Deception (Daughters of Mannerling 3) (2 page)

‘My lady?’

Lady Beverley turned round, a wary look in her eyes when she saw the governess. She was all too aware that she had not paid Miss Trumble any wages the last quarter-day.

‘Miss Trumble?’

‘My lady, I hear Lady Evans is to give a ball. It would be exceeding good if the girls were invited.’

Lady Beverley’s face took on a petulant look. ‘I have not the funds for the necessary fripperies they will demand.’

‘As to that, I had the economy of this household in mind, my lady.’

‘Indeed! How so?’

‘The girls are young and healthy and eat a great deal. If they go on in seclusion, you will have four spinsters on your hands, four spinsters to feed and clothe until the end of your days. On the other hand, were they to find husbands,
rich
husbands, then not only would they cease to be a burden on the household expense, but perhaps their husbands could contribute to the costs.’

There was a sudden gleam in Lady Beverley’s eyes. Then she said, ‘But I do not know Lady Evans. She is but lately moved into the neighbourhood and has not sent cards, nor have I called.’

‘Perhaps you would be so good as to leave the matter in my hands?’

‘You! What can you do?’

‘Just leave it to me,’ said Miss Trumble, edging to the door.

When she had gone, Lady Beverley gave a contemptuous sniff. Miss Trumble would meet with a set-down if she dared to call on Lady Evans, and that would do her no harm at all. The governess was often a trifle too uppity for her position.

The sun was shining but it was another cold day and the frost was only just melting from the grass. Miss Trumble heard cries from the garden and looked out. Abigail, Rachel, Belinda, and Lizzie were playing at battledore and shuttlecock. As usual, Abigail was the most energetic of all, flying here and there, her long fair hair glinting in the sunshine, her face flushed.

Miss Trumble stifled a little sigh. It was a hard world for women. Had Abigail been a man, then all that energy could have been channelled into more useful purposes. She could have been a soldier, run estates, managed a business. But because she was a mere girl, all ambition was directed towards getting a husband. No wonder the bright Beverley girls had tried so hard to get their old home back. Such determined ambition in a man would have been commended, whereas in the Beverleys, it was considered vulgar.

She turned and went upstairs to change into one of her best gowns. When Josiah returned, the horse would need to be hitched to the carriage to take her to Hursley Park.

After the game was over, Lizzie and Belinda rushed indoors, not being impervious to the cold like the twins. In Belinda’s room, they tipped out twigs and branches on the floor in front of the fireplace that they had collected in their aprons before the game and piled up on the grass. ‘Let’s build up the fire,’ said Belinda, shivering.

‘Barry would find us a few logs if we asked him,’ said Lizzie, piling the twigs and broken branches in the fireplace.

‘We will need to wait until Mama lies down for her nap,’ said Belinda, striking the tinder-box and sending a small fountain of sparks down onto the branches. ‘What think you of Rachel and Abigail these days?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They are excluding us from some plot. They always have their heads together and when we approach they fall silent.’

‘I hope it is nothing to do with Mannerling,’ said Lizzie anxiously. ‘Abigail did say she thought Jessica had been over-missish, but I think Harry Devers is, like Byron, “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” ’

‘And he can’t even write poetry,’ said Belinda with a giggle. ‘It can’t be anything to do with Harry Devers. We will never see him again.’ She grew suddenly serious. ‘I sometimes think we will never see
anyone
again. We no longer even go on calls to the squire. Church on a Sunday is the big event of our week, and being preached to by Mary’s father is not very soul-lifting. If only something would happen.’

Lizzie said, ‘I spoke of this to Barry and he said that our Miss Trumble would be bound to make something happen.’

‘Miss Trumble is a lady of many surprises,’ said Belinda, ‘but hardly of a social status to be able to do anything for us.’

Lady Evans was a rather grim-looking dowager with a lined face under a formidable cap. She looked at her butler in amazement and then down at the card he had presented to her. ‘I do not know a Miss Trumble.’

‘I believe a Miss Trumble to be a governess to the Beverley girls at Brookfield House.’

Lady Evans gave a click of impatience. ‘What can she want? My daughters are married. I have no need of a governess.’

‘I have heard, my lady, in Hedgefield, that this Miss Trumble does a certain amount of work among the poor.’

Lady Evans’s face cleared. ‘Then she has no doubt come to see if we have old clothes or money for a donation. It would be churlish not to see her. Send her up.’

