by Ann Barker
Lady Hope shuddered artistically. ‘Wilfred, my love, I do so adore it when you become determined and masterful,’ she declared.
‘I know,’ he answered, leaning forward to kiss her.
Once the decision had been made that Eustacia should go away to her godmother, the whole business took very little time to arrange. Eustacia’s trunks were already packed in preparation for her wedding tour and although it seemed a little strange in some ways to be setting off as a single woman with the things that she had expected to use and wear as a married lady, clothes were clothes, and her new things were much too good to waste.
Unlike his wife, Sir Wilfred had never bemoaned his lack of a son, or called upon the spirit of the mythical ‘Charlie’. He thought the world of his daughter, and had always given her as much time as he could spare, teaching her to ride and to shoot, and taking her about the estate with him. He had declared himself very willing to accompany her to lllingham but she had refused his offer. ‘Mama needs you,’ she told him. ‘Besides, it is only a short distance, not even a day’s journey.’
‘The house will seem strangely quiet without you, my dear,’ he told her. He had summoned her to his study after breakfast on the day of her departure. Now, he handed over what seemed to her to be an obscenely large sum of money for a stay with a widowed lady in a country vicarage.
‘Quiet? With Mama still in residence?’ questioned Eustacia with a chuckle in her voice.
‘Well, you know,’ her father responded ruefully. ‘Are you sure you do not want me to come with you? It is not too late to change your mind.’
‘I will have Peter Coachman and Roger the groom to look after me, and with Trixie accompanying me in the chaise I shall come to no harm.’
‘You mean that with you in the chaise, Trixie will come to no harm,’ Sir Wilfred answered bluntly. ‘She is the flightiest piece this house has ever seen, and why your Mama puts up with her—’
‘You know why Mama puts up with her,’ Eustacia replied.
When Lady Hope had retired from the theatre, she had brought Honor, her dresser with her. Honor had soon married the head footman and Trixie was the only offspring of that union. Honor’s death fifteen years ago had so distressed her husband that he had run away to sea, leaving his infant daughter in his sister’s care.
For the child’s mother’s sake, Lady Hope had always taken an interest in Trixie and, when she was of a suitable age, had decided to train the girl to be Eustacia’s abigail. There was something quite fitting, she decided, in her own dresser’s daughter growing up to perform a similar function for her child.
Needless to say, it was not Lady Hope herself who did the training. The abigail whom she had taken on after Honor’s death, had been given that task. Florrie Niblett was very unlike Honor, being of strict Methodist stock, and she would rather have died than have endured any besmirching connection with the theatre. Nevertheless, she knew her work; and she had the advantage that her disapproval of her employer’s acting career meant that she was quite willing to participate in her ladyship’s determination never to mention her previous occupation, except in an emergency.
Unfortunately, Trixie was not prepared to further this deception, at least as far as her mother was concerned. She was proud of Honor’s work in the theatre and, Eustacia suspected, from the gleam in Trixie’s eye, took no small degree of pleasure in mentioning it in Miss Niblett’s hearing. Had she ever mentioned Lady Hope’s previous career, then her presence would not have been tolerated; she never did so. Nor did she ever attempt to flirt with Sir Wilfred, which would have obtained her instant dismissal.
She might still have been dismissed despite her heritage, for in addition to her insolence towards Miss Niblett, she had an irrepressible tendency to flirt with all the male servants. Her saving grace was that she had inherited her mother’s clever fingers and eye for colour. Be Eustacia’s curls never so recalcitrant – and sometimes they were very recalcitrant indeed – Trixie could always coax them into order. An odd piece of ribbon which did not match anything else, in Trixie’s hands became a cleverly contrasting piece of trim that gave a cachet to a whole new outfit. A gown that had been spoilt by the flat iron could be altered and pleated so that the finished result looked better than the garment had done when it was new.
Decidedly, then, Trixie must go with her mistress, although she could not be depended upon as a chaperon. Her escort could only be considered sufficient because the journey could be accomplished in one day, with no overnight stops.
