Banishment (Daughters of Mannerling 1) (11 page)

He suddenly thought with a tug at his heart that if she would forget about Mannerling completely, if he could be sure of that, then he would ask her to marry him. Certainly the Beverleys in their pride had warned him off, but their circumstances were different now and they could not afford to be so choosey.

John, the footman from Mannerling, stood over in a corner with a tankard of shrub and covertly watched the couple. He was anxious to ingratiate himself with his master, Mr Judd, who was threatening to turn him into a hermit. The gossip among the Mannerling servants was that Mr Judd would marry Miss Isabella Beverley. Did Mr Judd know of the courtship of Lord Fitzpatrick? Besides, such a piece of gossip might make Mr Judd lose interest in this eldest Beverley daughter and that might be all to the good. Too many of the servants had shown their open dislike of the Beverleys, their lack of sympathy for the family’s plight. If Isabella were to become mistress of Mannerling, she might persuade her husband to get rid of them all and hire new ones.

He slid quietly out before the couple could see him. He had been sent to check on how the repairs to the carriage were coming along and had already done that. So he rode back to Mannerling and asked the butler if he might see Mr Judd in private. The butler, Chubb, frowned and said anything that had to be said to the master must be said through him, and so John retreated, balked. But he waited for an opportune moment, which came in the early evening, when he saw Mr Judd walking in the grounds smoking a cheroot.

He darted out of the door and approached him. ‘Sir,’ he began, coming up to him.

Mr Judd swung round, his eyes narrowing as he observed his least favourite footman.

‘I have come by some intelligence that may amaze you,’ said John pompously.

‘I doubt it.’ Mr Judd dropped his smouldering cheroot on the lawn and ground it in with his heel.

‘I saw Miss Isabella Beverley in the Green Man with Lord Fitzpatrick.’

Mr Judd looked at his footman with narrowed eyes. ‘And what’s that to do with me, popinjay?’

‘Well, sir, they were very
close
, if you take my meaning. All alone, too. No maid or footman.’

Mr Judd strode away and John tittuped after him on his high heels.

The master of Mannerling was thinking furiously. This was not working out as he had planned. He must behave in a warmer manner towards Isabella. He had deliberately not sent out the Beverleys’s invitation to his ball so as to ‘make them sweat a bit,’ as he maliciously put it to himself.

He stopped so abruptly that John nearly cannoned into him. ‘You can be of use to me,’ said Mr Judd. ‘I want you to go direct to Brookfield House. I found the Beverleys’s invitations still on my desk. Take the carriage. I want you to bring Miss Isabella back with you . . . for dinner. I will write a letter.’

He strode off towards the house, with the footman mincing after him.

Isabella and the viscount rode easily and companionably back to Brookfield House. For the time being, Isabella had forgotten about Mr Judd and about her ambition to marry him. But Lady Beverley herself came out to meet her daughter. ‘Do come into the house immediately, Isabella,’ she cried. ‘We have such news.’

The viscount dismounted and lifted Isabella down under the hard stare of Lady Beverley’s disapproving eyes. ‘Perhaps Lord Fitzpatrick would care to step inside for a glass of wine,’ said Isabella.

‘Oh, I am sure he has much to attend to,’ said Lady Beverley hurriedly.

Isabella turned red with mortification at her mother’s rudeness. The viscount swung himself easily into his curricle, touched his hat, and rode off, with Satan following behind.

‘How could you?’ fumed Isabella as she followed her mother into the house. ‘How rude! And after all Lord Fitzpatrick’s kindness.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Lady Beverley eagerly. ‘You must get changed and put on one of your prettiest gowns. The Mannerling carriage is round the back, with John, the footman, waiting for you. You are to go to dinner at Mannerling!’

Isabella stood stock-still in the dark hall. In her mind’s eye another Isabella raced away across the fields on Satan’s back, happy and free.

‘And he has sent the invitations to his ball with such a pretty note of apology saying he had found them down the back of his desk. Good heavens, child, do not stand there as if you had been struck by lightning like Mr Judd. Bustle about!’

