George opened the feast by saying grace, then made a toast to his family, his guests, as well as all the servants who had gathered silently at the far end of the room.
After the servants left the dining room, Isabel’s mother smiled apologetically. “I am afraid, Lady Kildaren, we are somewhat lacking in gentlemen this evening to make up the numbers.”
“That is not a problem at all,” Lady Kildaren declared. “Half the gentlemen of my acquaintance are dead bores, and when seated beside me at table they try to humour me by speaking very loudly in my ear. It is particularly vexing as I have excellent hearing. I far prefer to have Lady Axbridge seated beside me. At least she doesn’t shout.”
Isabel smiled and instinctively lowered her voice as she engaged Lady Kildaren in conversation: “You are enjoying the Season, ma’am?”
Her ladyship snorted. “As much as it is possible for me to do so at my age. I am afraid the older I get the more I cannot tolerate fools. Speaking of fools, are you any less blind since I saw you last?”
Isabel’s brow creased in puzzlement, and then she remembered Lady Kildaren’s parting comment before she had climbed into her carriage at Chernock Hall. I hope you will soon see what should be as plain as the nose on your face.
Her cheeks warmed, and Lady Kildaren viewed her with an eagle eye. “And well may you colour up, my dear! I cannot believe what a dance you have been leading my grandson. If I did not know better, I would imagine you enjoy leading him about by the nose.”
“I – I – that is…”
“So – are you any less blind?”
Isabel swallowed hard. Though she had not moved her head, she could feel Mr Bateman’s gaze upon her. Lady Kildaren had placed her in an impossible position! She stole a glance in his direction, and encountered his amused regard, before looking away quickly and staring at the cream tablecloth. Perhaps now was as good a time as any to make her feelings plain.
She took a deep breath. “I see things much more clearly now, ma’am, and I – er – highly value your grandson’s regard.”
“Well, it took you long enough, child!” Lady Kildaren turned away to speak to George, and Isabel clenched her hands nervously in her lap. She had been hungry when she entered the dining room and smelled the delicious food, but now she had lost her appetite completely.
“May I serve you some roasted goose, my lady?” Mr Bateman asked quietly.
Seeing the twinkle in his eyes, she relaxed. “Thank you, Mr Bateman,” she replied primly.
He kept up a steady flow of conversation after that, and put her entirely at her ease, to the point where she managed to eat a fair amount of her Christmas dinner, and even managed a portion of the Christmas pudding Watkins brought into the dining room and set ceremoniously ablaze. And when Mr Bateman offered her some wassail, she accepted a glass of the spiced wine punch with alacrity, entering into the spirit of the festivities.
Isabel and the other ladies left the table after they had eaten their Christmas pudding, but the gentlemen did not linger long over their port and repaired to the drawing room a short while later, joining the ladies in front of the blazing fire.
The rest of the evening passed in something of a blur for Isabel. Mr Bateman took a seat beside her, stretching out his long legs, but he conversed with the other members of the party, and did not give her any special attention until he turned to her much later in the evening, and murmured, “My dear Lady Axbridge, would you care to stroll about the room with me?”
Isabel took his outstretched hand, and rose. “Indeed, after that meal, I believe I shall disgrace myself by falling asleep in front of the fire if I remain seated.”
She placed her hand in the crook of his arm, and they walked the length of the drawing room before circling back. When they arrived at the drawing room door, Mr Bateman drew her to a halt. He glanced up at the greenery above their heads, and a decided glint lit his eyes. “I would hate to disappoint the – er – romantic person who placed this kissing bough above the door.”
Isabel gazed at him in horror. “I – I did not place it there! Mama did! I cannot believe you think I would do such a thing. I –”
However, before she could say another word, Mr Bateman leaned down and silenced her with his lips. He did not kiss her for very long, but it was long enough to make her heart race. He raised his head, gave her a wicked grin, then tucked her hand back into the crook of his arm, and continued their walk around the room.
