Frank tipped his head on one side. “Is that how it looked? Resentful, perhaps. Angry, definitely. Cowed, but not afraid, no. You see, Ernest and I were growing every day, both in height and in strength, and there were two of us… Sooner or later we would have turned on him, and Ernest—” He patted Hope’s hand absently, almost as if she were one of the dogs. “We could easily have killed Papa. Not intentionally, you understand, but once a justified anger turns to violence, it cannot always be kept in proper check. So we left, and because Aunt Lucy had been kind to Amy and Belle when they went to London for their come-out, we knew she would be kind to us, too.”
“But then you left again,” Hope said.
With a heavy sigh, Frank said, “That was Ernest’s fault. He was always desperate to go to sea, and so was I, at one time, but once I had grown accustomed to Liverpool and some of Aunt Lucy’s family, I felt quite at home. But Ernest took no notice, and got me press-ganged onto a ship bound for the West Indies.”
“Good God!” Hugo said involuntarily. “What a dreadful thing to do to a brother!” He had said little, leaving the sister and brother to exchange their news, as seemed only proper to him, but this was too astonishing.
“You might well exclaim in horror,” Frank said. “Fortunately for me, I escaped and got ashore before the ship had left the river, but after that there was no question of returning to Aunt Lucy. The rift with my brother was too great to be bridged. I took shelter with Aunt Lucy’s brother-in-law, who found me work in Shropshire, and I have not seen Ernest or Aunt Lucy from that day to this.”
“You are better without them!” Hope said fiercely. “Ernest — I do not have words for what he has done, and to his own brother, too. As for Aunt Lucy, when she was here last year, she admitted that she was — well, not the most reputable of people.”
Frank laughed. “She told you that? Not the most reputable of people… Lord, if you knew the half of it! When Great-grandfather changed his name from Albertson to Allamont and moved here, he left behind a whole snake pit of crooks. The Albertson side of the family is as disreputable as they come. It is a wonder they have none of them been hanged yet. They pay their taxes, I suppose. Anyway, Aunt Lucy and Uncle Roger are up to their necks in every form of vice.”
“Oh, Frank! How dreadful for you to be associated, even briefly, with such people,” Hope cried.
He smiled and shook his head. “You must not imagine me the innocent in that world, sister. Ernest and I were perfectly at home there. A little too at home, perhaps, for now I have not the least desire to be a gentleman and cut a dash in society, and the last thing I would wish for is to be Mr Allamont of Allamont Hall. This place holds nothing but bad memories for me. It pleases me greatly that the two of you are able to inherit it, and wash away the evil that lurks here still. I escaped from here, but my sisters could not, and it is only right that the estate should benefit one of them, at least. I remember all of you with great fondness. Timid Amy. Belle with her books. Connie and Dulcie always with their heads together, and Grace — poor Grace, always in trouble for a broken slate or a torn gown! And you, my sweet-natured little sister. I wish I could have taken you all away from this place.”
“If I were in your position,” Hugo said, “I am not certain that I could turn my back on two thousand eight hundred a year.”
“Is that its worth? But I have all the money I need, and the greatest horror of being trapped here like a rabbit in a snare. Being a gentleman, marrying some fish-faced daughter of a viscount, filling my days with visits and dinner engagements and a season in London. What a hideous prospect.”
“That all sounds splendid to me,” Hugo said. “Well, not the fish-faced daughter, of course, but the rest of it.”
“Then I wish you joy of it, both of you.”
“A season in London sounds lovely,” Hope sighed. “But how remiss of me, for I have forgotten to offer you any refreshment, Frank. Shall I send for tea? Some cake, perhaps?”
“Nothing that would bring the servants into the room,” he said quickly. “I am not very recognisable, as you have discovered, but it is a risk I have no desire to take, and I certainly do not want my name known. Since I am about to vanish again, the fewer people who see me here, the better. But if you have a decent brandy, Hugo, that would be most acceptable. And then you can bring me up to date on all the Lower Brinford news.”
