The Trespass (16 page)

‘Or a bugle or a cornet,’ continued Harriet, ‘which, it says here, “will be heard to advantage among the echoes of the beautiful mountain scenery”.’ But even as they were laughing her face became thoughtful again. ‘Edward, seriously, what will happen when you arrive, describe to me what they have told you, how you will choose your land, and build your house,’ and Edward would go over again what he had been told. Always Harriet fixed him with her beautiful, piercing eyes, drank in the knowledge, about a journey that was not, of course, for her.

Asobel ran towards them from the house. ‘Harriet, Harriet,’ she was calling. ‘It is time to call on Lady Kingdom, Mamma says.’

Harriet, her hair untidy, wearing her oldest dress, looked shocked. ‘Do you mean now?’

‘Mamma says so.’ Most reluctantly Harriet put down the book, and the rope that for some reason she had been holding.

‘But it’s all right,’ cried Asobel, ‘I’ll help Edward,’ and she ran around the barn, jumping over saddles and candles and various boots. Her voice echoed back up towards the house after Harriet, ‘Eddie, do
please
let me bang in some nails. Also, Eddie, should you wish to know, I could tell you how to build a raft.’

*   *   *

The Squire’s coach and the Squire’s coachman were used to the country lanes. Lucretia Cooper, her elder daughter, and her niece were conveyed at speed past the empty hopfields and the autumnal hedgerows; the passengers swayed together in a most disagreeable manner as the wheels caught in the ruts and cracks in the road, but Lucretia and Augusta were used to such transport, they merely screamed a little at the biggest bumps and shouted extremely loudly, to be heard above the rattling of the carriage. Harriet was regaled with stories of the London-based Kingdom brothers: handsome, rich, and most of all unmarried. Lord Ralph, the heir, was a man-about-town who had not yet taken up his seat in the House of Lords; he was so handsome (they assured Harriet) that women swooned in his presence. Sir Benjamin, the younger brother, well, one knew not much about Benjamin except that he was handsome also, fair where his brother was dark; he was apparently immensely clever and had something to do with something scientific (they were not sure what). It was also said (Lucretia added this still loudly but rather dubiously, as if doubting its authenticity) that he was interested in
birds.
Augusta’s hat was a picture of cascading ribbons and fluttering feathers that were lifted sometimes in agitation, by the breeze of their journey or the content of their conversation.

At last the carriage rolled more sedately up the impeccable gravel drive; very elegant poplars lined the route and two liveried footmen (looking somewhat grander than the Squire’s only butler-footman, Donald) bowed and opened the carriage door to help the ladies to descend.

It was cold in the large, high-ceilinged drawing room. The three visitors shivered a little in their morning dresses and pulled their shawls more tightly around their shoulders. Lady Kingdom, appearing almost immediately, was an imposing figure dressed again in black. Her husband, Harriet had been informed loudly in the coach, had died in 1839 but Lady Kingdom had never returned to more frivolous attire. A lace cap almost covered her greying hair and she looked at her guests severely. But severity could not dampen Lucretia’s excitement at being there. In her element, she exchanged views with her hostess on the success of Alice’s wedding and the vagaries of the weather and the fecklessness of servants; later they got on to old lace. Augusta joined in occasionally, as tutored at her finishing school, with a little word and a smile or a charming laugh. Harriet was conscious of steel eyes boring into her; she had no interest in the world in joining in and sat with her hands in her lap and a polite smile on her face, wishing they could perhaps have tea after the erratic coachride. When the conversation turned to a neighbouring family whose son was in unmentionable disgrace she looked covertly about her, feeling it might not be noticed. The drawing room had none of the adornments of her aunt’s more cluttered house. Here it was more like Bryanston Square, dark and sombre; a very large gloomy painting of a long-ago battle dominated one plain wall; from another a man she presumed to be Lord Kingdom stared down at them: as Harriet looked at him his grey eyes twinkled. In surprise she looked more carefully. Paintings of important men were always serious, befitting their importance, but something about the eyes broke the severity of the portrait (and indeed the room). She was still observing the picture when she found herself addressed.

‘Tell me, Miss Cooper,’ said Lady Kingdom without any preamble, ‘who was your mother? Your father’s father was of course known to me, the previous Squire,’ (Harriet thought she heard slight disdain in her tone) ‘but I know nothing of your mother’s family.’

‘My mother died when I was born, Lady Kingdom,’ Harriet answered politely. ‘She was Elizabeth MacDonald.’

