by M C Beaton
‘He’s a poor sort of cratur, that vicar, and so I am thinking,’ said Mrs Kennedy. ‘And I don’t trust that Mary Stoppard either. Watching, always watching with those black eyes of hers while compliments, as false as anything, pour from her lips.’
Isabella felt uncomfortable. She had always taken the Stoppards’s oily blandishments as the Beverleys’s due. It looked as if no one at all had really cared for them.
It was at that moment that the viscount walked into the room. He stood for a moment in the doorway, his expression serious as he noticed the distress on Isabella’s face.
‘Why, ’tis Guy, come to join the ladies,’ cried Mrs Kennedy.
‘I wondered if Miss Isabella would care to take a turn in the gardens with me.’
‘Gladly.’ Isabella rose, pleased that she was wearing one of her prettiest morning gowns of white muslin with an overdress of white lace. She would have been amazed had she been able to read Mrs Kennedy’s thoughts. Mrs Kennedy privately thought Isabella looked sadly overdressed. All her gowns were obviously expensive but lacked the style they should have had considering what the Beverleys had probably paid for them.
In the gardens, the viscount drew Isabella’s arm through his own and glanced down at her in amusement. ‘I feel I should be leading you down the aisle.’
Isabella looked up at him in alarm. Was this a proposal of marriage?’
‘Your gown,’ he said gently. ‘All that white lace.’
‘Oh!’ Isabella blushed in confusion. ‘It does not please you, my lord?’
‘You please me, but you could enhance your looks further with something less . . . fussy.’
‘And you the arbiter of high fashion!’
‘Not I. My aunt, however, has a keen eye.’
‘Mrs Kennedy!’
‘She was once a dasher but now dresses for comfort.’
‘And she has been criticizing my gowns to you?’
‘She has a maternal concern for you, that is all. You and your sisters have provided her with a new lease of life. She does not mean to interfere or criticize. All her actions are prompted by kindness and concern.’
‘I agree about the kindness and concern. But you should leave any strictures on fashion to your aunt instead of repeating them to me. What if I were to say to you that my father disapproved of the cut of your coat?’
‘My coat is an excellent cut and I would disagree with him. Now if you were to tell me that Sir William disapproved of my Irishness, that I would believe.’
‘You must consider us too high in the instep.’
‘A trifle.’
‘And I must take you to task, my lord. When you called on us at Mannerling during our last week and I did not wish to see you, it was because I was angry with you.’
‘Oh, my poor heart! What had I done?’
‘I feel you knew of my father’s gambling and that we were shortly to be ruined and were hinting such. Why did you not come out and speak to me direct about it? Perhaps we could have stopped him before he lost all.’
‘I had only heard rumours that he was playing deep at the tables of St James’s. And I have seen many men lose all they had. But I did not know for certain. It seemed an impertinence to tell you about your father without actual knowledge.’
Isabella practised a flirtatious look at him. ‘You are forgiven.’
Then she wondered if her look had been too bold because it was answered with a quizzical look of his own.
‘You have not looked at the gardens,’ he chided.
They were in a walled garden now. Peach trees were espaliered against the walls. The neat beds were full of herbs and vegetables. Isabella bent down and plucked a sprig of lavender from a bordering hedge. ‘The smell of the herbs is delicious.’
‘Most of the gardening here might depress you. At the moment we are concentrating on vegetables rather than flowers, but even here we have things like lavender. No grand vistas or temples, Miss Isabella.’
She gave a little sigh. ‘I took so very much for granted. I thought life would go on, undemanding and pleasant, like a well-oiled machine.’
‘But you had a Season in London, and a Season usually means a husband, particularly for someone as beautiful as you are and as rich as you were until recently. That would have meant change.’
Isabella gave him a puzzled look.
He laughed. ‘I swear you did not even consider the prospect of change a husband would bring. Was he a shadowy figure in your mind who would come and live somewhere in Mannerling and not disturb the even tenor of your days?’
This was exactly what Isabella had thought.
‘Did you not think a husband might even mean love, passion, and children to follow?’ he asked.
