by Gloria Gay
"Come, sit before the dresser so that I can begin with your hair."
Chapter 5
Staring at the gloom before her, Belinda blocked any thought of the fearful things the morning was to bring them, wishing the hours to stretch. She preferred this fearful limbo in which she was suspended than the terror of facing the day.
She knew very well the scandal that would explode in the morning.
The night wore on. The large wax candle lasted throughout. Mrs. Presleigh, enterprising lady that she was, had provided them with one that would outlast the night. A few times, Belinda saw Berrington walk up the stone stairs and try the door, kicking it and yelling out. Finally, drinking himself senseless, he finally slept, leaning his head over his arms on the table, the slightly wavy dark hair falling over his forehead. But Belinda kept her vigil. Thoughts of spiders crawling over her head as she slept kept her awake, though her eyes felt grainy and her head was pounding with a sick headache. But as the hours crawled even she could not keep her eyes open, and her eyes closed against her will.
* * * * *
Another kept a nightlong vigil in the vast mansion. Mrs. Presleigh waited patiently for dawn, sitting by her bedroom window and making plans. And when her husband's watch pointed to five o' clock she summoned her maid, calling her in an agitated voice.
"Minnie! Belinda is not in her bed!"
"Not in her bed?" asked the maid, her mouth falling. "But—how could she not be?"
Minnie looked around the room, as though with her eyes she would summon Belinda and she would materialize before them.
"Madam, perhaps she went out for an early walk."
"It's still dark!"
The abigail looked out the window at the dark and shivered. Where could Miss Belinda be?
Then Mrs. Presleigh, with a performance worthy of the stage grasped her bosom and gasped out:
"Summon Mr. Presleigh in the next room, Minnie, I cannot bear to think something may have happened to our dear Belinda."
Minnie hurried out and soon dashed back into the room, a disheveled Mr. Presleigh in her wake.
"What is this about Belinda not in her bed?" he demanded.
"Just as I said, my dear," said his wife in an agitated voice, "she is not in her bed."
"Could she have gone out for a walk?"
"A walk! Have you taken leave of your senses, Presleigh?"
"Where else could she be?"
"Minnie…go search her bed, her dresser—anything," said Mrs. Presleigh, "perhaps she left us a note of where she was going."
Minnie went hurriedly to Belinda's bedroom and rummaged there for a while. Finally she saw an envelope peeping from under one of Belinda's pillows. She rushed back with the envelope in her hand.
"I found this under one of Miss Belinda's pillows, madam," she said, handing it over to Mrs. Presleigh.
"Presleigh, you look at it, dear," said Mrs. Presleigh. "I cannot bear to think what it might be!"
"What have we here," said Presleigh as he unfolded the envelope and took out the letter.
"Upon my word!"
"What is it, dear? What?" Mrs. Presleigh asked him.
"This is an assignation!"
"And assignation? Quick tell me!"
"An assignation to meet with Lord Berrington. This is the outside of enough! And in the cellar! Can you fathom that?"
Mrs. Presleigh, who could fathom it fairly well, rushed over to where he was and snatched the letter from his hand. She quickly ran her eyes over words she knew by heart.
"We must find Berrington, and see if he knows what's become of Belinda," Presleigh stated loudly.
"No," said Mrs. Presleigh. "You must get dressed first and wake Lord Lennington."
"Lord Lennington? But is that really necessary? Why not find Berrington instead?"
"Presleigh, are you going to stand there dawdling while our Belinda has gone to who knows where?"
Presleigh rushed to his room to do as his wife asked and returned shortly, fully dressed if in a haphazard way.
* * * * *
Belinda was awakened from a nightmare by some noises and a terror greater than that of speaking to Lord Berrington made her dash over to where he was, still asleep in an uneasy slumber. She shook his shoulder and he woke up startled. He stood up. "What is it?" he asked in a groggy voice.
They were standing side by side now as they heard the heavy door pushed open and looked up. The landing at the top of the stairs seemed suddenly filled with people, the faces illuminated by a single candle someone held.
Lord Berrington, obviously drunk, stared at the tableau of staring silent faces. His hair was mussed, and his neck cloth, which he had undone during the night, hung loose, while his coat was dusty from having served as Belinda's pillow. And as he and Belinda stood side by side looking up, they could not have looked guiltier than if they had been making love all night.
Then old Viscount Clariston's voice rang out loudly,
"I say, Berrington, this is highly irregular!"
* * * * *
The Lennington Hall guests hung around in small, silent groups, or whispered among themselves. Everyone seemed to be waiting in suspense. And a house party that had seemed little more than tedious before was now charged with high drama.
No one in the large group would have missed it for the world. They each practiced in their minds how they would relate the on-dit of the Season to their friends back in London. But each also waited for the end of the story, for by now everyone knew that Lord Berrington had charged out of the cellar, past the group of people at the top of the stairs, and out the back door toward the stables without uttering a single word.
On being applied to, the grooms quickly related to those who rushed over to ask that Lord Berrington had gone riding on his horse, which he had brought with him to this party.
