The black servant Joe Cannonball had seen his master coming and opened the front door the moment Canny set foot on the bottom step. He was grinning broadly as he adroitly caught the hat that Canny tossed towards him while he bustled across the floor laid with tiles of black and white. The walls of the entrance hall were faced with pink marble and the domed roof was held up by slim pillars of grey veined stone. Canny had brought a team of Italian stuccoists up from London to embellish the ceilings of his house and in the hall they had excelled themselves, creating an icing sugar confection of heavily embossed decorations – tropical birds with outspread wings, pineapples and palm trees in honour of the place where their patron had made his fortune. ‘You all right, sah?’ asked Joe with a familiar air and Canny smiled back.
‘More than all right, Joe, more than all right,’ he exulted. He and Cannonball did not pretend at conventional master and servant formality because they were old shipmates who had enjoyed many adventures together. Although there was no question of servility on Joe’s part, he was very much Canny’s ‘man’ and a deep friendship and mutual reliance existed between them which would have surprised people outside who regarded Joe as only the same kind of black servant as the coloured boys who were popular with fashionable households in the south.
‘Where’s Mattie, Joe? Where’s Miss Odilie? I’ve news for them,’ cried Canny, rubbing his hands together as he headed for the drawing room. Before he reached its door, however, it opened to reveal his sister. Martha was as thin as her brother was plump and as untidy as he was dapper. Her grey hair straggled from beneath a lace cap that perched on the top of her head and a large white apron was tied round her waist. She looked ill at ease posing as a lady, for she had not yet recovered from her rapid transition out of the kitchens of other people’s houses into stately living.
Canny paused at the sight of her and his smile flickered a little. ‘You’re wearing that damned peeny again, Martha!’ he said disapprovingly. ‘I’ve told you not to wear a peeny – what if somebody called?’
Mattie peered myopically at him through round, gold-rimmed glasses and lifted the corner of her apron unapologetically. ‘Don’t be so daft, Canny. Who grand is going to call on me? Anyway it’s a clean peeny and if I didn’t show thae maids of yours how to do things, nothing would ever be right. They’re an idle lot.’
Her brother groaned. ‘I’m tired of trying to make you into a lady, Matt, but you should try for Odilie’s sake, especially now. And don’t call me Canny! I was christened William. I met that long creep Cunningham in the square just now and he was Canny-ing me as if I was still a laddie. Do folk never forget anything in this town? You could at least set them a good example by calling me by my right name.’
Mattie was unimpressed by her brother’s pretensions. ‘Och, you’ll aye be Canny in Lauriston. If you want to be called William you shouldn’t have come back here to live,’ she told him briskly, pulling a checked duster out of her apron pocket and flipping it at the furniture making tutting sounds with her lips as she did so. ‘Look at this dust! Thae maids are clarty besoms. They dinna ken how to work and that Joe’s as bad as they are.’
She succeeded in irritating her brother, who grabbed her duster in mid-flick and ordered, ‘Stop it, Matt! You can’t go about doing the dusting when we’ve ten maids to do it for you. Come in and sit down and listen to what I’ve got to tell you. It’s grand news. Really grand. You’ll be pleased.’
She looked suspiciously at him. ‘What’s happened? What’re you up to now?’
He went up on his tiptoes and adopted a high-class voice. ‘We’re going into society, to mingle with the nobs. You’ll maybe have a Duke for a nephew yet.’
Martha laughed. ‘Not that again. You’re always on about finding some nob to marry Odilie. What Duke? Some foreigner, I suppose. Some Frenchman that didn’t get his head chopped off maybe.’
But then she looked harder at her brother and her hilarity died a little. ‘You’re really up to something, aren’t you?’ she asked in a different voice.
‘Up to? What should I be up to?’ He was enjoying himself as he wagged a finger at her in admonishment. ‘You’d better start learning how to behave with the aristocracy, Mattie. You might have one of them in the family. Where’s Odilie?’
‘She’s upstairs. What’s going on? I hope you’ve not done something daft.’
‘Am I in the habit of doing daft things?’ asked her brother with a wounded air and taking his sister’s arm he said with unconcealed glee, ‘Let’s go up to her. I can hardly wait till she hears this.’
