Henrietta (11 page)

“Never say she has accepted you?”

“And why not?” demanded Mr. Holmes. ‘Truth to say I have not yet had the courage to approach Lady Belding for her permission. But I am by no means a pauper and my line is as old as theirs.”

“Ah, but do you have the nose,” teased his lordship and then regaled his friend with the story of the Belding Nose.

Mr. Holmes laughed reluctantly. “All these old families have their idiosyncracies. But none of that makes my Alice any less fair.”

“She is an extremely beautiful girl,” agreed the Beau. “When I first met her, I must admit that I suspected she was spoiled and demanding. But her behaviour has been all that is nice of late and she has been an exceeding good friend to Henrietta.”

“There you are then,” exclaimed Mr. Holmes. “She would not harm Miss Sandford in any way. By the way, is the vicar’s sister shortly to realize her ambition?”

“Fustian!” drawled his lordship. “I am sure Miss Sandford had no such ambition. The idea that she wished to marry me was put about, I am sure, by that romantic companion of hers. Miss Sandford is like a sister to me. I think highly of her and enjoy her companionship and am intrigued by the mystery that surrounds her. That is all.”

Mr. Holmes was silent. With a delicacy and tact foreign to his usual forthright nature, he did not point out to his friend that the look in Henrietta’s eyes betokened anything but simple friendship.

He was roused from his reverie by his lordship’s asking, “Well, and when do you plan to propose to the fair Alice?”

“I am to call on Lady Belding at five o’clock. I hope my courage will not fail. I did not state my reasons for calling.”

The Beau’s harsh features softened as he surveyed the anxious expression on his friend’s cherubic countenance. “You look as fine as fivepence, Jeremy. I am sure you will soften even Lady Belding’s flinty heart.”

“My appearance won’t,” said his friend dryly. “But mayhap my fortune will.”

Nonetheless it was an unusually dithering and anxious Jeremy Holmes who presented himself at the Belding household. To his relief, the butler informed him that Lord Belding had come to town and was at present in the study.

This was better, thought Jeremy. He should not have to face the terrifying mother after all. Accordingly, he followed the butler to the study where he found Lord Belding fortifying himself from the brandy decanter.

Lord Belding did not share his wife’s aristocratic looks. Lady Belding was also his second cousin and had all the Belding aristocratic hauteur. Lord Belding looked, on the other hand, for all the world like a farmer. He had a round red face with white bushy eyebrows and a short stubby nose. He wore an old-fashioned bagwig and knee breeches. His pale, bulbous blood-shot eyes surveyed Mr. Holmes with surprise, taking in all the glory of his appearance from his pomaded curls to his shiny hessians and the lacings on his breeches.

“Well,” demanded Lord Belding finally. “What brings you here, Holmes?”

Jeremy eased a finger into his cravat. “I am come to ask your permission to pay my addresses to your daughter.”

“Oh, is that all,” said his lordship. “Thought you was goin’ to ask for money. Sit down, m’boy and take a glass with me.” Jeremy raised his hand to protest but Lord Belding had already seized the decanter and was pouring a liberal measure into a goblet. “Drink up, m’boy. I’ll send for Alice.” He gave the bellrope a massive tug and, when the butler appeared, instructed him to fetch Miss Alice directly, with so many nods and winks that the butler only gave one significant look at the decanter before departing on his errand.

“Well,” said Lord Belding raising his glass. “What yer waitin’ for. No heel taps.”

“No heel taps,” said Jeremy faintly, draining the massive goblet and feeling his head beginning to reel. Why, it must have held at least a pint! And he had had several glasses of madeira to fortify himself for his ordeal before he had even left his house.

He blinked to clear his head and then stumbled to his feet and he found himself confronted with the beautiful vision that was Alice Belding.

“Leave you two young things alone,” said Lord Belding with an awful leer, and lumbered towards the door. He nearly collided with his wife who stood majestically on the threshold, her bosom thrust forward like the figurehead on a frigate.

“Alice! What is going on here!” demanded Lady Belding.

“Why, mama, I know not,” said Alice, dimpling adorably.

“Holmes’s come to propose,” said Lord Belding.

“Nonsense!” said Lady Belding, seizing Alice by the arm. “I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous. My Alice marry a plain Mister! Come child. They have been been…
drinking.”

