Banishment (Daughters of Mannerling 1) (12 page)

Mrs Kennedy looked up with a sigh of relief as her nephew strode into the dining room that evening. She rang a little bell beside her plate as a signal that the meal could now be served. But her relief soon changed to anxiety. She had never before seen him look so drawn or grim.

‘Faith, what’s amiss?’ she cried.

He sat down heavily and ran his fingers through his thick hair. ‘What a day,’ he muttered.

‘So what happened?’

His eyes signalled that the servants were entering carrying the dinner. Mrs Kennedy had to content herself by talking in generalities, in talking about the Beverleys and what a pity it was that poor Miss Isabella was unwell, and about what progress the others were making with their sewing, all the time fretting and fretting about the dark look in her nephew’s eyes.

At last, when the covers had been cleared and the decanters brought in and bowls of fruit and nuts shone on the polished surface of the mahogany table, Mrs Kennedy nodded to the servants to leave and turned anxiously to the viscount. ‘So now tell me – what has happened?’

‘I was fool enough to propose marriage to Miss Isabella Beverley.’

Mrs Kennedy raised her little chubby hands in a gesture of amazement. ‘Never say she turned you down.’

‘She not only turned me down but told me that she is to marry Judd.’

‘Why? He’s a repulsive creature.’

‘Because of Mannerling. Because anyone Irish is still not good enough for the Beverleys. Because she is willing to sacrifice herself for a pile of bricks and mortar. The announcement is to be made at the ball.’

Mrs Kennedy felt her temper rising. She had, on a couple of occasions, overheard Jessica mimicking her accent but had good-naturedly said nothing about it, considering that it would take some time for the proud Beverleys to appreciate their changed circumstances.

‘So Isabella has not been ill?’

The viscount shook his head.

‘We made a mistake being friendly with such people. By all that’s holy,’ said Mrs Kennedy wrathfully, ‘you would wonder what more is needed to bring that stiff-necked family to its senses. They may rot in hell. I shan’t go there anymore. It’s Isabella I’m disappointed in. Lying and pretending she was ill. I thought she had more character than the rest. I’m not angry at her turning you down, it’s the reason that makes me fair boil. I hope that spalpeen, Judd, gets drunk one night, knocks over his bed candle and sets the whole place up, wit’ himself inside.’ Her accent became broader in her anger. ‘A fellow straight out o’ the bogs o’ Kilkenny has more dignity than that lot! And you can tear up our invitations to the ball.’

The viscount poured them each a glass of port. ‘We shall go. I shall look at the joy and gratification on the faces of those Beverleys and my heart will be eased by thinking that I have had a lucky escape. But, oh, she is so very beautiful.’

‘Humph! Beauty don’t last. I remember Colonel Petrey’s lady. Like a picture she was wit’ these great blue eyes and a little neat figure and ankles to die for. When her looks began to go, she became petulant, and the more her looks faded, the more she flirted outrageously wit’ every man in the regiment, so she did, all trying to bolster her vanity. Ended up a semi-invalid, dosing herself with rubbish in a darkened room, and all because she could no longer face the world. Go for character, and that don’t mean any of those Beverley girls.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘And I thought they liked me.’

‘I am sure they do,’ he said quietly, ‘and they will miss you and missing you will do them no harm at all. Drink your port, Aunt Mary.’

And although the Beverley sisters spent their time looking forward to the ball and anticipating Isabella’s triumph, they did miss Mrs Kennedy. Only Isabella knew the reason for her absence, the reason for the curt letter that lady had sent saying she would be too much occupied in the following days and weeks to call on them and too busy to receive them. She had not told her family of the viscount’s proposal. Lizzie, who had been making new curtains for the parlour under Mrs Kennedy’s tuition, felt lost and bewildered. She had begun to look forward to each visit of the Irishwoman. She no longer had a governess and time lay heavy on her hands. Sharper than the rest, she suspected that somehow Isabella had ruined the friendship. Mrs Kennedy must be mad with Isabella, for Isabella had pretended to be ill and Lizzie was sure Mrs Kennedy had not been deceived by the excuses, not knowing that the good-hearted lady had believed every word of them until her nephew had opened her eyes.

