by M C Beaton
So Lord Storm decided to drop the subject of Mrs. Singleton and related their adventures finding Duke and Jimmy at the fair.
Emily hesitated outside the door of the drawing room, teasing her curls in the hall looking glass. She smiled tenderly as she heard Lord Storm’s voice recounting how they had stayed with Mr. Booth and had had to pretend they were man and wife because the old man was such a stickler for the conventions.
She gave a final pat to her hair and was about to open the door when she heard John Harris’s mocking voice.
“So that is how you got caught, Bart! Of course, you simply had to propose marriage. The girl was well and truly compromised, and so were you.”
“Exactly, my cynical friend,” replied Lord Storm.
Emily’s hand dropped from the handle, and she turned and ran upstairs, and so she did not hear Lord Storm adding, “Of course, I was delighted to be compromised, John. Somehow it was that that made me realize I was truly in love.”
Emily threw herself on the bed, her body shaking with sobs. He had proposed to her only because he had thought he must. What had been rapture for her had been simply duty to him.
Now, if Emily had thought a little more of herself, she would have been aware that Lord Storm did not have to marry her at all, since Jimmy seemed happy to keep the secret and Mr. Booth had said that he no longer went about in society. But the shame of her illegitimacy bit deep.
All at once, she knew she must return to Manley Court. For the first time she realized it belonged to her. Harriet should no longer hold sway, nor James mutter warnings of hellfire. She would take Duke and Jimmy and lock herself away behind Manley Court’s tall gates until such time as she could forget that handsome, careless rake who had so casually taken her heart, and her happiness.
Chapter 7
It was a different Emily Winters who arrived at Manley Court. In no time at all, Miss Harriet Manley found the reins of authority slowly slipping from her grasp. She should have been warned by the martial glint in young Miss Winters’s eye, by the new sophistication of her dress and manner. But Harriet had been used to having her way for so long and had come to think of Manley Court as her own and Sir Peregrine’s will as some kind of mad interruption to the quiet tenor of her days.
Emily was too fatigued from her journey and all the emotional upheaval to move into action the first day of her return. She took a dinner tray in her room and then spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning. Her mind cried over and over again, I am no better than my poor mother! How could I let this go so far?
Emily thought back to her hasty flight from Bath. After storming into her chamber, she had sent a bewildered maid off to the drawing room to deliver her excuse of a headache to Lord Storm.
It had been cruel to leave Lady Bailey bewildered and worried. Lady Bailey had entered her bedroom a half hour later to find Emily feverishly packing. To Lady Bailey’s agitated questions, Emily had turned a deaf ear, simply saying she must return to Manley Court and she never wanted to see Lord Storm again.
Quickly she had piled into the traveling coach with Jimmy and Duke beside her and handed a note addressed to Lord Storm to a maid. The brief, chilly note informed him that their engagement was at an end.
Hurt as she was, despairing as she felt, Emily could not help hoping to hear a thunder of hooves behind the coach heralding Lord Storm riding to demand an explanation. For a little while, she actually managed to persuade herself that he would come. Jimmy and Duke were both excited at the novelty of the journey, and the dog seemed to sense he was going home.
But as the miles passed and there was no halloa, no thudding hooves, and no Lord Storm, Emily became pale and silent, all hope gone. And by the time the tall gates of Manley Court hove into view, all she could remember was that he had said he had been compromised.
Now as she lay in her own bed, her hurt mind shrank from remembering him clearly. Had she done so, she might have realized that her beloved’s besetting fault was his immense pride and that, furious and hurt as he might be over her finishing the engagement, he would no more dream of trying to see her again than he would dream of eating peas with his knife.
Harriet Manley’s empire began to crumble on the following morning.
Emily entered the drawing room to find Miss Manley busy going over the day’s menus with Mrs. Otley.
She stood very still and then walked forward and took the sheets of paper with the lists of dishes from Mrs. Otley’s hand.
“In future, Mrs. Otley,” said Emily, “You will discuss the menus with me.”
