The Golden Songbird

by Sheila Walsh

  Lucia found she was enjoying the evening very much, and the entertainment was in full swing when, without warning, Mrs Bellingham gushed, ‘And now, Miss Mannering, will you not give us a song? Lady Springhope has been telling me how charmingly you sing.’

  Lucia was thrown into confusion. She had never sung in public, though she had learned a great number of songs from Mama and often played and sang for her own pleasure. Not wishing to appear churlish, she rose and walked to the pianoforte.

  ‘We have a quantity of music, I believe,’ said Mrs Bellingham kindly. ‘Do you wish Miss Simms to play for you?’

  ‘Thank you, ma-am,’ said Lucia shyly. ‘I think I can play from memory.’

  She was aware that Lord Mandersely had come back and was standing quite near her, leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, his profile enigmatic. She began to sing in a hauntingly beautiful voice ‒ and at once became totally absorbed in the music. Accustomed all her life to her mother’s greatness, she was genuinely unaware of her own talent. She sang because she loved to sing, and had been brought up in an atmosphere where it was second nature to do so.

  The rapturous applause that greeted the end of her performance came as a complete surprise. There were enthusiastic cries for more, and Lucia felt a glow of pride and pleasure. She was searching her mind for a suitable encore when a hard, carrying voice penetrated the gentle hum of conversation. It came from a thin faced woman she knew to be Lady Isabel Carew. Lady Springhope’s arch enemy.

  ‘… Of course it is no more than one would expect … her mother was in the Opera you know. There was a most dreadful scandal …’

  In the shocked silence Lucia sat as though turned to stone. Scarcely conscious of her actions, she scattered a pile of sheet music on the floor and knelt to retrieve it amid a buzz of speculative comment.

  Someone was kneeling beside her; a familiar lazy voice murmured in her ear. ‘Do not let that woman trouble you, Miss Mannering. It is no more than petty jealousy. Her daughter has a voice like a corn-crake.’

  Through her tears Lucia implored him. ‘Please, my lord! Help me! Everybody heard. I cannot possibly sing again!’

  ‘Nonsense!’ His fingers closed round her wrist. ‘Where is that fighting spirit? Or are you ashamed of your mama now that you are gone up in the world?’

  Lucia snatched her hand away and quickly gathered up the rest of the music. Lord Mandersely calmly took it from her and returned it to its pile, before resuming his place. She straightened up, her eyes unnaturally bright. In a clear voice she apologized to the waiting company, who greeted her words with a sprinkling of sympathetic applause.

  Without stopping to think, she launched into a spirited rendering of a short and extremely idiomatic French song which caused great shouts of laughter amongst those with sufficient command of the language to appreciate it.

  On the final chord, she glared defiantly at the Marquis and rose, to deafening cheers, resolutely refusing demands for more.

  She walked to the window to cool her cheeks and knew that he had followed her.

  ‘Bravo, Miss Mannering!’ he drawled. ‘I could not have wished for better!’

  Her eyes widened in accusation. ‘Why ‒ I believe you provoked me quite deliberately!’

  ‘But of course! Only consider … if I had been sympathetic, you would without a doubt have burst into a flood of tears and made a great cake of yourself.’

  Lucia was forced to admit the truth of what he said and capitulated with a smile.

  ‘A word of advice, Miss Mannering. Always face up to your adversaries ‒ they cannot then stab you in the back.’

  ‘Oh, when it comes to stabbing people in the back, my lord, you must speak as an expert,’ she said with spirit. ‘Poor Toby is still recovering from the fright you gave him. That was very shabbily done!’

  Hugo put back his head and laughed aloud. ‘Perhaps ‒ but quite irresistible at the time, I assure you.’

  A low, husky voice with just a trace of accent broke into their conversation. ‘Hugo, my dear, do introduce me to our new little songbird!’

  Sophia, Countess de Treves, was even more ravishing at close quarters. Her smooth dark hair accentuated a flawless skin; every feature was perfection.

  Her violet eyes met Lucia’s with cool indulgence. ‘My dear Miss Mannering ‒ you will outshine us all. Such a lovely voice!’

  ‘Thank you, Countess. But I am sure no-one could ever outshine you. Will you excuse me? Lady Springhope is wanting me.’ Her eyes met Hugo’s just briefly. ‘I thank you, my lord.’

