‘It’s your own fault, father,’ Rob argued. ‘If you would only give me a decent allowance I would be able to settle my debts out of it and not trouble you.’
‘If you did not have the debts in the first place—’ Robert began, but Rob interrupted languidly.
‘Gad, father, a man has to gamble, it’s only what’s done. The other men would think one a poor sort of fellow if one didn’t. It’s only because I didn’t have enough to settle a month ago that I had to go on wagering more and more to try to win enough to pay it off, and that way lies ruin, because you know one has to try all sorts of lame bets to get the odds one needs. Usually I am the very soul of discretion, I swear it. Besides,’ he narrowed his eyes, ‘what Frederick has done is far worse. At least I haven’t brought shame on you. A gambling debt is such as any gentleman might own to, but to trifle with female servants—!’
Frederick and Rob hated each other cordially, and never lost a chance to blacken each other with their father. Frederick, while bridling at his brother’s perfidy, nevertheless shewed a more accurate knowledge of his father’s character when he replied.
‘I hardly call it anything to get myself expelled at the end of my last term. I should have left anyway – and at least I didn’t cost you money, Papa.’
Aunt Augusta and the girls came from Scarborough, where she had been recommended by a new sort of doctor to try sea-bathing for her gout, and she was full of the excitement of having done something so new, so daring, so absolutely fashionable. She talked endlessly of the beau monde at Scarborough, and what she overheard about her own fashionable appearance from a very gentlemanly-looking man, who someone told her afterwards was almost certainly a second cousin of the Duke of Marlborough. Jemima was much more interested when she began describing the process of bathing itself, but when she described for the fourth time the wonderful sensation of immersing one’s whole body in sea-water, Lady Mary, noticing Jemima’s rapt gaze, felt obliged to rebuke her sister-in-law sharply for talking scandalously in the drawing room.
Uncle Edmund had only to come from Leicester, where he was stationed. He was much less unhappy with the army since he had been commended for his part in the defence of Fort Ruthven during the ’45. He had been extremely reluctant to go, and once there had sulked and complained bitterly, until the Jacobite attack had taken him so much by surprise that he had fought like a tiger before he had even had a chance to feel afraid. Thereafter he talked so much about his part in beating off the rebels that a fellow officer had since claimed that it was largely in order to get away from Captain Morland that they finally surrendered.
Now, when he could break into his wife’s Scarborough chatter, he retold the tale of Ruthven to his admiring family. He had told it many times before, but each time he told it, he added more detail, and it was becoming quite a polished recital. His son William, who was completing his first year as a gentleman-cadet at the Woolwich Academy, listened with open scepticism to his father’s tales of military glory but, commendably, kept his mouth shut.
Uncle Thomas and Uncle Charles were not at home – Uncle Thomas was with the Channel Fleet, on blockade duty, and Uncle Charles was somewhere in South America. But the rest of them more than made up for it, and the drawing room came to seem unbearably crowded; even in the long saloon, it was all too easy to overhear Uncle Robert and Uncle Edmund arguing. They argued all the time, for whatever one said, the other was sure to disagree, and they would soon become heated and blackguard each other most unpleasantly. One evening Lady Mary decided she had had enough and called Jemima to her from across the room where she had been taking refuge in a book.
‘Put your book away and play to us,’ she commanded. ‘What is it you are so deeply interested in, anyway? Give it to me.’
Jemima handed it over reluctantly, and Lady Mary read out the tide in tones of withering scorn.
‘The History of Imbanking and Draining, by Sir William Dugdale. Suitable reading indeed for a young lady in a drawing room!’ Jemima shrank under her cold and contemptuous eye, and stumbled a justification.
‘It was just that I – well, you see, madam – the land down near the beck is sour, and Allen used to say—’
Lady Mary silenced her with an upraised hand; her attention was with Jemmy now. ‘You see what you are doing, sir? I wonder you do not bid her come to the drawing room in breeches and boots. What will you do next? Teach her to swear? Cut off her hair?’