Meanwhile Joe Cannonball was smiling broadly as he popped his head around Odilie’s boudoir door and told her, ‘Your Papa’s back, Baby. My word but he’s in some fizz. He’s coming up here quick quick.’
Odilie looked up from where she sat on a fragile-looking sofa in the sunny window, her pet dog Scamp, a pampered brown and white spaniel, on a cushion beside her. The room, one of the prettiest in a house of lovely rooms, overlooked the river and the brilliant light of the summer’s day flooded in making her bask in its warmth like an open flower. Sunshine always cheered her up. On dull, wet days Joe thought she drooped like a wilting lily but the stretch of fine weather they were enjoying had enlivened her and assuaged the longings she still felt for the brilliance of Jamaica where she had been born.
‘What’s he up to?’ she asked, for like her father she adopted no superior airs towards Joe.
He shook his head and said, ‘Don’t know, but he’s dancing around as if he’s found a guinea in the gutter.’ They both laughed at that idea and Odilie laid aside the book she was reading and smoothed down the skirt of her pale muslin dress with careful hands. Today she was wearing a gown decorated with a line of blue satin ribbons down the front and Joe’s eyes were full of unhidden love and admiration as he looked at her. He had been part of Rutherford’s household since Odilie was born and as far as he was concerned, she was as much his child as she was Canny’s for he had looked after her and watched her growing up with awe-struck wonder. Now that she was a woman, she was a walking miracle to him.
His admiration was justified, for Odilie was very pretty indeed – small, slim and graceful with a curving form and a wide-jawed head that sat like an open flower on the long stem of her neck. Her dark hair was abundant with wanton hair-spring curls escaping from the combs that vainly tried to hold it back from her pert face. Wide-spaced eyes and a short nose gave her a startled, faun-like look and though her mouth was too wide for classical beauty it was so humorously curved that when she was happy – as she was today – everything and everyone glowed in her radiance.
She liked to be surrounded by colourful things and the room was filled with flowers, pictures, scattered lengths of multi-coloured silks, an embroidery frame and a painting easel that bore a sketch of Scamp, half-finished because he refused to keep still for very long. A straw hat with multicoloured flowers tucked into the brim lay on a table beside her and a gilded harp stood in the corner. On the floor at her feet were a pile of books bound in red leather and lettered in gold. They looked very scholarly tomes for such an apparently frivolous young woman.
Before she had time to question Joe further, Canny and Martha came bustling up the stairs and her father rushed towards her with both hands outheld, exulting, ‘I’ve something wonderful to tell you, my dear!’
He lifted her book off the sofa seat and glanced at the title, which made him raise his eyebrows a little. The Breeding of Bloodstock: Volume 1, it said. His daughter moved along to accommodate him while Martha perched opposite in a gilt-framed chair. As he settled himself on the sofa Canny was suddenly aware that four pairs of eyes were regarding him attentively – Odilie’s, dark-fringed and the colour of caramel; Martha’s as blue as his own; Scamp’s golden and greedy; Joe’s black as ebony, dancing with amusement and curiosity.
Under their scrutiny he shifted in his seat and coughed awkwardly but the eyes went on staring fixedly. In order to make his announcement as theatri
cal as possible, he rose to his feet again and took a little turn on the carpet. Then he paused and told Joe, ‘Off you go, Cannonball. There must be plenty for you to do downstairs.’
Everyone was thunderstruck. This announcement must indeed be serious if Joe was not to hear it. The black man was far from pleased at his abrupt dismissal and Odilie looked extremely surprised too but neither of them made any protest for something in Canny’s voice told them that he was not in the mood to be trifled with. Joe contented himself with slamming the boudoir door closed while, assuming a serious expression, Odilie folded her hands and sat back, waiting for her father to begin.
He smiled lovingly at her. ‘You’re eighteen now, my dear. It was your birthday last week, wasn’t it? You’ve done with schooling and it’s time we were thinking about a suitable marriage for you.’
Odilie sighed. ‘Oh, not that again, Papa! You’ve talked of nothing but marrying me off for the last three months though I’ve only been home since Christmas. You must be very anxious to be rid of me.’
