by Vanessa Gray
So now, when she suggested that Chloe read to her — “to settle my nerves” — she was more than ordinarily civil.
A copy of The Pilgrim’s Progress on her lap, Chloe found that her mind was not on her reading. Whenever her voice faltered, Lady Rothwell opened her eyes and said, “Are you too tired, Chloe, to go on?”
Chloe, brought up sharply to a sense of duty, protested and took up the book again.
Chloe had much to think about, none of it pleasant. She had told no one, after all, about Thaddeus Invers’ offer. Edward had gone to London and she must wait until his return to tell him that she had refused his entry in the Chloe sweepstakes. The thought was frivolous, and owed much to her mischievous sense of humor. Richard had settled her back on an even keel, and she was now, or would soon be, able to regard Invers in the light which he deserved.
She was safe from a renewed assault on her marriageable status from Invers, but the words that he had spoken still rankled. There was no way she could forget them, for they had etched themselves already into her mind.
It was more than lowering to realize that even someone whom she respected as little as she respected Thaddeus Invers could tell her that her only charm lay in her inheritance. The obvious corollary to that was that there were many women more deserving of attention than she. This led naturally to the thought that Sir Richard had had a “successful” visit to London, and therefore was more than certain to have come home with arrangements already made for his marriage.
Chloe was turned back upon herself. She feared everyone now, for her self-esteem was at its lowest ebb. No one but her family valued her — and Edward had said she always had a place here at Rothwell Manor. Chloe realized that her family was her life, and whatever they said to her, or did, meant nothing as opposed to their steadfast affection for her.
Pilgrim had long since begun to pall, and Chloe almost welcomed Sophy’s interruption.
No matter what Edward said about her reprehensible laxness in bringing up her girls, yet when Sophy pleaded, as she did now, Lady Rothwell was not proof against her.
Sophy cried out, “I promised to let Lady Partridge know whether or not I could go with them to Bath, and, Mama, please say I may. I must go, for Emma will be gone above a month, and I cannot abide the thought!”
Lady Rothwell hesitated. “Your brother has said you may not go —”
But Sophy interrupted. “He said I couldn’t go to the ball either, but you arranged it after all,” Sophy reminded her mother astutely. It took a long time, and Sophy almost despaired of getting her own way, but at the end Lady Rothwell gave in.
“You know how angry Edward will be,” she said, “and I do not know how to see this through. Chloe?”
Chloe said, quietly, “I would not know how to go on, either.”
Lady Rothwell fell back upon her previous gambit. She could get Sophy out of sight before Edward ever came back. She said, musingly, “Your brother won’t be back for a week — I shall try to see what we can do.”
Lady Rothwell’s own conscience in the matter was not clear. She had a lowering feeling that Edward was right, that she was too lax with her girls. She had had so little trouble bringing up Chloe that she had felt the same tactics would prevail with her own girls. But they were of a different mettle and it was quite too late to change. Besides, Lady Rothwell had the underlying feeling that Chloe, not being her own daughter, was therefore in some way inferior. Lady Rothwell might even have been made to admit that she felt that Chloe’s legacy was totally unjust — that the legacy should have come to Lydia and Sophy. Logic told her that she was foolish, but her heart said that her girls should have the best.
For peace in the family, she explained to Chloe, “I do not feel that I can abide Sophy’s being unhappy for six weeks.”
There was no time to get gowns made for Sophy, and Sophy, to her credit, did not ask for any.
It was enough for Sophy that she would be able to go with her dear friend Emma, and she bounced out of the room, her mother’s fond gaze following her as far as she could see her.
It was expected that Edward would not return until the following week. He would, of course, stay with Lady Rothwell’s sister in London, but his patience was sometimes uncertain and he might tire of them before the week’s end.
The women of his family had no idea why he had gone to London. They did not even ask. Edward ran all the business of the family and told them nothing, and it did not occur to any of them to ask what business could have taken him so abruptly to London.
Lady Rothwell, talking privately with Chloe, said, “Lady Partridge and her party will be leaving in three days. That’s time enough.”
The unspoken word between them lay quivering in the air. In good time to avoid Edward, was Lady Rothwell’s thought. Chloe, with only part of her mind, heard Lady Rothwell’s request for a few new ribbons for Sophy, and it was decided that the next day they would go to town, for, “you must know,” said Lady Rothwell, “I am longing to see how Miss Sinclair is getting on with Lydia’s gowns.”
The next day dawned clear and pleasant. Lady Rothwell ordered the open carriage and they all began the hour’s trip to town.
