‘As for pecuniary endowments, Miss Follet,’ he said, glancing up at last, ‘that’s money, you understand…’
‘Yes?’
‘Mr Monkton has left you the sum of three hundred and fifty pounds per annum for the rest of your life.’
‘Yes?’
‘Er…yes. That’s all.’
I stared at him, frowning, puzzled. ‘All? Three hundred and fifty?’
His finger pointed at the yellow page. ‘Yes. That was his wish.’
‘But how am I supposed to manage on that? Has he left no provision for our son?’
‘Certainly. Master James Frederick Linas Monkton has been left, you will be pleased to hear, a substantial trust fund, to remain in the hands and to be administered by his sole guardian, Lord Burl Winterson of Abbots—’
‘Yes, I know where Winterson lives, but what else is there? Surely Linas left me something for Jamie’s needs until he comes of age? I cannot raise him on three hundred and fifty pounds a year, Mr Brierley.’
‘You are not supposed to, Miss Follet, if I may say so. The trust fund to be held by Lord Winterson is designed to cater for all your son’s needs, as and when he needs them. This will include all his living expenses, his clothes and education and so on. All you will have to do is to apply to James’s guardian for—’
‘But that’s ridiculous!’ I yelped, jumping to my feet. ‘Are you saying I shall have to request money for Jamie’s food, but not for mine, candles and coal for Jamie, but not for me, his nurse’s wages, a groom…’
‘No…no, Miss Follet.’ Mr Brierley smiled, waving a hand in my direction. ‘I don’t suppose it will come to that, will it? I’m sure Lord Winterson will see that you have what you need for young James. A kind of allowance? Monthly? Weekly? But Mr Monkton’s wishes are quite clear that his brother shall have every say in his ward’s upbringing, and I have Lord Winterson’s assurance that he intends to exercise his guardianship with the authority of a father. It must surely be comforting for you to know that your son will have a guardian who is so committed to his immediate welfare.’
I stood by the window, stunned by the chilling austerity of Linas’s tight-fistedness. I felt I deserved better than that, after almost six years of devotion. I wished then that my life had taken a different turning. Gripping the rose-velvet curtain, I spoke my thoughts out loud. ‘The house will have to be sold,’ I said. ‘And I shall have to find a husband. Yes, that would be best for both Jamie and me. Even with a house to live in, it’s going to take every last penny I can earn to keep it going.’
‘Ahem!’ Mr Brierley coughed, shuffling the papers again. ‘I believe Mr Monkton did add a clause concerning that eventuality, Miss Follet, if I can find it somewhere. Ah…yes, here we are.’ He adjusted his spectacles. ‘Should Miss Helene Follet decide in the future to take a husband, then my son James Frederick Linas Monkton shall live permanently and exclusively in the home of his guardian at Abbots Mere in the county of York. There. He’s saying that—’
‘Yes, thank you. I believe I know what he’s saying, Mr Brierley. In short, I shall lose Jamie if I marry.’
‘Correct. You will also lose the use of the house too, I’m afraid.’
‘What?’
He nodded, pursing his lips. ‘Mmm. Well, you can see his point.’
My head reeled as I sat down with a thump upon the couch. Oh yes, I could see his point quite clearly. No wonder he’d been loath to discuss it with me. Not only had he decided by whom and when I should bear a child for him, but now he was asserting that he could take it away again if I did not conform to his wishes. How dictatorial was that? As for Winterson exercising his guardianship like a father, well, yes, he would. Exactly like a father.
‘That is most unfair, Mr Brierley, and highly unethical. That is interfering with my right to take a husband and to keep my child.’
‘Surely, Miss Follet, it is better for your son to have a guardian he knows and likes than to have a stepfather he doesn’t know? I do believe Mr Monkton had this in mind when he made this wish.’
Did he? I struggled to think what Linas had in mind when he saw fit to interfere in my life even after he’d gone. Jamie was precious to him too, I understood that, but he could not realistically expect me to see eye to eye with his brother on any matter relating to Jamie’s upbringing, when Winterson had no experience whatever of children. I felt insulted that he could not have left matters in my hands and made funds available to me for Jamie’s use. Did he think that, although I could manage a business, nurse him day and night, run my own household and care for a three-year-old, I could not be relied on to handle a trust fund? No, probably not. There had been times when I wondered whether Linas spared much thought for me at all. Now I knew the answer.
