Hope (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 6)

by Mary Kingswood

  He was lost in his own thoughts, and noticed nothing around him until his horse shied suddenly. Abruptly brought to his senses, he quickly brought the horse under control, then looked about him for the cause of the mischief. A rustling and panting under a nearby hedge revealed itself as a familiar shape.

  “Well, old girl, what are you doing out here? And where is your master, eh?”

  The dog bounded off again, and Henry turned his horse to follow. Jumping the gate at the end of the field he saw Hugo not far away, riding slowly, head down.

  Cantering up to him, Henry said, “Well met, Hugo! What are you doing so far from home?”

  “Father! Good morning! If it is a good morning.”

  “That sounds bad. What now has happened? You have not quarrelled with Hope?”

  “Oh no! Well, nothing to speak of.”

  “It is natural, with so much turmoil about you. But you cannot be disappointed in your marriage, I am sure.”

  “Not in the least,” Hugo said, with the glimmer of a smile. “Who could be disappointed with Hope? She is the sweetest little thing. No, it is Ernest. It seemed a good moment to introduce him to the estate, show him around and so forth, but he has gone and thrown off the Garmins.”

  “Good God! Whatever for?”

  “Because they keep a carriage, and that is too grand for a farmer, apparently. And now the wretched man has gone off to West Brafton and I dread to think what havoc he might wreak there.”

  “I will say to you again, Hugo, I believe you should leave here. You would have no trouble securing another position, in time, and you will have Hope’s dowry to live on in the meantime.”

  Hugo pulled a face. “That could be tied up for years. Ambleside is determined to take it to law, and you know what he is like — there is no moving him at all.”

  “Ambleside has many fine qualities,” Henry said, “but he is damnably particular about correct procedure. As if he has not dark moments in his own history! You would think a man with a natural daughter would show more understanding, and not be so scrupulous about the proper form.”

  “Is that true?” Hugo said. “I have heard the rumours about Miss Firth, but nothing to verify it.”

  “Except her looks,” Henry said, smiling. “She is exactly like him. But he has dealt kindly with her and her mother, and many young men make such mistakes, so I do not condemn him for that. It would be well if he could deal so generously with you.”

  “Indeed, but he will not give way, and so I have nothing except my salary from Ernest to live on.”

  “And your allowance. I have not stopped that yet, nor will I until you no longer have need of it.”

  “Thank you, Father!” That brought a wider smile. “You are very good. Are you bound to the Hall? I will ride with you.”

  Henry parted from his son just inside the gates of Allamont Hall, and rode down the short drive that led to the Dower House. It had its own grounds, walled about to separate it from the Hall’s parkland, although the gardens were still in some disarray after the renovations. No doubt in the spring, Sara would engage a gardener to restore order. Or perhaps she would not be here in the spring? His heart gave a little leap of hope. He quelled it immediately. He had tried a direct approach, now it was time to be more equivocal.

  She was at home, and that was a good sign. He was admitted to the morning room, and, despite its dark aspect, overshadowed as it was by a gigantic tree on the lawn outside, she had made it a very pretty room. With the fire blazing merrily, several lamps lit, some pale rugs and the lightest of furniture, it had become a charming boudoir.

  Sara received him composedly, and for a while they talked only of the family — of Ernest and Clarissa, of Hugo and Hope, and all the difficulties and tribulations inflicted by the former upon the latter. But eventually the talk came round to the assembly at Brinchester, and this was Henry’s opening.

  “It was a strange business, that man who called you ‘Maud’ and claimed to know you,” he began.

  Was it his imagination or did she look the tiniest bit conscious? “Not so strange,” she said with an indifferent shrug. “People make mistakes all the time. Sometimes it is just a ploy, to inveigle an introduction to someone of rank.”

  “But it is not the first time someone has called you by that name,” he went on. “An odd coincidence, for both to make the same mistake.”

  “Not in the least,” she said, with a touch of asperity. “No doubt there is a Maud somewhere who looks very like me. Perhaps she is accosted in the same way by persons who address her as Lady Sara.”