  The Marquis watched her go, a small smile touching his mouth.

  ‘She’s a very pretty child,’ Sophia observed coolly. ‘A trifle pert perhaps, but then she is very young. And that song, my dear! So vulgar!’

  ‘Gammon!’ said Hugo abruptly. ‘It was extremely witty!’

  The Countess was disconcerted, but only for a moment. ‘Oh well, you men certainly enjoyed it,’ she said sweetly. ‘But I do think someone should have a quiet word with her ‒ your aunt, perhaps? Risqué songs may perchance be condoned on the grounds of innocent high spirits, but dallying with a man of Sir Gideon Benedict’s reputation I feel can do her nothing but harm.’

  ‘Benedict?’ Hugo frowned. ‘No ‒ you must be mistaken!’

  Sophia’s light laugh tinkled out. ‘I assure you, my dear Hugo ‒ I saw her with my own eyes, not two weeks since in Piccadilly. I did not then know who she was, of course, but one cannot mistake that colouring. They seemed rather well acquainted.’

  Sophia said nothing further, well satisfied that her barbs had gone home. Having been thankfully delivered from the boring old Austrian count whom she had married in his dotage, in the mistaken belief that his purse was longer than it had since proved, she had not the slightest intention of losing a prize such as Mandersely to any dewy-eyed little upstart.

  After a few moments, she suggested casually that they might leave and Hugo agreed.

  Lucia saw them take their leave of Mrs Bellingham and stop to speak with Lady Springhope, who was still seething over Bella Carew’s deliberate slighting of her protégée.

  As they turned to go, Lucia lifted her head to smile across at the Marquis. The coldness of his nod left her completely bewildered and for some reason absurdly disappointed.

  Chapter Five

  The long awaited letter from her grandfather had come. Her hand trembled as she re-read the few curt words:

  ‘Granddaughter,

  I shall expect you at Willow Park on the first day of July.’

  It was signed simply ‘Rupert Mannering’.

  Lucia sank despondently into a chair. She found herself swallowing a horrid lump in her throat. Even an effusive note from her Aunt Addie failed to raise her spirits.

  Lady Springhope was reading her own missive with the aid of an ornate eye-glass and to the accompaniment of many grunts. ‘Well, child,’ she said at last. ‘At all events, he hasn’t turned you down flat.’

  ‘No ma-am.’

  Lady Springhope noted the abject misery in the young face. ‘It will be all right, m’dear, you’ll see.’

  Lucia burst out passionately: ‘I don’t think I can go through with it.’ She thrust the note into Lady Springhope’s hands. ‘See! Not one word of encouragement!’

  ‘Oh stuff!’ scoffed her ladyship. ‘That’s just Rupert doing a bit of sabre rattling! You’ll win him over in no time. But we shall have to stir ourselves. So many things to be done and only a week to do them.’

  She scanned her letter again. ‘Rupert says you are to travel post and charge it up to him. A poor thing it would be, I’m sure, to be hiring coaches when I have a perfectly good one doing nothing! No, my dear, Newbury shall drive you down to Culliford Cross. He will enjoy the outing, I daresay, for I fear he has found life very dull of late. Oh, and I must send word to Hugo. He will have to escort you.’

  ‘Is that necessary?’ asked Lucia quickly.

  ‘Yes it is, child. I know ev
eryone assures me the roads are perfectly safe these days, but not a month since, Sir John Carruthers was set upon by footpads on the Heath. It was a nasty business, and would have been worse if Lizzie Carruthers had not had a fit of the screaming hysterics and frightened them off!’

  Lucia managed a faint smile. ‘I cannot guarantee to have hysterics, ma-am, but I’m sure we don’t need to trouble Lord Mandersely.’

  ‘Well, we can’t rely on Toby’s being here, for the army is demanding much more of his time these days, and even with a groom up on the box with Newbury, I should not be easy. No ‒ it must be Hugo.’

  Lucia was out shopping when Lord Mandersely answered his aunt’s summons. Lady Springhope said he was quite agreeable to the arrangement, a statement which Lucia seriously doubted. She told him as much when he arrived on the morning of her departure, a morning of driving rain.

