‘Harry, do you think we can bathe?’ Amelia says. ‘And ride on a donkey? I should so like to do that. And someone said they have assemblies at the Ship Inn. And I shall need a parasol and a wide-brimmed bonnet against the sun, and—’
‘I’m afraid our visit can be only of a very short duration,’ Harry says. ‘We must return to London tomorrow.’
‘Very well, Harry.’ Amelia’s words may seem acquiescent, but she sighs heavily and rolls her eyes.
Oh, Lord, he wants to drag me back to Bishop’s Hotel so I can lawfully reside in a parish and the banns can be called. But does he really expect Lord Shad to allow his sister to return to London with us? I certainly cannot vouch for my father as a suitable person to protect her, nor his theatre as a place where Amelia may learn her trade.
Or, heavens, does he expect Lord Shad to cast Amelia out, which, sad to say, many a man in his position and with a wayward female relative, would do?
Amelia and I tidy ourselves as best we can in the brisk wind and we make our way back to the stone steps and up on to the promenade, and so to the house that the Earl of Beresford, the highest member of the Trelaise family, has taken for the summer. Harry, naturally, has the address.
It is a most impressive house and we linger outside, admiring the dark green of the railings and the pleasant beige stone of which the house is built. Stairs lead down to the servants’ entrance, where someone, shovelling coal from the sound of it, whistles loudly.
Amelia seems to have lost what nerve she has. She clutches Harry’s arm. ‘I don’t think I can!’
He pats her hand. ‘I will look after you, never fear.’
I interrupt this scene, which smacks of impropriety to me. What if Lord Shad, looking out from a window, sees his half-sister, who is supposed to be in Bath, on such intimate terms with his house steward?
‘I am damned if I will go into the servants’ entrance,’ I say. ‘I’m no longer Lord Shad’s servant and I shall not behave as such.’
Harry mutters something that sounds like ‘. . . and you never did,’ but I ignore him and mount the steps to the front door. I grasp the bell handle and give it a good tug, aware that almost certainly the butler spies on us through a side window, assessing our birth, rank, fortune, and the cost of our clothes.
I wish we had not dabbled in the sea but it is too late.
The door swings open and an imposing butler, who I am sure believes he is the future heir to a dukedom, stands there. He says nothing but the eloquent lift of his eyebrows expresses dismay and profound sorrow that such a person should wish for admittance. The only thing that spoils his dignity is a handful of leashes, at the end of which prance a collection of small, yipping dogs, straining to leave the house.
A very familiar collection.
‘Why,’ I say in delight, ‘is the Countess of Dachault here?’
Amelia bends to pat the dogs, who fawn over her, licking her hands and face. ‘Oh, what lovely dogs! Are they yours, sir?’
The butler’s face assumes an expression of horror and disgust as though Amelia has suggested he make pets of the rats in the cellar. ‘They are not, miss. And yes, ma’am, the Countess of Dachault visits, and these belong to her.’
‘Sophie!’ Claire, Countess of Dachault, has apparently heard her name. She appears behind the butler. ‘Sophie, what are you doing here? Yes, Hoskins, you may let the footman take the dogs outside and admit Mrs—’ she stops herself just in time. ‘That is, Mrs Marsden and her companions.’
‘May I not go with the dogs?’ Amelia says.
‘No,’ Harry and I say together.
‘What are you doing here?’ Claire mutters to me as she takes my arm and pulls me into the house. ‘I thought you’d left the position. I was quite annoyed, Sophie. I thought you might have made the effort to last a little longer.’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll explain it later. But you seem very at home here.’
‘I’m as thick as thieves with the Countess of Beresford,’ Claire says. ‘Do you know her, Sophie?’
‘No.’ I regret I know the Earl, who pursued me for a time, given to pinning me into corners and breathing heavily. ‘It’s a little late for afternoon calls, is it not?’
‘Oh, this is Brighton. Informality reigns. We are in and out of each other’s houses all day long. Do come in. But who is this lovely young girl? Surely you’re not Miss Trelaise? Shad has told us all about you.’
Amelia curtsies, to my relief making no attempt to deny the surname. ‘How do you do, ma’am.’
‘What charming manners! But aren’t you supposed to be in Bath? And the, ah, gentleman?’ Claire looks at Harry and then at me.
I introduce them without telling Claire he is Lord Shad’s steward.
‘Is he your lover?’ she whispers, giggling. ‘He’s rather stern, isn’t he?’
‘He is in mourning, Claire. Have you no sense of propriety?’
‘My, you are a reformed character.’ She winks at me.
Beresford’s house is of such palatial size that our whispered conversation has lasted the length of the hall, and footmen wearing suspiciously Oriental livery – well, we are in Brighton and a stone’s throw from the Pavilion – open double doors to an opulent drawing room. Copper dragons writhe around lamps, silk hangings line the walls, and the Countess of Beresford, a beautiful fair-haired woman, entertains her female friends at tea and cards.
Charlotte rises to her feet and runs towards us. ‘Amelia! What the devil are you doing here? My dear Sophie!’ She captures me in a hearty embrace. ‘I trust you have come to your senses and returned to employment with us. But why are you all here? And Harry! We were so sorry to hear about your father.’