‘Mr Judd was not struck by lightning,’ said Isabella flatly. ‘He was playing cards in the Green Man yesterday.’

‘What? Oh, why are we wasting time? Betty! Betty! Come and see to your mistress and get a good gown on. You are to go to Mannerling with Miss Isabella!’

Isabella sat in the Mannerling carriage an hour later, scented and pomaded and wearing a heavy gold silk dinner gown. Betty covertly watched Isabella’s sad face and wondered not for the first time why miss did not settle for the handsome viscount instead of wasting time with such a dreadful man as Mr Judd.

The weather had changed again, to match Isabella’s mood. Rain pattered on the roof of the carriage, and as they turned in at the gates of Mannerling, the wind rose in a great gust which sounded like an enormous sigh.

Isabella wondered if Mrs Judd disapproved of her or if that lady had a perpetually sour air and expression. Conversation during dinner was extremely stilted. Mrs Judd complained about the size of Mannerling and the uppitiness of the servants. Mr Judd ate great quantities of food and occasionally broke off from eating to pay Isabella a heavy compliment which did not please her. She wished he would not speak with his mouth full or declare that the best way to eat peas was with a knife smeared in butter, and only man-milliners chased them around the plate with a two-pronged fork.

I am going to marry this man, thought Isabella bleakly, and therefore this will be just the first of many such evenings. But Mrs Judd would not stay in residence, and surely he would let her family move back with her.

After dinner, in the drawing room, Mr Judd asked her to play something on the pianoforte. Isabella obediently sat down to play, her fingers rippling over the keys, her back to the room, dreaming that when she finished playing and turned round, all would be as it had once been. But when she finally finished playing and turned around, it was to find that both Mr Judd and his mother were sprawled in their chairs, fast asleep.

She longed to escape. All she had to do was to summon Betty and the carriage, slip out quietly and go home. But, in a way, to do that would be to give up the battle, to admit to herself that she did not want to marry Mr Judd, and that would mean giving up any hope of Mannerling, Mannerling which was changing daily as Mr Judd brought in more ugly furniture and paintings and planned to desecrate the grounds.

She turned back to the keys and began to play a noisy piece with many crashing chords, so that when she finally finished and turned back, both were awake.

‘Jolly good,’ said Mr Judd, stifling a yawn.

‘I prefer pretty ballads myself,’ said Mrs Judd. ‘Miss Stoppard, now, does play some pretty tunes.’

‘You are tired and it is late,’ said Isabella. ‘I thank you for a most pleasant evening.’

When a footman announced the carriage had been brought round, Isabella was accompanied down the stairs and outside by Mr Judd. He said to Betty, ‘Get in the carriage. Your mistress will follow in a few moments.’

He turned and smiled down at Isabella with his foxy smile. ‘I’m tired o’ the single life. Got an important announcement to make at the ball, so look your finest.’

Isabella blushed modestly and looked down. He tilted her face up and gave her a quick hard kiss on the lips. ‘So no more jauntering about the countryside with Fitzpatrick, hey?’

‘As you wish,’ said Isabella, the picture of meek womanhood.

‘Good girl. Be calling soon.’

He handed Isabella into the carriage. She smiled at him sweetly. The coachman cracked his whip and the carriage rolled off.

Now all Isabella felt was sweet triumph. She had done it, by God! She was no longer a failure. Then she remembered promising to ride out with the viscount in two days’ time. Well, Barry would need to go over to Perival and say she was indisposed.

When she told her family her news, she basked in their admiration. Lady Beverley began to plan the wedding. Jessica was in alt. Isabella was the cleverest of sisters, and they had never doubted for a moment that she could rescue them. Only Lizzie suddenly said in a lull in all the congratulations, ‘Will you be happy, Isabella?’

Isabella fought down a sudden qualm and said brightly, ‘Of course. I will be back at Mannerling. I will be
home
again.’