  There was much coming and going with trunks and band-boxes as he strode into the hall, his riding coat flapping wetly around his legs.

  ‘An inclement day for the journey, Miss Mannering; I wish I could have arranged better for you.’

  She gave him a wan smile. ‘And I wish, sir, that you had not been put to the trouble of accompanying me. I cannot think it necessary ‒ especially on such a day.’

  ‘It is no trouble.’ A brooding frown clouded Hugo’s face. She presented a charming study in a close-fitting silk pelisse of a green that exactly matched her eyes. A delightfully becoming bonnet of the same shade framed her face.

  ‘Miss Mannering,’ he said abruptly. ‘A word with you, if you please, before we leave. It will only take a moment. I had hoped to see you last week when I called.’

  Lucia considered him, half-teasing. ‘Well, sir, what have I done this time?’

  ‘In private, if you please.’ He held open the library door.

  She hesitated, her lower lip caught provocatively between small white teeth, wondering what might happen if she refused ‒ and met the answer in his eyes.

  She tossed her head and swept past him into the room. The door closed quietly behind her.

  The Marquis did not speak immediately, but crossed to the window and stood tapping his riding crop upon the window ledge.

  ‘Obviously I am in your black books again,’ Lucia declared. ‘Though I am at a loss to know the cause.’

  ‘It has come to my attention that you are acquainted ‒ well acquainted ‒ with Sir Gideon Benedict. I confess I find this hard to believe.’

  She sighed. ‘Who told you, my lord? Toby?’

  ‘Toby? No, certainly not! I had it from another source. So! It is true?’

  ‘If it is,’ she retorted unwisely, ‘I do not see that it is any concern of yours.’

  Hugo strode forward and grasped her arm. ‘You are mistaken, madam! Anything you do is my concern, if I choose to make it so. When I assumed responsibility for you, much against my better judgement, it was at your insistence ‒ or had you forgotten?’

  Lucia tried to wrest her arm away, but was held fast. ‘Oh! How like you to drag that up!’ she cried. ‘Do you know, my lord Marquis, you are a most intolerant man! At the first hint of opposition, you fly into a rage! It would not occur to you that I might find Sir Gideon a loathsome reminder of the past. Oh no! You at once leap to the worst possible conclusion!’

  He loosed her arm abruptly. ‘Intolerant! Is that really how I appear to you?’

  She shrugged. ‘I daresay you are not to be blamed, my lord. You are probably not even aware of it, for you will have always been used to having your orders obeyed without question.’

  The Marquis was not used to being patronized, least of all by a slip of a girl with eyes like deep green pools and a disconcertingly direct manner. After the initial shock, he found the experience diverting. ‘I cannot imagine you ever obeying anyone without question.’

  She gave the idea her full consideration. ‘I might. It would depend upon the circumstances.’

  Hugo held up a hand. ‘Very well ‒ in future I will try to be more conciliatory, but on one point I am adamant. You will have no further dealings with Benedict.’ He met her limpid gaze. ‘Oh, come, Miss Mannering … you don’t even like the man! You have just admitted as much. And I am not only thinking of your good; Hetty will be here in a few weeks’ time, and God knows, she’s capable of embroiling herself in enough mischief without letting Benedict into her orbit!’ He paused. ‘So ‒ do I have your word on it?’

  Lucia inclined her head. ‘Certainly, my lord,’ she said demurely. ‘You will find I am always open to reasoned argument.’

  He threw back his head and laughed. ‘I think it is as well that you are going away for a while, Miss Mannering.’

  As the Marquis held open the door for her, he put a staying hand on her shoulder. ‘You are not really troubled about meeting your grandfather?’

  She nodded.

  ‘There is nothing to fear.’ Hugo’s voice was surprisingly gentle. ‘He cannot fail to be enchanted.’

  Lucia looked up, her heart beating fast as their eyes met.

  He seemed suddenly to recollect himself. His manner became brusque. ‘I think we should leave, if you are ready.’

  ‘Yes of course ‒ if I may just run up and bid goodbye to Lady Springhope. I shall not keep you above a moment.’

