by Mira Stables
Julian could not help grinning. Johnnie’s knowledge of the amenities offered by the various quarters of London seemed to match Mr. Morley’s, though undoubtedly he viewed them from a different angle.
“So I have been credibly informed,” he returned, and drew a reproving mouth. “But you have it wrong. What I am looking for is a respectable family house in a healthy district. And I wish to rent rather than buy. Furnished if possible. We want to take time to look about us before we decide where we would like to settle, and a hired furnished house seems to be the answer. One very soon wearies of hotels—even good ones.”
Johnnie did not even hear this final platitude. His eyes had rounded to that revealing ‘we’ and he had heard the rest of the explanation in very random fashion. He said breathlessly, “Never tell me you’re thinking of getting leg-shackled? Well, by George!” in answer to Julian’s smiling sketch of a bow. “This is beyond anything great. How is it that the news is not generally known?”
“It has not been formally announced as yet, and is to be a very quiet affair. You will understand that at this stage I prefer to say no more. But if you can help me find the house I am looking for, you will put me very much in your debt. There is nothing in the advertisements at all suited to my requirements.”
Johnnie embarked on this new quest with touching enthusiasm. It seemed positively unkind to tease him with Mr. Morley’s endless specifications, but Julian found the temptation irresistible. Johnnie accepted them all, as a good hound accepts a check and a fresh cast. Suitable neighbourhoods were suggested in swift succession. It was not until Julian threw in a final teaser, “A fairly modern house, of course. None of your old London residences, riddled with rat-holes and over-run by cock-coaches. Everything clean and fresh and up-to-date,” that he suddenly stopped dead, threw Julian a very wary glance, and then said slowly, “It seems to me, old fellow, that you could do worse than cast an eye over m’sister Caro’s place in Portman Square. Mind, it may be bigger than you want, and I daresay she’s asking a high figure for it, though that’s none of my business. But at least I can vouch for its comfort and cleanliness and it’s no more than ten years old.”
After further discussion the idea emerged as a sound one. Johnnie supplied some rather vague information as to the number of reception rooms and bedrooms that the house contained, though he was naturally ignorant as to domestic offices and servants’ quarters. He regretted that he could not spare the time to take the prospective tenant on a personally conducted tour of inspection but furnished his sister’s address in North Audley Street and added that if Julian didn’t mind getting up betimes next day he would go along with him and introduce him to Caro’s solicitor before setting out on his journey. “Don’t care to put upon old Satterthwaite’s good nature,” he explained apologetically, “or I’d take you along to Caro’s myself and I daresay she’d have it all fixed up in a trice. But she don’t get up much before noon and I want to be well on my way by then.”
Julian said that the house sounded very promising, and added that, while he looked forward to renewing his acquaintance with Lady Holroyd at some future date, he would prefer to settle business mattters with her lawyers.
Johnnie agreeing that there was a good deal of sense in this view, they drank another bottle to their fortunate reunion and presently parted in great amity.
A thorough inspection of the house in Portman Square proved mainly satisfactory. Julian did not greatly care for the decorative schemes or for the ornate furnishings, but he supposed that when one hired a furnished house one must expect that sort of thing. The young clerk to whom had been assigned the duty of showing him over the premises was much shocked by this ill-informed attitude. “Perhaps, milord, you are more accustomed to living in the country,” he suggested in superior tones, “where the furnishings are old-fashioned and solid, built to last. But Milady Holroyd would have none of that. Everything always of the first stare for her ladyship. The rooms are re-decorated every year, the old furniture turned out and the salons re-furnished in the very latest mode.”
Small wonder, then, that she found herself obliged to economise, thought Julian, and a pity that she had not devoted some of her attention to the servants’ quarters. He knew that his concern with such an unimportant matter was quite out of step with accepted practice. Probably it stemmed from his army experience. He had come to believe that if a man was good enough to serve alongside you, to share your dangers and discomforts, then he deserved to enjoy all the amenities that you could provide. And surely the same code should apply in domestic life? The cramped, stuffy and dingy accommodation in the attics and basement of Lady Holroyd’s sumptuous home would not do for his servants. But that, he remembered comfortably, could safely be left to the management of the lady of the house. It never even occurred to him that she might not share his views.
