A Change of Fortune

by Sandra Heath

  “I merely wished to tell you how very sorry I am about your father.”

  She felt unnecessarily defensive. “My father is innocent, Sir Guy.”

  “I wasn’t expressing my belief in his guilt, Miss Conyngham, please believe me. I didn’t know him, but I do know you, and I’m sorry that you are now placed in such a sad predicament.”

  A little confused, the color still touching her cheeks, she’ looked up into his eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

  He smiled a little. “After our first encounter I can quite understand that you think me a disagreeable bear of the first order, but I promise you that I’m not.” He studied her for a moment. “I was surprised to hear that you had chosen to become a teacher.”

  “Choice didn’t enter into it, Sir Guy. I had debts to meet and no roof over my head, and it was pointed out to me that the only honorable thing I could do was accept a post in order to solve both problems, the one for myself and the other for Miss Hart.”

  “I see.” He glanced away, remembering Nadia Benckendorff’s face at the embassy ball.

  “Do you, Sir Guy?” She couldn’t help the note of irony creeping into her voice, for he had never known what it was to be destitute. She herself knew that feeling of desperation only too well now.

  “Yes, Miss Conyngham, I do, and rather more than I fancy you imagine.” He held her gaze. “And I’m not referring to your unenviable position, I’m referring to certain circumstances which combined to make that position a great deal worse for you.”

  “Miss Benckendorff?”

  He looked at her in surprise. “I hadn’t realized you were aware.”

  “She came with Countess Lieven on the day I was told about my father’s death. I would have had to be dull-witted indeed not to detect her hand in things.”

  He suddenly put his hand hesitantly to her cheek, it was an, oddly tender gesture. He wore no glove and the warmth of his fingers seemed to burn like fire. “Miss Conyngham,” he said softly, “I wish to forget how unforgivably rude I was to you when first we met. May we begin again?”

  His closeness and the lingering touch of his fingers affected her so much that she felt almost weak. A giddy emotion was tumbling through her, confusing and distracting, as if she was under some sort of spell, and it was only with a great effort that she managed a light smile, drawing away a little. “Of course we may, sir.”

  He looked into her eyes for a moment more and then turned suddenly to his niece. “May I present my niece, Miss Stella de Lacey? Stella, this is Miss Conyngham, one of your teachers.”

  Recovering quickly now, Leonie smiled at the girl. “I’m pleased to meet you, Stella.”

  Stella scowled, her lips pressing rebelliously together.

  Guy’s anger rose sharply. “Where are your manners, Stella? Speak when you’re spoken to!”

  “Why should I?” declared the girl then. “I don’t want to come here, I want to stay at Berkeley Street with you! Don’t send me here, Uncle Guy. Please.”

  “Will you promise to behave yourself and be at all times polite and respectful to Imogen?”

  Stella looked resentfully away and didn’t reply.

  “Very well,” he said, “you leave me no choice. I won’t be dictated to, Stella.”

  Stella gestured after the vanished Imogen. “She dictates to you!” she cried.

  “Imogen is to be my wife,” he replied, with forced patience, “and she does not dictate to me. She and I discuss things of mutual importance, and then we come to a decision.”

  “I’m nothing to do with her. She hasn’t any right to—”

  “Be quiet!” he snapped. “Imogen has every right, especially when I consult her. We’ve decided that until you are prepared to conduct yourself graciously, you are to remain here.”

  “She wants me to stay here forever. She doesn’t want me ever to go home again!”

  “That’s nonsense.”

  “No, it isn’t. She hates me!”

  “She doesn’t hate you, although by all that’s holy you’ve given her every reason to loathe you. I don’t know what’s been the matter with you recently, Stella, you’ve changed so much that sometimes I think I hardly know you.”

  “We were happy until she came along!”

  “Don’t persist in talking about Imogen in that way,” he replied angrily. “I won’t have you home, Stella, not until you cease being such an obnoxious little tyrant. This disagreeable and downright willful defiance has simply got to stop.”

  Tears filled Stella’s eyes and her lips quivered, but she didn’t say anything more. Leonie’s sympathy went out to her, for she could see the truth behind the girl’s outrageous conduct. She was desperately unhappy and frightened about what the future held in store now that a woman like Imogen Longhurst had entered Guy de Lacey’s life. Stella had said it all when she said that she and her uncle had been happy until Imogen came onto the scene. That was how it always was with Imogen: she was devoid of kindness and understanding.

