The American Heiress (38 page)

Bertha wished that Mrs Cash was here already. The Cashes were due any day now; Mrs Cash had seen no reason to cut short the New York season to be with Cora while she was cooped up at Lulworth, but she had no intention of missing the birth of her grandson, the future Duke (Mrs Cash had not even entertained the possibility that the child might be a girl). But Bertha thought that Mrs Cash should have been here months before. Miss Cora needed some of her own folks at this time. They had been at Lulworth for five months now, time enough to feel homesick. Miss Cora would never admit it but Bertha had seen the piles of letters to the States which went into the wooden post box in the shape of a castle that stood in the great hall. Every day at eleven, two and five, the butler opened the box with a special brass key and gave the letters to the postman. Some days Bertha would see letters to America leaving by every post. There was also the daily letter to India. Occasionally Bertha would send one of her own, but she had told Jim not to reply – a letter from India would cause too much talk in the servants’ hall. She knew that every letter was thoroughly scrutinised by the butler and Mrs Softley and she was pretty sure that a letter addressed to her from India would be steamed open before she received it. One of the parlourmaids had been dismissed after Christmas because she had received a love letter from a groom at Sutton Veney. Strictly speaking, it was for the Duchess to dismiss the maid, but Mrs Softley had not found it necessary to consult the mistress. Bertha was not sure now that even the Duchess would be able to protect her if her relationship with Jim was discovered.

Bertha wondered whether her mistress realised how little control she had over the household at Lulworth, how the servants that treated her with such deference in public laughed at her in the servants’ hall. Miss Cora had not taken command of Lulworth in the way that Mrs Cash had run Sans Souci. Miss Cora had been full of schemes for ‘improving’ the house: some things like the bathrooms had been achieved, but her attempts to change the way the house was run – she had been astonished to discover that there was one man who was employed simply to wind all the clocks in the house – had mostly come to nothing. She gave orders but could not enforce them. One of her first orders had been to remove the photographs of the Double Duchess, usually in the company of the Prince of Wales, that were in every guest bedroom. Last time Bertha had looked, the photographs were still there, the silver frames gleaming from constant polishing. Miss Cora had not yet noticed; Bertha wondered what she might do when she did. Probably nothing, Cora’s spirit seemed to be waning as the baby grew bigger and there was still no sign of the Duke’s return. He should have been back in early February but he had written at the beginning of the month to say that he would be delayed. Bertha had seen her mistress’s face crumple after reading that letter and impulsively she had taken her hand. She could see that Cora needed someone to hold on to. These months of seclusion and waiting had made Bertha acutely aware of her mistress’s isolation. A few nights ago Cora had asked her to sleep in her bed. She said that it was in case the baby came but Bertha knew that her mistress just wanted a body beside her. Sometimes she felt the same way herself. When she had heard Cora calling Ivo’s name in her sleep, Bertha had found herself, rather to her surprise, feeling sorry for her.

Since they had come to Lulworth, Cora had seen almost no one. Father Oliver had been there for a month working on the History. Mrs Wyndham had come to stay for a week, as had Sybil Lytchett, but otherwise Cora had been alone at Lulworth, in as much as you could ever be alone in a house with eighty-one servants. Bertha had been surprised that there had not been more callers from the neighbourhood but when she remarked on this to Mrs Softley, the housekeeper had been astonished at her ignorance. ‘No one is going to be calling on the Duchess when she is expecting, not when the Duke’s away. It wouldn’t be right.’ So Cora ate alone most nights, her diamonds sparkling unseen as she picked her way through the six courses that constituted a ‘light dinner’.

