‘A dangerous woman.’ Thornton summed it up. ‘One cannot help feeling sorry for the Duchess, though it does appear that she is really devoted to Mrs Winterton. Well, hers was a dynastic marriage of course; no question of love between her and the Duke; and the gossips do say that she has found her own comfort. There was talk last spring about a young man — can’t remember his name. Began with an ‘M’, I think. Doesn’t matter anyway, but the Duke banished his wife to his Irish estates. Mrs Winterton went too, mind you.’
‘A very odd business,’ said Trentham. ‘But you can see why I hesitate to approach them on Caroline’s behalf. Even if they should send for her, how would she go on, poor child, in a household like that?’
‘Badly, I am afraid. Just the same, if Mrs Trentham is not noticeably calmer in her mind by the end of the month, I really think you will have to do something.’
But before the month was up, a strange carriage came swinging up the vicarage drive.
‘Jiminy!’ Sophie was looking out the upstairs window. ‘Did you ever see such horses! And the liveries! And the crest on the panel! Whose is it? Can you see?’
‘There’s no one inside,’ said Caroline, as the carriage swept smartly to a halt.
‘Yes, there is. Look!’ One of the huge footmen had jumped down to throw open the carriage door. ‘What a little dab of a woman for such a grand carriage! Who in the world can it be?’
‘Someone in trouble, I expect,’ said Caroline. ‘They always come to Papa.’ And wondered, as she often did these days, whether she should go on calling him that.
A rousing peal on the bell sent Nurse Bramber scurrying to open the door, and the two girls, leaning over the banisters, got a good look at the neat, black-clad visitor as she was led across the hall to Mr Trentham’s study.
‘I like her face,’ said Caroline, when the study door was safely shut behind the stranger. ‘She looks kind.’
‘Do you think so? I think she looks like someone’s governess, and a strict one at that. As if she could see right through you.’
In the study, Mr Trentham had seated his guest in the straight-backed chair she preferred and was looking at the letter she had handed him. ‘From the Duke?’ he asked.
‘No, sir. From the Duchess.’ The woman, who had announced herself as Miss Skinner, folded her hands composedly in her lap: ‘If you would be so good as to read it?’ It was not exactly a command, and yet he did almost feel as if he were relegated once more to the schoolroom.
The letter was a warm and pressing invitation from the Duchess for Caroline to come and pay them a long visit. ‘We are quite ashamed, dear Mr Trentham,’ she wrote in her flowing hand, ‘to have neglected the child so shamefully, but our excuse must be that we knew what good hands she was in. Now we all long to see her, and are even wondering whether you might not permit her to share the education of our great parcel of children. We have quite a household now, with our own two dear girls and Blakeney, and the little son of a French friend of ours who committed him to our care before the outbreak of this endless war. We have prevailed upon Miss Skinner, a very highly educated lady indeed, to undertake the care of the girls, and thought it might be to Caroline’s advantage to share her good offices. So, dear Mr Trentham, I am sending her to you, in the hope that she can smooth out any little anxieties you might have on the child’s account, and then escort her back to Cley, where we mean to pass the rest of the summer.’ And then, below the elaborate signature, a postscript. ‘The Duke sends his regards and bids me say that, naturally, if you allow us the pleasure of educating the child, he will wish to be responsible for her future.’
‘A very kind letter.’ Mr Trentham finished it and looked up to meet the steady eyes of his guest.
She smiled at him. ‘The Duchess showed it to me,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you would allow me to expand on it a little?’
‘I should be most grateful. It’s a hard decision. We have looked on the child as our own.’ How much, he wondered, did she know about the circumstances of Caroline’s birth?
‘I am a very old…’ she paused and smiled at him again. ‘I almost said “friend of the family”. I lived for many years with the Duchess’ mother, to whom I was indebted for my education. She has been…’ another pause ‘…a little anxious about her daughter and grandchildren. They have lived, as you doubtless know, a wandering kind of life, first in one resort of fashion, then in another. It has not been entirely in the best interests of the children. Now all that is to be changed. The children are to have their own establishment at Cley, and I have agreed to take charge of it. There are rumours of a peace with France, as you doubtless know. If it should come, as please God it does, the Duke and Duchess, and, of course, their friend Mrs Winterton, will most certainly go abroad at once, and I shall have entire control in the schoolroom. I think I can promise little Caroline a good education, Mr Trentham, and—’Another of her significant pauses — ‘if I may say so, a moral one.’
