Deception (Daughters of Mannerling 3)

by M C Beaton

  Lady Beverley was all that was gracious. She explained they would consider it an honour to look after their son while the girls wished again Miss Trumble were here to deal with this odd situation. How should they behave towards a man who had so cruelly assaulted their sister?

  ‘It is most kind of you,’ said Mrs Devers with a break in her voice. ‘We are deeply in your debt. After the way Harry behaved . . . But no matter. You will all have an opportunity to find out how much he has changed.’

  Barry, listening at the door, decided to ride over to Hursley Park as soon as he could get away and warn Miss Trumble of what was happening. The combination of the heir to Mannerling and the Beverley sisters was far too dangerous!

  But when he arrived at Hursley Park that evening, it was to learn with dismay that Lord Burfield had invited Lady Evans and Miss Trumble to join him while the Makepeaces were his guests. Lord Burfield had realized that an invitation to the Makepeaces might be misconstrued, and as he had not yet made up his mind to propose to Prudence, there was safety in numbers, and so apart from Lady Evans and Miss Trumble, he had invited other people as well. Barry secured Lord Burfield’s address and returned home to write a letter, putting aside some money out of his savings so that he could send an express to Miss Trumble on the following day.

  But on the next day snow, which had fallen during the night, was lying in drifts on the roads, and more snow was falling. He could not get to Hedgefield to meet the mail coach, the Deverses could not even get over from Mannerling to see their son, nor could the physician call. It was left to the Beverley sisters to nurse Harry Devers back to health.

  He recovered quite quickly and proved a surprisingly docile patient. Rachel was the first to thaw towards him. Finding her alone with him one day, Harry apologized most humbly for his treatment of Jessica.

  Rachel gave a little shiver and said, ‘I think it is all to do with Mannerling. I think that house drives everyone who has anything to do with it a little mad.’

  But Harry, looking at her golden hair gleaming in the candle-light, and at her soft pretty manners and gentle face, was already beginning to plot. He had vowed to get even with the Beverleys, but that would not answer. In order to restore his good name and get out of the army, the solution would be to marry one of them, and who better than Rachel? She was not like her sisters. She was gentle and kind and would make a compliant wife. He would go carefully this time. No grabbing or kissing until after the wedding.

  And so it was mostly Rachel who read and talked to Harry. The bedroom door was always open and the servants always about, and Harry was always so grateful and cheerful that they all began to think he was really reformed. It was their Christian duty to forgive the sinner, they firmly believed that, and there was no sensible Miss Trumble around to warn them that rakes did not reform; only their mother, who was becoming increasingly excited at the progressing friendship between Rachel and Harry.

  Rachel’s one weakness was that she had too high an opinion of her own common sense. She was not in love with Harry, and felt sure that all her old desire to regain Mannerling had gone. But she did not want to remain a spinster. That was a truly dreadful fate. Harry was pleasant and kind and truly reformed. They were friends. She would have her own household. Now that Miss Trumble had gone, Rachel found that she longed to get away from her mother with her petty miserliness and erratic changes of mood.

  Had Harry returned to drinking anything at all stronger than lemonade, he might have betrayed his real nature, but he was enjoying playing the part of saint. He could get well and truly drunk on his wedding day, but not before.

  There was a sudden brief thaw, which allowed Mr and Mrs Devers to visit their son and find him recovered enough to return home with them.

  They had feared for his life and so, when he humbly begged them to give him permission to marry Rachel Beverley, they felt he had indeed become the son they had always longed him to be. Marriage to one of the Beverleys would restore his good name. Lady Beverley was approached and cried tears of joy. She thought only of returning ‘home.’

  Rachel was surprised and amazed at Harry’s proposal. Somehow she had not talked much about him with her twin. Abigail was always telling her she was too soft-hearted, and so Rachel had thought that any remarks in Harry’s favour would be met with scorn. But when she prettily and gratefully accepted Harry’s proposal and Harry had driven off to Mannerling with his parents, she was taken aback by her sisters’ dismay.

  They gathered in her room, and Belinda was the first to speak. ‘You must not sacrifice yourself, Rachel,’ she said. ‘None of us cares a rap for Mannerling any more.’

