***
Chapter 7
When they arrived back at Cavendish Square a sleepy footman sitting in the porter's chair staggered to his feet and tried to blink the tiredness from his eyes.
'Lady Gordon, Ma'am, Nurse asked me to say she wished to see you when you came home,' he stammered.
Mary looked at him in horror as she gave him her cloak.
'Master Tommy? Is he ill again?'
'Nurse didn't say.'
Mary nodded, and almost ran up the stairs. Damaris followed more slowly. It looked increasingly likely that the little boy was sickening with measles.
In the night nursery Tommy was grizzling unhappily, while Nurse cuddled him and tried to rock him to sleep. When he saw his mother he emitted a louder wail and stretched out his arms towards her.
'I put Miss Amelia to bed in the day nursery, Ma'am, so that baby wouldn't disturb her.'
Mary had taken Tommy into her arms and was anxiously feeling his forehead.
'How long has he been hot like this?'
'He went to sleep as normal, then about an hour ago he woke, he was flushed, and nothing will settle him.'
'I'll take him to my bed again, that helped before.'
Damaris went with her to help Mary settle the child. Kate was waiting to undress her mistress, and said she had tried to calm him, but all he wanted was his mother.
Sir Thomas was once more banished to sleep in his dressing room. Damaris brewed some tea for Mary and a hot drink of milk for Tommy, but he pushed it away until Kate pretended to drink it and then fed him some with a spoon. His eyelids drooped, and he began to suck his thumb.
'Call me if I can be of any help,' Damaris whispered.
'You need to sleep, it's your match the day after tomorrow.'
'I'll have plenty of time for resting.'
'Kate will sleep here on a truckle bed, she can help me during the night. Now go away and don't worry.'
Damaris went to her own room, and undressed. Although she refused to allow Netta to remain up when she was going to be late home from a ball, the maid was there, having been woken, she said, by the poor little boy's crying. The nursery was on the same floor as the maids' rooms, and only the heaviest sleepers would have been undisturbed.
'He was screaming, I thought he was in dreadful pain,' Netta said. 'But I think Nurse gave him some laudanum and that quietened him though it didn't send him to sleep.'
'Does Lady Gordon know that?' Damaris asked in alarm. 'She will not want to give him another dose.'
'Kate knows, and she's staying with her ladyship. Don't fret, Miss Damaris. You need your sleep, it's that chess match in not much more than a day.'
How, Damaris wondered, did servants always know one's business? She was rather surprised Netta had not berated her for risking her home in such a mad gamble, but concluded her maid was keeping her thoughts to herself for fear of upsetting her concentration. She allowed Netta to undress her, and tell her she would not be disturbed in the morning until she rang her bell.
It was impossible to sleep, though. Ought she to postpone the match? If Tommy were to develop the measles perhaps Lord Frayne would be reluctant to come to the house. Many men were wary of illness. And Mary would not wish to leave Tommy, so would not be available to act as chaperone. Not that she needed one, Damaris thought, but it was convention that young men and girls were not left alone together except when in public, as when they were riding or driving, and to defy the convention would be a reflection on Mary as much as herself.
She eventually fell asleep as dawn broke, and it was the middle of the day before she woke and rang for Netta. She felt guilty, and as soon as Netta appeared demanded to know how Tommy was.
Netta heaved a big sigh.
'Having kept us all up for hours last night he's as bright as a button this morning. Nurse and Kate can barely keep their eyes open, and Lady Gordon didn't sleep a wink, from what Kate says, since the young rascal woke after an hour and wanted to play. My lady says that when he does fall asleep this afternoon she will go to bed with him.'
Damaris laughed, relieved.
'So we turn day into night. I have slept for hours, so when I have had something to eat can I take Amelia out for a walk, and give Nurse and Kate a chance to rest? You too.'
*
Luke was in his book room when Clarence was announced. His cousin was five and twenty, tall and thin, with a mop of curly black hair sticking out from his head, making his figure appear unbalanced. He resisted all his mother's attempts to make him control it, which was the only action of his Luke approved. Left alone, Clarence would probably have cut the hair and smoothed it down.
