by Jo Beverley
Beryl smiled sadly. “Don’t you worry about me, Jassy. I know I’m not going to find a husband without a dowry, and this money can’t provide one. Amy’s right,” she said with a sigh. “I’m afraid we’re all going to be spinsters.”
Jacinth looked aghast at this. She had obviously never previously applied the family’s straitened circumstances to herself. “Not Amy,” she declared spitefully. “She has only to stand on a corner of the highway to have men groveling at her feet!”
The moment the words were out she looked appalled, clapped a hand over her mouth, and then fled the table with a wail. Jasper scowled accusingly at Amy, then leapt up to go after his twin. Lizzie clucked and heaved herself up to follow.
Beryl placed a comforting hand over Amy’s. “She didn’t mean it.”
Amy squeezed that hand but she said, “Yes, she did, and it’s true. I wish to heaven I was plain as a barn door.”
For Amy had the curse—as she saw it—of stunning beauty. Her hair was a glittering blond of such complexity of hue that the swains who regularly compared it to spun gold were not being as trite as it would appear. Her face was a charming heart shape; her nose straight but slightly upturned; her soft full lips were a perfect Cupid’s bow, curved so that it was extremely difficult for her not to appear to be smiling. Her eyes were large and of a subtle dark blue lightened by flashes of lighter shades like a stream in the sun. Her skin, despite much time out of doors, was flawless.
Amy was just tall enough to be called elegant, and her form was sweetly rounded with a tendency to lushness in the upper part, which she particularly deplored.
Amy had never been at ease with her beauty, for it seemed to make people behave in very silly ways—men ogled and clustered, and women were frequently acidic—but she had borne it until the family’s plunge into poverty. Then she had realized how it set her apart from her sisters, just as Jassy had said. Amy would always find a husband if she sought one, whereas Beryl—much more worthy of love—was unlikely to, and even Jassy, pretty as she was, might fail without a penny to her name.
So Amy had spent the last two years doing her best to obliterate her beauty. She had always had a taste for simple garments, and after her father’s death she had stripped them of all trimmings and dyed the brighter ones into dull colors. Mourning had provided a good excuse, and those which had survived the black dye vat had been plunged into a brown one, with the explanation that it made them more suitable for work.
“But, Amy, dear,” Beryl had said, “I cannot see why a brown dress is more practical than a pink one unless you mean that it will not look dirty when it is. I do not like that thought at all.”
Amy had had no satisfactory response to that one.
She had used the same excuse, however—their new need to do the work once done by a dozen servants—to take to wearing her hair scraped back into a tight knot and covered by a cap. Beryl had found no logical argument against that, except that it was not very becoming.
Amy had hoped she was right, but neither clothes nor cap seemed to reduce Amy’s quantity of admirers, and Amy wanted them reduced to zero, for she could not bear to marry while her sisters were left spinsters.
In desperation, she had made the experiment of having her hair cropped short like Jacinth’s. That had been a disaster, and she was waiting impatiently for it to grow. For the moment there was no question of confining it at all. It rioted around her head like a cherub’s curls, emphasizing not just her beauty but a childlike impression she abhorred.
“If you were as plain as a barn door,” said Beryl with a teasing smile, “it would be even harder on us, dearest. I enjoy seeing your beauty.”
Amy squeezed Beryl’s hand again, touched by the sincere words. Beryl had no scrap of envy in her. “But perhaps I am too serious-minded,” she said. “Since we never expected to have this money, it would do no harm to spend it on fripperies.”
“It would do no good either,” said Beryl, “except develop a taste for more. I’m sure you were right when you said it would be better to live very simply for a few years so that Stonycourt can be restored.” She did not sound very sure.
“You are the oldest,” said Amy. “If you think we should manage in a different way, please say so.”
“Oh no,” said Beryl honestly. “I have no notion at all. Left to myself, I suppose I would have carried on as Papa did, had it been possible to get credit. I am good at finding ways to manage on less, but I can’t plan as you do, and figure out our finances, and how long it will take…. It would all be too depressing.” She worried a groove in the table with her fingernail, then asked, “How long will it take, Amy?”
