The Folly (13 page)

Rachel felt guilty. For who could know better about an obsession to gain Mannerling than the Beverleys?

“It is difficult for me to speculate on the subject,”
she said in a low voice. “You must have heard the gossip about us. Mr. Judd was obsessed with the place, as was Harry Devers. But both are dead and I know of no others.”

He gave her a slanting look from those green eyes. “And the Beverleys are no longer obsessed?”

“No,” she said in a half-whisper.

“I am sorry to pain you, but it is all too evident that Lady Beverley is setting her cap at my father.”

Rachel felt immeasurably tired. She was intensely aware of his masculinity, of his attraction. But also that she did not stand a chance with such a man because of such a mother and such a reputation.

“Mama has not been quite…right…since the loss of Mannerling and is apt to be a trifle silly on the subject,” she said stiffly. “But Mama would never do anything to hurt your children, nor would I or my sisters.”

He gave a sigh. “It is all very strange. Mr. Cater seemed much taken with the house. What do you know of him?”

“Only what he has told me, that he is a sugar-plantation owner, here in England on a visit. Yes, he wishes to settle here. But just suppose he craved to get possession of Mannerling. How would he know that John out of all the other servants would prove such an easy tool?”

“Who told him of Mannerling?”

“A Lord Hexhamworth, an old friend of my father.”

“Mr. Cater resides at the Green Man in Hedgefield, I believe. How long does he plan to remain there?”

“I do not know. I will ask him, if you wish. He is a frequent caller.”

“Oho, and why is that?”

Rachel blushed.

“He is a good catch,” said Charles, looking at her with affectionate amusement.

There had still been a little spark of hope in Rachel’s heart until that last comment. Now there was no hope at all.

“It has stopped raining,” she said in a stifled voice.

“So it has, and look, over there, a rainbow.”

They walked back to the house together. He chatted easily of this and that, looking all the while curiously at her sad, averted face.

“I am sorry if I distressed you by seeming to accuse your family of being behind these hauntings. You must forgive me and realize I have been overset at what I see as a threat to my children. Come now, Miss Rachel, and smile at me. What would I have done without you to bring their plight to my attention?”

He stopped and looked down at her. She gave him a watery smile and then began to cry.

He took out his handkerchief and, tilting up her face, gently dried her tears. “I am the veriest brute to distress you so. We both need some tea and something to eat.”

He linked his arm in hers and Rachel walked beside him, feeling the strength of that arm, her body a tumult of mixed emotions.

Minerva stood at the window with her brother beside her and watched their approach.

“Pretty picture,” sneered George.

“What am I to do about that wretched girl?” demanded Minerva.

“Why do you always ask me what you are to do? You’re always accusing me of being stupid.”

“When you are not stupid in drink and all about in your upper chambers, brother dear, you have some ideas.”

“I did hear in Hedgefield that the Cater fellow was courting Rachel.”

Minerva brightened. “Perhaps that might be the answer.”

“Not if little Miss Rachel thinks she can get Charles and Mannerling as well.”

“A bribe to Cater might answer.”

George shrugged. “You can try, but the fellow’s supposed to be as rich as Croesus.”

“It has been my experience that no matter how much money people have, they are always ready to accept more.”

“You can try. I have had too much excitement for today. Do you join the others to dine?”

“And see Rachel making sheep’s eyes at Charles and the mother flirting grotesquely with the general? Not I. I think I will search out this Mr. Cater. Order the carriage for me.”

“Order it yourself,” complained her brother. “The house is full of servants. They didn’t all fall off the
roof
.”

Mr. Cater returned to the Green Man after a brisk ride across the local countryside to learn that a lady was waiting for him.

Minerva noticed the way his face fell when he saw her and experienced a spasm of irritation.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said. “I was somehow expecting to see Miss Rachel Beverley.”

Was every man besotted with that wretched girl? Minerva gave him a thin smile. “We met briefly, if you remember, Mr. Cater. At Mannerling.”

“Yes, indeed, Miss Santerton. And what is the reason for this very highly flattering call?”

“I thought we should have a comfortable coze about our ambitions.”

“I am a happy man. I do not think I have any ambitions at the moment.”

