The House in Grosvenor Square (7 page)

They nodded.

This was very surprising to Ariana, but she said blithely, “Well, my aunt is not home at present, and I am sure you are welcome at the moment. Now, please, follow me.”

Haines, with a troubled look on his face, accepted their shawls, giving them immediately to a footman. “Ma'am, may I have a word with you?” He then looked at the footman and told him, “Show Miss Forsythe's guests to the
sitting room
, John.”

The sitting room was never used to entertain callers, and Ariana looked at the butler in stark astonishment. She wanted to cry, “Haines! The sitting room?” but knew that there must be some reason behind it. “Orders,” he said, in a low tone and with a look fraught with meaning.

Ariana felt more bewildered than ever.

Haines, perceiving her puzzlement, said in a low voice, “The mistress says that woman must not to be allowed to gain entrance to this establishment.”

“There are three women, Haines.”

“Yes, I was referring to the one in the middle,” he said.

Ariana cocked an eyebrow at him. “But why? Who is she?”

Haines seemed startled. “That is Mrs. Southcott, the one they call a ‘prophetess.'”

Ariana gasped, a strange light coming into her eyes. “Indeed.”

“May I have your permission to show them out? You needn't face them.”

But she was thinking. “By no means. I will see this Mrs. Southcott.”

She left the poor man standing with the thought that he had utterly failed his mistress. Were Mrs. Bentley to arrive home with Mrs. Southcott under her roof—who knew what could result?

He checked his watch fob and, looking to heaven, shook his head worriedly.

When Ariana entered the sitting room, the ladies started to rise.

“Please, do not,” she said with astonishment. Her cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment.

“I daresay you know who I am now,” Mrs. Southcott said, with a little sad smile.

“Yes.” Ariana sat down upon a chair facing the women on the sofa. The fact that they had tried for so long to see her softened any suspicions the lady's reputation might have given her, and she asked, “May I offer you refreshments?”

Mrs. Southcott sat forward and replied, in a strong tone, “My bread is to do the will of Him who sent me. I have no appetite for any other.”

“I see,” Ariana said, appreciating the woman's zeal. “May I ask what you wished to see me about?”

“I wished to see you, Miss Forsythe, to give you a gift.” Mrs. Southcott nodded at one of her companions, who drew forth a packet of letters sealed with ribbon. She handed them to Ariana.

“Some of your writings?” Ariana held out her slim hand.

Mrs. Southcott nodded. “For your perusal.” She paused. “I have been told of your great sense of religion, Miss Forsythe. I am hoping to find a friend in you.”

When Ariana said nothing, she continued. “I am afraid…I am in great need of support.” She looked apologetically at Ariana. “I am sorry to put it to you so plainly, my dear. I hoped to nurture a friendship first, but as I have been prevented to wait upon you in this establishment, as we said earlier, I find that I have no recourse but to come straight to the point. No doubt you have seen the abuse that is hurled upon me in the papers.” Her eyes widened with indignation.

Ariana nodded. The news had often been sprinkled with so-called
prophecies
of Mrs. Southcott's and then a barrage of letters, vindictive to her cause.

“I have
many
enemies,” she said sadly. She looked questioningly at Ariana. “Must I count you as one of them? Be plain with me, I beg you.”

“May I never be an enemy to anyone who seeks God in truth and according to the Scriptures, Mrs. Southcott.”

For the first time, the lady smiled. She had a warm smile and her eyes twinkled in an agreeable manner, such as a grandmother's might. “Does that mean, Miss Forsythe, that I may depend upon you for support? I have recently lost a very great benefactor, the Marquess of Deane. He suddenly decided not to accept my last vision. I count it as a great shame—for his soul's sake as much as for my own welfare. May I hope, my dear ma'am, that you will consider supplying what he has ceased to provide?”

Coming from somewhere in the house, Mrs. Bentley's voice could be heard—she did not sound pleased. Ariana frowned, looked once more at
the packet of letters, and said, “I have very little means at present, but I will read your papers and consider what you have asked.”

The ladies looked at her in stark unbelief. She saw their expressions and added, “You have heard a rumour, I assure you, if you are thinking that I am a lady of means.” They were still staring at her a little wide-eyed, and their looks wandered to the rich upholstery and the fittings in the room, all of which belied her words.

“Despite what appearances would have you think,” Ariana added, “I am not a wealthy woman.”

There was a moment's awkward silence until one of them said bluntly, “But you will be—soon. Is that not so?”

Ariana felt as though she had eager children in the room, and she smiled. “Why do you not contact me after my marriage? I may be in a position to do something for you.”

“I have your permission to do so?”

“By all means. However, I cannot promise you, for I really must better acquaint myself with your writings. But I do plan to discover ways, as a lady of means, to do my best to aid in the comfort and welfare of the oppressed and the poor and, of course, to further the kingdom of God in whatever way He puts at my disposal.”

“There are many evangelicals who are sympathetic to my cause,” said Mrs. Southcott, a little defensively. But Ariana was being cautious. Her natural inclination was to help anyone who asked, but she was not at liberty to exercise such abandon—she had no money of her own. And what if the reports regarding the lady were true? She would certainly not support heresy! She said, “Send your correspondence to number 25 Grosvenor Square. I will soon be mistress there, and in the meantime, Mr. Mornay and I shall read your writings and study the matter together.”

Mrs. Southcott looked at Ariana with a shrewd expression. “Do not allow fear of the opinion of mere man to interfere with godliness, Miss Forsythe. I daresay you would do everything in your power to aid me if you were to cast aside the fear of man!”

