by Jane Ashford
“Bella,” finished Anne quietly.
“Did someone dare to mention it to you?” He looked outraged.
The temptation to tell him about Lydia’s part in this tangle was almost irresistible. Anne struggled with herself. If she revealed what she had overheard, either Laurence would not believe her, in which case she would have accomplished nothing, or he would, and then he would be more miserable than ever—bound to a woman without principle or delicacy. Finally she nodded.
“Infamous! I cannot understand how such a ridiculous story got started in the first place. Anyone who knows Miss Castleton must see how impossible it is.”
“Yes. But she is not known to everyone.”
“You are remarkably cool!”
“I have known about the rumor for several days, and I mean to do something to stop it.”
“What?” asked Laurence eagerly. “I will help in any way I can.”
“Well…ah…I am not quite sure yet. Charles promised to think of some plan.”
“Charles!”
“Yes. And since he knows far more about society than I, I am confident of our success.”
“But what has he to do with the matter? Why should he interfere?”
Anne looked at him. “He feels, as you do, that such gossip is very wicked. He wants to set things right.”
“Charles?” He seemed unable to accept this idea.
Anne felt a spark of annoyance. “Is that so hard to believe? Do you think your brother without moral scruples?”
“No, no. I know his principles are good. It is just that I have never known him to exert himself on another’s behalf.”
For some reason, Anne was suddenly angry. “Have you not? Not even your own?”
Laurence gazed at her in surprise.
“Did he not watch over both you and Edward when you were boys? It must have been a burdensome task for a young man, but I don’t suppose he ever complained of it.”
Her companion’s mouth dropped open.
In the face of his blank astonishment, Anne colored slightly and looked down. “But that is beside the point,” she added. “He has promised to help put a stop to these ridiculous rumors, and I believe he can, if anyone can. So I am not as angry as I was at first.”
“Yes…well…that’s all right, then.” Laurence seemed a bit stunned. “You must tell me what I can do.”
“Of course.”
There was a short silence. Anne went to sit on the sofa before the fireplace, and Laurence paced about the room as if he found it impossible to stay still. His face reassumed the expression Anne had noticed when she came in. As she watched him, she frowned with concern. Surely he was thinner than he had been when she came to London, and the beginnings of lines showed in his forehead and down his cheeks. He looked five years older. She wished she could ask him what was wrong—for it must be something more than the gossip—but it did not seem right to mention Lydia. She could not tell him what she planned.
Abruptly he stopped pacing and swung around to face her. “Are you enjoying the season, Anne?” he said.
“Why…yes.”
“I have not spoken to you about it. We have been so busy these last weeks. I hope London is all you wished for.”
“I have had a splendid time,” answered the girl, puzzled. “Until this recent business, everything has been wonderful.”
“Good, good.” Laurence seemed both uneasy and distracted, and Anne could not make out why. “It is a great change for you, after the quiet life at school.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“You haven’t… That is… I am not prying, but I cannot help but wonder if you have met anyone you like particularly.”
“Everyone has been kind,” responded Anne, still more perplexed. “I have made a great many new friends.”
“Ah, yes, yes.” He tapped his hands together nervously. “I was thinking of something more than friendship, however. During the season, one meets a variety of persons of… That is…one has the opportunity to…”
“Do you mean have I met anyone I want to marry?” asked Anne, suddenly comprehending. “I haven’t.”
Laurence took a deep breath. “Ah. Yes, I was asking that.”
“Well, why didn’t you, then? Surely you needn’t be so indirect with me, Laurence.”
“No.” He sounded doubtful. “But it is a delicate question. I did not wish…” He paused, then seemed to come to a resolution. “What I wanted, Anne, is to offer you some advice. I know I have no real right to do so, but I am a bit older than you, and I have made my…that is, I know a little more about the world, and I thought—”
“I should be happy to hear your views,” she interrupted, before he could become hopelessly tangled in his own words.
“Thank you!” But with this, he hesitated so long that she almost thought he had changed his mind. “I only wished to say,” he continued finally, “that you should take your time. Serious decisions ought to be made with the utmost care and thought. Do not hurry into an attachment. You are very young. You may have another season, two more, before you choose. Wait until you are certain.”
He met her eyes, and Anne swallowed. She did not know how to answer him. It seemed obvious to her that he was regretting his own engagement, and his resigned tone made her throat tight with tears. “I will,” she managed finally.
He nodded once briskly and turned away. “I must go. I have letters to write.” But before he had taken a step, Fallow entered the drawing room and announced Arabella, who came in on his heels.
“Bella!” said Anne, jumping up and striding toward her friend, hands outstretched. She hoped to cover the lingering awkwardness between her and Laurence with her enthusiasm. “How wonderful of you to call. I particularly wanted to see you today.”
Arabella smiled and squeezed Anne’s hands quickly, but she did not look as cheerful as usual. She glanced toward Laurence, then away again.
“Good morning, Miss Castleton,” he said. “How are you?”
