The Golden Songbird

by Sheila Walsh

  No sooner had she reached this agonizing decision however than Hugo took himself off to see what progress was being made in the search for Daniel’s parents. Then Christmas was upon them and Lucia was able to escape for a while to the safe haven of Willow Park.

  Her grandfather eyed her critically and observed that London did not appear to have done her much good after all.

  Aunt Addie was shocked by her niece’s appearance and at once set about the task of bringing some roses back to her darling’s cheeks. It was so good to be home that Lucia bore all the fussing with surprising meekness.

  Throughout January there were persistent rumours that all was not well in Spain. The army was said to be in retreat. Everyone waited anxiously for news. At the end of the month Toby came home ‒ an unfamiliar Toby, hollow-eyed and gaunt and disinclined to talk.

  At his wit’s end, Hugo sent for Lucia. ‘I can’t get anything out of him! See what you can do … he’ll never sleep in that state!’

  Lucia sat beside Toby, talking to him quietly, gently probing until, stumbling over the words at first, a terrible catalogue emerged; of a retreat of almost three hundred miles carried out under appalling conditions; of their attempts to embark a whole army under the pressure of heavy fighting at Corunna; and of the death of his beloved commander, Sir John Moore, in the hour of achieving the objective he had set himself.

  When Toby fell silent at last, the lines of strain had eased from round his mouth, and a grateful Hugo was able to bear him off to bed, where he slept the clock round and awoke much more himself. It soon became obvious however that he would not be easy until he returned to his regiment.

  Lucia was sorry to see him go, but in one sense his departure was a relief, for he was beginning to show an uncomfortable degree of interest in her affairs.

  Lady Springhope announced her intention of holding a ball, and soon had everyone caught up in the preparations. Lucia and Hetty sent out fully three hundred invitations, and for his part, Hugo had engaged to bring along the Prince of Wales.

  To Lucia it seemed there was never a right moment for unburdening herself to Hugo; the longer she delayed, the worse it became, and to add to her misery, Sophia had returned.

  She avoided Sir Gideon whenever possible and resolved that, no matter what, she would tell Hugo the moment the ball was over. She grew pale with the strain of keeping up appearances, and received some very odd looks from Lady Aurelia, who hoped she was not sickening for the influenza.

  The house became a hive of feverish activity. The large ballroom was scrubbed and polished from floor to ceiling; the crystal chandeliers were lifted down to be washed and burnished to a dazzling brilliance under the eagle eye of Mrs Barchester, before being fitted with hundreds of candles.

  On the morning of the ball Portland Place witnessed an almost constant procession of tradesmen and the air rang with the sounds of hammering as the awning was erected over the front door and the carpet was laid out.

  Indoors, there were footmen everywhere, carrying bowls of flowers or staggering under the weight of huge potted palms. The two girls, having done all they could to help, escaped into the fresh air.

  There were few people about as they turned their horses down Rotten Row. They met Tom and Felicity Bellingham and the four rode along together, chattering about the coming evening.

  Lucia looked up with a sinking heart to see Sir Gideon cantering towards them, his great shoulder capes flapping in the wind.

  He swept his hat to the whole company and reined in beside Lucia, gradually forcing her to fall a little way behind the others. Mignonne shied away from his big, nervy horse and Lucia was obliged to spend some minutes bringing her under control.

  ‘Well now, fair Cyprian,’ said Sir Gideon softly. ‘It seems I am driven to seeking you out.’

  ‘I wish you will not call me by that awful name.’

  ‘No?’ He turned a calculating and appreciative glance upon her. ‘You are looking particularly desirable today, dear girl. I confess it makes me … impatient!’

  Lucia flushed.

  His voice grew hard. ‘I believe you are giving a ball this evening. I did not receive an invitation. Was it an oversight ‒ or are you attempting to backslide on our little agreement?’

  ‘It is neither, Sir Gideon,’ she said quietly. ‘This is Lady Springhope’s ball; she invites to it only whomsoever she chooses. I fear she could never be prevailed upon to invite you.’

  It was his turn to flush darkly. ‘You know, my dear, I grow increasingly weary of pandering to the whims of that tiresome old woman!’

