‘Mother …’ Miriam whispered, throwing Mary an anguished look.
Mary hesitated, but she was determined to do the right thing by her relatives. ‘Tea in the morning room, if you please.’ She led the way. ‘Let me take your coats.’
‘Certainly not,’ Granny retorted. ‘Ring the bell.’
‘It’s just us.’ Mary strove for that breezy tone that was so beguiling coming from Charlie. ‘Let’s be cosy.’
‘Here you are.’ Miriam stuffed gloves in pockets and undid buttons.
Granny snorted but submitted. ‘Well, that’s charming, I must say,’ she snapped, ‘sitting yourself down and not offering us a seat. Where are your manners, girl?’
Mary flushed. ‘I’m sorry. When lady-callers come, you aren’t meant to offer them a seat. You sit and they follow your lead.’
‘Really? I’ll remember that for next time. Where does Her Ladyship sit? Then that’s where I’ll sit, being as I’m the senior Kimber present. There’s no call to look at me like that, our Miriam. Once a Kimber, always a Kimber.’
The door opened and Mary knew it was too much to hope that Granny’s devastating remark had gone unheard. Tea was brought in. Just that. Tea.
‘No biscuits? No cake?’ Granny demanded. ‘What sort of cook do you keep, Mary?’
‘She isn’t my cook,’ Mary said in a desperate attempt to appease the parlourmaid. ‘Mrs Woods is Lady Kimber’s cook and she is aware of what is appropriate.’
‘Doesn’t look like it.’
‘Mr Marley said you asked just for tea, Mrs Charles,’ the maid observed, deadpan.
‘Oh aye, and since when did that mean just tea and not tea and cake, eh?’ Granny challenged.
‘Cake – anything – whatever Mrs Woods has,’ Mary said. ‘Please.’
‘You don’t say please to servants,’ Granny said. ‘Don’t ask ’em, tell ’em. No wonder they run rings round you.’
‘They don’t. It was a misunderstanding.’ Who in the servants’ hall had had the simple but stunningly effective idea of taking her literally?
The cake-stand arrived, with an array of macaroons, ginger biscuits and slices of batch cake.
‘Will Her Ladyship be joining us?’ Granny enquired.
‘Lady Kimber is out; so is Sir Edward.’
‘And Charlie-boy?’
‘Charlie is out too.’
‘Leaving you all on your ownio.’ Granny drained her cup. ‘I want a good look round, especially upstairs.’
‘What?’ Mary’s hand flew to her chest.
Miriam spluttered into her tea.
‘Why not? All these years I’ve wanted to look round the ancestral home and never been allowed.’
‘Mother, you can’t expect Mary—’
‘Why not? She lives here. She’s entitled. And there’s no one to stop us.’
‘You think not?’ And in walked Lady Kimber.
Another evening, another dinner, but with new cufflinks to provide variety. Greg had qualified for gifts early in December, starting with a fine pair of studs. Since then he had received a dram-flask and a morocco stationery case, both of them monogrammed, which had made him remember Trevelyan’s crude joke. Today’s cufflinks were inlaid with mother-of-pearl, so he had been spared the coy his and hers monogramming. Nothing would have induced him to wear the damn things had Moira attempted to inflict that abomination on him.
He slotted them through his cuffs, then stood in the doorway between the dressing room and Moira’s bedroom. She was seated at her triple-mirrored dressing table. Her maid was pinning some God-awful feathers in her hair. She saw him through the mirror.
‘Mr Rawley will see to my jewellery – won’t you, darling?’
On the dressing table lay a velvet-lined box in which Moira’s rubies glowed, a heavy necklace, drop-earrings, a bracelet and an aigrette for her hair. He settled the necklace into place against skin that was milky-smooth, thanks to devoted application of indecently expensive creams. The low wide scoop of Moira’s neckline ended in tiny apologies for sleeves that barely clung to her shoulders. This was her favourite style and one that suited her, despite the middle-aged thickening of her arms. It made her look sophisticated but at the same time available for a roll in the hay.
