by May Burnett
“All of them, except my mother’s maid that she brought from London.”
“In that case, please hide the gold as soon as you have counted it – don’t tell me where, you know the house and will find a good place. We should give out that it was sent to London right away, for your own safety.”
“That might be for the best.” It felt pleasant to have him so concerned for her. “Don’t worry, Mr. Trey. I shall send the inventory to my brother-in-law and ask him to send someone he trusts to carry the box to London. Soon enough, I shall have transferred the responsibility. As for the servants, they are new but I hope I am justified in my choice. I shall try not to expose them to more temptation than absolutely necessary.”
After Trey had left, she eagerly brought out paper, pens, pencils, and her sketchbook. From the age of the coins it should be possible to deduce which of her ancestors had hid them there, and maybe even why. Locking the door from the inside, she began to methodically sort the contents of the old box.
Chapter 8
No lady or gentleman of Bankington’s small society would have willingly missed the dinner party at Milldale Manor. Not only did it herald the return of a young, unmarried Viscount to the neighbourhood, – during his last stay five years earlier Lord Laxeley had been a mere stripling – it also marked the first social event Miss Bellairs was to attend since her lucky reversal of fortunes; unless one counted her sister’s wedding breakfast in January, which had taken place in a different parish.
Curiosity ran rampant how Doctor Dorringley would act on meeting his former beloved. The current object of his attentions, Miss Betty Harris, was thrown into transports of anxiety. In vain did her twin sister Ruth try to calm her sibling’s fears.
“Christopher would not court you if he did not feel affection for you,” she said loyally. “Most men harbour some calf love in younger years. It is put aside when nothing comes of it, and soon forgotten.”
“They say Margaret Bellairs is the most elegant lady in the entire shire, and uses the same dressmaker as her sister the Marchioness. Do you recall how even as a child, she was stuck-up and would not play with us, Ruth? How I wish she had remained in London, and not returned here, at least before I was safely betrothed!”
“Remember that she is four years older. They had that sick father and money troubles before they left Bankington. Playing with us was never a priority.” As Ruth remembered it, Margaret had paid them no attention, while her younger sister Emily had always been perfectly courteous to the twins.
“It was because she was Miss Bellairs, no matter how impoverished, and I plain Betty Harris,” her sister insisted. “I was happy when she lost everything and left for foreign parts. I wish she had died there, or the ship had foundered.”
“Betty!” Ruth was shocked. “I advise you not to say as much in Christopher’s presence. It will give him a very strange idea of your character.”
“Oh, pish. Why did she have to come back to make trouble, now of all times?”
“So far all Miss Bellairs has done was to accept an invitation to a dinner party, and find a treasure of gold coins in a wall.”
“Yes, and that is yet another way she draws the gentlemen’s interest upon her. You and I have never found as much as a single old coin, and she –,” words were insufficient to express Betty’s disgust at the injustice of fate.
“You look very pretty in your new pink dress,” Ruth tried to divert her sister. “Christopher will not be so foolish as to disregard you on such a public occasion. His parents will be present, and they seem happy enough with his courtship of you.” She did not add that she would not have wanted to have Mrs. Dorringley as a mother-in-law. Betty would have to fight that battle on her own.
“Oh, Ruthie,” her sibling wailed, “If Christopher pays her any attention at all, I shall die.”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “Show some pride, Betty. Think of it as a test – is Christopher Dorringley the kind of man who will be a faithful husband to you? Tonight you can see what he is made of. If he embarrasses you, then good riddance.”
Those bracing words did nothing to console Betty. “Oh, how cruel of you to speak so! How unfeeling! But then if you ever had a beau of your own, you would not be so indifferent!”
There was a moment of silence. Despite their equal youth and dowries, the blonde, prettier Betty was far more sought-after than the rake-thin, short-sighted Ruth.
Driven to the end of her patience, Ruth threw up her hands. “If you are going to take out your bad humours on me, Betty, I shall leave you to your megrims.” The door resounded loudly behind her.
