Scandal at Greystone Manor

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Yes, when he was staying with Mark years ago, just after they left university. Papa would not agree to me marrying him. He said Mr Ashton had no family and no prospects and I could do better. He went to India and I got over it very quickly.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘No reason why you should.’

  ‘It could not have been true love.’

  ‘No, it was not, but I did not realise it at the time. Now I know Papa was right, not because of Mr Ashton’s lack of status and wealth, but simply that I only thought I was in love. It wasn’t real.’

  ‘There you and I differ. For me it is real and will last all my life.’

  ‘You did not tell Mama that.’

  ‘What was the point? Drew has disappeared and I don’t know where he has gone, probably back to India. I am going to be an old maid like you.’

  ‘You will break Mark’s heart.’

  ‘I doubt it. He spends more time with you than with me.’

  ‘That’s only because he is helping me with the Hadlea Children’s Home, and you could join us and take an interest if you chose.’

  ‘I do not choose.’

  They were interrupted by a knock on the door and Bessie came to tell Isabel that her father was in the book room and she was to go there at once.

  Isabel rose. ‘Jane?’ she queried.

  ‘No, you must go alone,’ Jane said. ‘He will only want you to repeat what you told Mama.’

  Isabel left her and Jane went to her own room and tried to concentrate on sewing beads on the wedding dress. But her attention wandered and the needle slipped from her fingers. What could she do? She wanted to help her sister and shield Mark from scandal, but she had a dreadful feeling that, if Isabel persisted, scandal was inevitable and both families would suffer. On top of Teddy’s flight from his debts and the accusations of Lord Bolsover, it would be the last straw from which they might never recover. She heard a door slam downstairs and running footsteps and then silence. Isabel had evidently fled. She did not come upstairs and Jane wondered whether to go and find her, but she really could not go on trying to persuade her sister to go ahead with the marriage when all her own senses were crying out in despair. It was one more sacrifice she was being asked to make and she was beginning to feel a trifle rebellious. In any case Isabel, who nearly always managed to have her own way, would not listen to her.

  * * *

  Mark could not understand Isabel’s moods. He had never known her to be irritable. She flared up occasionally, but her sunny nature usually soon reasserted itself, yet now it seemed nothing he could do was right. And he was appalled by her rudeness to Jane. He could see Jane had been hurt, although she did not show it, except by the bleakness in her eyes. He hoped when he arrived at the Manor, Isabel would have made her peace with her sister and be ready to come with them to Witherington. The Hadlea Children’s Home project was important to Jane and he wanted to help her, so was Isabel jealous? If she would not go to Witherington with them, then he must make up for it in other ways.

  He took the route through the woods, which surrounded the Manor. The sun filtered through the canopy of trees, making dancing streaks of light along the path ahead of him. Overhead a blackbird sitting on a branch let it be known he was encroaching on its territory. There were other sounds, too—the soughing of the wind, rustling, squeaking, the distant barking of a dog—but they were only small sounds and did not impinge on the peacefulness. And then he heard another sound that was not peaceful. Someone was sobbing not far away, someone in dreadful distress. He hurried to find the source of the sound and found Isabel lying on the ground beneath an ancient oak, curled up in a tight ball.

  He ran forward. ‘Isabel, whatever is the matter?’ He knelt down, put his arm about her and helped her to sit up. ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’ The voice was watery.

  He produced a handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to her. ‘Did you fall? Are you hurt?’

  ‘I didn’t fall and I am not hurt, at least, not in the way you mean.’ She sniffed and mopped her eyes.

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’ he queried, tilting up her chin, making her look at him. ‘You do not weep for nothing, so you had better tell me. After all, I will soon be your husband, the one to whom you turn regarding whatever is troubling you, the one whose privilege it is to solve all your problems.’

  ‘You are the problem,’ she burst out and began to cry again.

