So far, this rule had been observed absolutely; no one from the house would go near the beach while the red flag was flying, but this morning as she surfaced from one of her seal-like plunges underwater, Cora saw a figure coming down the path to the beach. Her poor eyesight meant that she could not see the figure clearly, but from the black and white of his clothes it could only be Bugler. He stood at the edge of the beach hovering, to step on to the beach would be heresy, but whatever it was must have been urgent for the man to have come this far. In compromise he called to Bertha to come over to him. Cora, treading water just out of her depth so that the water concealed everything except her head, watched as the maid picked her way gingerly across the shingle. The butler bent down to speak to her and Cora saw the maid start and then run back down the beach, waving and shouting. The butler retreated up the hill. Cora could not make out what Bertha was saying but she understood that she wanted her to get out. She swam slowly to the shore and started to pick her way across the sharp stones, feeling the wind dry the salt on her skin. She reached gratefully for the linen sheet that Bertha held out to her.
‘What’s happened, Bertha? Is it Ivo?’
‘No, Miss Cora, it is the Double Duchess. She is arriving by the morning train.’ Bertha’s voice was neutral. She knew that her news would not be welcome.
Cora gasped. ‘But I haven’t invited her! She can’t just arrive like this, without notice. Does she think that she is still mistress of Lulworth?’ Bertha said nothing, but held out Cora’s wrapper. Cora struggled to get it on over her damp skin.
‘I haven’t seen her since Ivo went to India and now she is here. She knows he’s on his way back, of course.’ Bertha knelt down and helped Cora into her slippers. Cora leant on her as they walked slowly back across the shingle beach. Duchess Fanny had written to her several times since she had been at Lulworth, letters full of detail about her visits to Sandringham and Chatsworth and plenty of exhortations to Cora to take care of her unborn child. Cora had long ago stopped reading the letters with attention: she really had no desire to know how many birds the Prince of Wales had bagged or that the Duchess of Rutland, whom she had never met, had quite lost her figure. She had been unpleasantly surprised by how well informed Duchess Fanny was about her life at Lulworth; her last letter had been a lecture on the follies of swimming in her condition. The letter had been so irritating that she had thrown it into the fire. But the arrival of the Duchess in person was far worse. Cora knew that the Duchess had enjoyed the debacle over the Louvain portrait, and she suspected from what Mrs Wyndham and Sybil had hinted that the Duchess lost no opportunity to mock her American daugher-in-law.
At the top of the cliff was the little donkey cart that Cora used to get around the estate now that she could no longer ride or even walk very far in comfort. Cora picked up the reins and gave them an irritable shake as they headed back to the house. She shook her head impatiently as Bertha tried to spread her wet hair out to dry.
‘Oh, leave it alone, Bertha.’
‘But Miss Cora, supposing the Duchess has already arrived?’ Bertha sounded worried.
‘Well, what if she has? This is my house now. If I choose to go about with wet hair, it is really none of her concern.’ But as they approached the house and Cora saw the carriage already drawn up outside the house, she tried to shape her damp locks into a more seemly braid. She thought for a moment of going into the house through the servants’ wing and avoiding the Double Duchess until she had had a chance to change, but she could not face the idea of walking past the servants, who would know, of course, exactly why she was coming in the back way.
As she hesitated at the door, she heard the Duchess’s voice already taking possession.
‘The Stuart room, I think, Bugler. The Prince was always very happy there, despite its Jacobite associations. So strange to be here and not to sleep in my bedroom.’ There was a trace of huskiness in the Duchess’s voice and Cora imagined Bugler’s sympathetic bow. But the Duchess recovered herself and said, ‘Sybil can have her usual room.’
Cora’s spirits lifted at the mention of Sybil, and she made herself walk into the room. Duchess Fanny was sitting in one of the carved chairs by the fireplace, flanked by Bugler and her stepdaughter. She did not get up when she saw Cora but simply beckoned to her with one long white hand. Cora could see the flash of diamonds as her mother-in-law tilted her wrist.
‘Cora, my dear girl.’ Duchess Fanny’s voice trailed away in reproach. ‘When Bugler told me you had gone swimming I was simply amazed. Surely you must understand the risks to someone in your condition. Didn’t you get my letter?’ As she waved her hands the diamonds flashed again.
Cora felt the baby turn and kick her under the ribs. She gave a little gasp of discomfort, but the prod dissipated the irritation the Duchess had provoked. She nodded to the Duchess and smiled at Sybil.
‘Welcome to Lulworth. I apologise for not being here to meet you but then I had no idea you were coming today.’ She said this as affably as she could. ‘You must excuse me while I change. Bugler will look after you, of course.’ She looked over at the butler who, she noticed, did not look at all surprised by the arrival of the Double Duchess.
She turned towards the staircase and started the heavy climb to her room. That was why she swam, to remember what it was to feel light again. She heard a step behind her and felt Sybil’s hand at her elbow.
‘Let me help you, Cora.’
As they got to the landing, Sybil burst out, ‘I am so sorry. I thought you knew we were coming. Mama said she had written to you.’