He behaved as if nothing untoward had happened. Except that it had. He had kissed her in full view of anyone who had cared to look. Her cheeks burned at the thought of someone having witnessed it. But when they returned to their chairs in front of the fire, no one gave any indication that their scandalous embrace had been observed, and the tension in Isabel’s shoulders eased.
That was until Lady Kildaren bestowed a decided smirk on her, and said, “Reformed rakes make the best husbands, my dear. I wonder if you know that?”
Fortunately the old lady did not seem to expect an answer to her outrageous question, and Isabel, after giving her a shocked look, took refuge in a feverish conversation with Cousin Maria, studiously avoiding looking at Mr Bateman who had taken his seat beside her. A few minutes later, he rose. “I must take my grandmother home. It is getting late. Thank you for a most enjoyable evening, Mrs Chernock, Cherny.”
He assisted his grandmother to her feet, and in a chorus of greetings and “Merry Christmases” Isabel and her family bid their guests good night. Under cover of the farewells, Mr Bateman took Isabel aside. “I will be calling on you shortly, my dear,” he said, keeping his voice low so no-one else could hear. “Good night.”
Isabel watched his retreating back, and her heart expanded until she thought it would burst. If she was not mistaken, within a very short while, she would be betrothed to the man she loved. And, instead of dreading the idea of being tied to him for life, she welcomed it. Somehow, in some mysterious way, she had come full circle.
Chapter Twenty-Four
26th December was St. Stephen’s Day, and Isabel and her mother spent most of the day delivering Christmas boxes to the poor, to their servants, and also to the tradesmen they did business with, before attending a Christmas Pantomime at Drury Lane in the evening.
In bed that night, Isabel wondered if Mr Bateman would pay his promised call on the morrow. Excitement filled her as she imagined his proposal, and her joyous acceptance of it. Her love for Mr Bateman far eclipsed anything she had ever felt for Lord Fenmore. It was like the difference between a drawing in colour and a black and white sketch.
However, when she awoke the next day and looked out her bedroom window, her heart sank. Dense fog swathed Portman Square, and she doubted if Mr Bateman would be able to find his way to Chernock House when visibility appeared to be less than twenty yards.
And indeed, the fog did not lift for more than a week. Isabel paced the house in frustration as one foggy day followed the next, but she dared not leave the premises, as she was worried she would not be able to find her way back home. Even George did not venture outside after he attempted to drive out of the Square one morning and lost his way.
Instead, he spent his days working in the library, while Isabel, her mother, and Cousin Maria occupied themselves in the drawing room with reading the latest novels from the circulating library, and their ever-present embroidery. Isabel also played the pianoforte for an hour or so every day, as her busy life in London had led her to neglect the time she usually devoted to her chosen musical instrument.
With each successive day that Mr Bateman failed to appear in Portman Square, Isabel’s desire for news grew. She pressed George for every bit of information to be had, and even asked Simmonds for any gossip she may have overheard in the Servants’ Hall.
And so Isabel learned that the fog had been so thick on 27th December that the Prince Regent, on his way to visit the Marquess of Salisbury at Hatfield House near St. Albans, had been forced to turn back at Kentish Town and return to Carl
ton House. This usually short journey had taken him several hours and one of his outriders had fallen into a ditch.
The Maidenhead coach had lost its way and overturned, injuring Tory peer Lord Hawarden, along with other passengers; while the Birmingham mail coach had taken nearly seven hours to travel from London to just past Uxbridge.
George’s coachman also related the information he heard from his fellow coachmen that the traffic in London had come to a virtual standstill on the nights of the 30th and 31st December due to the lack of visibility. Many coachmen had been forced to lead their horses, while others had only driven at a walking pace, and very few pedestrians had dared venture outside for fear they would lose their way.