He refused the whisky Luke offered him, and wandered about the room fingering books and ornaments nervously, while Luke surveyed him in some amusement. Two years ago Clarence had considered himself a poet, and had tried to persuade first Luke, then his mother, to finance the publication of a volume of verse. Both had refused, Mrs Frayne because she considered it a slur on his masculinity for her son to be poet, Luke because he had read some of the poems.
'Luke,' Clarence said after two minutes of silence. 'You offered to buy me a commission when I came down from Oxford.'
'And you refused, being somewhat scornful of men in pretty uniforms trying to impress heiresses with their valour.'
Clarence produced a snuff box, attempted to open it nonchalantly with one hand, failed, and had to use some force to raise the lid. He took a large pinch, sniffed, and then developed a ferocious bout of sneezing. Luke, not attempting to control his amusement, waited patiently for the paroxysm to subside.
Clarence took a deep breath. 'I thought then I could make my name with poetry, but now I know I am wrong. I have been reading some of the real poets. Besides,' he continued, with a shrug, as he came to sit opposite Luke, 'We appear to be winning in the Peninsula. We've taken Badajoz. Napoleon seems to have lost interest there.'
Luke stifled a grin, waiting for what was to come. Was his cousin only prepared to join an army that was winning? Was he afraid of Napoleon personally? Before he had time to ask the door burst open and Mrs Frayne erupted into the room.
'Clarence, I forbade you to ask Luke to give you a commission! You'll be killed! You are Luke's heir, and as such you need to protect your life.'
Luke looked at her in mingled disgust and amusement.
'How soon do you anticipate celebrating my death?' he asked softly.
She frowned, and tossed her head.
'I haven't a notion what you mean! All life is uncertain. But I cannot endure the prospect of that miserable mealy-mouthed vicar being your successor.'
'My grandfather's other descendant? My dear aunt, you are forgetting several possibilities. I am only a few years older than Clarence, and in the natural course of things there is no guarantee he will outlive me. Even should he do so, you are likely to be dead by then, so unable to benefit from the Frayne title and wealth he would acquire. And I might marry and produce a son or two.'
She was gasping, shaking her head and trying to speak, while Clarence was staring blankly at Luke. Eventually her words became intelligible.
'If you are trying to accuse me of wishing for your death, you are wrong! But one must face reality. Clarence is your heir, and I forbid you to send him off to Spain to be killed!'
'Then I had best become rivetted and begin to produce heirs as soon as possible. Now forgive me, I have to go out.'
*
Amelia was listless, wanting her mother, and looked pale, so Damaris decided to order Mary's barouche and take the little girl shopping.
'When my governess brought me to London ten years ago I was taken to a shop where they sold dolls,' she announced. 'Would you like to go and see if it is still there?'
Amelia nodded, and soon Damaris had her discussing her dolls, and whether they would make friends if she had a new one.
'Of course they will, but just in case they are jealous, we will visit a mercer afterwards and buy some lengths of m
aterial and ribbons to make them new dresses, or to make their old ones look like new.'
The prospect appeared to please Amelia, and Damaris kept her occupied and happy for an hour. Then they returned to Cavendish Square with their purchases and Damaris took the child to her own room where she began to fashion a cloak for the new doll.
The head was made of wax poured over papier maché, with real hair, a relatively new process in England, and the face was painted to resemble the Princess Charlotte, though Amelia did not care about that. It was a realistic doll, the body and arms of cloth stuffed with horsehair, and for a short while Amelia was interested, then she curled up on Damaris's bed and was fast asleep within minutes. Damaris drew the curtains to keep out the sunlight, and felt the little girl's forehead. She was flushed and hot, and Damaris thought she was probably developing the measles. She rang for Netta and met the maid at the door, drawing her outside so that they didn't disturb Amelia.
'How is Tommy?' she asked.
'Fretful, and he has another fever. Lady Gordon has just sent for the doctor again.'