  ‘I am not sacrificing myself,’ said Rachel. ‘I truly like Mr Harry, and we deal together extremely well.’

  ‘I should not have left you alone with him so much,’ mourned Abigail. ‘Send Barry immediately with a letter to say you made a mistake. Do that, Rachel, before an announcement is made in the newspapers.’

  ‘But I do not want to cry off,’ said Rachel, still bewildered by their reaction. ‘I thought you would all be happy for me.’

  ‘Miss Trumble will be shocked when she learns of this,’ said Lizzie. ‘It never would have happened had she been here.’

  ‘Miss Trumble is a lady of good sense. She will see with her own eyes how Harry has changed,’ said Rachel. ‘I will insist Mama invite her to the wedding.’

  Unaware of the bombshell about to be dropped on her by the announcement in the Morning Post, Miss Trumble had settled quietly into Lord Burfield’s house party. She had accepted in her mind that Lord Burfield – so suitable for poor Abigail – was shortly about to propose to Prudence Makepeace, whom Miss Trumble damned in her mind as a sly, devious, and yet tedious girl.

  But Lord Burfield still hesitated. He was plagued with memories of Abigail Beverley’s bright hair. He reminded himself he had done the sensible thing and then wondered immediately afterwards why doing the sensible thing should fill his days with such restless boredom.

  Prudence had studied the subjects dear to his heart as diligently as she could, but as she did not have Abigail’s quick mind, she merely repeated to him, parrot fashion, whole paragraphs out of books, and as Lord Burfield had read some of the same books, he could only marvel at her memory and begin to wonder if she had one original thought in her head. He began to picture what their married life would really be like. Would she quote books to him at the breakfast table? Or, having secured him, would she stop making any effort to please him?

  Miss Trumble, although she often thought of the sisters and wondered how they were faring, was enjoying being away from the burden of daily worrying about them. Lady Beverley had treated her just like any other servant, and that had rankled. It was pleasant to be in a richly appointed household with every comfort. There was plenty to read, and interesting walks to take when the snow cleared a little more.

  When she had first arrived at Lord Burfield’s home, Miss Trumble had waited eagerly every day until he had finished reading the morning papers so that she could read the news, but as each easygoing day followed its leisurely pace, she lost interest in the news, and that morning would not have troubled him for them had he not handed the newspapers to her.

  She read all the news – about the hard winter, about how the Thames was frozen over, and about the war. Idly she turned to the social column of the Morning Post.

  Miss Trumble stared down at the announcement of the forthcoming wedding between Harry Devers and Rachel Beverley with horror. Her first impulse was to beg the use of the carriage and travel directly to Brookfield House. But on calmer reflection she realized there was nothing she could do. She had been dismissed. To tell any of the Beverleys to cancel a wedding which meant giving up their hopes of Mannerling would be useless. And to think she had firmly believed all that obsession was over. But Rachel, gentle Rachel and Harry!

  When Lady Evans entered the morning room, Miss Trumble pointed to that terrible announcement.

  ‘So one of you
r chicks has done well for herself,’ remarked Lady Evans.

  ‘What can you mean, dear lady? Harry Devers is a libertine, a rake, and half mad.’

  ‘Well, that’s the gentlemen for you, Letitia. They are all the same,’ said Lady Evans, which led Miss Trumble to wonder feverishly what on earth the late Lord Evans had been like.

  ‘On the other hand,’ went on Lady Evans, looking at the anguish in her friend’s eyes, ‘if you think you can do something, by all means take my carriage and go to Brookfield House.’

  ‘You are very kind, but believe me, Lady Beverley will be in such ecstasies at the thought of regaining Mannerling, not to mention having secured a rich son-in-law, that I doubt if she would even let me across the threshold.’

  ‘You must not become too exercised over this,’ said Lady Evans. ‘You know how it goes in marriage – a few nasty experiences and a few children and then the husband is ever absent in his clubs or on the hunting field and the lady is left alone to her own pursuits. It is the way of the world. Ah, good morning again, Rupert. I am trying to reassure Miss Trumble. She is distressed because one of her recent charges has become engaged to Harry Devers of Mannerling.’

