A Highly Respectable Marriage

by Sheila Walsh

  ‘And get fired on in return,’ said the Duke sceptically. ‘You’d be a sitting target, my boy.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ William sighed. ‘But there has to be a way.’ He frowned. ‘What the boat really needs, of course, is an entirely different structure ‒ do away with the balloon altogether and perhaps give it wings like a bird, and some kind of propelling mechanism, as Trevithick did in his engine.’

  ‘Would that not make it too heavy to lift off the ground?’ Heron pressed him, intrigued by the boy’s propensity for imaginative innovation.

  ‘That’s the part I don’t fully understand yet. You see, it’s not simply a question of air displacement.’ William took a knife from the table and balanced it thoughtfully on one fingertip. ‘There has to be some kind of thrust you can control. But the idea of a flying machine isn’t new, you know,’ he said stubbornly, looking up. ‘Leonardo da Vinci believed in it centuries ago!’

  The Duke raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘I can see you won’t be following in the family footsteps. The artillery would be much too tame.’

  ‘Oh, guns are well enough in their way ‒ there’s a deal of skill to handling a nine-pounder effectively. But it isn’t exciting in the way discovering things is. Do you know what I mean, sir?’

  Heron said gravely that he thought he did.

  ‘The engineers might be better, I suppose, but it don’t hold a candle to inventing things, and that’s what I mean to do.’

  Pandora was by now looking dazed. ‘You really mean it! You have never said a word of this to me.’

  He half-grinned. ‘No … because you would have thought I was dicked in the nob!’

  ‘Oh, William, I wouldn’t!’ But she didn’t sound too certain.

  This time there was no mistaking that the Duke chuckled. ‘Well, young shaver, I can’t offer you the kind of excitement you crave, but perhaps you would care to see my collection of sporting guns?’

  William’s eyes lit up. ‘I should think so! I’m a pretty fair shot, though mostly it’s with a catapult.’ He caught Pandora’s eye and they both dissolved into giggles.

  Unperturbed, the Duke summoned a footman and instructed him to take William to find Mr Dawkins. ‘Mr Dawkins is my head gamekeeper. If he is not too busy, he has my permission to take you out to try for a rabbit or two.’

  It was very quiet when he had gone.

  ‘I don’t know where he gets it all from,’ Pandora said faintly. ‘At least it explains all those strange little models I saw scattered about his room!’

  ‘I should like to see them some time.’

  He really sounded as though he meant it. She toyed with her glass and finally plucked up her courage. ‘You are being very kind to William.’

  Heron pushed his chair away and walked round to stand behind her. She pushed her glass away and came to her feet rather hurriedly.

  ‘Nonsense. I enjoyed his chatter. Perhaps you had better address your appreciation to Dawkins. He is like to be thoroughly interrogated and put through his paces for the next hour or so!’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking simply of your present generosity,’ she continued, breathless but resolute, trying not to feel intimidated by his closeness.

  ‘Ah!’ he said softly and she could feel the stillness in him. ‘Someone has been talking out of turn.’

  ‘Not intentionally.’ Pandora thought he sounded angry and hastened to explain how she had found out. ‘If it is indeed true, my lord Duke … and I am sure I don’t know why you should put yourself to so much trouble, then I do not know how to ‒’ She was not allowed to finish.

  ‘My dear girl, you make too much of it. I merely caught a glimpse of a fine inquiring mind and thought it a pity that it might be squandered for the want of a little effort.’

  She knew that she was making too much of it, that he wanted the subject dropped. Yet, irrationally, she also felt piqued by his attitude and could not keep her resentment from showing.

  ‘You appear to understand William better than I do, for all that we are so close!’

  ‘Not really,’ he said, but less sharply. ‘I would hazard that one seldom recognizes evidence of genius in one’s nearest and dearest.’

  ‘Genius?’ Pandora’s grudge was forgotten. ‘You really think that … about William?’

  ‘I think,’ said the Duke, ‘that we have already devoted more time than enough to William’s affairs. There is, or had you forgotten, another purpose to your visit today.’

  ‘The cottage! Yes, of course. May I see it now?’