Ariana's large eyes were fastened on Mrs. Southcott's. She was not overly quick-witted, but she somehow managed to come up with an answer. “I have not had the pleasure of reading your words, Mrs. Southcott,” she said gently, lifting the packet of letters in her hand slightly. “Even you must allow that we are told to ‘try the spirits,' and then to ‘hold fast that which is good.' You must give me time to try, to test what you have said here.”

Mrs. Southcott nodded. “Yes, of course. Which is why I have tried to gain an audience with you heretofore, so that you could read the words for yourself and be fully assured of their divine inspiration.”

“I do apologize on that account,” Ariana acceded.

“We have encountered such things before,” said another of the ladies.

“Nay, and will again, no doubt,” added Mrs. Southcott, “as do all who truly seek to do God's will!”

Ariana nodded sympathetically. She could see nothing in this lady to make her doubt the woman's earnestness and wanted to read the letters very much.

A firm knock on the door was followed by the entrance of Mrs. Bentley. At her heels was Lord Horatio, a mutual friend of hers and Mr. Mornay's.

“Lord Horatio is here for you, my dear,” said Mrs. Bentley, with a firm undertone that Ariana could not mistake. Neither, apparently, could Mrs. Southcott, for she and her companions stood up abruptly and curtseyed to Ariana. His lordship came over and bowed politely, smiling, and took her hand and kissed the air above it. Meanwhile, Mrs. Bentley had a footman at the ready to show the women out.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Forsythe. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And yours, Mrs. Southcott.” She nodded at the other ladies. One of them stopped before her.

“When you are Mrs. Mornay, I pray you—” she said, giving Ariana a searching, heartfelt look, “do not forget Mrs. Southcott!”

Ariana watched them leave the room and clasped the bundle of papers tightly, convinced that she should certainly read them. The newspapers and recent broadsheets had presented Mrs. Southcott as a lady who had begun well and with sound doctrine but had lately become severely deluded. Ariana, in all fairness, would discover for herself if what they said was true. She glanced at Lord Horatio, who was also watching the ladies leave, and noticed that his expression was startlingly disapproving.

But Mrs. Bentley hurried to the front door, thinking that she had to make certain all her servants knew never, never to allow those ladies beneath her roof again.

Ariana brought Lord Horatio to the first floor parlour, where he filled her in on the excitement of the morning's fencing match and mentioned that her betrothed had been in attendance. When Mrs. Bentley returned to the room,
her face was still set in a frown, and she crossed her arms unpromisingly across her chest.

“My gel!” she exclaimed, the moment the conversation paused. “Do you realize who you brought into this house?”

“Three harmless creatures, I am sure, ma'am.”

“
Harmless?
Tag, rag, and bobtail are more like it! Mrs. Joanna Southcott and her two minions! Do you realize the harm to our reputation if they were to be seen leaving our establishment?”

“Our reputation? How can it signify, ma'am?”

“I realize you may have a certain…fascination with the likes of Mrs. Southcott, but you are not at liberty to indulge that interest at my expense. Or at yours. It would not do, my dear, to form an association with such a disgraceful person.”

“Disgraceful? I had thought her to be controversial—”

“My dear, she has been castigated from the pulpit!
That woman,”
she said, pointing out toward the stairway in the direction that Mrs. Southcott had left, “claims to have heard from God that she is to bear a son by the Holy Spirit! Like the Virgin Mary! And at the age of sixty-five, no less! It is outright blasphemy.”

Ariana gave a patient look at her aunt. “My dear aunt,” she said, in a tone that sent her relation's eyes to the ceiling with impatience, “that may be naught but buffle-headed hearsay. I found nothing wanting in Mrs. Southcott's manners or bearing. She seemed very kind. I again must say I think her harmless.”

Her aunt looked at her, perplexed. “If she enlists your sympathies, it can do much harm! You are about to wed a high-standing member of society. You will drag his name down with you if you espouse the cause of this…charlatan!”

Ariana did seem to consider these words, but she was certain her aunt was exaggerating.

“If Mr. Mornay shares your opinion, ma'am, I will not grant the lady my sympathies, I assure you. But I shall read her writings for myself, you must know.” She looked at the bundle of papers, which she had set on the table after bringing them up from the room below. Mrs. Bentley saw them, took them in her hands, and, without the least warning, threw them into the fire in the grate.

“Aunt Bentley!” Ariana rushed forward, intent on salvaging the letters, which she felt sure she could accomplish by acting swiftly. But Lord Horatio
was on his feet and just as speedily wrapped his arms strongly about hers, not allowing her to get any closer to the flames.

“You will not touch your hands to that fire!” he cried.

“Then you must do it for me!” She turned on him. He glanced at the lady of the house, who was watching with a dubious expression but was silent. So he turned and took the iron poker from nearby the grate and began to inch the papers out.

Now Mrs. Bentley spoke up. “No, my lord! You will burn the carpet!”

“That was very bad of you, Aunt!” Ariana responded, shocked at her aunt's behaviour.

“Don't get up in the boughs over it, for pity's sake.” Mrs. Bentley's manner was annoyingly offhand. “I have no doubt that you would give aid to the devil himself if he were to appear hungry at your door!”

“My dear Aunt!” Ariana replied in tones of indignation.

Lord Horatio tried admirably to save the mass of papers, but thanks in part to the wide ribbon around them, which had taken instantly to flames, there was little to salvage. Already the papers had become no more than chunks of layered ash and were rapidly disintegrating into cinders.

“I'm sorry,” he said standing up.

“Thank you for for your efforts,” Ariana said. She was still appalled by her aunt and disappointed because she had been genuinely curious about Mrs. Southcott's writings. She determined immediately to write the lady, asking for another set of copies. She had left her card, so Ariana would know how to contact her. She did not want to injure the lady's sensibilities by admitting that her aunt had burned her writings, so she wouldn't mention it.