While she waited, Lady Evans wondered whether to ask her lady’s-maid to look out some clothes or to present this Miss Trumble with a small donation. Perhaps it would be best to wait to see what was required.

‘Miss Trumble,’ intoned the butler, holding open the door of the drawing room.

Lady Evans swung round. ‘Ah, Miss . . .’

Her voice died away as Miss Trumble put a finger to her lips.

‘That will be all,’ said Lady Evans faintly. The butler bowed and withdrew. ‘Letitia,’ said Lady Evans. ‘By all that’s holy, how have you come to this pass? And why are you calling yourself Trumble?’

‘I will tell you but it must be our secret,’ said Miss Trumble. She sat down gracefully by the fire and began to talk. Lady Evans listened, wide-eyed. When Miss Trumble had finished, she said, ‘Your secret is safe with me, but why you should lead such an uncomfortable and degrading life schooling a parcel of misses is beyond me. Can I help in any way?’

‘Yes, indeed, and that is why I am come. First I must tell you about the Beverley obsession with Mannerling, an obsession I must admit of which, I hope, they have all been cured. You have no doubt heard from local gossip how they were vastly rich and proud and lived at Mannerling. They tried to reclaim it through marriage, but fortunately the two elder girls made suitable marriages for love. Their last attempt nearly ended in disaster, for Harry Devers was the target. But no doubt you have heard that scandal.’

‘Yes, I did. And I must admit I took against these Beverley girls. Such blatant ambition is so crude.’

‘And yet such ambition would not be considered crude in a man. Do you remember young Charlie Anderson? He was about to lose his home and estates and was at his wit’s end. He married a sugar heiress, a blowsy common girl from the West Indies. How clever of him, everyone said. What sterling behaviour!’

Lady Evans gave a reluctant laugh.

‘And my girls are as good as they are beautiful,’ pursued Miss Trumble. ‘Lady Beverley, perhaps because of such misfortunes, has become somewhat of a miser, and my ladies do not go anywhere. To that end I am come to beg you to send them invitations to your ball.’

‘I will do this for you, Letitia. I am now curious to see them. I will have a fair number of eligible men at the ball, but what hope have you when, as I gather, they have no dowries? It is very odd that the two married for love because, as you know, that usually only happens in books. Any man’s family will quickly find out all about the Beverleys and dissuade him if he shows any sign of taking an interest. But we will see. We were talking of young Harry Devers. Do you know he is expected home on leave?’

Miss Trumble’s heart gave a lurch. Barry had told her that but it hadn’t really seemed anything to worry about. Now she had a sudden vivid picture of the twins’ fleeing at her approach. But she said, ‘I doubt very much if we will see anything of him. He will not be at your ball, I hope?’

‘No, he will not. Mrs Devers called. She kept assuring me he was a sweet boy and a completely reformed character.’

‘That one will never reform,’ said Miss Trumble with a shudder.

Lady Evans rang the bell. ‘You must take tea, Letitia, and we will talk about the old days. So few of us left!’

Barry lounged outside, talking to one of the grooms, but privately wondering what was keeping Miss Trumble so long. He had thought it a bit forward of her to approach Lady Evans on the matter of invitations to the ball and had expected her to emerge from the house after only a few moments. But the sun sank lower in the sky, burning red through the skeletal branches of the trees bordering the drive, and still Miss Trumble did not appear.

It was a full hour later and he had already lit the carriage lamps when Miss Trumble emerged.

‘How did it go?’ asked Barry.

‘Very successful,’ said Miss Trumble, drawing the carriage rug up over her legs.

‘You just asked, just like that?’

‘Just like that,’ said Miss Trumble calmly. ‘Lady Evans is a friend of one of my previous employers and was always kind to me.’

‘Which employer was that, miss?’

‘Barry, would you be so good as to stop at the coal merchant’s in Hedgefield? I have a desire to order a quantity of coal.’

‘Coal is expensive, miss.’

‘Indeed it is, which is why Lady Beverley never has enough. We will let her assume it came from some mysterious benefactor.’

‘And I reckon you’d consider it impertinent were I to ask you where you found the money for such a luxury?’

‘Very impertinent. Drive on.’

The Beverleys were all in the parlour the following afternoon when Barry appeared carrying a scuttleful of coal. He proceeded to pile coal on the meagre fire.