Isabella coloured up angrily. ‘Shall we talk of something else?’
‘As you will.’ He led her out of the walled garden. ‘Now here,’ he went on, waving a hand towards the shaggy lawns, ‘there is much to be done. As you can see, very few flowers or trees, and I am anxious to see some trees while I am still alive. To that end I have ordered some pretty ones to be transported fully grown and planted here next week. Then I think an ornamental lake over there.’
Isabella recollected that she was supposed to be learning to flirt, but she grew interested in his plans for the gardens and made several suggestions which were so warmly accepted that her enthusiasm grew. He then proposed they should return to join the others for tea and he would show her the plans he had drawn up.
Jessica watched carefully as Isabella and the viscount stood at a desk in the corner of the drawing room, poring over plans. Isabella was not flirting, but in her dealings with the viscount there was an easy friendliness. Jessica thought Isabella must be a very good actress indeed, not realizing that her sister found the viscount pleasant company and in her enthusiasm over his plans for his gardens had forgotten his uncomfortable remarks about marriage and about her dress, although she did remember the latter when she finally joined her sisters for tea.
‘I believe,’ she said to Mrs Kennedy, ‘that you find my style of dress a trifle fussy.’
Mrs Kennedy looked furiously at her nephew. ‘And aren’t we the blabbermouth now,’ she said wrathfully. She turned contritely to Isabella. ‘Faith, my chuck, all I did remark, and it was not meant for your pretty ears, was that your grand London dressmaker used the finest materials but had a poor eye for line.’
Jessica’s cynical eye raked Mrs Kennedy’s squat figure and old-fashioned gown. ‘You’re looking at me, Miss Jessica,’ said Mrs Kennedy, ‘as if wondering what an old body like me can know of style. But I dress now in me old age for comfort. I can still turn out a good line if I put me mind to it. I can see you don’t believe me. Well, I tell you, when you send back the carridge, send that gown back along with it and you’ll never believe the difference.’
Isabella calmly agreed. Everything must be done to keep close to Perival, where she could practise on this viscount.
On the road home, the sisters decided to call at the vicarage to see what news of the new tenant could be gleaned from Mary, but they learned from the vicarage servant that Mr and Miss Stoppard were both at Mannerling.
‘Creeping toads,’ commented Jessica as they drove off. ‘Do you realize, Isabella, that we are going to have to force Papa to go and see this Mr Judd, else we shall perhaps never get an invitation to Mannerling?’
‘I do not think he will be able to even bear to think of that idea,’ said Isabella.
But she was proved wrong. Sir William had learned little from his financial disaster and still had the gambler’s superstitious mind. He had seen two magpies that morning and that surely meant Isabella would marry Mr Judd and reclaim Mannerling, and so Barry was sent to Hedgefield to rent a carriage and Sir William set out the next day.
On his return he said bleakly that they were all expected for tea the next day and then took himself off to his study, emerging to join them for dinner and show them all that he was quite drunk again.
Mrs Kenned
y had sent a footman over to collect Isabella’s gown and also a note to say she had caught a summer cold and would not be visiting them for a few days. Isabella was relieved. She did not want Mrs Kennedy around when they prepared to set off for Mannerling in case that lady overheard anything and guessed their plans.
Another rented carriage. Isabella for the first time began to wonder just how much money was left, if any. She privately thought this Mr Judd should have been thoughtful enough to send a carriage for them.
Perhaps she was the only unhappy member of the party as they all set out, although Lizzie was very quiet. The others were elated, confident that Isabella would win the prize.
But they all fell silent as the carriage rolled up the long drive of Mannerling. The butler met them at the door, his face wooden and unsmiling, just as if he had never worked for them. He led the way upstairs to the Green Saloon and Isabella began to feel increasingly nervous.
But Mannerling was crying to her to come home. The elegant staircase, the painted ceilings, the cool rooms – all belonged to the Beverleys, not to this interloper.
She stiffened her spine and followed her parents into the Green Saloon.