‘This will have to be contested,’ I muttered. ‘It won’t work.’
‘Miss Follet,’ said Mr Brierley, removing his spectacles and sitting back in his chair, ‘one cannot contest a will simply on the basis that one thinks it might be difficult to put it into practice. There is nothing here that is unworkable. You may have found it disappointing, but the terms are not so very unusual. Mr Monkton’s reasoning was sound at the time, and he does not state that you should not marry, only that his son shall live with his guardian if you do.’
‘And you see nothing sinister in that, sir? Is it remotely likely that I would allow that to happen, do you think?’
‘Ahem! I really cannot comment on that, Miss Follet, except to say that Mr Monkton’s prime concern was for his son’s well-being.’
‘Which I find difficult to understand, sir. One would have thought that his son’s well-being would be all the better for knowing that his mama was happy too. Oh, yes,’ I said as he opened his mouth to speak, ‘I know that wealth is not happiness, but how am I supposed to pay the servants’ wages, keep the place warm and in good repair, and maintain the standard of living that Jamie is used to, I wonder, on three hundred and fifty pounds a year? Not to mention my own requirements. I shall be obliged to look for a little cottage to rent. That seems to be the only solution. Thank you for coming, Mr Brierley,’ I said, holding out my hand. ‘I think the best I can do now is to speak to Lord Winterson personally and see if we can come to a more sensible arrangement. Even he must realise what an impossible position this puts me in. Good day to you, sir.’
He shook my hand and gathered his papers together. ‘Mr Monkton’s servants will be gone from Stonegate by Friday,’ he said. ‘All of them except the top four have been paid and found new positions. The house will then be locked, prior to the new administration of the estate. If there is anything in the house that belongs to you, Miss Follet, I wonder if you would mind letting me have a list of the items so that I can isolate them. Oh… er…one more thing. If I may have your key to the Stonegate property?’
I took it from the drawer of my writing table and gave it to him. There were several things at Stonegate that belonged to me: a pair of miniature cameo portraits, my silver pill box that Linas used once, the embroidery workbox I kept there and a set of ivory combs, brushes and manicure tools. They were private, and I’d be damned if I’d make a list for him to hum and haw over.
It occurred to me much later that night as I lay sleepless, that Mr Brierley had not brought with him the title deeds to my house, or things to sign that would establish me as the new owner. Well, I must remember to mention it next time we met.
Chapter Three
Had I misunderstood? Had I not listened to him with enough attention? Had he really said the house would be mine? Mr Brierley had made no response to my angry comment that I would have to sell it and find a small cottage with fewer servants. Reduced circumstances I was familiar with, the fortunes of women in my position being notoriously unstable, but was that really what Linas had wanted for me and Jamie? I found it hard to believe.
My house on Blake Street was newer and more fashionable than our old family home had been, furnished with woods that shone like satin, hung with soft tones in v
elvet and silk, carpeted with Axminsters and matching Persian rugs, my bedroom patterned with birds and trees. My canopied bed was carved by George Reynoldson of York, no less. I had a family of loyal servants who gave me no trouble at all, and Linas had paid their wages without me ever having to worry about the cost. I kept a phaeton and two horses in his stable at Stonegate with no clear idea of whether they would still be mine to use. I ought to have asked Brierley at the interview, but perhaps he had given me enough bad news for one day.
My first call on the following day was to Follet and Sanders. Leaving Jamie at home with Goody, his nurse, I trudged over new layers of frozen snow. Every rooftop and ledge was capped with rounded pillows of white, blown like lace into every crevice and beyond where the great white minster reared its spiked towers, draped like a bride, silent and virginal.
The workroom door let in a fall of snow as I entered. Shivering in the chilled hallway, I met Prue with chattering teeth. ‘It’s as cold in here as it is outside,’ I complained. ‘We’ll never attract any customers at this rate.’