  He was glad that he had allowed his anger to cool, for he needed to tread with the greatest care from now on. “That is what I thought also, when I pondered the matter. And Mr Carpenter — the first man who thought he recognised you — said that he met Maud in a brothel, and obviously the Lady Sara Allamont, the daughter of the Earl of Harkwood, would never be found in a brothel.”

  “Obviously,” she said coldly.

  “But it seemed to me that this was a problem that would recur, so it occurred to me that if, perhaps, this Maud could be found and persuaded to move to a different part of the country, it would make your life a little easier.”

  “You are all consideration for my welfare, Henry.” But he thought her manner was wary.

  “On that account, I went into Shropshire, to the brothel that Mr Carpenter was so obliging as to give me the direction of, and there enquired after a lady called Maud. She was not there, although they knew of her, for she had been there on numerous occasions in the past, plying her trade. Where might she be found, I asked the lady in charge. Maud lives in Brinshire, I was told, and they have no address for her, since she arrives and leaves as she pleases. But she is very grand, they told me, for she arrives in a hired post chaise, and latterly she has brought her own maid with her.”

  Sara jumped up and moved to the window, her back to Henry.

  “Do you want to know the maid’s name, Sara?” he said softly. “It might be familiar to—”

  “Stop this!” she said, spinning round to face him, her eyes flashing. “What business is any of this to you?”

  “What business is it? You are family, Sara, and that alone would be reason enough for my concern. But you are also the woman I love, the woman I hope one day will make my life complete by becoming my wife. Do you really imagine I want a succession of men turning up who once shared the delights of your body in a brothel?”

  “Do not judge me! Do not you dare to judge me!”

  “I do not judge,” he said quietly. “But I should like to understand.”

  For a moment, she stood, chest heaving, eyes sparkling, her colour high as anger roiled inside her, and he caught his breath to see her so gloriously beautiful. She was magnificent.

  Then she seemed to sag. “Very well. Sit and let me try to explain.”

  19: Leaving

  Henry sat, and to his disappointment Sara sat as far from him as possible. He made no comment, however, as she began to talk.

  “Can you imagine what my life was like with him? My husband. Ha! My dear, dear husband. You cannot imagine it, of course, for you are a man, and for you, freedom is your natural state of being. A man can always do what he wishes, with no thought of the consequences. But for me, it was as if I had been shut in a small cage. I was quite sure I had died and this was my personal Hell. So it was, I suppose — punishment for my wicked excesses as a young woman. Well, you know about those for you were very much part of them. But you took fright and fled, and I was in the deepest trouble. No, no!” She raised a hand as he began to speak. “I do not blame you, not in the slightest.”

  He subsided, and sat back to listen.

  She heaved a sigh. “The trouble with having an identical twin is that it is so easy to play tricks on people, so easy to make them doubt. Tilly and I had been making mischief in that way for so long it was as natural as breathing. How many times had we changed places, worn each other’s gowns, pretended to be the other
? Even the coloured ribbons on our wrists that we wore so that anyone might tell us apart — yes, we swapped those, too, sometimes. When you were courting me so assiduously, Tilly and I often exchanged ribbons in the retiring rooms so that I could dance with you again.”

  “Did you?” he breathed, enchanted with this unsuspected sign of affection.

  “It was a long time ago,” Sara said coldly. “I was young and foolish, too foolish to keep hold of you in case the worst happened and I needed a husband in a hurry. You would have married me, I make no doubt.”

  “Of course I would. That was all I wanted.”

  “It was not what I wanted, but it would have done, in a crisis.”

  “Good God, Sara, you are as cold and unfeeling as a piece of glass,” he cried. “‘It would have done!’ Is that all I was to you, someone who could be brought up to the mark if your reputation was at risk?”

  Her face softened. “You were far more than that, Henry, but you never actually offered for me, you know.”

