Supervising Sally (5 page)

On the following day Phoebe received a letter from her mother, brought over by Reginald's groom, who said he would wait for any reply. It was spotted with tearstains, and Phoebe opened it in some trepidation. Had the sisters persuaded her to withdraw permission to go to Brussels?

To her relief the letter was full of advice about how to
behave, pleasure that she had enjoyed the ball, and repeated assurances that she was being well cared for by Jane and her servants.

Phoebe immediately sat down to reply, promising to return in a few months.

But not for long if she could help it, she added to herself, feeling guilty at abandoning her mother to Jane's ministrations. She comforted herself with the thought that her mother would understand. After all, if she had married, she would have left home. Surely, amongst all the people now flocking to Brussels, she might find another congenial position as companion? Especially if she had done the job with Sally successfully, and could expect a recommendation.

Benton Manor was a delightful house built in Tudor times. The walls were of glowing Cotswold stone, covered with creepers; the mullioned windows twinkled in the winter sunlight, and the many twisted chimneys rose high above the roof. Phoebe wondered just what improvements Lady Benton wanted to make. If the manor belonged to her she would not alter a single thing.

When the butler showed her and Beatrice into the small, panelled drawing-room they found Lady Benton looking at
some drawings spread out on a large table. She looked up at them, frowning slightly, seeming distracted, then she smiled and came forward to clasp Lady Drayton's hands.

‘My dear Beatrice, you are my saviour! I don't know what I would have done if Sally had been left to plague me for much longer.'

Beatrice pursed her lips. ‘Surely she cannot be so dreadful? The chit's only just seventeen, barely out of the schoolroom.'

‘Old enough to cause endless trouble.'

She turned to Phoebe, raising her eyebrows slightly. Beatrice introduced her. ‘Phoebe looks young, but she is three and twenty, and a very sensible girl. It will be better for Sally to have someone nearer her own age as a companion; someone she can regard as a friend.'

‘If you think so. But do come and look at what my architect, Nathaniel Cowper, has designed for me. I'm having the front completely remodelled in the classical style, and the walls of these dreadfully poky rooms taken down so that we can have more commodious reception rooms. But I don't know if this portico is large enough. Look at this drawing. It does not look the right proportions to me.'

‘Later, Clara. Perhaps we can be shown our rooms? I'm sure Phoebe wants a rest, and I most certainly do. It's been cold travelling.'

‘Oh, forgive me! I'm so taken up with this project I lose sight of everything else.'

Including her daughter's welfare, Phoebe thought, and wondered when she would meet the girl.

They were shown to two small rooms where large fires roared in the fireplaces. At least Lady Benton's housekeeper had prepared a welcome. Phoebe unpacked the valise she was using for overnight and changed into her one evening gown. Beatrice had said they would stay just two nights, and
with an early start should reach London in a single day, if the weather held.

As she brushed her hair she looked out of the window. Despite the cold she had opened it slightly, for the fire was hot and the room stuffy. Below was a small knot garden, surrounded by a tall yew hedge. Phoebe assumed herbs were grown in the pleasant, sheltered spot. At this time of year the plants were straggly, some of the stalks bare, but in the summer it would be a charming sight. Then her attention was drawn to voices below her window, and she glanced down. A young man, scarcely more than a boy, was clasping a girl in his arms, and she appeared to be weeping bitterly. He stroked her hair, which was an unusual shade of red, and whispered into her ear.

Embarrassed at witnessing such a scene, Phoebe drew back and gently pulled the casement closed. It was two of the servants, she assumed, perhaps a lovers' quarrel being resolved.

A little later she knocked on Lady Drayton's door and they went down to the drawing-room. Lady Benton was there, having changed into an evening gown of bronze silk, but otherwise, Phoebe judged, having taken few pains with her appearance. Tendrils of hair escaped from under her tiny lace cap; she wore no jewellery, and was still poring over her drawings. This time a tall, thin man was with her, and he was gesticulating with quick, vehement movements.

Lady Benton looked up, smiled, and came across to them. ‘This is Mr Cowper, my very clever architect, who is making such wonderful changes to the manor,' she said. ‘Now I wonder where Sally is? I haven't seen her since this morning. Nor your nephew,' she added, her voice becoming hard.

‘George is at the lodge, my lady, with the drawings, making the changes we agreed yesterday for the east wing. I left him there as he wanted to finish while it was fresh in
his mind. He tends to become so absorbed he forgets the time, but he will be here soon, I'm sure.'

It was twenty minutes before a young man, looking rather flushed, entered the room and apologized for being late. On his heels came the most ravishingly pretty girl Phoebe had ever seen. She had a pale, flawless complexion, huge green eyes, luminous with unshed tears, and red hair which Phoebe had seen so very recently.

