MISTRESS TO THE MARQUIS

by Margaret McPhee

  ‘To marriage, Lord Razeby.’ Mr Darrington raised his teacup as if making a toast.

  Razeby raised his teacup in return. ‘And duty,’ he returned and smiled a cold hard smile that did not touch his eyes.

  * * *

  Alice climbed down from the cart’s seat and walked up the garden path of the small cottage that lay on the outskirts of Dublin. The surrounding trees were all in bud, the first signs of green touching their winter-stripped branches. In the garden the heads of the daffodils had withered, but their leaves still grew thick and lush amongst the long untended grass through which a carpet of early bluebells was woven in vibrant splendour.

  She felt a sense of relief and of home coming to be here. The air was cleaner than in London, and sweeter. Just a breath of it felt like it cleansed all of London’s filth from her lungs.

  Mr MacCormack lifted her travelling bag down from the back of the cart and set it down by the doorstep. ‘Your mammy will be glad to have you back home for the visit, Miss Flannigan.’

  The doxy, Miss Rouge, and the actress, Miss Sweetly, had been left behind in London. Here, she was plain Alice Flannigan, the same as she had been born, on the outside. But inside...that was a different story all together. She smiled at the old man and gave him a few extra coins as a tip and he ambled away, tugging the peak of his soft cloth cap as he did.

  The front door still had not opened. And from the cool grey sky overhead came the first smir of rain. From inside the cottage she could hear squabbling voices and the running patter of small feet.

  She raised a gloved hand and banged all the harder on the door. ‘Mammy, are you going to open this door, or leave me standing here on the doorstep for the rest of the day? Anyone would think you’re not wanting to see me.’

  The door opened. Her mother stood there, staring in disbelief. ‘It’s yourself, Alice. All the saints in heaven be blessed. I didn’t know you were coming for a visit.’

  Visit. Alice smiled again and did not correct her mother’s misconception, just as she had not corrected that of the old carter.

  Her mother took her face between her work-worn hands, her eyes raking her face, filled with welcome and with the sheer joy of reunion. ‘Oh, but it’s good to see you again, Alice, truly it is.’ And something inside her suddenly welled up so that she felt like weeping and she could only be glad when her mother pulled her against the familiar old pinny and hugged her. Alice embraced her mother just as if she were a small girl again, squeezing her eyes shut, struggling to stopper the tears.

  ‘It’s good to be back, Mammy!’

  ‘Look at us out here on the doorstep. Come in. Come in.’ Her mother took hold of her arm and drew her inside.

  The cottage interior was darker than Alice remembered and much of the furniture was missing.

  Six-year-old Annie sat on her older sister Jessie’s knee, having her hair combed. Molly was sitting in the only armchair in the room, weaving strips of rags to make a rug. They all looked at her, smiling but shy as if she were some stranger come to visit. She went to each one in turn, chucking their chins and teasing their hair just as she had done when they were small, and kissed their cheeks. From outside came the sound of wood being chopped and shrieks of laughter of girls playing in the background.

  ‘Christie! Maggie, Cathy! Our Alice is back!’ Her mother wrenched open the window and shouted out at them to come in. Alice’s eyes moved to the small three-legged stool which was the only place that her mother could be sitting. There were two iron buckets set before it. One held dirty water, the other glistening newly washed potatoes. By her feet sat a small scrubbing brush and an old cloth potato sack.

  ‘You’ll be wanting a drink of water, Alice. Or I’ve nettle tea in the pot.’

  ‘Water would be grand, Mammy. But you sit yourself down. I’ll fetch it myself.’

  ‘Indeed, you will not.’ Her mother was already bustling through to the kitchen to fetch the water.

  Thirteen-year-old Christie came in, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, looking more grown up than she remembered.

  Alice dropped a kiss on his cheek. ‘Look at you, Christie! You’ve taken a stretch and no mistake. You’re taller than me now.’ And thin as a bean pole.

  He blushed a vivid red, grumbled a protest and pulled away, but he was smiling all the same.

