all!’

  Letty pursed her lips at this reminder of their sea-sickness. ‘That’s quite enough, dearest!’

  As a tactful diversion, Robert said, ‘Was the crossing very bad?’

  ‘Bad?’ His sister raised her eyes in supplication. ‘Had I known, I’d never have left Dublin!’

  ‘But you’ve crossed before.’

  ‘In the summer!’

  ‘It can be unpleasant, even then,’ he remarked with feeling. ‘Never mind – it’s dry land you’re on now, and the suite I’ve booked for you should be comfortable. At least you can dine and relax in privacy — public rooms are no place for children.’

  Gratefully, Letty glanced at her brother. ‘It sounds ideal.’

  ‘I hope so,’ he murmured fervently, which made her think it must also be expensive. Pushing her hat squarely down on its bed of springy curls, she followed him up the steps and into the Royal Station Hotel’s grand foyer, ready to be appreciative because of the trouble he had taken. It was certainly modern, she decided, finding the crimson walls and heavy furniture a little overdone. A large, gilt-framed portrait of the Queen glared at the turn of the magnificent staircase, and Landseer stags threatened from Scottish mountain crags. The royal passion for all things Scottish had even been echoed in the tartan carpet. Letty sighed. It was so different from White Leigh, with its Sheraton furniture, and mild-eyed Stubbs horses gazing from even milder landscapes.

  There were people everywhere, milling about, seated on plush sofas, all showing off their latest and most elegant clothes; catching sight of herself in a floor-length mirror, Letty made a face: over-tall and thin as a whip, as their father always said; dressed no better than a poor parson’s daughter. Guiltily, she looked away, wishing she had taken her sister-in-law’s advice and bought a whole new wardrobe of clothes. But resentment at Anne’s spending habits, and foolish pride in her own thriftiness, had made refusal instantaneous and adamant. With a regretful sigh, she grasped her niece’s hand and climbed the stairs.

  Their suite was much more to Letty’s liking, decorated in light, floral colours and not overburdened by too much furniture. With pleasure she went to the window, pulling back green velvet curtains to let in more light. The view caught her by surprise: an expanse of charmingly laid-out gardens, which must be a delight in spring and summer; and beyond, white cathedral towers disembodied above the city’s smoky haze.

  With a satisfied smile, Robert slipped an arm round her shoulders. ‘See the Minster? Magnificent, isn’t it? And wait till you see it close to…’

  A quizzical smile lit his sister’s grey eyes. ‘You were less impressed when you first came here.’

  ‘It must have been a foggy day,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘I’m thinking you were the foggy one!’

  ‘Perhaps.’ His eyes travelled upriver, finding the railway bridge and, beyond that, guessing the location of Louisa’s apartment; back again, and there were the ruins of St Mary’s Abbey showing white between winter-naked trees, the half-timbered Hospitium close by the river-bank. ‘Do you see the ruins?’ he asked. ‘The gardens there are quite beautiful, even at this time of year. I must show them to you. Quite a collection of rare plants and trees – nothing like the size of White Leigh, of course, but the setting is delightful.’

  ‘I should enjoy that,’ she said with pleasure. For her, gardening was a passion. ‘Perhaps this afternoon?’

  ‘Why not?’ We’ll have a walk round while the weather holds.’

  While Bridget unpacked their luggage, Letty agreed that they should take their midday meal in the hotel’s dining room. Having given vent to a brief burst of energy upstairs, Georgina subsided into silent awe, for which her aunt was thankful.

  The child was a delight, but she could be as bossy as she was mischievous, and in some ways seemed old beyond her years. ‘Walked this earth before, that one has,’ Bridget often said, while Letty attributed the child’s often shrewd remarks to the peculiar circumstances at home. Georgina knew Charlotte was her mother, and that the poor woman was as sick in mind as others were in body. Letty made a point of stressing that, often taking Georgina with her when she visited the old and ill. But even at the best of times at White Leigh, it was never easy, with William and Anne maintaining a stiff-lipped endurance, and as far as possible ignoring Charlotte’s presence in their house.

  At the worst of times, it was almost unendurable. She still blamed herself for what had happened a year ago, and knew she would carry the memory of it to her dying day.

  But Charlotte had seemed so well: lucid, eager to please, content to watch her little daughter playing. Never alone, of course, but even so… That sudden obsession with appearance and cleanliness should have been a clue, but months of quiet had lulled all suspicion. Meanwhile Charlotte waited like a spider for her intended victim. And like a fool, Letty thought, I encouraged him to walk into the trap.

  Until that day, she had pitied her, feeling that in many ways she was an injured party; but the way she had been duped, the evil slyness of it, had ended that. Letty would never forget the scene which met her eyes last Christmas morning: returning from church, seeing the abject confusion on the servants’ faces; racing up the stairs to find Robert lying across the bed, his shirt covered in blood. For a moment, she had thought him dead. Georgina’s sudden, panic-stricken screams had filled Letty’s ears, never to be forgotten.

  For weeks after his departure the child had wept for him at night, demanding to know where he was and why he would not come back. She adored her father; yet until recently he had spent little time with her. Letty had thought he could not love the child, that she represented too clearly the thorns which stabbed his conscience. But something had broken his obsession with Charlotte, thawed that frozen expression and restored him to thinking, feeling life.

  She had known it was a woman, of course. The only difficulty had been in restraining her curiosity. Who was she? What was she like? How had it come about?

  Once or twice in the summer, he had seemed almost on the point of speaking, then, a month ago, he had telegraphed from Dublin, asking her advice. She had arrived to find him in the midst of alterations, and eager, at last, to share his plans for the future.

  Her pleasure at this badly-needed refurbishment of their mother’s house was tempered by Robert’s proposals. She did not begrudge him his mistress, but the idea of her living there while the regiment was in Ireland seemed little short of madness.

  One reason for accepting this invitation to York had been in hope of meeting Miss Louisa Elliott. From Robert’s description she sounded decent and sensible, not at all the sort who wished to flaunt herself at his expense. Although one could never be sure: where women were concerned, men could be inordinately blind. At some suitable moment, Letty decided,
she would ask him to bring the young woman to dinner; probably tomorrow evening, for he would be otherwise engaged on Christmas Day. Then, with Georgina safely in bed and asleep, she would have opportunity to assess Miss Elliott’s character.

  Certainly, Robert was in marvellous spirits, relaxed and light-hearted, his sense of humour bubbling forth in laughter which evoked memories of other, happier times. And if Miss Elliott was the cause, then she deserved Letty’s gratitude. Watching her brother now with Georgina, eyes bright as he listened to her confidences, she knew this journey was already worthwhile. Bringing the child here, to celebrate Christmas with her father away from White Leigh, had been the only true incentive. God willing, the terrors of a year ago would soon be forgotten.

  Ten

  Since returning from Blankney, Louisa’s days had lost their routine. Surprised by this new-found freedom, she came and went at will, sometimes rising early, like the ideal housewife buying meat and vegetables at their freshest and best, on other occasions lying in bed till lunchtime, surrounded by books and journals. Once, her reading had been restricted to a stolen hour before bed, whereas now she could indulge that passion to the full.

  But that morning, as she tidied away her books and clothes, anxiety was uppermost. Robert had arranged two days’ leave of absence in lieu of his duties over Christmas, and the night before had confessed to feeling, for the first time, like an adulterous husband.

  ‘Which is what I am,’ he had declared sombrely, ‘but it never occurred to me until now. Must be the thought of Letty — wondering how she’s going to take all this.’