‘From Scotland then?’ Lady Kingdom sounded disappointed.

Lucretia was having none of this. ‘From Scotland originally perhaps,’ she said. ‘But Sir William MacDonald, the judge, Elizabeth’s father, had lived in London all his life like his father before him.’

‘Ah.’ Lady Kingdom’s countenance brightened a little. ‘Was he not a brother of Sir Richard MacDonald, the eminent royal adviser, who knew my father well?’ Receiving affirmation, she asked more questions about family connections. It was clear that they were better than she had feared. She was aware of the need of personable young girls in the county, if her sons were to be entertained. Then she rang a bell beside her. Almost at once two maids appeared with tea which Lady Kingdom poured herself, into exquisite but fragile cups.

‘You must do me the honour, my dear Lucretia, of bringing these two young ladies back to me on Friday evening,’ said Lady Kingdom as she held her cup delicately. ‘My sons shall visit from London. They will be glad of such charming company.’ Harriet’s heart sank but Augusta blushed with pleasure and Lucretia beamed.

‘How kind, Lady Kingdom, how kind.’ Lady Kingdom was silent. ‘How kind,’ said Lucretia again and then for some time there was just the tinkling of the cups as they were replaced carefully on their saucers, and the rustles of the petticoats and the dresses in the cold room.

In London, Harriet knew, they would now move on to talk, at least fleetingly, of a book, or a concert, the business of the visit having been concluded. Lady Kingdom seemed to have no such subjects of conversation and soon she rose, and the visit was over, and the coach once more rattled down the long, immaculate drive. From the coach Harriet thought she caught a glimpse of the rotund clerical gentleman who had accompanied Lady Kingdom to the wedding. He was, seemingly, preparing a sermon across the lawn for he appeared to be addressing nobody, or the trees, in rather an eccentric manner. But the others were too excited to notice so Harriet sat back in the corner of the coach as it made its clattering way up the valley and along the lanes back to Rusholme.

There were no cards or music that evening: there were seldom cards or music now; rather everyone seemed to be looking at books about New Zealand. Edward or Harriet often read aloud to the family as Uncle William stoked the fire and Aunt Lucretia ordered the servants to bring glasses of negus.

There is no occasion whereon there is so great a temptation to relax good habits, as at sea (
read Harriet
) especially on a long voyage. Amongst Passengers, negligence of persons is almost universally conspicuous. Men neglect to shave themselves for days together. Women, to whom personal appearance is really important, neglect themselves.

‘Good heavens,’ said Augusta. ‘I am relieved we are going to visit Lady Kingdom again, where negligence of person would not be contemplated.’

Cousin John, alerted that the young ladies had been invited back to meet the sons, looked stern. He was not at all happy about Harriet going elsewhere in the district. He suddenly interrupted her reading and engaged her in conversation about her finishing school in Norfolk. The answers he received were short; even John could see that the subject was uninteresting to her. But he had watched Harriet with her crippled sister: he asked her if she had news of Mary, and his cousin’s face brightened and softened at once. ‘I have had a long letter from her, she is very well,’ said Harriet and she smiled at John instinctively so that his heart felt quite touched and he determined to speak to her next day.

Edward glanced across at Harriet from his book. Again he saw in his mind Mary, shocked and pale, coming into the house at Bryanston Square the day the woman in Seven Dials had died of cholera. He knew how close the sisters were. But if Harriet knew of Mary’s secret life she gave no sign. She merely smiled once more at Cousin John and returned to her volume.

*   *   *

But next day when John found Harriet as usual reading one of Edward’s books in the empty drawing room he said to her: ‘Cousin Harriet, I would like you to take a turn about the garden with me.’

She looked up in surprise, and something else: alarm perhaps. Obediently she laid the book on a table and put on her bonnet which was lying beside her. She was going for a ride with Augusta: the groom was preparing the horses, fastening the side saddles.

‘Do you know,’ she said to John as she tied her bonnet, ‘people should take shoes with special cork soles, otherwise they will not be able to walk about the deck of the ship, for the sea washes over in storms and everything is covered in water.’

He did not notice that she flinched as he took her arm. Aunt Lucretia, glancing out of her bedroom window, started in surprise at what she saw: a young couple walking along, arm in arm it seemed, past the blackcurrant bushes. She frowned to herself, turned back to William in disapproval, but he was already gone back to his study after his afternoon nap. In the distance, down by the barns, Edward banged in nails.