Jemmy’s eyes gleamed at this passing reference to Marie-Louise, whom the servants believed to have run off to Scotland dressed as a man, but he only said peaceably, ‘It is right that she should take an interest in her own land, madam.’
‘And when she finds that she cannot get a husband, sir, what good will her “interest” do her then? For what gentleman would marry a hoyden? Go to the instrument and play, Jemima, if you still remember how. That is a proper pursuit for a young lady. And do not bring this into the drawing room again.’ She dropped the book over the arm of her chair and it hit the floor with a soft, reproachful thud.
Jemima walked across to the instrument, her cheeks burning, aware of her father’s eyes upon her. The exchange had been carried out quietly, so that only those involved and the priest, who always sat next to Lady Mary, had heard – unless Uncle George heard it in his sleep – but she felt horribly conspicuous all the same. She saw her mother and Father Andrews put their heads together, and guessed what they were talking about. Father Andrews had never really liked the idea of teaching her, and had always claimed that she was too stupid to learn, that she had a woman’s brain which was not shaped to understand certain things. He was probably telling her mother so again now, and her mother would be hearing just what she liked. Jemima clenched her fists, longing for the day when she would be free of them, her own mistress, and able to do what she wanted: then she would shew them all!
As she approached the instrument, her cousins, who were watching her rather like three hungry cats watching a very small mouse, jumped up and made a great parade of pulling out her chair, handing her into it, opening up the instrument for her, finding her music, and then begging her to favour them with this or that song. Jemima suffered it all, remembering with a pang how quietly and kindly Allen used to do the same thing, with no parade, only a real feeling for her convenience. She began to play, choosing out of perversity a song Allen had always liked, ignoring her cousins’ requests, but they hung around her anyway, leaning on the instrument and staring languidly at her face, murmuring their praise of her playing and her singing, and, she knew, not listening at all. She knew what a really attentive audience was, and how it looked. William, she thought, was thinking of his own beauty and cleverness and how he outshone the other two. Frederick was probably thinking that the two elder cousins were so dull she would certainly prefer a gay dog like him. Rob was looking more grimly determined than sentimental, and Jemima guessed he only joined in because he would not be pushed aside for Frederick, whom he hated, or William, of whom he was jealous.
And at the other end of the room Uncle Robert and Uncle Edmund saw what was happening, and paused to watch their offspring with approval, before returning to their quarrel with renewed vigour.
Jemmy’s leg became inflamed during Easter, probably as a result of more exertion than usual, for he hunted three times, and he was forced to retire to bed where he lay white and sweating with pain. The doctor came and examined it, and said that there were splinters of bone loose somewhere under the tissue, and that the wound ought to be reopened and probed. Jemmy did not trust the doctor, and said he would not have it done, braving accusations of cowardice which he knew his brothers would level at him. He remained in bed for two weeks, and inflammation went down, and he was able to walk again, although not without pain, and not for very long at a stretch.
Uncle Robert had been thinking carefully during the respite, aided by his observations of the three boys and their attentions to Jemima, and the realization that William, who rather favoured his mother in havi
ng fair hair and regular features, was far more handsome than his own sons. On the day before Jemima’s fifteenth birthday, he cornered Jemmy and, in spite of Edmund’s and Mary’s furious looks, asked for a private word with him in the steward’s room, to which Jemmy could only assent.
There, after considerable circumlocution, he revealed the essence of his change of stance.
‘I feel I have been unjust in the past, in my condemnation of your actions over the property. I have come to the conclusion that you were quite right in respecting our father’s wishes, however unreasonable they were. Indeed, you could not have done any less, and I was unjust to accuse you of a lack of brotherly affection.’
‘Thank you, brother,’ Jemmy said ironically. Robert lifted his hand.
‘No, no, you must not thank me. I should have come to the conclusion before. I should have known that you did what you did out of proper filial duty, and not because you did not value your family and your family’s love for you. Indeed, I know that, given the proper circumstances, you would do everything in your power to see your brothers were comfortable.’