Amy had done her best to be vague on such matters, and in typical fashion, the family had not pressed her, but she would not shrink a straight question. “Four years,” she said, “if we’re very careful, and rents stay high, and there is no disaster such as the roof leaking….” She stopped herself from listing all the unexpected expenses which could arise to throw her calculations into chaos. “In four years,” she said cheerfully, “we should be almost free of debt, and Jasper’s income will be adequate for Stonycourt to become a proper home again.”
“That will be pleasant for Jasper,” Beryl said, “but what of us?”
Amy felt as if a void had opened at her feet. In all her plans and calculations, she had never looked further than her cherished goal—to restore Stonycourt to the way it had been before their world fell apart. “We will live here,” she said uncertainly. “There may even be a small amount for marriage portions.”
But Beryl would be twenty-seven by then. Amy was suddenly aware that Jacinth was right. Beryl couldn’t wait. “Perhaps we are holding too tight,” she said. “We could reconsider selling some land and put the money aside for dowries. Uncle Clarence would approve that. He said as much.”
Uncle Clarence was their guardian, though he lived in Cumberland and paid little heed to their affairs.
“Oh no,” said Beryl firmly. “We agreed it would be disastrous to begin selling off the land. Four years is not so long.” She sighed. “I do wish we could have some real tea, though.” She went over to the stove and spooned dried chamomile into the pot.
Amy would have chopped her own heart and put it in the pot if there’d been any purpose to it. “A pound of tea would make a tiny dent in five thousand pounds, love,” she said.
Beryl shook her head. “And gowns for Jassy, and a horse for Jasper. No, let’s stick to our guns.”
Jacinth came back, accompanied by Jasper and Lizzie. “Oh, Amy, I’m sorry,” she said with a sniff. “That was a horridly catty thing to say.”
Amy went over and hugged her. “Don’t regard it, love. The only blessing of having this phiz is that I don’t have to look at it all day. I’m sure it’s very wearing. But you see, don’t you, that we have to be careful for a little longer so Stonycourt can be Stonycourt again.”
Jasper looked mutinous. “I don’t think everyone’s happiness should be sacrificed to a building.”
“It’s the home of the de Lacys, dear. We can’t let it go, or fall down about our ears.”
Beryl brought the teapot to the table. “Amy’s right. But I think we should plan for what we are to do when everything is straight again. Jasper will want to marry, and his bride won’t want a house full of spinsters.”
Amy was touched by this sudden attack of practical thinking and disturbed yet again. Her faith in her own clearheadedness was being rapidly undermined. First she had assumed they would all be marriageable when their fortunes were stable again, then she had assumed they would all live on here happily as they had once done.
“I don’t want to marry anyway,” said Jasper nobly.
Beryl smiled gently. “Think of the succession, dear.”
He went bright red. “Oh, true.”
Jacinth looked resentfully at her twin. “But I want to marry. And what’s to become of us if we don’t? I won’t become a governess or a companion. I won’t.”
/> Beryl poured her some tea and reverted to form. “You must look on the bright side, Jassy. It could all work out for the best. If you do have to seek employment, you and Amy are sure to attract the attention of the sons of the house and end up rich.”
Amy shut her eyes. Such an adventure was one of her recurrent nightmares but the outcome would not be as benign as Beryl imagined. Since their poverty had become known Amy had received a number of sly propositions.
“I’m sure that would be very nice,” said Aunt Lizzie doubtfully. Amy thought for a moment that her aunt was for once going to point out a folly, but she carried on. “I agree with Jacinth. Employment would not be at all pleasant and not at all necessary. A thousand pounds to each of us would be enough for us to live quietly in a cottage. Less if we all live together.” There was a loud clearing of throats from the settle near the fire.
The two old servants, Mr. and Mrs. Pretty, had been butler and housekeeper at Stonycourt for thirty years, and when disaster struck they had been too old to seek employment elsewhere. When the other staff had been let go, they had stayed on, accepting room and board, waiting for the pension to which they felt they were entitled.
