The Emperor (66 page)

Mary Ann frowned. 'Yes, I had that impression, too, but
I couldn't pick out anyone who wasn't on my list, except for
the party the Ansteys brought, and I knew about them, for
Louisa Anstey sent me a note about it yesterday.'

‘
What would you have done, if you had seen anyone not
on the list?' James asked, intrigued.

‘
Why, asked them to leave, of course,' Mary Ann said,
surprised. James grinned.

‘
My dear ma'am, I should take off my hat to you, if I
were wearing one. Ah, the end of the set. Do nod to your
musicians, my dear, or we shall be up until dawn.'

‘
It isn't far off dawn now,' Mary Ann said, complying.
‘Do you know it is past three o'clock?'

‘
Ah well, none of us rises as early as Mother used to,'
James said. They stood at the door and bade farewell to the
young people as they passed. 'I suppose you noticed Ned
and Chetwyn slipping away hours ago? Mother used to have
terrible trouble with them years ago, in the days when she still thought she might persuade them to marry. But it was
worse when they danced than when they did not, for they
could never be brought to know the name of one young lady
from another, which the young ladies found extremely
insulting.'

‘Your mother is much on your mind tonight,' Mary Ann commented.

‘
Yes — I suppose, because this is the first formal occasion
at which you have presided instead of her,' James said.

‘
I hope you think I have not disgraced you,' Mary Ann said. James looked at her appraisingly, his mouth lifted at
one corner in one of his strange smiles which she never
understood. 'It is difficult to plan a ball with such limited
space. You know, James, if we are to entertain a great deal,
it would be worth filling the moat, or covering part of it, in
order to build on some larger rooms for parties and balls.'
James, still smiling enigmatically, was looking around the
long saloon as though he had not heard her. 'Don't you
think so? James?'

‘
What's that? I beg your pardon, my dear — I was just
imagining having Fanny's coming-out ball here. How I shall frown at all the young men, and think no-one fit to stand up
with her!'

‘Well, there you are, exactly,' Mary Ann said, taking his
profferred arm and walking with him to the door of her
room. 'A coming-out ball for Fanny, with only thirty
couples, and only two-thirds of film able to dance at once?
It won't do, James, not for Miss Morland of Morland Place.'

‘
Perhaps we ought to build a new house entirely, in the
modern style, like your father's,' James said ironically.
‘After all, she'll be Miss Morland of Hobsbawn Mills too,
won't she?’

She turned at her door to face him and looked up at him
gravely. 'A new house would be entirely to the good, except
that I think you would not like to abandon this old place, for
all its inconveniences.'

‘
No,' James said gently mocking, 'you're quite right, I
would not. Besides,' to salve her pride, 'we could not afford it.'

‘
With Papa's money we could,' she said, and then
blushed surprisingly. 'I know you despise Papa's money.'
James murmured a protest. 'But after all, it helps you to do
things you want to do, like rebuilding the stables. Of course, Fanny being a girl, Papa won't leave her everything, because
he doesn't think a female could run his mills, even with an
agent in charge, but still there will be a great deal of money,
and the terms of the trust would allow - '

‘Who do the mills go to, Fanny being a girl?' James asked abruptly, breaking in.

‘
I think, to my cousin Jasper. Well, he's a second cousin, really, descended from Papa's aunt - quite a distant relative. I've never met him. I don't think even Papa knows him very
well.’

James studied his wife's face, fair, lightly flushed,
alabaster and rose, framed by the soft brown hair, silky as a
spaniel's ears, which for several hours now had been
slipping from its pins. It was almost two years since he had
shared a woman's bed, and she really was very pretty.

‘
And this unknown Jasper is to have your father's
fortune, for no better reason than that he is male?'

‘
I - I suppose so - not all Papa's fortune, of course - only - ' Her eyes slid away from his, and her cheeks grew hotter.
James picked up one of her hands and kissed it lightly.

‘
It seems very unfair to me,' he said. 'Don't you think we
ought to do something about it?’

Mary Ann opened her mouth automatically to ask what,
but managed to close it again, the folly unspoken. She kept her eyes down, but felt him watching her, waiting, his eyes
amused, his mouth curled in that inscrutable smile. She
thought briefly of the five years of marriage and the slights
and insults she had borne from him. He had ignored, hurt
and humiliated her, and one foolish, un-Christian part of
her wanted to snub him now in retaliation.

But it was a small part. Most of her mind was under her
control, and was glad that he was coming at last to the right way of thinking. Her patience and forgiveness had softened
him and were about to reap their reward. And then there
was a large, and largely mute, part of her which simply
wanted to be close to him, after the years of loneliness.

She opened the door of the west bedchamber, and
pushed it wide. Dakers, sitting half asleep in a chair beside
the bed, startled awake and stood up. Her eyes went past
her mistress to the master, standing just outside the door,
and she frowned.

‘
It's all right, Dakers, I don't need you any more,' Mary
Ann said smoothly. 'You may go to bed now.’

Dakers was too good a servant to make any protest, but
the warning look she bestowed on James as she walked past
him out of the room would have melted doorknobs.