She received two shocks. The first was the appearance of Mr Judd. She had been imagining a man somewhat like the viscount, but this Mr Judd was tall and thin with sandy hair, light-green eyes, and a foxy face. The second shock was the presence of the Stoppards, Mary in particular, both looking very much at home, and Mary was acting as hostess, directing the servants as to where to lay the tea-things, and making the tea herself.
Isabella’s eyes ranged round the room. Some of their beautiful and elegant furniture had been replaced by nasty Jacobean stuff, heavily carved and sombre. She quickly averted her eyes and met those of Mary Stoppard, black, unfathomable.
‘Well, now,’ said Mr Judd when they were all seated, ‘this is indeed a bevy of beauties.’
Isabella pretended he was the viscount and gave him a warm smile. ‘You will turn our heads, sir.’
‘And you, Miss Isabella, must turn the heads of all who set eyes on you,’ replied Mr Judd, and gave a high cackle of laughter.
‘We all expect our Miss Isabella to be snatched up by some lucky gentleman soon,’ said Mary. ‘Of course, after last Season . . .’ Her voice trailed away. She signalled to a footman. ‘John, take the caraway cake to Lady Beverley. Lady Beverley was always fond of Mannerling caraway cake.’
And so, having effectively reminded Isabella of her failure to secure a husband at the Season and Lady Beverley of her changed circumstances, Mary smiled benignly all round.
‘Thank you for those books you lent me, Mr Judd,’ said the vicar. ‘Very interesting.’ He was a small, round, plump man with a white face and those black eyes his daughter had inherited from him.
‘What books?’ asked Isabella before she could stop herself. ‘Bailey’s Guide to the Tuif?’
Her sisters gave her reproachful looks. ‘Not at all,’ said the vicar. ‘You do Mr Judd an injustice.’
‘An injustice,’ echoed Mary faintly.
‘I was joking,’ said Isabella. ‘I am anxious to see any changes you have made to Mannerling, Mr Judd.’
‘Come,’ said that gentleman, ‘I will be delighted to show you.’ He led Isabella from the room. The sisters exchanged covert, triumphant little glances.
In the Long Gallery, she gave an exclamation of dismay. ‘Where are the Beverley ancestors, Mr Judd?’
‘Got fine pictures of my own, Miss Isabella, and they ain’t my ancestors, after all. Put them in the attics.’
Isabella looked up at the ‘fine’ pictures, which were mostly of horses: horses racing, horses hunting, horses just standing staring straight ahead. She wanted to say to him that if he did not want the Beverley ancestors, why did he not give them to Sir William, but pride kept her quiet. ‘What very fine animals,’ she said instead.
‘Prime bits of blood, Miss Isabella. Come, I have more in the Blue Saloon.’ And so he had, paintings of dogs and slaughtered game being added to paintings of more horses. The pretty landscapes, seascapes, and rural scenes had all gone.
‘Where are the pictures that were here?’ asked Isabella. ‘In the attics as well?’
‘No, I sent those up to London for sale.’
Isabella bit back an exclamation of dismay. But she must charm this man. Mannerling must belong to them again. She fanned herself and said, ‘Mannerling is indeed fortunate to have a new owner of such taste and distinction.’
‘You think so? Coming from a beauty like yourself, Miss Isabella, I am flattered. You would be an ornament to any great house.’
She forced herself to give him an intimate smile and then lowered those long eyelashes of hers. He seized her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Oh, Mr Judd,’ said Isabella, copying the fluttering manner of the debutantes of London, to whom she had only so recently considered herself infinitely superior.
‘Tell you what,’ said Mr Judd, who appeared highly pleased with her, ‘come over next Tuesday on your own and I’ll give you a tour of the grounds. Plan some improvements there.’
‘I am most honoured. May I beg you to send a carriage for me?’
He laughed as if the idea of the Beverleys being carriageless amused him. ‘I’ll come and get you myself.’ He squeezed her hand again and then led her back to the Green Saloon.
‘Now not a word of this to Mrs Kennedy,’ cautioned Isabella on the road home after she had regaled them with a description of Mr Judd’s advances.
