The Victory (16 page)

She had hoped, with a large party, including Lord Ballin
crea and his sister Lady Greyshott, who were fashionable
young people with lively manners, to escape notice, and to be
able to spend a few more weeks in comfort and with good
company before going off to her enforced retirement. It
would not at all suit her to have her relationship with her
husband dragged into the light by ingenuous questions from
her brother Edward. She thought it would probably be necessary very soon to confide in her hostess, and to throw herself
on her mercy.

That evening Parslow, whom Lucy had sent on ahead,
arrived with her curricle and horses. The following morning
Edward, William, James and Fanny walked over to pay a
formal visit on Roberta, and since Fanny marched Bobbie off
to inspect his apartments and his toys and to boast about
hers, and Edward and William were happily exchanging
politenesses with Roberta, James quickly proposed that Lucytake him out in her curricle and show him her new team's paces.

‘
Oh, that's better,' he exclaimed when they were bowling
swiftly along the track that led past Morland Place towards
the moors. ‘I don't know how it is, Luce, but my appetite for
polite nothings grows smaller every year.’

She was too preoccupied with holding her team, whose
ardour, thanks to Parslow's care, had not been at all damped
by the journey north, to do more than throw him a glance,
but it was enough to tell her that her brother was not happy.
They had always got on well in childhood, and the similarity
of their circumstances gave them a sympathy for each other,
though Lucy had often been impatient with him. His way of
dealing with things was not hers. She had thought when he
left his wife to live with Héloïse that he had made a brave
choice, and had felt nothing but impatience with him when he came back again, believing it to be an act of indecision. Older
and wiser herself now, she was prepared to believe that he
had been subjected to irresistible pressures.

‘
Do you ever see her?' she asked. He shook his head. 'Or
hear news of her?' Another shake. 'Roberta writes to her, you
know. I expect she could tell you how she goes on. I did
wonder ...'

‘Yes?'

‘
I wondered, with such a big party, and with Mary Ann
away, whether Roberta might not invite her to join us.’

James turned to look at her, and his eyes seemed large in
his face. 'I want to see her so much; but I don't know if it
would be more pleasure or more pain.'

‘
Well, if it were me ...' Lucy said robustly, thinking that
here was one of the ways she and her brother were different.
If she had the chance of seeing Weston only for one moment,
she would take it, no matter how it hurt afterwards to be
parted from him.

‘
How are things between you and Chetwyn?' James asked
by a natural process of association.

‘
As bad as they can be,' she answered. She glanced side
ways at her brother to see if she had his attention. 'I'm with
child again,' she said abruptly.

‘
Oh?' said James, and then, as the implications occurred to
him, 'Oh!'

‘
Well, Chetwyn isn't the father, of course,' Lucy said
impatiently, 'and he says that this time he won't acknowledge
it. I tell you this in confidence, Jamie.'

‘Of course. But what will you do?'

‘
Chetwyn says I must go somewhere where no-one knows
me, and that when the baby is born, it must be sent away to
foster parents.'

‘Oh Lucy, I'm sorry,' James said in quick sympathy.

‘
Well, I must say it seems rather hard,' she said, 'but I can
see why Chetwyn says it must be that way. Only I'm not look
ing forward to it at all, and I can't think where to go to have the baby. If it's somewhere I'm not known, it must be a very
dull place indeed, and I shall have to be all alone, without
friends.'

‘
You should stay somewhere in Yorkshire,' James said,
‘then I could come and visit you from time to time, to cheer
you up.'

‘Oh, Jamie, would you?'

‘
Of course. Why don't you go to Scarborough? That's a
jolly place, and the sea air would be very good for you.'

‘
Don't be silly! Everyone knows me in Scarborough,' Lucy
said. 'Besides —’

But James's face had lit up. Envisaging the route to Scar
borough, he had come across the perfect solution. 'Why didn't
I think of it before? Of course, you must go and stay with
Héloïse! She is the kindest creature in the world, and sensible,
and as good as a sister to you; and that little village is as far
from civilisation as you need. You can be quite private there.
No-one need know who you are. You can live in retirement,
and yet have the company of someone I know you're fond of.’

Lucy thought it over. 'Yes, I believe you're right. If she'll
have me, I think it would answer very well.'

‘
Of course she'll have you. The wonder is that Roberta
hasn't suggested it already.'

‘
I haven't told Roberta yet,' Lucy said. 'I'll have to, of
course, and I was hoping she might have some idea of where I
could go. I'll tell her tonight, and if she agrees, she can write
to Héloïse for me, and I can go to her when Roberta goes back
to London.'