 
The Earl of Aylesbury went home to Wolvercote in the
autumn of 1799 with a grim face and despair in his heart. Edward knew everything. Chetwyn had hoped to keep the
truth about Lucy's adultery and pregnancy from him, for
Edward, the epitome of a country squire, had little interest
in Society doings, rarely read a newspaper, and never
listened to gossip. Chetwyn valued this extraordinary innocence, and wished to preserve it, for while Edward did not
change, Chetwyn could revisit the carefree, sunlit days of his
own youth in Edward's company.

But a letter came from Lucy announcing that the child
was born, and begging her husband to visit her. When
Edward discovered in surprise that Chetwyn did not intend to obey the summons, he had begun to ask questions which
soon resulted in his learning the whole truth. Learning it, he
had not sided wholeheartedly with his friend.

‘
I know she has behaved badly,' he said, 'but you ought
to forgive her, Chet. To refuse to visit her at a time like this
is too unkind. Besides, think of the scandal it will stir up.
People are bound to wonder why you don't go.'

‘
You blame me for that, rather than her?' Chetwyn said,
hurt.

‘
Lucy's just a child,' Edward said. 'She doesn't always
think what she's doing.' Chetwyn snorted at this view of her.
‘Besides, you and she didn't marry for love. It was conven
ient for you, because you did not want to have to woo a
woman, and she has never complained, as she has every
right to, of your neglect of her. If she has taken a lover, it is
at least partly your fault.'

‘
Your view of the world is so distorted I hardly recognize
the people and places,' Chetwyn said angrily. 'I am the
aggrieved party! Lucy has wronged me, yet you condemn
me, while Lucy is to be excused, on what grounds I hardly
understand. Pray what gives you the right to judge me? Or
is it simply that your sister has first claim with you, and that
I am nothing to you any more?’

From there the discussion had deteriorated into a quar
rel, the remarks passed had descended to the personal, and
the first breach in their long friendship had occurred. It had been patched over when Chetwyn agreed to reply to Lucy's
letter and to go and visit her, but it had left him wounded
where he was most vulnerable, and bitter against Lucy as the
cause of it.

Hicks met him in the hall, his expression a curious mix
ture of relief and apprehension. 'Welcome home, my lord,'
he said, 'and if I may add, congratulations, my lord.'

‘
On what am I to be congratulated, Hicks?' Chetwyn
asked uncompromisingly. Hicks met his eye with a look
which conveyed sympathy, regret, anxiety, and a fatherly
warning.

‘On the birth of a son, my lord,' he said.

A son! Chetwyn stared at him in dismay and dawning
understanding. Had this new child been a daughter, or had
Chetwyn bred a number of sons before it, it would not have
been so important. Chetwyn might have let the world know,
directly or indirectly, that he was not the progenitor, and the world would have shrugged. But this child, the firstborn son,
would inherit the title and the estate, would become in turn
the seventh Earl of Aylesbury, and there was nothing Chetwyn could do to change that. It would be worse than folly,
therefore, to cast doubts upon the child's parentage: it
would be a crime against his heritage.

‘
Her ladyship is in her own bedchamber, my lord,' Hicks
said, gently reminding him of his duty. 'She instructed me to
request you to step up to her as soon as you arrived, my
lord, if it should be convenient.'

‘Yes,' said Chetwyn. 'I'll go.’

Lucy's chamber was no less cluttered than before the
birth of Flaminia and Lucy herself was sitting up in bed,
wearing a robe of yellow tamboured silk, eating potted
shrimps and washing them down with a quart of champagne
which she was sharing with Docwra. The maid, who was
sitting on the edge of the bed with a tankard in her hand,
jumped up with a startled cry as Chetwyn came in, dislodg
ing a heap of letters and a ginger kitten onto the floor, and
trying guiltily to hide the tankard behind her.

‘
Oh, my lord! There, my lady, didn't I say I heard the
carriage ten minutes since? Mercy on me, what a muddle!
Will I get you a tankard, my lord? You'll want to be
drinking a toast, I've no doubt.'

‘
Thank you, Docwra. I see you have been drinking toasts
already. But then, my lady has something to celebrate,
hasn't she?'

‘
Champagne is very good for women in childbed, as I've
always told you, Chetwyn,' Lucy said calmly, though her
eyes were watchful.

‘
Yes, you always have,' Chetwyn replied. He took the
profferred cup from Docwra, held it to be filled, and then lifted it with an ironic smile in Lucy's direction. ‘To your
child, madam. You have a son at last.’

He drank. Lucy looked at Docwra and gave a small jerk
of her head towards the door, and the maid curtseyed 'and
left them alone. Chetwyn drained the tankard, set it down,
and said, 'Where is the baby?’

The cot was by the bedside. He walked across to it and
looked down at the tiny, sleeping scrap of humanity. It was
much as all babies are, indistinguishable to Chetwyn from
any other child which was not his; smaller than Flaminia had
been, prettier than Rosamund. 'Is it healthy?'

‘Yes,' Lucy said.

‘
A boy,' he said. Oh, it was a bitter thing! 'I suppose you
have written to the father, to congratulate him? There will
be rejoicing around the fleet, and a double rum-ration
aboard
^t
he - what is the name of his ship?'

‘The
Semele,'
Lucy answered him automatically.

Chetwyn bowed ironically. 'As you say. Well, you must
make do with my congratulations. I'm sorry I shan't be able
to rejoice as heartily as he will when he hears the news.’