The Presleighs had trays sent to their rooms, unable, was the general belief, to face the scandal. After the luncheon hour passed and still Berrington did not return, the guests asked tentative questions of each other, which grew bolder in the re-asking.
Would Lord Berrington, having compromised that—that—most of the ladies had no word that would adequately describe Belinda. Would he be forced to offer for her? The idea was outlandish.
They had ignored Belinda before, as being little more than an antidote, and now that they were forced to think of her as the heroine of this drama they resented it. Had it been one among them—one of their daughters or friends, it would have been a lot easier to digest. But the Presleigh chit and Berrington? It boggled the mind.
Eventually, it occurred to one of them—Lady Celeste, to be exact—that the mother, that obnoxious, managing female, must be at the root of this business, for no one could imagine Lord Berrington looking twice in Belinda's direction. Once this idea was passed around, it was declared as the most logical.
The day wore on, the air charged with expectation.
Lady Lennington found a few moments to speak aside to her husband over a cup of tea.
"This business would have been avoided if you had not invited the Presleighs at the last moment, without any need to consult me," she said resentfully, and added, "What you find in that mushroom, Presleigh—"
"Presleigh a mushroom?" asked the Earl of Lennington of his wife. "My dear, his maternal grandfather was an earl—"
"An impoverished earl," interrupted Lady Lennington.
"An earl is an earl," said the earl. "And Mrs. Presleigh belongs to the Lancashire Geoffreys, one of the oldest families—"
"With pockets to let, all of them," said Lady Lennington unimpressed. "The Presleighs alone enjoy an adequate income. That wily Presleigh, I hear, is good at investments.
"I wish Berrington would come back from riding that infernal horse of his and settle this business either way," added Lady Lennington with exasperation. "This suspense is killing me."
Berrington did come back, unexpectedly, as it was, when everybody had decided he was never going to show up. As he
walked across the large hall, everyone rushed to the drawing room entrance to catch a view of him.
Lord Berrington went to his room and shortly after his valet rang for a tray of coffee to be sent up to him. When he had finished two cups of coffee he sent his valet in search of Presleigh, requesting a meeting with him in the library.
These bits of news rushed from the servant's hall to the rest of the house with uncommon speed.
"Cannot I go with you to this meeting, Presleigh?" asked Mrs. Presleigh, a worried frown darkening her brow.
"No, dear. Lord Berrington has asked that I meet him alone."
"See that you do not bungle this business then," said Mrs. Presleigh severely, "Lord Berrington can be very overbearing. I cannot easily forget the look of pure loathing he cast in my direction as he passed me at the top of the stairs.
"I like that," she added "the man compromises my daughter and then has the gall to resent me."
Presleigh, who by now suspected his wife was at the bottom of this business, although he could not imagine in what way exactly, sighed but said nothing. He wished himself in the Isle of Wight rather than in his impending meeting in the library with Berrington.
"You must be very conscious of what is due Belinda," Mrs. Presleigh advised her husband. "Her chances for forming another alliance are now ruined. No one will ever ask to marry her after she spent the night with Berrington in the cellar.
"And how he looked," gloated Mrs. Presleigh, who could not have hoped for a guiltier look than that which was on Lord Berrington's face as he looked up, still dazed from liquor and sleep.
"Yes, dear," said Presleigh as he went out the door and down the hall as if to the gallows. He wiped his brow on the way, and wondered if he would be able to overcome his nervousness in front of Lord Berrington whose steely look was enough to make any man quake in his boots.
How sorry he now was that he had allowed his wife to needle him into securing an invitation to this blasted house party. This obsession she had with belonging to the inner circles of the ton had increased, rather than diminished, with the years. He shook his head. And now he must contend with a high stickler like the Earl of Berrington.
He came back twenty minutes later to where Mrs. Presleigh waited, looking as if she had held her breath all the time that he was gone. Presleigh sank wearily into a settee and sighed audibly.
"Well?" asked Mrs. Presleigh. "Tell me quick, before I explode."
"Lord Berrington made it quite clear to me that he knew he had been a victim of a plot, my dear, without mincing words. He feels you and Belinda planned this together—"
"And what did you say?"
"I said nothing—what could I say? Only that I knew nothing of a plot. Was it a plot?"
"How can you say that to me? And how can you allow that man to speak thus of your wife and daughter?"
"That man has offered to be your son-in-law."
Mrs. Presleigh sat on the settee by her husband and for a few moments was unable to utter a single word.
Then finally she found her voice. "Tell me everything that happened at this meeting, and do not leave out a single word.
"Dear God, our Belinda is to be married to Lord Berrington! Just think, Presleigh, a countess! I will be the mother of a countess!"
"I have no joy in it as you do," said Presleigh in chagrin. "Lord Berrington is offering marriage against his will. He emphasized to me that he is honor bound to offer for Belinda, but that there can be no joy in a union brought about with deceit. He stated that Belinda would have his name, his position and his lands. That she will lack nothing and that he will always treat her with the courtesy and respect due his wife but that she will never have his love. He asked me if knowing this, I would still insist that he marry her."
"And what did you say?"