Jessica, the proudest of them all, struggled with an uneasy conscience. She had been doing an imitation of Mrs Kennedy one day when she had suddenly turned and had seen that lady standing in the doorway. Jessica had had the grace to blush but Mrs Kennedy had gone on in her usual friendly way and so Jessica had comforted herself with the thought that she might not have heard anything. She had the sense to admit reluctantly to herself that she had taken Mrs Kennedy’s great kindness for granted and she felt shabby. But like the rest, she clung to the thought of returning to Mannerling. They would probably not be able to live there once Isabella was married, but they could go over on visits every day if they liked.

Isabella had many ball gowns which had been made for her London Season and had not yet been seen in the country. She now did not regret the loss of her jewels. She had always felt uneasily, when they were all decked out like barbaric princesses, that it was a trifle vulgar.

Barry had hired a carriage for the evening and would wear a suit of dark clothes and act as footman. Betty would act as lady’s-maid. Nothing could go wrong now. All they had to do was wait for the great day.

Gunpowder, Treason and Plot.

ANONYMOUS

It was the great day at last, bright, calm, and fair. There was to be a full moon.

Betty, running from one sister to the other, reflected that they had all forgotten she was merely an ordinary maid as each commandeered her attention as if she were that sister’s own private lady’s-maid. It was Isabella who finally put a stop to it and told her sisters that they were supposed to be able now to look after themselves and it was too much work for Betty. She ordered Betty to the kitchen and told her to ask Joshua to make her tea and then informed her sisters that she would arrange their hair herself. Isabella was glad of the occupation. For some reason all the elation she had felt at her ‘triumph’ was ebbing away and she heartily wished the evening were over.

The house was full of the smells of perfume, pomade, and hot hair. Isabella wielded the curling-tongs to such good effect that her sisters declared she was better than any lady’s-maid. She herself was wearing a muslin gown of dark rose, a break from the usual tradition of white muslin. Jessica was in pale green, Rachel and Abigail in lilac, Belinda in pink, and Lizzie in white. Their gowns, with the exception of Lizzie’s, had been dyed and all had been altered to more stylish lines by Mrs Kennedy, and the sisters agreed that they looked all the crack; perhaps only Lizzie, in the excitement of all the preparations, remembering who was responsible for their very modish look.

They felt quite like their old selves as the Beverleys gathered in the drawing room for a glass of champagne before setting out for Mannerling. Isabella suddenly suggested that they should invite the servants in to share a glass and to wish them well. Lady Beverley looked outraged but the suggestion appealed to Sir William’s gambling nature, and besides, he had come to believe that the ruin of the Beverleys was only a temporary hiccup in an otherwise pleasant life. Had he not that very day found a four-leafed clover in the garden by the hedge? Nothing could go wrong again.

And so the small band of servants was brought in. Barry toasted the family and wished them well, although in his heart of hearts he prayed that Isabella would never marry Mr Judd.

Some of the euphoria generated by the champagne faded a little as they climbed into the shabby rented carriage. Barry had had to scrub it out and remove every vestige of straw and it still smelled damp. They could not help thinking what sorry figures they would all cut arriving in such a rig.

But as they approached Mannerling, an almost hectic excitement invaded the party. They were going home.

Somehow they had expected the ball to be like one of their own, no expense spared. But there were no footmen in grand livery lining the staircase. Isabella thought that Mr Judd had probably sold those gold swords. Then there was no band from London but a few local men from Hedgefield to provide the music, which had a tinny, scraping sound. The walls were not hung with silk, nor were there any hothouse flowers. Mr Judd was standing at the top of the stairs beside his mother. Mrs Judd was dressed in unrelieved black. What had happened to all their jewels? wondered Isabella. She had braced herself to see Mrs Judd wearing some of them, but nothing glittered on any of that dull, depressing black.

The ballroom was full of familiar faces, all the people they used to invite themselves. Mary Stoppard was there wearing a silk gown with many tucks and gores and flounces. Her black eyes were gleaming with pleasure and Isabella noticed to her distress that it was Mary rather than Mrs Judd who kept an eye on the servants and who stopped at the entrance to the saloon where the refreshments were to be served to have a word with the butler. All that would soon change, she comforted herself.