Unmoved, she kissed me daintily on both cheeks, casting her eye over my black outfit with the grey squirrel fur up to my ears. For all her fair, petite, middle-aged looks and elfin ways, she was as tough and sensible a businesswoman as any in York, with the typically dour sense of humour that can poke fun at what is difficult to accept. ‘No, dear,’ she said, without a hint of levity, ‘but we’re selling fur muffs and knitted gloves like hot cakes, so we can’t have our customers getting overheated, can we?’
‘And fur-lined capes? Those fur hats, too?’
‘Fur-edged handkerchiefs,’ she replied, deadpan.
‘No!’
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Come and see.’
‘It’s not warm enough in here either,’ I said, entering the large workroom where women sat at the oak table, each with a mound of fabric before her, reels of cotton on revolving stands, pincushions and tapes, scissors, lamps and lace edgings. They looked up and smiled, all of them swaddled in woollen shawls and fingerless mittens. The windows were white, patterned with ferns.
‘No coal delivery this week,’ Prue said. ‘We’re having to eke it out. I can’t keep the fire going all night any more, and now the pump is frozen.’
‘I’ll send some coal across. Get cook to make some soup.’
‘That all adds to the costs, you know.’
Faces looked up, grinning slyly. Prue never starved them.
She followed me into the fitting room, draped with discreet pale curtains and peopled by miniature figures on shelves wearing the latest Paris modes. In here, I paraded gowns before our best customers, where they called me ‘Madame Helene’, impressed by my French pronunciation and having no qualms about our poor relationship with France. War or no war, French modes were all the thing, and our supplies of silks and lace was wondered at, bought, but never queried.
‘Brierley came about the will,’ I told Prue, quietly.
I told her what had been said. She listened, unruffled.
‘Then go to Stonegate and collect them,’ she said.
‘Go now. You don’t need a key. Go in by the kitchen door. If you delay till Friday, it’ll be too late.’
‘Do I care enough to go and help myself?’ I asked.
‘Of course you do. Go! Mr Monkton’s servants will let you in.’
She steered me through into the shop festooned with fabrics where customers were being attended at the long counter. ‘Good morning, Mrs Barraclough. Miss Fairweather. Lady Bess, good morning to you.’ She flicked a fair eyebrow at me and ushered me out into the snow, closing the door, setting the bell tinkling again.
* * *
At Stonegate, it was easy enough to pass through the ginnel into the courtyard and from there to the kitchen door. The cook, butler and coachman were there, huddled round the fire, surprised but not unwelcoming. I explained my mission and was led courteously up the back stairs into the echoing hall. ‘Would you like some assistance, Miss Follet?’ said the butler. ‘Or would you prefer to be alone?’
‘To be honest, Mr Treddle,’ I said, ‘I’m not even sure I ought to be doing this. Mr Brierley said to make a list, but I really don’t… well, you know.’
‘I understand perfectly, ma’am, and I feel sure Mr Monkton would too. May I suggest that you place your possessions on your bed, and I will personally wrap them and have them conveyed to Blake Street later on today. Would that do, do you think? That way, you’ll not have removed them, will you?’
‘Thank you, Mr Treddle. That will do perfectly.’
‘Very good, ma’am.’ He bowed, leaving me alone and feeling as strange as I had at my first entry, seventeen years old and on the cusp of something new. Yet again.
Upstairs, the sour smell of medication had gone and the tables had been cleared of the usual healing clutter. My silver pill box, brought from my old home, was still in his bedside drawer, yet even now I hesitated to take it. Smoothing the grey fur coverlet, I sat down on his bed as I had so often done to comfort him, to talk, to watch him sleep. Dear Linas.
The door, left open, gave on to a wide landing and the curve of polished elm, and if my eyes had not been closed by memories, I would have noticed, long before my return to the present, the tall great coated figure who had come to stand just inside the door frame.
I started with a gasp of shock, only half-believing.
‘Miss Follet,’ he said, softly.
I took a breath, summoning my matter-of-fact voice. ‘Oh…you! You’ve saved me a journey. I was going to pay you a visit today.’ He looked less weary, I thought, wishing my heart would not be so feckless.
