Meridon (Wideacre Trilogy 3)

by Philippa Gregory

  He made up his mind. As fickle as a child with a new toy. ‘All right,’ he said, suddenly agreeable. ‘As long as Mama approves.’

  ‘She does,’ I said, steering him towards the stairs. ‘Go and wash your face, the carriage is waiting.’

  He did as he was bid, and we were only a half an hour late for the lawyers. I had made the appointment in Perry’s name and when Mr Fursely came forward bowing low, he looked surprised that we had got there at all.

  I told him that we wanted the marriage brought forward, and the contracts written quickly and he retreated behind his desk and rang for the right papers to be brought to him. His servant brought us glasses of madeira and little biscuits. Perry had three glasses to my one, and his face lost its hectic flush and he looked better for it.

  ‘We are nearly ready,’ Mr Fursely said. ‘The trustee’s lawyers have been most helpful. There is still some problem about the Wideacre estate if you should die without heirs.’

  Perry poured himself another glass of madeira and strolled over to the window and looked out.

  Mr Fursely looked up and saw that at least I was listening.

  ‘The entail,’ he said. ‘It specifies that Wideacre is inherited by the next of kin, whether male or female.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Normally, it would pass to your husband’s family, as your dowry which you bring with you to marriage,’ he said. He put his fingers together one by one, placing them like a pyramid over the papers. ‘But here’ he said, ‘I think one could argue that the situation is quite different.’

  I waited. He was slow. Perry turned back and poured himself another of the little glasses. I looked at him, but he was careful not to catch my eye.

  ‘The intention of the entail is quite clear,’ he said. He looked at the papers. ‘Harold Lacey set it up,’ he said. ‘Your grandfather, Miss Lacey.’

  I nodded.

  ‘A solid document,’ Mr Fursely said, complimenting the long-dead lawyers who had drawn up the entail. ‘The wishes are clear. The estate goes to the next of kin of the Laceys whether male or female. I don’t think it can revert to the Havering family in the event of your death.’

  Perry turned back from the window and seemed to waken to the discussion.

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said, dismissing a fortune in good agricultural land with a wave of his glass. ‘We can agree to that. Mama said we could. If we have a male heir first, then he gets both estates. If we have a girl first she gets Wideacre. If we die without children then Havering goes to Havering kin, and Wideacre goes to the Lacey next-of-kin.’

  Mr Fursely blinked at this sudden explosion of information from Perry. ‘I should prefer Wideacre to come to the Haverings,’ he said. ‘It is Miss Lacey’s dowry so Wideacre is really part of the Havering estate once you two are married.’

  There was a high cool singing noise in my head, the sound I had heard when I first came to Wideacre, that lonely night in the dark. It was as if Wideacre was calling me, calling me home to the house which waited for me in the burnished woodland of the autumn trees where the lawns were white in the morning with frost and where the sun was bright red when it set at early evening. As if Wideacre should belong to me, and to no one else.

  ‘It’s fair enough as it stands,’ Perry said expansively. ‘Mama said we could take it as it is. Don’t you think, Sarah? Wideacre comes to the Havering estate as Sarah’s dowry, but it’s entailed on our first-born child. If we have no children it goes back to the Laceys.’

  I shook my head to clear my ears of the calling noise. It was too late to think that I was signing the land over to Perry and to Perry’s family. I wanted us to be away from London, I wanted to take Perry away from the clubs and the gambling hells. I wanted to be back on the land with the money and the authority to run it as I pleased.

  ‘I agree to that,’ I said.

  Perry went to the table and brought the decanter towards me. ‘We’ll drink to that!’ he said happily and poured us all another glass. I noticed his hands were quite steady.

  ‘And will Mr Fortes…Fortescue’s lawyers agree?’ he asked, slurring his speech a little.

  Mr Fursely put his fingertips against each other once more. ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘It is a reasonable proposition. They cannot have wished to face the problem of breaking the entail if we had been stubborn.’

  ‘Good,’ said Perry. ‘We'll be off then. How soon can the papers be drawn up?’

  Mr Fursely nodded. ‘As soon as Mr Fortescue’s advisers are ready,’ he said.