It was only on 3rd January that the fog eventually lifted, and by this time, Isabel had fatalistically accepted the bad weather and the nasty tricks it appeared to be playing on her. Her mother and Cousin Maria immediately set out to pay a couple of morning calls, but Isabel had a horror of the disorientating swirling white mists, and decided to stay home for a few more hours until she was sure it was safe to venture outside. If the mist did not descend again in the next while, she would venture out for a walk, as she was desperate for a breath of fresh air after being cooped up indoors all week.
Spring cleaning her bedchamber would get rid of some of her nervous energy, she decided, but when she informed Simmonds of her intentions, her maid said, with a puzzled frown, “In winter, my lady?”
“I was not being literal, Simmonds. I am looking for something to do until I can go for a walk later. I am heartily sick of my embroidery!”
Simmonds followed Isabel to her bedchamber to start on the allotted task. They were sorting through the trunks Isabel had brought with her from Chernock Hall when Simmonds said: “This is strange.”
Isabel glanced over to see Simmonds holding a brown leather pouch in her hands. “What is that?”
“I have no idea, my lady. It was hidden under the blanket at the bottom of your trunk.”
“Let me have a look.” Isabel held out her hand for the package.
She took the pouch from Simmonds and opened the drawstring. A sheaf of rolled-up papers fell out, and Isabel stared at them in consternation. Smoothing the pages out, she attempted to read the text, but it was in a foreign language – more than likely Spanish – and although she could make out some of the words due to her sketchy knowledge of Latin, her understanding was limited.
“I think this is some sort of maritime document,” she said eventually. “I wonder how it came to be in my trunk?”
In a blinding flash, she remembered Mr Wetherby’s stolen papers, and her stomach dropped. “I believe these must be the papers that went missing at Chernock Hall.”
Simmonds’ mouth fell open. “But how did they come to be in your trunk, my lady?”
Isabel’s brow furrowed as she thought back. “Perhaps the valet who absconded hid them in my trunk in the box room with the idea of retrieving them at a later date? Let me speak to George.”
She hurried downstairs, but Watkins informed her that her stepfather had just left the house, and she frowned. Ever since the house party at Chernock Hall, George had developed a violent dislike of the Wetherby men and had avoided all contact with them, particularly as it had become clear towards the end of the house party that the valet who had absconded had in all probability been the guilty party, as opposed to George’s own servants. Her usually calm relative simmered with anger every time the Wetherbys were mentioned.
Perhaps the best thing to do would be to pay a visit to Mrs Wetherby on her own and give the papers to her. She lacked her husband’s volatility, and if Isabel explained to her how the papers had been secreted in a trunk in the box room, Mrs Wetherby could then be the one to inform her choleric husband of the matter, which would hopefully pour oil on troubled waters, and prevent an uncomfortable confrontation between Captain Wetherby and her stepfather.
She hurried into her room. “I am going across the Square with these papers, Simmonds. I won’t be longer than half an hour. Peter can accompany me.”
“But, my lady, your mama and Miss Chernock are out. You should wait for them to return.”
Isabel grimaced at the thought of taking Cousin Maria along with her on the morning call. The incident of the stolen papers had affected her delicate sensibilities and she would in all likelihood make the situation worse. “I will go alone, Simmonds. I think it is best. Cousin Maria… well – she was very upset when she learned of this incident, and she will probably succumb to the vapours or some such thing.”
Simmonds opened her eyes wide in understanding. “Indeed, my lady.”
Isabel dressed warmly, and hurried downstairs, but both Peter and Edward, the second footman, were out on errands. Traipsing upstairs again, she found Simmonds, who was sorting through yet another of her trunks. “Please accompany me across the Square. Peter and Edward have both gone out on errands for Cook. You can have a cup of tea in the Servants’ Hall at Wetherby House, while I call on Mrs Wetherby.”
Simmonds sniffed. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but I refuse to set foot in that unchristian household. The way they treated poor Mary – it beggars belief! The servants must have taken their tone from their master because they behaved very ill towards her. I won’t be able to hold my tongue if I venture there, and I must do so in order to protect that poor girl.” She stood up. “I will accompany you across the Square, and then return here. You shall be visiting for half an hour?”