Then Cousin John began. ‘It is very pleasant to have you staying at Rusholme, Harriet.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I have been very glad to see more of you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Do you like Rusholme?’ She nodded gravely but a tremor of suspicion entered her heart. ‘I have always liked coming here and everybody is so very kind. But – I miss Mary very much. I find it difficult to be apart from her.’

‘Ah.’ He supposed brides always missed their sisters, look at Alice in tears on her wedding morning, but no doubt greatly happy after her time in Ryde.

‘I will be so glad when the cholera epidemic is over, I believe the number of deaths is now declining daily,’ said Harriet firmly.

‘Ah.’ Then he broached his immediate concerns. ‘You are invited to spend the evening with Lady Kingdom and her family?’

‘Yes,’ said Harriet shortly.

‘I feel I should perhaps warn you.’ He paused. ‘The younger son, Benjamin, will cause you no difficulty: I believe he has an interest in the sciences. He is rather vague and fond of birds; I don’t think he would notice a young lady, actually. However, Ralph, the elder son, has – quite a way with – ah, with the ladies. I believe he is – something of a blackguard. I have heard stories of his rather dissolute life in London, nothing I could impart to you, of course. But I feel it is my duty as your cousin to warn you about him.’

And Harriet gave a little laugh in relief. ‘Oh Cousin John,’ she said. ‘You need not worry about me. Lady Kingdom’s sons shall not find an entrance to my heart, neither the scientist nor the blackguard, I can assure you.’

‘You do not understand how concerned I am for your welfare.’ John was determined he should be taken seriously. ‘Ralph is quite wild and undisciplined. There have been several stories … I should not tell you this but I understand he is involved with—’ Cousin John’s propriety made him stumble, ‘—with a young lady who is in the—’ now he cleared his throat embarrassedly, ‘—in the
corps de ballet
of Taglione, or Cerrito, or Grisi, one of these foreign extravaganzas!’

Harriet glanced up at her cousin, surprised. ‘A ballet dancer?’

‘A woman of the chorus,’ said John dismissively. ‘And foreign. And I happen to know that the young lady concerned,’ and he could hardly articulate the words, ‘goes by the name of
Mimi.
’

‘Then I will not interest him at all!’ said Harriet, trying not to laugh. And seeing that they were near the house again and that the horses were waiting with the groom, she looked up at him, smiling again and disengaging herself gently from his arm. ‘I do appreciate your concern for me,’ she said. ‘But I think perhaps it is Augusta to whom you should speak.’

‘Why of course,’ said John, confused. ‘I was to speak to her also, of course.’

So that when Lucretia, hovering, anxiously asked her son if he had enjoyed his walk with his cousin he answered shortly, ‘I was merely warning Harriet about the reputation of one of the Kingdom brothers. You must warn Augusta.’

Lucretia smiled in relief. ‘I think Augusta can look after herself,’ she said. ‘She is older and more sensible than Harriet. And it is my personal opinion that all Lord Ralph Kingdom needs is a sensible wife.’

*   *   *

Once more the Squire’s carriage catapulted through the country lanes, swaying backwards and forwards as it raced towards Lady Kingdom and her two sons. Augusta was flushed and pretty, Lucretia was even more voluble than usual in her excitement, talking again of the qualities of Ralph and Benjamin as if she were an intimate of their most secret lives. So they did not notice if Harriet was pale and even more silent than usual; she would a hundred times rather have been back at Rusholme listening to Edward’s meticulous planning with his father and his brother for crossing continents than facing an evening with unknown young men and empty conversation. The swaying of the carriage and the idea of the evening before her made her feel physically ill.

Tonight they were escorted to another room in the grand house. Lady Kingdom was attended by two young men; elsewhere, looking rather small in the large space, several other young people sat in little groups beside card tables. There was a very large grand piano, shiny and gloomy, in one corner. There were too few people for the room, conversation was stilted and the same general air of chilliness that had permeated the drawing room continued here, and no gentleman twinkled from the high bare walls although another extremely large battle was seen in the distance and a portrait of Queen Victoria. Harriet looked about hopefully for the large clerical gentleman who spoke to trees, but he was nowhere in sight. She sighed inwardly. She was reminded of interminable Norfolk evenings with her Aunt Lydia; wondered then if Aunt Lydia, growing up in this area with her brothers Charles and William, had first got her taste for these dull, constrained evenings at entertainments in this grim mansion, long ago.