Her gown was the colour of claret, a clever hue that brightened the rubies, as well as being kind to her hair. It was amazing what you found out about a woman by living with her. He knew about the arsenal of lotions and creams, he knew she half killed herself cramming her bunions into elegant shoes, and her hair colour came out of a bottle. Again, it was a clever colour, a faded chestnut that was infinitely more natural than a rich one would have been.
For a wonder, they weren’t dining in. Moira’s house guests, a mere half-dozen at present, were being entertained by the Beavens, who lived a couple of miles away, before heading, along with the Beavens and their own house guests, into town for a night at the casino.
At dinner in the Beavens’ opulent dining room, Greg had, on his left, an actress who had seen better days and, on his right, a radiant young bride, though whether that really was what she was, was open to debate. She was young and lovely all right, but was she a bride or was that radiance the glow resulting from a few nights between the sheets with a skilled lover? Under some people’s roofs, you could guarantee the couples were married, but the Beavens weren’t among those people any more than Moira was.
And then there was the girl’s ring. The plain wedding band was a decent fit, but the engagement ring, a square-cut emerald surrounded by diamonds, kept slipping round her finger. If the supposed Mrs Ronald Hurstman had once been his affianced bride, wouldn’t the ring have been altered?
At the end of the meal, the dishes were cleared away and finger bowls were produced. Finger bowls! Greg thought it quite possibly the most vulgar thing he had ever seen, but one glance at Moira’s face assured him he would soon be seeing finger bowls under her roof.
He had more self-respect than to use his, but the lovely Louisa Hurstman had no such reservations. Engaged in conversation with the man on her other side, she dipped her fingers, waggled them and shook out the rolled-up cloth that had been provided, all without watching what she was doing.
Which meant she didn’t see the emerald slide from her finger and land beside her bowl.
Taking his napkin from his lap, Greg dropped it on the table beside his place, covering Louisa’s ring. He did nothing hasty. She might miss it.
But she didn’t.
Amelia Beaven gathered the ladies’ glances, rising to lead the way to the drawing room. Along with the other gentlemen, Greg stood politely, then sat again to smoke and pass the port. They weren’t long about it. A couple of fellows were champing at the bit to get to the roulette table and commence losing what they couldn’t afford to part with.
As the gentlemen came to their feet, Greg patted his pockets as if checking their contents. He took out one or two things, his cigarette case, his silver flip-topped matchbox, his pen, and put them on the table for a moment before replacing them, leaving the cigarette case behind.
Presently the party assembled in the hallway, with its mixture of Frenchified shabby sofas and Italianesque marble. The gentlemen helped the ladies into their wraps before donning their evening cloaks and top hats.
As the first step was made towards the door, Greg excused himself to no one in particular and returned to the dining room, where, in a single fluid movement, he scooped up his cigarette case from beside his napkin and Louisa’s ring from underneath it, sliding both into an inner pocket.
Success.
Christ. Was this what he had come to?
Chapter Twenty-Two
There was magic in the air. It felt like the Christmas Eves of Eleanor’s childhood when Lady Kimber had scattered soot around the fireplace in the hall and Sir Edward planted careful footprints while the servants looked on, smiling and chuckling. And, oh, that happy moment when the housekeeper said, ‘It’s such a pleasure, My Lady, to have a
little one in the house.’
That was when she knew the servants regarded Eleanor as one of their own, a Kimber and not some interloper. Not like Mary. Lady Kimber had been scrupulous about treating the girl with civility, but she knew that the staff’s willingness to give Mary the benefit of the doubt had been well and truly trounced the day Old Mother Maitland arrived on the doorstep.
Now Eleanor was expected and everyone was happy. Upon their return to England, the Rushworths had escorted her to her grandparents’ home in Sussex and the three of them were arriving at Ees House today.
The moment the carriage appeared, Lady Kimber hurried into the hall.
‘Darling! It’s wonderful to see you.’
‘And is it wonderful to see us too?’ came her father’s crusty voice.
