There was also the dark shame of her late husband’s treason to consider, which Lord Ransome would presumably not have mentioned if he’d not intended to use it as a lever against her. No, he had not said he would, but nor had he said he wouldn’t.
If she had also wondered how long it would be before there was some reaction from the rest of her family to Leon’s latest delinquency, she had not long to wait. It was just after lunchtime when they arrived. It always was.
On any other day than this, Phoebe would have put a cheerful face on it but, as her brother Ross and his wife Josephine had visited only last week after seeing friends in Richmond, another visit so soon could only mean one thing—that they’d heard the news from Mama in London, who knew everything that went on in the capital as soon as it happened. Much as Phoebe would have appreciated some sound advice on the problem, Ross Hawkin’s advice as a solicitor tended to be so doom-laden and riddled with clauses that she would rather he stayed away altogether. Requesting Hetty to warn cook of the unexpected luncheon guests, she sent Claudette upstairs, telling Tabby Maskell to make her look more presentable, or they’d never hear the last of it.
The carriage doors opened, spilling out Mr and Mrs Ross Hawkin and three-year-old Arthur, already howling and clinging like a limpet to the nearest leg. ‘Do come inside,’ Phoebe called over the din. ‘Have you lunched yet?’ She knew they would not have. Cook would be ill. Or they’d been held up in town and thought they’d call on the way home. Or that they couldn’t stay, but if Phoebe’s cook had prepared something they might as well stay and help her eat it, her garden being so much larger than theirs, better stocked…et cetera…et cetera. It was a favourite theme, the size of Ferry House compared to theirs.
Not waiting to guage the state of Phoebe’s mind, Josephine flung her crimson satin arms around her sister-in-law in an exaggerated embrace of sympathy that was physically difficult to reciprocate, Josephine being well into the family way by seven months or so. It gave Phoebe the chance to cut it short, though her hands were caught and held, obliging her to take the full force of the shocked words and pained expression. ‘Oh dear, Phoebe. What a business this is, to be sure. You must have heard from Lady Templeman, as we did. Such a nasty horrid shock. We must go, I said to Mr Hawkin, to be with your dear sister in her hour of need, for even though it’s nurse’s day off, we could not be staying away when we need to discuss what’s to be done. Is that not so, Mr Hawkin?’
Supressing her cynicism with difficulty, Phoebe released her hands, sure that any discussion with Ross and Josephine would be unlikely to produce a solution to the problem, neither of them having offered her anything of a material nature in the entire three years of her living near them. As a perfectly healthy and fertile individual, Josephine had found that a pretence of delicate ill health was useful for not getting involved in anything that required even the smallest effort. It had always puzzled Phoebe that her brother accepted it when he was as keen as a terrier to denounce anyone else for not pulling their weight. Needless to say, his elder brother Leon was a front runner for his condemnation.
‘Dreadful business,’ he growled, pecking Phoebe on each cheek. ‘Can’t imagine what a state Leon’s got himself into to do such a thing. Dreadful!’ He picked up his son, suffering the limpet’s strangling arms around his collar and cravat.
By the time they reached the pleasant gold-and-white dining room, Hetty and one of the maids had transformed the recently-cleared table with place-settings of polished silver and glass, as if the uninvited guests had been expected all along. Dishes of cold meats, new bread, warm cheese tartlets, bowls of pale lettuce and watercress, sugared apple slices and a tray of almond creams meant for dinner were brought in while Claudette and her governess took small Arthur away into the garden after an argument about whether his hunger was genuine or not. Instead of giving him a piece of watercress to solve the vexed question immediately, his doting mother offered him a cheese tartlet. The result was the same, and predictably messier.
Not unexpectedly, the free food took precedence over business, and as Phoebe watched it disappear almost as fast as it had arrived, she was obliged to wait for Ross’s knife and fork to take a well-earned rest. ‘A bad business,’ he said again, dabbing at his mouth. ‘Mama’s letter arrived this morning. Leon was at Brooks’s, apparently. Templeman’s lads were there at the time. That’s how she knew what happened.’ Casually, he looked around the table for a further addition to his plate, then helped himself to another glassful of elderflower wine. ‘Very nice. Almost as good as last year’s,’ he remarked.