“Perhaps I am mistaken. Rumour has it you are courting Rachel Beverley.”

“If that be the case…,” he said gently, sitting down opposite her in the coffee-room. He signalled to the waiter and then ordered a glass of shrub. When the waiter had departed, he went on. “If that be the case, then it is not something I would discuss freely. It would be…er…my private business.”

A flash of irritation, quickly masked, crossed Minerva’s face. This was all going to be much more difficult than she had imagined. “I see I will have to put all my cards on the table.” She gave a little shrug. “Why not? I understand you to be interested in gaining the hand of Rachel Beverley and the ownership of Mannerling.”

The waiter put a glass of shrub at Mr. Cater’s elbow. Mr. Cater took a meditative sip.

“I can dream,” he said.

“But do you not see, it could be a reality?” Minerva leaned forward. “And I am the person to help you.”

“Why, Miss Santerton? You barely know me.”

“I am interested in securing Mr. Charles Blackwood for myself—in marriage.”

“And what is that to do with me?”

“Mr. Blackwood is becoming uncommonly interested in Rachel Beverley and he is the owner of Mannerling.”

“In which case, Miss Rachel would regain her old home without my help.”

She gave a little click of impatience. “You do not strike me as a stupid man, Mr. Cater.” She began to gather up her reticule and pull on her gloves.

“No, stay, you interest me, Miss Santerton. If I remove the affections of Miss Rachel away from Mr. Blackwood, how would that gain me Mannerling?”

“Without such competition, Charles would wed me and I would persuade him to remove from Mannerling. He is already upset about the place. I think the death of that footman might have been the last straw.”

“What footman?” demanded Mr. Cater sharply.

“I cannot remember his name. Mrs. Kennedy of Perival found a livery button on the roof and assumed that whoever had been haunting Mannerling was the owner of the button. This footman came up behind her and tried to seize it and she pushed him off the roof. Amazing! An old woman like that! Why, you are a trifle pale, Mr. Cater. It was only a footman.”

“I do not like to hear of any man’s death. There was really no reason for you to go to this trouble. I do not anticipate any difficulty over my courtship of Rachel Beverley. The family is in need of money and I gather she has little dowry to speak of, unless, of course…”

His voice tailed off.

“Unless, of course,” Minerva finished for him, “Charles Blackwood gets there first.”

“Is there any danger of that?”

“I do not think there is any immediate danger. I heard rumours, I sense that Mr. Blackwood’s last marriage was not a happy one. That will make him cautious. But Rachel has a clever ally.”

“That being?”

“Miss Trumble, her governess, a sharp and scheming woman. She places Rachel like a chess piece neatly in Charles’s way on all occasions. Charles’s father is becoming enamoured of this governess.”

“So what do you suggest, O wise Miss Santerton?”

“I would suggest you approach the mother, Lady Beverley, without delay, and gain her permission to pay your address to her daughter.”

He regarded her shrewdly. “What if I told you I was not interested in either Miss Rachel or Mannerling?”

Minerva smiled at him sweetly. “I would not believe you.”

He smiled back. “And what do I get if I do as you bid?”

“You get my help and a large sum of money.”

His eyes raked over her and he leaned back in his chair. “I have no need of money. Perhaps you could reward me in other ways.”

“We will pretend that was never said.” Minerva rose to her feet. “I made a mistake.”

“No, no, please be seated. I jest, and rather crudely, too. My sincere apologies.”

Minerva sat down slowly. “Do you know who was behind those hauntings at Mannerling?”

“This footman, surely.”

“A mere footman would not go to such lengths. Someone was paying him.”

“If you say so. I have no interest in what goes on at Mannerling.”

“Only in the house itself?”

“Yes, it fascinates me. I often dreamt of it.”

“Why? When you had never seen it till you came here.”

“Someone told me of it, in Barbados, where I sweated under the sun and dreamt of England. I came expecting the place to be nothing out of the common way and fell under its spell.”

“I have heard of the enchantment of Mannerling,” said Minerva. “But to me, it is only a house, and one that is too far from the delights of London for my taste. So do we agree to help each other?”

