Julian Fellowes's Belgravia

by Julian Fellowes

  “What good will that do?”

  “I don’t know. But it can’t do any harm. And since all this is my fault, it behooves me to try to avoid disaster.”

  James did not comment on her admission of guilt, but his anger had passed. This was where they were. Even he could see there was no point in going over and over it. And he hadn’t considered how his interest in the young man might be used against him before this moment. “Should I send a message to Quirk not to unhitch the horses, if he hasn’t already?”

  “I’ll walk. It’s no distance.”

  “Shall I come with you?”

  “No. And don’t worry. Nobody will challenge the virtue of a matron in her early sixties.” She put on her own bonnet, took up a shawl, and set off before he had time for further comment.

  The short walk to Belgrave Square was too short a distance for Anne to change her mind, but now that she was actually on the pavement outside Brockenhurst House, she wondered what exactly she was going to ask. Anne was not a rash person as a rule; normally she thought things through, carefully weighing the positives and negatives. But there was something about Lady Brockenhurst that made her impulsive. The woman’s high-handedness was infuriating.

  By the time she knocked on the door, Anne no longer cared how unusual her arrival might seem. She was vexed, and her vexation was well and truly justified. And if Lady Brockenhurst was not at home, she would find some bench to sit on and wait. She glanced across at the gardens in the middle of the square. Given her own passion for gardening, it annoyed her slightly that neither her husband nor Mr. Cubitt had thought to ask for her opinion when they were being laid out, but still, the gardens were well enough. Then the front door was opened by a footman who was plainly puzzled to see her on the step. He had not been told to expect anyone.

  “Is her ladyship in the house?” asked Anne, walking straight into the hall.

  “Who shall I say is calling?”

  “Mrs. James Trenchard.”

  “Very well, Mrs. Trenchard.” The footman bowed and turned to walk up the stairs. “Please wait here. I’ll see if she’s at home.”

  Anne smiled at his choice of words. What he meant was that he would see if Lady Brockenhurst was prepared to receive her. She sat down on one of the gilt sofas for a second, only to stand up again. She realized, to her surprise, that she was quite excited at the prospect of a showdown with the Countess. Her blood was up, especially after the brisk walk. She looked toward the broad staircase, her eyes on the closed double doors of the above. There was clearly a discussion going on behind them. She saw the handle move, and she immediately turned her back, pretending to study a portrait of one of Lord Brockenhurst’s ancestors by Lely. He looked rather smug in his high periwig, and a small King Charles spaniel was lying prone at his feet.

  “Mrs. Trenchard?” asked the footman, appearing beside her. Anne turned, a small smile on her lips. “Will you come this way, please?”

  Anne handed him her shawl and gloves and followed him up the stairs.

  “Mrs. Trenchard.” The Countess’s voice sang out as soon as the door was opened. “I am afraid you have just missed tea. Would you bring some tea for Mrs. Trenchard, Simon?” The footman made a slight bow.

  “No, please don’t bother,” said Anne. “I don’t want anything.” Again the man bowed and retreated. She started once more across the pink Savonnerie carpet. “You are very good to receive me, Lady Brockenhurst,” she continued, as breezy and as confident as she could be. “I promise I won’t take up too much of your time. I’m here—”

  Caroline Brockenhurst did not need to be told that her unexpected visitor was in a fighting mood, so she cut her off before she could spell it out. “Mrs. Trenchard, do sit down.” She indicated a small damask-covered armchair. “Do you remember Lady Maria Grey from my little supper?”

  Anne looked toward the window at the pretty blonde girl, dressed in pale green, who was standing there. She had thought they were alone. She felt a moment of fleeting gratitude toward the Countess for silencing her before she spilled their secrets.

  The girl smiled. “I remember you from the party, but I don’t believe we were ever introduced.”

  “No,” said Anne. “I don’t think we were.”

  “I’m so pleased you felt you could look in,” said Lady Brockenhurst, sounding rather the opposite.

  “I was passing the house,” replied Anne, perching opposite her. “And I wanted to talk to you about something, but it can wait.”