  Chloe was enjoying herself hugely. She hugged around her the new blue cloak, a present from her ladyship. Never in her wildest imaginings had she thought to ride in such a grand vehicle. When she was brought up from the country by her uncle to be put into service, she had ridden on the Stage. But she had been squashed between a fat, evil-smelling woman, whose several chins wobbled with every movement of the lumbering coach, and a man whose bony elbows prodded her until she was black and blue.

  It didn’t begin to compare with the elegance of her ladyship’s travelling chaise, with its crimson padded cushions. Chloe thought it had been a very good day’s work for them both when Miss Lucia had run away from Bruton Street. Not that she was looking any too chirpy at the moment … p’rhaps it was the weather making her miserable.

  But Lucia was hardly aware of the weather. She stared blindly out of the window as they rolled through Knightsbridge and Hammersmith. The rain, which had almost stopped, began to spot heavily again as the sky darkened. Thunder rumbled in the distance and Chloe stirred uneasily.

  ‘Ooh, Miss! There’s going to be a storm! Suppose the horses bolt?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Lucia snapped. ‘Newbury would not permit them to bolt. Neither would Lord Mandersely.’

  A blinding flash of lightning slashed the sky followed at once by a terrifying crash of thunder. Chloe screamed. Even Lucia felt a twinge of unease as the dose was repeated. Then the rain came, lashing the roof of the coach, drowning out all sound. She could feel the horses straining jerkily at the bit.

  Hugo’s figure loomed at the window, rain streaming from the rim of his beaver hat. His black stallion was reined in tight, its eyes rolling wildly.

  ‘All right?’ he shouted.

  She nodded.

  ‘We’re nearing Hounslow. There’s a small inn up ahead … we’ll take shelter until the storm abates.’

  He vanished from view as thunder again shattered the air. The frightened horses hurtled forward until at last they swerved off the road and came to a plunging halt. Lucia peered through rain-drenched windows at a scene of utter pandemonium; gigs, curricles, phaetons, any number of vehicles packed the cobbled yard, and ostlers scurried back and forth, bent double by the rain.

  The door of the coach was wrenched open and Lord Mandersely held out his arms. ‘Come ‒ quickly!’ He swung her across the muddy ground, depositing her on the doorstep of the inn.

  ‘It is not where I would have chosen to stop; there is a main about to start in the barn at the rear.’ She looked blank. ‘Cockfighting. The place is crammed to the ceiling, but the landlord is putting a small parlour on the first floor at our disposal and will bring us some hot coffee.’ He turned. ‘Where’s that gi
rl of yours?’

  Chloe was still huddled in her corner, sobbing hysterically, convinced that the end of the world had come. When shouting produced no results, Lord Mandersely heaved himself into the coach and slapped her sharply across the face.

  ‘Stop at once! Look to your mistress!’ She gaped at him wild-eyed and scrambled down the steps and across the muddy yard.

  Lucia put a soothing arm about her and led her towards the stair.

  In the swell of voices about them, one stood out and she spun round, her heart missing a beat.

  Sir Gideon was lounging in the archway leading to the public bar. He strolled over, and his arm across the bannister rail barred their path. Her grip on Chloe tightened.

  ‘Lucia! We have a happy knack, do we not, of meeting unexpectedly?’ His eyes flicked over her. ‘And yet, ’twas a bird of a very different plumage that brought me! Where is the faithful Toby? You are surely not alone?’ His expression altered abruptly; Lord Mandersely was in the doorway, shaking the rain from his hat. ‘Ah! I see the watchdog has given up his place to the master!’

  The sight of Hugo broke the spell for Lucia. She said coldly, ‘Lord Mandersely is escorting me to my grandfather’s.’

  Hugo came swiftly across, his brow thunderous, Sir Gideon stood back and with a mocking bow, indicated the stairs. Lucia urged Chloe forward, and heard Hugo’s clipped tones: ‘Have a care, Benedict ‒ you live dangerously!’

  Sir Gideon laughed and Lucia heard no more for they were being ushered into a bright parlour where a few flames struggled for life in the big stone fireplace.

  Hugo followed them in almost at once, a serving wench close on his heels with a steaming coffee pot. The coffee was drunk for the most part in silence, which neither seemed inclined to break. Though no reference was made to Benedict’s presence, it lay heavily between them.

  Hugo crossed to the window. ‘The storm appears to have passed, Miss Mannering,’ he said curtly. ‘I think we may safely proceed.’