Supervising Sally (3 page)

She pouted. ‘Oh, I understand. You don't want my company. But you'll be back in London in January, as I will. I know I won't be able to endure Northumberland for more than a week or two. I'll see you then.'

He was about to tell her he was soon to go to Brussels, but bit back the words. Better to let her discover it for herself, after he had gone. The hint should be enough to warn her of his waning interest.

With London and Brussels to look forward to, Phoebe contrived to keep her temper during the time she spent with the Bradshaws. Jane's disapproval of the plan washed over her, and when Reginald Bradshaw remonstrated with her, telling her she was an ungrateful and undutiful daughter for deserting her mother, she simply smiled at him and assured
him that she knew her mother would be perfectly content living with him and Jane.

‘And your delightful children,' she added, just as the two eldest boys, home from school for the holidays, waving wooden swords and shrieking warlike chants, rushed into the drawing-room and began chasing each other round the furniture.

Why, she wondered, when Jane was so determined to order everyone else's life, did she not do more to control her children? At least Lady Drayton's offer had released her from the dreaded prospect of trying to teach them.

Bradshaw Towers was a grim, grey house on the edge of the moors. Built of dark-grey stone, it was square, three storeys high, with what Phoebe thought were silly, useless little turrets stuck on at each corner, giving the house its pretentious name. They were about the size of a closet, and as far as she knew had never been used for any purpose. The house was furnished lavishly but with little taste. If something gleamed with polish, was new and expensive, or was embellished with gold or silver, it had Reginald's approval. Little had changed since Phoebe's last visit after her father had died. That had been in winter too. The moorland scenery had, she was forced to admit, a certain bleak grandeur, but she would not like to live there all the time. When they had been invited to visit soon after Jane's marriage, Phoebe had escaped as often as she could, walking on the moors. In summer it had been better, she thought, but not a great deal.

One day she had explored southwards, climbing a long ridge a few hundred yards from the house, and looked down in astonishment at a long, winding valley. There was a huddle of huge buildings following the course of the river, and belching out smoke, and surrounding them a maze of narrow streets spreading up the sides of the valley, lined with terrace upon terrace of tiny houses.

‘The mills all belong to Reginald,' Jane had explained when she asked about it. ‘I never go there. It's dirty and unpleasant. Reginald's father built this house behind the ridge so that he would not have to see it, or hear, or smell it.'

‘The people who work in the mills have to live there,' Phoebe had said indignantly. ‘Isn't it noisy and dirty and smelly for them?'

Jane had laughed. ‘Dearest Phoebe, but those sort of people don't mind; they are used to it. And Reginald has been very generous and built a lot more houses, so almost every family that works in the mills can have their own. Some of the houses actually have three rooms.'

More houses no doubt meant more rents, Phoebe thought. Reginald and Jane lived richly on the toil of these people. She'd ventured into the town one afternoon, and seen tiny ragged children, with bare legs and arms and no shoes even in winter. The older ones, she knew, worked in the mills. A few elderly, bent women had stood and watched her walk past, and Phoebe had shivered at the unconcealed enmity in their eyes.

‘When do you leave us for your noble friends?' Dorothy, one of Reginald's sisters who lived with them, asked, when the two boys, still shrieking, had rushed from the room and they could resume normal conversation. ‘We have never been invited to Ridgeway Park.'

‘And whenever dear Reggie invites them here they always decline, saying Lord Drayton is too frail to drive so far,' Hermione, the other sister, complained.

The sisters, aged twenty-five and twenty-six, were so alike they were often taken for twins. Small, thin, with pale crimped hair teased into ringlets which hung either side of their faces, they always wore a profusion of mainly ugly jewellery, and their gowns were laden with frills and bows and other garnishes. They wore perpetually disgruntled
expressions which changed to cringing simpers whenever an unmarried man appeared at the house.

Reginald, unlike them, was large in every way. Tall, broad, with bulging muscles, he looked, Dr Kingston had said when he and Jane became betrothed, more like a prize fighter than a gentleman. ‘But if he's what Jane wants, and after all she's never had another offer, I'll not refuse my consent.'