‘Is it safe to leave it so long?' James asked.

‘
Of course it is,' Lucy said indignantly. 'I don't need to go away as long as there's nothing to be seen; and no-one could
tell from looking at me, could they?’

James eyed her doubtfully. 'Well — no, I suppose not.’

 
‘
What do you mean by that?' Lucy asked dangerously. ‘Nothing,' James said hastily. 'I say, Luce, your chestnuts really are a prime team! Let me take 'em for a bit.’

*

Chetwyn arrived the following day, having spent a few weeks
in Brighton where the Prince of Wales and Mrs Fitzherbert
had been entertaining a large party. He was in time to witness
a minor quarrel between the brothers, which had arisen over the question of a hostess for Morland Place. Edward wanted
to have a small dinner-party, and had proposed that Mrs
Smith should act as hostess.

Mrs Smith had been William's mistress for many years. He
had rescued her from the cruelty of her husband, a wealthy sugar planter from Martinique, and she had lived with him on board his various commands, and borne him a son, Fred
erick. She was a creole, about ten years his senior, a short and
swarthy woman of no beauty or distinction, but William was
devoted to her. He would have married her in the beginning had he been able to, and because of that, he had never been
ashamed of her or of his relationship with her.

But in the February of that year, while they were in
Jamaica, news had reached them that her husband had finally
succeeded in drinking himself to death on rum, and William
had at once married her in the garrison chapel in Kingston.
Now she was his legal wife, he couldn't see why anyone should
object to her, or to her son. Edward, who had always liked
her, agreed; but though James was loath to associate with his
wife's ideas in any way, he felt that Mrs Smith — it was what
William called her, which made it difficult for anyone to call
her anything else — was not fit to be his mother's successor.

He didn't voice his objection to William — who was twice
his size and weight, and had a short fuse where his wife was
concerned — but privately to Edward; and it was on this
argument that the Earl of Aylesbury walked in.

‘Come on, Chetwyn, you loved my mother, too,' James
entreated him. 'Mrs Smith may be a decent enough soul, but
as lady of the house, even temporarily —'

‘
She's William's wife,' Edward said stubbornly. 'She's Mrs
William Morland.'

‘
You've been saying the same thing over and over again
like a parrot,' James retorted, 'but you won't answer the
point.'

‘
That is the point. She's William's wife, and that makes her
good enough for anyone. Chetwyn, surely you must agree with that? He's given her the protection of his name, so it
doesn't matter what she was before. She's my brother's wife,
and if my brother's wife can't be hostess in my house —'

‘It's Fanny's house, actually,' said James.

Chetwyn looked at him with amusement. ‘If you've been reduced to that sort of retort, you must feel you've lost the
argument.'

‘
Not at all,' he said with dignity. 'It doesn't matter to me
that she was William's mistress: God knows, I am not in a
position to preach morality to anyone. But she is, and always
has been, a common, ignorant woman, and to put her in my
mother's place is an insult to her memory.'

‘Damn it, Jamie —'

‘
What it comes down to is this: does it matter what a
person is, or only what their status is? Because if it's only
status that matters, then it doesn't signify what anyone does
— good or evil.’

If it was a home thrust, Chetwyn gave no sign of it. 'It's no use appealing to me. I always side with Ned,' he said, putting
his arm across Edward's shoulders. 'He's my dearest friend in
the world.'

‘
Oh well, if you're going to argue on those lines, I've noth
ing more to say,' James said with a shrug, and took himself
off, leaving the friends alone together.

‘
It's good to see you,' Edward said at last, scanning
Chetwyn's face carefully. 'Lucy's at Shawes, you know.’

 
‘
Yes, I know.'

‘
I suppose she won't come and stay here while you're here?'

‘
I don't think it would be a comfortable arrangement,’

Chetwyn said in a voice that left no room for persuasion. He
pressed Edward's shoulder. 'Come, Ned. We'll have a good time together, won't we, just you and I — just as we used to?’

Edward looked doubtful. 'I don't know. I hope so. Things
do change, you know, Chet, and you can't put the clock
back.'

‘
We can wind it up again,' Chetwyn said, and seeing no
response to his little joke, he turned to face Edward and held
him by the shoulders. 'Things do change, of course they do,
but we have one thing to hold on to, my dear. We have each
other. Don't let that change, Ned, or there'll be nothing left.’