  ‘What an impulsive creature you are!’ he murmured. ‘I had thought to wait until we have returned your brother to the rectory. You did say that you would prefer him to remain in ignorance until the matter is settled?’

  ‘I certainly don’t want to raise his hopes unduly,’ she agreed.

  ‘Then we have time to spare. I wonder ‒’ he gave her a speculative look ‘‒ would you care to visit my grandmother?’

  She stared at him. ‘You mean ‒ the French Comtesse? The one you rescued at the time of the Revolution?’

  ‘I infer that Lady Margerson has been indulging in one of her customary flights of fancy,’ he drawled.

  ‘It was a very courageous act,’ Pandora insisted boldly.

  ‘It was a ridiculous escapade,’ he said with dampening matter-of-factness. ‘But when one is absurdly young …’ He shrugged.

  ‘And she is still alive?’

  There was a touch of whimsy in his smile. ‘Very much so, though age and infirmity now tie her to the suite of rooms she occupies in the east wing. In consequence, she sees few people other than her companion.’

  ‘Poor lady!’ said Pandora with swift sympathy. ‘I should very much like to meet her if you think she would not mind.’

  ‘You won’t find her easy,’ he warned, but got no further for, at his side, Pandora uttered a small gasp.

  They had been walking as they spoke and had come at last to the long gallery, the sheer scale of which invariably caught the throat upon first beholding its grandiose splendours, and made one wonder at the mind which had conceived it.

  Seven gracefully arched Venetian windows ran the length of the room, giving breathtaking views of the rising woodland and dipping valleys beyond the lake. Here and there, sunlight bounced in splintered fragments of brilliance from a domed roof, suggesting hidden pavilions, and in the far distance rose the spire of Chedwell church.

  The gallery itself could not be wholly taken in at a glance, but as the eye was inevitably drawn to the windows, the spaces between the windows made an instant dramatic impact. Each housed a pier table of solid marble encrusted with ormulu whose scrolled legs were linked by swags and loops of heavily gilded flowers and fruit, and above each table rose a tall mirror similarly embellished from the tops of which the gilded masks of goddesses and satyrs stared down with sightless eyes.

  It was, thought Pandora in a daze, indigestibly magnificent and must be more than a little daunting to live with.

  The Duke enjoyed the stunned look on her face for a few moments before releasing her from the room’s spell. ‘The fourth duke was much influenced by the Palladian movement,’ he explained. ‘It was, I believe, on returning from a tour of Italy that he commissioned a man by the name of Kent to design Clearwater. This gallery is generally considered to be among his finest achievements. Aficionados of architecture travel from miles away to gaze and admire! Do you find it to your liking?’

  The question came upon Pandora unexpectedly. She wished he hadn’t asked, bit her lip and said guardedly, ‘It is … very fine … quite overwhelming, in fact.’

  She thought his lips twitched, but couldn’t be sure.

  ‘A tactful reply, Miss Carlyon. I’m bound to say I have always found it a trifle rich for my palate.’

  A small giggle, born of relief, escaped her. ‘Like eating too many sweetmeats!’

  He laughed aloud. ‘Exactly so! That sounds much more like the practical young woman I have come to know.’ They moved o
n, and after a moment he recalled what he had been about to say. ‘You may find Grandmère a little strange. She is very old now, of course, but still governed by the pride that is her heritage. She is in general remarkably alert, but every now and then her mind clouds and she slips into the past, so don’t be alarmed if she suddenly grows confused. She may mention Mariette …’

  Something in his voice intrigued Pandora. ‘Is … was Mariette the child of the girl you brought out of France with the Comtesse?’

  ‘Yes.’

  His answer was so abrupt that she feared her curiosity had angered him and was destined to remain unsatisfied. Then, just as abruptly, he seemed to recollect the need for further explanation. So it was that he related to her in simple unemotional terms the events spanning Mariette’s brief, tragic life, and Pandora thought it one of the saddest stories she had ever heard. She would have liked to know more, but his manner did not encourage questions. But, knowing what it was to be orphaned, her heart went out immediately to the two babies, so pitiably deprived, so that she was moved to ask in some trepidation if she might see them while she was here.

