Intrigue (Daughters of Mannerling 2) (17 page)

Honoria hesitated for a moment as if longing to stay and hear what it was Miss Trumble had to say, but then she nodded curtly and left them alone.

‘Some more wine, Miss Trumble?’ asked Robert.

‘No, I thank you,’ said Miss Trumble, wanting to keep a clear head.

‘Very well. Delighted as I am to have such an intelligent lady as my guest, I would like to know what brought you here. Has Jessica recovered from her ordeal?’

‘I believe and I hope so.’

He waited patiently and Miss Trumble said in an agonized voice, ‘I wish I knew how to put this without appearing impertinent. I have already taken a great deal too much upon myself for a lady of my station.’

‘Miss Trumble, I always get the feeling that somehow you are of a superior station in life to my own despite your profession. So let us just converse openly as equals.’

Miss Trumble took a deep breath. ‘Jessica has changed. I always sensed she was a young lady of intelligence and character but ruined by the Beverley obsession to regain Mannerling. That obsession has gone and I know it will never return. But she is deeply unhappy – and because of you.’

‘Because of me?’ he echoed. ‘I think I may consider myself the injured party in this, Miss Trumble.’

‘I believe Jessica did not know she was in love with you when she was here at Tarrant Hall. She now does, and that is what is making her unhappy, because she sees no hope for her and is now well aware of what she has thrown away.’

A flush mounted to his face, but he said sharply, ‘You are a commendable governess and behave more like a mother to those girls than Lady Beverley. Therefore it is understandable that you should try to seek out marriageable gentlemen for them.’

‘I would not trick you, Mr Sommerville,’ said Miss Trumble earnestly.

‘But I am under the impression that this is all speculation. Jessica has said nothing to you?’

‘No, but she looks so sad and she keeps talking in a longing kind of way of her visit here.’

‘I admit that I was on the point of proposing marriage to Jessica,’ he said. ‘But her feelings for me had no roots, there was no strong attachment there, for she hurried off home as soon as she learned through my own sister’s machinations that there was still a chance of catching Harry Devers. I am sorry she suffered so badly at his hands, but I warned her against him . . . twice. If she had any respect for me or my feelings, she would not have treated me thus. I shall ensure that your stay here is pleasant, Miss Trumble, but we will not speak of this matter again. Look at it logically.’

‘I do not think that love has anything to do with logic,’ said Miss Trumble, but she felt defeated. ‘But perhaps there is a certain piece of logic you might consider. You can be in the right and miserable, or you can forgive and be happy. For myself, I think it is so much more pleasant to be happy.’

Miss Trumble stayed a further two days, during which time neither Jessica’s name nor that of any of the other Beverleys was mentioned. Although she had been urged to stay as long as she liked, she felt low, felt she was now there under false pretences. She had failed.

When she took her leave and shook hands with Robert and thanked him for his hospitality, she looked up anxiously into his face, but it was a well-bred mask.

Barry climbed into the post-chaise beside her. Robert had offered his own carriage, but Miss Trumble had declined. She had pointed out that if Lady Beverley found out where she and Barry had really been, both would lose their jobs. Barry and she sat in silence as their carriage moved off.

‘I gather from your downcast looks, miss,’ said Barry sympathetically, ‘that you did not achieve your aim.’

‘No, Barry, the damage has been done and there is no turning back. I feel like an old fool.’

‘Oh, never say that, miss. At least we tried. The gossip among the servants is all about how sad and miserable Mr Robert is and how they hope he does not leave Tarrant Hall, for he is accounted a good master.’

‘How depressing it is to travel without hope,’ said Miss Trumble, half to herself.

‘Things often work out the way they are meant to be,’ said Barry. ‘You cannot expect Mr Robert to marry a girl he don’t want, can you?’

‘But he
must
want her.’ Miss Trumble sounded exasperated. ‘He is miserable, she is miserable, and the reason is they are both in love with each other. What a waste! All ruined because of one girl’s folly and one man’s stupid pride!’

