by M C Beaton
‘I am so pleased with it,’ she said honestly. ‘We must beg more classes in needlework from you.’
‘Gladly. I have little else to do. Take off that gown and I will pack it for you.’
Isabella slipped off the gown, thinking as she did so that none of the Beverleys until their fall would have dreamt of packing up a gown herself. The door opened and the viscount stood on the threshold. He had a brief glimpse of Isabella, standing in shift and flesh-coloured stockings and pink garters ornamented with rosebuds, before he hurriedly retreated.
‘Sure, now, it’s sorry I am!’ exclaimed a contrite Mrs Kennedy.
‘Why?’ asked Isabella, who had had her back to the door and had not seen it open.
‘I suddenly felt sorry for your plight,’ said Mrs Kennedy quickly.
Isabella turned about so that Mrs Kennedy could refasten the tapes of her silk gown. ‘Do not worry about me, ma’am,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I am become accustomed to it.’
When the viscount finally re-entered, after sending a maid in first to make sure Isabella was respectable, Mrs Kennedy flashed him a warning look to convey to him that Isabella was unaware he had seen her in her undress.
He correctly interpreted the look but wondered if he would ever forget that beautiful sight.
Dinner was a pleasant affair. The viscount encouraged his aunt to tell stories of how she had fared in the wars when she used to accompany her husband. Isabella listened, fascinated. It was all another world, a world of adventure and courage and bravery. Somehow, as Mrs Kennedy talked, the long, easy days of luxury at Mannerling seemed shabby in contrast. And yet, here she was contemplating marriage to Mr Judd so that she could recapture those days.
She found the viscount pleasant to look at with his black hair, bright-blue eyes, and lightly tanned face, but in the same way as she enjoyed looking at a good portrait.
They played Pope Joan after dinner, and then Isabella, looking at the clock, said in dismay that it was past midnight and she would be expected home.
The yawning maid, Betty, was collected and wearily followed her mistress into the carriage, wondering whether the late hours required of a lady’s-maid were worth the honour of the position.
‘And how did you go, Betty?’ Isabella asked after she had made her goodbyes and they were on the road home.
‘Very well, ma’am. Because of my supposed position, I dined with the butler and housekeeper in the house-keeper’s parlour. Mr O’Brien, the butler, and Mrs Donnell, the housekeeper, are both Irish and rather free and easy in their ways. And yet they have great affection for the master.’
‘Did he bring them from some crumbling ruin in Ireland?’
‘No, miss, they did say as how Lord Fitzpatrick had a prime bit of property in Kilkenny.’
‘Then why did he move to England?’
‘He wanted more land, miss. He still has the house and estate in Kilkenny. The Fitzpatricks are a very old family, I believe.’
‘I wonder where Mr Judd’s family came from.’
‘Mr Judd is of the Somerset Judds, an old county family with a bad reputation.’
‘Indeed, Betty, I am sure that cannot be true.’
‘ ’Tis said Mr Judd do come from a long line of wasters and gamblers, miss.’
‘That’s enough, Betty. I do not listen to servants’ gossip.’
‘Beg pardon, miss,’ said Betty meekly and refrained from pointing out that Isabella had been asking all the questions.
To Isabella’s surprise, Mrs Kennedy arrived unheralded the following day and said she was once more ready to give the girls their sewing lessons.
The day seemed to pass quickly for all of them as they practised stitches and pored over fashion magazines, and when Mrs Kennedy said she would send a carriage for them the next day so that they could spread out and study patterns at Perival, where there was more floor space, they all agreed.
Lady Beverley was upset that evening to learn about the proposed visit. ‘You should have asked my permission, as should Mrs Kennedy,’ she said sternly. ‘Too much socializing with the Irish is bound to be disastrous. Lizzie is already punctuating every sentence with “faith” and “sure.” ’
‘Mama,’ said Isabella, ‘we have received much from Perival in the way of kindness, and presents of game for our larder. Mrs Kennedy is kind and helpful, and why should we not learn the arts of housewifery?’
‘Because if you play your cards aright, such labour will not be necessary,’ said Lady Beverley.