  “I’ll go and leave you alone,” said Maria.

  “No need.” Anne smiled. “It really doesn’t matter.” Actually, she felt uncomfortable. Now that she could not admonish the Countess for her foolish generosity toward Charles, there was no reason for her to be there. She wondered how soon she could leave without its seeming strange.

  “Lady Maria was just telling me she had chanced on my young protégé, Charles Pope, the day before yesterday. He was crossing the square. I think he must have been coming away from this house. Do you remember him from my gathering?” She looked directly into Anne’s eyes as she spoke. What on earth was she playing at?

  “Charles Pope? I think so. Yes.” Anne watched her hostess draw her closed fan through her hand and open and shut it twice. Was she waiting to see Anne’s reaction? Was she poking her feelings for sport? If so, Anne was determined to disappoint her. “He was very charming.”

  “I agree,” enthused Maria, quite unaware of the game being played across her. “Charming and entertaining. We ended up walking together toward the London Library. I don’t think my maid approved. And when Mama heard, she certainly didn’t approve, but it was too late, by then.” She laughed merrily. “Who is he? How did you come across him?”

  “I forget now.” Caroline must be a good card player, thought Anne. She gives nothing away. “But Lord Brockenhurst and I have taken an interest in him. We think him a coming man.”

  Maria nodded eagerly. “He told me about his plans and the proposed voyage to India. Have you ever been to India, Mrs. Trenchard?” Anne shook her head as Maria burbled on. “I should love to go. All that color. All that chaos. My uncle tells me it is quite beautiful. But then, I’ve never traveled anywhere,” she declared wistfully. “Well, I’ve spent a lot of time in Ireland, we have an estate there, but that’s hardly abroad, is it?” She smiled at the others. Neither of them said anything. In the face of their lack of comment, the girl kept going. “I’d love to visit Italy, too. The truth is, I should so like to do the grand tour that the young men take, to see Michelangelo’s David and wander the corridors of the Uffizi. You must be fond of art, Lady Brockenhurst. Mama says you paint beautifully.”

  “Do you?” Anne was surprised, and she spoke the words before considering how they would sound.

  “Is it so amazing?” said Lady Brockenhurst.

  “But you still haven’t explained why you first took an interest in Mr. Pope,” said Maria. Anne wondered if this young woman knew how much she was giving herself away.

  “I cannot remember now who first introduced him to us,” said Caroline carefully, “but Lord Brockenhurst and I like to encourage young talent where we can. We have no living children, as you know, but we like to help the children of others.” Anne looked at her. There was probably some truth in this, she thought. Even if, in this case, her words concealed more than they explained.

  “He did suggest I might like to visit his office,” ventured Maria.

  “Did he? That was rather forward of him.” Lady Brockenhurst’s face was quite opaque. Something was going through her mind as she looked at this young woman. Was she hatching a plan, Anne wondered? But if so, what was it?

  “Well.” Maria blushed slightly. “I may have been the one to make the suggestion, but he said nothing to discourage me.” Her head was cocked to one side as she lowered her gaze. Her long eyelashes fluttered a little and her cheeks glowed pink. She knew she was not behaving wisely. She was spoken for. Her mother had been quite clear that her fut
ure lay with John Bellasis. The land in Ireland that she had boasted of earlier was encumbered, and although her brother was doing the best he could with what their father had left, she’d been told in no uncertain terms that it was her job to keep their mother in her old age. She hesitated, on the brink of admitting what she really wanted, but if Lady Brockenhurst had taken an interest in Charles, and if she could be persuaded…

  Anne looked at the Countess. Had she noticed the girl’s color and the way she kept fiddling with her fan? She was certainly quite bold. Anne rather liked her.

  “Well.” Lady Brockenhurst paused. Maria Grey was engaged to her husband’s nephew, and obviously convention dictated that she should not be encouraging any such meeting. But Anne was right. Caroline Brockenhurst had her own agenda. Or at any rate, she did now. “If you’d like to go, I don’t see why not. I have already been to see him there, but we have more to discuss since my previous visit.”

