Yvonne Goes to York (5 page)

Yvonne shook her head. ‘He sent me directions to his home. It is within walking distance of the Bell, where the York coach was to set us down.’

‘Nonetheless,’ said the marquis, ‘I feel you should write him a letter and give it to me. I will send one of Trant’s servants to Grantham with it to catch the mail.’

Yvonne looked doubtful.

‘Come, you are wondering whether to trust me with your father’s address. Give the letter to the servant yourself.’

‘But are you sure Lord Trant is in residence and will welcome us?’

The marquis smiled. ‘He has two marriageable daughters. I shall be very welcome.’

‘Then how are you going to explain
our
presence?’

‘I have French relatives. Miss Grenier is my cousin and you, Miss Pym, are an English friend of the family.’

Hannah was too gratified to protest. ‘Friend of the family’ pleased her immensely. She would have been cast down if he had planned to describe her as a family servant or even chaperone.

Yvonne’s face was white. She was tired and longed to see her father. She dreaded having to stay for even a short time in a household of strangers.

‘You can sleep all day,’ said the marquis, as if reading her thoughts. ‘You do not even have to leave your room if you do not wish to do so.’

The coach lurched to a stop. Hannah could hear the coachman calling out to a lodge-keeper and the lodge-keeper replying in a sleepy voice. Then there came the grating sound of iron gates being opened and the coach moved forward.

The estates appeared to be large because it was some time later before the coach stopped again, this time in front of a huge sprawling mansion.

The passengers climbed stiffly down, Yvonne and Hannah feeling as if they had been miles on the road instead of travelling only a short distance.

An efficient butler answered the door, as majestic in his night-gown as he probably looked in his livery. Not by one flicker did he betray that he thought it extremely odd of the Marquis of Ware to arrive in a stage-coach at dawn, saying he had come on a short visit.

The butler led them through a large square hall and into a saloon on the ground floor where they drank coffee and admired the peacocks strutting on the terrace outside in the dawn light while the butler went to rouse the housekeeper and get their rooms prepared.

‘Is he not going to tell Lord Trant we are here?’ asked Yvonne nervously.

‘No need,’ said the marquis laconically. ‘I am always welcome. One of the benefits of being a bachelor with a title.’

So much for my matchmaking dreams, thought Hannah. This handsome lord is too far above Yvonne – and too much in demand!

4

Hannah lay in bed awake and listened to the
early-morning
silence of Hadley Hall. She had been so sure that sleep would come immediately that she had eagerly fallen in with the marquis’s suggestion that she and Yvonne should retire to bed, after Yvonne had written that letter to her father.

Yvonne herself had handed it to a servant,
concealing
the address from the marquis as she did so, which Hannah now restlessly thought was rather silly,
considering
that the marquis had only to ask the servant when he returned what it was.

During her years as a servant Hannah had been used
to rising very early in the morning and it was a habit she could not break. She secretly felt her inability to sleep late was a common trait and had been sure that her new status of gentlewoman would soon permeate her whole body. But she was wide awake with her thoughts. Yvonne had said she would probably keep to her room all day, but Hannah had no intention of letting her do so. That young lady should spend as much time in the company of the Marquis of Ware as possible. Hannah herself had every intention of
presenting
herself to their hosts.

And then she was in the drawing-room and Sir George Clarence was there. Hannah gave a glad cry and moved to join him, but he raised his quizzing-glass and stared at her appalled. ‘Who is this creature?’ he cried. And from behind Hannah came Yvonne’s anguished voice, ‘Miss Pym! You have forgot to put on your gown.’ Hannah looked down, and sure enough, she was clad only in her petticoat. She let out a cry of dismay and sat up in bed, unable for the first few horrified moments to believe it a dream. Although her dream or nightmare appeared to her to have been of short and horrifying duration, the sun was now high in the sky. Hannah climbed down from the high bed, feeling superstitiously that God had sent that dream to warn one ex-housekeeper who was getting socially above herself.

She pulled the curtains, which had been open only a little, fully back, opened the casement window and leaned out. The air was warm and sweet and fresh. Down below was a terrace with scarlet and white roses
tumbling down from ornamental stone urns. A table with a white cloth had been set on the stone flags of the terrace, and at the table were seated a group of people: a silly-looking lady with a vapid face, two younger ladies – her daughters? – and a plump red-faced man.

The door opened behind Hannah and Yvonne walked in. She joined Hannah at the window.

The older lady’s voice carried up to them. ‘Well, Trant, I roused our gels as soon as I heard he was here.’

The group then was obviously comprised of Lord and Lady Trant and their two daughters.

‘After all,’ went on Lady Trant, ‘there is no denying Ware is a splendid catch. Why has he not married? He must be in his thirties.’