Laughing, she passed Eleanor into Sir Edward’s arms and drew her parents inside. With one hand linked through the age-softened tweed of Pa’s trusty Inverness coat, and the other through that of Mama’s sealskin coat, she watched the loving reunion of her husband and her daughter. A movement caught her eye: Charlie was coming downstairs with Mary. How vexing that Mary should intrude upon this family moment. Then Charlie bounded ahead of her to scoop Eleanor into his arms and swing her in a circle.
‘Take Eleanor through, Charlie,’ said Lady Kimber. ‘We’ll follow.’
No one else noticed Mary and they crossed the hall without a backwards glance, including, Lady Kimber noted, Mary’s husband. With luck, that would provide the slap in the face the girl deserved and she would slink back upstairs.
Alas, that was too much to hope for. Once everyone was settled in the morning room, the door opened and Mary came in, smiling self-consciously.
‘There you are, Mary,’ said Sir Edward. ‘Charlie, will you do the honours?’
Lady Kimber wasn’t surprised when Pa got her on her own later and said frankly, ‘So that’s the social climber who stepped into Eleanor’s shoes. Shame she didn’t take up the job I wangled for her on that Gentlewoman’s World periodical.’
‘It would have been best for everyone, herself included.’
‘Damn shame, pardon my French. Don’t suppose there’s any chance of the boy coming to his senses?’
‘What do you mean? It’s far too late for that.’
‘I’m going to say to you what I used to say to clients when I was a barrister. Tell me everything, no matter how insignificant. I’ll decide what’s useful.’
She discovered the meaning of the saying about a shiver running down your spine. ‘Do you think …?’
‘You never know. Go back to the beginning. I want to know every single thing.’
Mary thought she would never recover from the shame of Granny’s visit. Lady Kimber’s freezing politeness to Granny and Aunt Miriam, and afterwards her cool dismissal of the incident, made Granny’s impudence appear even more brazen. It made it hard to ask about seeing her family, but she refused to let that put her off. When Sir Edward consented, her shoulders sagged. Then she felt vexed. It shouldn’t be a relief to see her family. It should be an ordinary part of her life.
But when Charlie declined to accompany her, other feelings vanished in a gasp of astonishment.
‘But you’ve been to our house before.’
‘Our house? You mean their house.’
‘Their house. You’ve been before.’
‘A courtesy call on my fiancée’s family.’
‘And now you can go as their son-in-law.’
‘It’s one thing to call as a politeness, another altogether to call as family.’
‘But you are family.’
‘When your people come here for the annual visit, it’s hardly a loving reunion, is it? It’s a well-bred duty, the head of the family making a gracious gesture towards his humble relatives.’
‘Humble?’
‘If I were to visit your family as your husband, it wouldn’t be seen as an act of civility but as something personal, and that wouldn’t be good form, Kimbers rubbing shoulders with Maitlands.’
‘We can’t have that,’ she said sarcastically.
‘Don’t sulk. I don’t think you appreciate the damage you did by allowing your grandmother to call.’
‘What was I supposed to do? Turn her away?’
‘Frankly, yes. Marley would have seen her off. You should have let him do his job.’
‘Seen her off? You make him sound like a guard dog.’
‘Can’t you admit you’re in the wrong?’
‘I refuse to be ashamed of my family.’
‘Maybe a spot of shame wouldn’t be a bad thing.’
‘Charlie!’ She was mortified. ‘My parents …’
‘… are decent people who know their place, but the old lady is the giddy limit. It would have gone in your favour if only you’d apologised to my uncle and aunt. It would have shown you see things our way.’
‘Have you been discussing me behind my back?’
‘As a matter of fact, I defended you. I said you were in error, but it was because you missed your family.’
Sir Edward’s consent didn’t taste as sweet any more. ‘Is that why Sir Edward gave me permission to call on them?’
‘Yes. Aunt Christina disagreed, but he was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt.’
It was offensive to receive the benefit of the doubt, but the possibility of letting down Sir Edward went against her entire upbringing. Her convictions wobbled. Should she apologise? But that would make her seem ashamed of Granny.