Jemmy said nothing, and taking silence for assent, Robert went on. His hands were behind his back under his coat, and he rocked a little on his feet as his love of oratory took over.
‘Well, and good, but having taken possession of the property, you have done what our father wished. Now the property is yours, you can, and in fairness to yourself, you must do what you want with it. It is yours, and yours alone, and no one else’s wishes have any bearing on your action.’ Robert paused for the prescribed dramatic second before his thundering conclusion. ‘You have chosen to give everything to your daughter, Jemima.’
‘I have indeed. You are quite right,’ Jemmy said, feigning admiration. Robert frowned slightly.
‘Ah! But have you considered, brother, that when Jemima marries, unless she marries a Morland, she will be a Morland no longer, and the property will pass, on her death, out of the family entirely. And that, I am sure, cannot be your wish, or your understanding of our father’s wish!’
‘It follows therefore— Jemmy prompted, eager to have this over.
‘That she must marry a Morland, yes. I was sure you would see the reason of it. And there, you see, lies the remedy your own sense of justice seeks. If she marries one of her cousins, that cousin could then see to it that the others are provided for in a suitable way. In reason, in fairness, in justice, she should of course marry her eldest cousin, but that, of course, I should have to leave up to you.’
‘That is very good of you, brother,’ Jemmy said, not even bothering to hide his irony, but Robert only bowed.
‘I am glad we have had this little talk, brother,’ he said, smiling a satisfied smile. Even if Edmund came to him now, the ground would be spoiled for him. ‘I am sure we understand each other better as a result.’
That evening, partly to get away from the atmosphere in the drawing room where Edmund’s suspicions had been raised by Robert’s smugness, provoking him to argue ever more fiercely with him, Jemmy took Jemima down to the strong room to shew her the Morland family jewels and plate, which would one day be hers. Jemima was fascinated by the jewels, for she had hardly seen any of them before.
‘But why does not mama ever wear this? It is beautiful – or this?’
‘I don’t think your mother cares for Morland things, chick,’ Jemmy said gently. ‘Look, here are the Queen’s Emeralds – they once belonged to Queen Katherine Parr. I remember my mother wearing these – she was fond of emeralds, having green eyes. These are the Percy jewels, too heavy and old-fashioned to wear nowadays. We ought to have them reset – look at the rubies in this cross! They are magnificent.’
‘These are pretty,’ Jemima said, picking up a pair of diamond clips in the shape of sprays of blossom.
‘My mother’s again – my father had them made for her. And this pearl necklace is very fine – Mary wore that when we were first married. It’s over a hundred years old. Of course, the most precious jewel of all is missing – the Morland Black Pearls. All the Morland ladies used to wear them.’
‘Yes, I have seen them in the portraits,’ Jemima said. ‘What happened to them?’
‘No one knows. When King James II fled the country, Morland Place was besieged by King William’s men, and it was eventually taken and sacked. The pearls disappeared then. Probably one of the attackers stole them, though there is a story that they were put away somewhere for safe keeping, and that they he there still. But no one knows where. I wish you might have worn them, chick – they would have suited you.’ Jemmy turned to look at her with suddenly noticing eyes. ‘You are growing quite pretty, you know. Allen always said you would be a beauty one day, and I think perhaps he might have had more sense than the rest of us. Yes, my dear, quite pretty! If you would only put on a little more flesh, you would be very nearly a beauty.’
Jemima blushed with pleasure, and a natural train of thoughts brought her to the subject that had been uppermost in her mind ever since the family arrived for Easter.
‘Papa – I know I should not presume, but – what did my uncle want to talk to you about today? Was it me?’
Jemmy looked at her affectionately. ‘You guessed that, did you, chick? You are a noticing little thing. Yes, it was about you, in a way.’ And while he packed away the jewels, he told her what Robert had said. ‘And he is right, of course, about the Morland name, and the justice of sharing the property that way.’