  ‘And the deeds?’ Perry asked. ‘I should like to take them with us.’ He put one finger owlishly to his nose. ‘I could raise some cash using them as security,’ he said. ‘Absolutely safe, of course. But if I had them in my hand they could tide me over some little difficulties.’

  Mr Fursely looked as if he had suggested something improper. ‘I could not possibly ask Mr Fortescue for such a thing until the contracts are signed and the marriage has taken place,’ he said shocked. ‘And I would warn you, with respect, Lord Peregrine, against using your lands as security against debts. If the deeds fall into the wrong hands…’

  ‘Oh gad no!’ Perry said with a smile. ‘This was an arrangement between gentlemen. But no matter. It’s nothing urgent. We’ll have a crust to eat tonight.’

  Mr Fursely permitted himself a thin smile. ‘Of course, my lord,’ he said.

  Perry held the door for me as we left the office and then Mr Fursely escorted us to the carriage and stood on the street bowing as we drove away.

  ‘Y’know what?’ Perry said pleasantly. ‘If they can sport some canvas on these contracts, there’s no reason why we should not be married at once.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I’ll go and see the vicar,’ Perry said, suddenly confident. ‘You can drop me off on your way home and I’ll go and see the rector or the vicar or whatever he is. You wanted a quiet wedding anyway, Sarah. I’ll ask him when we could be married.’

  I paused. High over the noise of the cart and carriage wheels, I could hear that warning singing noise again. It sounded loud in my head. I shook my head to clear it, but I could not be rid of it.

  ‘You all right?’ Perry asked.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ I said. ‘Yes, we could be married this month. Do go and see the parish priest, Perry. I want to be home at Wideacre. I want us to go home as soon as we can.’

  ‘You’ll miss all the Christmas parties,’ he warned me.

  I smiled. ‘I don’t care that much for them, Perry,’ I said honestly. ‘I’d rather be at Wideacre for Christmas.’

  Perry smiled. ‘Well, I’ll see what the vicar says then,’ he said pleasantly and pulled the cord to warn the coachman to stop. ‘You don’t have some money on you, do you, Sarah?’ he asked. ‘I have to pay a fellow some money I lost at cards. It’d suit me to settle at once.’

  I opened my reticule. My purse was inside with a couple of gold sovereigns I was carrying for a dressmaker bill.

  ‘Here,’ I said, handing it over.

  I remembered for a moment times in my life when money was hard earned and slowly spent. I remembered begging Da for money, and the bargain we would strike that I had to stay on an unbroke horse for a penny. I remembered her dancing with her skirts lifted high, and picking pockets, and pretending to be lost on street corners when fat old ladies came by. But that was a long long time ago. Now I gave away gold sovereigns lightly, as if I had forgotten how hard they were to earn.

  ‘You’re a darling,’ Perry said pleased. The coach stopped and he jumped out without waiting for the steps to be let down.

  ‘Tell Mama I’ll not be back for dinner,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and see this vicar and then I’ll go on out.’

  I nodded and waved as the carriage moved off. It was the first time I had given him money.

  31

  It was not the last. He was late home that night, even later than us, and we were in yawning after a dull ball and supper party at half-past one. So I did not s
ee him that night. But at noon the next day he tapped on the door of my room and came in while I was sitting before my mirror to set my bonnet straight.

  He nodded casually to the maid and she swept him a curtsey and went from the room without another word. I watched him in the glass. I did not think I would ever learn that knack, that Quality knack, of getting what you wanted without even having to ask for it.

  ‘Sarah, d’you have much money by you?’ he asked abruptly. ‘I’m short, and I lost again last night.’

  I reached for my gloves and smoothed them out.

  ‘I have most of my quarter’s allowance left,’ I said. ‘But I will need that for my bills. Your mama and I have been buying dresses ever since we arrived in London.’

  Perry nodded. His eyes were red-rimmed again, his hands were shaking slightly.

  ‘Be a darling and lend it to me,’ he said. ‘I need it this morning, I’ll pay you back tomorrow.’