‘And what is anything we may say or do or plan to do the concern of that burly-burly Irishwoman?’ demanded Lady Beverley. There was colour in her cheeks for the first time since disaster had struck them.
Isabella had an impulse to cry out that such as Mrs Kennedy were above vulgar machinations. Instead she said, ‘If I am to practise on Lord Fitzpatrick; he would not be so available, nor his aunt, were they to know of my pursuit of Mr Judd. Besides, they are the only friends we have. No one else in the county has shown any compassion for our plight.’
‘I hate that Mary Stoppard,’ said Jessica. ‘How she used to creep around us! Now she is acting as if she were the mistress of Mannerling. You do not think Mr Judd will marry her?’
But the others laughed at the very idea of any man preferring a dumpy vicar’s daughter to the beauty of the county.
Isabella sent Barry over to Perival the next day with a letter to Mrs Kennedy in which she said she hoped that lady’s cold was improving. Barry returned with a letter from the viscount. He wrote that he would ride over later that day and bring Satan with him in the hope that she might find time to go for a ride with him.
Finding to her surprise that she was really looking forward to seeing him again, and that it was as good a way as any to pass the time until she should see Mannerling again, Isabella was in high good humour by the time he arrived.
The viscount privately thought that the removal to Brookfield House had improved the Beverleys. There was an easygoing family atmosphere in the square house, and Sir William was looking much improved and seemed to have become reconciled to his new life.
Isabella and the viscount rode out along the road and then turned off down a bridle-path. The viscount was content to let his horse amble as he talked. He said his aunt’s coughs and sneezes could be heard all over Perival. He said he was looking forward to the transformation of the gardens.
‘Mr Judd is to take me on a tour of improvements he has made to the gardens at Mannerling,’ said Isabella, forgetting her good resolutions in his easy company.
He reined in his horses and she did the same. ‘You have met him?’
‘Yes, myself and the family went there yesterday for tea.’
‘That must have been very distressing for you.’
‘Why?’
‘I saw Judd at the tables in London. Now, I would describe him as weak and devious and thoroughly nasty.’
But Isabella did not want to listen to any criticism of her future husb
and, for, most of the time now, she was back at Mannerling, the pictures of the ancestors hung once more in the Long Gallery, and she and her sisters, calm, rich, and elegant, strolling in the grounds.
‘I found him interesting and good company,’ she said.
His blue eyes, which a moment before had been merry, were now filled with contempt. ‘Oho, I see your plan. You would marry this creature. You would throw away any chance of life and love for a pile of bricks and glass. You weary me suddenly, Miss Isabella.’
‘I never said anything about marriage!’ Isabella’s face flamed.
‘Any family with any dignity and self-respect would keep away from a shallow gamester who robbed them of lands, home, and inheritance. I hope for your sake that the idiot burns Mannerling to the ground and sets you all free!’
He spurred his horse and rode away through the trees down the bridle-path. Isabella urged her mount after him. This was all wrong. How could she practise flirting with one man if she had made her preference for another so plain? When she eventually caught up with him he had reined in again at the edge of the woods and was staring out across the countryside.
‘My lord,’ said Isabella, ‘you must not think that just because we paid a visit to Mannerling that we have any deep plot in mind. Do realize that my old home meant a great deal to me. Come, let us be friends again.’
He turned and studied her. Her beautiful face looked pleadingly up into his. A light breeze blew an errant brown curl against her cheek. His face softened. ‘I have seen houses take over people before, Miss Isabella. I have also seen men accept their losses stoically at the tables and then go away and blow their brains out.’
‘My father . . .’ she began in alarm.
Lord Fitzpatrick privately thought that Sir William was too selfish to ever dream of taking his own life.
‘I do not think your father will do himself any harm whatsoever,’ he said.
‘I just hope he never gambles again.’ Isabella was anxious now to turn the conversation away from Mr Judd and Mannerling.
The viscount wanted to point out cynically that he had never yet met a reformed gambler. Was Sir William now gambling in his mind on the hope that this eldest daughter would get his home back for him? But Isabella and Judd! It could not be possible. She was too young, too fresh, too beautiful to ever contemplate an alliance with such a man.