  ‘Me? What have I done? If I have hurt you, then I beg forgiveness, it was not intentional. Are you cross because I spend so much time on Jane’s orphanage? I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

  ‘I do not care how much time you spend with Jane and her orphanage.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I cannot marry you, Mark. I don’t want to be Lady Wyndham. I should make you miserable.’

  ‘You must let me be the judge of that.’

  ‘And I should be miserable, too.’

  ‘Ahh. There is more to it. Come, out with it.’

  ‘Mama and Papa say I cannot break off the engagement, it will cause a dreadful scandal.’

  ‘Not half the scandal if I were to break it off.’

  ‘Do you wish to?’

  ‘Isabel, my dear, I would never hold you to an engagement you found abhorrent. You may jilt me if you choose and I will not complain, but I would like to know the reason for it.’

  ‘I do not love you, cannot love you.’

  He gave her a wry smile. ‘Well, that is a blow to my ego.’

  ‘I am sorry. I am very fond of you. You are like a big brother and I would hate to be at odds with you, but the truth is—’ She stopped suddenly.

  ‘You have fixed your affections elsewhere, is that it?’

  She nodded.

  He considered this only for a moment before the truth dawned on him. Isabel had flirted with Drew, had been lively and happy in his presence, and had not wanted to come home. And Drew himself had admitted that was why he was going away. How blind he had been! ‘It’s my friend Drew, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but he said he would not betray you. That’s why he went away.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Jane says I’ll get over him because she did. He had asked Papa for permission to marry her, but Papa would not allow it on account of his lack of a fortune. It is why Jane never married. She says she soon got over him, but I’m not so sure, because I cannot believe no one else asked her, not when she was young and marriageable.’

  ‘Perhaps Jane is right.’

  ‘She is jealous. Drew told me himself that there had been someone else, but he had got over it long ago and was glad of it.’

  Mark remembered Drew saying something of the sort, but he had had no idea it had been Jane. He found his emotions churning and it had nothing to do with being rejected by Isabel. He stood up and held out his hand to help her to rise. ‘Come, we will go and see your papa and thrash this out.’

  She stood beside him, only reaching his shoulder. There were bits of grass and dead leaves clinging to her muslin dress and she brushed them off with impatient hands. ‘You needn’t come with me.’

  ‘I was coming to see you and Jane about going to Witherington, or had you forgot?’

  ‘Oh, that pesky orphanage. Yes, I had forgot.’

  * * *

  Sir Edward and Lady Cavenhurst were in the drawing room with Jane and it was evident they had been talking about Isabel’s extraordinary behaviour, but stopped when they saw that Mark was with her.

  ‘Come in and sit down, my boy,’ Sir Edward said, indicating a chair. ‘I can see by the look of you that my foolish daughter has told you of this silly notion of hers.’

  ‘I do not consider it
silly,’ Mark said.

  ‘No, you would not, but rest assured it is only a passing fancy. It is nerves brought about by your father’s demise and the prospect of becoming Lady Wyndham and the role she will be expected to fulfil. We will school her in what is expected of her and no doubt your mother will do so, too.’

  ‘I think perhaps it is more than that, Sir Edward, and I would not hold her to an engagement that is abhorrent to her.’

  ‘But the scandal,’ her ladyship protested.

  ‘We can end it by mutual consent,’ he said. ‘It will be Miss Isabel’s decision, of course, but I shall accept it gracefully.’

  ‘But why should you?’ Sir Edward queried. ‘She will get over her reluctance by the time you and your mother are out of mourning. If it had not been for Lord Wyndham’s untimely death, you would have been married by now. Less than a month ago she talked of nothing else.’

  ‘That was before she met my friend, Drew Ashton.’

  ‘What?’ Sir Edward exploded, turning to Isabel who had seated herself on a chair near the door, almost as if she were prepared to flee again. ‘Has that mountebank turned your head just as he did you sister’s?’

  ‘He is not a mountebank,’ Isabel cried. ‘He is an honourable man. I love him and he loves me.’