‘Is that the gentleman who delivered Harriet?’ Claire whispers to me. ‘Charlotte has done nothing but sing the praises of both of you since she arrived, and she thinks he is your lover, so I shall get to the truth.’
‘Ma’am,’ Harry says to Charlotte, ‘I must speak with Lord Shad.’
Amelia, poor child, clutches my hand. ‘Mrs Marsden, I can’t do this.’
‘Of course you can! Don’t worry, I am sure your brother will forgive you.’
‘It’s not that,’ she says. ‘It’s—’
But at that moment, Claire’s pack of dogs burst into the drawing room, dragging a footman behind them.
‘Sit!’ says Harry, and they obediently drop to the carpet, gazing at him with adoring eyes.
‘The gentlemen are out sailing. We expect them back at any time. Charlotte, did I mention to you that Sophie and I went to school together? Oh, the times we had. Come, let me introduce you to our hostess, the Countess of Beresford.’ And she takes us across the room to meet Ann Trelaise, Countess of Beresford, who is even more haughtily aristocratic than her butler. Until, that is, Charlotte nudges her and whispers in her ear and they giggle together like a pair of schoolgirls.
And then I realize what is missing from this assembly: no children underfoot, not even little Harriet in Charlotte’s arms.
Harry asks after the children’s health, and we discover that Lord Shad has taken his nephew John sailing – Amelia looks at me in surprise to hear him described thus – and the little boys and Harriet are upstairs in the nursery. ‘Indeed, yes, you are like a dairy cow,’ the Countess of Beresford says in a cool yet affectionate voice to Lady Shad.
‘And is your health returned, ma’am?’ I ask Charlotte. ‘You look very well.’
‘Now she gets some sleep she gets on very well,’ the Countess of Beresford says.
‘I can speak for myself, Ann,’ says Lady Shad. ‘Yes, thank you, Sophie, the sea air has proved most pleasant.’
But at that moment male voices are heard, for the gentlemen have indeed returned, and they swagger into the drawing room, full of talk about nautical matters, some of them boasting fierce sunburns.
John sees Amelia first and breaks off from the group to greet her. ‘What are you doing here? Did you know I am Lord Shad’s nephew? Is not that a fine t
hing?’
‘Yes, and I am your aunt,’ Amelia replies, ‘and I can tell you what to do, so pray do not be so full of yourself.’
Lord Shad joins us. ‘Amelia, we understood you were in Bath.’ And then, turning to Harry, ‘My commiserations, sir, on your loss. But what is Amelia doing here with you? And Mrs Marsden?’
‘I ran away,’ Amelia says. ‘I never went to Bath. I ran away to London. Harry and Mrs Marsden found me.’
‘Come.’ Shad takes her arm and leads us to the far end of the drawing room where we stand unnoticed by the rest of the company, who are regaled by unlikely tales of expert seamanship.
‘What happened to you?’ Lord Shad asks. His voice is gentle but a steely glint in his eyes does not bode well.
‘I—I ran away, but I was fortunate enough to meet Mrs Marsden’s father, who was very respectable and kind. He runs a theatre company and I—’
‘What the devil possessed you, Amelia? To lie to your family, to risk yourself so?’
‘Mrs Marsden said – I am sorry, sir, I am truly sorry – that I could make a living upon the stage.’
‘What!’ Lord Shad turns to me now and I doubt whether I have ever seen anyone so angry.
‘Why, Sophie!’
I turn at the familiar voice. Oh, no.
‘Oh. Charlie. Oh, fancy seeing you here.’ This must be a bad dream. Charlie Fordham, my former protector, whom I last saw the day I met Harry Bishop; the day our establishment was dismantled and Charlie was banished to the country.
Charlie, as handsome as ever, hair and skin burnished by the sun, takes my hand and kisses it. ‘I came into my majority last week, Sophie, and I was wondering if—’
‘Charlie, we are having a private discussion,’ Lord Shad says. ‘If you please—’
‘Lovely Sophie Wallace,’ Charlie says, kissing my other hand and gazing at me. ‘How I’ve missed you.’
‘Who?’ Lord Shad looks at him and then at me. ‘You are the notorious Mrs Sophie Wallace?’
‘I can explain,’ I say. ‘Charlie, please go away. You are making things worse.’
‘You’re ruined,’ Lord Shad says to Amelia. ‘You, Mrs Wallace, pray leave this house, and you, Mr Bishop, did you contrive to ruin my family by introducing her into our midst?’
‘No, she’s not. She’s Sophie Marsden,’ Amelia says in confusion. ‘She has always been very respectable and very kind to me, and Mr Bishop also. They came to London to find me at great inconvenience to themselves. And I know I’m ruined, sir, because I met Mrs Henney as I left the village and I told her I was going to London to be an actress.’
‘Oh good God,’ Lord Shad says. ‘Could this be any worse? Do you seek to disgrace my—your family entirely? What the devil am I to do?’
‘You need have no concern about Miss Amelia’s reputation,’ Harry Bishop says. ‘She and I have an understanding and I wish to ask permission to marry her.’