‘What are you doing?’ demanded Lady Beverley. ‘You are putting a month’s coal ration on that fire.’

‘A ton of coal arrived this morning as a present from an unknown benefactor,’ said Barry.

‘Oh, how nice!’ Lady Beverley looked delighted at this unexpected largess for which she did not have to pay.

‘Dear me,’ said Miss Trumble, putting down a piece of sewing she had been working on, ‘I would have thought you might have considered it a trifle humiliating, my lady.’

‘How so?’

‘As the girls go nowhere socially and have no admirers, the gift was obviously prompted by charity.’

‘Charity!’ Abigail looked shocked.

‘Well, you know how it is.’ Miss Trumble bent her head over her sewing again. ‘Shopkeepers will gossip, and to their betters, too. It is well known that this household buys the cheapest of everything – the cheapest cuts of meat, tallow candles, things like that. So it has got about how very poor we are.’

‘We are not poor!’ Lady Beverley looked outraged. ‘Merely thrifty.’ She fumbled for her smelling salts.

‘Of course, my lady,’ murmured Miss Trumble.

Barry suppressed a smile as he left the room.

A few moments later, he popped his head round the door. ‘Footman coming up the drive, my lady.’

‘Mannerling!’ cried Abigail. ‘It is an invitation to Mannerling.’

Miss Trumble walked to the window and looked out. ‘It is not the Mannerling livery,’ she said quietly. Then she turned and looked thoughtfully at Abigail, who blushed a miserable red, suddenly aware that she had betrayed herself to this sharp-eyed governess.

Now there’s going to be trouble, thought Rachel, feeling suddenly guilty and wishing she had never encouraged Abigail to talk about Harry Devers.

The maid, Betty, came in, dropped a curtsy, and handed Lady Beverley a pile of invitations. ‘Dear me,’ said Lady Beverley, ‘Lady Evans has invited us all to a ball at Hursley Park next month at the full moon. How extraordinary! There is even an invitation for Miss Trumble as well. How odd to invite a mere servant.’

‘Lady Evans was a friend of one of my previous employers,’ said Miss Trumble quietly. ‘I took the liberty of calling on her yesterday. If you but remember, my lady. I told you I was going. The girls are in need of new ball gowns. Of course, if they go in their old ones, perhaps someone else in the neighbourhood will decide to honour us with some more charity.’

‘That is enough,’ said Lady Beverley sharply. ‘My girls shall have the best. Gowns must be ordered for them, and from London, too.’

The next couple of days were a bustle of activity. Their measurements had to be carefully made and dummies of the girls prepared in wood by the local carpenter. Where Miss Trumble had managed to secure all the latest fashion magazines from was a mystery, but the girls were too happy and excited to ask. Fashions were chosen, and then Barry had to load up the dummies, complete with a letter of instructions to take to the mail coach, where they would be hurtled up to the dressmaker in London.

In all the excitement, Abigail had hoped that Miss Trumble had forgotten that cry of ‘Mannerling,’ but no sooner had Barry rumbled off in the little open carriage with the wooden dummies lurching crazily in the back that Miss Trumble said, ‘Abigail, Rachel. A word, if you please.’

Both looked to their mother, hoping she would delay them, but Lady Beverley was bent over the household accounts again, her lips moving soundlessly.

Reluctantly they followed their governess out of the room. ‘My room, I think,’ said Miss Trumble, leading the way upstairs. The room was neat and clean, with a large fire blazing in the hearth. ‘Draw up chairs by the fire,’ commanded Miss Trumble. When the girls were seated, she said, ‘I was disturbed at your eagerness, Abigail, to believe that footman was from Mannerling. You ought not to have been considering any invitation from Mannerling with anything other than dread. You are not to see or go near Harry Devers again . . . either of you.’

Abigail tossed her fair curls. ‘Who are you to command us as to who we should see or not see? That is for Mama to say.’

Miss Trumble sighed. ‘Which means you still harbour ambitions in that direction, you silly girls. Jessica was assaulted and arrived here with her gown ripped. What on earth do you think happened to her? Too warm a kiss? This craziness must cease.’

Rachel flashed a guilty look at her twin and mumbled, ‘We thought perhaps Jessica had been a trifle missish.’

‘Missish! Your sister was brutally assaulted and frightened out of her wits.’