  ‘He’s the man of the house now,’ her mother said as she came back through from the kitchen carrying a cup of water and a slice of bread.

  ‘Where’s our David away to?’

  ‘Took the King’s shilling at the beginning of last year and has been away fighting in King George’s army ever since,’ her mother explained. ‘He sends money when he can.’

  Maggie and Cathy were red-cheeked from the fresh air, their clothes ragged and worn from being passed down through so many older sisters before becoming their own.

  ‘You look like a grand lady, Alice.’ Cathy smiled and touched a hand to the dark-blue skirt of Alice’s travelling dress.

  Alice smiled and hugged each of her little sisters, glad in heart to see them, but shocked at the level of poverty she saw around her.

  ‘Christie, bring your sister’s bag in from the front step. The rain’s coming on.’

  Her brother went to do as he was bid.

  ‘And where’s all the rest of them?’ Alice asked looking round for the rest of her sisters.

  ‘Our Martha’s away married to a fella in Kilteel.’

  ‘Married?’ Alice’s eyes widened.

  ‘He’s a shepherd and got his own cottage. They got married last summer just in time for the arrival of the baby, thank the Lord.’

  ‘That’s good news.’ Alice smiled and felt something shift inside her.

  ‘And our Mary and Bernadette both managed to find positions in the same big house in Dublin.’

  ‘That’s grand.’

  ‘It is,’ her mother said, but Alice looked in her mother’s face and saw the lines of worry that had not been there two years ago when last she had seen her.

  What are you not telling me? she wanted to ask. Where had all the money she had sent gone? Her eyes moved over the bare poverty-stricken room and those she loved. But there would be time enough for such questions later. For now she was just glad to be away from London and the terribleness of what she had left behind there. Glad to be home with the secrets of which she tried so hard not to think.

  * * *

  It was the afternoon of the next day before Alice learned the truth of what she had come home to.

  The cottage was empty save for Alice and her mother. Molly and Jessie were out in the back garden, pegging clean washing on a line.

  ‘So this Mr Feeney that you married—’ Alice said carefully.

  ‘It turns out we never were married after all. The dirty lying scoundrel already had a wife and six wee ones in Dublin!’ Her mother interrupted. ‘They say there’s no fool like an old fool, and he had me reeled in all right, hook, line and sinker.’

  ‘You weren’t to know.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ her mother muttered. ‘He was a charmer right up to the moment on Christmas Eve when he told me he was going back to his wife. I only discovered once he’d gone that he’d run up debts all over the place and relieved me of my savings before leaving. The bastard!’

  ‘And you’ve been struggling to get by ever since.’ She knew now where the new clothes and furniture had gone, bit by bit.

  ‘We’ve managed up to now.’

  ‘Thank God the cottage is bought and paid for.’ With the money that Razeby had given her. ‘At least he couldn’t touch that.’

  Her mother looked away, an uncomfortable expression on her face. ‘It’s not quite so simple, Alice.’

  ‘I had the lawyer put the deeds in your name.’

  ‘Everyone thought we were married. Even I thought we were man and wife. My property became his.’

  There was a sense of dread in Alice’s stomach. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He mortgaged it behind my b
ack. Gambled away the money on the horses. The first I knew of it was some gentleman at the door telling me he’s the new owner and that he’s putting the rent up. He’s charging a fortune.’

  ‘But I’ve been sending money.’

  ‘Not enough. He’s asking such a lot. And we can’t go without food or coal. And he’s putting the rent up again. Where on earth can I find more money? He says we owe months in arrears and that he’ll turn us out in the street if I don’t pay.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mammy. I’ll sort it out.’ She thought of her savings at the bottom of her travelling bag.

  ‘And that’s not the worst of it.’ Her mother looked at her.

  How much worse could it get?

  ‘It’s our Molly.’

  Alice hid the worry from her face and waited.

  ‘Some lad from the village has got her pregnant. She’s four months gone and he won’t marry her. What am I going to do, Alice?’