“Very good, ma’am,” said Mrs. Otley, dropping a curtsy.
“Nonsense!” said Harriet. “Pay no attention, Mrs. Otley. Miss Winters has not the experience to deal with such matters.”
Mrs. Otley ignored Harriet. “If you would mark the items you desire, ma’am, I will see Cook carries out your orders,” she said to Emily.
“This is ridiculous,” sneered Harriet, quite beside herself with rage.
“Rowing in front of the servants is indeed ridiculous,” said Emily coldly. “Leave us, Mrs. Otley.”
The housekeeper bobbed another curtsy and then fled to the kitchens to tell the fascinated staff that miss had come into her own, and wasn’t it marvelous to see that cheese-faced Harriet Manley get her comeuppance?
“Now Miss Manley,” said Emily, rounding on the fuming woman, “it is quite obvious to me that this house cannot work with two mistresses. I am sure you can find other accommodations, since I am told you are not lacking in funds.”
“I—I refuse to go!!” screamed Harriet. “I shall contest the will!”
“Do that,” said Emily sweetly. “But from your own address, not mine.”
She then rang the bell, and when Rogers the butler appeared, which was instantly, since he had been out in the hall with his ear to the other side of the door, Emily said, “Miss Manley is leaving us today, Rogers. Tell the servants that all her bags and chattels must be out of Manley Court today. That is an order.”
Harriet screamed and fumed and threatened, searching in Emily’s stony eyes for some sign of weakness. But Emily remained adamant.
It was only when Harriet stormed out that Emily began to soften a little. It must be terrible to be as old and bitter and unwanted as Harriet. Perhaps it would be more charitable to allow her a few weeks to find another home. Provided Harriet promised not to try to contest her place, Emily felt she could bear it.
She rang for Rogers again and told him she would be taking over Sir Peregrine’s apartments and to tell Mr. Hardy, the steward, that she wished to see him at three o’clock that afternoon.
Mounting the stairs, Emily reflected bitterly that her disastrous experience with Lord Storm had its advantages. It had put enough iron in her soul to deal with Harriet.
At least Duke was blissfully happy. Emily had become very fond of the dog but had to admit to herself that she was glad Jimmy had relieved her of the responsibility of looking after him. She paused at the window on the first landing and looked out over the park to where Jimmy and Duke romped in the sunlight. She took a deep breath and headed for Harriet’s rooms.
Harriet was standing in the middle of her boudoir, two high spots of color on her face, directing a brace of housemaids. Five large trunks lay open, and the room was a jumble of personal possessions.
Emily opened her mouth to make her offer, but before she could begin to frame the words, Harriet began to scream and rant and rave about upstarts from the gutter seizing inheritances from the rightful owners. Emily tried to shout back, but Harriet was quite mad with rage.
Emily shrugged and turned on her heel. Harriet was leaving and that was that. One ordeal was over.
The next arrived around the middle of the day in the shape of James Manley, who had received a message from his sister about the eviction.
Emily found him harder to deal with than Harriet; she was at first intimidated by James’s clericals and seemingly pious air. But when she tried to point out
reasonably that Manley Court was now hers and she would run it as she saw fit, James went into a fit of passion that quite rivaled his sister’s, threatening Emily with damnation and the tortures of hellfire.
At last Emily became afraid that he would do her an injury and was forced to summon the servants to evict him.
By three o’clock, Emily was closeted with the steward, Mr. Hardy, and found for the first time that there might be a purpose in her life.
Mr. Hardy was a bluff, stocky individual, at first inclined to be patronizing, for what could a young girl know of the running of an estate?
But as Emily continued to pepper him with questions, it began to dawn on Mr. Hardy that he had a willing pupil on his hands, and he settled down to his task, explaining, showing maps, discussing what was to be done. For although Sir Peregrine had not been a very humane man, he had been conscientious when it came to the upkeep of his estates, whereas neither Harriet nor James had given a thought to it, refusing to sanction necessary repairs and failing to inform Mr. Hardy that Emily was the new owner.