He held out his hand. She took it in her own and he shook it. “Remember the governess,” she warned. “She will make trouble for you.”

“Why? I am a good parti.”

“A feeling. Make your proposal and we will see.”

Mr. Cater dressed carefully in his best the following day and rode over to Brookfield House. The weather was warm but wet and he learned from the maid who took his hat and gloves that the young ladies were abovestairs in the schoolroom with the Mannerling children and their governess. He said he had come to see Lady Beverley.

Fortunately for Mr. Cater, it was not one of Lady Beverley’s many “sick” days. She received him in the drawing-room, which smelt of damp and disuse.

“Mr. Cater,” said Lady Beverley after that
gentleman had refused an offer of refreshment, “we are extremely glad to see you on this inclement day. Shall I summon my daughters?”

“Not yet. I am here to ask your permission to pay my addresses to Miss Rachel.”

“I did not expect this, sir!”

“You must have noticed that my attentions to your daughter were particular.”

“My daughters are so beautiful that I am accustomed to gentlemen paying them particular attention. Rachel is a pearl above price.”

By which she means, thought Mr. Cater cynically, that there is no dowry worth mentioning.

“I am a very rich man, my lady,” he said, “and would be able to furnish your daughter with every comfort. I understand”—here he gave a delicate cough—“I have been warned that there is little dowry but I am not interested in mere money.”

Lady Beverley smiled on him fondly. “Well, well,” she said indulgently. “We must not rush matters. We will see what Rachel has to say to the matter, but I cannot think of anything against your suit. Our respective lawyers will deal with tiresome things like marriage settlements. Excuse me for a moment.”

She swept out, leaving the door ajar. Lady Beverley met Miss Trumble on the stairs. “Such news,” she cried. “You must fetch Rachel immediately. Mr. Cater has asked my permission to pay his addresses to her.”

Miss Trumble went very still. “I trust you did not give your permission, or rather, not yet.”

“Are your wits wandering, woman? This is a rich planter. I will fetch Rachel myself.”

To her amazement, Miss Trumble barred her way.

“Step aside! You forget yourself!”

“No, stay, my lady, listen to me. What do we really know of this Mr. Cater? He says he is a rich planter, but we have only his word for it. Rich men usually stay at private homes, having secured letters of introduction. He says that Lord Hexhamworth had told him of Mannerling, and yet he carries no letter from him. I have written to friends to find out what I can and await their reply. Do not turn him down, but tell him to give you time.”

“You silly woman. The man is richly dressed and his horses are the talk of the neighbourhood.”

“Who knows he even paid for them?” demanded the governess. “What if your daughter wed him and then disappeared, to be never heard of again? The Beverleys have suffered enough scandal. You cannot promise your daughter to a man whose background we know nothing of and who is staying at a common inn. I only beg a little more time, my lady. Only think how you would sink in General Blackwood’s esteem if you were party to a misalliance for your daughter!”

“Perhaps I have been too hasty,” said Lady Beverley. “I will be cautious. Find out what you can.” She turned and went back down the stairs.

Mr. Cater retreated quickly from the doorway of the drawing-room, where he had been listening intently to the conversation on the stairs. Damn that poxy governess. Something would have to be done.

Lady Beverley returned. Mr. Cater listened as she said that she had been too hasty in accepting his proposition. Give it a little more time and get to know Rachel better, urged Lady Beverley.

Mr. Cater received this with every appearance of good grace, secured a promise that he could take Miss Rachel driving on the morrow if the weather was fine, and took his leave.

After he had gone, Lady Beverley paced up and down. She did not like the way this high-handed governess kept taking matters into her own hands. She would watch the post and when any letters arrived for Miss Trumble, she would read them herself and make up her own mind about any news they contained.

Lady Evans received a call from Miss Trumble on the following day. “Letitia!” she cried. “You are welcome.”

Miss Trumble sat down and heaved a little sigh. “Have any letters arrived for me in care of you?”

“Two. I planned to send them over today by the footman. Not that I mind you using this address, Letitia, but why?”

“Lady Beverley often thinks it is part of her position to open letters addressed to her daughters. I do not want her to look at mine. May I see them?”