  Alice thought of Razeby and all the pain of that last scene between them, all because she refused to yield to her heart and marry him. Irony could be very cruel. Taking her mother’s hand in her own, she patted the work-roughened skin. ‘I’ve some money put by. There’s enough for the cottage and for the baby when it comes. And to see you all right for a while.’

  ‘You’ve still got your fine acting job at the proper theatre?’

  Alice nodded. ‘I’ve still got my fine acting job.’ But she’d walked out on Kemble and the theatre season was coming to an end.

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ Her mother’s face crumpled with relief and she squeezed her eyes shut. ‘What on earth would we do without you, Alice?’

  * * *

  Within the ballroom of the Earl of Misbourne’s town house situated only a few houses along the street in Leicester Square from Razeby’s own, the first ball that Venetia and Linwood were hosting was in full swing. Most of the ton were present, with only a few small exceptions who refused to accept Venetia into polite society. Not that their absence would have any effect on the ball’s outcome. Linwood and his father, Misbourne, had used their contacts to land the Prince of Wales himself as a guest. And as the Prince was now on the floor dancing with Venetia, her acceptance by the ton was guaranteed. Miss Darrington had excused herself to go to the ladies’ withdrawing room and showed no sign of hurrying back, much to Razeby’s relief. He stood alone with Linwood in a corner of the room, both of them sipping champagne as if they were enjoying themselves, when in truth neither of them were; Razeby knew that Linwood felt the evening as much a strain as himself.

  ‘I have seen the change in you, Razeby.’

  Razeby ignored the comment. He kept his mind focused on his marriage ahead, of his duty, steering his mind coldly, ruthlessly from dwelling on anything else.

  ‘I am telling you this as your friend because it has not gone unnoticed by the rest of London. Indeed, I wonder that Miss Darrington has agreed to marry you.’

  Razeby thought of the woman who had not. The one woman to whom he had offered everything that he was, only to have it thrown back in his face as not enough.

  ‘It is hardly surprising that she has spent so much time in the withdrawing room thus far this evening,’ added Linwood.

  ‘It is a marriage of convenience for us both. She understands how these things work.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Linwood. ‘But are you going to tell me what is going on, Razeby?’

  ‘I am marrying Miss Darrington is what is going on.’

  ‘And Miss Sweetly?’

  ‘Alice and I are no longer together.’

  ‘I had worked that one out,’ Linwood said. ‘She is gone from London. Walked out on Kemble and the theatre. Venetia went looking for her. She thinks Alice might have gone home to Ireland.’

  ‘I do not give a damn where she is.’ He felt the simmer of red rage at the edges of his mind and in his chest was that familiar lance of pain that cut deep whenever he thought of her.

  Linwood’s dark eyes seemed to see too much. ‘The last I saw you, you were harbouring feelings of a more tender nature towards Miss Sweetly.’

  ‘I have changed my mind.’

  ‘So easily?’

  He gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, but Linwood was not dissuaded.

  ‘Damn it, Razeby. You were talking of marrying her!’

  Razeby glared at his friend.

  Linwood held his gaze with those calm black eyes. ‘If you are truly done with her, then all well and good. But I do not think that to be the case.’

  ‘You are mistaken.’

  ‘Am I? Is that why you punched Devlin the other night?’

  ‘He suggested going to the Green Room of the Covent Garden theatre.’

  ‘He was trying to cheer your ill humour!’

  Alice’s name whispered unspoken between them.

  ‘I have no wish to visit the Green Room of any theatre.’ Razeby stared straight ahead, his jaw stiff and stubborn. Both of them knew the significance of the Green Room in Razeby and Alice’s relationship, but neither man made mention of it.

  He had loved her. And believed she loved him. He had almost dishonoured all that he was as a man, turned his back on the one thing he had to do in his life, given it all up for her—a woman who had taken his heart and trampled it into the ground. What an actress she was. She had fooled him completely and utterly.

