Echoes of a Promise

by Ashleigh Bingham

  ‘Of course, Mr Clifford. Please do call again. Any time at all.’

  Victoria and Caroline shared a knowing smile. They sniffed romance in the air.

  During luncheon their guest entertained the family with tales about his travels to collect rare specimens for the hothouses at Cloudhill, his estate in Somerset.

  ‘I do hope that you will all be able to visit Cloudhill sometime in the near future and see for yourselves the collection of ephyphites growing in my greenhouse. I promise that you won’t find a better display anywhere this side of the equator.’

  There were nods and smiles from all at the table, and Mr Shelford exchanged a quick congratulatory glance with his wife.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Clifford, we would be delighted,’ he said, and a mutually convenient date for a visit next month was immediately arranged.

  Mr Clifford raised his brows apologetically at Emily. ‘It’s unfortunate, but by then I’m afraid that the vanda coerulea will have finished blooming. I’m so disappointed that you will miss it because it’s been quite spectacular this year.’

  ‘Oh!’ There was genuine disappointment in Emily’s tone as she explained to the family that this rare orchid from the Himalayas was a most unusual shade of blue.

  ‘However I did take a photograph of the blossoms at the peak of their flowering a few weeks ago,’ he hurried to say, ‘and I had it faithfully tinted by a gentleman who excels at that craft.’ Mr Clifford looked towards Lady Mary. ‘Ma’am, do I have your permission to send this photograph to Miss Emily?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, Mr Clifford. How very kind of you.’

  ‘What a charming young gentleman,’ Lady Mary sighed to her husband later as they saw Martin Clifford drive off in a hansom cab. ‘Such charm and poise. Such refined manners!’ She carefully refrained from commenting on his decidedly unattractive looks.

  Her husband nodded. ‘He’s going to make Emily an offer, you know.’

  Lady Mary clicked her tongue. ‘Yes, but Victoria should be married before her younger sister walks down the aisle. I can’t understand what is keeping Howard Royston on the plantation all this time. Poor Victoria. Even his mother says she doesn’t know why he won’t leave Barbados.’

  Lady Mary was correct to speculate that when the photograph of the blue orchids reached Emily three days later, there would be an accompanying message.

  Naturally, Emily replied to it promptly and that encouraged a flurry of letters back and forth between Somerset and London, until the day came for the family to set out for their visit to Cloudhill.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Martin Clifford had posted a lookout on the roof of his rambling red-brick house, much of which had been built in the days of Good Queen Bess. He waited by one of the tall, mullioned windows overlooking the gardens, impatiently winding and unwinding a curtain cord around his fingers, until he heard the sounds of an old hunting horn float down from the roof. It was the signal that two carriages had been sighted entering the gates.

  He could barely contain his excitement as he hurried to the steps to greet the Shelford family’s arrival, flanked by a line of smiling servants.

  ‘Welcome to Cloudhill one and all.’ He helped the ladies alight. ‘Please come in, come in. I trust you had a comfortable journey? You are not exhausted? Refreshments are waiting in the drawing room, and then perhaps you’d like to be shown to your rooms to bathe and rest before dinner?’

  As the party walked into the house, Lady Mary looked around approvingly at the paintings and tapestries hanging on the oak-panelled walls, the vast Aubusson carpets, the cabinets filled with fine porcelain pieces and an impressive array of heavy silver on display. It was also pleasing to note that there appeared to be no dust about, and that the woodwork gleamed. It was clear to her that Cloudhill was a well-run, dust-free house, with the added grace of scented flowers throughout.

  ‘I’m coming to like Mr Clifford more and more,’ Lady Mary said drily to her husband as they walked upstairs to rest before dinner. ‘And becoming mistress of this great house is going to be quite a feather in our little Emily’s cap. Oh! Won’t that wretched Lady Marchant be apoplectic with envy when she hears the news!’

  ‘Well, m’dear, first let’s wait for the gentleman to make an offer for our daughter’s hand.’

  His wife gave him a smug smile. ‘Twenty-four hours, my dear George. Mark my words: that young man will be coming to you within twenty-four hours.’