"I told him that it would not be any different from a large number of marriages among those of our class. The alternative, I said, was that Belinda would be forever shunned by society, her chances for marriage with any other man ruined."
"I'm glad you showed some sense."
"And now we must talk to Belinda," Presleigh said, sighing, "for I cannot force her to marry a man who has promised he will never hold any feeling of love for her. Once Berrington offers for her and she refuses him, her reputation will be restored."
"I forbid you to tell her that," said Mrs. Presleigh standing up, highly agitated. "If you say that to her all my efforts on her behalf will be in vain. Presleigh," she added, coming closer to him, "Belinda is in love with Lord Berrington."
"In love with him!"
"She has been secretly in love with him for years. He, of course, knows nothing of this."
Presleigh stared at his wife, then ran a hand through his hair, uncertain as to what course to take.
"Presleigh, dear, let me handle this," Mrs. Presleigh now said. "I know Belinda better than you do. Leave us alone while I talk to her; I know what's best for her. Could you go for a walk or something?"
"I'll stay in my room, thank you," said Presleigh picking up a newspaper he had found in the hall. "Have you any idea what it is to be glared at by those people out there? They remind me of the horrible blood-thirsty throngs in the French revolution."
"They'll be glaring with jealous rage very soon," said Mrs. Presleigh smugly, "when they hear that Belinda has snatched the catch of several Seasons right from under their noses."`
Presleigh shook his head and with a long sigh retired to his bedroom where he sunk himself in ship arrivals and the news from the front.
"Mama, I cannot marry him," Belinda gasped, her face pale and drawn. "He is convinced you and I plotted this—he is certain we trapped him—he hates me!"
"Love and hate," said Mrs. Presleigh, with unusual insight, they are as opposite as night and day, and yet night and day are constantly melding into each other."
Belinda stared at her hands as her mother, putting her arm around her shoulders, sat beside her.
"Lord Berrington has opened a door for us, my dear," pressed her mother. "It is the only chance we will ever have of regaining our rightful place in society. You cannot begrudge us that, Belinda. I know that had Rosselle lived…"
Belinda looked into her mother's eyes. She may be conniving and abnormally obsessed with regaining her social status, she thought sadly, but she was still her mother.
Tears now streamed down Mrs. Presleigh's powdered cheeks, forming shiny trails down to her chin as she pressed her face to Belinda's. "You must do what's right for your parents, my dear," she pressed.
Belinda did not answer, but instead looked over her mother's shoulder at the vast void that was her life before her.
She realized she had spent her life either in the woods by herself or reading in the library. She had lived in Roselle's shadow even after Roselle died and had been compared to Roselle every day of her life and had been found wanting.
But now, for the first time in her life she alone would make a decision as to her future—and that of Berrington's.
* * * * *
"Belinda, my dear," said Mrs. Presleigh to her daughter, as she adjusted the ribbons at her bodice, "you must remember what you promised. I have an idea Lord Berrington might try to act overbearing toward you, and try to trick you into admitting what all these nasty people keep repeating, that there was a plot afoot to force him to marry you. You must not answer to any of that, no matter how many times he should repeat it. Lord knows his conduct is such he will try to wriggle free of the consequences.
"Just remember, that whatever the reason was for you and him to be locked in the cellar, the result of it is that you spent the night together—and that's that. He has already agreed to propose marriage to you, as he is honor bound to do so. Simply say yes—no explanations on your part are necessary."
Belinda nodded absently, feeling her body numbing at the fearful meeting with Lord Berrington that was fast approaching.
"You must be firm, though, and remember your parents," pressed Mrs. Presleig
h, "for you are doing this for us. You have only to say yes when he proposes to you, that is all."
"Are you listening to me, Belinda?" added Mrs. Presleigh when Belinda said nothing.
"Yes, Mama, I am listening."
"I often wonder if you are listening, you know. You must not act thus with Lord Berrington, for it is very irritating to be constantly wresting words from you."
"You hold your parents' future in your hands," her mother added at the door, looking deep into her eyes. "You will remember that?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, go on now to the library."
* * * * *
"Come in," Lord Berrington said to the soft knock at the library door. And when Belinda merely opened it a crack, he went up and opened the door wide, allowing her inside. He then closed the door and went to stand by the window.
Uncertain at what to do, Belinda waited in the middle of the large library awaiting a sign from him. Should she sit down?
Lord Berrington turned back from the window and came to stand before her.
"Please sit down, Miss Presleigh," he said, and when she was seated he sat on a chair immediately before her.
For a few moments he said nothing, while Belinda waited with arrested breath, her eyes unable to meet his.
"We find ourselves in a highly unusual situation, Miss Presleigh," he began. "I am sure it is as uncomfortable to you as it is to me. I have spoken to your father and he has given me leave to address you." He waited for any reaction to his words.
"Yes," she finally said.
"Before I continue, though," he went on, "I must know for certain that you have not been coerced into a decision; that is, that whichever answer you give me is given of your own free will."
"Yes," she said in the pause that followed.
"The answer you give will be of your own free will?"
Belinda looked into his eyes and winced. She was a stranger to him still, and as such was he thus gazing at her. Yet for six years he had not been a stranger to her.