Canny hastened to reassure her. ‘Oh, no, my dear. I don’t want rid of you at all. I want you to stay as near to me as possible even after you marry – that’s why I’m so pleased…’
She went on staring at him with a half-smiling, patient look on her face. Speculation about whom she should eventually marry had become a sort of game between them, a running joke.
‘Who have you picked out for me this time?’ she asked in a teasing tone. ‘It can’t be the Prince of Wales – he’s married already!’ Then her smile faltered when she realised that her father’s attitude was not the flippant one he usually adopted if they talked about this subject.
‘Please listen to what I’ve got to say, Odilie. This is a serious business,’ he told her and the words sounded peremptory even to him. She sank back surprised among her cushions. Martha was also eyeing her brother in slight alarm for she had never seen him take such a firm line with his daughter before. When Canny sensed that he had their complete attention he announced in a solemn voice, ‘Today I received an offer of marriage for you, my dear.’
Odilie abruptly rose and walked across to the window where she stood with her back towards the others as she gazed over the garden. When she spoke her voice sounded distant. ‘You received the offer. Why didn’t my suitor approach me first? I can’t imagine who can be offering for me because I know no one I’d want to marry.’
Her father adopted a placatory tone. ‘My dear girl, you’re my only child and you’re very rich, a considerable heiress. Any marriage you make will be a matter of business. It’s only correct that I should be approached first. I’d want it that way because you’re not aware of the wickedness there is in this world or how many fortune hunters are about. There’s always been a lot of them but it’s even worse now with all those half-pay officers looking for well-off brides.’
His daughter swung round towards him and Martha was startled by the resemblance to Canny in the girl’s face. She snapped, ‘You underestimate me. I’m not a fool, Papa. I’m not going to fall for any half-pay officer.’
Taken off guard, her father floundered slightly. ‘I’m not suggesting you’re a fool, Odilie, but things can happen that are out of your control. You might not have a choice. I heard the other day about the daughter of my old friend Thomson, the Savannah merchant. He’s living in London now and some young blade ran off with his girl, took her to Gretna Green and married her!’
Odilie didn’t look shocked. ‘I remember that girl – she’s very foolish. Perhaps she wanted to go,’ she suggested.
Her father shook his head. ‘Well, if she did she’s rueing the day because he’s left her already. Her father refused to give her an allowance of two thousand a year as the new husband wanted, and he disappeared. The girl’s ruined. You’re worth far more than two thousand a year, Odilie, so that’s why finding the right husband for you is very important.’
Odilie sighed for this was a theme that she’d heard many times before. ‘Money! I wish I was poor and could be left to find a husband for myself.’ Canny swept that aside as being beneath consideration. He knew what it was like to be poor, to dine on potato peelings gathered from someone’s rubbish heap and he had fought to ensure that his daughter need never have the same privations.
‘You should thank God that you’re rich,’ he told her, ‘but because you are, a marriage for you needs careful arranging.’
His daughter frowned. ‘Left to you and the lawyers, you mean? That sounds a very cold way. Doesn’t it matter that I might want to fall in love, Papa?’
Canny shook his head, made uncertain for a moment as his memory went back to his first sight of his daughter’s mother, the lovely Jacqueline, at a ball in a plantation house on a balmy night when the air was sweet and smelt of flowers. Odilie sensed she had a momentary advantage and pressed it home. ‘Perhaps I should find myself a rich husband like my mother did,’ she said but though her tone was light, her shoulders were tense and she was beginning to feel frightened.
Canny walked closer to her and tried to coax her into a better humour. ‘I asked your mother’s father for her hand first. He wouldn’t have allowed us to marry if I’d not done it that way or if I’d been a poor man, my dear. Now don’t be angry, just listen to what I’m trying to tell you. This offer is truly magnificent. It’s been made in a letter to Elliot, my lawyer. It’s all been done in a very business-like manner.’
Odilie groaned. ‘Business-like! Love isn’t business-like! You make my marriage sound like an investment. Am I to be disposed of to the best prospect?’ she flung at him. Her eyes were flashing dangerously as they used to when she was thwarted as a child.