  I hesitated. ‘I don’t think I should, Perry,’ I said. ‘If you have overspent your allowance on gambling, I suppose you should settle your debts before you have more.’

  He chuckled at once, and his grin was rueful. ‘Dammit Sarah, don’t talk like Mama!’ he begged. ‘I’ve never pretended for a moment that I could stay inside my allowance. Just because you’re a little goody with your money, doesn’t mean I can save mine.’

  I laughed outright. ‘I’m not a goody,’ I said. ‘I just don’t think I’ll ever see it again once it gets inside your pocket.’

  Perry smiled. ‘So what?’ he said carelessly. ‘When we are married we’ll have all the money we need, I’ll repay you then.’

  I turned to face him and laid my gloves aside. ‘Easy talking,’ I said shrewdly. ‘If you’re a gamester you’ll get through your fortune and mine. There’s never enough money for a gambler.’

  He was instantly penitent. ‘I know,’ he said gravely. ‘Don’t preach, Sarah. It’s the life we lead in London. I gamble and I drink. I owe so much money I can’t even add up how much it is. One of my friends has sold my vowels to a money-changer and so he is charging me interest on my debts. I’m in a mess, Sarah. I wish we were well out of it.’

  ‘D’you like gambling?’ I asked. I had seen enough men half-ruined when all they had to bet were pennies, it made me sick with nerves when I was in the great houses of London and saw people staking hundreds of pounds.

  ‘No,’ he said frankly. ‘I like winning well enough, but I hate losing. And I hate losing when it goes badly. Trust me this once, Sarah and I’ll clear as many of my debts as I can, and I won’t gamble any more.’

  ‘It’s exciting though, isn’t it?’ I asked him. I was wondering if Will was right, and Perry had gaming in his blood.

  ‘Not when I lose,’ he said ruefully. ‘I only really do it to pass the time, and everyone gambles, you know that, Sarah!’

  I nodded. It was true. People bet on the turn of a card, on the fall of a die. I had been in a group which had a thousand pounds on the table as to whether Lady Fanshawe would wear her awful green dress in public again. My belief was that Perry played because it was part of his London life. He was not a gambler at heart. And I could take him away from London, I could take him away from gambling and drink.

  Besides; I had promised I would not leave him. He had asked me to stay with him for ever. We were betrothed. I did not want to sour it by haggling over a handful of guineas.

  I opened the right-hand drawer in my dressing-table. ‘Here,’ I said.

  I had my quarter’s allowance of gold coins in a purse, locked in the little jewel-box. It opened with a key. The purse clinked, it was heavy with the coins. There were fifty gold sovereigns in it; Mr Fortescue had been generous in his estimates of my needs.

  ‘You can have forty,’ I said. ‘I must pay the dressmakers something on account or they will be charging me for loans too.’

  Perry caught at my hand and went to kiss it before he took the purse. I pulled my hand away and he did not try to hold me.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That will clear the worst of it, and I’ve another quarter’s allowance due next month and I know my luck will change soon. I can feel it. Anyway, soon we will be married and I shall be able to get at my money without waiting for an allowance.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask your mama to give you more?’ I suggested.

  Perry was heading for the door but he turned back towards me with a little half-smile. ‘She likes me in debt,’ he said as if it were obvious. ‘She can make me do whatever she likes when I am in debt to her.’

  I nodded. It was all of a piece.

  ‘Well, keep it safe then,’ I said. ‘Or I shall make you do what I like when you are in debt to me.’

  He hesitated, with the door half open. ‘But all you want me to do is to go home with you, and away from London, isn’t it?’ he said. He gave me one of his endearing half-smiles. ‘You can order me, Sarah,’ he said.

  I was going to reply but there was a clatter at the front door.

  ‘There’s the carriage!’ I said, grabbing at my gloves. ‘I must go, Perry, I am driving in the park with Lady Jane Whitley.’

  Perry swept an ironic bow in a jest at my enviable company, and I pulled on my gloves and ran down the stairs past him and out to the wintry sunshine.

  Lady Jane and I had the nearest thing to a friendship which I had found in London, and it was not very like a friendship at all. She had pale brown hair and light hazel eyes and she believed that beside my unruly ripple of red curls she looked pale and beguiling.