Cora remembered the letter she had thrown on the fire.
‘Don’t worry, Sybil, I am always glad to see you. How is Reggie?’
Sybil blushed, her skin clashing with her red-gold hair. ‘I think he was about to make an offer but then Mama insisted that we come down here.’ She realised what she had said and reddened even more. ‘I wanted to see you, of course, but I had arranged to go riding in the park with Reggie tomorrow.’
Cora began to feel better. She felt sorry for Sybil, of course, but she was happy to be reminded that as a married woman she was no longer subject to the whims of mothers. She suspected that Duchess Fanny knew all about Sybil’s hopes and was determined to thwart them. Reggie Greatorex was a perfectly suitable husband for Sybil but the Double Duchess did not want to lose her companion, particularly one whose youthful charms did nothing to eclipse her own. If Sybil had looked like Charlotte Beauchamp, the Duchess would have married her off without a moment’s hesitation, but gawky Sybil was a foil, not a rival.
She smiled. ‘Well, perhaps we can prevail on Reggie to come and ride with you here. When Ivo comes back.’ Cora paused. ‘It can’t be long now. His last letter was from Port Said.’ She put her hand on her belly and sighed. ‘He really should be here. Still, I am delighted you have come, Sybil, even if the circumstances are not ideal. Do you know how long the Duchess intends to stay? It’s not a question I can very well ask.’
Sybil looked surprised. ‘Well, I think she wants to be here for the…’ She trailed off and colour mottled her cheeks. Sybil could not bring herself to say the word birth.
Cora looked at her in dismay. ‘She plans to stay here until the baby comes? But what on earth for? Is it some kind of custom that she should be present? Another Maltravers tradition that I don’t know about?’ Cora’s voice came out high and strained, she could feel tears gathering behind her eyelids.
Sybil shook her head miserably, ‘I don’t think it’s a tradition, I think it’s just what Mama thought was right. She said she wanted to be sure that everything was done properly.’
Cora tipped her head back to hold back the tears. She did not want to cry in front of Sybil. But she felt as if she had been invaded. She had spent the last few months trying to feel at home at Lulworth and now the precarious balance she had achieved was about to be upset. She had spent so much time in these last lonely months imagining the reunion with Ivo. There had been nights when sh
e had cried because she could not quite remember his face. She did not know exactly who Ivo would be when he came home, but she was certain that he would not welcome the presence of his mother.
‘Cora, don’t you think there should be somebody here? It’s not right that you should be on your own at this time.’ Sybil put her hand timidly on Cora’s arm. ‘I know Mama can be overbearing but she is at least experienced.’
Cora forced herself to smile. ‘Indeed she is! But I shan’t be on my own. My parents will be here next week and I expect Ivo any day now. Your stepmother would have known this if she had asked me.’ She put her hand on Sybil’s. ‘You always call her Mama even though she is only your stepmother. Don’t you mind?’
Sybil looked confused by the change of subject. ‘She asked me to when she married Father, and actually, Cora, I don’t mind. My mother died when I was little. I can hardly remember her now. You can’t imagine what it’s like to grow up in a family of men, with no one there to tell you what to wear or how to behave. I remember once coming down to tea when Father had guests, wearing a red dress of my mother’s. I thought it looked lovely but I knew the moment I walked into the room that it was all wrong. All the women in the room were trying not to laugh. It was Mama – well, she wasn’t Mama then, but still Duchess of Wareham – who took me aside and told me that the dress was too grown-up for me, and she actually spoke to Father and told him that I needed some “suitable” clothes. Father didn’t see the point of spending money on things that couldn’t be ridden or shot, but he couldn’t refuse when Mama asked him.’
Cora’s surprise must have shown on her face, because Sybil said, ‘I know you think she’s interfering, Cora, but that’s because you have a mother already. You don’t need guidance.’
Cora was about to say that she didn’t think that Sybil really needed the kind of guidance that stopped her from marrying the man she had set her heart on, but then she thought better of it. She did, indeed, have a mother and while she found little to rejoice about in that relation, when she looked at Sybil with her rounded back and awkward stride, it occurred to her that perhaps her mother had been useful after all.
Feeling sorry for Sybil cheered Cora up and she said briskly, ‘Well, I must get changed if I am to have any chance of sitting down to lunch with you all. Not to be late for meals was something my mother did teach me.’ She gestured towards her dressing room. ‘And afterwards, Sybil, we must see what is in there that will do for you. It will be a season out of date, of course, but I dare say nobody in London will notice.’ She smiled at Sybil.
‘Reggie certainly won’t,’ she said.
As there were only ladies present, Cora asked for lunch to be served in the long gallery to take advantage of the afternoon sunshine. She had the satisfaction of seeing her mother-in-law give a theatrical gasp of surprise as she walked in.