  Lord Burfield sat down and looked inquiringly at Miss Trumble. ‘Which one?’ he asked.

  ‘Rachel Beverley,’ said Miss Trumble.

  He felt a sensation of relief. ‘Ah, Miss Abigail’s twin. So what is so terrible about this Harry Devers? Oh, I remember the gossip. He was engaged to another Beverley and she jilted him after he assaulted her. The Beverleys must be desperate for husbands. Or could it be that they are merely desperate to get Mannerling back and will go to any lengths to achieve that aim?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘Oh, but it is so hard to believe! You have met my girls, Lord Burfield. Are they not as clever as they are beautiful?’

  ‘Indeed they are, Miss Trumble. But perhaps the mother is behind all this. I must say I took her in dislike, in such dislike, in fact, that it ruined my memories of a very pleasant evening.’

  Miss Trumble’s eyes were suddenly shrewd. And ruined your interest in Abigail, she thought.

  A letter from Barry arrived a few days later. It was not the sort of letter Barry would have written had he been able to get to the mail coach sooner. In it he said he had at first been shocked and dismayed and had ridden to Hursley Park to find her gone. But he said that, hard to believe though it might be, Harry Devers was behaving like the veriest gentleman and perhaps the softness and goodness of Rachel had reformed him.

  ‘He’s lost his wits as well,’ muttered Miss Trumble.

  Harry Devers rode off to rejoin his regiment after Christmas. He whistled and sang, stopping at the first posting-house of the road to get very drunk indeed. He had much to celebrate. His parents had promised him that he could leave the army and settle at Mannerling as soon as he was safely married.

  The wedding was to be held at Mannerling the following April. Lady Beverley was opening the pursestrings wide. She had even taken Rachel to London to have her fitted for her wedding gown.

  Abigail felt she should not worry about this marriage so much. Rachel was calm and placid. She had explained to Abigail that she and Harry dealt well together and she was not interested any more in regaining Mannerling but merely in getting married and having a home of her own. And yet, several times Harry had mistaken Abigail for Rachel and Abigail felt that he should have been able to tell the difference. Lizzie and Belinda were also uneasy. They were all frequent visitors to Mannerling, but the great house seemed unable to cast any of the old spell on them. Only Lady Beverley seemed rejuvenated. She was grander and haughtier than ever, and the poor squire who had been so kind to them after their ruin, supplying them with fish and game, and arranging entertainments for them, was accorded only a brief nod from her ladyship when she saw him in Hedgefield.

  It had been a hard winter, with snowy days and bitter frosts, so that for a long while time seemed to stand still. But at the end of February a skittish warm spring wind blew across the bare fields and the sun shone down, reminding them all that the wedding would soon be upon them.

  Rachel’s gentle insistence that Miss Trumble be invited was first met with scorn, but it was Mrs Devers, who was so anxious to restore her son’s good character in the eyes of the county, who changed her mind. Mrs Devers suggested it would be politic to invite Lady Evans to the wedding, so why not Miss Trumble as well? Lady Evans, on receiving the invitation decided to call on Mrs Devers, taking Miss Trumble with her.

  Mrs Devers was all that was gracious. To Lady Evans’s protest that she was getting too old for such events, Mrs Devers pressed her to stay for the wedding at Mannerling as her house guest, pointing out that Lady Evans would therefore not have to make even the short journey home. Lady Evans pointed out that at the time of the wedding, she would have a house guest, Lord Burfield. Mrs Devers insisted that Lord Burfield should be invited as well. As the Deverses were putting up most of the money for the wedding celebrations, Mrs Devers felt she could include anyone she liked in the wedding invitations, without first consulting Lady Beverley. Lady Evans was about to demur, but Miss Trumble said quickly, ‘How very kind. I am sure we would be delighted to accept.’

  ‘I am doing this only for you, Letitia,’ grumbled Lady Evans. ‘You are so eager to go to reassure yourself that one of your beloved girls is going to be happy after all. I also believe you have your eye on Burfield. It will not serve. I am most shocked that he did not propose to poor Prudence. She was all that was suitable.’

  ‘What on earth was suitable about that tedious girl?’ asked Miss Trumble.

  ‘Her fortune and her family. Nothing else is of any concern in marriage.’

