The Hemingford Scandal

by Mary Nichols

  The first change had come when Harry went to university. It was not the same for the two girls after that. They were expected to grow into young ladies and were schooled with that end in mind. But they had remained good friends and when Harry came home in the vacations, he escorted them to dances in the assembly rooms and on picnics to local beauty spots, but there were always other people about; it was no longer just the three of them.

  And then Mama had died and soon after that Papa, eaten up with grief, had decided to sell the house and live in London permanently. The decision seemed to compound Jane’s own grief. The capital was dirty and noisy and she missed everything that might have given her some solace: the green fields, the pony rides, the people, Anne and Harry most of all. It was from Anne’s letters she learned that Harry had fallen into bad company and had incurred gambling debts of three hundred pounds. ‘Grandfather stood buff for him,’ she had written. ‘And has bought him a lieutenancy in the Prince of Wales’s Own, which he told him was more than he deserved, but I don’t think he meant it. From tales I have heard him tell when I was a little girl, he sowed a few wild oats himself. Harry is off to London any time now and no doubt he will call on you.’

  Harry, with his dark curls and laughing eyes, had arrived, splendid and proud in his uniform, and had captivated her, won her heart and her hand, and then behaved disgracefully and she ought not to repine over him. It was not fair on the man who rode beside her now. Donald Allworthy was everything that Harry was not: reliable, thoughtful, truthful, correct to the last degree. Everyone told her he was exactly right for her.

  As they entered the park, she turned to smile at him. ‘I am so glad you persuaded me to come. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed riding. It is such an age since I have been on the back of a horse.’

  ‘You could be on the back of one every day if you became Mrs Allworthy. There are horses in the stables and some good rides around Coprise.’

  She smiled mischievously as they trotted past a herd of cows being driven to the gate by milkmaids. ‘Bribery, Mr Allworthy?’

  ‘No, a promise.’ He paused. ‘I collect you are fond of country pursuits.’

  ‘Indeed, I am.’

  ‘Then come to Coprise Manor for a visit. You should all come, Mr Hemingford, Mrs Lane and your maids. There is plenty of room. I have to go home soon, I have been away too long, but the prospect of being parted from you made me reluctant to return.’

  ‘You are leaving London?’ Why that should surprise her, she did not know. ‘I did not know you were contemplating it.’

  ‘I must be back for haymaking. I like to involve myself in the work of the farm; matters run more smoothly when I do. But I could make all ready for your reception. Say you will come.’

  ‘I must consult with Papa and Aunt Lane. It might not be convenient for them.’

  ‘But if it is, you will come?’

  ‘I think I might like that.’

  His little grin of triumph was not lost on her, but surely he had a right to be pleased? She dug her heel into her horse’s flank and set it cantering across the grass, enjoying the feel of the mare’s strong back beneath her, the sound of her hooves as she put her to gallop, laughing because she had taken her escort by surprise and left him behind.

  And then she looked up and saw them, two riders outlined against the skyline, and she knew who they were by the way the young woman brushed a wayward curl from her face, the way the man sat in the saddle with his hands loosely on the reins. Her laughter faded and in that second, in mid-gallop, she thought of wheeling about to avoid them, but that would risk a fall and she would not subject herself to the indignity of being unseated in front of them. She managed to pull up and then stopped. They had surely seen her. Or was this another of her apparitions? What would it take to banish them? Marriage to someone else?

  She looked round at Donald as he rode up beside her. ‘That was good,’ she said, making herself laugh again.

  ‘Foolhardy, my dear, especially when you are so long out of practice. I should never have forgiven myself if you had taken a tumble.’

  ‘Ah, but I did not.’ She leaned forward to pat her horse’s neck, aware that the other two riders were walking their horses towards them. ‘Little Blaze is a goer.’