‘I am surprised that you, Mama, should even mention cards!’ Lady Beverley folded her pale lips into a disapproving line but did not protest about the visit further.
Isabella found to her surprise that she was disappointed not to see the viscount the following day, nor did Mrs Kennedy say where he was. But they made a merry sewing party, and when Mrs Kennedy invited them all to stay for dinner, they gladly agreed. Somehow Mrs Kennedy created an atmosphere of home such as they had never known, of cosy security and relaxation. The younger ones enjoyed it most. Isabella had always the thought in her mind that somehow she must get Mr Judd to marry her, and Jessica was still plagued by the rigid pride of the Beverleys.
It continued to be rainy and rather cold, and as Tuesday approached, Isabella fought down a wish that it would continue to rain, for Mr Judd could hardly take her driving in a closed carriage, unless he brought his mother along.
But Tuesday dawned bright and fair. None of the sisters had told Mrs Kennedy about Isabella’s proposed outing with Mr Judd. The plot was a secret among the Beverleys, and they all had an instinctive feeling that the straightforward and honest Mrs Kennedy would not approve.
Isabella put on the white muslin gown altered by Mrs Kennedy and over it a pelisse of lilac silk. Her bonnet was of white straw, fine and light, and her parasol of lilac silk.
‘You look very well, Isabella,’ said Lady Beverley, smiling mistily on her daughter. ‘Do not forget, you hold our fortune in your hands.’
Isabella reflected, as Mr Judd led her out to his carriage five minutes later, that she had not really used the viscount properly in learning how to flirt. She always felt too much at home with him to play games.
She was about to compliment Mr Judd on his carriage and horses and stopped herself in time. Both carriage and horses had recently been the pride and joy of the Beverleys.
She noticed uneasily that there was no footman or groom on the backstrap, not even a tiger, but she composed herself. Mr Judd drove very fast indeed and so conversation was impossible as the first few miles flashed past. When he slowed at last, Isabella said, ‘This is not the road to Hedgefield.’
‘Thought I’d show off a little first,’ he said with that foxy grin of his. ‘What think you of my driving, hey?’
‘I think you a capital whip, sir,’ lied Isabella.
‘Oh, I’m a goer all right. Can drive to an inch. You see those gateposts?’ He pointed with his whip at an open farm gate some distance away, situated at a bend in the road.
‘Yes, Mr Judd.’
‘Now you would think that too narrow for me to get through.’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘Well, watch this.’
‘Really, Mr Judd, I do not believe—’ But the rest of Isabella’s words were lost as he whipped up his horses, who surged down the road towards the gate, the carriage bumping crazily over the ruts. Isabella hung on tightly and closed her eyes. There was a splintering sound. She opened her eyes. The horses were rearing and plunging and the carriage was stuck fast in the gate.
‘Shite!’ shouted Mr Judd, his face red with fury. He jumped down, took out a knife and cut the traces and led the horses off into the field. Unless I marry him and control him, thought Isabella desperately, he will ruin everything that is Mannerling – temple, trees, horses, and carriages.
He wandered around the field, kicking the turf savagely, then he returned ill-tempered to where Isabella sat in the ruined carriage. ‘Sorry about that,’ he sa
id sulkily. ‘Was thinking of another gate. That’s it. Another one down the road.’
‘Of course,’ said Isabella calmly.
‘You’d best stay put and I’ll ride one of these beasts to Hedgefield and get help.’
‘Very well, sir,’ said Isabella. The sun was becoming quite hot. She unfurled her parasol. Mr Judd walked away and swung himself up onto the back of one of the horses and rode off over the field away from the gate.
After some time, Isabella found sitting in a sloping carriage which was resting on its poles too uncomfortable. She climbed down, took off her pelisse and spread it on the grass and sat down and waited.
And waited.
Mr Judd went to the inn at Hedgefield and sent an ostler to find someone to collect the carriage and take it away for repair. He decided to have a glass of something cool in the tap to refresh himself before returning to Isabella.