  Maria could hardly believe her ears. “Really?” This was extraordinary. John Bellasis’s aunt was suggesting a trip to see Mr. Pope in the City?

  “I don’t think we should make a formal plan,” said Lady Brockenhurst smoothly. “Mr. Pope would only feel he had to make a special effort for you, my dear.” She glanced at Maria. “I think it might be easier if it were just a spur-of-the-moment thing.” They all knew what she meant. A spontaneous visit would be much easier to explain to Lady Templemore if it came to it.

  “May I join you?” said Anne, her voice as innocent as a rose.

  Caroline looked at her. How odd it was to have this shared secret, shared with a woman with whom she would have said she had nothing else in common. Still, it was a shared secret; at least it was until now. Anne was right that Caroline was tired of the deception. She would much rather have it out in the open. Society would find it amusing, talk of what a rogue Edmund had been as they laughed over their newspapers, and there would be no further price to pay. But as she grew to love Charles, she did have some slight conscience about the posthumous ruin of the slut who had borne him, even a trace of pity for her mother. “Of course,” she said. “If you’d like to.”

  Anne sat quite still. She was going to call on her grandson, to have another opportunity to speak to him. When she had met him at the party, she had been bowled over by joy, but James’s rage had meant that she did not dare engage him in anything like a conversation. Now they could get to know him, as James’s involvement in his business would be a perfectly adequate explanation for the acquaintance. Of course, when the truth was out, their connection was bound to come under the heaviest scrutiny, but here was a chance to see him and talk to him once more, at least, before the storm broke. She could not resist. “I’d like to very much,” she heard herself say. “Perhaps we can do some shopping while we’re there, and make the day into a proper outing.” And so the matter was settled. Anne felt herself warmed by the prospect as she walked home in the chill of the early evening. Even if it was another secret she would have to keep from her husband.

  That evening, the atmosphere around the dinner table in the Trenchard household was fractious. James was tired and thoughtful, and Oliver was equally low. Today should have been a triumph, father and son lunching together at James’s new club. Instead his father had chosen to take Charles Pope, a fellow from nowhere who was consuming James’s attention as well as his money. Pope seemed to be quite the man of the moment, garnering the support of Lady Brockenhurst, invited to intimate gatherings at Brockenhurst House—it was enough to make anyone jealous. And Oliver was very jealous indeed.

  Susan was not so much depressed as anxious. She hadn’t heard a word from John Bellasis since their assignation in Isleworth. She’d expected a letter at least. He had spoken to Speer once in the street, her maid had informed her, under the pretext that he was keen to arrange another rendezvous, yet no invitation or suggestion had been forthcoming. She’d forced Speer to accompany her to Albany, and they had spent the best part of an afternoon strolling up and down Piccadilly like a pair of streetwalkers, all in the hope of bumping into him, but she had not been lucky. Her cheeks grew hot at the memory. She could not taste the food she chewed as she wondered if she’d made a mistake, tumbling into bed so readily with him. Had she given in too easily? She frowned. The problem was that she actually liked John Bellasis. He was handsome and dashing, not to mention the fact that he was due to inherit a great name and a substantial fortune. All in all, he was the perfect man with whom to effect her escape from the dreary family in which she found herself trapped. She looked across at her husband, picking at his food. In comparison to Oliver, John had been a generous, vigorous lover. Susan gave an involuntary sigh.

  “Are you all right, my dear?” inquired Anne.

  “Yes, Mother,” replied Susan. “Of course.”

  “You seem rather distant.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t been quite well since my day in Isleworth. I must have picked something up from one of the people I met there.” She shivered to make her words seem more authentic.

  “I’m sorry,” replied Anne, scrutinizing her daughter-in-law. There was something different about her, something new in her demeanor, but Anne could not quite pinpoint what it was.

  “How did you get on with Lady Brockenhurst?” asked James, flicking his crayfish around the plate. He wasn’t hungry either.

  Anne glanced at the glacial faces of Billy and Morris who were standing on either side of the fireplace. “Very well, thank you.”