  She found herself surreptitiously looking at Harry. It was indeed Harry, but so changed she hardly recognised him. In a brown stuff riding jacket and a tall beaver hat, he seemed older than she had expected. He had become broader, more muscled, his features more lined, almost weatherbeaten. And there was a tiny scar running from his mouth towards his cheek. She wondered where he had been in the last two years, but then told herself sternly she did not want to know.

  But she had to acknowledge him for Anne’s sake. ‘Mr Hemingford,’ she said, aware of Donald beside her. ‘How do you do?’ And then, before he could reply, turned to his companion. ‘Anne, isn’t it a lovely morning? I have not enjoyed a ride so much for ages.’ And then she wished she had not spoken because she saw Harry’s mouth twitch in a faint smile and knew he was thinking of days long gone. ‘You are acquainted with Mr Donald Allworthy, I collect.’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Anne put on a bright smile, which only Jane knew was forced. ‘Mr Allworthy, may I present my brother, Harry?’

  The two men inclined their heads and bade each other good morning, but Jane could sense their animosity and decided to bring the encounter to an end. ‘Do call on me, Anne,’ she said, turning her mount. ‘But do not make it too long. I am leaving town very soon to stay at Coprise Manor.’ And then, as she drew away, ‘Good-day to you, Mr Hemingford.’

  Donald took a cool leave of the brother and sister and followed her. ‘So that was the scapegrace,’ he said. ‘I thought he was out of the country.’

  ‘So did I.’

  ‘You had no idea he was back?’

  ‘None at all. Why should I have? And it is of no consequence.’

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘Yes. The man is a stranger to me now. I hardly recognised him.’ She told herself that was true. Her so-called love had been nothing more than the infatuation of youth and youth had flown. ‘Tell me about Coprise Manor.’

  ‘You mean to come, then?’

  She could feel two pairs of eyes boring into her back and sat ramrod straight. ‘Of course, if Papa agrees.’

  ‘Who is that fellow?’ Harry demanded of his sister as they watched them ride away.

  ‘A mushroom,’ she said. ‘A countryman up for the Season in search of a wife.’

  ‘Jane?’

  She nodded. ‘They have been seen about town together every day for the last two weeks and I believe she is about to announce her engagement to him. She would not be going to Coprise otherwise. It is his country home in Norfolk.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Harry, you should have come back sooner.’

  He grimaced as they walked their horses forward, careful not to catch up with the two in front. ‘I was not in a position to come and go as I pleased and what good would it have done? She has not forgiven me. You could see she hardly knew how to be civil, not even to you, and you are her friend. Besides, we have both moved on; there is nothing at all between us now.’

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘Childhood love rarely survives into adulthood, you know.’ He chuckled. ‘And I took rather longer than most to grow up.’

  ‘But you have grown up, Harry. You are not the stripling that went away two years ago.’

  ‘No, thank God.’

  ‘What have you been doing?’ He had turned up on the doorstep two weeks before, soon after Jane’s last visit, bone weary, filthy and recovering from a wound to his thigh that had given him a limp. In that two weeks he had slept and slept, eaten like a hungry wolf, and slowly mended. Today had been his first outing. And they had to run into Jane, of all people.

  He smiled, a crooked kind of smile because of the scar. ‘I told you, fighting for King and Country. There is nothing like a few bullets and cannon balls flying around
to make a boy into a man.’

  ‘But you resigned your commission.’

  ‘So I did. But there are other ways to serve. The army is not so particular about those they take into the ranks. I enlisted as a private soldier and was lucky enough to be taken into the 95th. It was a very salutary experience, I can tell you, but I made a good rifleman.’

  ‘It must have been terrible. I cannot think why you did it.’

  ‘I had something to prove, Sis. And it was not so bad. There was hardship, of course, and danger too, but there was also comradeship, a pulling together and sharing whatever you have with each other, rations, clothes, food, jests, even women.’

  ‘Is it not like that among officers?’