To which they were entitled, admitted Amy, even if Sir Digby had neglected such provisions. Lizzie Toombs looked sourly at the couple but said grudgingly, “And doubtless a thousand for the Prettys. The estate should be able to bear that, and if Jasper marries an heiress we’ll all be well set.”
“No, we won’t!” cried Jacinth. “We’ll be growing old in a cottage!” She looked around the table for reassurance. When it did not come, she burst into tears and fled again.
“What’s the matter with her?” asked Jasper blankly. “If I did marry an heiress I’d see Jassy all right.”
“I’m afraid that will be a while dear,” said Amy. “I doubt you’ll be able to marry a fortune for a good many years.”
“Oh. Well then,” he said carelessly, “I think you should. With your looks, you should be able to snaffle a duke as easy as falling off a chair.”
There was silence. Then, “Of course,” said Aunt Lizzie blithely. “What a clever young man you are, Jasper. We will use the money to take Amethyst to London. She’ll be the toast of the town and marry a duke and we’ll all be rich.”
Amy felt as if she couldn’t breathe. It must be the punch. “But what about Beryl?” she protested, the first defense she could think of. “The eldest should marry first.”
Beryl laughed. “I couldn’t catch a duke, dear. Nor would I want one. I will choose a husband with a small estate, a man who stays at home.”
She was off in one of her dreams. As far as Beryl was concerned, “I will” was as good as done. Amy slapped her wits back into order. Was it possible? Marriage was a way out of poverty, after all, and she would do anything to make all right for her family.
“It would be madness to spend all the money,” she said cautiously. “A thousand should be more than enough if we’re careful. In fact,” she added thoughtfully, “it may not be necessary to go to London at all. We live on the edge of the Shires, and it is still hunting season. There must be many wealthy gentlemen in this locality. As Jassy said,” she added dryly, “I have only to be seen to slay.”
“It would be much more fun to go to London,” said Beryl simply.
Amy didn’t have the heart to tell her it would be far too expensive for them all to go. Beryl’s words merely stiffened her resolve to try other means. It would be perfectly horrid to be gadding about Town while Beryl and Jassy pined at home.
“If we are to do this,” she said firmly, “we must remember that I will need to marry a very rich man, one willing to lay out a lot of money to bring the estate back into heart immediately and provide dowries for you and Jassy. I think on the whole I should look for an older man. A nabob, perhaps, or a wealthy cit.”
“What!” declared Aunt Lizzie. “Marry beneath you when your mother struggled to raise herself up.”
“We are not so high now, Aunt,” Amy pointed out.
“You are a de Lacy of Stonycourt.”
Amy shrugged. “Let us hope that makes me worth extra at market.”
“But a gentleman who marries a golden dolly,” said Beryl doubtfully, “raises her up to his status. A lady who marries a wealthy cit sinks down to his. I don’t think you’d like that, Amy dear. You should marry the duke.”
Amy shook her head. “If one offers,” she said gently, “be sure I will consider him most seriously. But we must be practical. Money is our main object, accompanied by a generous disposition.”
She summoned up a merry smile and raised her teacup. “To fortune hunting!”
Over the next days Amy marshaled her family like a general. Aunt Lizzie was set to writing to her acquaintance in London to discreetly inquire about rich tradesmen interested in marrying into the gentry. As Beryl had pointed out, such a marriage was not as popular as the linking of men of good birth with lower-bred fortunes, for it did not automatically raise a man up as it would a woman. But it did give useful connections, and the children could expect to step into the gentry if they’d a mind to, so it had some benefits to offer.
Jasper had returned to his school at Uppingham and was asking if there were any nabobs or such living in the nearby villages, here for the hunting. There was a degree of urgency to this. It was April and the hunting season was winding down as the crops began to grow. Soon all the wealthy Meltonians would be off to London.
Amy and her sisters took to paying especial attention to local gossip but were frustrated by the fact that all anyone wanted to talk about these days was Napoleon Bonaparte’s abdication. This wonderful news would normally have delighted them, but Amy at least wished the dramatic events could have delayed for a little while so that people would still be interested in the minutiae of local life.