~~~~~
Henry Allamont was not a man much given to introspection. It was just as well, because his life had been a series of, if he were honest, mistakes and impulsive actions for which he had paid dearly over the years.
His first, and by far the worst, mistake was to tangle with Lady Sara Heatherington and her sister Lady Matilda all those years ago. Identical twins were the very devil if they chose to be mischievous, and those two were mischief incarnate. Such a picture of innocence in the drawing room, the pair of them — heads demurely bowed, gowns modest and conversation everything that was proper. But that Christmas at Hepplestone was a revelation. Innocent — ha! That could not be further from the truth.
He had not realised the danger at first, drawn in by Sara’s smiles, and confident he could distinguish one from the other by the ribbons on their wrists. And only Sara, with her red ribbon, smiled at him in just that way. Ah Sara, his beautiful Sara, who whispered her love as she seduced him — he would have married her in a heartbeat, and adored her for ever, but for those fatal words. So much misery had hinged upon those few words: ‘Ah, but am I indeed Sara?’ she had said, laughing up at him, her glorious hair spread on the pillow, as he tried to find the words to express his love. And with that tiny doubt, his life had fallen apart. He had been taken for a fool, and that devilish pair were amusing themselves by playing games with him! How could he ever trust either of them again?
In blind anger, he had run away to France, first, to fall into Vivienne’s orbit. But he was in no mood for her claws, so he moved on to Italy where he met his gentle Elizabeth, and she had soothed his spirits, persuading him to return home and make his peace with his father. But his father had died, and then Elizabeth too had died, and when, astonishingly, Vivienne had appeared on his doorstep, he had not the strength of mind to resist her. Another marriage, another impulsive mistake.
It was all so long ago, and now even Vivienne lay in the graveyard, her spite finally extinguished. Somehow, after so much turbulence, Henry had finally reached calmer waters. His daughter was safely married, his sons were settled and it was time to restore the joy to his own life.
He was not prone to vanity, but he looked long and hard at his reflection in the glass that morning. The coat was new, his breeches the finest Brinchester could offer, and his Hessians were polished to a high shine. His cravat was tied with exceptional care. In his pocket, the small box which held his offering — sapphires, to match her eyes.
He breakfasted early and then ordered the carriage. Normally he would ride to Allamont Hall, for it was far quicker across the fields than the long journey by road. But for such an occasion it was important not to arrive mud-bespattered and smelling of horse-sweat, so he was prepared to suffer the tedium of the road. Besides, it would allow him to polish his little speech. Not that there was much to say, for his circumstances were as well-known to Sara as her own, and she must surely see all the advantages of the match as well as he could. Indeed, she had been so encouraging that she must surely be expecting his addresses. Still, it was a long time since he had offered for a lady in form, so it was as well to rehearse a few key phrases.
The butler was impassive as always when Henry stepped down from the carriage and made his way up the steps to the entrance.
“Good morning, sir. Miss Allamont is in the drawing room with Mr and Mrs Ambleside. Should I announce you?”
“I wish to speak with her ladyship, Young. Alone.”
“Very good, sir. Please wait here, and I shall ascertain whether her ladyship is at home.”
It seemed an interminable time before the butler’s ponderous
steps made their stately way down the stairs again. “Her ladyship will receive you in her private sitting room, sir. Please follow me.”
Was that disapproval in his voice, or did Henry merely imagine it? Yet surely the butler must guess the nature of the visit, and the request for a private audience? Even the most closely guarded debutante may receive a gentleman alone for the purpose of an offer of marriage, and Sara was very far from being an ingenue.
To Henry’s surprise, she was not alone. She stood calmly in the midst of a veritable storm, as several men carried furniture about, and two housemaids on their knees rolled up the carpet.
“Henry!” she said, with a slight smile. “How charming to see you.” Yet her voice was cool, and his heart sank.