17
Sophie
My legs feel as though they will not support me and I sit down on the nearest sofa, a bright green thing with a back carved in the shape of a dragon and exceedingly uncomfortable.
Lord Shad’s voice is a quiet, menacing whisper which I am sure the entire drawing room can hear. ‘You proposed marriage to my sister?’
‘But I did not agree to marry you, Harry!’ Amelia says.
‘What!’ Harry says.
‘I said you must talk to Lord Shad,’ Amelia says. ‘I didn’t say I would marry you. I didn’t say I wouldn’t either. I was upset.’
Harry blinks at her. ‘But—but of course I must talk to Lord Shad. It is only proper. You have not reached your majority—’
‘She is seventeen,’ Lord Shad says. ‘What were you thinking, Bishop? Are you so ambitious that you would marry into my family? You expected a dowry with her hand?’
‘My lord, your sister is ruined. You have said it yourself. I was afraid you would cast her off, and then what would become of her? Besides, I need someone to help me run the hotel, a woman who is not afraid of hard work.’ Harry, suddenly, looks murderously angry himself. ‘You impugn my honour, sir. I certainly did not expect anything from you or your family.’
‘Shad, you are not to call him out!’ Lady Shad plants herself firmly between the two men.
‘But I don’t want to marry him!’ Amelia cries. ‘I like you well enough, Harry, and I am most grateful that you and Mrs Marsden came to rescue me, even though I didn’t want to be rescued. And I don’t want to run a hotel. Sir,’ appealing to Lord Shad, ‘please do not make me marry him.’ She sniffs. ‘I did not think it polite to refuse him outright.’
Finally I find my voice. ‘But—but you proposed to me, Harry!’
‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. I did propose to you, shortly before we left Lord Shad’s house, and you turned me down.’
‘No, not then. In your office at the hotel.’
‘But—but that was when I told you I was engaged to Amelia.’
‘You did not! You talked of marriage and I—I agreed.’ But I remember how indirect he was, how he never actually asked me. I remember with a pang his lack of affection, his sorrow. And his behaviour, his increased familiarity with Amelia – everything falls into place and makes sense. Harry is to marry Amelia.
I have lost him.
‘I thought I told you to leave this house, ma’am,’ Lord Shad interjects.
‘It is not your house, sir, and I have not yet spoken—’
‘Sophie, dear, do not argue with Shad. It does no good when he is angry.’ Lady Shad takes my arm and glares at Harry. ‘What the devil are you about, Harry? Playing fast and loose with Sophie and Amelia? I had not expected it of you, and particularly when it was so obvious that you are head over heels in love with Sophie!’
‘Head over heels?’ Harry says.
‘So obvious?’ I say at the same time.
‘Yes, indeed.’ Lady Shad turns to her husband. ‘My dear, did you not realize who Sophie was?’
‘I did not, ma’am, and if I had I should never have entrusted any member of my family to her influence, you included, Charlotte.’ He looks as though he would like to murder someone, and I am not sure which of us he will choose.
Our conversation, conducted at the far end of the salon, and in whispers to avoid the intervention of other guests in the house, nevertheless attracts some attention. Charlie lurks around nearby, gazing at me with the sort of expression I am all too familiar with, doubtless wondering where the nearest bedchamber is and how soon he can get me into it.
‘Charlie, dear,’ Lady Shad says, ‘pray go and join the others. Now, as for my guessing your identity, dear Sophie, I did so some time ago, for I am very fond of the gossip papers. I can only take it as a great compliment that you, Shad, never looked at another woman in London and so did not know who she was. Harry, it seems you acted with the utmost gallantry in offering to restore Amelia’s reputation through marriage.’
‘Gallantry!’ Lord Shad echoes. ‘Some would call it that, and others, idiocy, to become engaged to two women at once.’
‘He’s certainly not engaged to me.’ Amelia blows her nose. ‘I think I have caught the cold. I’m so sorry, Sophie, about Harry’s proposal of marriage. I should have refused him outright. But then I did ask you if you minded that I might marry him, and you said you did not.’
I think back to that short, drunken exchange when she asked me if I thought Lord Shad would give his consent to—to something, and I had not even thought of matrimony. ‘I thought you meant you wanted to ask Lord Shad’s permission to remain in London and go on the stage.’
‘Which you most certainly do not have!’ Lord Shad said. ‘It’s you and the poultry, miss, for the next ten years, and the only place you’ll go to outside the house is church.’ He looks upon her with a little more kindness. ‘We’ll weather out the scandal, my dear. Tongues will wag for a time and then it will be forgotten.’ He turns to me. ‘You, however, Mrs Wallace, I cannot forgive. You led this chil
d astray, you came to my house under false pretences, and with the collusion of my house steward—’
‘I blackmailed him.’
‘Oh, nonsense,’ Lady Shad says. ‘Harry would not let himself be blackmailed. And Shad, one thing your family has in common is that you are all like horses with blinkers. Amelia is no better or worse; she is dead set upon going on the stage and will make our lives a misery if you deny her.’
Mr Bishop and the Actress Page 17