'When he comes, can you ask him to look at Amelia too? She has a slight fever, and I fear she is developing the same symptoms. She's asleep on my bed now.'
The doctor, when he arrived soon afterwards, was non-committal.
'Neither of the children has a rash, which is the best indication of measles,' he said. 'I am sure it is just a fever, such as children are prone to. Keep them cool, bathe them with cool water, give them plenty to drink, and I will call again tomorrow.'
By evening both children appeared to have recovered, and were reluctant to be put to bed. Nurse, who had slept while Tommy was being looked after by his mother, and Amelia by Damaris, insisted she could manage them, but the moment Mary left the nursery Tommy began to wail.
'I know I should be firm with them, and insist they obey Nurse,' Mary said as she and Damaris stood on the landing listening to both children, for Amelia had begun to cry too, 'but I cannot bear to have them so miserable.'
'Leave them for the moment,' Damaris advised. 'I knew a very wise woman in Frayne village who said that children only cried for their mothers if they thought they could force them to go back, and once they realized their crying did not achieve what they wanted, they accepted the situation.'
Mary was doubtful, but she agreed to try it, and when the crying stopped Damaris suggested they had a quiet dinner in the breakfast room, as Sir Thomas was dining with some friends, and they would be alone. This scheme had the advantage, Damaris was aware, that the room was well away from all sounds from the nursery.
By the time they had eaten Mary was drooping with tiredness.
'You have slept but a few hours for two nights,' Damaris reminded her when Mary apologized for yet another yawn. 'Go to bed, try to sleep. Take some laudanum yourself. I'll give orders that if either of the children wakes I am to be called.'
'But your match is tomorrow. You cannot afford to be disturbed.'
'I can sleep all morning.'
Mary nodded, but when Damaris soon followed her upstairs Netta told her Lady Gordon had taken Tommy to her own bed again, since he was disturbing Amelia, who had finally gone to sleep.
Once more she lay awake wondering if she should ask Lord Frayne to delay the first match, but in the morning Mary assured her Tommy was better, and she had managed to sleep for several hours. The doctor, calling soon after breakfast, confirmed that the children both appeared to be recovering from whatever had ailed them, and Damaris was able to concentrate on the strategy she was planning for the chess game that afternoon. She was apprehensive, yet curiously eager to see Lord Frayne again. She told herself it was because she wanted to settle the issue of the gamble, but knew deep within her heart that really it was eagerness to be once more in his company.
*
Luke spent the rest of the day at White's, but he was unable to escape his aunt on the following morning. Unusually, she appeared in the breakfast room and, with a marked change in her demeanour, began to beg him not to purchase a commission for Clarence.
'He's my only son, I cannot endure the thought he might be killed or maimed,' she said, dabbing a lace handkerchief at her eyes.
'What do you want him to do for the rest of his life, fritter away his time in London?' Luke asked.
Clarence had, he was well aware, some dubious friends. So far his cousin had kept out of serious trouble, and had not run up debts grave enough to cause him to apply for relief to Luke. Occasionally Luke paid his tailor or bootmaker, but he thought Clarence was too careful, perhaps too cowardly, to hazard more than he could afford at dice or cards, and so far he seemed to have kept out of the clutches of predatory lady-birds. Either he was not interested in the muslin company, or they, Luke assumed, knew Clarence did not have the resources to keep them in the style they considered their due, and they also knew the Earl was unlikely to rescue his cousin from such embarrassments.
Mrs Frayne was looking at him, a calculating expression in her eyes. She sighed, and once more resorted to her handkerchief.
'I'm only too well aware of the pitfalls awaiting young men in London. Why don't you take him away from them by giving him a position as your agent? He could be of great help to you, assisting you in managing your estates. Or you could hand over one of the smaller properties, one that isn't entailed, make it over to him, and he would have the inducement to stay in England.'
When she spoke, her voice was hesitant, and Luke was convinced the occasional sob was cleverly introduced. He hardened his heart. Clarence had been given plenty of chances to make something of his life, and taken none of them. Luke could only admire her persistence, and belief in his own stupidity.