  “And she didn’t mind you arriving unannounced?” he asked.

  “You went to see Lady Brockenhurst?” Susan was clearly put out that she had missed such an opportunity. Anne nodded. “Was her nephew there, by any chance?”

  “Mr. Bellasis?” Anne frowned. “No.” What an odd question for Susan to ask. “He wasn’t there, but his fiancée was.”

  “His fiancée? Really?” Susan’s tone hardened slightly.

  “Lady Maria Grey,” said Anne. “She’s a pretty little thing. I liked her.”

  “She was at the supper,” said Oliver, as he nodded to Billy for some more soup. “She didn’t seem very remarkable to me.”

  “And did you speak to the Countess?” asked James.

  “We spoke,” replied Anne, smiling at her husband’s gaucheness. Why was he asking her these questions in front of the servants, or indeed Susan and Oliver?

  The truth was that his eagerness had made him forget for the moment the need for discretion. Anne’s look brought him back into line. “Good,” he said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  Anne smiled.

  Ellis was crouched on the floor by Anne’s feet with a buttonhook in her right hand, unfastening the leather boots. She had heard from the garrulous Billy that her mistress had been to see Lady Brockenhurst, and she was intrigued.

  “Did you have a pleasant afternoon, my lady?”

  Ellis wasn’t really sure what information Mr. Bellasis had paid her to gather or what Mrs. Trenchard knew about this man, Charles Pope. However, what she did know was that there was some secret between the master and his wife that they did not want the world to share. Ellis’s banishment earlier that afternoon had told her as much. And as a result of their being alone to discuss it, Mrs. Trenchard had left the house with no warning. Now Ellis knew where she’d gone.

  “I did,” replied Anne as she slipped her right foot out of its casing. “Thank you,” she added, wriggling her toes inside the silk stocking. “Do you know, they don’t seem to be easing at all.”

  Clearly Anne was not being as free with information as Ellis had hoped. She tried again. “I’m not sure they were made for long walks, my lady.”

  “I didn’t go far,” replied Anne, taking off her earrings and looking at herself in the glass. “Only to Belgrave Square.” She noticed Agnes sitting by her chair and scooped her up into her arms.

  “Oh?” Ellis paused between buttons, hook in hand.

  “Yes,” said Anne. She wasn’t so much talking to Ellis as thinking
out loud. In truth, she was excited about the planned visit to Charles’s office. Obviously, she couldn’t talk about it to James, but she wanted to discuss it with someone. “What do you know about Bishopsgate?”

  “Bishopsgate, ma’am?” Ellis looked up. “Why ever would you want to go to Bishopsgate?” She slipped off the second boot.

  “No reason.” Anne had woken up before she started giving all sorts of information to the curious maid. “I’m just calling on someone who has an office there. But I haven’t been in years. I wondered if there was anywhere in particular that I should visit while I’m in the area.”

  “There might be some warehouses where you could buy material cheap,” said Ellis. “Let me ask around. When is this trip?”

  “I’m not sure. In a day or two.” Anne didn’t want to answer any more questions. She was conscious she’d said enough as it was. “Tomorrow, can we take out the old bombazine mourning dress? I want to see if it can be rescued or if I should order another. One should always have wearable mourning in the wardrobe.” Ellis nodded. She knew enough to be fully aware that the conversation about Bishopsgate was over.

  John Bellasis rewarded Ellis very well for her information. It was not often a maid received a sovereign for something heard while unbuttoning her mistress’s shoes. But as he listened to how her employers had had a discussion in private that led to Mrs. Trenchard visiting Lady Brockenhurst and finally to the plan of a trip to Bishopsgate, John almost laughed. He was getting somewhere. He knew well enough who worked in Bishopsgate; at least, who worked there and held the interest of both Lady Brockenhurst and the Trenchards. His own father’s account of his visit to Brockenhurst House had made John eager to learn everything he could about young Mr. Charles Pope. “But she never mentioned Mr. Pope by name?”

  “Not that I recall, sir. Not this time.”