Phoebe, who had overheard these comments not meant for her ears, had wondered how Jane could possibly endure the sight of him for the rest of her life. He had an unusually large head, made even bigger by his mop of unruly black curls. His face was bland and round, his nose large and prominent, and his wide, thin-lipped mouth concealed big discoloured teeth. He had not changed a great deal in the thirteen years he had been married, except that his hair showed streaks of grey, and he had a grid of frown lines on his forehead.

Somehow Phoebe endured their envious comments, pointing out that Lady Drayton was employing her, not treating her as a social equal. When a message came, a few days after Christmas, that Lady Drayton would be sending a carriage for her on the following day, she breathed a sigh of relief and went to pack her belongings.

As the letter had been addressed to Mrs Kingston, Phoebe only heard the rest of the contents when she went back downstairs. Dorothy and Hermione were deep in a discussion of evening gowns.

‘We can't both wear white,' Dorothy said. ‘Why can't you wear the pale blue?'

‘That old thing! It's last year's. I do think they could have given us more warning, so that we could have bought new ones.'

‘They probably want to make us feel out of place, unsophisticated, ' Dorothy said. ‘They won't succeed. If you refuse
to wear the blue, we could add different coloured trimmings to our white gowns. I'll have pink, you can have blue. Jane will lend us her maid to help us sew them on, and Phoebe, you'll have to help too.'

‘What do you need them for?' Phoebe asked.

Dorothy smirked. ‘Your noble friends have realized we are people of consequence, and have invited us to accompany you to Ridgeway Park for two days, to attend their dance for the New Year.'

‘H
OW PLAIN EVERYTHING is!' Hermione whispered, as a maid led them up the stairs to their bedrooms. ‘There were only a few ornaments in the drawing-room, and just one picture on each wall. Do you think they are very poor?'

Dorothy giggled. ‘They may have sold off everything else. I wonder if Lady Drayton's jewels are real or paste? Perhaps she had to sell them too. Jane said she had some lovely ones.'

Phoebe considered the Draytons had good taste, but did not comment. It would only provoke the sisters into making more disparaging comments on her own inferiority. She had been dismayed to hear the sisters were to attend the Draytons' ball, but Mrs Kingston had told her they always held a big party at New Year, and invited not only the important local families, but also their tenant farmers with their older children. Dorothy and Hermione would not like that, she thought with a grin. They enjoyed taking offence, and would probably conclude they were regarded as on the same social level as tenant farmers.

‘They have never invited Jane,' Mrs Kingston said with a slight sigh. ‘Beatrice told me once that it was too far for them to drive back afterwards, and she did not have enough rooms to offer them accommodation for the night. It's only because of you she has invited the girls.'

And still had not invited Jane and Reginald, Phoebe noted, and really could not blame Lady Drayton for not wishing to endure the company of her overbearing brother-in-law. Besides, once he had visited Ridgeway Park she would never be free of invitations to visit his home, and his attempts to advance the connection.

The sisters, having been shown to a large room they were to share, and Phoebe to a small connecting one, were complaining bitterly as soon as the maid left them.

‘Why should she expect us to share, and not you?' Dorothy demanded, opening the connecting door and surveying Phoebe's room.

‘Your room is three times the size of mine,' Phoebe said, irritated. ‘Who would you expect me to share with? You are sisters. Have you never had to share a room before?'

‘Only when we were little. Phoebe, you're Lady Beatrice's pet, can't you tell her you think her housekeeper, or whoever is responsible, has made a mistake? We need rooms to ourselves.'

‘I would not be so rude! Besides, I imagine the house is full with all the guests they have staying. There might be a couple of attics, I suppose, unless they are occupied by all the visiting maids. Now please let me unpack what I need for dinner tonight. And I thought you still had some more ribbons to sew on to your ball gowns for tomorrow?'