‘In this weather? I should hope not. Was it urgent?’
‘Mr Brierley came. You must know, surely.’
‘And?’
‘There are things to be discussed.’ Glancing at Linas’s open drawer, I explained. ‘He wanted me to give him a list. I don’t do lists of possessions. I’ve lost too many possessions for that.’
‘I don’t blame you. Was there something in the drawer? Treddle told me why you’re here.’
‘Well…yes. That pill box. It was my father’s.’
‘Then take it.’ When I did not, he walked over to the drawer, removed the pill box and gave it to me. ‘There. Now, what else is there?’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘Why should I?’ he replied, wandering across the room with his hands clasped behind his back beneath the greatcoat. ‘My staff are not going to know what belongs and what doesn’t when they start next week.’
‘What do you mean…your staff?’
He stopped his wandering and turned to face me with a searching look as if he was deliberating what to say. Yet again, I felt that this must be the prelude to some unwelcome news. ‘Some of my staff from Abbots Mere. The house belongs to me now.’ Then, as the shock dawned upon my face, he added, ‘Oh, dear. Brierley didn’t tell you? It was remiss of him to keep you in the dark. The staff you saw downstairs will remain, and the housekeeper too. I can use a house in the city as well as one outside it.’
What a fool I was. Why could I not have drawn more realistic conclusions about this? Guessing the answer to my next query, I asked it nevertheless. ‘So who owns the one I live in on Blake Street? Mr Brierley said I would maintain the right to…’
‘To live in it as long as you wish. Yes, that part was not in the will, but Linas and I agreed it between us. It belongs to me, you see. It always did. I lent it to Linas for your use.’
My guess had been correct. My arms prickled, but not with the cold. I stood up and closed the drawer with a snap. ‘If I’d known that…’
‘You’d what? Have refused to live in it?’
‘I had thought…hoped…that Linas would provide me and his son with a roof over our heads, at the very least. Now, I cannot even sell it to make ends meet.’ I could not deny that one of my main reasons for wanting to bear Linas’s child was to do with the security it would bring. It had, as it happen
ed, brought much more than that, not least being great happiness to his last few years. I had never regretted that part of the experience.
‘You don’t need to make ends meet, Miss Follet. I intend to continue paying all the running costs, as I have done since I lent it to my brother. You won’t have any more expenses than you did before, except personal ones for which Linas has left you a modest sum.’
‘You…you paid for its upkeep? And servants too?’
‘Well, of course I did. Linas didn’t have many extravagances, apart from…’
‘Apart from me!’
‘…from yourself, which I was quite content to finance. There was no sense of obligation, I assure you.’
‘I’ve heard enough. No obligation, you say, when I was well and truly shared, wasn’t I? You even paid for me. How do you expect me to feel about that, my lord? Grateful? Flattered? Slightly bewildered? Who exactly have I belonged to all these years, I wonder? All neatly contrived to live as the mistress of one twin whilst bearing the other one’s child. Someone should write a play about it, shouldn’t they? What a comedy!’ Clutching the pill box, I strode past him, but was held back and swung round by his hand beneath my arm.
‘Come back, Helene. You can’t walk off in the middle of a discussion.’
‘I’m not in the middle of it,’ I snarled at him, pulling my arm away. ‘And you can keep the other things I came for, since you probably paid for them too.’
‘Listen to me, woman,’ he growled, preventing my escape with his great bulk, legs apart, a black silhouette against the light. ‘You’re blinded by your anger because what Brierley told you was not what you expected. But be reasonable, will you? You want to continue living on Blake Street and you want the funds to maintain it properly, to give Jamie the stability he needs. And now when I tell you that’s exactly what you can do, you fly off the handle and say it’s not what you want. Well, make your mind up, but try to think what’s best for Jamie instead of getting all hoity-toity about it. Does it matter who the house belongs to as long as you can both live there? Who else should pay the bills except me, I ask you? His guardian. Come down off your high horse for a moment. You’ll have all you need.’
Marrying the Mistress Page 5