  “I planned to, indeed I tried to, but your father always looked down his nose at me. Mr Henry Allamont of Brinshire was never going to be good enough for the Earl of Harkwood’s daughter. But then…”

  “Then I made you doubt whether you were with me or Tilly, and so you flew away, and the blame for that was entirely mine. And Maxwell was born… my son.” For a moment her face softened. “I could not keep him with me, of course, it was impossible, but at least he was given a home and a respectable upbringing in Scotland, and I was grateful for that. My sister wrote to tell me of his progress, which was something, even if I could not watch him grow up myself. But my father insisted I marry, and the man he offered me was the last person I expected — your cousin. It seemed like a piece of good fortune, at the time, for surely he would be something like you. Perhaps not in looks, for he was not handsome, but I was certain he would have something of your passionate nature.”

  Henry said nothing, seeing the tragedy unfolding as she spoke. He had always wondered why she had married his cousin William, with his regularity of habit and his ascetic ways, but now he could see why she had misunderstood his nature.

  “I felt as if I could not breathe,” she said. “He stifled me, every day, in every moment. Meals precisely on time, the fires to be lit at the exact hour specified, and allowed just so much coal, according to the season but with no regard for the vagaries of the weather. Even his visits to my bedroom were by strict timetable. Dear God, I was suffocating! And then the children! Every one of them exactly like their father, with the same lank, dark hair, the same brown eyes, the same thin face. I could not bear to look at them, and so timid as they were! Such spineless creatures, utterly cowed by him. Yet there was no escape. My father had agreed to conceal my unhappy history, but I was forbidden from all better society in case I should fall from grace again. Even my own family home was closed to me at first, until I pleaded for a reprieve, for the sake of my sanity. As for London — I was not permitted anywhere near Tilly, in case she corrupted me again.”

  “Tilly went in a different direction,” Henry said sadly.

  “Oh yes. Her lover protected her, for a while, and then there was another, and yet another. When she tired of that circus, she set herself up with a discreet little brothel, very exclusive. But I was respectable, and not to be tainted by my sister. I felt as if I were in prison, Henry. It was hideous. But then, most unexpectedly, William took a chill and died and I was free. Can you imagine how I rejoiced? And do you blame me? The first place I went to was London, to see Tilly. Oh, the joy of being with my sister again! I cannot tell you how wonderful it was, for we were like two sides of the same coin and separation was as dreadful to each of us as losing a limb. But there she was, laughing and crying and kissing me, and it was wonderful.”

  “That I am glad of,” Henry said. “But you were not friendless, Sara. I hope I was always a friend to you.”

  “Perhaps, but when you first came back you had a wife and child, and you were so wrapped up in them that there was no place for a mere friend. And when Elizabeth died, you married Vivienne almost at once.”

  “Only because you were spoken for,” he said quietly.

  She gave a half smile then. “So I was. And you were too stuffy… or respectable, perhaps, to consider anything less than marriage, even when eventually I was free.”

  “But I was not free, not then.”

  “True. And when I was at Tilly’s, rediscovering my sister, I rediscovered also my joy in the pleasures of the flesh.”

  “So Tilly was a corrupting influence.”

  She laughed then, but it was a harsh, brittle sound. “You say that as if there is something evil about it, but it is not so, Henry.” She raised a hand to forestall his protests. “No, let us not argue about it. I was very happy when I went to stay with Tilly, but London is a long journey away and when I discovered that William’s house in Shropshire was being used as a gambling den and brothel, that gave me an idea. Shropshire is very much closer than London, much more convenient. It seemed like such a good plan. You remember my friend Mr Eddington? He helped me set up a place, and he runs it in the usual manner of brothels, but one I could visit easily when I felt the need for some diversion.”

  When she laughed again, it was a merry sound that made him smile too. But he said nothing, not wanting to interrupt the flow of confidences.