  She was given over to invalidism and she had fainting fits and vapours and she had to keep out of draughts and not dance after midnight and not touch food and drink which was either too hot or too cold. I think her mama thought that suitors who found me too boisterous for their taste might turn to her with relief. Lady Jane herself was frank to me about her absolute urgency to find a man and marry before her bedridden and mean papa worked out how much her Season was costing him and ordered her home.

  She was an only child so she had no sister to go about with, and I was convenient as a companion. I liked her as well as any other young lady because she had no curiosity about me and did not trouble me with questions about my family and childhood. The only thing about her I could not stomach was the way she leaned on me as we walked, or took my hand when we rode in the carriage together. I had schooled myself not to shake her off but when I stepped into her carriage and sat beside her I had to grit my teeth not to pull away as she slid her hand under my elbow. I could even feel the back of her hand against my body. The intimacy of that touch set my teeth on edge.

  We were riding in her papa’s landau and we both unfurled our parasols to protect our complexions. Lady Jane was as pale as a skinned mushroom, beside her I knew I looked wind-burnt, sunburnt. It could not be helped. Lady Clara had loaded me with one cream and lotion after another, but nothing could bleach the warm colours of my skin. I had slept in the open air with my face up to a midday sky too often. However, I kept my parasol over my bonnet as I had been taught and I listened to Lady Jane’s prattle in my right ear as we set off down the road towards the park.

  She was telling me about some gloves she had bought, and I could hear my voice saying ‘No!’ and ‘Fancy!’ when she paused for breath. I was watching the coachman guide the horses through the traffic and watching the streets slide past us. It seemed a long time since I had driven a wagon myself. These long weary weeks in London had come to seem like a lifetime. I felt I knew this way to the park and back as if I had ridden or walked it every single day of my life. I knew it better than I had known any other street, any other landscape. I thought with sudden regret that if I had stayed anywhere, and learned anywhere so very very well, it would have been better for me if that place had been Wideacre.

  My throat was suddenly tight thinking of my home. Winter was making London cold and damp, the street vendors had set up braziers at street corners to sell baked potatoes, hot gingerbread, and roasted chestnuts. T
hey were the lucky ones with hot wares – the girls carrying pails of milk were pinched and wan with the chill; the flower sellers and the watercress sellers shivered in the damp winds.

  I knew it would be cold at Wideacre – I was not one of Jane’s poets sighing for pretty landscapes and forgetting the hard ache of bare feet on frozen earth. But I thought that the trees would grow stark and lovely as they shed their leaves. I thought the woods would smell nutty and strong if I had been there to kick my way through the piles of leaves. I thought the chestnut tree at the curve of the drive would show its shape, as rounded as a humming top now the great fans of yellow leaves were carpeting the drive beneath it. I wanted to be at Wideacre while autumn turned into winter. I felt as if the land needed me there.

  ‘…and I don’t even like white,’ Jane finished triumphantly.

  ‘I do,’ I said contributing my two words.

  ‘It’s all right for you…’ she started again. The coachman turned left when we reached the park and started the slow trot around the perimeter road. We were following Lady Daventry’s coach, I could just see her famous matched bays. Jane continued to talk but she was keeping a sharp eye out for anyone who might see us and wave. Every time the bright colours of a guardsman’s uniform came into sight she lost the thread of her thought until she had taken a good look at him and made sure she could not stop the carriage to beckon him over.

  ‘It’s so old-fashioned to be presented in white…’ she said.

  It was the presentation at Court which was on her mind. Her mama was making her wear a satin which had been ripped back from her own wedding gown, Jane had told me and sworn me to secrecy. She could not have borne the humiliation if it had been widely known.

  ‘It must be lovely for you to be rich…’ she said longingly.

  All at once she brightened. She had seen a young man, I knew it without turning my head.

  ‘Coachman, wait!’ she shouted and he obediently pulled up the horses while Jane leaned forward and waved frantically at two distant figures strolling on the grass. It was Sir Robert Handley and Mr Giles Devenish.