  The sun was slowly sinking and Victoria was putting the final touches to her hair when there was a tap on the door connecting her room with Emily’s.

  ‘Vicky, please throw a shawl around your shoulders and come downstairs with me quickly.’ Emily was almost dancing with excitement. ‘Mr Clifford is down there and he’s sending signals for me to come downstairs to see the greenhouse straight away – and – oh, Vicky, it’s still daylight and everything will be perfectly proper if you’re there with us!’

  She went to the window and drew aside the curtain to reveal their host standing in the garden below. They waved to each other and Victoria waved too, then snatched her shawl and ran softly down the stairs behind her sister.

  Mr Clifford, smiling broadly, offered an arm to each and hurried them across the parterre, then down a flight of stone steps to a long path leading through a shrubbery. Beyond this loomed a structure that appeared to be a slightly smaller version of the Crystal Palace. Inside, and lit by strategic lamps hanging throughout, was a vast, exotic world of colours and leafy shapes that made Victoria catch her breath.

  Emily appeared to be transported as she looked around her; Mr Clifford’s gaze didn’t leave her face. Victoria sensed the delicacy of the situation and deliberately hung back while Martin and Emily wandered off along paths leading to further extravagant displays.

  ‘Oh, Mr Clifford! This is – this is – so much more than I ever imagined,’ she heard Emily say, and when next she caught sight of the pair fifteen minutes later, they were beside a waterlily pond. Mr Clifford was down on one knee and Emily’s hand was in his.

  Victoria smiled to herself and hung back even further. But fifteen minutes later she did catch a glimpse of them walking arm in arm somewhere between the rows of ixora coccinea and justicia brandegeana and witnessed Emily lift her face invitingly towards Mr Clifford’s. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers in a soft kiss. And then another. Emily’s arms slipped up around his neck.

  Victoria’s eyes widened. This was Emily? It was difficult to reconcile the image of her shy little sister with the eager young woman here in this greenhouse

  Victoria blew a long, silent breath and stayed rooted to the spot while the couple moved on with Mr Clifford’s arm now around her sister’s waist.

  More time passed and darkness began to fall. Hurry up, Emily! Victoria needed to stand under a lamp to see the hands of her watch. It was imperative for them all to be back in the house before their mother became aware of any absence.

  When her patience could be stretched no longer, she went searching for the pair and found them beside the displays of maranta leuconeura, wrapped closely in each other’s arms and clearly far away in a world of their own.

  Victoria felt her cheeks heating and quickly walked to the door, wondering how to bring the pair back to earth. In desperation, she pulled a wooden stake from a garden bed and hit it loudly several times against the metal door frame.

  Emily and Mr Clifford came hurrying through the potted vegetation, both looking somewhat flushed and dishevelled, and beaming with a new-found joy. ‘Thank you, Vicky.’ Emily seemed to have little air left in her lungs. ‘I’d quite lost track of the time. Everything in here has been so diverting.’

  No one in the house seemed to have noticed their absence and, after an excellent dinner – during which Lady Mary announced that she had never seen finer silver on any table in England – Martin drew Mr Shelford into his study and asked for Emily’s hand in marriage.

  With that formality quickly concluded, Martin ask
ed her to walk out to the terrace with him, where he opened a velvet box and revealed a charmingly old-fashioned ring with a cluster of diamonds and sapphires. She caught her breath, and held out her hand. ‘Oh, how lovely!’

  ‘My darling wife-to-be,’ he said, slipping it on her third finger, ‘this was my mother’s and, on the night she passed away, she told me that it was to be yours, Emily. Of course, she didn’t know your name or who you might be, but she told me that wearing this ring had brought her great joy and happiness, and if you were the woman who had won my heart, she wanted you to wear it and know that this ring came with her blessings.’

  ‘How lovely. Thank you, Martin, thank you – and with all my heart, I promise to make you happy.’ She kissed him warmly. ‘Now let’s go back to the others and arrange a date for the wedding.’

  Martin Clifford was no sportsman. Horses and guns held no interest for him and his stables housed only several pairs of carriage animals.