Miss Trumble’s spirits were cheered by the welcome she received from everybody when she finally returned to Brookfield House. She had stayed a night at the Green Man while Barry walked home on foot. Lady Beverley had been prey to severe headaches and there had been no Miss Trumble to soothe them away. Jessica longed to talk of Robert, however obliquely, and knew that Miss Trumble was her one sympathetic listener. Her sisters had come to realize how much they relied on Miss Trumble’s help in all sorts of ways and all had admitted with surprise during her absence that they had also found the days long and dreary without lessons.

Miss Trumble was pressed to give a description of her visit to her fictitious relatives and felt guilty about lying. Barry had presented a fine selection of game to Lady Beverley, some of which Robert had supplied and some of which Miss Trumble had bought from a dealer on the road home.

All the while she considered whether she should tell Jessica and only Jessica the truth of where she had been, for the sooner the girl lost any hope of ever seeing Robert Sommerville again, the sooner she could settle down and begin a new life, without Mannerling, without Robert.

But she had almost given up any idea of telling Jessica the truth until two days later, when Jessica came to her bedroom late at night. ‘Are you very sleepy?’ asked Jessica. ‘I wish to talk.’

‘I am not sleepy,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘What would you like to talk about?’

‘I had hoped,’ said Jessica, ‘that perhaps Mr Robert might have forgiven me, might have written to me or called. I often wonder whether he found a new property or whether he is still at Tarrant Hall.’

Miss Trumble became determined then to tell some of the truth. ‘I have seen Mr Sommerville,’ she said, and her heart sank at the blaze of hope that illumined Jessica’s face. ‘Tarrant Hall lay on my way home, and so I made a brief call.’

‘Did he ask about me?’

‘He hopes you are well.’

‘Did he say anything about calling on us?’

Miss Trumble reached forward and took Jessica’s hand in a firm clasp.

‘I am sorry, my dear, but he has set his heart against you. He feels he was treated shabbily. I am afraid he will not forgive you.’

The light went out of Jessica’s face. ‘So that is that,’ she said. ‘What a fool I was!’

‘I trust Harry Devers has not come calling?’

‘He would not dare. No, the gossips say his father has forced him to return to the army and so he has left Mannerling. Should I write to Mr Sommerville? I never really apologized to him properly.’

‘I do not think so. It is better you forget about him, Jessica. If you wrote to him, you would go on in hope, hoping your letter would soften his heart, watching the post for a reply. Time will let you forget this whole sorry affair. I had hoped to bring you better news.’

‘No doubt Honoria makes sure that he does not forget,’ said Jessica bitterly.

‘I am afraid you can no longer even blame Honoria. Her brother has been very low in spirits and I think she blames herself for that. She was kindness itself to me. At first I was suspicious of her, but she asked after you in such a kind way. Then she did not mention your name again, but that was because of Robert.’

Jessica thanked her and said good night and went to her own room and sat down listlessly on the bed. Now there was no hope. Sad as she had been, she had continued to hope for a letter or to see the sight of his tall figure riding up the drive. Then she found it shocking that she should grieve so badly over the loss of Robert, as she had not grieved over the death of her own father. She felt God was punishing her for being such a silly and selfish fool.

She undressed and went to bed and lay awake a long time, dreading the arrival of a new day that would bring no hope of ever seeing Robert Sommerville again.

The following day was unusually mild for winter. Blue skies stretched over the bare branches of the trees and the bare brown earth of the fields. Jessica put on a warm wool gown and cloak, pattens, and wound a thick scarf around her head and set out for a long walk. She did not tell her mother or Miss Trumble because they would have insisted that Barry go with her, and Jessica wanted to be alone.

She came to a small hill. To the east of her lay Brookfield House, and to the west, Mannerling – Mannerling, source of all her troubles. The sun shone down palely, turning the puddles to gold and creating the false illusion of spring.

The hill also commanded a good view of the long road to Hedgefield. As she looked, she saw a tall figure on horseback riding along the road. How bitter it was to remember the times she had stood on this very hill, expecting every horseman in sight to be Robert Sommerville.

And then she stood very still, her heart beginning to beat hard. For as the rider came ever nearer, there was something familiar about that tall figure. Telling herself that her imagination was playing tricks with her eyes, she nonetheless began to run towards the road, stumbling every now and then as the high iron hoops on her pattens caught in a rut. She gained the road and leaned on a gate.