W
HILE THEY WERE at Benton Manor, Lady Drayton's butler, footman, her maid and an undercook went ahead to open up the town house, where normally only a caretaking couple lived, since the Draytons used it so infrequently. On the day after their arrival it was clear Lady Benton had no plans to entertain them herself. She told them at breakfast that Mr Cowper would be going to Northampton on the following day, to check on work his men were doing at a house there.

‘So you see, I have to finish deciding on the work here today. But there are horses in the stables; you could ride out. Sally will show you the best rides. Where is the girl? Surely not still abed. Or you could take the carriage to do some shopping.'

‘Phoebe might like to ride out, but I am weary of travelling, Clara, so I shall rest quietly, reading in the library, while you are with Mr Cowper.'

‘You don't look well, my lady,' Phoebe said, when Lady Benton had left the room. ‘You are very pale.'

‘Just weary. But you must take the opportunity of a ride. It's a beautiful day, and you've been confined for too long in the chaise.'

Phoebe could see she meant it, so she changed into the habit Beatrice had given her, and went to the stables. There she discovered from a harassed head groom that Sally had ridden out long before.

‘I can't spare a groom to go with you; there's only me and Ted here, and he's got to do some errands for Lady Benton. But Poll here's steady as a rock, would carry a three-year-old safely. And ye can't lose the way, miss. Just beyond the gatehouse there be a track takes you to top of hill, and ye can see for miles there. Take track that goes behind the little wood of oak trees, and it comes out by home farm, and ye can see the manor from there. An hour's ride, if ye takes it steady.'

Phoebe thanked him, and mounted a stolid-looking dun mare. She preferred to be alone. She had a great deal to think about. It had, surely, been Sally she had seen the previous day in the little garden with the architect's nephew, and they had been embracing. Was this the sort of behaviour which made her mother declare she was a handful? Did Beatrice know? Was Sally, neglected as she seemed to be, in the throes of calf love? Would she forget the boy when she had other things to think about, such as new clothes and the excitement of being in London and then Brussels?

Most importantly, ought she to tell Lady Drayton? But despite her denials, Phoebe thought Beatrice was unwell. She ought not to bother her. Her indecisive thoughts occupied her until she reached the top of the hill and paused to look at the wintry scene. It was a bright, crisp day, and she could see for miles across the gently undulating landscape. Further to the west the Cotswold hills rose higher, bleaker and without the many woods and copses nearer to hand. Phoebe could see the church steeples and cottages of several villages. Smoke rose hazily from dozens of chimneys, and faintly she could hear the clang of a hammer on an anvil.

She turned eventually along the track leading to the oaks.

As she neared them her stolid mare threw up her head and neighed, just as a couple of pheasants broke from cover at the edge of the wood and flew past the mare's head, less than three yards away.

Phoebe tightened her grip, then realized that Poll was not in the least disturbed by the birds, but had sensed the presence of some stable mates. Round the corner of the wood came two other horses, ridden by young men. Phoebe recognized George Cowper first, and wondered how the architect's assistant was able to spare the time for riding out. Perhaps he had some errands to do for his uncle, though she could not immediately think of any likely ones. Then an exclamation from his companion drew Phoebe's attention, and she saw that instead of the youth she had at first thought, it was Sally, dressed in breeches and riding astride.

‘Please don't tell Mama! She'd be horrified to know I ride in breeches.'

‘And not that you have clandestine meetings with a man?' Phoebe demanded. ‘I think you'd better come back with me.'

Phoebe, who had occasionally ridden astride when she was a child, had some sympathy. It was something she had often wished she could do now.

George had initially glared at her, then sulkily said they were doing nothing wrong. At a glance from Sally he had shrugged, turned his horse, and cantered away.

Sally had reluctantly turned back towards the manor and was riding beside Phoebe, volubly protesting.

‘They're not clandestine meetings. You make it sound disreputable, and it isn't. I've ridden out with George several times since he came here,' Sally said. ‘There are no other young people in the district, and he often has little to do, for
his uncle is one of those people who likes to control everything himself. Mama knows, and she doesn't mind, because there isn't always a groom to come with me. But we'll have to go to the gatehouse. I hate riding side saddle, so I leave my habit and side saddle there.'

Phoebe considered her. She was so young and obviously neglected by her mother. Would it do more harm to report what had happened than to ignore it? Having once, when she was fifteen, conceived a romantic attachment to one of her father's young assistants, Phoebe knew how rapidly such an attachment could fade once the object of her admiration had gone on his way. With all the excitements in store, Sally would probably forget George Cowper within days. She had been wrong to permit him to kiss her, but it could cause more problems and unnecessary distress to tell her mother about this unsuitable attachment. It was more than likely the fault of the young man. He'd taken advantage of a lonely, neglected girl. Besides, and for everyone's sake she had to consider this, it would also spoil her own chances of becoming a friend to Sally, the job she had been hired for. If Sally felt she could not be trusted, she would be unlikely to pay heed to anything Phoebe said. She would keep a very close eye on the girl, Phoebe promised herself, to make sure nothing similar happened again.