  Lucia wished the others had not ridden on so far ahead. ‘Nevertheless, sir, you did agree to be discreet,’ she said lightly. ‘You will have to give in with a good grace.’

  ‘Perhaps. But you and I are going to have a little talk very soon, dear girl; I am no longer satisfied with things as they stand.’

  These were the words she had dreaded. He leaned across and covered her hands with one of his own in a gesture of possessiveness. Her heart thudded, but she scarcely heard his next words for a smart perch phaeton was being driven towards them at a spanking pace.

  Sophia de Treves bowed graciously as she passed ‒ and Lucia caught the gleam of malicious triumph in her smiling eyes. One thing was certain ‒ she would make the very most of what she had seen.

  The feeling of impending doom grew with every passing hour. When Hetty put her head round the door that evening, she found Lucia unusually quiet as Chloe drew her shining hair up into a Grecian knot and coaxed a few tendrils to curl across her brow.

  ‘Are you not ready, Lucy? Heavens! I’ve got such butterflies … and you look so calm! Do you not dread meeting the Prince?’

  Lucia smiled. ‘He will fall in love with you, my dear. I have never seen you looking lovelier!’

  ‘Oh, do you think so!’ Hetty twirled before the mirror, preening herself. She was in white silk, very soft and clinging, with just a simple string of pearls, a gift from Hugo, and more pearls threaded through her gleaming chestnut curls.

  Lucia clasped to her ears a pair of drop emeralds, to match the emerald pendant, and stood up, drawing from Hetty a gasp of sheer delight.

  Lucia gazed pensively at her reflection; eyes that were enormous glowing pools of light stared back, deeply shadowed. The emeralds emphasized the clear pallor of her skin and the dress of palest gold lutestring flowed with Grecian simplicity, its bodice criss-crossed and bound beneath the bosom with silver thread. She sighed ‒ and said she was ready.

  There was to be a small dinner party before the ball and they arrived downstairs to find Hugo already come. The Countess was with him, exquisite as ever and a model of sweetness. Lucia knew at once that she had done her worst, for throughout dinner Hugo treated her with cold civility and whenever possible ignored her completely.

  The sheer injustice of being condemned out of hand made Lucia furious. Throughout the long reception, as the guests toiled up the staircase, she preserved an air of defiant gaiety and at the end of it was rescued from the press of young men eager to partner the celebrated Miss Mannering by Lord Alvanley, who claimed the privilege of leading her out for the opening dance.

  When Hugo disappeared halfway through the evening and returned with the Prince of Wales, Aunt Aurelia declared her happiness complete.

  Both girls were presented and found His Royal Highness in jovial mood. He had ever an eye for a pretty face and though in his mid-forties and tending rather to corpulence he still had a fine presence, though Lucia thought his cerise coat over-adorned with decorations and in no way comparable with Hugo’s severely cut dark blue.

  He was hoping, he said, for the pleasure of hearing Miss Mannering sing ‒ a veritable nightingale he had been told.

  Lucia said shyly that she would consider it an honour and asked if there was anything special that he would like?

  He would leave the choice to her, he insisted cheerfully. Perhaps an aria from one of Mr Handel’s operas ‒ a ballad or two ‒ an
d wasn’t there talk of a certain French ditty … eh? An extremely idiomatic French ditty … eh? … What!

  Lucia blushed and pleaded that she could hardly perform such a one this evening.

  ‘Even if your Prince commands it?’ he chided.

  Very conscious of Hugo’s sardonic eye upon her, she was obliged to yield.

  Word went round that Miss Mannering was to sing and despite her laughing protests she was all but carried to the platform. She had never been in better voice; indeed several of the more elderly ladies were visibly moved. Finally, amid thunderous applause and with a demure glance in the Prince’s direction, Lucia announced that she was concluding with a very special royal command. As she played the opening chords, a great roar of pleasure went up.

  The Prince was still chuckling when she came down from the pianoforte. ‘Delightful, Miss Mannering! Wholly delightful!’ he mopped at his eyes with an enormous lace handkerchief. ‘You must come and entertain us at Carlton House.’ He chucked her playfully under the chin. ‘But where did a sweet little thing like you learn such a song, eh?’