  ‘Not quite. They are too concerned about their position in the chain of command. A lieutenant’s position as the lowest of the low is only surpassed by that of an ensign, who is truly a nobody. A major looks down on a captain and a colonel can have no friends, being at the top of the regimental pyramid, so to speak. His is a lonely life and I do not envy him.’

  ‘I collect, when you first had your colours, you said you would come back a colonel.’

  ‘That was the boy speaking, not the man.’

  Looking back, he could not believe what a sousecrown he had been. The adoration of his sister and Jane had swelled his vanity to gigantic proportions. He had been hail-fellow-well-met at his college, had done very little work, learned to gamble and fallen into debt. But wasn’t that the way of all young bloods? His grandfather had put down the dust, but there had been strings attached. The lieutenancy had been thrust under his nose and an ultimatum delivered. He had accepted it with gratitude.

  Even then his good intentions had been trammelled underfoot as soon as he arrived in London. Living in the capital had been expensive, with regimentals to buy, a pair of horses to keep, his mess bills and a servant to maintain. It became even more so when he became engaged to Jane and there were parties almost every night, balls and routs to attend, presents to buy for her. He wanted to be the grand suitor, the generous lover, the husband and provider. He could not be that while he was a mere lieutenant, kicking his heels on home ground.

  When Clarence Garfitt had told him about Mrs Clarke, he had hesitated, but Clarence, who was a captain and always knew everything that was going on, had assured him that was how many men obtained preferment. Nothing was said against it because to do so would involve the Duke of York and of course no one would dare risk that. What a gull he had been! The whole scandal had come to light and his name became publicly known as one of those officers who had offered a bribe. Jane had been furious and he had compounded his villainy in her eyes by blustering and trying to excuse himself. ‘Everyone does it,’ he had said. ‘I did it for us, so that we could marry. It is not the end of the world.’

  But Jane was Jane. Seventeen years old, motherless and with a father who saw and heard nothing that did not relate to his work, she was far from worldly-wise and had been shocked to discover that such people as Mrs Clarke existed—not only existed, but were condoned so long as they never complained. Jane was appalled and outraged to think that her affianced husband had visited the house of such a one. To her everything must be either black or white; she would not admit to shades of grey. He had resigned his commission and taken himself out of her sight.

  ‘But you did become an officer,’ Anne said, breaking in on his thoughts. ‘You are a captain.’

  ‘Promoted in the field. My company commander received a mortal wound and there was no one else to take charge. Luckily for me, my conduct was noticed; I was mentioned in the colonel’s report and the captaincy was confirmed. Later they were looking for someone who could speak French and I volunteered. I had to question French prisoners and deserters, and that led to using their information to obtain more.’

  He had volunteered to go behind the enemy lines to follow up a piece of information he had been given. It had been risky and exciting, but he had welcomed the danger, learned to survive, met some extraordinary people and emerged alive, but wounded. Making his way back to his own lines just outside Pombala, he had been skirting round a French bivouac when he was seen and challenged. He had been within half a mile of his own comrades and as he carried important intelligence, there was nothing to do but fight his way out of trouble. He had taken a ball in the thigh, but luckily for him they were in dense woodland and he was able to conceal himself in thick under-growth until the bigger battle started. With pandemonium around him, he had managed to crawl to safety and deliver his intelligence. But the wound had put a painful end to his military career.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ Anne asked him. ‘You are not fit to return to duty.’

  ‘No, more’s the pity, I would have liked to see it to the end. I must find something to occupy myself.’

  ‘Will you go to see Grandpapa?’

  ‘Will he receive me?’

  ‘Of course he will! When you tell him what you have done, that you have been wounded in the service of your country and been mentioned in dispatches, he will be as proud as a turkeycock. You have redeemed yourself and he will welcome you back into the family. You will be able to take up your proper position as his heir.’

  ‘Not yet. I put my old life behind me when I enlisted. I cannot go back to it. I think I will go into business.’