“Very well.” Arabella’s voice trembled a little. “I…I meant to tell you last night that I enjoyed the book you lent me very much. It was just what I like.”
He smiled. “Was it? I thought so.”
“Am I so transparent?” To the dismay of everyone in the room, her voice cracked, as if she were about to cry. She quickly turned her back on the others, putting a hand to her mouth. Laurence’s expression was agonized; he took one step in Arabella’s direction, then stopped. “Letters,” he murmured in a strangled voice and rushed from the room.
Anne went to Bella, throwing an arm about her shoulders. “Come and sit down.”
They both sat on the sofa. Anne patted Bella’s hand. “I’m sorry,” whispered the latter. “What a fool I am.”
“Nonsense. You are no such thing.” But despite her bracing words, Anne did not know how to comfort her friend. Too many important topics were forbidden.
Arabella turned wide dark eyes on her. “Mr. Debenham seemed…angry. I hope I have not done anything to…offend him.”
“Of course not! And he wasn’t angry. He was, er, thinking of something else, I daresay.”
“I would not have him angry with me for the world.”
“I tell you, he wasn’t, Bella.”
The younger girl looked down at her clasped hands. “You don’t know whether… That is, he didn’t mention that he had…heard anything about me?”
Anne’s heart sank. The rumors had reached Arabella, a thing she had prayed would not happen. She hardly knew how to answer. “What do you mean?” she finally, cravenly, replied.
Her friend gazed at her. “I think you know, Anne. People have been talking about me. You must have heard something of it.”
Anne slumped, dropping her own eyes. “Yes,” she admitted at last.
Arabella’s eyes filled with
tears, and she pressed her lips tightly together.
“Everyone knows it is nothing but a pack of lies. No one believes a word of it, Bella.”
“Jane Thorndale does. So do others. Mrs. Thorndale gave me the cut direct last night.”
Anne felt such a mixture of outrage and pity that she could not speak. She took her friend’s hand and squeezed it hard.
“It is the sort of story people do believe. They enjoy it.”
“They are beastly, then!”
Bella sighed. “It makes me feel better just to talk to you. You never let things pull you down. But I don’t know what to do, Anne. I cannot contradict the rumors. I am not supposed to know anything about them. And no one would believe me anyway.”
“No, it is very hard; you can do nothing. I, however, can.”
Arabella frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I am going to stop the talk, as soon as may be.”
“How?” asked the other, looking alarmed. “Anne, you mustn’t do anything foolish.”
“I shan’t. Even if I wished to, Charles won’t let me.”
“Ch-Charles? Lord Wrenley?”
“Yes, he is planning how we should set about it. Isn’t it splendid of—”
“He knows all about this?” Bella put her hands to flaming cheeks. “I suppose everyone does. I have never been so mortified in my life.”
“But, Bella…”
“He is almost a complete stranger to me, Anne! And people I know even less well are gossiping about my private affairs, perhaps at this very minute? It is horribly humiliating.”
Anne nodded, mute before her vehemence.
“Mr…Laurence Debenham must know also, then?”
“He…heard something, I believe.”
Arabella burst into tears, putting her face in her hands. “I can’t bear it!” she sobbed.
Anne threw her arms around her and let her cry. She could think of nothing else to do. But as the other’s tears gradually lessened, she vowed once again to do everything in her power to stop the talk, and to pay back Lydia Branwell to the last degree.
Arabella stayed only long enough to regain her composure and remove the signs of tears from her face. Then she insisted on going, despite Anne’s entreaties. When she had seen her to the front door, Anne turned and ran up the stairs, hurrying straight to the library to find Charles. He must decide what they were to do at once.
But the library was empty, as were the other parlors on the first floor. She looked in the “garden” and asked Mariah if she had seen Charles, but the reply was negative. “Is anything wrong, dear?” added the other. With a quick negative, Anne returned to the drawing room and rang for Fallow.
“Where is Lord Wrenley?” she asked when he appeared.
“He said he had business in the City this morning, my lady. He expected to return in time for luncheon.”
“I see.” Anne sighed, half angrily.
“Is anything wrong? Should I send after him?”
“No, Fallow. I shall speak to him later. But if he should come in soon, will you tell him that I want to see him, please?”
“Certainly, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else? Would you care for a cup of tea, perhaps?”
“No.” She dismissed him and threw herself down on the sofa once again. But she found it impossible to sit still. Every feeling cried out for instant action, yet there was nothing she could do. She could not bear the thought of reading or sewing or even of talking to Mariah. Why didn’t Charles come home? Anne pounded the sofa arm in frustration, stood, and began to pace the room like a caged animal.
She was still pacing when Edward sauntered in half an hour later. He looked fashionably jaunty in yellow pantaloons and a light blue coat, a spotted kerchief knotted round his neck. “Hullo,” he cried. “I have good news.”
“That would be welcome just now!”
“Harry Hargreaves is practically living in the Branwell’s pocket. He called there already and stayed two hours.”