‘Amuses himself too much,’ wheezed Lord Trant. ‘Opera dancers and the like.’

‘Remember the delicate ears of our daughters, Trant!’

‘Sorry. But Ware is as rich as Croesus, so it stands to reason he don’t need to marry until he feels like it.’

Yvonne put a hand on Hannah’s arm. ‘He said he was poor,’ she hissed.

‘I never really believed that, you know,’ replied Hannah, ‘and I’m sure you didn’t either.’

‘Then why was he really travelling on the stage?’

Hannah was sure now that the marquis had been doing it merely for a wager or for some other equally frivolous reason. She was wondering how to reply to Yvonne without lowering the marquis in that young lady’s esteem when, down below, Lady Trant spoke again.

‘He is not alone, I gather. He has people with him, and both female. What are they like? Chubb is not good at descriptions.’

‘How can I tell?’ demanded his lordship testily. ‘I ain’t seen ’em yet.’

‘What are their names?’

‘Ware gave his card and a servant could hardly demand to know the names, lineage, and background of the women. Ware merely said something about the young one being a cousin and t’other a friend of the family, that’s all. Chubb says they all arrived on a stage-coach, but that butler of ours gets older and deafer and dafter by the day.’

One of the daughters gave voice for the first time. Hannah could see little of her, for she was wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat. ‘He didn’t even look at Clarrie and me in London.’ The voice was high and petulant. ‘If you ask me, he’s merely using our home as a hotel.’

‘Well, I ain’t so high and mighty as you, Letty,’ said the one called Clarrie in a surprisingly deep voice. ‘I say, let’s have a go at him now we’ve got him under our roof.’

‘And how can you “have a go at him”, as you so vulgarly phrase it, sister dear?’ demanded Letty
sweetly
. ‘I have a folio of water-colours to show him, not to mention entertaining him by playing the harp. What have
you
to offer?’

‘Show him the gardens,’ said Clarrie. ‘All gentlemen like gardens.’

Hannah drew back from the window. ‘I confess to
finding myself a trifle hungry, Miss Grenier,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should descend.’

‘I will have something sent up on a tray to my room,’ said Yvonne.

Hannah thought quickly. ‘That will not do, you know. Your hosts would find it most odd if you did not put in an appearance.’

‘I will say I have the headache.’ Yvonne looked stubborn.

‘And what a waste of time that will be on this fine day,’ said Hannah bracingly. ‘And you in that old carriage gown. Do you not have a pretty muslin? The day is warm.’

‘I have a sprig.’

‘Then put it on! I can lend you a fine shawl. Come, Miss Grenier. It is necessary for both of us to talk to the marquis further and find out what plans he has made for conveying us to York.’

At last Yvonne reluctantly agreed and soon she and Hannah were descending the main staircase. A
footman
met them in the hall and led them through a saloon and out onto the terrace where the Trant family, now joined by the marquis, were seated at table.

The marquis rose and made the introductions. At first Lady Trant and her daughters only had eyes for Yvonne. Hannah thought Yvonne was looking very pretty and appealing and hoped the marquis thought so too. Yvonne was wearing a white muslin gown embroidered with little pink sprigs. It had a low neckline and puffed sleeves. Over it, she wore the brightly coloured shawl Hannah had lent her. Around 
her white neck was a simple necklace of seed pearls. Her hair was dark brown with little gold lights shining in it and dressed in a clever style; a knot of curls on top of her small head. Hannah noticed that Yvonne’s hair, although it was free of pomatum, shone with a silky light, and made a mental note to ask her what she put on it.

‘We are but recently come from London,’ Lady Trant was saying. She began to talk of various notables while Hannah accepted tea and a plate of ham and kidneys. Yvonne listened dreamily to the rise and fall of voices while she gazed out over the sweep of the lawn. The soft air smelt of roses, newly cut grass, tea, and ham. She was unaware of the curious looks being cast on her face and gown by Clarrie and Letty. Both Clarrie and Letty were wondering whether to further their suit with the marquis by being pleasant to her, or whether to regard her as a rival. What sort of cousin? A first one, which put marriage out of the question, or a distant one, which made her dangerous?

Lady Trant had been discoursing on the merits of the latest play she had seen when she suddenly stopped and stared full at Hannah. Her rather vacant face appeared to harden and grow lines under the shadow of the enormous cap she wore on her head. ‘Miss Pym,’ she said slowly. ‘Miss
Hannah
Pym. Of South Audley Street?’

Hannah inclined her head in assent.

‘Are you acquainted with Sir George Clarence?’

Benjamin had just appeared and taken up his position behind Hannah’s chair. He gripped the back of the chair hard.

‘Why, yes,’ said Hannah with a pleased smile.