The sea was much colder than the warm weather would suggest but Cora hardly noticed, she was lit from within by an internal furnace. Her daily swim was the only time she felt relieved of her burden. To float on her back weightless and cool was all she craved. She found the walk down to the beach harder with each passing day but it was worth it to take off all her clothes and step inch by inch into the water, shivering with pleasure and pain as it lapped her ankles, then her calves, her thighs until it reached her swollen belly. When the water was shoulder height she would take a deep breath and plunge her head underwater, blowing out so that a stream of bubbles pierced the surface of the water. Then she would float on her back, kicking her legs sporadically and watching the odd fugitive cloud as it floated over the cove. Sometimes she would turn on her front and on a clear day she would look at the small brown fish that darted beneath the seaweed. She noticed that when she swam, the creature inside her would stop kicking. It was the only time that she could be sure that it would be quiet. Now as she swam across the cove she could imagine that she was the girl she had been two summers before in Newport; although there she had been weighed down with an elaborate bathing costume whereas here she was naked. She had tried swimming with a costume here, but the combination of her pregnant belly and the sodden serge skirts of her bathing dress made her wish that she could swim unencumbered. She had confided this desire to Sybil Lytchett, who had been visiting. Sybil had laughed and said, ‘But Cora, nothing could be easier. Tell the servants that the swimming cove is out of bounds and you can swim in whatever you want!’ Cora had found it awkward to explain to Bugler that she wanted to be private during her daily swim, she had felt as if she was asking permission instead of giving orders. But in the event, the butler had been quite accommodating and had taken to running up a red flag on the flagpole when Cora set off to the cove, which told everyone on the estate that the beach was out of bounds.

So far, this rule had been observed absolutely; no one from the house would go near the beach while the red flag was flying, but this morning as she surfaced from one of her seal-like plunges underwater, Cora saw a figure coming down the path to the beach. Her poor eyesight meant that she could not see the figure clearly, but from the black and white of his clothes it could only be Bugler. He stood at the edge of the beach hovering, to step on to the beach would be heresy, but whatever it was must have been urgent for the man to have come this far. In compromise he called to Bertha to come over to him. Cora, treading water just out of her depth so that the water concealed everything except her head, watched as the maid picked her way gingerly across the shingle. The butler bent down to speak to her and Cora saw the maid start and then run back down the beach, waving and shouting. The butler retreated up the hill. Cora could not make out what Bertha was saying but she understood that she wanted her to get out. She swam slowly to the shore and started to pick her way across the sharp stones, feeling the wind dry the salt on her skin. She reached gratefully for the linen sheet that Bertha held out to her.

‘What’s happened, Bertha? Is it Ivo?’

‘No, Miss Cora, it is the Double Duchess. She is arriving by the morning train.’ Bertha’s voice was neutral. She knew that her news would not be welcome.

Cora gasped. ‘But I haven’t invited her! She can’t just arrive like this, without notice. Does she think that she is still mistress of Lulworth?’ Bertha said nothing, but held out Cora’s wrapper. Cora struggled to get it on over her damp skin.

‘I haven’t seen her since Ivo went to India and now she is here. She knows he’s on his way back, of course.’ Bertha knelt down and helped Cora into her slippers. Cora leant on her as they walked slowly back across the shingle beach. Duchess Fanny had written to her several times since she had been at Lulworth, letters full of detail about her visits to Sandringham and Chatsworth and plenty of exhortations to Cora to take care of her unborn child. Cora had long ago stopped reading the letters with attention: she really had no desire to know how many birds the Prince of Wales had bagged or that the Duchess of Rutland, whom she had never met, had quite lost her figure. She had been unpleasantly surprised by how well informed Duchess Fanny was about her life at Lulworth; her last letter had been a lecture on the follies of swimming in her condition. The letter had been so irritating that she had thrown it into the fire. But the arrival of the Duchess in person was far worse. Cora knew that the Duchess had enjoyed the debacle over the Louvain portrait, and she suspected from what Mrs Wyndham and Sybil had hinted that the Duchess lost no opportunity to mock her American daugher-in-law.

At the top of the cliff was the little donkey cart that Cora used to get around the estate now that she could no longer ride or even walk very far in comfort. Cora picked up the reins and gave them an irritable shake as they headed back to the house. She shook her head impatiently as Bertha tried to spread her wet hair out to dry.

‘Oh, leave it alone, Bertha.’

‘But Miss Cora, supposing the Duchess has already arrived?’ Bertha sounded worried.

‘Well, what if she has? This is my house now. If I choose to go about with wet hair, it is really none of her concern.’ But as they approached the house and Cora saw the carriage already drawn up outside the house, she tried to shape her damp locks into a more seemly braid. She thought for a moment of going into the house through the servants’ wing and avoiding the Double Duchess until she had had a chance to change, but she could not face the idea of walking past the servants, who would know, of course, exactly why she was coming in the back way.