She thrust her reluctant daughter from the room, leaving both men feeling extremely foolish. To her surprise, Lady Belding was subjected to one of her daughter’s worst fits of tantrums. Alice did not want to marry Mr. Holmes. But she felt that her mama could at least have given her an opportunity of breaking the young man’s heart.

Jeremy and Lord Belding found refuge from the weary world of women in the bottom of the decanter and two hours later, with unsteady gait and a head that felt as if it were stuffed full of gun cotton, Jeremy remembered that he was to attend a ball at the Duke of Westerland’s. With a groan, he weaved homewards to change.

Henrietta stood at the top of the staircase leading down into the ballroom at the Duke of Westerland’s magnificent town house… and blinked. She found herself looking down on a sea of silks and satins, feathers and jewels. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires dazzled and sparkled in the light. The smell of the ballroom compounded of flowers, scent, snuff, pomades and bear grease rose around her like incense. One of the lengthy, exhausting country dances had just come to an end as Henrietta descended the staircase with a much subdued and severely dressed Miss Mattie in her wake.

Heads began to turn in their direction and Henrietta felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was there something odd about her appearance? She was dressed in a slim gown of burgundy crēpe cut low over the bosom. The full puffed sleeves were slashed to reveal silk insets and the gown fell in straight Empire lines to six deep flounces from knee to hem. Her fair hair was dressed
à la Sappho
, lending height to her slim figure. For Henrietta had finally achieved the sylph-like figure of her dreams. Her wide eyes sparkled with animation and, in all, she had never looked better. Heads nodded and voices whispered. The vicar’s sister had style!

Her seemingly placid good nature had made her a popular dance partner and her friendship with the famous Beau Reckford and then her enormous fortune assured her social success. She was soon surrounded by a knot of admirers and her dance card was rapidly being filled when a familiar husky voice said, “But the waltz is promised to me.”

Lord Reckford led her onto the floor and clasped her lightly round the waist. He smiled down into her eyes. “You must always save the waltzes for me Miss Sandford.”

Heart beating fast, Henrietta bowed her head and wished that he would not flirt so easily, so lightly and so… so… meaninglessly.

After they had finished waltzing—companionably on the Beau’s side and emotion-torn on Henrietta’s—she shyly promised to save him the supper dance and returned to her place beside Miss Scattersworth. She paused in surprise and looked around. Of Miss Mattie, there was no sign. Feeling perturbed and anxious, she began to search the ballroom, forgetting in her anxiety that her next dance partner was waiting for her.

Increasingly anxious, Henrietta was about to enlist the aid of Lord Reckford when she heard a familiar giggle from behind one of the long curtains. She jerked it open and stood with her mouth open in amazement. Miss Mattie and a military gentleman with fierce moustaches were seated side by side on a wrought iron bench on the balcony. The gentleman had an arm round Miss Mattie’s waist and that lady was clutching a glass of champagne and giggling uncontrollably.

“Mattie!” cried Henrietta, outraged. “Why, you are
foxed
!”

Mattie’s escort lumbered to his feet and, with a great creaking of corsets, made a magnificent bow. “Your servant, ma’am, ’low me to introduce myself, Colonel Witherspoon at your service. The lady here is safe with me, ma’am. Shall protect her, ma’am. Shall fight all comers, ma’am. Gawd, herrumph, yes, what!”

He was obviously as intoxicated as Miss Mattie and Henrietta was just wondering what on earth to do, when she felt an urgent tug at her arm. “Please, Miss Sandford, I must speak with you.”

It was Mr. Jeremy Holmes, the hectic glitter in his eyes making him look like a fallen cherub. “Must speak with you!” he insisted.

Henrietta was in a quandary. Concern for Miss Mattie and worry about the Beau’s best friend tore her in opposite directions. She finally decided to attend to Mr. Holmes. Miss Mattie was hidden from the public gaze for the present. Mr. Holmes drew Henrietta ungently on to the adjoining balcony and insisted she sit down beside him. Mr. Holmes had nearly drunk himself sober but he was in an anxious sentimental mood and his eyes kept filling with ready tears. “I know you love Miss Belding dearly,” was his inauspicious beginning. He then blurted out the tale of his attempted proposal, his rejection by Lady Belding, his undying love for Alice.

Henrietta, as many of the poorer parishioners of Nethercote knew, was an excellent listener. Mr. Holmes blossomed under her sympathy and calm maternal air.