‘Then why on earth didn’t they stop him?’ said Phoebe, crossly. ‘Don’t they have tongues in their heads any more?’
‘Well, for one thing, you can’t prevent a man from putting up his own property as a bet if that’s the currency he’s got. If the other players accept it, there’s no reason to interfere.’
‘But the Templeman brothers are half-related to us, Ross.’
‘They know nothing about Leon’s estates, however.’
There was more than a suggestion of the lawyer in his manner, speaking while fidgeting with something else or sitting back with steepled fingertips. At twenty-nine, Ross belonged to Mortlake’s most successful practice and rarely missed a chance to let it be known. Slightly thinning on top and already thickening around the waistline, his rotund features were more boyish than handsome. The row of gold fobs dangling below his pale yellow waistcoat was a show of ostentation more valuable to him than the quality of his superfine or the cut of his pantaloons.
‘Has Mama not offered to come to his aid?’
‘The simple answer to that, my dear, is Templeman. Whatever Mama might wish to do for our family depends entirely on our stepfather, and he has those two stupid dolts of his own to help out. He’s not likely to bail Leon out, whatever he does.’
‘Not even when he’s losing his inheritance?’
‘No. That’s Leon’s own affair, not his.’
While Ross buttered another slice of bread, his wife saw her chance. ‘What we need to know, Phoebe dear, is what you’re going to do. Obviously, if that dreadful man Ransome is going to take the place over, as we feel sure he will, where does that leave you and Claudette? He’s already bought that place near us—what’s it called?—Greenwater, and our neighbours are concerned that it’s being extended to house his latest mistress. Well, you need not look so shocked, Mr Hawkin, for I’m sure I don’t wish to use the word if I could find another more suitable. I had it from Mrs Blackman next door whose husband spoke to the builder’s mate who told him it was to be the mistress’s house, and that’s as plain as it gets, to my mind. Viscount Ransome stayed there over the last two nights, so I was informed by nurse who walked past this morning. She saw his curricle outside, so perhaps he’ll eventually get round to calling on you personally, Phoebe. Would you like Mr Hawkin or myself to be here when he does?’
A chill of heart-rending intensity crawled along Phoebe’s arms as the news she had dreaded hearing was delivered with such unbearable lightness, just like any of the other gossipy tid-bits Josephine cluttered her mind with. He had a mistress all ready to take up residence at Mortlake when only a few hours earlier he had proposed himself as her next husband, placing kisses upon her neck, playing upon her powerlessness. Anger and nausea pulled at her innards. Already the pain had begun, even before she was committed. What would it be like when she’d gone too far to turn back? Could she do it? Could she bear the pain of having her self-esteem torn to shreds once more?
Until that moment, Phoebe had deliberately kept the news of the Viscount’s visit to herself, nursing it like a jewel too precious to show. Now, however, as if to score a point against Josephine for her mealy mouthed disclosure about the mistress, she politely thanked her for the seemingly altruistic offer. ‘No, thank you. Viscount Ransome has already called on me.’
Ross’s knife clattered upon his plate. ‘Been? Here? When, may I ask?’
‘I have no obje
ction to you asking, brother. He called yesterday.’
‘Unexpectedly?’
‘He sent a note. And, no, I did not receive a letter from Mama, as you did. Apparently she thought you ought to know before me.’
‘So if you’d let me know, Phoebe, I could have been here with you. Couldn’t I?’ said Ross, placing both hands on the table.
‘And what good would that have done?’
‘Well, for pity’s sake! For family support. What else? Besides which, it is highly improper for an unattached man to spend time alone with—’
‘Oh, spare me, brother! I’m a widow of twenty-six. I have Hetty here and a houseful of women. We could have torn him to shreds between us if I’d called for help, but I didn’t and, as you see, I’m still in one piece. I can manage quite well on my own, you know. I have done for three years now.’
‘That’s most unfair, Phoebe. We’re only a couple of miles across the Park, and you’ve always been able to call on us if you needed to.’
‘And we’ve always said,’ Josephine joined in, catching the drift, ‘how Ferry House is too big for you, Phoebe. It would have been much better for—’
‘For you to have had it. Yes, dear, but Leon gave me the use of it in an act of kindness I shall not forget at a time when I needed help. He was the only one to do something. I only wish he could see it now.’