'I am not giving him any part of my inheritance. I consider it a trust, to be handed on intact to my heirs, not to be broken up by me. After all, he has gambled away his own inheritance,' he added, suppressing the reflection that this, in part, was exactly what he was intending to do. 'As for working as an agent for me, what makes you think he has any aptitude for that, or would indeed be willing to give up his present life? He has shown no inclination for regular employment, apart from in the army, and has yet to prove that is a permanent ambition. Besides, I doubt he has the willingness to learn from my agent. I do not recall he had any zeal for learning from anyone else, if I judge from his career at Oxford, which was far from distinguished.'
'Not everyone can be clever at Oxford, but there are other things, more practical things, where he could prove successful. The very fact he wants a commission surely shows he is bored with his present life. You could help him, if you had any family feeling.'
'I could, but I also have the intention of keeping my inheritance intact and profitable. I have faith in my own and my agent's abilities, but none at all in Clarence's. If he truly wishes to join the army, let us say in three months, and commits no follies in the meantime, then I will buy him his commission.'
'You'll be sending him to his death! That is what you really want! You are jealous of him, can't bear the thought of him stepping into your shoes!'
Luke sighed. That was true, at least. He dreaded the thought of Clarence succeeding him. Which, he reminded himself, was an added incentive to make him seriously consider marriage. But Damaris would not have him, and the reflection caused him a pang of regret. Surely, he thought, he had not fallen in love with the aggravating wench!
His appalled reflections were interrupted by his aunt's further recriminations, and he expected her, at any moment, to dissolve into noisy tears.
'Not all soldiers die,' he said, knowing his aunt would not believe him. Clarence would, she insisted, if he set foot on the continent, be sure to expire within days, from an enemy bullet or malicious foreign illnesses. 'But I suggest Clarence talks to my friend Mr Willett, who can tell him something of the realities of life in the army, and then perhaps he will reconsider this desire he has. If he does, and is agreeable, I will send him to work under my agent for three months. If he shows any promise
at all, he can remain until he is fit to apply for such a post elsewhere.' When some other poor devil could try to control him, he thought, which would be better for everyone, especially him.
Before she could utter her objections to this plan, which he knew would be tedious, and make allegations that he did not care for his family and was unwilling to help any of them, he made his excuses and departed. It was a fine day, so he had his horse saddled and rode out of London until he could break into a gallop and forget his family for a while. He had the chess game to think of, and he found he was looking forward to seeing Miss Hallem later.
*
When Luke arrived at Cavendish Square that afternoon, having successfully evaded his aunt and cousins, he was shown into the drawing room where Lady Gordon welcomed him.
She was seated on a sopha, with a shawl wrapped round her shoulders, even though it was a fine day and there was a large fire roaring away. She looked pale and heavy-eyed, and when he asked if she were ill explained she had been kept awake by Tommy, who had a fever.
'Should we postpone this chess game?'
'No, of course not, my lord, you are most welcome. Damaris is setting up the board, so will you go through? Would you prefer whisky or Madeira, and would you like a cup of tea in, shall we say, an hour's time?'
'Nothing, thank you, Lady Gordon. I do not wish to have our concentration disturbed.'
He had almost said Miss Hallem's concentration, for he did not expect his own to need protecting. Besides, in an hour, he would doubtless be on his way back to Upper Brook Street.
'Then do go through.'
He passed through the double doors which separated the two halves of the drawing room, and found Damaris sitting in front of another fire, the chess board laid out on a small table, and two chairs flanking it. She looked up and smiled, he thought a trifle nervously, but her voice was steady when she spoke. There were dark circles under her eyes, as though she had not slept well, and he was tempted to suggest a postponement of the match. But really, would it make any difference to the outcome? Perhaps she was worrying about her rashness in proposing such an outrageous gamble, and the sooner her fate was settled the better it would be for her.
Marriage Gamble Page 9