He was not aware how poor Henrietta was identifying with his feelings of rejected love. How under her serene mask there burned all the strong emotions of a fiery, passionate woman.

Although Henrietta had not uttered one word of advice, Mr. Holmes felt immeasurably soothed and calmed by the time he had reached the end of his impassioned speech. The pink clouds of drunkeness, which had retreated to the horizons of his mind, closed in again. In an excess of affection, he seized the astonished Henrietta in a warm clasp and placed an affectionate kiss on her cheek.

“Pray… what is going on here?” said a voice as cold as ice. Both rose to their feet in confusion. Lord Reckford stared down at them, his tawny eyes under their hooded lids glaring at the unfortunate Jeremy. Henrietta did not know what to do. If she explained, then she would be betraying Mr. Holmes’ trust. She looked appealingly at that young man. But Jeremy merely stared at his aristocratic friend with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Well, what?” he mocked. “You turned Methodist, Reckford? Can’t I kiss a pretty girl on this beautiful moonlit night?”

“It is beginning to rain,” snapped Lord Reckford. “But perhaps you two lovers did not notice a little matter like that,” he added with a sneer.

Jeremy Holmes caught the look of real distress on Henrietta’s face and grabbed the Beau by the arm. “Now, look here Guy. Fact of the matter is… I was burdening her with all my troubles. And Henrietta’s such a kind girl. Well, you know how it is. You said she was like a sister to you yourself, now didn’t you?”

Now Lord Reckford had indeed said just that. So why, he wondered, did he have a sudden urge to land his oldest and dearest friend a facer? With a grim smile, he offered his arm to Henrietta and held back the curtain and ushered her into the ballroom. Alice Belding stood waiting with her mother in attendance. “My dance, my lord,” she said with an enchanting smile. “Of course,” he bowed to Henrietta, gave Jeremy a venomous look and led Alice off to where a set was being formed for the Cotillion. Jeremy had sobered completely. From the distress on Henrietta’s face and the fury on his friend’s, he realized that he had said something badly wrong. “Can I be of any assistance to you?” he asked Henrietta. “Fetch you a glass of ratafia or something?”

Henrietta refused and was about to turn away when she remembered Miss Mattie. “Oh, yes. Please do help me. I must get Miss Scattersworth home.” Henrietta blushed. “She is with a gentleman… and… and oh dear.”

“Lead the way,” said Mr. Holmes gallantly, glad that he could be of service. There was something about Henrietta that really brought the Knight Errant out in a man, he reflected.

Henrietta was heartily grateful for his assistance. Nothing she could say could prise Miss Mattie from her gallant’s side. It was left to Jeremy to put a quiet word in the Colonel’s ear. What he said, Henrietta never knew, but Colonel Witherspoon shot to his feet with his face scarlet, made his adieux then staggered off. Miss Mattie dissolved into drunken tears, then she started laughing hysterically. Again Jeremy Holmes came to the rescue. He slapped Miss Mattie hard across her withered cheek. The transformation was instant. One minute there was a raucous, hysterical beldame and the next a contrite, if tipsy, elderly spinster.

Jeremy and Henrietta led Miss Mattie from the ballroom. Henrietta gave Mr. Holmes a glance of pure gratitude across Miss Scattersworth’s bowed head. Lord Reckford caught the glance and suddenly felt that the ball was insipid and flat. He looked down into Alice Belding’s beautiful face and decided that there must be something up with his liver. London, with its routs, balls, and parties was wearisome. He should visit his estates. He did not wish to be considered an absentee landlord. He would arrange a house party for the week-end. Unusual in the middle of the Season but then his estates were only a day’s easy ride from London. And he would ask all the suspects in Henrietta’s mystery and perhaps discover the culprit.

Feeling slightly consoled… though why he should wish to be consoled, he was at a loss to say… he turned his full charm on Alice Belding and raised that young lady’s hopes of matrimony by leaps and bounds.

C
HERWOOD
A
BBEY, HOME OF
the Reckfords, was impressive enough to bring gasps of admiration from the arriving house guests.

It was a huge pile built on a long ridge of hills in the center of a crescent of woods. Following the medieval pattern, the principal rooms were on the first floor with broad double flights of stone steps from the windows giving access to the gardens. The ground floor was mainly taken up by a vast hall which was hung round with family portraits, armoury, and medieval banners. The Reckfords, unlike the Beldings, went to war.