‘I only wish he could too, sister,’ snapped Ross, whipping his napkin off his knee and hitting the table with it. ‘It’s all very well giving it to you with one hand and taking it away with the other. How much help will Leon be when you have to pack your belongings and leave, I wonder? Have you been given a time limit? What did Ransome have to say for himself?’
‘I shall not be leaving,’ said Phoebe, quietly. She looked at Hetty, who had not said a word so far.
There was a silence until Josephine, showing her hand too soon, said, ‘It might be better if you did, dear. Ransome would not be a man to tangle with.’
‘Ah, you’re about to offer me some of that help whenever I need it,’ Phoebe replied. ‘So do you have a viable alternative? Are you saying we’d be welcome to live with you? No, I’m teasing you, dear. Don’t look so dismayed. I know your house is so dreadfully small and, even if it wasn’t, it would not work, would it? I have fallen women living in as maids, you see, and that’s not quite your style, is it?’
‘We shall get nowhere,’ Ross said, ‘with that kind of discussion. This has more to do with how to keep a roof over your head than with style, Phoebe. There’s Claudette to think of, too. I doubt if Leon gave that small detail one moment of his attention when he gambled with your future, did he?’
‘Don’t abuse Leon to me, Ross, if you please. He’s the one who allowed me some peace after what happened, and now he’s in his own kind of trouble. I dread to think how he’s living. Perhaps I ought to go and find out. I don’t suppose you would go, would you?’
Ross ignored her request. ‘Your first priority is to settle your own problem,’ he said, pushing his chair back. ‘If we could offer you accommodation at our home we would, but with the arrival of number two in September we shall have no space left for your menage. Nor do I suppose Mimi is any better off at Twickenham, with Nateby’s mother and sisters there, and the children too. I think you need a lawyer on this, you know, but I have to say it doesn’t look too good. If he wants the place for himself, then it’s between you and him how long you’ve got. You can hardly expect anything more when you made it plain you wanted nothing to do with him.’
‘Oh, Ross, I was still grieving, wasn’t I? No one with the least sensitivity would expect me to be sociable in those circumstances.’
‘And Ransome is not best known for his sensitivity either, is he?’
She recalled the tender caresses of finger and lips, saying nothing.
‘Dreadful man!’ Josephine muttered. ‘Mistresses! Disgraceful! But you’d make a very good governess, Phoebe dear. I’ve always thought so. You have good French, and you’re good with children too. And Hetty dear…well, I really don’t know what we could do with you, unless there was an old lady somewhere.’ Arching her back against the load, she went to stand by the window, quite oblivious to her own appalling clumsiness.
‘We don’t have to do anything with Hetty, thank you, Josephine,’ Phoebe replied tartly, laying a hand over her companion’s. ‘She is as much a part of my life as Claudette is, and where I go she goes too. I assume that if Lord Ransome spends most of his time at Mortlake with his mistress, he’ll not be spending much time here so, if that is the case, he may allow me to stay. Nothing has been decided.’
‘You didn’t show him round, then?’ said Ross, rising from the table.
‘No, he came only to give me the news. He’ll be returning tomorrow.’
Although Ross allowed his sister’s blush to go unremarked, he could tell that the prospect of a further visit was not looked forward to with much hope, in spite of her defiance. ‘Would you like me to be here with you?’ he said.
‘No, thank you. I cannot believe he’ll throw us all out within the week.’
‘Then allow me to give you some advice, my dear, before we go. Don’t try to second-guess a man like Ransome. He may have unorthodox methods, but he’s no fool, like our dear brother. He doesn’t ever lose what he can’t afford, and no woman has ever sued him for paternity, either. That much I know.’
Again, Phoebe felt the ice-cold prickle along her arms. ‘Thank you for the advice,’ she whispered. She would like to have told him that the second part of it was irrelevant, but Ross was a lawyer and he would never have offered any advice, free or otherwise, unless there was a reason for it.