‘Thank you.’ He knew a great deal about the Duchess’ mother, who was famous for her learning and good works. ‘You are perhaps related,’ he said now, ‘to Mr Gerald Skinner, the author?’
‘My brother. I kept house for him for a while before he married. Mr Trentham,’ she went on earnestly, ‘these are hard times. I have the Duke’s assurance for you that you will never regret letting little Caroline join his family.’
‘The other children?’ He was thinking about the wandering, fashionable life they had lived.
‘A trifle spoiled.’ She smiled her friendly smile. ‘But nothing a little discipline will not remedy. They are lovable children, Mr Trentham. I am sure I can promise you that Caroline will be happy as a member of the family.’ Her tone, more than her words, told him that she knew precisely how close a member Caroline was. She leaned forward. ‘Mr Trentham, it is not a situation of which people like you and me can possibly approve, but I beg you will believe me when I tell you that I think that nothing but good can come to Caroline from the change.’
‘The Duke intends her to stay?’
‘Oh, yes. The talk of a visit is merely by the way. It’s part of the agreement.’
‘Agreement?’
He had felt her considering him as they talked. Now she came to a decision. ‘I feel I can speak frankly to you, Mr Trentham. No need to say that it is in entire confidence. There has been some difficulty between the Duke and Duchess. Not just her debts…She and Mrs Winterton spent almost the whole of last year on the Irish estate. Now, they are re-forming the family. Your Caroline’s presence is part of the new plan.’
‘I see.’ He was afraid he did. Every instinct revolted at the idea of sending an innocent child to such a household. He looked up and saw Miss Skinner’s friendly eye on him, reading his mind.
‘She really will come to no harm,’ she said. ‘You have my word for it.’
He had heard the sound of an arrival, and rose to his feet. ‘Will you excuse me? It is the doctor, come to see my wife. You will stay the night, of course, Miss Skinner, and if I may, I will give you my answer in the morning.’ He turned to give the necessary orders to Nurse Bramber, who had opened the door to announce Dr Thornton. ‘And, nurse,’ he concluded, ‘where is Caroline?’
‘In her room, I think. Reading one of those books of hers.’
‘May I go to her?’ asked Miss Skinner. ‘And may I tell her?’
‘Yes.’ He looked distracted. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Yes, of course. She has a right to know of the invitation.’
‘Thank you. I must not keep you from the doctor. I am sorry to hear of your wife’s indisposition.’
‘Nurse Bramber will explain,’ he said, and left them together.
Nurse Bramber had intended to be very much on her dignity, but the stranger’s smile was so friendly and her questions so sympathetic that she soon found herself pouring out the whole story of Mrs Trentham’s illness and its cause. She glossed over Giles’ disgrace as best she could. ‘It’s all done with now. His uncle’s sent him to Ind
ia, but it has left the mistress with this dislike to poor little Caroline. Really, ma’am, the invitation you bring comes as a blessing, though I shall be sad to see the child go. She’s a funny little thing, but lovable.’
‘Then if I might see her? Perhaps in her own room, if she sleeps alone.’
‘Oh, yes, rooms is what we have got in this old rectory. It’s hands to clean them we are short of. Though the girls are good as gold. Specially Miss Caroline. She minds being a charge on Mr Trentham, you know, now times are so bad. But you would know nothing of that.’ Her respectful eye had taken in every detail of Miss Skinner’s elegant black travelling dress.
‘On the contrary.’ Miss Skinner had risen to her feet. ‘I kept house for my brother, who is a clergyman, for several years. I know very well what it is like, and the expense of launching children in society…’
This, inevitably, led to a digression by Nurse Bramber on Sophie’s projected marriage, and by the time Miss Skinner tapped lightly on the door of Caroline’s bedroom, she had a very good idea of how things stood in the Trentham family. At Caroline’s surprised ‘come in,’ she pushed open the door and found the child sitting at her open window writing away busily at a little battered desk.