She held out her hand, and with an answering smile he lifted it to his lips.
“How gallant you are today. I regret that I have nothing here to offer you. Shall I send for refreshments? Some tea? Or a glass of something more sustaining?”
He shook his head. “What are you about?” he said, moving aside to allow a chaise longue to be manoeuvred past him. “You are not moving into the Dower House yet, surely? You have weeks still before you need to leave, and I do not think Hope and Hugo will chase you out.”
“Better not to put them in the position of chasing me out,” she said. “Whatever happens next month, I must be gone from here, and there is no point in delay. I shall stay until Hope is wed, but then I will be gone and my new home must be ready for me. Come, let us sit in the window while the work is going on, and you may tell me what is so important that you need to see me privately.”
“I should think you might guess that,” he snapped, annoyed to find her so obtuse. It was hardly the romantic moment he had envisaged, with the housemaids practically crawling under his feet. “But we shall speak of it when we are private.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, they will all be gone in a few moments.”
She sat calmly in the window seat while the chaos reigned all around her, and Henry paced back and forth, and found himself in everybody’s way. It did nothing to improve his mood.
Eventually, the last item of furniture was removed, and then the rolled-up carpet. The door clicked shut and the room fell into silence.
“Now then, Henry,” Sara said placidly. “Come and sit beside me and tell me what is on your mind.”
“Can you not guess?” he said irritably. But then good sense reasserted itself, and he chided himself for his short temper. He would never recommend himself to her by displaying such ill humour. So he sat, and continued more calmly, “Sara… you must be aware… it cannot be a surprise to you that…”
She patted his hand. “Come, come, Henry. You are not normally so incoherent.”
He shook his head at his own stupidity. “I sound like a schoolboy. How foolish of me, and at my advanced age, too. But in truth, Sara, you cannot be unaware of my sentiments towards you. I have never stopped loving you, not for a moment, even when we were both married to other people. But now… now we are both free, and there is no obstacle.”
“Henry, can it be possible that you are proposing marriage to me?”
“Of course I am! What else?” Again he had to breathe deeply to cool his rising irritation. “You must acknowledge how well-suited we are, and how perfectly we should deal together. Is it not the obvious solution to our difficulties?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Our difficulties? What difficulties do we have?”
He frowned. “Why, we are both alone, of course. A man on his own is a sad enough case, but a woman alone is in dangerous waters, resented if she interferes too greatly with her daughters, eyed with suspicion by wives and with improper thoughts by men. This is patently obvious, Sara. And you are about to be exiled to the Dower House, and expected to live quietly, as any Dowager must. I can give you a position in society again.”
A deep chuckle escaped her. “Live quietly? Exile? Great heavens, Henry, what century are we living in? What you see as a difficulty is to me a symbol of my freedom. I need no man to make me whole, or give me consequence. I am an earl’s daughter, and the widow of a respectable gentleman, and I may move in society with my head high. I have my widow’s portion, and may go where I please and do what I wish, and no man may stop me.”
He was so taken aback that he could not say a word, only shake his head in disbelief.
More quietly, she went on, “I am very flattered, and honoured too, that you should consider me a suitable wife, but I must decline your most obliging offer.”
Twice he opened his mouth to expostulate but could dredge up no words against her calm demeanour. What could be more impregnable than a woman determined to be independent? No argument of his could stand against it.
So he rose, and without a word strode to the door and left the room.
Outside, Young loitered. “May I announce you in the drawing room, sir?” he said imperturbably.
“Have my carriage brought round,” Henry said, before stamping away down the stairs.
As he paced impatiently about the entrance hall, her words echoed in his head. ‘I may go where I please and do what I wish.’ Just as she had done ever since William had died. Gadding about to London, and then to Shropshire… what did she get up to there? What friends did she have there who must be visited so frequently, yet never talked about? Nor did she take her maid with her, either, not at first. But then she had got rid of the maid she had had for years, and the new one went everywhere with her. So mysterious, so secretive, his Sara.