  Lucia felt herself growing hot. She dropped a curtsy, murmured something incoherent and begged to be excused. In her haste she almost fell over George Brummell who smiled warmly down at her.

  ‘Well done Miss Mannering! What did I tell you? All doors my dear ‒ all doors! You cannot fail!’

  It was much later when Hugo came to claim a dance. Lucia was disconcerted, but was given no chance to refuse. His fingers closed inexorably round her wrist.

  The first steps were performed in silence until he said in a cold, polite voice, ‘The Prince was still extolling your virtues as he left.’

  ‘I am honoured, my lord. I had rather thought it was Hetty who took his fancy.’

  ‘Hetty is a minx!’ said Hugo grimly. ‘I shall have something to say to her presently.’

  Lucia cursed her reckless tongue. She had no wish to get Hetty into trouble.

  ‘Oh come, sir! A little harmless flirting ‒ no more!’

  ‘Something on which you are an expert, no doubt!’ There was a wealth of contempt in his words.

  They were separated by the dance and when they came together again two bright spots of colour burned in Lucia’s cheeks. ‘You know, don’t you? Your beloved Sophia couldn’t wait to run straight to you.’

  ‘This is not the time, Miss Mannering,’ he warned softly.

  ‘Oh pray don’t let that stop you!’ She fixed on him a dazzling smile. ‘See what a fine actress I am! Everyone will suppose you are paying me compliments.’

  He spoke through shut teeth. ‘Well, you have had much practice, have you not? Pray do not strain my credulity by attempting to convince me that what happened was an isolated incident. You have been breaking your given word consistently over a period!’

  ‘Since you have made up your mind, there seems little point in denying it, my lord. I wonder that you should wish to be seen dancing with such a despicable creature! I shall not in the least mind if you wish to leave the floor.’

  Hugo’s grip tightened. ‘We will complete the set, Miss Mannering. I have no intention of allowing any hint of discord to spoil my aunt’s evening. You will act out the part you have set yourself ‒ and remember, the matter was broached at your insistence, not mine!’

  Lucia thought the music would never come to an end, but at last Hugo was leading her to a chair, where he settled her and left with a silent, punctilious bow.

  Charles joined her and at once noticed her white face and over-brilliant eyes. ‘Are you all right, Lucia?’

  ‘Perfectly, I thank you, Charles!’ Her voice trembled very slightly. ‘Are you sure you wish to be seen with me?’

  He looked puzzled.

  ‘I’m sorry. I am being very silly. Oh please, just keep talking to me while I collect myself! I have had words with Hugo.’

  ‘You too!’

  Lucia looked up swiftly. ‘Oh, Charles ‒ you haven’t quarrelled with Hetty again?’

  ‘She does it quite deliberately you know. Well, I will stand just so much, but when it comes to flirting with Prinny! We all know where that may lead!’

  ‘Charles! Do hush! You surely can’t blame her for that. Why, he was quite as bad with me!’

  ‘Ah, but you didn’t encourage him, my dear ‒ there is a difference.’ He looked wretched.

  ‘Poor Charles! Try to be patient with Hetty. She’s very young and high-spirited and all this is very new to her.’

  He looked unconvinced. ‘Those damned Cavanahs are a bad influence!’

  ‘Hetty isn’t stupid, Charles. She’ll see through them soon enough. Your good opinion means more than you think.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘What a pair we are! Ask me to dance before we both grow maudlin!’

  It was turned four in the morning before the press on the staircase eased and the last carriage clattered away. Lady Springhope retired to her bed limp but triumphant, for the evening had received the final accolade of being voted a sad crush.

  Two days later, Lucia could not lift her head from the pillow.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Influenza without a doubt’ His examination completed, Dr Gordon’s bushy black brows quivered. ‘You’ve been overdoing things, young lady!’

  ‘Nonsense!’ protested Lucia weakly. ‘I’m as strong as a horse!’

  ‘That you may be, but you’ll take a week in bed just the same, lassie ‒ and then we’ll see.’