As she hesitated at the door, she heard the Duchess’s voice already taking possession.

‘The Stuart room, I think, Bugler. The Prince was always very happy there, despite its Jacobite associations. So strange to be here and not to sleep in my bedroom.’ There was a trace of huskiness in the Duchess’s voice and Cora imagined Bugler’s sympathetic bow. But the Duchess recovered herself and said, ‘Sybil can have her usual room.’

Cora’s spirits lifted at the mention of Sybil, and she made herself walk into the room. Duchess Fanny was sitting in one of the carved chairs by the fireplace, flanked by Bugler and her stepdaughter. She did not get up when she saw Cora but simply beckoned to her with one long white hand. Cora could see the flash of diamonds as her mother-in-law tilted her wrist.

‘Cora, my dear girl.’ Duchess Fanny’s voice trailed away in reproach. ‘When Bugler told me you had gone swimming I was simply amazed. Surely you must understand the risks to someone in your condition. Didn’t you get my letter?’ As she waved her hands the diamonds flashed again.

Cora felt the baby turn and kick her under the ribs. She gave a little gasp of discomfort, but the prod dissipated the irritation the Duchess had provoked. She nodded to the Duchess and smiled at Sybil.

‘Welcome to Lulworth. I apologise for not being here to meet you but then I had no idea you were coming today.’ She said this as affably as she could. ‘You must excuse me while I change. Bugler will look after you, of course.’ She looked over at the butler who, she noticed, did not look at all surprised by the arrival of the Double Duchess.

She turned towards the staircase and started the heavy climb to her room. That was why she swam, to remember what it was to feel light again. She heard a step behind her and felt Sybil’s hand at her elbow.

‘Let me help you, Cora.’

As they got to the landing, Sybil burst out, ‘I am so sorry. I thought you knew we were coming. Mama said she had written to you.’

Cora remembered the letter she had thrown on the fire.

‘Don’t worry, Sybil, I am always glad to see
you
. How is Reggie?’

Sybil blushed, her skin clashing with her red-gold hair. ‘I think he was about to make an offer but then Mama insisted that we come down here.’ She realised what she had said and reddened even more. ‘I wanted to see you, of course, but I had arranged to go riding in the park with Reggie tomorrow.’

Cora began to feel better. She felt sorry for Sybil, of course, but she was happy to be reminded that as a married woman she was no longer subject to the whims of mothers. She suspected that Duchess Fanny knew all about Sybil’s hopes and was determined to thwart them. Reggie Greatorex was a perfectly suitable husband for Sybil but the Double Duchess did not want to lose her companion, particularly one whose youthful charms did nothing to eclipse her own. If Sybil had looked like Charlotte Beauchamp, the Duchess would have married her off without a moment’s hesitation, but gawky Sybil was a foil, not a rival.

She smiled. ‘Well, perhaps we can prevail on Reggie to come and ride with you here. When Ivo comes back.’ Cora paused. ‘It can’t be long now. His last letter was from Port Said.’ She put her hand on her belly and sighed. ‘He really should be here. Still, I am delighted you have come, Sybil, even if the circumstances are not ideal. Do you know how long the Duchess intends to stay? It’s not a question I can very well ask.’

Sybil looked surprised. ‘Well, I think she wants to be here for the…’ She trailed off and colour mottled her cheeks. Sybil could not bring herself to say the word birth.

Cora looked at her in dismay. ‘She plans to stay here until the baby comes? But what on earth for? Is it some kind of custom that she should be present? Another Maltravers tradition that I don’t know about?’ Cora’s voice came out high and strained, she could feel tears gathering behind her eyelids.

Sybil shook her head miserably, ‘I don’t think it’s a tradition, I think it’s just what Mama thought was right. She said she wanted to be sure that everything was done properly.’

Cora tipped her head back to hold back the tears. She did not want to cry in front of Sybil. But she felt as if she had been invaded. She had spent the last few months trying to feel at home at Lulworth and now the precarious balance she had achieved was about to be upset. She had spent so much time in these last lonely months imagining the reunion with Ivo. There had been nights when she had cried because she could not quite remember his face. She did not know exactly who Ivo would be when he came home, but she was certain that he would not welcome the presence of his mother.