Isabel nodded.
“I shall return to Wetherby House after twenty minutes, and wait for you, in case you wish to leave early.”
“But you cannot wait for me outside! It is bitterly cold. I will walk back on my own.”
“I will be waiting, my lady. You must not walk unaccompanied.”
They left the house then, and Isabel’s cheeks tingled as she crossed the Square. She walked briskly, blowing puffs of air out in front of her. Perhaps the exercise would warm her up.
When Isabel reached the house, she knocked on the front door and a harried-looking butler opened it a moment later.
“I have come to pay a call on Mrs Wetherby. Is she home?” Isabel asked.
The butler nodded, and Simmonds, upon hearing this, turned and marched away.
Isabel stepped into the hallway as the man-servant opened the door wide, and she glanced around. Her head jerked in the direction of the far end of the hall when a horribly familiar voice said: “Ah, Lady Axbridge, you have come just in time to see me off.”
Mr Wetherby stood there, dressed in an overcoat, and holding a beaver hat and a cane in his gloved hands.
She didn’t bother to greet him, but said, “I thought you left London before Christmas!”
“I was delayed by a day, and then the bad weather set in. I have just bid my family farewell and am on my way.” He advanced towards her, dismissing the butler with a curt nod.
“Let me take your hat and cloak,” Mr Wetherby said, with an unctuous smile.
“I – I am not staying long. I hoped to see your mother. But seeing as how you haven’t left as yet… I have something I need to give you.”
“This is getting more and more interesting, my sweet. Come inside.” He opened a door off the hallway.
Isabel moved past him into a dining room. An unusual place for him to lead her, but she shrugged it off and reached into the basket she carried for the leather pouch. “My maid was spring cleaning my bedchamber when she came across your leather pouch at the bottom of my trunk. Whoever stole your papers must have taken fright, and hidden them in my trunk in the box room.”
Mr Wetherby’s smile vanished, and his expression turned menacing. “My papers!” He snatched the pouch from her hands and opened the drawstring. Taking the documents out, he studied them avidly. “Did you look at them?”
“I did,” she admitted, a note of apology in her voice. “I wasn’t sure what they were at first.”
“You understand Spanish?” he snapped.
/> “A little.”
“Well, there is nothing else to be done, my sweet. You’re coming with me.”
“Why – what do you mean?” Her breath caught in her throat.
“Just what I said. I cannot have you talking about what you’ve read. These papers are highly confidential.”
“But I didn’t understand much of what I read! Just that your papers are some sort of maritime document.”
“That is enough,” he said grimly. “Come along. I might as well kill two birds with one stone.”
He took her arm in a firm grip, and dragged her towards a screen which concealed a green baize door. He opened the door, and pushed her through it, still retaining his vice-like grip on her arm.
“Where are you taking me?” Isabel’s voice shook, as he put his hand in the small of her back and forced her to walk down the stairs.
“To Antigua, my sweet. Where else?”
She gasped, but before she could say anything, she stepped straight into a kitchen. She saw the surprised face of the cook, before Mr Wetherby thrust her out the back door and into the kitchen courtyard. They passed an animal pen and a chicken coop, and although Isabel struggled, Mr Wetherby was far stronger than she, and he propelled her forward into a cobbled yard where a coach-and-four waited. Opening the carriage door, he shoved her inside, and shouted an instruction to the driver, who sat ready on the coach box, before climbing in after her.
“Your timing was impeccable, my sweet,” he said, as the coach shuddered into movement. “A few minutes later and you would have missed me.”
“You cannot do this!” Isabel said breathlessly.
“I can, and I will. I have no desire to travel alone to the West Indies. This suits me perfectly. We can marry when we arrive on the island.”
A Marchioness Below Stairs Page 16