  ‘What the devil are we going to do with ourselves all week at Cloudhill?’ Caroline moaned. ‘Go for walks and play billiards?’

  Hedley rolled his eyes. ‘We’re both going to die of boredom.’

  They soon discovered that it was a mistake to underestimate Martin Clifford. On the day he’d first met Caroline and Hedley Ingram, he’d made an assessment of their characters that further acquaintance had merely confirmed. He didn’t approve of their irresponsible way of life, but, as they were part of his beloved Emily’s family, he’d see to it that they’d not find Cloudhill’s hospitality wanting.

  Lady Mary was late coming down for breakfast the next morning, but she arrived in time to hear Martin announce that he was arranging a ball at the end of the week to celebrate the engagement, and that neighbours had already sent over a couple of their best hunters for Caroline and Hedley to use during their stay.

  ‘Yes, there’s some good riding hereabouts, and my friends intend to invite you to take part in a point-to-point they’ve organized for Wednesday.’

  ‘Oh, I say, Martin, that’s absolutely splendid!’ Hedley beamed and Caroline clapped her hands.

  ‘And if you’d care to try some shooting, I’ll have Walker, my steward, show you the guns that my late father used. I’ve never found any pleasure in it, but Walker knows all the best locations for wildfowl at this time of the year.’ He stopped abruptly and turned to Victoria. ‘Oh, forgive me, my dear sister-to-be, but should I have asked my friends to bring a horse for you also?’

  She shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I don’t ride. I enjoy walking … and playing tennis. I noticed a net down there on the lower terrace.’

  ‘Yes, indeed! Don’t play myself, but I’ve arranged for a few young neighbours to come for a game tomorrow. And, by the way, we’ve all been invited to lunch at Longleat House on Thursday. I’m afraid that the marquis and most of the family are away at the moment, but Lord Bevill, the eldest son, is eager to become acquainted with you and your family, Lady Mary.’

  She clattered her tea cup onto its saucer; excitement rendered her temporarily speechless. The Shelfords had been invited to dine with aristocracy! That was going to provide a superb barb for her to throw at Millicent Marchant and her wretched daughter when next they met.

  ‘Please don’t concern yourself about the distance to Longleat, ma’am. It rarely takes me more than an hour to drive there, and we’ll be back well before dark.’

  There seemed to be nothing that the master of Cloudhill was unable or unwilling to provide to ensure that the Shelford family enjoyed their time in Somerset. The kitchen staff provided a variety of splendid dishes each day, and neighbours were invited to dine some evenings. These meals were usually followed by dancing and cards, or games of charades and songs sung around the piano, which they discovered that Mr Clifford played quite well.

  ‘Emmie, darling,’ Victoria said as their carriage pulled away from Cloudhill at the end of the week, ‘your Martin Clifford is the most thoughtful and tender-hearted gentleman I’ve ever encountered. You’re the luckiest girl in the world to be marrying him.’

  ‘Yes, I know I am. And I’ll pray hard that some day you’ll find a husband just like him.’

  Victoria smiled to herself and turned to look out the window. She doubted that there could ever be another gentleman quite like Martin Clifford. He was unique.

  A week later, Lady Mary – wearing an elegant new green velvet hat from Paris – drove triumphantly around Hyde Park in her open landau with Mrs Royston at her side. The engagement of Miss Emily Shelford and Mr Martin Clifford had been announced in The Times that morning, and Lady Mary could barely contain her elation when a steady stream of acquaintances approached the carriage to offer congratulations.

  ‘Constance, my dear, do tell me if you catch sight of that wretched Lady Marchant and her giraffe, Eloise, here this afternoon. I want to snub the old witch for having called our sweet little Emily simple minded! Hah! Emily has caught herself a future viscount. I did tell you, didn’t I, that dear Martin is a great nephew of Lord Fortescue, and his heir? I’d like to see Lady Marchant snare such a fortune for her daughter!’

  Mrs Royston smiled. She’d already heard the whole story several times, and she was still amazed at how quickly a romance had developed between the unlikely pair.