She almost pushed them back into their bedroom, locked the connecting door, and undid her trunk. She had given up wearing white when she had her twenty-first birthday two years ago, considering it too juvenile. The one good evening dress she possessed was a delicate shade of primrose satin embroidered on the bodice and edge of the skirt in a deeper shade of gold, and her ball gown, saved from the days when she had attended balls in the Assembly Rooms, was of blue silk with a silver gauze overskirt. She took them out, shook
them to get rid of the worst wrinkles, and hung them up, hoping the rest of the creases would drop out before she needed to wear them. She had no maid to press them, and Lady Drayton's maids would no doubt be far too busy to help.

It was almost time to dress for dinner. Phoebe washed, blessing the maid who had appeared with pitchers of hot water. She brushed her hair and bundled it into a net at the nape of her neck. Aware that if she did not escape, the sisters would demand her help with their own elaborate hairstyles, and complain when she was unable to make their intransigent curls behave as they wished, she slipped into the evening gown, threw a paisley shawl her mother had given her over her shoulders, and left the room.

Downstairs she found several of the guests already in the drawing-room. When she went in Beatrice, wearing a narrow-skirted gown of sea-green silk, shot through with silver thread, came across to her, took her hand, and led her to meet two other young ladies, daughters of her older sister who lived in Lancashire.

Ten minutes later, Dorothy and Hermione appeared, followed by a tall, dark man. Phoebe shut her eyes and hoped no one knew she was connected to the pair. They looked more alike than ever, as they had both donned elaborate evening gowns of puce silk, adorned with ruffles of pink satin and dyed feathers in varying shades of pink. It looked, Phoebe thought, as she stifled a giggle, as though the dye had been uneven. Dorothy sported a magnificent diamond necklace which belonged to Jane, a wedding present from Reginald, while Hermione wore one of rubies which clashed horribly with her gown. Had they tossed to see which one wore the diamonds, she wondered?

As they entered the room through the double doors they separated to permit the man following them to step between
them. He was tall, impeccably dressed in a black tail coat and white waistcoat, and the new fashion trousers. His cravat was tied in some vastly intricate style, and Phoebe idly wondered just what name was given to it. Identical simpers were cast in his direction by the sisters, and Phoebe stifled another giggle, this time at the harassed expression on his handsome face. He looked towards Beatrice, and she went across to them, drawing the sisters away and introducing them to Lord Drayton. The man visibly heaved a sigh of relief, and crossed the room to join Phoebe's group.

‘Poor Uncle Zach!' the elder of the girls sitting with Phoebe mocked. ‘You really do need to get married so that you are protected from predatory females.'

He grinned at her. ‘Thank you, Priscilla, I have enough trouble avoiding all the girls your Aunt Beatrice thrusts under my nose without you adding your efforts. How are you both? I only arrived an hour ago, and haven't seen anyone yet.'

He turned to Phoebe. ‘I'm Beatrice's brother, Zachary Walton.'

‘Phoebe Kingston.'

So this was the man who would be escorting them to Brussels. Phoebe studied him with interest. He was, she judged, about thirty years old, and carried himself with military bearing. She wondered why he was not in the army. Conventionally handsome with short dark hair, a thin face, and brilliant blue eyes, he would attract attention and admiration wherever he was. From the remarks of his nieces, she understood he attracted plenty of female attention and was not surprised. Dorothy and Hermione had quite clearly admired him. Phoebe didn't know them well, but during the Christmas festivities at Bradshaw Towers she had concluded that they attempted to flirt with any unattached man under sixty.

It was difficult, she knew, with a pang of remorse for her uncharitable thoughts, for girls who wished to marry to do a great deal about it. Daughters of the upper classes were introduced to Society, where they might meet suitable husbands. Many marriages were still arranged by the parents, to consolidate estates, or increase the influence of families. Girls like Dorothy and Hermione would normally marry men like their brother, mill owners or professional men such as doctors or lawyers. To marry into a higher class was rare, unless a girl was especially pretty or wealthy. To marry someone like a shopkeeper would be considered a step down in the social scale. For a few moments she felt sorry for Reginald's sisters. They were not pretty, and their manner was unfortunate. She doubted whether Reginald or Jane had made much effort to introduce his sisters to suitable men. Reginald would probably not have considered it, or if he had, might not have wanted to offer dowries. Jane probably found them too useful as helpers around the house to want to lose them. For a moment she wondered why Jane had not expected one of them to take over the task of teaching her children; then she concluded Reginald would most likely have objected. His sisters could not be used in such a fashion, but to let Jane's sister take on a menial role would not offend him.