  The bitterness of the illusion she had spun seemed to gnaw in the pit of his stomach. He did not even think of telling Linwood the truth. That she had rejected his offer of marriage—that she had ripped out his heart and ground it to a pulp before his very eyes. That he was such a fool that he had been prepared to put his honour aside. It was too raw, too intense, too private. Too damn shameful! He had not come to terms with it himself, let alone start revealing such vulnerabilities, even to Linwood.

  Linwood said nothing, but Razeby could feel his friend’s discerning gaze upon him.

  He glanced across and saw Miss Darrington re-enter the ballroom.

  There was still time enough before his thirtieth birthday. He had to stay focused. And do what had to be done.

  * * *

  Alice sat in the lawyer’s office in Dublin beside the man she was paying to represent her. Over on the wall were square-shaped box shelves, each one filled with scrolls piled high, every scroll tied with a red ribbon. The light from the office window lit the faded brown leather of the seats a warm chestnut and glanced off the glass of the pictures on the wall. A grandfather clock in the corner of the room ticked slow and steady, punctuating the silence. Tiny specks of dust floated in sunlight, softening the drab interior of the room. Alice, dressed in her best blue day dress and pelisse, sat across the desk from the lawyer and tried to keep calm.

  ‘A thousand pounds? You cannot be serious, Mr Timmons.’

  ‘If you wish to buy the cottage, Miss Flannigan, that is the price Mr Lamerton is asking.’

  ‘For a cottage in the country, with its roof in need of a new thatch?’

  ‘He has offered to re-thatch the roof as part of the selling price.’

  ‘Then you can tell him he may keep it. There are other cottages to be had in the village.’

  ‘Mr Lamerton owns all of the properties in the village.’

  ‘There are other villages nearby.’

  ‘There are, Miss Flannigan. But you seem not to be aware that Mr Lamerton inherited some considerable acreage in the area from his late uncle. He is a landowner of wealth and influence. Perhaps your mother might consider moving out of the parish.’

  ‘No.’ Alice knew that her mother had been happy in the village. She had friends there. And besides, the house represented much more than four walls and a roof over their heads. After the years of living on the street, of shifting from a shared room in one relative’s house to another, it had been the one point of stability in their lives. Her mother had always sworn she would never move again. Never go back to that life of constant shift and insecurity. ‘I would not ask that of her.’

 
; ‘The price is unreasonable, I agree, Miss Flannigan, but there is little else I can do.’

  A thousand pounds. Alice’s savings. From her time with Razeby. And her earnings from the theatre.

  ‘Maybe I could speak to Mr Lamerton about reaching some arrangement over the payments for the rent that is outstanding.’

  And Lamerton would have her mother over a barrel for the rest of her days. ‘A thousand pounds and my mother would own the cottage outright?’

  The lawyer nodded. ‘That is the case, Miss Flannigan.’

  ‘Tell him I will give him nine hundred and arrange myself for the roof to be thatched.’

  ‘I will make the offer, as per your instruction, Miss Flannigan.’

  * * *

  In the crowded bedchamber of the little cottage Alice stole from the bed she shared with her sisters and crept through to the living room. The moon was high in the sky, its quiet silver light spilling in through the small lead-latticed window. She stood by the window and looked up at the moon, the same moon that shone down on Razeby in London. She wondered how he was and what he was doing. Every time she closed her eyes she could see his face.

  The night was the cruellest time, for he came to her in her dreams, always in tenderness. He made love to her and gathered her in his arms and told her that he loved her. And always, always, it ended with those words that she had spoken, those lies and deceptions. And him staring down into her face with such anger and disgust. And always in the darkness it seemed that she could feel the press of two golden sovereigns against the palm of her hand. And every night she wept silently in the darkness.

  She stood there and watched the full moon. Once upon a time she would have wished on it. But she did not do that now. A month had passed since she had come to Dublin. The cottage was paid for. A new fresh thick thatch upon the roof. Furniture and new clothes bought. The larder stocked full and ten bags of coal emptied into the coal cellar. And all save five pounds given into her mother’s hands. But the money would not last for ever. She could not shirk her duty. It was time to go back to London. Besides, there was another reason she could not stay here. But she did not want to think of that right now. Not until she was sure.