‘How do you do, Caroline?’ She held out a friendly hand. ‘I am Miss Skinner, come to you with a message from the Duchess of Cley.’
‘The Duchess?’ Caroline jumped to her feet and made a neat little curtsy, feeling herself in one of the strange, continuing stories of her dreams.
‘Yes, the Duchess of Cley. She was a dear friend, you know, my dear, of your mamma.’ And aside from the tense of the verb, that was true enough, thought Miss Skinner wryly. ‘She has sent me to invite you to come and pay a long visit to her own children at Cley.’
‘Oh!’ It was a long breath of pure amazement. ‘Me?’ She looked down at the cotton dress that had been altered, first for Sophie and then for her. ‘Me, visit a duchess? At Cley?’
Miss Skinner watched with interest as the child thought about it. Not a beauty by any means, she thought, but a taking child.
‘Cley?’ Caroline said again. ‘That’s in Norfolk, is it not? I found it on the map in Papa’s study once. There was a lady, sent me a doll. A beautiful one,’ she added on a note of apology that spoke volumes to her perceptive listener. ‘I wrote to thank her at Cley. It’s quite close to Holkham, isn’t it, where Mr Coke lives?’ She was remembering now, back to that long-ago visit and the sweet-smelling lady who had held her so close in her arm. ‘Will she be there?’ she asked. ‘The lady? Mrs Winterton?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Miss Skinner thought this was going to be easier than she had feared. ‘She is a dear friend of the Duchess.’
‘Oh?’ said Caroline again, taking it in. ‘And there are children?’
‘The Duchess has two little girls older than you, Lady Charlotte and Lady Amelia, and a boy, Blakeney, who must be about your age. And they have another boy living with them, the child of friends in France. He and Blakeney are just back from Harrow, and I teach the girls. I think I would enjoy teaching you, my dear. Tell me what you know about Mr Coke?’
‘Coke of Norfolk? The great commoner?’ Caroline’s face lit up. ‘Oh, I know all kinds of things about him! He went to see the King in country clothes, just think of that, because it was his right as a country member, and of course the King didn’t like it above half. That was before the poor King went mad because of losing the Americas. Do you think that served him right, ma’am?’ she asked eagerly. ‘He’s better again now, I know, but Giles always said it was more than he deserved, only I don’t think I believe in retri—’ She paused, colouring scarlet, the word eluding her.
‘Retribution,’ supplied Miss Skinner. ‘No, I agree with you, my dear. Things are not quite so simple as that.’ She thought that the child would come as something of a surprise to the Chevenham girls. And to their father. ‘At all events,’ she went on, ‘I can see that you are as good a little Whig as the Duke could hope for in a guest. And as to Mr Coke, he is a friend of the family, and if you come to Cley you will most certainly meet him.’
‘Oh.’ Another deep, thoughtful breath. The child stood there for a moment, taking it all in. Then her eyes flashed to the open window with its frame of yellow roses. ‘My garden,’ she said, ‘I shall lose my garden!’
‘There are gardens at Cley, my dear.’ The amusement in Miss Skinner’s tone held a hint of irritation.
‘I beg your pardon, ma’am.’ The child surprised her by recognising it. ‘I am sure there are splendid ones. Only, you see, this is the one I grew up with. I know where to look for the first primrose. And the last rose. It’s…it’s my garden.’
There was more to it than that, Miss Skinner thought. Later, when she met the rest of the family over dinner, she wondered if Caroline had perhaps used the garden as an escape from the rather commonplace Trentham girl, whose behaviour to herself she found sad and interesting. Caroline had recognised her at once as a friend and an equal. Sophie, on the other hand, taking her mother’s place at the table, treated her with the elaborate courtesy of superior to mere governess.
Chapter Three
Caroline had never been farther than Ludlow in her life, and the long, luxurious journey across England to Cley was one she would never forget, though at the time she was in such a mixed daze of shyness and homesickness that only isolated incidents stood out clearly. They travelled by easy stages, and she was amazed at the calm competence with which Miss Skinner dealt with innkeepers, post boys and the like. But then, life was clearly quite different when one travelled in a crested coach with two footmen.