  ‘Business?’ she repeated, shocked. ‘You don’t mean trade?’

  He smiled, knowing she was only reflecting the attitude of their own social class. ‘Why not? I have not quite made up my mind what, or how I can bring it about, but it must be something worthwhile.’

  ‘Grandfather won’t like that. You are a gentleman born and bred and one day you will be the Earl of Bostock and take over the estate.’

  ‘That does not mean I cannot be some use in the world before that happens, does it? I have learned to stand on my own feet while I have been away and I found I liked it.’

  ‘And Jane?’ The pair ahead of them had disappeared through the gates on to Piccadilly, merging in with the traffic on that busy thoroughfare.

  ‘Ah, Jane,’ he said, thinking back to their encounter not five minutes before. She was no longer the hoyden of their childhood, not even the pretty young débutante to whom he had become engaged. She was another being entirely, a fully fledged woman. The new Jane had looked splendid in that riding habit, her womanly curves in all the right places, and that fetching hat had set off her thick hair to perfection. Sitting straight in the saddle, her gloved hands on her reins, perfectly composed, she had shown nothing of the Jane he had known and loved. She had outgrown him. ‘I fear I am too late on that score, Sis.’

  ‘Fustian! She still loves you.’

  ‘I do not believe it. The Jane I knew would not encourage another man when her heart was elsewhere. She would be too honest.’

  ‘Two years is a long time, Harry. I believe she has been coerced. You must do something.’

  ‘Anne, even if I were to wish it, which I do not admit to, I could not step in now. What would that do to my reputation and hers too? I have done enough damage to the Hemingford name already. If I were to step into another man’s engagement, all that other business would be dragged up again and I would be branded an unmitigated bounder.’ He reached out and patted her hand. ‘Thank you for trying, my dear, but I, too, have moved on.’

  ‘Oh, Harry, I am so sorry. I love you both so much.’

  ‘And you may still love us both. That has not changed. And I thank God for it. Now, do you think we can make a little more haste, I came out without my breakfast and I am gut-foundered.’

  They rode home in silence but, for all his cheerful countenance, his heart was heavy. Had he really expected Jane to recognise the new man and be ready and willing to forgive and forget and take him back? It was the thought of redeeming himself in her eyes that had kept him going, been with him through the long watches of the night when he had been cold and wet; it had been with him on endless marches when he had been almost roasted a
live. It had sustained him when he had been living among his country’s enemies and helped him safely back to his comrades when his mission had been accomplished. The vision of her face had helped him to survive that long night hiding in a ditch with a bullet in his leg. When he had been praised for his daring by none other than Old Douro himself and mentioned in his dispatches, it was of Jane’s good opinion he had been thinking. All for nothing!

  They dismounted outside Bostock House and left the horses with a groom before going indoors. The house had been bought by the first Earl when Cavendish Square was an isolated residential area in the countryside north of London. He had chosen it for its proximity to the capital and its fresh air. Now it was part of the metropolis, an old house in the middle of new. It had not even been modernized, because the Earl had not visited London since his son, the twins’ father, had died. Most of the year it remained empty and was only opened up when Anne came to town for the Season. If Harry had his way, it would be sold. The ground it stood on must surely be worth a fortune with the way London was spreading northwards and the Regent clamouring to have a new road built from his residence at Carlton House to Regent’s Park.

  ‘When are you going home to Sutton Park?’ she asked him, as they entered.

  He grinned. ‘Do you want to be rid of me?’

  ‘No, you know I do not. I have seen nothing of you for two years and there is no hurry, is there? I am going back myself in a week or two, we could go together.’

  ‘You think I might need protection from Grandpapa?’ He laughed as they climbed the stairs to their respective rooms. ‘You are probably right at that. You could always turn him round your thumb.’

  ‘Gammon!’

  He stopped outside her room and put out a hand to stroke her cheek. ‘Dear Sis, always looking after her wayward brother. I do appreciate it, you know.’