Rogers interrupted them at one point to say that Miss Manley was leaving and to hint delicately that Miss Winters might find that Miss Manley was taking away a great deal from the house which should rightly stay put.
But Emily did not care what Harriet had stolen. She only wanted to be shot of her. And so she told Rogers to make sure Miss Manley was clear of the estate and then to inform the lodgekeeper that neither Mr. nor Miss Manley were to be allowed past the gates again.
She turned back to Mr. Hardy and found him watching her with admiration lurking at the back of his eyes.
Both returned to their discussion of estate business. At one point Mr. Hardy essayed a jocular remark to the effect that Miss Winters was sure to be married soon so she would not have to worry her pretty little head much longer over business matters, and he received such a bitter, quelling look that he quickly turned the subject onto the safe ground of crop rotation.
The following weeks passed busily for Emily, absorbed in getting to know her farmers and tenants. The weather was fine, and there were hopes of a good harvest.
She rode over one afternoon to visit the orphanage. But her old friends had gone, most of them to relatives who had grudgingly agreed to provide them with a home. Some of the young ones remembered Emily as their former teacher. But the orphanage only brought back sad and bitter memories to Emily, and she was glad to leave.
She reined in her horse on a little hill that afforded a view of Manley Court, circled by its gardens and parkland.
“Is that a carriage at the door?” she asked her groom.
“Yes’m,” he said, touching his cap. “Spanking turnout, by the look of it.”
Emily’s heart began to beat hard. Could it be? She was torn between a longing to let Lord Storm—for she was all at once sure it was he—see her in her new role as mistress of Manley Court, and to spur her horse and ride as fast as she could in the opposite direction.
“Reckon we’d better be moving, seeing as you’ve got visitors, ma’am,” said the groom. Emily weakly considered that that had settled the matter for her, and began to ride toward Manley Court.
By the time she arrived, she was so sure Lord Storm had come calling that she brushed past Rogers in the hall without waiting to listen to him and walked straight into the drawing room.
Clarissa Singleton and John Harris rose to meet her.
Emily was flooded by such a feeling of disappointment that for one awful moment she thought she was going to break down and cry.
She welcomed her guests as best she could and rang the bell for refreshments.
“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” she asked, eyeing Clarissa warily.
“Oh, we came for your blessing,” said Clarissa lightly. “You ran away from Bath before I could see you. Mr. Harris and I are engaged to be married.”
“I wish you every happiness,” said Emily politely.
“We were visiting Storm, but I fear we have outstayed our welcome,” said Mr. Harris with an awkward laugh.
Emily’s heart beat faster. “I did not know he was in residence,” she said, marveling at the calmness of her own voice.
“Oh, yes, he left Bath a few days after you. I was amazed to find that you had terminated the engagement, Miss Winters. I—”
“That is over,” said Emily firmly. “It is a matter that rests between myself and Lord Storm and is no one else’s concern.”
“Snubbed! You have become quite grande dame, my dear Miss Winters,” said Clarissa, laughing. “I am glad you wish us both well, for your ex-fiancé most certainly does not.”
Emily gave a chilly nod, and there was an awkward silence.
John Harris was wondering rather miserably why no one seemed to adore his fiancée as much as he. He found Clarissa absolutely enchanting, but somehow his engagement had spoiled his friendship with Storm, who had retreated behind a mask of hauteur. The couple had decided to leave Storm’s home, where they were obviously not wanted, and journey to London so that Mr. Harris could introduce his future bride to his parents. Clarissa had insisted on calling first at Manley Court to see “her dear Emily.” This had quite surprised John, because he was sure his beloved held Emily in dislike. For himself, he found Miss Winters a very cold, withdrawn sort of creature, though attractive, and he considered Storm well out of it.
“And where is the dear doggie?” asked Clarissa brightly. “Gone to his Maker at last?”