  The Duke appeared to find the request surprising, but observed with faint irony that he supposed it was inevitable that she would be curious to see the children to whom she had once hoped to become governess. This reminder of their first meeting was undoubtedly meant to disconcert her, but Pandora was by now so bemused by the constant change of scene and the sheer distance which they must be covering that the thrust fell somewhat short of its mark.

  By the time they reached the Comtesse’s suite she was breathless from keeping up with his pressing stride. ‘One can only suppose,’ she gasped, ‘that any visitors you have must be forever losing their direction!’

  ‘They do,’ he said with a laconic grin. ‘Frequently.’

  ‘And I shouldn’t wonder if they expire from starvation or simple exhaustion long before they can be located,’ she added with feeling.

  He laughed. ‘Not so, for we make a point of sending out regular search parties. I believe we have never yet lost a guest, though I cannot vouchsafe as much for their valets.’

  ‘What a shocking admission of partiality!’

  ‘Is it? But then one must draw the line somewhere, after all.’

  They were still laughing when they reached the Comtesse’s suite; Pandora felt quite giddy with it. At the door they were met by Madame Daubenay, sour-faced companion to the Comtesse. She eyed Pandora with ill-concealed disapproval and informed his grace in chilling tones that her charge was not enjoying one of her better days. The inference was plain, but Heron could more than match her in coldness and within moments her jealously protective attitude had crumpled into reluctant compliance.

  But the laughter was over. A mood of sullenness prevailed as they followed Madame Daubenay through yet more rooms ‒ salons that might well have graced a French palace of some bygone age, Pandora decided weakly, as her senses were assailed yet again; thick Aubusson under her feet; rich tapestries and much gilding everywhere one looked; a faint indefinable perfume that lingered on the air; and finally, a sumptuous little boudoir draped and swathed in white and gold, and dominated by the portrait of a girl, misty, ethereal and very beautiful. Mariette.

  The Comtesse de Valière sat bolt upright in a carved ebony chair. Thin veined hands, curled rigidly round each other, were pressed against the frail shell of a body draped in folds of black bombazine. She looked, thought Pandora, incredibly old. Her face, which must once have possessed a delicate beauty, was now heavily criss-crossed with lines, eyes closed, mouth as small and vulnerable as a baby’s ‒ and the whole surmounted by an incongruously ornate wig.

  But their presence had been noted. Without warning eyelids hidden deep in the crevices snapped open to reveal tiny black eyes, as bright and inquisitive as a blackbird’s, their febrile darkness almost shocking in the waxy transparency of the Comtesse’s face.

  ‘Grandmère.’ The Duke bent to kiss the puckered cheek with infinite gentleness, and introduced Pandora.

  The darting eyes took in every detail of Pandora’s unequivocal plainness. Then she greeted her formally in French, her voice unexpectedly strong and authoritative.

  ‘For shame, ma petite,’ Heron reproved her. ‘Miss Carlyon is well aware that you speak English. It is unworthy of you to pretend otherwise.’

  But Pandora was undismayed. She might well have been overawed by this extraordinary lady had she not glimpsed a wicked twinkle lurking in those bird-bright eyes.

  ‘I don’t mind in the least, sir, if Madame wishes to converse in her given language,’ she said, ‘so long as she will bear with my attempt to match her!’

  A cackle of laughter greeted this sally. The old lady leaned forward, beckoning with a stiff-jointed finger, motioning her to a footstool.

  ‘Come. Sit close where I may hear you better and you, Robert ‒’ she gestured vaguely with the hand ‘‒ you may go away. Miss Carlyon and I will talk.’

  He lifted an interrogatory eyebrow at Pandora. When she smiled confidently, he walked to the door. ‘Ten minutes,’ he said.

  ‘You also, Daubenay. Go, go!’

  The companion went reluctantly, casting Pandora a look of dislike. It was very quiet in the room when she had gone, but the air was charged with the vibrance that exuded from that tiny rigid figure in the chair. Occasionally there was a faint rasp in her breathing, and Pandora knew that those sharp eyes were on her still.

  ‘Well, little sparrow,’ she said at last. ‘You will tell me now all about yourself for I find it quite extraordinary that Robert should know such a one as you!’