  ‘I decided that if we set the wedding a month after Emily’s birthday, it will give me time to have her gown made in Paris, and—’ Lady Mary suddenly wrapped her fingers around her companion’s wrist. ‘Ah! Look, Constance, here come Lady Marchant and Eloise. I must make sure that neither of them miss my snub. I do hope people are watching.’

  They were indeed, and Lady Mary slanted a look of glee towards Mrs Royston as Lady Marchant and Eloise were suitably cut when her ladyship ordered the carriage to increase speed just as the pair was almost beside them.

  ‘Oooh!’ Mrs Royston gasped. ‘She’ll never forgive you for having done that to them, Mary! That woman and her daughter won’t stop until they’ve found some way to pay you back.’

  ‘Hah! Just let them try! I’ll soon have two daughters married well, and Millicent Marchant still can’t find any poor fool willing to wed her Eloise at any price.’ She brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her skirt. ‘Now what was I saying about the wedding? Ah, yes. Emily is taking scant interest in the preparations, and I’m afraid to say that Victoria allows so much of her time to be taken up by charity work that I see little of her at home these days. And I do feel that she’s accepting far too many invitations. She’s a very popular girl, you know.’

  Mrs Royston looked at Lady Mary sharply. ‘Don’t tell me she’s formed some attachment? She must be aware that Howard is sure to be back from Barbados before long, and I know he’ll be ready to make her an offer.’

  Lady Mary felt like singing for joy when she returned home. Her little Emily was about to be the most beautiful bride ever to walk down an aisle. Poor Mr Clifford could be forgiven for having inherited such an unfortunate lack of good looks when he’d been born into a wealthy family with elderly relatives who had produced no other heirs.

  She was halfway up the stairs when her thoughts switched to Victoria. Yes, she’d grown into a charming, intelligent girl, though she lacked the golden beauty of her two sisters. But she’d developed something else – poise? A quick wit? Whatever it was, that spark was attracting a growing number of gentlemen to their door.

  At that moment, Lady Mary heard the sound of it opening, and looked over the banister to see Victoria standing on the threshold with a man that no mother in her position could ever approve of. She blew a hiss of irritation between her teeth. No young lawyer whose father owned a small iron foundry in the Midlands would ever be considered a suitable escort for a daughter of this house. Victoria had been told repeatedly about her mother’s view on associating with people who were not of their own social class, yet she still showed an infuriating streak of independence in choosing her acquaintances.

  ‘Thank you, Oliver, it was a wonderful recital,’ Lady Mar
y heard her saying to the slim, grey-suited man at her side.

  Though she was unable to catch his reply, her blood froze when she witnessed the warm familiarity with which Victoria leaned forward and lifted her cheek to be kissed before the man ran down the steps.

  ‘I’ll see you at the Alcock’s dinner on Tuesday,’ she called after him, then turned to walk across the hall, smiling to herself.

  Lady Mary’s knuckles whitened. That little vignette sounded alarm bells in her head. When was Howard Royston going to arrive home? How far might Victoria’s relationship with this son of an iron miller have progressed by then? Oh, goodness, it didn’t bear thinking about!

  But confronting Victoria, as her mother well knew, was never the way to persuade this young lady to change her mind. A more subtle technique was required, and, as soon as Mr Shelford returned from his day at Westminster, she bearded him in his dressing room.

  ‘George, Victoria’s association with that wretched son of a provincial iron merchant must not be allowed to go any further. We have to put a stop to it!’

  It had been a bad day in the House. The debate over the proposed Slum Clearance Law was not going well, and Mr Shelford had no inclination to begin another debate over the dinner table tonight with his favourite daughter.

  ‘Victoria has always been a sensible, level-headed young woman,’ he said mildly. ‘I believe we can trust her to make sound decisions.’

  His wife narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Can we? Just think what lies at stake here, George. Your knighthood could very well hang in the balance. Having two daughters married into good families will stand for little if the third drags us all down by marrying someone so socially inferior. Someone whose family background might hold – well, er – who knows what frightful secrets that we’re not yet aware of. Think about it, my dear. Consider what fodder it could supply to those who are looking for some excuse to topple your name from the list of honours.’