  ‘Mrs Devers was most insistent that Harry had changed, but I cannot believe it.’

  Lady Evans sighed. ‘You always were too high a stickler, Letitia. Would you have us all spinsters?’

  ‘We will see,’ replied Miss Trumble obscurely.

  The Mannerling carriage arrived a week before the wedding to convey the Beverley family to Mannerling, where they were to stay until the great event. Buoyed up by the cheerfulness of Rachel, the other sisters were beginning to believe that, this time, the ‘curse of Mannerling,’ as Lizzie dubbed it, would not strike again.

  The great house seemed to spread out its wings to them as the carriage bowled up through the formal gardens in the pale spring sunlight. Daffodils and crocuses shone on the grass. Servants were bustling about and a great red-and-white-striped marquee was being erected on the lawn, where the tenants of Mannerling would be entertained.

  Rachel was delighted to learn that Miss Trumble was to be among the guests. Harry was due to return the following day. Abigail wondered how her mother had managed to afford all the expense, although she knew that Mr and Mrs Devers were paying for the wedding itself. All of them had new gowns, and Rachel’s wedding gown was a miracle of white lace, silver embroidery, and seed-pearls. As the bride-to-be, Rachel had been allocated one of the biggest guestrooms. The first evening saw them all at dinner at Mannerling, a happy party.

  When Rachel awoke the next morning, she began to feel nervous. Harry was due home and she had not really thought much about him when he had been away. She had thought only of the wedding, of her pretty gown, of having her family all about her. It was nothing to do with Mannerling, and yet there had been a little feeling of triumph inside her that she had succeeded where her sisters had failed. Now that she was back at Mannerling, she felt as if she had never left the place. She belonged. If only that belonging was not to be spoiled by having to marry Harry Devers.

  She heard the sound of carriage wheels on the drive and went to the window and looked down. Harry Devers had come home. He had grown a splendid pair of side-whiskers, that much she could see. Then he took off his hat and looked up. Rachel drew back behind the curtains. Harry did not look like the handsome, fair-haired man she had last seen. His hair was thick with bear’s-grease, making it look darker, an
d his face was swollen and red.

  I must make him shave off those whiskers, she thought. He looks like a stranger. She felt she should run down and welcome him but put off the moment. She would see him at dinner that evening. She went for a walk in the gardens that afternoon with her sisters, trying to appear as cheerful and happy as she had been before seeing Harry. But Abigail was not deceived. After the walk she followed Rachel into her room and asked abruptly, ‘What is wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ retorted Rachel defensively. Then she said with a reluctant little laugh, ‘Oh, well, a touch of bride nerves, I assume. Harry is back. I saw him from the window and barely recognized him. He is sprouting a pair of whiskers.’

  Abigail sat down in a chair by the window and removed her bonnet. ‘Perhaps you should go and see him now, Rachel, and not wait until this evening.’

  ‘I am sure he has much to tell his mother and father,’ said Rachel. ‘I will wait until dinner.’

  When the sisters entered the drawing room that evening, Harry stepped forward, seized Abigail’s hand and kissed it, saying, ‘You look more beautiful than ever, my love.’

  Abigail extricated her hand. ‘Wrong lady,’ she said. ‘You mean my sister, Rachel.’

  ‘Eh, what? Oh, yes,’ said Harry. ‘Fact is, you both look so alike, I find it hard to tell you apart.’

  Wishful thinking before his arrival had begun to persuade the Beverley sisters that Harry really loved Rachel and was a reformed character. They had forgotten that it was hardly a loverlike trait to be unable to tell the twins apart. Abigail could not help noticing those bristling side-whiskers, the flushed face, and the thickened body. Nor could she fail to remark that when they all sat down to dinner, that only lemonade and seltzer were being served.

  ‘What is this?’ demanded Harry loudly, staring at the jugs. ‘A children’s party? Where’s the wine, demme?’

  ‘A word with you, my son,’ said Mr Devers.

  He drew Harry out of the room and said in a savage whisper, ‘You will drink nothing stronger than lemonade until after the wedding. Do I make myself clear? The cellars are locked and bolted until then. If you want me to buy you out of the army, you will think on that!’