They spent two days staying with Miss Skinner’s brother outside Cambridge. He had recently been given a good living, Miss Skinner told her, and the Duchess had suggested the visit. ‘She thought we might do some shopping in Cambridge. A few things for the house that can be got better there than in Lynn and one or two little things she thought you might need. You won’t mind?’ She had recognised and respected the streak of pride in Caroline. ‘Mr Trentham wished to help in outfitting you, but I had to tell him I had the strictest orders from the Duchess.’
‘She seems to think of everything,’ said Caroline. ‘She must have been very fond of my mamma.’
‘And means to be just as fond of her daughter. And so does Mrs Winterton too.’ This was one of the moments when she disliked her commission, fearing questions she could not answer.
‘Mrs Winterton,’ said Caroline, ‘I remember her best. She smelt like a garden.’ And bit back the tears that would come when she thought of the garden at home. Would she ever find a safe place again, like the one between the yew hedge and the river?
It was strange to be in Cambridge at last and know that Giles was already at sea on the long voyage to India. Miss Skinner took her to see his college, as an interval among a perfect orgy of shopping, as it seemed to Caroline. Miss Skinner apparently thought otherwise. ‘That should do for the time being,’ she said, when the new dresses were delivered on the second evening of their stay. ‘You’ll wear the rose-coloured dimity tomorrow, and the new bonnet and pelisse.’
‘Will we get there tomorrow?’
‘No, the next day. We don’t want to arrive worn out, do we? Not to the kind of welcome we are likely to receive. The children will be eager to see their new companion.’
‘Oh.’ Caroline seemed to shrink into herself, and Miss Skinner felt a twinge of anxiety.
‘She’s such a feeling little creature,’ she told her brother and sister-in-law that night after Caroline had been sent off to bed. ‘The new impressions of the journey have been almost too much for her. I’ve sent one of the men ahead with a note to the Duchess warning her that it’s a very tired child I’ll be bringing. It would be a pity to have too high expectations, and have them disappointed.’
‘The Duchess?’ asked her astute brother. ‘Or the Duke?’
‘Oh, the Duke. He’s the kind of man nobody ever calls anything but “Duke” or “Y
our Grace”.’ It was one of the comforts of the strange life she led that she need have no secrets from this reliable brother of hers. ‘And the Duchess’ children are such handsome creatures. Mrs Winterton told me that he called Caroline a little shrimp the only time he met her.’
‘She’s a very engaging little shrimp,’ said Mr Skinner. ‘Did you see how she listened to the talk at dinner? She didn’t miss a thing. I thought for a moment she was going to join in when we were talking about Mr Coleridge and his poetry. Did you see? She was scarlet in the face with wanting to.’
‘I’m afraid there won’t be much talk of poetry at Cley.’
‘I suppose not. She’s got a deal of character, that child. While you are fretting about what they will make of her, maybe you should also be thinking just a little of what she will make of them.’
‘Oh, I do. I’ve been anxious about that. And anxious too that the mere sight of Cley may be too much for her. I’ve tried to prepare her for it by showing her Warwick Castle and one or two other places on the way, and we’ll be passing Holkham, of course, but she’s not got the slightest real idea, you know.’
‘How should she have? But she’s got backbone, that child. Whatever she feels, she will behave with that curious touch of dignity she has.’
‘A perfect lady,’ said his sister. ‘Is it not strange?’
They spent the last night of their journey at the best inn at Lynn, and Caroline started out next morning nervous and self-conscious in her new clothes. ‘Oh!’ she forgot it all in her first sight of the sea. ‘Miss Skinner! I had no idea!’
‘I knew how you would feel.’ Miss Skinner smiled and pulled the check string. ‘I grew up in London, and rivers just do not prepare you for this…this vastness. We’ll stop for a moment and take a closer look. A pity it is such a misty morning,’ she went on, as the footman let down the carriage steps, ‘or you would be able to see the other side. This is not quite the sea, you know, but the Wash. At low tide it would be all mud. I am glad it is high for you.’
The Lost Garden (The Purchas Family Series Book 5) Page 5