‘How charming this is! I never thought to eat in here. But for a cold lunch, what could be nicer.’ Duchess Fanny swept down the gallery and waited for the footman to pull out her chair. ‘Of course, I would have hesitated before giving the servants any extra trouble. Poor Wareham used to say that I was much too soft-hearted to run a house like Lulworth. But I believe that a sympathetic mistress is always rewarded with loyalty.’ Cora watched as Duchess Fanny lifted her heavy blue eyes to look at Bugler who was handing round the crayfish soufflé. Bugler did not actually reply but the reverential tilt of his body as he leant in towards the Duchess with the soufflé was assent enough.
Cora ignored this taunt, looking up instead at the vaulted stone roof. Every time she sat in this room she was reminded that everything around her was older than anything in her native country. Whatever was said and done in here would fade away but the room itself would endure.
The soothing nature of this thought was dispelled when she heard Duchess Fanny say, ‘But you have changed things around in here, Cora. I remember my wedding bouquet always used to stand here,’ she gestured, ‘next to the fireplace. I had it cast in wax after I married Wareham. Such a lovely memento. I remember feeling sad about leaving it here but then it would hardly have done to take it to Conyers.’ She looked at Sybil. ‘You know I would never do anything that would upset your dear father. But Cora, I hope my bouquet is safe and sound?’ She raised an eyebrow at her daughter-in-law.
Before Cora could reply, Bugler coughed softly and said, ‘I think Your Grace will find that the bouquet is at the other end of the gallery. It was moved at the request of Her Grace.’ His tone made it quite clear which Duchess could better lay claim to the title. Cora did not notice the implied insult at first, she was just relieved that the wretched object had not been removed to the attics as she had asked a month ago. How was she to know that it was a wedding bouquet? Then it struck her that the wax bouquet was still in the gallery because her orders had been ignored. She might be the Duchess of Wareham now, but it was clear that, unlike her predecessor, she did not command the loyalty of her servants.
Duchess Fanny smiled serenely. ‘It is sentimental of me, I know, but as one gets older, these things become so precious.’ She gave a charming sigh and raised a glittering hand to dab her eyes with a tiny handkerchief. There were perhaps not quite enough tears to warrant this gesture.
‘But enough of my nonsense.’ Duchess Fanny tilted her chin bravely at Cora. ‘Tell me, my dear, when does Wilson expect your confinement?’
‘But I am not using Wilson. Sir Julius Sercombe will be attending. He thinks it will be another two weeks.’ Cora laid a hand across her belly.
Duchess Fanny’s wistfulness evaporated. ‘Julius Sercombe! But he’s in Harley Street. Surely you don’t intend to travel to London?’
Cora shook her head, ‘Oh no. As I have been told often enough that the Maltravers heirs are born at Lulworth, Sir Julius has kindly agreed to come here. I expect him at the end of next week.’ Cora took a mouthful of the soufflé, she felt ravenous.
‘Sir Julius is prepared to leave his practice and all his London engagements to await your confinement? How…accommodating of him. But if you had asked me I would have told you to use Wilson. He is an excellent doctor and has looked after the Maltravers for years. Why, he was there when Ivo came into the world.’ The Duchess’s hand began to reach for the handkerchief.
Cora smiled. ‘Dr Wilson is most amiable but as this is my first child I wanted to be sure that I had the best and Sir Julius delivers all the royal babies, you know. He was reluctant to leave London to begin with, but he was so pleased with the Maltravers Wing for his new hospital that he changed his mind.’ She gestured to Bugler to bring her a second helping of the soufflé, it really was quite delicious.
‘The Maltravers Wing! How magnificent that sounds,’ said Sybil who had been following the conversation warily.
‘Indeed,’ said Duchess Fanny, widening her eyes. ‘What kind of hospital is it, dear?’
‘For women and children, in Whitechapel. Sir Julius believes that there is a great deal to be done in that part of London. There are women there who are forced to wrap their newborn babies in flour sacks because they have no money for baby clothes. When he told me of his plans and the difficulties he was having raising the money, I was determined to help him.’
A footman passed round the table, taking away the empty plates. When he had finished, Duchess Fanny asked, ‘And tell me, Cora, whose idea was it to call it the Maltravers Wing? Yours or Ivo’s?’
Cora was shifting in her chair, trying to relieve the pressure on her diaphragm from her belly, so she did not see the alert expression on her mother-in-law’s face, or the blush that was beginning to threaten Sybil’s freckles.
‘Actually, it was my mother’s idea. She and Father made the endowment as all my money here is tied up in the estate, and I wanted to do something more substantial than my allowance permitted.’ Cora sat up straight, having at last shifted the pressure from her chest. She saw that Duchess Fanny was smiling at her a little too warmly.
‘Well, I think it might be wise to let Ivo k
now before you commit to a name,’ said the Double Duchess. ‘Donate to good causes by all means, but I think there is something rather…unnecessary about putting your name on things.’
Cora took a sip of water and struggled to swallow. She realised, to her horror, that Ivo might react to this use of the Maltravers name as the Duchess had done. He might have another attack of the ‘scruples’ that made him so peculiar about the Rubens. At last the water slipped past the lump in her throat. But she would not give her mother-in-law the satisfaction of knowing this. She took a deep breath.
The American Heiress Page 28