‘“Disposed of” is the wrong way to put it,’ he protested. ‘You’ll always have a choice and you can refuse this man if you really don’t like him but I want you to consider it seriously. This marriage is as good as any girl can get.’
‘As I said, the Prince of Wales is spoken for,’ snapped his daughter.
Canny’s impetuousity made it impossible for him to stand the strain of their verbal battle any longer and he riposted sharply, ‘But the Duke isn’t!’
A stunned silence greeted this announcement. Odilie gazed, eyes wide in astonishment, while Martha clamped both hands over her mouth and stared too, but not in admiration as he had hoped. Her eyes showed consternation, making it obvious that she thought her brother had gone too far this time. Slowly Odilie’s gaze went from her father’s face to that of her aunt, noting every reaction and her voice was disbelieving when she asked, ‘Which Duke?’
Angrily Canny jerked a thumb over his right shoulder in a backwards direction. ‘Him up there. Our Duke. The Duke of Maudesley.’ He was disappointed that his triumph was falling so flat with the people he most hoped to please.
His sister and his daughter both shuddered and gulped.
‘Oh no, Canny, not a Fox,’ gasped Martha.
Odilie’s eyes were stricken as she cried out, ‘He’s awfully old, Papa. I’ve heard a lot about him. People say he’s louche and bad-mannered, very arrogant. You can’t mean that you think I ought to marry him!’
Canny threw out his hands and pleaded, ‘He’s not old, he’s only forty. And you’ll be a Duchess, Odilie!’
She recovered her fight. ‘I don’t care! I don’t want to be a Duchess. I thought all your talk about a titled husband was only a joke.’ Then she surprised herself by bursting into tears.
Martha ran over to hold the sobbing girl in her arms, and turned to scold her brother. ‘This is all just talk, isn’t it? The Duke wouldn’t marry a Rutherford. You’ve made a lot of money, it’s true, but our father was a drunken ostler at the Cross Keys, and everybody in this town knows it. Tell the lassie you’ve just been daydreaming. He can’t have offered for her.’
Canny was seriously angry now. ‘He has! Even Dukes have their price and this one’s hard up. Odilie’s rich.’ Martha fixed him with cold eyes. ‘You’ve not accepted,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, tell me you’ve no
t accepted…’
He blustered in reply, ‘I’ve been aiming as high as I can for her. I never guessed she’d not want to be a Duchess.’ He was telling the truth for until now his daughter had always gone along with his half-playful suggestions about an advantageous marriage. ‘What woman turns down a title?’ he asked his sister, who was still hugging the weeping girl.
Odilie extricated herself from her aunt’s embrace and cried out at her father, ‘You should have asked me first, Papa. I should have had some say in this. Surely you’re not serious.’
He nodded grimly. ‘I didn’t refuse him but I didn’t accept, either. I said we were interested, that’s all. We’re still at the negotiating stage.’
Her face was shocked. ‘Negotiating? Does that mean you’re prepared to pay him to marry me? He’s not even seen me. We’ve never met. He can’t care about me! All that interests him is my fortune. How shaming!’
‘He has seen you,’ protested Canny desperately. ‘His letter said he’s seen you in the town.’
Martha spoke up behind him. ‘He’ll have spied her out all right. He’s an awful man. Not a maid at Sloebank Castle is safe from him.’
Canny shot her a look. ‘Be quiet,’ he ordered. ‘That’s servants’ gossip, all talk. They say things like that about every Duke.’
Martha shook her head but held her tongue. Odilie was beyond caution, however. She was shouting, ‘I’ll not be bartered for with such a man. How much is it going to cost you to buy a lecherous Duke for my husband?’ There was no support for Canny. Even his sister’s face was hard and he could see she thought he had been actuated by overweening ambition and that this marriage only appealed to him because it would stun Lauriston. He felt angry and misunderstood because neither of the women appreciated his true motive, which was to raise his beloved Odilie to a rank of society that even his money could not buy. He snapped, ‘Plenty. It’s costing me plenty. But I thought you’d be pleased. I’m prepared to pay if Odilie is able to move in the highest circles.’
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