Although Isabella made excuses not to go riding with the viscount again, she found it hard to keep to her room, supposedly ill, when Mrs Kennedy came calling. For her sisters were enjoying their cooking and sewing lessons, and so had no reason to give them up. Isabella could hardly be said to be encouraging the attentions of the viscount, and so Mrs Kennedy would have no reason to feel angry when Isabella’s engagement to Mr Judd was announced at the Mannerling ball.

Also, Isabella found the days long, and time lay heavy on her hands. Mr Judd took her driving several times and sent her presents of flowers and hothouse fruit, but he hardly seemed like the ardent lover. On their last drive out he had said he would now be busy right up until the ball, but when her hopes flagged a little, he gave her his sly sideways smile and said the announcement would be worth waiting for.

One day, a week before the Mannerling ball, she learned that Mrs Kennedy was not to call that day and so she wandered out into the garden to find Barry. He was working on building a hen-run. She stood for a few moments watching him and then joined him.

Suddenly eager to confide in someone other than the members of her family, she said, ‘Mr Judd is to announce his engagement to me at the Mannerling ball next week, Barry.’

‘There now,’ he said slowly. ‘There be a thing I did not rightly expect.’

‘And why not?’

‘To be sure, miss, I had been thinking that perhaps you and that Lord Fitzpatrick might make a go of it.’

‘No, no, Barry. You must be happy for me. You see, I will soon be back in my old home.’

He looked distressed. ‘But it can hardly be the same, miss, what with you becoming Mrs Judd and all.’

‘How will that make any difference?’

He looked at her innocent eyes and shook his head. ‘Not my place to say, miss.’

He watched her sadly as she walked away. Isabella could feel her courage ebbing each step she took away from him. But she was doing the
right
thing. It was her
duty
to reclaim Mannerling.

But she could not bear to return to the house and face the others. She walked away over the fields, feeling the strengthening breeze tugging at her muslin skirts. She took off her straw bonnet and let it dangle by the satin ribbons from her hand. She had gone quite a bit away from the house and was enjoying the fresh air and exercise, feeling her courage coming back, when she heard the thud of horses’ hoofs across the turf and, looking up, saw, with a sinking heart, the viscount riding towards her. He reined in and dismounted and looked at her thoughtfully.

‘You do not look at all unwell to me,’ he said abruptly.

‘I am recovered,’ said Isabella, turning her face away and looking out across the fields.

He eyed her impatiently. He had missed her more than he wanted to admit to himself. She looked even more beautiful to him with her hair tousled by the wind and the skirts of her thin gown blowing about her than when she was coiffed and groomed.

And then, all at once, he knew he wanted her more than anything in the world.

‘Miss Isabella,’ he said in a rush. ‘Will you marry me?’

She turned to him, shocked and alarmed.

‘I cannot!’

‘May I know why?’

She blurted out, ‘I am to marry Mr Judd. He is to make an announcement at the ball next week.’

His face darkened with fury and she backed away a step.

‘Do not look at me like that, my lord. You know what my old home means to me.’

‘And what does this Judd mean to you? Good God, have you thought you will need to entertain him in your bed?’

Eyes of puzzled innocence stared into his own.

‘You do not know what I am talking about,’ he jeered. ‘But you soon will, and God help you.’

Her lips quivered and tears filled her eyes.

He gave a stifled exclamation and pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her, at first angrily, and then very gently. Then he mounted his horse and rode off without looking back.

She stood in the field, her hand to her mouth, and watched him go.

Then she suddenly sat down and began to cry as she had not cried since she had been a child.

After some time, she slowly recovered. Across the fields came the old familiar pull of Mannerling, calling her home.

She regretted losing the viscount’s friendship. He should not have kissed her, and yet she could still feel that second kiss, that gentle one, warm against her lips.

Isabella began to walk home, trying to think only of Mannerling, trying to think only of what it would be like to be home again until Mr Judd, that instrument of bringing it all about, had sunk back to a shadowy and unthreatening figure in her mind.