‘Do you promise not to do anything like this again if I keep your secrets?' she asked finally.

Sally beamed at her. ‘I knew you wouldn't be stuffy about it! We'll have left the manor tomorrow, and I won't see George again. But don't you sometimes wish you could ride in breeches, with such freedom, instead of those hateful, clumsy habits and side saddles?'

Phoebe laughed. ‘Yes, I do,' she admitted. ‘I did ride astride when I was a child, occasionally, but that was in a private field, on a pony, without any saddles, when we stayed with some cousins.'

‘I was so afraid you would be ancient, like a really stern governess,' Sally confided, as they rode towards the gatehouse. ‘I was dreading the journey, and being stuck in Brussels with no one I knew, but now I know it will be fun with you. We're to stay in London and buy clothes first, Aunt Beatrice said, and I shall be so glad to get rid of these childish ones I'm made to wear. There won't be anyone in Town at this time of year, but it's the first time I've been since I was about ten years old. Never mind, all the interesting people will be in Brussels.'

They arrived at the Drayton town house in Brook Street late in the afternoon of the following day, and Phoebe left the chaise with considerable relief. It had been cramped with four of them, and none of her companions had been inclined to conversation. Lady Drayton was feeling feverish, but insisted it was merely a cold and she was quite fit to travel. Annie, Sally's elderly maid who was to accompany her to Brussels, was grumpy and answered only in monosyllables when asked some question. Perhaps because of this, or regrets at leaving her home, Sally was unduly subdued during the journey. Phoebe wondered whether she was missing George Cowper, but Sally never referred to him, and Phoebe had to hope she would soon forget her infatuation.

‘Would you not prefer to make your come out in London?' she had asked as they reached the outskirts.

Sally shrugged. ‘I don't mind. There are plenty of people in Brussels this year, now Napoleon is imprisoned on Elba, so it makes no difference. It might be more fun. Mama is only interested in getting me married so that she doesn't have to pay any more attention to me. I'm so glad Aunt Beatrice
found you. It would have been odious if she'd foisted an old dragon to chaperon me. We'll have fun together.'

Phoebe wondered just what sort of fun she was envisioning. At least George Cowper would not be there. From remarks Beatrice had made before they reached Benton Manor she gathered Sally had caused problems by her wild behaviour. Precisely what sort of problems these were, apart from what she had discovered for herself, she had not been told. Sally had mentioned she had suffered several governesses, from which Phoebe deduced they had most of them given in their notice. From her reading and the comments of her mother's friends, Phoebe had understood it was rare for impecunious women forced to earn their livings as governesses to voluntarily relinquish positions, since it could be difficult to obtain another. And if they left suddenly or after a short time, they might not be given good references. Perhaps only desperate women would assume the task of teaching girls like Sally. Had she been rash to agree not to reveal what she had discovered? Only time would tell.

The first few days in London were taken up with choosing materials and styles for all the dresses Sally insisted she would need. Beatrice, though looking pale and tired, exercised some tactful restraint when Sally wanted to have gowns far too elaborate and old for her and, to Phoebe's surprise, Sally listened to her and discarded the more unsuitable ones. Phoebe, whose wardrobe was scanty, since they had been forced to economize since her father's death, was delighted when Beatrice insisted she also needed a considerable number of gowns, and said that her maid, who had been sent to London ahead of her with a few more servants, was an expert needlewoman and would quickly make some of her less important dresses.

‘You will be expected to accompany Sally to parties,' she said, ‘and you must be appropriately dressed. Lady Benton
gave me a sum of money specifically for your dresses, and it is ample, so you need not worry about it. I am to give you some more so that you can buy whatever else you need in Brussels.'

For several days, therefore, Phoebe and Sally indulged themselves, collecting extensive wardrobes and more trunks in which to transport them to Belgium. Sally was cheerful, looking forward to the parties she expected to attend, and Phoebe decided all was well.

When not having fittings, or shopping for shoes and fans and reticules, they persuaded Lady Drayton's coachman to drive them around London. Lady Drayton, still trying to rid herself of her cold, admitted to feeling tired, and was glad of the opportunities to rest.

Sally had been to London before but declared she could not remember much of it. To Phoebe, never having been, the whole experience was magical. She could have spent twice as long gazing at the tombs in Westminster Abbey, or exploring the wonders of the British Museum, but Sally grew impatient, called her a blue stocking, and demanded to visit more of the shops in Bond Street.