Anne turned away with a sigh. “That’s good, I suppose.”
“You suppose! I should think it is.”
“I really can’t worry about Harry Hargreaves at the moment.”
“You can’t…?” Edward stared disgustedly at her. “I don’t understand you, Anne. You made a great fuss about helping Laurence, practically forced me to go along, and now that I have made a tremendous effort and things are coming along well, you say you haven’t time to worry about it.”
“I’m sorry, Edward. Arabella was here this morning.”
“Miss Castleton? And so?”
“I can’t think of anything but her problem now.”
“Dash it, Anne. I know she is your best friend, but her trifling little problems really cannot compare with—”
“Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what? I have been too busy running about London after Hargreaves to hear anything.”
She told him the story, including, this time, Lydia Branwell’s part in it. When she finished, he was staring at her with his mouth open. “That…that harpy! I didn’t like her before, but even I would not have thought her capable of this.”
“Bella is terribly unhappy.”
“I daresay! The deuce. Something must be done.”
“Charles is making a plan.”
This only increased Edward’s stupefaction. “Charles!”
Anne was by now accustomed to this reaction. “Yes, Edward. Why should he not?”
“Because he has never done anything of the kind in his life, that’s why. Are you certain you understood him correctly?”
“Of course I am! He was as outraged as you are. I don’t see why everyone is so astonished by that.”
“Well, perhaps you don’t know Charles as I do, then. He never exerts himself for anyone, least of all a girl he hardly knows. I can’t believe it.”
Anne began a hot retort, then stopped. Edward’s, and Laurence’s, reaction was really not so odd. She would have thought the same a short time ago. Indeed, she had thought it only last night. Charles had convinced her he meant to help, but she had not really considered before why he should do so. It was unlike him. Anne pondered. He did think Lydia Branwell’s actions contemptible; he had clearly said so, in a tone that allowed no doubt. And he liked Bella, a little—perhaps. Anne frowned. Really, Charles had hardly ever spoken to Bella. As her friend had said, they were practically strangers.
“What did he actually say?” asked Edward.
“He said he would think of a way to stop the rumors.”
Edward gazed steadily at her, then nodded. “Well, if he says he will do it, he will. He always performs what he promises. But it is astonishing that he is taking an interest in the matter. I wonder what he plans?”
“I don’t know. He is out this morning. But I mean to talk to him about it the moment he comes in. We must act soon.”
“Yes. The quicker these things are scotched, the better. But, by Jove, Anne, it is more important than ever that we separate Laurence and the Branwell creature now. She is even worse than I thought. Why, if Laurence ever heard of this, he would never get over it. He has been mad on the subject of honesty since he was six years old.” Edward brightened. “Say, perhaps we should tell him. It would sour him on the girl forever.”
Anne shook her head. “Even if he believed us, and I suppose he would take Charles’s word, what could he do?”
“Break it off, of course!”
“Because Miss Branwell started a rumor? She would say that someone had told her the story. And she would insist, truthfully, that she said it was probably a lie.” Anne grimaced. “Of course, that only made it more convincing when she told it.”
Edward was frowning. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I am. I
have thought it out. Laurence would simply be more miserable than ever if he knew the truth and our plan did not work. He would be bound to a woman he could not respect, let alone love.”
“It’s too bad. Nothing would put him off her so thoroughly. But I suppose we can’t.”
They contemplated this in silence for a moment.
“What can I do?” asked Edward then. “It’s intolerable she should get away with this.”
“I know. Charles must have thought of something by now.”
Edward began to pace. “Perhaps we don’t need Charles. Surely we can formulate a plan ourselves.”
“I have racked my brain. Nothing reasonable comes out.”
“Well, approach it rationally. Our problem is to stop the rumors and to end Laurence’s engagement. So. We can’t murder Miss Branwell, unfortunately.”
Anne giggled. “And it wouldn’t stop the talk.”
“No. Perhaps I can convince Hargreaves to elope with her. And after they have gone, I’ll follow and threaten to reveal all unless she signs a paper confessing that she made up the whole story about Miss Castleton.”
“I don’t think that would answer.”
“Why not?”
“Neither Mr. Hargreaves nor Lydia is the sort to elope, Edward.”
His face fell. “No.”
“I think we should wait to hear what Charles proposes.”
“Kidnap the bishop?” ventured Edward. “Make her do what we want, to get him back?”
“No.” Anne began to feel very glad that Charles was on her side. If she had been forced to rely on Edward for help, they would not have gotten very far.
“Well, I suppose all I can do is encourage Hargreaves to haunt the Branwells, then.” Edward sighed. “Rather tame.”
“But important,” replied Anne, eager to keep him thus undangerously occupied. “And you have done so well up to now.”
“I think I have,” he agreed. “It wasn’t much fun dancing attendance on that starched-up prig, you know.”
“I do. You have been very good.”
Edward grinned. “Trying to turn me up sweet? Don’t worry. I shan’t do anything stupid. But you will tell me what Charles plans, won’t you? And let me help?”