Betty burst into tears of anger, but these soon gave way to calculation and thoughts of revenge for offenses yet to occur. Was there some way to get rid of her rival, drive Margaret Bellairs away from Bankington once more? She would go to any lengths to keep Christopher Dorringley, the most handsome man in Derbyshire. Already she had planned their wedding, – in the spring – and selected names for the four children they would have. Betty had been content to enjoy a leisurely courtship until this disaster, but it was high time Christopher proposed.
He could not still love Margaret, surely? Even if he did, Betty was not prepared to give Christopher up. He would have to be brought to hate and despise Margaret, somehow. A lady’s reputation was a fragile thing, and with those years spent abroad, among strangers, Miss Bellairs’ might be frailer than average. A resolute, bold lie might vanquish her, as long as it could not be traced back to Betty herself.
Of course such drastic measures might not prove necessary. Christopher might ignore Margaret and remain Betty’s own attentive suitor. Tonight would show what she had to deal with.
But just in case… as she dabbed at the traces of her tears with a handkerchief soaked in witch hazel, she revolved various stratagems in her mind. Betty Harris might look as though butter did not melt in her mouth, a quality that had frequently proved useful, but she played to win.
***
Terence Cornell, Lord Laxeley, was an attentive and courteous guest. “Is anyone coming tonight that I have not met on my last visit five years ago?” he asked his uncle and aunt as they were partaking of luncheon on Monday.
Lady Milldale pursed her lips. “I don’t remember – did you meet Mrs. Bellairs and her older daughter then? I am not sure if Margaret was out yet, but she must have been on the verge.”
“Not that I can recall. Wait – is Miss Bellairs a dramatic-looking dark brunette, with a less beautiful younger sister? I remember admiring a girl like that in church.”
Apparently Terence was not quite as oblivious to pretty girls as his uncle had supposed.
“Yes, that would have been Miss Bellairs,” Lady Milldale confirmed. “Her father died in the interim, and she has spent some time abroad. The younger sister is now Lady Pell.”
Terence whistled. “Quite a coup for a Miss Bellairs from Bankington. He is one of the most influential peers in London, and rich as Croesus.”
“Indeed.” Sir Reginald gestured to the butler to refill his glass. “The older daughter is still unmarried, despite her beauty. One wonders why. According to the mother, Pell is giving her a dowry of ten thousand.”
“He can easily afford it, from what I know of him.” Terence looked thoughtful. Was he wondering if the dowry was sufficient to tempt him, combined with a pretty face and figure? Or weighing the possible advantages of a family connection to the Marquis? “I sometimes see Pell in the Lords, but he is a Tory. We are not close.”
“Another guest you will not know is a Mr. Trey, an architect working on Bellairs Hall for Lord Pell. I invited him after he stood in for poor Fuller in our weekly whist game.”
“Reginald assures me that he is perfectly genteel and nephew to a baronet,” Lady Milldale added.
“We have the latter in common, then.”
“But little else, I imagine,” Sir Reginald said. “Trey must be in his mid-thirties, a decade older than you. Then, of course, there are other girls that were not yet
out five years ago, notably the Harris twins, Betty and Ruth. They each will have six thousand pounds, but Betty is half promised to the local physician, Dorringley. You remember him? He is also coming, with his parents.”
“A striking-looking young man who could model Apollo or even Adonis?”
Sir Reginald grinned. “That’s him. Ruth Harris is less taking than Betty, but she has more sense, in my view.”
Lady Milldale shook her head at him. “Sense is of little use to young ladies when they are looking about for a husband. Falling in love with the handsome doctor is not foolish on Betty’s part, as long as a match comes of it. He will inherit his parents’ handsome estate.”
“There is also Vanessa Langley, about twenty now,” Sir Reginald said. “A pretty redhead. You met the Vicar, her father, the last time you were here. In the interval his wife, Mrs. Langley, has unfortunately succumbed to her weak heart. Vanessa is in charge of the Vicarage household now.”