In this opinion he was perfectly right. An expedition to Town in the company of Mr. and Miss Morley revealed that both agreed with him, not only about the staff quarters but also about the furnishings, which Mr. Morley unhesitatingly stigmatised as, “Trash!” He added that he would rather risk his neck over a regular stitcher than entrust himself to the fragile gilt chairs.
Miss Morley said placidly, “I daresay they are all the crack but I confess I don’t care for them. Chairs should be comfortable, and never mind smartness.”
Her Papa grunted that ‘crack’ was about the best word to describe them, since you could never seat any but the most sylph-like of guests on such abominations without expecting them to do just that.
Julian grinned appreciatively but his daughter paid no heed. She said thoughtfully, “Well it is fortunate that the house is too big for us. We can store all the things we dislike in the attics and use the nursery and schoolroom floor for our servants. That will leave ample accommodation for the two of us—and for one or two especially favoured guests,” she added, bestowing upon her Papa a smile of such warmth and sweetness that his voice was quite gruff as he told her that she need not think that he meant to thrust himself upon them every time he came to Town.
“Well, not just at first,” she agreed. “I daresay we shall take a little time to get used to being married. But at least you must promise to be our very first house guest.”
Which left her father highly gratified and her betrothed husband filled with amazement at the ways and wiles of women. Who could have imagined that the girl who had spoken to him so frankly in the library at Wellasford was capable of such subtle manoeuvring?
Chapter Six
The marriage was arranged for early January, the bride having expressed a wish to spend Yule-tide in her father’s home. All three were content to pass the festive season quietly, the preceding weeks having been busy ones for all of them. Julian had been obliged to go off into Surrey to take order over the Pittsfield estate and had delegated to Mr. Morley the responsibility of advising his daughter over the re-furbishing of the Portman Square house. Some lively arguments ensued, Mr. Morley’s tastes naturally leading him to favour the antique, which Anna declared was quite out of place in a modern house. She was able to restrain him from embarking upon a number of structural alterations, pointing out that the terms of the lease forbade them, and they eventually reached a happy compromise as to the decoration and furnishing of the principal rooms. The walls were to be hung with damask in pleasing shades of cream, palest gold and green, colours which would set off the choice pieces of Chippendale and the chairs that Papa had just discovered by a new fellow named Hepplewhite who had a small business in Cripple-gate. The gimcrack objects that had earned his dislike were carefully stored away in the attics together with several mirrors and pictures in ornate gilded frames. Painters were set to work to freshen up the basement and the schoolroom floor, and as soon as this was done a housekeeper and a butler were engaged. Having given due consideration to the accommodation provided for them and to the generous scale of the wages suggested, these formidable personages were very willing to recommend certain trusted u
nderlings to serve a gentleman who obviously demanded the best and was prepared to pay for it. Having set in hand one or two improvements in the stables and coachman’s quarters and announced firmly that the Wellasford second coachman would take charge of that department, father and daughter were able to leave Town in the comfortable knowledge that all was in train for the smooth running of the household. Julian, returning from Surrey, spent a couple of nights in Town, was duly impressed by the miracles that had been wrought in his absence, and arrived in Hertfordshire eager to express his appreciation and gratitude for Mr. Morley’s good offices.
The three of them spent a pleasant evening, well content to be together again, Julian vowing that after what they had achieved in Portman Square he would certainly strive to engage Mr. Morley’s interest in schemes for his Surrey house and confessing that it was a little too Spartan even for his simple tastes. “Though there are one or two pieces there that may interest you, sir. Been there since the place was built, in Elizabeth’s day.”
He did his best to satisfy the connoisseur’s eager interest, but ended in a laughing admission of ignorance and a suggestion that Mr. Morley had best come and see for himself.
“And that is looking a long way ahead,” sighed Mr. Morley, “what with Christmas almost upon us and your wedding to follow so soon after. Which reminds me that we must draft a notice for the papers. We might do that tonight, after Anna’s gone to bed.”
Whereupon Anna, remarking with perfect good humour that she could take a hint as well as any one, bade them a placid good night.