‘Give Agatha my fondest love,’ Lady Hope said, as she and Sir Wilfred stood outside the house ready to wave off their daughter and her companion.
‘Of course, Mama,’ Eustacia replied.
‘Trixie, see that you behave yourself,’ Lady Hope added in minatory tones.
‘Oh yes, my lady,’ answered Trixie respectfully. Like the rest of the household, she looked up to her ladyship as to a being on a higher plane.
‘And should Ashbourne appear, keep out of his way, both of you. Remember, once a rake, always a rake.’
‘Yes, Mama,’ replied Eustacia, her heart sinking into her shoes, for she knew what the reaction from Trixie would be as soon as they were out of earshot.
‘A rake?’ exclaimed the maid, her eyes gleaming for all the world as if she had been promised an outing to Astley’s Amphitheatre.
‘Yes, but he is years older than we are and no doubt has lost all his looks with over-indulgence,’ said Eustacia firmly. ‘He probably will not come anywhere near where we are staying. What’s more, if he does and if you misbehave in any way, I will box your ears and tell Mama, and you will not have that pink gown from my trousseau which I did not like from the very first but which you adored.’
Trixie had indeed had her heart set on the pink gown and Eustacia had caught her holding it in front of herself and admiring its effects with her blonde prettiness in the mirror on more than one occasion. ‘Oh, all right, Miss Stacia,’ replied the girl sulkily. ‘You’re mean, you are. I only wanted a little sport.’
The trouble was, what seemed like sport to such as Trixie could mean heartache to others. It had not been very long since a new groom had come to work in the stables at Woodfield Park. For a week after his arrival, Trixie had been in bed with a nasty chill. During that week, one of the housemaids had become enamoured of the lad and had been trying, in a modest way, to attract his attention. Once Trixie was on her feet, however, she had flirted outrageously with the young man, and little Miriam had not had a chance. Eustacia had noticed the girl’s downcast looks. She hoped that now that Trixie was away, the housemaid might be able to reanimate Trevor’s affections.
Contemplation of Trixie’s previous triumphs brought a very unwelcome notion into Eustacia’s mind. ‘Did you ever flirt with Morrison?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Not I,’ replied the girl virtuously. ‘Her ladyship’d’ve had a stick across my back if I had. Besides,’ she went on, spoiling the effect, ‘I tried, but he wasn’t interested.’
‘You tried?’ demanded Eustacia indignantly.
‘He wasn’t interested,’ Trixie repeated in a tone that was so close to insolence that Eustacia would not have tolerated it, had they not been almost the same age, and known one another all their lives.
‘No, he obviously wasn’t very interested in me, either,’ replied Eustacia in a deflated tone, after a brief pause.
Trixie leaned across and grasped her mistress’s hand. ‘I told you he wasn’t good enough for you,’ she said. ‘You’d do better to have a look at that rake that her ladyship was talking about.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Eustacia, chuckling despite herself. ‘If Morrison wasn’t good enough for me, then I’m sure that Lord Ashbourne would be much too bad, as well as being far too old. And he probably has gout.’
‘How old is he then, Miss Stacia?’ asked Trixie, sitting back comfortably in her seat.
‘I think he is a little younger than Mama,’ replied Eustacia. ‘I know
that my godmother is two years older than Mama, and that she is Lord Ashbourne’s older sister by a few years.’
‘Too old to be a match for you, then,’ Trixie observed. ‘Maybe not too old for a little flirtation, though.’
‘Trixie,’ said Eustacia in warning tones. But Trixie was already leaning back with her eyes closed, and a faint smile upon her lips.
As the girl dozed off, to dream, no doubt, of being chased by rakes, Eustacia sat and thought about her godmother. She knew that Lady Hope and Lady Agatha had met in Bath when Lady Hope, then Claire Delahay was the toast of the town. Miss Delahay had appeared at one or two select evening parties, always accompanied by her chaperon, giving poetry recitations and then remaining as a guest. A drunken gentleman – possibly Lord Ilam, although Eustacia had never found out for certain – had made a nuisance of himself and Lady Agatha had intervened, rescuing the actress from serious assault. The two had been firm friends ever since, the earl’s daughter blithely disregarding those of the polite world who said that befriending a woman from the theatre would prove to be her social ruin.