  Guy turned a little apologetically. “Forgive me, Miss Conyngham, I’m afraid that I’ve yet again let my temper get the better of me. In mitigation I can only plead that in recent weeks I’ve endured enough conflict to last me for the rest of my hitherto peaceful life.” He smiled. “I sincerely hope that a stay here will have the desired effect upon my niece, for it goes very much against the grain with me that it’s necessary for her to come here at all. Now, shall we go inside? Imogen has unfortunately to leave almost immediately for Windsor, as she has to wait upon the queen, and she cannot delay much longer before setting out.”

  And Imogen’s plans must come first, thought Leonie critically. If Imogen had royal duties, then she should attend to them herself and leave Guy to do his duty where his niece was concerned. But no, that wouldn’t do; Imogen needs must delay until the last moment and thus keep the friction at flamepoint, and thus also ensure that Guy remained at the seminary for the shortest time possible. Leonie knew Imogen too well, having in the past had ample opportunity to witness her methods at close quarters.

  Preceding Guy and Stella into the seminary, Leonie wondered again about Imogen. Why had she hurried on in as she had? Surely she couldn’t be eager to see Miss Hart, not after having stayed away for nearly two years now. No, she was up to something. But what?

  Entering the vestibule, she saw Imogen and Miss Hart emerging from the visitors’ room. They didn’t notice her at first and so she saw how conspiratorial they were. “You may rely on me, Lady Imogen,” the headmistress was murmuring. “I promise to do exactly as you have requested.”

  Guy came in at that moment and overheard. “And what have you requested?” he inquired of Imogen.

  She turned with a sharp gasp. “Guy! I didn’t know you were there!” She gave a nervous laugh then, a false little laugh which struck another warning chord in Leonie. “I was merely asking Miss Hart to do all she could to make Stella’s stay a happy one, for I realize how dreadful she must be feeling and I want to make things as pleasant as possible for her.”

  Leonie looked suspiciously at Miss Hart, whose eyes were prudently lowered to a close study of the floor tiles.

  Imogen smiled and hurried across to Guy, linking her arm through his. “I know I’m being difficult, sweetheart, but truly I must set off now for Windsor.”

  “I know. I’ll just say good-bye to Stella.”

  “I’ll wait in the carriage,” she said, her deep blue eyes flickering momentarily to Leonie, whom she knew she hadn’t fooled in the least. A faint smile curved her lips and then she was gone.

  Guy turned to Stella. “I don’t want to leave you here,” he said gently, “but you must understand that you cannot impose your will upon me. Be good, so that Miss Hart sends me favorable reports of your progress, and I promise you that you will come to Poyntons for the house party on the ninth of February. Be disobedient and I shall remain firm in my resolve.”

  Leonie looked again at Miss Hart. So, that was it. Imogen had told her not on any account to
send Guy approving reports!

  Guy bent to kiss Stella on the cheek, but she averted her face. He hesitated, but then suddenly turned on his heel and left. Joseph hurried to close the door behind him.

  The moment Guy had gone, Stella suddenly whirled about to face Miss Hart, her eyes flashing with defiance. “I won’t stay here, I won’t!” she cried, stamping her foot. “I’ll run away, do you hear me? I’ll run away back home, while that Longhurst creature’s away, and I’ll make Uncle Guy take me back!”

  Miss Hart’s eyes narrowed coldly. “You’ll do as you’re told, missy,” she said icily.

  “I won’t!” cried Stella again. She rushed to the table and swept the dish of calling cards to the floor. It fell with a loud clatter that brought two maids hurrying from the direction of the kitchens. Joseph gaped in amazement at this display, but Stella was unrepentant, “I won’t do anything you tell me to, I shan’t stay here! I hate you all!”

  “Indeed?” Miss Hart’s eyebrow was raised. “Perhaps an hour or so on the reclining board will cool your tantrums. Joseph, have Mlle. Clary come here immediately.”

  Stella stamped her foot again. “I won’t go to any reclining board! I won’t do anything you tell me to, I’m going to run away tonight and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

  “I can certainly see that you’re punished in the meantime,” warned Miss Hart, almost; beside herself with fury. “And I can make your escape as difficult as possible by seeing to it that you are guarded. Miss Ross will sleep with you.”