Mr. Morley hitched his chair a little closer to Julian’s and dropped his voice to a confidential note. “Fact is, there’s one thing I’d like to tell you,” he said slowly. “Never meant to. The people concerned are dead and gone and I thought to let the story die with them. But somehow, seeing you and Anna so easy together and her so busy and interested over the house, let alone your asking me down to your Surrey place, I’m beginning to feel mean. Maybe if I can explain things to you I’ll feel better.”
“Certainly, sir, if that is your wish,” returned Julian. “Though as for feeling mean I can imagine no man with less cause.”
Mr. Morley grunted. “Wait till you hear. It concerns Wellasford.” And as Julian’s brows flicked upwards in surprise, “You must surely sometimes have wondered why I insisted that no other place would do.”
“Now that you remark upon it, I did indeed wonder at the time. But it is so long ago—and so much has happend since—that I had forgot. Except to wonder once or twice because it was out of character. You are a shrewd business man. Wellasford has cost you dear and gives little return. Yes. I realise it now. I have wondered.”
“It was for Anastasia,” said Mr. Morley simply, and his use of the girl’s full name indicated the solemnity of his mood. “I wanted it for her. I told you once that her father’s blood was as good as yours. It was, in fact, linked with yours. He was that Humphrey Wellasford who fell at Wandewash. Your father’s second cousin. One should not speak ill of the dead, and in his way he was a nice enough lad. Handsome, high-spirited and charming—but utterly spoilt and wholly irresponsible. Even in those days I could have bought him up twice over, but socially our family was quite beneath his touch. Merchant stock—trade.” There was a note of bitterness in his voice for old remembered wrongs as he added, “Always willing to borrow from us, the nobility—aye, and even royalty, as far back as history records. And genial as anyone could wish until their immediate necessities were relieved. Well—we have our pride, too. I did my possible to keep my sister from young Wellasford, knowing that nothing honourable could come of his attentions. But I was a busy man. And I never dreamed that, strictly reared as she had been, she would consent to clandestine meetings and permit herself to be seduced with an easy promise of marriage when he should return to England. I should have cared for her better, as I have cared for her daughter. And when I stood by her grave and knew her child was doubly orphaned I resolved that some day, if it lay within my power, that child should inherit all that was her due by right of blood. That was why only Wellasford would do.”
For a moment he seemed to be brooding over his determination and its outcome. Then, with an attempt at lightness, he went on, “It was Anna’s fancy to have her baby named Anastasia. Outlandish to my way of thinking. But it emerged that Humphrey’s second name, the one that his friends used, was Stacy. Anastasia was the nearest she could come to naming her child for both of them.”
Julian said slowly, “If I had been in your position—had your abilities—your determination—I hope I would have decided as you did. You have done nobly by your sister’s child and can have no qualms of conscience over an undertaking so amply fulfilled. In fact,” he smiled across at Mr. Morley, “as things have fallen out, you have achieved even more than you planned, for Anastasia will now have both the name to which she is entitled by birth and the rank which she could not have inherited. Does she know the truth of her parentage?”
“Only that she is illegitimate. Not the identity of her father. Tell her if you wish—I shall not. As for the future, the degree of relationship is remote. No need to fear that the pair of you will breed moonlings.”
A true word, thought Julian, wryly amused. Or anything else either, under the present dispensation. He preserved a sympathetic countenance and devoted himself to distracting his host from the sorrowful memories that their talk had evoked.
He found the Christmas arrangements at this new style Wellasford of absorbing interest. He had vivid memories of the tenants’ parties of his childhood. These had always been held on St. Stephen’s day, and a number of items that had graced the festive board on the preceding day made a second appearance in support of the mounds of brawn and spiced beef and the jellies and syllabubs designed to tempt the ladies. The proceedings opened with a tea for the children, a very decorous affair, with hovering parents anxious to ensure that their offspring did ample justice to buns and mince pies, spice bread and plum cake, while at the same time maintaining the family honour by the nicety of their table manners and the general propriety of their behaviour. The children then found some relief from this unnatural state of affairs in games of Hoodman Blind and Snapdragon, after which, stuffed, exhausted or merely subdued by repeated admonitions, they were relegated to the benches that had been set up in the Great Hall while their parents took their turn at the well furnished tables. The proceedings ended with dancing, in which all the household and estate servants joined. Julian could still remember the picture presented by his tiny Mama dancing with the tall and portly Graves—the butler—as tradition demanded. He had always thought it a pity that Papa’s other engagements inevitably called him away before this stage of the party was reached. This much older Julian could better appreciate Papa’s difficulties. Even a moonless return to Town must have seemed positively inviting as compared to the hazards of steering all eighteen stone of Mrs. Morris through the intricacies of the dance. He realised, too, that it was thanks to Mama that those memorable feasts had been so amply provided, and speculated a little as to how it had been managed. Certainly he expected to see something of the same sort, probably on a more lavish scale.