Had Lady Agatha ever been obliged to pay for that unwise friendship, Eustacia wondered. Was that why she had married a country clergyman, albeit of a good family, instead of enjoying the glittering career that should surely have been the lot of a wealthy earl’s daughter? What attitude had her mother and father taken?
Her mind turned to her own home and parents, and a tear slid down her cheek. She could not remember the last time she had gone away without Mama and Papa. She had looked forward to the idea of her own establishment; she had not anticipated leaving them like this!
After a moment or two, she brushed her tears away determinedly and opened the book that she had brought with her to while away the journey. It was the volume by Mary Wollstonecraft that she had taken to her room after she had been jilted. She read for a little while before coming upon a sentence which seemed appropriate to her own situation.
My own sex, I hope, will excuse me, if I treat them like rational creatures instead of flattering their fascinating graces, and viewing them as if they were in a state of perpetual childhood, unable to stand alone … I wish to persuade women to endeavour to acquire strength, both of mind and body…
The author was right, she decided. She must not be so childish. She had become so used to thinking about her future as being entwined with that of Morrison that she had lost sight of her own strengths and abilities. It was time for her to stand on her own feet. Perhaps this time spent with her godmother would help her to do so. At length, like Trixie, Eustacia, too, closed her eyes, and soon she was asleep.
It was only mid-afternoon when they arrived at the village of Illingham, set in the heart of the Derbyshire peaks. It was not a large village, comprising little more than a single street, a few houses around a village green, together with a pretty inn – the Olde Oak – a fine Norman church, a small shop and a manor house. On entering the village, they immediately began to descend a gentle slope, soon passing the manor house on their right-hand side, and what looked like a well on the left.
The manor house was a handsome building, constructed in the Elizabethan style, and was only a matter of steps away from the village street. Eustacia was impressed to see what was clearly a gentleman’s residence right at the heart of a village, as opposed to being hidden at the end of a very long drive. She was still wondering whether this might be the residence of Lord Ilam when the carriage made a left turn through a pair of open gates and up a short drive that led to a squarely built house that appeared to be about thirty years old. It was the kind of house that would certainly merit further examination at a later date. For now, their view of it was somewhat obscured by a small equipage that was standing near the front door. As their own driver hesitated, deciding how to deposit his passengers most comfortably, Eustacia and Trixie were treated to an astonishing sight.
A black-clad, long-legged figure, possibly a clergyman, came scuttling out of the house, his hurried movements and skinny limbs causing him to bear more than a passing resemblance to a spider fleeing from a broom. The reason for his haste became apparent when a diminutive dark-haired lady came bustling after him, a closed umbrella raised threateningly above her head.
‘But my lord bishop,’ bleated the clergyman, half raising his hands in order to protect his head, as he turned to address his pursuer.
‘A fig for the bishop, sirrah,’ exclaimed the lady in authoritative tones. Her manner, if not the activity in which she was engaged, reminded Eustacia very much of her mother in full flight. ‘How dare he send his minions to hound a defenceless widow in her own home?’
‘But madam, the church owns—’
‘“My lady” to you, insect,’ she of the umbrella interrupted. ‘The church does not own the right to put me out into the street.’ She indicated the carriage in which Eustacia and Trixie were sitting. ‘See, now, here is the carriage of my kinsman, Sir Wilfred Hope. Heaven only knows what he will say to this intrusion.’
At once, Eustacia sat back in her seat, not wanting to be seen, then briefly leaned forward to push Trixie back in hers. Unsurprisingly, Trixie showed a distressing tendency to gape out of the window at the unfolding scene.
By dint of rather an impressive degree of athleticism, the clergyman managed to scramble into his carriage without sustaining more than a glancing blow or two. ‘The bishop will hear of this outrage,’ he declared, rendered braver once the carriage was in motion.