  Leonie stared at her. Miss Ross? But everyone knew that she slept like the proverbial log! The Battle of Hastings could take place outside her door and she’d sleep through it, so why on earth set her to guard someone like Stella? The answer came almost immediately. Miss Hart wanted Stella to try to escape, for it would enable her to send a first poor report to Guy!

  Mile. Clary arrived at that moment and, assisted by a very reluctant Joseph, bore a kicking, screaming Stella off to the punishment room.

  Leonie turned hesitantly to the headmistress, knowing that she must voice her opinion, even though it would hardly be well-received. “Miss Hart?”

  The headmistress held her gaze. “Miss Conyngham?”

  “About Miss Ross. She sleeps so soundly that—”

  “I do not require your opinion, Miss Conyngham.”

  “But—”

  “It isn’t your business, missy. Go to your duties immediately, and never again presume to question my actions.”

  Leonie fell silent. Miss Hart had laid a trap and Stella was going to fall straight into it.

  Chapter 16

  Stella wasn’t chastened by the punishment, and emerged only to create another astonishing scene, this time in the dining room before the entire school. It was another amazing display of furious defiance, accompanied by a great deal of screaming and foot-stamping, and it prompted a rather faint Miss Ross to recall tales she’d heard of Lady Caroline Lamb, or Ponsonby as she then was, when she’d been sent to Miss Frances Rowden’s seminary in Hans Place, Kensington. Miss Rowden, it was rumored, had never fully recovered from the experience. Miss Hart, however, was made of sterner stuff. Apparently totally unmoved by the rather public tantrum, she promptly dispatched Stella back to the punishment room, under Mlle. Clary’s continuing supervision. She remained there until it was time to go to bed.

  Miss Hart allocated Leonie’s former bedroom to Stella. It had remained unexpectedly vacant since the beginning of the new term because there were no less than three young ladies of equal rank and seniority who all aspired to occupy it. Since they could not all be obliged, the headmistress had decided to deny it to all of them. It had then been set aside for Stella, because the headmistress was mindful of the child’s connection with Imogen, and therefore, somewhat tenuously, with Nadia and Dorothea Lieven. Imogen’s subsequent secret request concerning the child had come too late to prevent arrangements being made, and so the rather chagrined Miss Hart had had to leave the seminary’s most disruptive and difficult pupil ever in possession of the school’s finest bedroom. Those who had been denied the coveted room did not like such apparent favoritism, especially as Stella’s subsequent conduct had been so appalling, and so in the whole school, only Leonie felt any sympathy for the new arrival.

  Miss Ross, who had not been taken into the headmistress’s confidence about Stella, was only too aware of her shortcomings as a jailer, and was very unhappy indeed as she escorted the girl to the bedroom. Taking her unwanted responsibilities seriously, she decided not to take any chances, and so locked the door once they were both safely inside. She then put the key on a ribbon around her neck, and thus felt certain that Stella could no longer carry out her threat to run away that night.

  Undressing and climbing into the spacious bed, Stella maintained a surly and resentful silence. She curled up into a little ball, her back toward the teacher’s side of the bed, and she ignored an instruction to put on her night bonnet. Miss Ross sighed and did not press the point, for at least the wretched child was quiet for the time being. The teacher felt very hard-done-by as she too prepared for bed. Shortly afterward, the candle was extinguished and silence descended first over the room, and then over the entire building. Outside in Park Lane the traffic became gradually more quiet, until at last there was only the occasional carriage driving past. Somewhere the watch was calling, their cries echoing through the freezing fog.

  A solitary light glowed in the seminary as Leonie sat by the fire in her room. She couldn’t relax enough to go to sleep, and she hadn’t even changed into her nightclothes. Her copy of The Bride of Abydos lay unopened on her lap, and she gazed into the smoking fire, thinking about Stella. The child’s unhappiness reached out to her, and she knew that if Stella could possibly escape from the seminary tonight, then she would do it. The thought was unsettling and worrying, and after a long while Leonie got up and went to the window, gazing out at the misty darkness.

