The Beringer Heiress

by Jan Constant

  Looking out of the window, Maria became uneasy. “Do you suppose there are highwaymen around here?” she inquired fearfully.

  “No one will attack us with two outriders,” Emma assured her. “Besides which, I have a pistol myself, so you are quite safe.”

  Maria peered into Emma’s reticule, gazing at the tiny, pearl-handled pistol, which reposed there without much enthusiasm. “Is it safe, m-miss? Can you work it?” she inquired doubtfully.

  “Of course I can,” she was told bracingly. “My father taught me to load and fire it years ago. But I am sure we shan’t need it.”

  To Maria’s relief and Emma’s slight chagrin, for she would have liked the opportunity of being a heroine, the last few miles were traveled without incident. When they arrived in Cumberland Square, the hour was so late that a fitful moon pierced the blackness of the night and lighted windows shone like stage sets, fascinating the girls with the diversity of interiors that met their dazzled eyes.

  The coach stopped outside a large house, the last of an imposing terrace that faced a square garden of which Emma

  could only see the silhouette of wide spreading trees and the gleam of iron railings. The folding steps were let down and Sir Julian appeared, his hand upraised to help her descend.

  After so long a journey Emma was stiff and glad of his aid. Stepping down onto the pavement, she took a breath of damp night air and, for the first time in weeks, missed the smell of salt. Behind her, her guardian helped Maria down and then led them up the steps to the front door, which had been opened wide by a butler.

  “Welcome, Sir Julian,” he said, bowing. “And Miss Be- ringer,” he added, bowing again.

  “How do you do, Frobisher,” said the baronet pleasantly, pulling off his gloves. “I hope we haven’t kept you up. ”

  “Not at all, sir. Her ladyship is in the withdrawing room.”

  “Announce us then,” commanded Sir Julian. “This is Maria Thomas,” he went on, drawing the girl forward. “Take her to Mrs. Frobisher, and ask her to take care of her.”

  “Very good, sir,” answered the butler impassively, appearing to accept the arrival of a forlorn little figure, clutching a shawl-wrapped bundle, as an everyday occurrence.

  Crossing the hall ahead of them, he flung a pair of double doors open and announced them in sonorous tones that reminded Emma forcibly of her brief sojourn with Molly Rourk.

  A plump, fashionably dressed lady looked up from a small table where she had been playing patience, a smile lighting her face.

  “Julian, my dear,” she exclaimed, holding out her hand.

  “Aunt Di,” he murmured, touching her hand to his lips. “Pray let me present my ward, Miss Beringer—Lady Beau- vale.”

  Coming forward, Emma curtsied and raised her eyes to find herself receiving a surprisingly shrewd gaze. “Your servant, Ma’am,” she said.

  “A pleasure to receive you, my dear,” said the older woman. “My sympathies on the circumstances which bring you here, but be sure that Elvira and I, indeed the whole household, will do our best to make you feel that this is your home now.”

  She smiled pleasantly, and Emma began to feel that perhaps her sojourn in Cumberland Square would not be so bad after all.

  Seeing her weariness beginning to show, Lady Beauvale went on kindly, “I’m sure you are tired after your journey. I know from experience that Julian travels as if the devil were on his heels! Being so healthy himself, it never occurs to him that others may feel tired or wish to rest. So, my dear, your bedchamber is ready to receive you, and a supper will be brought up to you. For tonight, I have asked my maid to wait on you—I’m certain that her services will be welcome.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Lady Beauvale,” said Emma, grateful for the thoughtfulness of the older woman.

  Lady Beauvale rang a bell. “Then, my dear, I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, when you are rested.”

  The bedroom to which Emma was shown was light and airy with elegant furniture in the fashionable style. Pale green and white paper covered the walls, a dark green carpet was thick and luxurious underfoot, and the half-tester bed was a froth of white muslin curtains, looped back with green velvet ties.

  “Oh, how pretty!” she could not help exclaiming, and won a glance of approval from the thin, dour-faced maid waiting for her. “How do you do?” she went on ingenuously, holding out her hand in a friendly manner. “You must be Lady Beauvale’s maid. I’m very grateful for your offer to help me tonight.”