It was then he saw a group of men at a table by the window playing cards. His eyes lit up. Since his magnificent win of Mannerling, he had vowed never to touch a card again. He had seen too many lose all they had won because of an inability to stop. But this was country cards and these were country yokels. Just one hand and then he would return to Isabella. He strolled over and as he did so one man threw down his cards in disgust and said, ‘I’d best be off. Dame Fortune don’t smile on me today.’ Mr Judd slid into the vacated place and smiled all around. ‘Mind if I join you?’
They mumbled that they did not. He gave a happy little sigh and concentrated on the game. By the second game he had forgotten about Isabella. By the third game, when the ostler returned to say that the blacksmith was gone from home and would not be back until five, Mr Judd only said vaguely, ‘Oh, ah, well, fetch him when you can,’ and with his green eyes gleaming, returned to the game.
Now what do I do? wondered Isabella. The sun was very hot indeed, and Mr Judd had not returned. She felt she was perfectly capable of sitting astride one of the remaining horses and riding home, but her skirt would ride up and she would present an undignified spectacle. But as another hot hour passed, enlivened only by the hum of insects and the sounds of larks in the clear sky above, she began to become increasingly angry. In these wicked days, it was shabby treatment to leave an unprotected female alone in the countryside. If Mr Judd had not found anyone to help, then he should have ridden back to tell her so. She walked to the far end of the field. Why, there was Hedgefield, just across the fields, only a few miles away. Where on earth was the man?
She was just walking back when she heard the sound of a carriage on the road and ran back towards the gate where Mr Judd’s broken carriage was still lodged. She leaned over the fence beside the carriage.
Lord Fitzpatrick in a light gig pulled by one horse came driving round the bend. He saw Isabella and pulled at the reins to stop his horse and then jumped down and ran back to her.
He looked at the jammed carriage, at the three horses cropping grass in the field, and then at Isabella’s flushed and miserable face.
‘Judd, I suppose.’
‘Yes, how did you know?’
‘I do not think anyone else in the county would treat either carriage or horses so, not to mention a beautiful lady. Trying to show off, was he?’
‘Yes, he said he could drive through the gateposts and as you can see, he could not. I have been here for hours, my lord. May I beg you to take me home?’
‘You do not even need to beg.’ He reached over the fence and caught her round the waist and lifted her, parasol and all, lightly over and set her down on the road.
‘Do you think something might have befallen him?’ asked Isabella.
‘Unless he is dead, there is no excuse. He could easily have sent someone out from the town to help you or hired a horse and gig to pick you up.’
He lifted her into the gig, as easily, thought Isabella, as he would a doll.
‘It is as well I came along,’ he said, picking up the reins. ‘You might have got a soaking to add to your misery.’
‘On this sunny day?’
He pointed over to the west. ‘Look!’
Black clouds were boiling up towards the sun and then, as she looked, she heard a faint rumble of thunder. She gave a little shiver.
‘Not cold, surely, Miss Isabella?’
‘No, no, it’s just that an approaching thunderstorm now seems like a bad omen. The last one was when I arrived back at Mannerling to hear Papa had lost everything.’ She remembered vividly the white faces of her sisters in the gloom as they listened to Mr Ducket outlining the extent of the Beverley losses in his precise voice.
‘We will soon be home.’
‘What brought you here, my lord?’
‘I was taking some of my aunt’s cordial to a sick cottager who lives quite near here.’
‘But not on your estate!’
‘My aunt’s kindness knows no boundaries, believe me. Now what would you have me do? After I leave you, shall I ride to Hedgefield and punch Mr Judd’s nose for you?’
‘Oh, no,’ exclaimed Isabella. ‘I am sure there is some perfectly reasonable explanation for the delay.’
He looked at her sharply. ‘It would be folly should any member of your family think that marriage to such as Judd would reclaim Mannerling.’
Isabella lowered her parasol to shield her face. ‘We all still miss Mannerling quite dreadfully, but thanks to Mrs Kennedy’s kindness and efficiency, we are learning to adjust ourselves to our new fortunes.’
‘Good. Would you care for another ride on Satan?’