Her musings were cut short as dinner was announced. She was seated between two young men, both sons of local squires, and in between talking to them was able to watch Dorothy and Hermione, seated on the far side of the table. Their table companions were older, and both men had wives present. This obviously displeased the girls, who kept casting resentful glances at Phoebe and the lively conversations she enjoyed with the young men.

When Beatrice led the ladies into the drawing-room Dorothy took Phoebe's arm and marched her across to a sopha in a far corner of the room.

‘You were behaving disgracefully!' she hissed. ‘You were flirting all through dinner. I felt thoroughly ashamed of you.'

Hermione had joined them and seated herself on Phoebe's other side. ‘If Reginald hears about how you are letting him down he will not permit you to go on this silly Brussels jaunt.'

Phoebe laughed. ‘Your brother has no authority over me, to allow me to go anywhere, and I shall talk to or flirt with – if that is how you choose to describe friendly conversation – whomsoever I like. At least I don't simper at men who are unlikely to appreciate such infantile behaviour!'

As they spluttered with indignation Phoebe rose to her feet and walked calmly across to where Priscilla and her sister were looking at a book of flower paintings. They welcomed her, moving to make room for her to sit beside them, and chatting until the men came in. Soon afterwards several card tables were organized, while some of the younger men went off to play billiards. Phoebe and her new friends went with them to watch. When one of the men who had been talking to Phoebe asked Dorothy and Hermione if they were coming, they quickly shook their heads.

‘I am not interested in such ways of passing the time,' Dorothy said, and the friendly man shrugged and left them.

‘They'll become sour old maids,' Priscilla said, and Phoebe knew she was right. There was nothing she could do to help, and their attitude towards her did not make her want to try and help them. When she went to bed she made sure the connecting door between their bedrooms was locked, resolutely ignoring the insistent rapping on it, and the demands for the door to be opened.

On the following day Phoebe rose early, as she usually did. It was a bright, sunny day, and she longed to be outside, away
from the sisters who would, she was sure, spend the day being critical of their hosts and the other guests. The only other person in the breakfast-room was the Earl of Wrekin, dressed in immaculate buckskin breeches and high boots. He rose to his feet as she entered and offered to help her from the dishes set out on the sideboard.

‘Thank you, my lord. Just a slice of ham please.'

He put the plate in front of her. ‘You are up unusually early. I thought most ladies preferred to stay in bed for several more hours.'

‘Oh? Ought I not to be here? Was I expected to stay in my room?' Phoebe asked, worried she had made a social gaffe.

‘Don't be concerned. It is a pleasant change to see a girl who has energy in the mornings. What do you mean to do to fill the hours?'

‘I thought I would walk in the grounds, unless it rains, but it looks as though it will be a fine day.'

‘There is not a great deal to see in the gardens at this time of year, except bare trees and dead plants. Do you ride?'

‘I used to, before my father died.' Phoebe thought wistfully of Rusty, the gentle mare they had been forced to sell when her father died, because they could not afford to keep her.

‘Beatrice has a mild-mannered mare she would lend you, if you cared to come out for a ride with me.'

Phoebe's eyes lit up. ‘Oh, that would be wonderful.' Then she remembered. ‘But I don't have a riding habit with me.'

‘I'll ask Beatrice's maid if she can find an old one.' He rang the bell as he spoke. ‘My sister probably has several. Ah, Peters, can you please ask Lady Drayton's maid to find a riding habit and some boots for Miss Kingston? Then send to the stables to have her mare and another horse for me saddled.'

When the butler had left, Wrekin poured Phoebe some more coffee. ‘You live in Yorkshire?' he asked.