April progressed without anything being achieved. Aunt Lizzie received only gossipy replies from London full of plans for victory celebrations but lacking lists of wealthy bachelors.
Jasper wrote that he discovered there were a goodly number of avid hunters still in the area but the single men were all young bucks, and though well-breeched enough none were rich enough for their purposes.
Beryl and Jassy mulled over the local residents with care but could not keep it in their minds that a veritable Croesus was required, and his looks or age were of no account.
“There’s that charming Mr. Bunting over at Nether Hendon,” said Beryl one evening as they ate their mutton stew. “He’s tolerably handsome and I’m sure he has a sweet nature.”
Amy forced a smile. “But if he has five thousand a year, I’d be surprised, Beryl.”
“Five thousand a year is a comfortable income.”
“But doesn’t allow much for me to milk him of for Stonycourt,” said Amy ruthlessly.
Beryl gaped. Aunt Lizzie frowned. “Amethyst, my dear, don’t you think that was a little vulgar?”
Amy rested her head on one hand and gathered her patience. Then she looked up. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t a proper thing to say. But there will be no point to this if I merely marry a man who will keep me in comfort. How could I live in comfort while my family suffers? So can we concentrate our efforts on finding another Golden Ball? Please?”
From the end of the table where they ate slightly apart from the family—by their own choice—Pretty cleared his throat.
“Yes, Pretty,” Amy said.
“If I may be so bold, Miss Amethyst, I do know of a very rich man in this locality.”
“Who?”
“There is a gentleman of the name of Staverley taken Prior’s Grange in Upper Kennet. Talk down at the Jug and Whistle is that he is come from the West Indies very rich indeed and without wife or children that any knows of.”
“Is he young?” asked Jassy excitedly.
“Is he handsome?” asked Beryl.
“Are we sure he’s rich?” asked Amy.
“Anyone can be a trickster,” said Pretty, “but it is the fe
eling of all that he’s warm enough to toast with. Bringing in fine furniture, ordering all kinds of luxuries, hiring ample staff…and,” he added with a slight sneer, which revealed long stained teeth, “paying on the knob for everything.”
“There’s no need for that, Pretty,” said Amy sharply. “We pay on the knob, too, these days. No one will give us credit. How do I meet this man?”
“Amethyst!” cried Aunt Lizzie. “Do not be so precipitate. We must make the most careful inquiries.”
Amy opened her mouth to refute this but then closed it. It was clear that if anything practical was to be achieved, she would be best advised to leave her family out of it. At least it seemed the Prettys could be relied on for help, even if it was only from self-interest. No bad thing, thought Amy. Self-interest could generally be relied on.
2
TWO DAYS LATER Amy was on the road to Upper Kennet, driving the family’s only vehicle—a dogcart—pulled by Zephyr, their only horse. Perhaps Zephyr had once been an appropriate name for this broken-down animal, but no more. She had only been kept because there’d be little profit in selling her.
As the horse plodded along, Amy told herself not to be so ungrateful. They were fortunate to have a beast to pull the old cart when needed, and though Zephyr was old and slow she was steady and willing. Clop, clop, clop went the hooves along the road. Amy let the ribbons lie slack as she reviewed her plan, searching out flaws.
Investigation had failed to discover a reliable way of meeting Mr. Owen Staverley. According to Pretty he was past forty, of a stocky build and a taciturn manner. It was said he walked with a limp, but there was no report of other ill health. He occasionally went into Oakham or as far as Lincoln on business, but apart from that he stayed at home. Whatever had brought him to this locality, it wasn’t the hunting, for he kept only a carriage pair and a quiet hack.
Having failed to discover a public place where she could “accidentally” encounter him, Amy had decided on a cruder but simpler course. She was going to have an accident outside his gates. To this end she had frayed Zephyr’s reins close to the bit so that at a sharp tug they would break. The tack was in such a worn-out state that no one would ever suspect the damage to have been contrived. Of course, it would be clear to anyone with wits Zephyr needed no reins to control her, but Amy was willing to play the feebleminded wigeon if it suited her purpose. For once, her looks would be an advantage since they seemed to convince people she hadn’t a wit in her head anyway.