Listening to the conversation that flowed across the table, Hetty had observed how the Hawkins couple had demolished the food, contributing little to Phoebe’s comfort while greedily assessing the contents of her home. She had seen how Josephine surreptitiously peered at the hallmark on the back of the tablespoon, how she had held her glass up to the light to watch the sparkle of cut edges, fingering the lace border of the tablecloth, eyeing the gold brocade curtains from top to bottom.
Josephine Sadler had been glad to accept Sir Leo Hawkin’s second son after Viscount Ransome had refused to show the slightest interest in her. But Ross Hawkin had always had to work for his living, and that had rankled with her when the elder of the two brothers seemed intent on wasting what he had inherited. She had rarely missed a chance to carp about the unsuitability of Ferry House for a young widow like Phoebe, and far from rejoicing in her good fortune after all her misery, envied all that she’d done to rebuild her life.
What was more, Hetty suspected that Josephine was perhaps alert to the possibility that Lord Ransome might resume his attentions to Phoebe after her initial apathy. Which is why, Hetty thought, the envious Josephine had been quick to disclose Lord Ransome’s plans for his newly acquired Mortlake property. To Phoebe, that would be a more serious reason for hostility than the masterfulness he’d shown her yesterday, for only Hetty understood how her dearest friend’s heart had been more badly wounded by her husband’s infidelity than by his death. It was also Hetty who noticed that, throughout the Hawkins’ visit, not once had Phoebe uttered a word to discredit Lord Ransome or to blame him for wanting what was lawfully his, however distressing his method of acquiring it. Returning Phoebe’s smile, she followed the others into the parlour.
Ross picked up the broken pieces of easel, replaced them and turned his attention to the watercolour of Marble Hill House. ‘What happened here?’ he said. ‘Clumsy housemaid, was it?’
‘Clumsy me,’ said Phoebe. ‘That’s the painting Leon gave me.’
‘Never noticed it before. It’s good. Who’s the artist?’
‘Look in the bottom left-hand corner. Hold it to the light, Ross.’
‘Ah…yes…what? This says, L. Hawkin. Can’t be.’
‘Yes, it is. Leon painted it five or six years ago.’
‘Huh! Well, his hand won’t be
so steady now, will it?’ he said, tossing the paper back on top of its wooden bits. ‘Pity.’
‘What’s the pity for, exactly?’ said Phoebe.
‘Wasted talent. Well now, we must be off. Let me know if you want me to be with you when Ransome calls again. Tomorrow, did you say? Well, I shall have my hands full at the office tomorrow, but I can find some free time the day after, I suppose. Now, where’s that child of ours, Josephine?’
‘Oh, Hetty!’ With a ragged sigh of relief and anguish, Phoebe gave herself up to the comfort of Hetty’s lace-edged arms, breathing in the faint aroma of peppermint and snuggling her cheek into the soft white wispy hair. ‘He’s got a mistress at Mortlake,’ she whispered. ‘I might have known.’
‘Does it make any difference, cherie?’ Hetty said, smoothing a hand over Phoebe’s back. ‘Does it surprise you?’
Phoebe’s chin nodded on the gentle shoulder. ‘Come over to the window-seat. I have something to tell you. I have to make a decision, Hetty dear.’
That same evening, as the peachy sun flooded the river with colour, Madame Phoebe Donville and Miss Hetty Spindelow set off in the phaeton towards Mortlake with the intention of finding out for themselves what the mischievous Josephine was so sure of. They understood Greenwater to be one of those large white houses on the edge of the river, standing on Mortlake’s main street. Lime trees made an avenue of dappled shade, and a large green plot at the side of one house was being eaten into by a new extension rising three storeys to the partly finished grey-slate roof. Not wishing to drive the phaeton right up to the house where they might be seen, Phoebe held the horses beneath the limes where, from their high seat, they could see over the wall.
Two of the builders were tidying away their tools, calling to someone down by the river to watch out. Then two small boys, one of them holding a fishing-net on a stick, responded to another deeper shout, running towards the house and straight into the outstretched arms of its owner. Caught, lifted and swirled round like a whirligig, they squealed with laughter and were set back upon their feet. Phoebe and Hetty, frozen with astonishment, were sure that this was Greenwater and that the man with a small boy in each hand was Lord Ransome, leading them back into the house. Their home.
Scandalous Innocent Page 15