  Lucia felt too ill to argue. It was a relief just to let go and be tutted over by Lady Springhope and cosseted by Chloe.

  Hetty was forbidden to enter the sickroom, but from the doorway she commiserated with her friend for she would miss the great firework display at Vauxhall. Lucia managed a wan smile … fireworks indeed! If Hetty but knew, her head was already bursting!

  The kindness of people she hardly knew was overwhelming. Her room was filled with flowers and messages of goodwill and, in pride of place, an extravagant bouquet of pale golden roses which arrived by royal messenger, dedicated simply to ‘Our Golden Songbird’.

  Before the week was out, in spite of protests from Lady Springhope and much head-shaking from Dr Gordon, Lucia had removed to a sofa in the small drawing room. Though still shaky and very much inclined to dissolve into tears over the least trifle, she affirmed stubbornly that if she stayed any longer in her bed she would go into a decline.

  She was dozing when the Marquis came in unannounced. ‘Lucia! Why ‒ how is this?’ He strode across the room and towered over her. ‘Should you be out of bed?’

  Lucia stared up at him, her eyes big, dark smudges in a face of startling pallor; her hair a pale golden cloud about her shoulders. She drew her wrap tighter.

  ‘If you are come to bully me, my lord, I must warn you I am liable to howl like a baby.’

  ‘Do you think me so unfeeling?’ he retorted abruptly, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘What does Dr Gordon say?’

  ‘Oh, he has quite given me up! You could have a splendid time together deploring my stubbornness!’

  Hugo took a step forward and was about to speak again when Aunt Aurelia bustled in.

  ‘Ah, Hugo ‒ Saunders told me you were here. What do you think of our invalid? Peaky, ain’t she? Needs building up. Lots of good beef broth, that’s the thing!’

  Hugo frowned. ‘A bottle of burgundy would do her more good.’

  ‘Such presents and flowers she has received! We are lost for want of places to put them.’ Aunt Aurelia leaned forward. ‘Most gratifying of all ‒ roses from the Prince!’

  One eyebrow lifted. ‘An honour indeed!’

  ‘If you are minded to discuss me as though I were not here, I shall return to my room,’ said Lucia in a small voice.

  ‘My apologies.’ Hugo’s lazy smile mocked her gently. He sat beside her and his close proximity made her breathless. ‘Perhaps I can make you feel a little better. I would have informed you sooner, but as things were …’ He left the sentence unfinished and she coloured, remembering
.

  ‘I did try to tell you …’

  ‘Not now, child! We will talk when you are quite recovered. I was about to tell you that Daniel’s parents are found.’

  ‘Oh, but that is marvellous news!’

  ‘I thought you would be pleased. They came yesterday to collect him. He was desolated to leave without saying goodbye, but I have promised he shall see you at a later date.

  ‘His parents, too, were sorry. They have written you their thanks.’

  Lucia took the letter, her eyes filling stupidly with tears. ‘How kind. There is nothing to thank me for. You have had the trouble of finding them.’

  ‘But you championed Daniel’s cause, my child.’

  ‘Well anyway, I … am so g-glad …’

  Hugo took the crumpled handkerchief from her restless fingers and gently wiped away her tears, whilst his aunt watched with interest.

  ‘Then I hope I may never see you miserable,’ he chided in rallying tones. ‘The doctor was right; you are up too soon!’

  Lucia quickly recovered physically, though she suffered from a curious depression of spirits which Dr Gordon assured her was a not uncommon aftermath of the influenza and would soon pass. Thus, it only dawned upon her gradually that all was not well with Hetty. She seemed determined not quite to meet Lucia’s eye and chattered incessantly as though to keep her from prying.

  A little gentle probing revealed that she had not quarrelled with Charles, and as the days passed Lucia became increasingly concerned, the more so since her aunt seemed unaware of anything amiss.

  Finally, when Hetty had picked a silly quarrel and flounced out, Lucia could stand it no longer. She followed Hetty to her room, and found her sprawled across the bed, plucking miserably at the quilt.

  ‘What’s wrong, Hetty?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean!’ she said in muffled tones.