  ‘I will not listen to this,’ her father told her. ‘I sent him packing once before and I shall do so again. You need not think I will ever consent to you marrying him.’

  ‘I expect that is why he went away,’ she said miserably.

  Lady Cavenhurst turned to Mark. ‘I am sorry you had to hear this, my lord. Isabel is not usually given to tantrums, as you must know. No doubt she will be in a better frame of mind tomorrow.’

  ‘I came to arrange to go to Witherington,’ he said. ‘I am free tomorrow afternoon, if that is convenient to Jane?’

  ‘Yes, quite convenient,’ Jane said.

  ‘Then I will call at two o’clock.’ He rose and took his leave, leaving a silent and morose Cavenhurst family. He had no doubt they would continue to harangue poor Isabel. He did not want a reluctant wife and would happily release her. In truth, he felt nothing but a huge sense of relief. On the other hand, the revelation that Drew and Jane had once wanted to marry had come as a shock to him, but on quiet reflection, he remembered how they had seized every opportunity to be alone when Drew had come to stay at Broadacres. Sometimes his friend had gone riding alone. Had he been off to meet Jane? Was Jane still hankering after him? Was she jealous of her sister? Had they quarrelled over him? Jane had been very quiet while everyone else talked. He wished he had quizzed Drew a little more before he left. Now he did not know where he was.

  * * *

  He returned home to seek out his mother, who was resting in her boudoir. He ought to tell her what had transpired. It would be a dreadful shock to her and he hated the idea of upsetting her, but if Isabel did call off the wedding, then his mother would have to know and the news would be better coming from him.

  She was sitting in a chair by the window, gazing out over the park. A book lay discarded in her lap. He pulled up another chair and sat down beside her. ‘Mama, how are you?’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with me, Mark. I am just a little tired. I like to see Grace, she is a great comfort to me, but Isabel’s outburst has upset me. She should not have spoken to her sister like that. I cannot think what came over her.’

  ‘She is worried and afraid, Mama. I have just been over to the Manor and learned the reason...’ He paused, wondering whether to go on.

  ‘You had better tell me at once.’

  ‘Isabel has told me and the rest of her family that she no longer wishes to marry me.’

  ‘Not want to marry you! What are you saying, Mark?’

  ‘Just that. She has changed her mind. She says she does not love me.’ He grinned. ‘That was a blow to my pride, but I will get over it.’

  ‘Fustian! She is a foolish girl. She has wanted to marry you for years, she cannot have suddenly changed.’

  ‘But she has.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Nothing, Mama. It is not up to me, is it?’

  ‘You must talk to her, persuade her of the advantages.’

  ‘Oh, I think she knows the advantages. They are apparently outweighed by the disadvantages. She does not love me and because of that is not prepared to countenance being mistress of Broadacres.’ He smiled. ‘So, Mama, you will remain in your place here as chatelaine a little longer.’

  ‘You mean you are going to allow her to call the whole thing off? You will be a laughing stock.’

  ‘Better that than take an unwilling bride.’

  ‘She will change her mind. There are some weeks to go before the wedding.’

  ‘Mama, I do not think I want her to change her mind. I am content to let her break the engagement. We could go travelling, you and I, when you feel stronger, that is. The gossip will soon die down when the tattlemongers find something else to talk about.’

  ‘Don’t you mind?’

  ‘Do you know, Mother, I don’t think I do.’

  ‘But you must marry, Mark. It is incumbent upon you.’

  ‘Perhaps I will, one day, when the furore has died down.’

  ‘And that will be difficult to live down. Every young lady you approach will wonder what is wrong with you.’

  ‘I hope not every young lady, Mama.’

  She sighed and put a hand over his. ‘As long as you do not mind, I am content. I was beginning to change my mind about Miss Isabel Cavenhurst in any case.’

  He laughed and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Then we are in accord.’