  “Not that I was liberal with my favours, I assure you!” she went on. “I modelled myself on Tilly, creating a fashionable little salon, choosing the women carefully, making sure they were well treated and the men were the respectable sort, not drunk or ill-mannered. It was all very elegant and refined, you may be sure. And from time to time I would choose a favourite for some amusement of my own. At first I left my maid behind, which was most inconvenient, but I could not trust her. Eventually I replaced her. The new one is not so good, but very discreet. Very, very discreet. I should have remembered to change her name as well as my own. Ah well. So what are you going to do now that you know my little secret, Henry?”

  “Nothing.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Nothing?”

  “It would be unforgivable in me to reveal any of this to the world, so you may depend on my silence.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “There is a catch, I am sure.”

  “No catch,” he said. “The danger of your position will occur to you soon enough. Two men have already identified you as ‘Maud’, and undoubtedly more will do so. Your so convenient little brothel is no more than half a day’s drive from Brinchester, and there is a great deal of interchange between the two counties. How long do you think it will be before people begin to notice these men, and draw the obvious conclusion?”

  “I cannot imagine anyone would connect the very proper and respectable Lady Sara Allamont with a woman from a brothel, Henry. Did you believe it until you heard the maid’s name?”

  “No, but I wondered, and all it takes is one person wondering to a dozen or two of her acquaintance. You cannot stay here, Sara. Your position will become untenable, especially without a husband to protect you.”

  “Ah, I thought we would come to that before too long.”

  “My offer has been made, and I will not bore you with repetition. You know my feelings, Sara, and nothing has changed on my part. One word from you will be enough to bring me to your side. However, if you do not wish to marry, then I think it imperative that you should move away from Brinshire. If not London, then Bath might suit you, or Brighton, perhaps. Or go further north, to York or Harrogate. But do not stay here, under any circumstances. You are not happy here, in any event, are you?”

  “You think I would be happier in Bath? Or less inclined to stray from the path of respectability? And the cost would be beyond my means. My little brothel was expensive to establish, for I wished it to be very exclusive, like Tilly’s. Much of my widow’s portion is gone to the venture. Here I have a good house provided, stabling for my carriage and h
orses, and half my dinners at the Hall. My expenses are very low.”

  “Then find yourself a husband. With your looks, a few months in Bath would give you ample choice.”

  She shuddered visibly. “No husband, I beg you! I want to be free, Henry, not suffocating under the rule of a man.”

  For a moment grief overcame him. Here was the end of all his fine hopes and dreams! William had ruined her, so that she saw every man as an oppressor of the worst kind. She could not even imagine a husband who would treat her gently and cherish her for ever.

  “Then I cannot help you,” he said sadly. “Sooner or later your reputation will be ruined, and nothing can prevent it.”

  ~~~~~

  The house was quiet when Hugo reached home. When he took his horse to the stables, he discovered that one of the carriages was out, as the ladies had gone to call on some of their acquaintance. He shut himself in the gun room with a plate of cold meat and some ale, and settled down with the accounts, trying to work out how they might make do until a new farmer was installed at the home farm. As if life were not difficult enough, without Ernest making everything ten times worse.

  He had not been there long when he heard raised voices in the entrance hall, then loud footsteps and doors banging. He waited, but it became quiet again. Just as he bent his head to the account books once more, a timid scratching on the door was followed immediately by Hope’s face, very pale, still bonneted.

  “Am I disturbing you? May I come in?”

  “Of course you may! Whatever is going on out there?”

  “It is Clarissa,” she said, tugging at the ribbons of her bonnet and succeeding only in tangling them into a knot. “Oh! Hugo, would you be so obliging as to unravel this for me?” While he did so, she went on, “We have been everywhere this morning, and no one is at home! It is so… so lowering, Hugo, to be ostracised in such a way. I had hoped that our neighbours would be tolerant of someone new to the county, someone not yet accustomed to our ways— oh, thank you! How did they ever get into such a tangle?” She cast the bonnet aside impatiently. “We tried the Grahams and Lady Humbleforth and the Willses, and then — oh, Hugo, I cannot believe it, but even Amy would not receive us! And now Clarissa is in such a temper, and swears she will not stay here to be insulted. She has gone to pack already.”