  On the floor below, Stella lay awake, listening to Miss Ross’s deep, steady breathing. As the teacher sank into a sounder sleep and began to snore, the child sat up carefully beside her. Miss Ross didn’t stir at the movement, nor was she aware of the girl slipping from the bed and going to the dressing table to take a small pair of scissors from the reticule lying there. By the faint glow of the dying fire, Stella succeeded in cutting the ribbon around the teacher’s neck. The key slipped easily into her waiting fingers.

  Stella dressed quickly and silently, putting on her warmest clothes and not making a single sound. Miss Ross slept on, her snores loud and rhythmic, and she knew nothing as the door was stealthily opened and then closed again.

  Stella slipped silently toward the top of the stairs, but she didn’t see Mrs. Durham’s cat in the shadows, and she trod on its tail. It gave a loud, pained yowl and fled spitting into the darkness. Stella froze, her heart pounding, but miraculously the building remained silent. After a moment she hurried on down the stairs.

  Leonie heard the cat and ran swiftly from her room, instinctively snatching up her cloak, knowing that the noise had had something to do with Stella. She looked over the stair balustrade just in time to see Stella’s fleeing figure at the bottom. The child disappeared from view then, running not to the main doors, but toward the school wing at the back of the house.

  Tying on her mantle, Leonie hurried down after her, and as she reached the school wing, she heard a sound from the direction of the dining room. “Stella?” There was silence then, and she went into the dining room. A sweep of bitterly cold air passed over her and she saw that the French windows were open. As she ran out into the dark night, she saw Stella running toward the narrow path which led between the adjoining gardens and out into South Audley Street. She must have noticed the path earlier and decided then to escape that way!

  Stella ran like the wind down South Audley Street toward Curzon Street, and she paused briefly by the wall of Chesterfield House on the corner, looking back to see if anyone was following. Her brea
th caught on a dismayed gasp as she saw Leonie running toward her.

  “Stella! Please stop!”

  With a cry, Stella ran on, turning into Curzon Street and fleeing east in the direction of Berkeley Street. She ran past Longhurst House, in darkness now because both Imogen and her brother were away from home. It was a handsome white building with a pillared porch beneath which carriages could drive and their passengers alight under cover in bad weather, and it commanded a prime position in the much-sought-after street, but Stella didn’t even glance at it. It wasn’t of any interest to her when her hated enemy was out of town.

  She was nearing the eastern end of the street now, and she peered ahead for the entrance of Lansdowne Passage, the dangerous subterranean way which led between the gardens of Lansdowne House and Devonshire House, and which connected Curzon Street directly with Berkeley Street.

  Behind her a dismayed Leonie realized which way the girl intended to go, Lansdowne Passage was the haunt of footpads and pickpockets, and had been used by highwaymen as an escape route until railings had been placed at the top of the steps at each end.

  “Stella!” she called desperately. “Stella, don’t go that way! Please!”

  Stella hesitated, her face pale in the dim light of a streetlamp, but then she disappeared into the entrance of the passage.

  Leonie reached the entrance a moment later. Her heart was thundering with fear and from the exertion of running. She was afraid to go into the dark tunnel. Overhead the bare branches of the famous Devonshire House elms loomed starkly into the night, and she could hear the echoing sound of Stella’s fleeing footsteps. Taking a deep breath, Leonie went down the steps, and soon the faint light from Curzon Street had faded behind her.

  The Tyburn River passed beneath the tunnel, and the paving stones rang hollow at one point. She could hear the sound of flowing water. Ahead of her Stella’s footsteps had suddenly stopped. Leonie halted too, listening for any sound. She could see the steps leading up into Berkeley Street, their damp surfaces shining in the light from a streetlamp. As she gazed toward it, she saw a tall figure standing in the middle of the passage. It was far too tall and burly to be Stella! Then she saw Stella, pressing back terrified against the tunnel wall as several other figures gathered menacingly around her. Leonie’s heart almost stopped. Then, unbelievably, she heard the watch calling in Berkeley Street. She began to scream for help, and the figures around Stella all whirled about in the direction of the screams. The watch had heard as well, and they appeared at the top of the steps, the welcome light of their lanterns swaying wildly down into the passage. The men by Stella fled then, their steps pounding on the paving stones as they ran toward Leonie, thrusting her roughly aside as they made their escape to Curzon Street.