  Was this, then, where the Duke had acquired his habit of inquisitorial directness? Pandora hid a smile and gave the old lady a brief account of her life, seeing even as she did so how quickly the Comtesse’s capacity for concentration faded. Her eyes grew vague, the hands shook slightly.

  ‘You do not know how matters go on at court, I suppose?’

  The voice, less authoritative, broke in upon her. Pandora managed to conceal the little frisson of shock that ran through her and replied as normally as she was able that she did not.

  ‘A pity. One must beware of spies, you understand. My grandson does not believe that there are spies. He knows nothing of how matters stand at court. But Mariette is there and I worry about her.’

  Pandora drew a steadying breath. ‘I am sure that you need feel no concern, madame,’ she said, cautiously feeling her way. ‘His grace would never allow the least harm to befall you … or Mariette.’

  There was a moment of silence. Then:

  ‘Mariette is dead,’ said the Comtesse harshly.

  Pandora let her breath go very slowly. ‘Yes, madame.’

  For a moment the wizened face seemed to crumple even more. The stiff hands gripping the chair arms with surprising strength looked bloodless ‒ paper-thin skin over white bones. There was fierce pride in the Comtesse’s eyes, but behind that pride Pandora sensed an almost insupportable fear.

  ‘Sometimes, Miss Carlyon, my mind … cannot hold to its course.’ The words came out as if dragged from her, and Pandora felt an overwhelming pity. ‘Sometimes I am aware of it, but cannot prevent it … and sometimes it … can happen quite without warning, and … I am … afraid …’

  In a gesture born of instinct Pandora held out her hand and after a moment the old lady relinquished the support of one chair arm to clasp it convulsively.

  ‘You will not tell Robert?’ It was an anguished plea. ‘I would not like him to learn of such a weakness in me!’

  ‘He would not think it a weakness, madame. He loves you!’

  ‘Yes, but I would not want his pity, you understand? We have always valued our pride.’ Her breath quivered. ‘Daubenay thinks that I am losing my reason.’

  ‘Oh no!’

  ‘She has not voiced her opinion, but it is in her eyes …’

  The cruel old bitch, thought Pandora. Aloud she said: ‘You are too much alone here, madame. It i
s not extraordinary that your mind wanders.’ She leaned forward impulsively. ‘Soon I shall be living quite close and I promise that I will come up to visit you often. Perhaps we can even find a way to get you out into the garden during the summer weather.’

  ‘Ah!’ The old lady’s head moved tremulously making the curls of her wig bounce. ‘You are a good child! I was not aware that Robert could show so much sense. I have told him many times that he needs a wife who will give him an heir, but when did a boy ever heed his elders?’

  This picture of the Duke might have amused Pandora had she not been totally embarrassed by the misconstruction that the Comtesse was putting upon their relationship without knowing how to tell her that she was quite out in her expectations.

  Her moist eyes lifting briefly to the portrait, she continued. ‘He cannot grieve for ever. You are not beautiful as she was but tant pis ‒’ She gave a little shrug. ‘You have much goodness in your face … and a caring heart, and this is more important. As for that other one ‒’ a touch of scorn here ‘she wants only to advance herself!’

  That other one? Could she mean Lady Sarah? With a jolt, Pandora realized that she had probably visited Clearwater more than once. The thought disturbed her more than it ought. The old lady was still rambling on, but her concentration was beginning to fade again.

  ‘Louis loved me, you know … but he married the Austrian … and her foolishness led him to … led him to …’ At this point her reason refused to accept the unacceptable truth and she wandered off into vague mutterings.

  Pandora sat on quietly with the fragile papery hand enfolded in hers, its faint erratic pulse at odds with her own heart’s thudding as she turned over the strange conversation in her mind.

  Her eyes lifted involuntarily to the portrait. It must have been painted when Mariette was about seventeen. The artist had caught a hint of recklessness in the beautiful eyes ‒ a certain wilfulness about the full lower lip. But there was great generosity too in her smile ‒ and oh, she was lovely! Perhaps it was inevitable that the violence in which she had been conceived should have left its mark upon her character, yet it was small wonder that the Duke had loved her. Pandora’s heart hollowed at the thought of him losing her in such a way ‒ and the bitter price she had paid ‒ poor lady. And now, Heron must watch her children grow up in his home.