‘And God will hear of my complaints in my prayers,’ retorted his opponent in a very unprayerful manner, before turning to greet the new arrivals.
The departure of the clergyman had vacated the space by the front door. As Eustacia was assisted down, the lady of the house, who had taken a few threatening steps in pursuit of the unwelcome visitor, turned back with her free hand extended. ‘Eustacia, my dear, this is delightful! It must be at least two years since I saw you last. I had not expected you so soon, but now you can join my campaign.’
‘Your campaign, Godmama?’ ventured Eustacia.
‘My campaign to defeat the Church of England, of course,’ answered the other lady. ‘It promises to be great sport. Come inside and let me show you to your room. There will be time enough for all of that when you are rested.’
Wondering how much time it would take for her to be rested sufficiently to build up enough strength in order to bring down the Anglican Communion, Eustacia obediently followed her godmother into the house.
CHAPTER FOUR
The entrance hall was bright and airy. From it, a fine marble staircase led up to the next landing, then divided in two, going left and right in front of a large rectangular window. Above the foot of the stairs, a modest dome set into the ceiling let in more light.
‘This is charming, Godmama,’ said Eustacia spontaneously as she looked around.
‘It is indeed,’ agreed her godmother with a decisive nod. ‘Perhaps you now begin to understand my determination to remain here; apart, of course, from the fact that justice is on my side,’ she added hastily.
‘Of course,’ Eustacia agreed. ‘This is Trixie, my maid, by the way.’
‘Hm,’ said Lady Agatha, eyeing Trixie in a way that was strangely reminiscent of Lady Hope. Then she looked at her goddaughter again, paying special attention to Eustacia’s hair, becomingly arranged beneath her head-gear, and the choice and arrangement of her apparel and accessories. Eustacia was wearing a blue carriage dress trimmed with dull gold, and her bonnet, with blue ribbons and gold flowers, conformed to the same theme. ‘The young woman seems to know her business, at all events. Go with Grimes to the kitchen,’ she said to Trixie, indicating the elderly butler who was standing close by, looking as if the recent contretemps with the departed clergyman had taken its toll. ‘My housekeeper will meet you there and acquaint you with the house and the other servants. Grimes is my right-hand man, Eustacia. Grimes, Miss Hope is my goddaughter and is to stay with us for the time being.’
Grimes
bowed in a stately manner. ‘I trust your stay will be a pleasant one, miss,’ he said, before indicating to Trixie that she should go with him. Trixie threw her mistress a surreptitious wink before disappearing in the direction of the kitchens.
‘Come along,’ said Lady Agatha to Eustacia. ‘I’ve had the most delightful room prepared for you. I know you will love it.’
Lady Agatha walked ahead of her, her black silk skirts rustling as she mounted the stairs. She was clad from head to toe in black, even to the lace cap that she was sporting atop her hair, which was still black, with just a few strands of grey. In stature, she was a little taller than Eustacia with a neat figure. At the age of 48, her ladyship was still a handsome woman, with just a suggestion of tiny lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes. She also had a very determined chin.
The room to which Lady Agatha took her goddaughter was indeed delightful. Decorated in shades of green with a thick carpet on the floor, it was set into the corner of the house and had two windows, one with a view facing onto the drive and the other looking across a lawn towards a scattering of beech trees which marked the boundary between the garden and the fields beyond.
‘This is lovely,’ declared Eustacia. ‘I shall be very comfortable here, I’m sure.’
‘I’m glad,’ replied Lady Agatha, taking her hands and giving them a squeeze. ‘I will leave you to refresh yourself from your journey. Have a little rest if you like, but come down when you are ready. We’ll have some tea and you can tell me all about your dear mama.’
The subject of Eustacia’s broken engagement hovered in the air between them. No doubt it would have to be discussed at some point, but if Lady Agatha was tactful enough to leave the timing of that discussion to her goddaughter, then Eustacia was very thankful for it.