  The other sniffed, not to be won over so easily. “The name’s Hill, miss,” she said. “I wouldn’t be here—it’s really more Hetty’s place than mine—but Miss Elvira wouldn’t hear of losing her, even for a night. And, things being the way they are, of course I agreed.”

  Although filled with curiosity by this speech, Emma felt unable to ask the obvious question and had to wonder silently “how things were” with Sir Julian’s little sister. Too sleepy to care for long, she allowed the maid to help her undress and then slipped gratefully between the cool sheets of the high bed. Sitting up against the pillows to partake of a dish of tea and some chicken sandwiches before sliding down into the warm softness, she fell asleep to the comfortable sounds of Hill moving softly about the room.

  Chapter Four

  Disturbed by unfamiliar sounds and surroundings, Emma woke early next morning and lay for a moment listening to the calls from the street below, as traders offered ‘ ‘fine milk, ’ ’ “sweet lavender,” or “fresh meat” to the occupants of Cumberland Square.

  Sitting up with a sudden thrill of excitement, she could not help wondering what the future would hold for her. Climbing out of bed, she padded across the room and drew back the curtains to find that her bedchamber was on the comer of the house. To her right she could see the communal garden in the center of the square, and by opening the window and leaning out at a perilous angle, she could see that to her left the long garden belonging to the house was a riot of color with a stable-block at the far end.

  Having expected that a town house would be without a garden, she was pleased with her surroundings and, eager to explore, washed and dressed quickly in a drab cotton morning gown that had done Stirling service on the Peninsula. As she was arranging her hair there was a smart tap at the door, and a maid entered bearing a tray, accompanied by a young lady of about Emma’s age.

  “Oh, good!” she exclaimed. “I hoped that you’d be awake. I’m Elvira,” she added, holding out her hand. Small and plump, with a pink ribbon threaded artlessly through curls as dark as those of her brother, she smiled at Emma,

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  who, having expected a child, was trying to hide her surprise.

  “I’m very pleased to have you stay, you know,” she went on, her big black eyes sparkling with delight. “I am badly in need of a friend.”

  “Indeed?” was all Emma could find to say, unhappily aware of the maid, who was setting down the tray and seemed to be lingering longer than was strictly necessary.

  Catching her meaning, Elvira waved her hand airily. ‘ ‘Take no notice of Hetty—I assure you that she is the soul of discretion and totally in my confidence.” Pouring two cups of chocolate, she handed one to Emma and sipped from the other herself. “I must tell you at once, lest there be some misunderstanding, that there is tragedy in my life. My heart is broken! ’ ’

  She sighed dolefully and neatly demolished a thin slice of bread and butter, her expression sad and thoughtful.

  “I’m . . . very sorry to hear that,” said Emma. “A bereavement, you mean? Forgive me, I did not know.”

  Elvira shook her head impatiently. “My brother, whose name shall never pass my lips, has blighted my life,” she announced dramatically. “He has refused to allow me to become betrothed to the only man I shall ever love—and even worse, he has made sure that I shall never see my dear Bevis again, by sending him to his death!”

  “Dear me!” exclaimed her listener, blinking. “Surely not. I mean, Sir Julian does see
m rather high-handed, I admit, but how could he send someone to death?”

  “Bevis is of a delicate disposition—to be forced to live in servitude in the depths of despair would be his death!” said Elvira, in tragic tones.

  “Well, I can see that that would not be to anyone’s liking,” agreed Emma sympathetically. “But surely he must have done some wrong to be sent to prison?”

  Elvira shook her head impatiently. “Not to prison. Bevis is a poet!” she announced, tears sparkling on her black eyelashes. “And—that wretch, would send him to be a—a secretary with one of his cronies in N-Norfolk which, let me tell you, is just as bad as prison to one of Bevis’s sensibility! ’ ’ Having expected much worse, Emma nibbled a piece of bread thoughtfully. “Cannot he refuse to go?” she asked practically.