“I am sorry to hear it. I remember the Vicar’s wife as a charming lady. She was also red-headed, I believe?”
“Indeed, Vanessa takes after her. The Temples will be there – you must remember them - and the Buckleys. Tom Fuller would come, but he sent word he is still suffering too much from his gout.”
“Fuller? Is that the fearsome retired Colonel I remember from my earlier visit?”
“Indeed. He is a lifelong bachelor.”
“I am placing you between myself and Mrs. Bellairs,” Lady Milldale said. “I realize you would prefer her daughter, who will be the prettiest girl present.”
“Is there anything I should know about the lady, apart from the fact that her daughter is married to Lord Pell? Did she also go abroad, like her daughter?”
“Her husband died ruined, the estate was sold, and they went to Northern Italy as paupers,” his uncle summarized. “Now they are solvent again, the estate is recovered and under repair, and her younger daughter the Marchioness has recently given birth to a healthy son, Lord Berleyford. Best avoid the subject of her late husband and why she had to leave.”
“Understood. That should be easy enough.”
“I am putting the Vicar on her right side,” Lady Milldale said. “They are old friends. You won’t have to carry the entire conversation.”
“Who are you putting next to Miss Bellairs, Aunt Sophia?”
“Temple and that architect, Mr. Trey. I don’t want her anywhere close to young Dorringley, who used to court her before the family was ruined. He is to sit between Miss Betty Harris and Miss Langley.”
“I already told you about the cache of gold coins Miss Bellairs found when they tore out a wall in Bellairs Hall,” Sir Reginald said. “Lucky – I wish we found something of the kind. It will surely be a principal subject of conversation, as little new happens in our neighbourhood. It is quite the most exciting occurrence since the wedding of Lord Pell and Emily Bellairs last January.”
“An interesting coincidence, that both events are lucky for the Bellairs family,” Terence commented. “From what you said earlier, they are certainly due for some good luck.”
“Indeed. Though technically the coins belong to Lord Pell, as the owner of the Hall. He is lucky that Trey is an honest man and did not simply keep the treasure, with no one the wiser.”
Lady Milldale put down her glass of lemonade. “I hope Pell is a man of principle and Christian values, to deserve such a windfall. And that the treasure is well hidden and protected. There are rumours of untold wealth swirling about the village, my maid informs me. Many wish they had a share in the find, and I cannot help but feel uneasy.”
“We don’t have any robbers or highwaymen here,” Sir Reginald said. “I doubt that there is any danger. Do not worry about it, Sophia, it is not your treasure after all.”
“Even so, if anyone in the neighbourhood should be willing to risk theft, where else could they find such a rewarding object? And then it would become your problem, Reginald, as the local magistrate. I am glad that it is not my responsibility.”
Chapter 9
As she half listened to a fulsome compliment on her looks that night, Margaret glanced around the Milldales’ salon. The place looked smaller than she remembered. The guests had all arrived in good time, except for young Dorringley. According to Lady Milldale, he was delayed by some medical emergency, but would arrive in time for the first course. Was Christopher trying to postpone the moment when they met again? Since he was now courting Betty Harris, he must be over those feelings he had formerly professed – only last January, in fact, when Margaret had been in Derbyshire for Emily’s wedding. Margaret certainly was no longer pining for Christopher. To think she had wasted her love on a man who could contemplate marriage to Betty Harris! Even making allowances for the limited horizon of her younger self, it was humiliating.
Yet it might give her an instant of ignoble satisfaction if, on seeing her tonight, Christopher visibly regretted what he had lost. Margaret was comfortably aware that her sand-coloured tulle over satin evening gown from the atelier of Madame Tarcassi was the most stylish in the room by a wide margin. Her hair was also dressed in the latest fashion, framing the upper half of her face like draped swathes of curtain. Broad silk ribbons, both matching and contrasting the shade of her gown, trailed from the small feather and silk arrangement on top of her head.