“Duke is very well. I am glad you are being honest about the purpose of your visit, Mrs. Singleton. Well, for your information, Duke is very much alive and likely to remain so for a considerable amount of time.”
Clarissa arose and made a little moue. “Ah me,” she said infuriatingly, “what it is to be disappointed in love! All thorns and prickles.”
Emily touched the bell, and when Rogers entered, she said, “Mrs. Singleton and Mr. Harris are just leaving, Rogers.”
“’Fore George!” said Mr. Harris wrathfully. “You are extremely high in the instep for a… for a…”
“Don’t say it,” said Emily quietly. “Just leave.”
Clarissa swept out, making loud and insulting comments over her shoulder to Mr. Harris, who followed. “Well, John, you said she broke off the engagement, but mark my words I think Storm came to his senses and is simply playing the gentleman by letting everyone think it was t’other way round. And fancy that story about Emily’s having royal blood being all a hum!”
After they had left, Emily dully gave instructions that Mrs. Singleton and Mr. Harris were not to be allowed beyond the gates again.
Then she sat for a very long time, wondering for the first time what her mother had really been like.
She walked over to the looking glass and studied her own face. It was not a peasant face, she decided. It was not low or brutish. In fact, thought Emily fiercely, I do look like a lady!
Emily began to pace restlessly up and down the room. An idea was beginning to form in her head. Sir Peregrine had been a malicious old man, of that there was no doubt. Only look at the cruelty of his idea of having the secret of her birth exposed before all his relatives!
Now, suppose… just suppose… he had lied about her birth. Just suppose she was not a serving maid’s daughter at all! The thought was balm to her soul, which was still smarting under the humiliation of her treatment at the hands of Lord Storm.
She had a mad longing to prove that she, Emily, was born in wedlock and of noble birth. Emily was not used to indulging in fantasies, but she had been so disappointed to find that Storm had not called—so furious with herself to find that she still longed for him with every fiber of her being—that she seized on the daydream of her birth and held it close.
She would go to Dover, she would go to the Pelican, and there she was sure she would find the secret of her birth. There she was sure she would find that her mother had not been some low serving wench but a lady who had been visiting the inn.
Sudd
enly wild with excitement, she set in motion the arrangements for her journey to Dover. It was only when she set out some three days later with only her maid and groom in attendance that she realized she had not warned Jimmy to guard Duke with extra care until her return.
But surely with the Manleys held beyond the gates there could be no danger.
Dover lay spread out under the calm heat haze of a perfect summer’s day. Gulls swooped and screamed over the sparkling sea. The town was pretty and picturesque, the Old Castle with all its fortifications on one side and on the other a chalk hill, well-nigh perpendicular, rising from sixty to a hundred feet higher than the tops of the houses.
On the south side of the town, the lofty cliff mentioned by Shakespeare in King Lear was hollowed out like a honeycomb with trench upon trench and bombproof cavern upon bombproof cavern. It had been worked a few years ago when Napoleon’s invasion of England had seemed imminent, although why anyone would think he would choose that particular cliff to land on instead of, say, Romney Marsh or Pevensy Level was difficult to understand.
Anyway it had been an expensive brainchild of the ministers, who thought a brilliant idea would be to hide the English troops in these catacombs until the French had landed and then attack them from behind. It was estimated to have cost millions of pounds; there was more brick and stone buried in this hill than would go to build a new cottage for every laboring man in the counties of Kent and Sussex. It was nonetheless an endless source of conversation, and the people of Dover were quite proud to have this shining example of the stupidity of the British government to show visitors.
Emily’s spirits rose even more when the Pelican came into view. It was a handsome posting inn on the outskirts of the town with an air of quiet prosperity. She arranged rooms and a private parlor for herself and her maid, noting with delight the furnishings and the quiet, well-trained servants. It seemed as if nothing—at least nothing sordid—could have taken place here.
After she had dined, Emily sent for the landlord and said she would like to ask him a few questions about the inn. She wanted to find out about someone who had been resident in the inn about eighteen years ago.