  “My love is poor. . . penniless, in fact. He relies on Ju— that wretch, for support, and he has withdrawn his aid, having found out our affection. He insists that poor, dear Bevis needs must earn his own living!”

  “Many must, you know,” Emma pointed out.

  “But Bevis was left to my brother’s care—”

  Emma looked up quickly. “His ward, you mean?”

  “Not exactly. Bevis is a distant kinsman, and when he was left an orphan, Julian—” having given up the attempt never to use her brother’s name again, she pronounced it with a fine note of loathing—“took him under his wing—and now when we have need of it, he has cut off his allowance and sent him to work like a common clerk. Just because he has never fallen in love himself, he has no feelings for those who have!”

  “To be sure, I thought him rather overbearing,” Emma agreed, and proceeded to tell her own tale of ill treatment.

  ‘ ‘Well, to be sure, I call that mean! ’ ’ declared Miss Leyton at the end of the account. “To deny you the chance of being another Mrs. Siddons is just like Julian. He thinks of nothing but his own desires. I’m sure you looked very attractive in your blue breeches. Oh, I do envy you such an experience— though, I must admit that I would feel a little discomforted in male costume.”

  “So did I,” confessed her new friend with feeling. “My legs seemed twice as long as normal, and I was horridly conscious of their shape. To be honest, I don’t think that I would care for a career on the stage.”

  “I don’t think Ju would allow it,” Elvira told her. “He’s a stick in the mud. Why, when I wanted to go to Vauxhall

  Gardens with a friend from school, who was in town visiting, he would not hear of it. And, what harm could there be in that? I told him that we all intended to wear masks, but it made no difference. And Aunt agreed with him—she usually does.”

  ‘‘Lady Beauvale seemed very pleasant when I met her last night.”

  ‘‘Oh, Aunt Diana is the kindest person. Unfortunately she dotes on Julian and will almost always take his part.”

  “What does she think of his treatment of Bevis?” asked Emma curiously.

  Elvira’s lower lip protruded, and her black eyebrows drew together. “In that she is utterly unfeeling—she says it’s time he learned to stand on his own feet.” She leaned closer to say confidingly in Emma’s ear, “I intend to invite the Prince Regent to be his patron. All poets have patrons, don’t they? Even Shakespeare. I did ask Julian, but he was very rude.”

  Her new friend had no difficulty in imagining Sir Julian’s response to such a request. “What does Bevis—I really should know his surname,” she pointed out. “It seems very familiar to be using his first name, when I haven’t even met him.”

  “Browne—with an E. I don’t think that there has been a poet with that name before.”

  “No,” agreed Emma, and continued with her question. “What does Mr. Browne write?”

  “Oh, such romantic, beautiful poems. One I liked particularly was ‘Upon the First Wagtail’ . . . quite different from Keats’s ‘Upon the First Skylark,’ I do assure you. Just now he is working upon one about me. It begins ‘To the mole upon my love’s alabaster cheek.’ It sounds well, don’t you think?”

  “Extremely so,” said her companion, forebearing to point out that Miss Leyton’s healthy complexion in no way resembled the poet’s description. “Do you have a mole?” she asked, leaning closer.

  “Well, no,” confessed Elvira, “but Bevis says it is poetic license.”

  “I—see,” murmured Emma, nonplussed. “But then, how do you know it’s about you?”

  “Bevis told me so,” answered Miss Leyton with beautiful simplicity. She looked at Emma with huge, artless eyes. 4 ‘I must confess that when I heard that you were coming, I was not at all pleased, but now I am sure we shall be great friends. I shall call you Emma, and you must call me Elvira, we shall not be formal and term each other Miss Beringer and Miss Leyton. Do you not agree?”

  4 4 Agreed! ’ ’ cried Emma, holding out her hand and feeling happier than she had felt for some time.

  Her hand was clasped warmly and then, jumping up, Elvira dragged her to her feet. “We have so much to do today, I declare that we shall be exhausted well before dinner. My horrible brother has promised me a purse to go shopping with this morning, but first we must go and pay our respects to Aunt Diana.”