‘Oh, yes, please. But not today, surely.’
‘Tomorrow at three will do very well, provided the weather is clement. I shall ask your father’s permission.’
To the viscount’s surprise, they were greeted on the doorstep by the Beverley family, mother, father, and Isabella’s sisters, all crying out questions as to why she had not returned with Mr Judd. He did not know that they had not been worried about Isabella, thinking her long absence boded well for a forthcoming marriage. They had heard the carriage and had all come out to welcome Mr Judd.
Before Isabella could say anything, the viscount was giving them a succinct account of how he had found Isabella abandoned in a country field, where she had been waiting for hours.
‘Poor Mr Judd,’ said Sir William to the viscount’s amazement. ‘Something dire must have befallen him. I shall send Barry over to Hedgefield to find out what happened.’
Rain was beginning to fall in fat, warm drops. ‘No, that will not be necessary,’ said Isabella quickly, appalled at the idea of sending Barry out in a storm and not realizing how much she had changed in that she was actually thinking of the well-being of a servant.
Barry himself came up at that moment and suggested he stable the viscount’s horse and carriage until the storm passed, but the viscount said that a little rain would not hurt him and that he must return to his aunt, and after having secured permission to go riding with Isabella the following day, he made his goodbyes.
The fact was that he found he disliked and despised Sir William and did not want to spend any time with him.
A flash of lightning lit up the sky and the rain came down in sheets. Mr Judd gave an exclamation and threw down his cards. It was not Isabella who rushed back into his mind but the welfare of his horses left in the field.
The blacksmith had been waiting for an hour for him with several men who were to drive out and collect the carriage for repair.
Mr Judd had to offer them extra payment, then he had to pay for the hire of a gig to drive out to rescue Isabella. Before he left the inn, he asked if Mr Ducket was still in residence, for he wanted to enlist his help for the ball at Mannerling, but he was told that the secretary had left.
When he arrived at the field, he saw through the sheets of driving rain that Isabella had gone. He rapped out instructions about the carriage. Then the three carriage horses were tied to the back of the gig and he set out for Mannerling. Once there, he quickly dried and changed and
called for a closed carriage to be ready and waiting. Then he set out for Brookfield House, rehearsing excuses.
The rain had not stopped, although the thunder had ceased to roll. He climbed down from the carriage, telling his servants to wait.
He walked from the carriage, which he had ordered to stop at the gates, up the short drive. He saw that the lamps in the downstairs parlour had been lit, and through a gap in the curtains, which were not quite drawn across, he saw the Beverley family. The sash window was raised at the bottom, for the night was muggy and close. He heard his name. Instead of knocking at the door, he edged along to that window and listened.
‘No sign yet of Mr Judd.’ That was Isabella’s clear voice. ‘I do really think that perhaps Barry should go to Hedgefield after all and find out what happened to him.’
‘I think,’ said the youngest sister, Lizzie, ‘that there is no excuse for Mr Judd’s behaviour. He could have sent someone out from Hedgefield to rescue Isabella even if he could not go himself. I think he is a shabby fellow and not a patch on Lord Fitzpatrick.’
Now Lady Beverley’s voice, cold and haughty. ‘You forget. Isabella is to reclaim Mannerling for us.’
‘By marrying such a man?’ Lizzie’s voice was sharp.
‘Oh, do not go on, Lizzie,’ said Isabella. ‘I am supposed to marry someone, so it may as well be Mr Judd.’
‘May as well be Mr Judd!’ echoed Lady Beverley scornfully. ‘It is Isabella’s duty to sacrifice herself. Something must be done to stop the wretched man from ruining Mannerling with his vulgar ruins and horrible alterations.’
Mr Judd retreated from the window and stood gnawing at his knuckles. And to think he had rather fancied that Isabella bitch! And yet she was so very beautiful. He had imagined taking her to London and being the envy of all the fellows. Black anger was rising up in him, but he put on his gambler’s poker face and went and knocked at the door.
Betty answered it but he did not wait for her to announce him, pushing rudely past the girl and walking straight into the parlour.