Lady Trant cast a look of horror at the marquis. ‘Lord Ware,’ she said stiffly, ‘much as we are pleased to entertain
you
in our home, we have our daughters to protect, and causing themselves to be brought into contact with a member of the demi-monde is beyond the pale!’

‘What’s this?’ goggled Lord Trant.

‘I fear your wife has been listening to malicious and unfounded gossip,’ said the marquis coldly.

Hannah found her hands were trembling and clasped them firmly on her lap. She fixed Lady Trant with a baleful look and said in a level voice, ‘Explain yourself, my lady.’

‘
You
ask
me
to explain
myself
!’

‘This could go on forever,’ said the marquis with a sigh. ‘Miss Pym, I heard the rumour and did not believe a word of it. The gossips are saying that you are the mistress of Sir George.’

Hannah’s sallow skin turned a muddy colour. ‘But there is no foundation for such a rumour. None! It is spite and envy. Sir George is a courteous and … and … kind gentleman. I am outraged.’

‘If it is such a lie,’ said Lady Trant in a thin voice, ‘then why did the gossip start with your own footman, Miss Pym?’

‘That’s a bleedin’ lie,’ screamed Benjamin suddenly. ‘I never did!’

‘Silence!’ ordered the marquis. ‘Lady Trant, Miss Pym is a close friend of mine. I also know Sir George Clarence. I can assure you that there is no truth in the
rumour. Nothing but scurrilous lies. Of course, if you prefer to believe the scandalmongers, then I fear I must remove my cousin and my friend from Hadley Hall so that neither may be subject to further insult.’

Yvonne, who had been looking in a dazed way from one to the other, nonetheless marked that the usually easy-going and laconic marquis looked
formidable
.

‘Well,
I
don’t believe a word of it,’ said Letty quickly. ‘I mean, just
look
at Miss Pym!’

All looked at spinster Hannah, at her good and fashionable clothes, at her outraged eyes, at the prim spinsterish set of her figure. Lady Trant flushed slightly. ‘Well, dear me, Miss Pym, now I come to think of it, and considering what one knows of Sir George and having met you, of course the whole thing is ridiculous. Pray accept my sincere apologies.’

Hannah gave a stiff little bow from the waist by way of acknowledgement. Clarrie got to her feet. ‘Pray allow me to show you the gardens, Lord Ware,’ she said. ‘It is such a fine day.’

He smiled and rose as well and soon could be seen walking slowly away across the lawns beside the dumpy and energetic figure of Clarrie. ‘I shall go too,’ said Letty quickly and ran after the pair.

In a rather stifled voice, Hannah said she wished to retire for a little. Lady Trant was all solicitude, promising to send her own lady’s-maid up to attend on Miss Pym, apologizing over and over again at having bruised ‘so distinguished’ a guest’s feelings.

‘Come, Benjamin,’ ordered Hannah.

Lord and Lady Trant followed them out. Yvonne, still eating breakfast, stayed where she was. The sun was warm and pleasant. She felt she should go after Hannah and see if that lady needed any soothing down after the insult that had been given her, but then decided against it. The formidable Miss Pym was made of iron and Lady Trant had certainly apologized.

Her thoughts turned to the marquis. He had reached the edge of the lawn. Clarrie appeared to be trying to pull him one way and Letty the other. Clarrie was squat and ill-favoured with a masculine voice, Letty was tall and thin and flat-chested, but both were the daughters of a lord, with all the background of wealth and privilege. Yvonne began to feel very low. A man such as the marquis would never look in her own direction. Not that she wanted him to, she reminded herself quickly. She did think that he was probably wealthy and had lied about his poverty. No poor man could have bribed a stage-coach driver or offered to pay for a post-chaise to York. He was not escaping his debtors by getting on the coach under an assumed name. Therefore, it followed, he was probably escaping from some amour. A large cloud floated high above and cast a shadow on the grass and some of that shadow seemed to enter Yvonne’s soul. She finished her breakfast and went in search of Hannah.

In Hannah’s room, the angry spinster was facing her footman. ‘You
what
?’

‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ mumbled Benjamin. ‘I mean, I thought, like, Sir George needed
a bit of a nudge in the direction of marriage. I thought he would feel obliged to make an honest woman of you, so ter speak.’

Hannah clutched her head in despair.

‘You meddling fool! Now I can never see him again. What have you done to me, you jackanapes?’ A wave of grief and loss for her ruined dream swept over her and she sank down into a chair and dabbed at her now streaming tears with a handkerchief.

‘I meant it only for the best,’ said Benjamin in anguish. ‘You won’t want me now. I’ll take myself off.’

Hannah scrubbed at her eyes and then shook her head. Benjamin was like a member of her family, almost like a son. She could not tell him to go.