They began to walk up the cellar steps, and he put his arm round her shoulder, partly for support, but largely out of affection. ‘I notice that they pay you a great deal of attention, your cousins. That must be agreeable to a young lady of your age.’
‘Papa, I do not want to marry one of my cousins,’ Jemima said urgently, fearing that she might never have such a private opportunity to talk to him again. ‘I cannot like them, Papa, well enough to marry them.’
He looked at her kindly. ‘You are very young, child, to feel strongly about it. You cannot yet understand what love is, and what sort of feelings a young woman should have towards her husband.’
‘But Papa—’ They had emerged into the hall, and at any moment someone might come along. She turned to face him urgently. ‘Please, Papa, don’t make me marry one of them.’
He put his hands on her shoulders soothingly.
‘I would not make you marry, Jemima, but I am persuaded that you will feel differently as you get older. You will see the sense and justice of it when you get used to the idea. But rest assured, while I live you shall never be forced to marry anyone you don’t like.’
He had said the words, while I live, as a mere commonplace emphasis, but in the light from the hall sconces she saw with a sudden chill of fear how old he had grown recently. His face was lined and drawn from the pain of his wound and from the sorrow he had suffered when Marie-Louise died, something which everyone, including herself, had underestimated. He was forty-six, and a hale man of forty-six might expect ten or fifteen more years of life; he came, indeed, of a long-lived stock, when you thought of the Countess and Uncle Maurice. But he could no longer be called a hale man, and his recent illness had evidently made Uncle Robert nervous, at least. While he lived, she was safe indeed – but if he should die before she was of age, her life would be her mother’s to command, and her mother hated her, and everything she wanted to do.
‘I love you, Papa,’ she said desperately. ‘You are my only friend.’
Jemmy smiled quizzically. ‘Why, my sweetheart, I love you too, of course. Don’t be afraid, all will be well. Did I not promise, you should not marry anyone you didn’t like? For the time being, I only ask that you be pleasant to your cousins – let them talk with you and pay you attention – indeed, that should be no hardship! Young ladies like the attentions of many men before they marry, and that is only what is right. Now, go on back to the drawing room. I shall come later, I have some business to attend to.’
When she passed alone into the stairca
se hall, she saw Uncle George going up the stairs to bed. He always retired early, for he got up at the crack of dawn every day to go out riding or hunting; Lady Mary said contemptuously that he kept the hours of a farm labourer. When he reached the turn of the stair he saw her, and paused as she dropped him a curtsey. Having got so far up the stairs, having taken his bulk so high, he was unwilling to have done it for nothing, and Jemima was extremely surprised, therefore, when he reversed himself and came back down to the hall, evidently for the purpose of speaking to her. She waited for him, and looked politely up into his vast, red moon of a face, which seemed to be working with some unaccustomed emotion.
At last he said, ‘It’s your birthday tomorrow, Jem, a’n’t it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you’ll be fifteen?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He thought for a bit. ‘Getting old enough to be wed,’ he said, almost as if to himself. Jemima felt a desire to giggle. Surely Uncle George could not be hatching secret plans about her? He thrust a large hand into his pocket and fumbled about for a moment, and then brought out a golden guinea, which he pressed into her hand.
‘Buy yourself some ribbons, or whatever it is young ladies like,’ he said. Jemima was touched, for Uncle George, though he lived comfortably at Morland Place, had very little money, and the guinea was probably all his pockets held.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, and on an impulse reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He bent his face towards her to receive her kiss, and she found he smelled rather nice, of leather and tobacco and, unexpectedly, of lavender-water.
As her lips touched his cheek, he said. ‘Tha’rt a good girl, Jem, a good girl. Your mother doesn’t like me. When your father’s gone, she’ll likely try to throw me out. But you wouldn’t let her, would you?’
Dynasty 8: The Maiden: The Maiden (The Morland Dynasty) Page 33