Not that there was any real competition here. Poor Vanessa Langley wore an outmoded garment that she ought to have donated to her maid at least two years ago. Apart from a hem too high for current fashion, the colour clashed with her red hair. Was it poverty or lack of interest that made her dress so carelessly? Surely the Vicar’s income stretched further than this. Despite her presumable lack of dress sense, Vanessa carried herself with unselfconscious dignity. Margaret might have given her some hints how to make the most of her trim figure and pretty face, but unsolicited advice was rarely appreciated.
“You really must give me the name of your dressmaker, for our next trip to town,” Mrs. Buckley said with the air of one conferring a great compliment.
“Most willingly.” Mrs. Buckley would probably faint at the prices charged by the wily Madame Tarcassi. “That is a pretty jade bracelet you wear,” Margaret replied in kind, and during Mrs. Buckley’s long explanation how her cousin’s husband had acquired the bauble in China some thirty years earlier, once again surreptitiously surveyed the rest of the company.
Betty and Ruth Harris, the youngest of the ladies present, sported an excess of lace flounces in dresses of expensive material poorly cut by some provincial bumpkin. Betty had adorned her plump bosom with a necklace of seed pearls, calling attention to the feature that most set her apart from her twin.
Margaret had been at first surprised, and then amused by the instant animosity Betty Harris displayed towards her. As a child Betty had been a loud and selfish brat, always taking advantage of her good-natured sister. Though she was pretty enough these days, with those artfully arranged golden curls, it would seem Betty’s character had not improved in equal measure. Yet who was she to judge? Margaret herself was hardly perfect, and had done things she would not want anyone here to know.
“How strange to think that your younger sister now outranks us all!” Mrs. Dorringley said with a sour smile. “That cannot be pleasant for you, Margaret.”
“Yes, she is most fortunate,” Margaret said. “And happy in her marriage, as well.” She was not fool enough to talk about her complicated feelings towards Emily with this poisonous woman. Mrs. Dorringley had separated Christopher from her with a well-timed lie when Margaret’s family had been at its nadir, but at a dinner party one had to be polite, irrespective on past history. Fortunately it was easy to deflect impertinent interest by questions about the speaker’s own family. “How is your own daughter getting along with that officer she married, Mrs. Dorringley?”
The older, married ladies were somewhat more elegant, but only Lady Milldale possessed the slim waist and none of them the firm bosom demanded by current fashion. L
ady Milldale wore a diamond necklace, only rivalled by the tasteful pearl set Anthony had given Mrs. Bellairs on her last birthday. Margaret had not thought to bring her few jewels from London. She wore only an antique gold brooch from the box in the wall, in the form of a cunningly wrought sailing ship.
She had hesitated before pinning it to her bodice, for Mr. Trey and she had given out that the treasure had already left for London under guard. Yet who was to know where the brooch came from, after resting in a wall for so long? The rest of the treasure was hidden under a large pile of dusty curtains awaiting the arrival of a team of laundresses in a locked basement. Margaret hoped her precautions would be sufficient, but in the worst case, Anthony could easily bear the loss of something he had never known he possessed.
He would know soon enough, however. That very morning Margaret had sent off the inventory with her sketches of the jewels and the more interesting antique coins by mail. It was amazing how quickly letters and even persons were whisked over the constantly improving roads these days. Knowing Anthony’s efficiency, it should not be much more than a week until a messenger arrived to take charge of the box and its contents.
“Tell us more about your treasure,” Mrs. Temple invited, as the Vicar and Miss Langley listened with interest.
Margaret had already described the find various times, so she kept her explanation brief. “About a third was jewels, the rest coins. Some of the latter were antique. At least two appear to be Roman, probably dug up in a field. The bulk was minted in the reign of Charles I, and a few were from Cromwell’s early years.”
“Ah, that explains why your treasure was hidden,” the Vicar said. “The civil unrest of those times caused many a family to tuck away some of their wealth. Do you know if your ancestors supported the King or the Roundheads?”