But she was not his Sara, of course. Still the same high-handed woman she always was, smiling, encouraging him — Lord, how she had encouraged him! — yet when it came to the point, no thank you, Henry, I manage perfectly well without you. ‘I may go where I please and do what I wish.’ And where exactly did she go, and what precisely did she wish to do? If he knew that, he might, perhaps, be able to persuade her to give him a different answer.
His eye fell on the portrait of Lady Sara that hung on the wall of the entrance hall. Such a familiar face, and time had wrought few changes. Some tiny lines about the eyes, perhaps, and the lovely blonde hair had faded a little, but the figure was unchanged in twenty years and that smile—! Seldom seen, perhaps, in recent years, but no one, having once seen it, could ever forget that glorious smile.
And then he had a thought. From the pocket of his waistcoat he drew out the card that Mr Carpenter had given him. On the back, hastily scrawled with a badly made pen, the address of the interesting establishment where he had met the lady who looked so exactly like Sara. It had amused Henry, at first, that anyone should confuse the Lady Sara and a common brothel woman, but when he thought further on the matter, he realised that, while Mr Carpenter had appreciated his mistake, there could be other men who would be equally misguided, and it would become a great irritant.
Here at least was something he could do, a little service he could perform for Sara. If he could find this woman who looked so exactly like her, perhaps she could be persuaded to ply her disreputable trade elsewhere, and Sara would be free of impudent men who looked at her with lascivious eyes. And while he was in Shropshire, perhaps he might just discover what Sara got up to on her visits there.
10: The Last Day
As the days and weeks wore away, Hope began to feel as though the marriage would truly happen. The banns were called, the wedding clothes began to arrive and the whirl of excitement lifted her spirits. Even the fake Ernests and Franks faded away. There was still the fear at the back of her mind that the real Ernest would appear on the doorstep to claim his inheritance, but every day that passed made that less likely. A letter from Aunt Lucy revealed that she had had no success at all in tracing what had become of him. She now believed he must be dead, she explained. Perhaps he had gone to sea, as he had always wanted, and drowned far from home. She wished Hope and Hugo joy.
Hugo was exultant, but Hope was not quite so sanguine. “There is still time,” she said repeatedly. “He may yet app
ear and snatch everything away from us.”
Still, it was impossible to be downhearted with a wardrobe full of the most charming new gowns and bonnets and gloves and muffs, for her mama had spared no expense in outfitting her last daughter to be married. And then there was the joy of knowing that all her sisters were to be present for her wedding, even Dulcie, who was making the difficult journey from Scotland to attend.
‘You are the last of us to become a wife and the last to receive your dowry,’ she had written, her letters ill-formed in her excitement, and spilling over two sheets of paper. ‘Of course we must all be there to see you leave your old life behind and enter the new. And how glorious to think that you will now inherit the Hall and be mistress there and create a whole new family to play in the gardens and walk through the woods to the village. And they must have ponies to ride and a kindly governess and the boys must go to school and everything will be different. I cannot wait to see you again.’ She had underlined the word ‘everything’ three times.
Hope suffered a few tremors of anxiety whenever she thought about the ‘whole new family’ she was expected to provide to fill the emptiness of Allamont Hall, but Hugo had not mentioned the subject again, even in the most oblique way, so it was easy to set the question to the back of her mind.
A few days before Dulcie was expected, Amy and Belle arrived at the hall, separately, but clearly by design, for neither was surprised to see the other there.
“Now, sister, let us find a quiet room, away from all this chattering,” Belle said. “Is the drawing room always so crowded these days?”
“Very much so,” Hope said. “This spell of dry weather has brought everyone out of hiding, I believe. I do hope it lasts, so that Dulcie will not have too dreadful a journey. Where are you taking me?”
Hope (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 6) Page 8