  Emma hung back as the other hurried to the door. “I brought a little girl with me. Sir Julian said she could be my maid—I really ought to see her before I do anything. ” “Maria, you mean? I’ve heard all about her from Hetty. Her tale is vastly romantic. Perhaps she is a lost heiress. Let Hetty bring her up here while we see Aunt Diana.”

  Satisfied with the suggestion, Emma followed her friend down the stairs and into the breakfast room, where they found Lady Beauvale perusing her mail as she sipped her tea.

  “Good morning, my dears.” She smiled, looking up, and Emma thought that she had never seen so becoming a morning cap as adorned Lady Beauvale’s soft curls. “You are looking refreshed, Emma. I trust that you slept well?”

  The door behind her opened before she could reply, and Sir Julian entered, dressed for riding, and Emma could not but admit that the habit became his tall, broad-shouldered figure.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said, bowing. “I had not expected to see you up so early, Elvira. You may not believe it, Miss Beringer, on this evidence, but my sister is usually a slug-a-bed.”

  He spoke teasingly, but Elvira had assumed the expression of a martyr and would not allow herself to be wooed.

  “As you can see, Emma, my brother is set upon being disagreeable.”

  “Nothing of the kind, Elf—and well you know it. Let us be friends and forget what has gone before.”

  Elvira turned a shoulder upon his winning voice and stared moodily out of the window. Her brother sighed, his face clouding.

  “Knowing the usual state of your finances, I take it that you intend to accept my gift to enable you to buy some fripperies this morning?” His mouth was tight as he held out a purse, making no effort to hand it to his sister but forcing her to come to him.

  Elvira hesitated, wanting the money but not wishing to accept largess from her brother.

  “Elvira,” put in Lady Beauvale softly. “We have a guest. Such squabbling is unseemly. If you wish the money, pray take it with good grace.”

  Abruptly, the dark girl turned back from her contemplation of the railed garden below, tears glittering on her black eyelashes, looking so miserable that Julian relented, tossing the net purse to her before she reached him and then, to her surprise, crossed to Emma and dropped a similar receptacle into her lap.

  “A guardian’s privilege,” he said, as she looked up, startled.

  “Oh, no,” she cried. “I really don’t think—”

  “Of course you can, Emma,” put in Lady Beauvale. “It would be perfectly proper to accept, indeed it would be churlish to refuse.”

  Emma’s cheeks flared hotly with embarrassment. “It is very k—kind of you,” she began uncertainly, “but...” “Nonsense!” was the robust reply. “You must know that I am trying to make amends to my sibling, he
re. She has filled the house successfully with misery and gloom for the last three weeks. If you go shopping with her and she forgets her personal tragedy—even for a few hours—the entire household will be extremely grateful to you, Miss Beringer. So take it, child, you’ll be doing us all a favor.”

  Without waiting for her reply, he bowed to the ladies in general and left the room. His footsteps could be heard crossing the marble tiles of the hall, before the front door closed smartly and a few seconds later the sound of horse hooves announced his departure.

  “The brute!” cried Miss Leyton feelingly.

  “Elvira! I grow tired of your dramatics,” announced her aunt. “Julian has your welfare in mind. You may think that you would like life in a garret, but, believe me, you would not. You do not need me to remind you of your manners— you are forgetting Emma. Pray calm yourself, and remember the courtesy due to a guest. ”

  Elvira pouted but made an effort to obey her aunt, turning to Emma to say in a bright, social voice, “I daresay it is nothing new to you, Emma dear, to shop in London.” “Now there you are wrong,” answered Emma candidly. “To own the truth, I have never been in London before. After my mother died, I was at school in Hampshire, and after that I was with my father in the Peninsula. Shops, to me, are a new luxury, and I’m afraid that I have already made one blunder—!”

  Elvira was interested. “How?” she demanded, and even Lady Beauvale appeared interested.

  Emma hesitated teasingly. “It was a hat,” she said at last. “A totally unsuitable but devastatingly beautiful bonnet, lined with red silk and bewitchingly trimmed with voluptuous white roses. I fell in love with it, and when I wore it. . .