Anna enlightened him. “Papa would tell you that those are gentry ways,” she said, schooling her lips to primness though her eyes quizzed him wickedly, “and he would not so far presume. But it is a shame to tease you,” she relented. “The truth is that he does not care for large parties, and despite his love of tradition he is actually inclined to be ill-at-ease when faced with the tenants and their families in force. He discharges his hospitable dues towards them with gifts of meat and tea and money for the children. But he does enjoy the visit of the waits on Christmas Eve. Most of them are village folk and have nothing to do with Wellasford, and with them he is quite at ease. You will see.”
There had been a hard frost and provision for the refreshment of the expected visitors had been made accordingly. Julian eyed the big table that had been brought in and s
et up in front of the blazing log fire with interest and approval. There were platters laden with wedges of giblet pie and generous hunks of plum cake. And as the last notes of ‘The holly and the ivy’ died away and the singers broke into the traditional greeting of ‘God bless the master of this house’ the maids came hurrying in with trays of hot meat patties and steaming jugs of mulled ale, while Anna presided over a jug of hot chocolate for such members of the party as were judged too young for this potent brew. Small wonder that there was a brightening of eyes in frost-reddened faces and even a discreet smacking of lips as the singers trooped in, their heavy boots clattering on the old stone floor. There were a dozen men and perhaps twice as many youngsters, and having chorused their seasonal greetings they needed no urging to fall to with a will, wandering about the hall in obvious content, at ease and interested as they ate and drank, returning to the table for replenishment of mugs or for more food. Occasionally an inquisitive lad was called to order by his elders for fingering the ancient weapons with which the walls were hung. Once Mr. Morley lifted down a wheel-lock musket and demonstrated how the sparks were produced to ignite the powder in the priming pan and fire the charge. Even the pleasure of eating too much rich food palled in the face of this entertainment, and there was a concerted sigh of regret when he replaced the weapon.
Julian held himself a little aloof, having no least desire to encroach upon the position of his host. Fortunately there were only two among the visitors who were known to him. He could not help noticing how easily Mr. Morley moved from group to group with a pleasant word for every one seeming to adapt himself without difficulty to the slow-paced rustic talk and the rather laboured jokes. He was obviously well-liked, and not, Julian thought, just for his generosity. One man asked his advice in connection with a carrier’s business that he hoped to start in the spring. Mr. Morley asked one or two shrewd questions and then suggested that Packard should come up and have a further talk with him before he committed himself too far. It seemed to Julian a curious anomaly that a man who could rub shoulders so comfortably with his humbler neighbours should have difficulty in achieving the same relationship with his tenants. It must be abundantly clear that every one was very much better off under Mr. Morley’s enlightened suzerainty than ever they had been while his father ruled. But country roots struck deep and were not always controlled by self interest. Thorpes and Richmonds, Boltons and Goodisons had farmed Wellasford acres time out of mind. There had been good landlords and bad, but yeoman farmer and peasant alike had accepted changing fortune philosophically and had followed the lord of the manor to war whenever occasion demanded. They had served and suffered and some of them had died together in ancient quarrels from Agincourt to Naseby. Perhaps there was still a link, a dumb, scarce comprehended loyalty. If that were so, his forthcoming marriage might well serve to bind together the old regime with the new. He might, in a dozen insignificant ways, help to smooth Mr. Morley’s path. He did not even find it strange that the thought should give him considerable pleasure—he who three short months earlier had certainly regarded Mr. Morley as an interloper. He dismissed idle speculation anent the peculiarities of human nature and went to lend a hand in the dispensing of hospitality.