And then hot colour flamed in her face as the viscount entered the room. For the first time, as her eyes went from Mr Judd to the viscount, she realized just how very attractive and handsome he was, how firm his mouth . . . She remembered that kiss and blushed again. Mrs Kennedy went on as if every member of the Beverley family were invisible. Lizzie suppressed a shiver. Let the engagement be announced. Let everything be all right again, thought Isabella.

Mr Judd claimed her hand for the first dance. It was the quadrille. As they walked to join the others in a set, Mr Judd pressed her hand and said, ‘Looking forward to the announcement?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Isabella and gave him a wan smile.

He danced gawkily and badly, his legs flying out all over the place. He had remarkably thin shanks. The viscount had beautiful legs. Stop it! Stop it now! Isabella told her treacherous thoughts. She was glad when the dance was finally over and Mr Judd strolled off to claim another partner.

Then she found herself hoping that the viscount would ask her to dance, that he would forgive her, that he would say he understood why she must marry Mr Judd, but he did not come near her. She could not help noticing this time what a flutter he was causing among the young ladies.

She was sad that Mrs Kennedy had obviously decided the Beverleys were no longer worth knowing. And yet, little Lizzie, who spent most of the evening with the dowagers and chaperones, went and sat next to Mrs Kennedy. Mrs Kennedy turned her head away. Lizzie leaned forward and said something and Isabella saw Mrs Kennedy’s face thaw somewhat and soon she appeared to be talking easily to Lizzie. At least she likes one of us, thought Isabella bleakly. She danced and danced, wondering when that dreaded announcement would be made.

At last, just before the supper dance, Mr Judd jumped up on the small dais in front of the band and held up his hands.

‘I have an important announcement to make,’ he said.

Everyone was suddenly very still and quiet, waiting. Over, round and about them it was as if the very house itself were waiting.

‘I have great pleasure in announcing my engagement.’

There was a buzz of speculation. Isabella was aware of many eyes on her. Mr Judd held up his hands again.

Mr Judd lowered his hands as he waited for the silence to become absolute. Across the ballroom his eyes met those of Isabella and he smiled, a slow, foxy smile.

Then he said loudly and clearly, ‘My intended is none other than Miss Mary Stoppard, daughter of our good vicar.’

Although Mr Judd held out a hand to Mary, who was being led forward by her proud father, his eyes never left Isabella’s face. The stunned silence seemed to go on and on.

The viscount was wondering whether to leap up on the dais and punch Mr Judd on the nose. Isabella deserved this, all of it, but how his heart ached for her!

And then Isabella gave a radiant smile and began to clap. All around her people began to clap as well. And then Isabella moved forward to the dais. She gave Mary a hug and said, ‘I am very happy for you, Mary. You and Mr Judd deserve each other.’

Mr Judd had a dark, baffled look on his face. The other Beverley sisters were crowding round, offering Mary their felicitations, their beautiful faces as radiant and happy as Isabella. The immense pride of the Beverleys had come to their rescue.

But this is not the end of it, thought Mr Judd, there’s more to come, and their pride won’t be able to stand another blow.

Footmen were circling the room with glasses of iced champagne. What a bunch of actresses, marvelled the viscount. And even Sir William and Lady Beverley were graciously smiling all about them, as if this were something they had already known about.

Again Mr Judd held up his hands for silence. ‘I have another surprise. An entertainment. Everyone to the back terrace, please.’

Isabella muttered to her sisters as they made their way downstairs, ‘Whatever happens, do not look distressed. Mr Judd is out to humiliate us.’

The guests crowded onto the back terrace, some of them spilling over into the garden, laughing and chatting, still carrying glasses of champagne.

Mr Judd, with Mary on his arm, waited until they were all assembled. It was a clear night, a full moon riding serenely overhead. The marble temple’s white pillars gleamed across the vista of lawns and trees.

‘What are we to watch?’ cried someone. ‘Fireworks?’

‘In a way,’ said Mr Judd, giving his foxy grin. ‘Watch this!’

He took a large white handkerchief out of his pocket and waved it in the air.

A flicker of white over by the temple signalled a reply. In the bright moonlight, they could then see the little figure of a man running away from the temple.