  He left her to rest and busied himself about the estate, then visited the Rector to learn a little more about the house in Witherington.

  Chapter Eight

  As Isabel had declined to go with them and the weather continued fine and warm, Mark called for Jane in the curricle the following afternoon, driving it himself. She was ready and waiting, dressed in a morning dress of primrose-coloured sarsenet, trimmed with blond lace, and a matching pelisse. On her dark curls she had tied a cottager straw hat.

  ‘I spoke to Henry Caulder yesterday,’ Mark told her as they trotted along the country lanes, now in sunshine, now in the shadow of the trees. ‘He told me what he knew of Witherington House. He said it was dilapidated, which is why it is so cheap.’

  ‘Yes, he told me that. By all accounts it will mean a deal of work to make it habitable. Perhaps the cost of repairs will outweigh the low purchase price.’

  ‘That we shall have to see.’

  ‘How much land is there with it? I should like the children to have somewhere to play.’

  ‘Very little. Most of it has been sold to local farmers as arable and pasture, but there is an acre of garden. We should not want more than that or we would have to employ gardeners.’

  ‘The boys could help with the gardening. If you remember, the Foundling Hospital told us the children were allotted tasks as they grew old enough to do them. I think it is a good idea to give them a little idea of the world of work. I want to fit them to earn their living, to make begging and thieving a thing of the past.’

  ‘You will need some staff: a matron, teachers, a housekeeper, a maid or two and an odd-job man.’

  ‘I know. We can use local people who are out of work.’

  They continued to talk about the Hadlea Children’s Home all the way and Jane was glad of that. It was easier than speaking of the events of the day before, still large in her mind and, she suspected, in Mark’s mind, too. After he had left them, her parents had flatly refused to listen to any more of Isabel’s pleading and told her she would change her mind and not disgrace the family with gossip. It was bad enough that Teddy had embarrassed them and been forced to flee the
country, but this would be worse and they would not hear of breaking it off. Isabel had resorted to weeping all over Jane and begging her to intercede on her behalf. Jane could not do it, could not hurt Mark. He had been very understanding, but she wondered how he really felt, particularly about Issie’s confession that she believed herself in love with Drew, but of course she could not ask him.

  They passed a few scattered cottages, an inn and a small triangular green where two women gossiped at a pump, then turned into an overgrown drive, whose gates were permanently open and trapped in weeds and long grass. A short ride and the house came into view. It was a large square house, not much smaller than Greystone Manor, covered in ivy, which hung over the windows in long strands. There were several slates missing from the roof and one of the chimney stacks had lost its coping. Mark pulled up at the front door and they sat surveying the building in silence before Mark jumped down and came round the vehicle to help her down. He preceded her up a dozen steps to the blackened oak door with its rusty lion’s-head knocker and beat a tattoo.

  ‘No one is living here, surely,’ she said.

  ‘I am told there is a caretaker.’ He rapped again and waited, but no one came. He tried the door, but it was bolted from the inside. ‘Let’s try the back,’ he said.

  They found an old man in the yard chopping wood. ‘Are you the caretaker?’ Mark asked.

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘I do. I am Lord Wyndham and this is Miss Cavenhurst. We have come to view the property.’

  The man stuck the axe in the chopping block. ‘Best come with me, then, though if you’re expecting a palace, you’ve come to the wrong place. ’Tain’t fit to live in.’

  ‘We know that,’ Jane said. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Silas Godfrey, miss.’

  He led the way into the house through the kitchen. There was a woman standing at the table, cutting up a hare. ‘My wife, Dotty,’ he said, then to her, ‘These folks have come to view the house.’

  She gave them a quick bob and continued her work. Silas led them from the kitchen into a narrow hall at the end of which a door led to the front of the house. ‘Have you been here long?’ Jane asked him, as they crossed a black-and-white-tiled hall and entered what would have been the dining room. It was oak-lined with a deep window looking out on to a terrace. Weeds were growing in the cracks in the paving.