Well, she was ashamed of her. All the Maitlands were – only they didn’t say so to outsiders. Besides, it would stick in her craw to apologise to Lady Kimber after she had called her a social climber to her face. Just think of the ammunition that would place in Her Ladyship’s smooth hands.
‘Give your parents my best wishes,’ said Charlie.
She wanted to shove his best wishes down his throat.
‘So you’ve found time for your family at last,’ Lilian said bitterly. ‘Two whole months. I never thought we’d have to wait two whole months.’
They all looked at Mary, not exactly accusingly, but expectantly, awaiting an explanation. How could she say she had been kept away to give the class difference time to grow? Or would they understand that? After all, here they were, in the seldom-used front room instead of the back room, where they lived and were cosy.
‘I’m here now. That’s what counts.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Lilian.
Mary stood. ‘I’ll help.’
‘Suit yourself.’
Lilian filled the kettle in the scullery, then came back into the kitchen, banging the kettle down on the range. She rounded on Mary as if about to have a real go at her. Mary braced herself, but Lilian said, ‘Eh, I’m sorry, love. I’m pleased to see you, really I am.’
‘Are you sure?’ She made a joke of it, but she was feeling her way carefully.
‘Course I am. I’m like Ozzy. That dratted animal. Do you remember how, when we came back off holiday, he’d sit with his back to us, purring his head off but determined to punish us by not looking? That’s how I feel, all out of sorts. I’ve wanted to see you for such a long time. Folk keep asking after you, in the butcher’s, in the grocer’s, but they don’t say, “How’s your Mary?” any more. They say, “Any news of young Mrs Kimber?” It makes me feel like an old family retainer instead of your mother.’
She didn’t know what to say. Lilian held her gaze for a moment, then bustled about, setting the tray. Mary fetched the tea caddy.
‘Where’s Ozzy?’ she asked. ‘I should be covered in ginger hair by now.’
‘He died,’ Lilian said, warming the pot. ‘He was quite old for a cat.’
‘When? You never said.’
‘A few weeks back. I’m not good with letters, love. What is there to say when you do the same things day in, day out? Then Ozzy died and I thought: there, that’s a piece of news. Then I thought: What’s it come to when a dead cat is a piece of new
s? So I never said.’
The tray was ready. Mary was about to pick it up, but Lilian got there first.
‘You do the doors.’
‘Shall we go in the back room?’
‘Well, I don’t know, love. I mean …’
‘You take the tray in there and I’ll ask Dadda.’
Dadda said, ‘I suppose so, if you want to, and seeing as you’ve come on your own.’
‘Good. That’s settled,’ she said quickly. Please don’t let them ask why Charlie wasn’t here.
Lilian tried to usher her into an armchair by the fire, but she insisted on having her old basketwork chair. Belatedly she realised this was probably now Emma’s and she had unwittingly relegated Emma to the rush-seated chair.
‘That’s a lovely dress,’ said Emma. ‘Is it by Mademoiselle Antoinette?’
‘I still think it’s a shame you never used Constance and Clara,’ said Lilian.
‘Miss Clara said it would have been a good idea,’ said Emma, ‘less daunting, you being an ordinary person and not born to grand things.’
She couldn’t help smiling at her little sister sounding like a woman of the world. ‘Did Miss Constance say so too?’
Emma’s eyes widened with hurt. ‘There is no Miss Constance. Oh, Mary, you’ve forgotten.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ she exclaimed. ‘It slipped my mind, that’s all,’ but Emma didn’t look convinced.
Lilian stood. ‘Time for tea. You lend a hand, our Emma. Mary, you stop here and talk to Dadda.’
Mary watched from the corner of her eye as a spread appeared on the table. She couldn’t possibly do justice to this meal and still have room for dinner this evening, but not for worlds would she say so.
‘Make sure you leave room for Christmas cake,’ said Lilian. ‘We’re cutting it early, as this is a special occasion.’
‘Your mother makes the finest Christmas cake there is,’ said Dadda.
‘She certainly makes the booziest,’ said Mary and suddenly they were all chuckling and smiling.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ said Dadda.
The Poor Relation Page 24