It
was
Robert, but the quick surge of gladness in her heart suddenly left, leaving her feeling cold. This road also led to Mannerling, and that must be where he was going. She wanted to draw back and hide, but he had seen her. He reined in his horse and dismounted and then stood on the other side of the gate looking down at her.

‘Miss Jessica. Good day to you.’ He removed his hat and made her a low bow. His black hair gleamed in the sunlight.

All the flirtatious things that Jessica had planned to say in her imagination during the long days when she had thought of him disappeared from her mind and she cried out, ‘Oh, Mr Sommerville, Mr Sommerville, I am so very sorry. I have missed you so dreadfully. I have been such a silly fool. I know you do not want to have anything to do with me again, but only say that you will forgive me.’

He stared at her in amazement and then, with a stifled exclamation, he lifted her clear over the gate and then gathered her into his arms and kissed her fiercely. The passion from the lips under his sent his senses reeling. His kisses were becoming deeper, and quite savage, and he had a sudden fear that he was behaving like Harry and that she would flee from him. He drew back a little but she buried her hands in his hair at the nape of his neck and drew his mouth back down to her own. They kissed and kissed with a single-minded intensity. Slowly the sun went down and a chill little wind began to blow.

Barry, who had been sent out to look for Jessica, came along the road waving a lantern. He saw the passionately entwined couple and stopped stock-still and then turned on his heel and scurried back as fast as he could in the direction of Brookfield House. He was met by Miss Trumble, who had come out to join in the search.

‘Oh, miss!’ cried Barry. ‘They’re together, Mr Robert and Miss Jessica, and they’re kissing each other.’

Miss Trumble smiled. ‘As a correct governess, I should go there and stop them. But . . . I think, I really think, that I am going to turn about and go home.’

‘Good idea,’ said Barry with a grin. ‘We won after all!’

‘Did you find Jessica?’ Lady Beverley was standing on the doorstep peering out into the night.

‘Yes, my lady,’ said Miss Trumble.

‘Then why is she not with you?’

‘Jessica is with Mr Robert Sommerville. I believe she met him on the Hedgefield road.’

‘Then she should be chaperoned. It is time I talked to you most severely about your duties here, Miss Trumble. You are only a governess and you take too much upon yourself.’

To her irritation, Miss Trumble did not apologize or protest but stood quietly there holding a lantern. A bobbing light behind her headed towards the corner of the house and disappeared around it. ‘And that is no doubt Barry returned, and without reporting to me!’ exclaimed Lady Beverley. ‘Ah, when I was at Mannerling, no servant would dare behave in such a way.’

‘I think that is them returning now,’ said Miss Trumble, hearing the clop of a horse’s hooves on the road. She edged past her mistress and went into the house.

Robert, leading his horse with one hand and holding Jessica with the other, came up the drive.

‘A word with you in private, Lady Beverley, if you please.’ Before Lady Beverley’s shocked eyes, he kissed Jessica on the mouth. Barry appeared and took his horse round to the stable.

Lady Beverley led the way into the parlour. She dismissed her other daughters and then said, ‘I hope you can explain your behaviour, Mr Sommerville.’

‘Easily, ma’am. I wish to marry Jessica.’

Lady Beverley half-closed her eyes and then turned away and stared into the fire. Unknown to Jessica and the others, she had called on Mrs Devers, and between them the two women had reknitted Harry’s character into that of an endearing lost boy who only needed a good wife to put him right. That Lady Beverley should even contemplate such as Harry as a son-in-law would have been shocking to anyone but Mrs Devers, whose heart had been made fonder by her son’s absence. Lady Beverley thought it was like some kind of cruel torture the way her hopes kept being raised only to be dashed again.

She said wearily, ‘I suppose there is no stopping you.’

Robert looked at her with a certain haughty pride. He was accustomed to thinking of himself as a good catch.

Lady Beverley saw the look on his face. ‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘We have business to discuss.’ If Robert Sommerville wanted Jessica, thought Lady Beverley grimly, then he should pay for it. She entered into a long discussion about marriage settlements, which put her in a high good humour, while Robert privately hoped that once he was married he would need to see as little of his mother-in-law as possible.