They were all in unaccustomed good humor — the more surprising since they were embarking on what was after all a conspiracy to balk Edward’s wishes.
Even Chloe, although she had slept badly and had lost her appetite, felt her spirits rising, for they had claimed they could not do without her on their trip to town, and she felt needed once more.
Try as she might, she could not dismiss Thaddeus Invers’ last remarks to her. She did not wish to think of the excoriating accusations he had laid at her feet, but neither could she erase them. They had cut too deeply.
Lady Rothwell did not travel as Chloe had, behind a green groom. She traveled at a spanking pace behind a pair, the assistant coachman, a groom, and a footman — the latter to carry parcels — and the trip was made safely. The sun was warm, June was toward its end, and the trip was enjoyable. They passed the church. Lady Rothwell bowed and spoke kindly to passersby, in her role as gracious lady of Rothwell Manor. But many more friendly looks came Chloe’s way, for she was well known for her kindness, her sweet disposition, and as much generosity as she could manage.
At length they pulled up before Miss Sinclair’s house, where Edward’s coach had stood only yesterday.
Miss Sinclair, looking out the window, felt what could only be described as intense dismay. She must let them in, but she dreaded the next moments with all the intensity of her spirit.
She was quite correct. The next half hour turned out to be even worse than she feared.
Lady Rothwell came in, followed by Lydia and Sophy, Chloe lagging behind.
“Lady Rothwell — I did not know you were going to come today — may I offer you tea — I fear I have no small cakes,” stammered the seamstress.
Lady Rothwell, as gracious as usual, looked around her with hard eyes. “I confess, Miss Sinclair, I had expected to see you hard at work. There is not much time, you know.”
Lydia, impatient as always, wandered around the edge of the room, picking up various fabrics and setting them down again. She recognized none of the work in progress.
Lady Rothwell, refusing tea, sat in the one comfortable chair and fixed Miss Sinclair with a firm eye. Lady Rothwell often said that she knew well how to treat her inferiors, and was prepared to demonstrate.
“Now, Miss Sinclair, let us see what you’ve done.”
Miss Sinclair, taking her courage in both hands and unobtrusively edging toward the door to the interior apartment, said, “I’ve done nothing.”
Lady Rothwell seemed to swell in size, and Miss Sinclair, casting about for any excuse, whether or not it be the truth, said, unfortunately, “Luckily I had a headache —”
Lady Rothwell seized upon the word. “Luckily!”
“So I didn’t start — so there is no harm done — no harm at all — I will simply —”
L
ady Rothwell demanded an explanation. “You haven’t started? I think you need to explain a little further, Miss Sinclair. I had not thought you so lost to duty as to let a headache interfere with your work. If I let a headache interfere with my affairs every time I felt like it, nothing would get done.”
Chloe shot a sidelong glance at her stepmother. It was true — Lady Rothwell never allowed a headache to interfere with the running of the household. Whether it were Lady Rothwell’s headache or Chloe’s made no difference to Lady Rothwell.
Miss Sinclair, finally resenting Lady Rothwell’s overbearing manner and remembering that she had Lord Rothwell himself on her side, decided to stand up against tyranny.
“Lord Rothwell was here yesterday — he’s not like many a man, to let a person run up a bill and not know how to meet their own expenses — Lord Rothwell is always one to pay his bills promptly, and I must say —” She realized she was not getting anywhere, and started over again. “Lord Rothwell cancelled it all.”
There it was, the bald statement, out in the open at last. They learned, by dint of questioning by Chloe, for Lady Rothwell was so angry she seemed about to burst and dared not speak, that Edward had come in to pay for Lydia’s gown and learned about the other orders for Lydia’s trip to London. “He turned white,” said Miss Sinclair. “I’ve often heard of people turning white with anger, but I never saw it before.”
“Cancelled —”
“Cancelled everything!” Miss Sinclair, appalled at the various family emotions laid out barely before her, faltered once more. “He said, plans had been changed, Miss Lydia was not going to London.” Her voice trailed away, for she had no longer the power of speech.
Chloe fished the smelling salts out of her reticule. She had never needed them before, but at Lady Rothwell’s instructions she always carried them.
Now they came into their own, for Lady Rothwell was near collapse. Miss Sinclair, now that the die had been cast and the word passed to Lady Rothwell, simply washed her hands of the whole matter. She knew that her customers would not return, but if only Lady Rothwell did not blame her and spread the news that Miss Sinclair was unreliable. Lady Rothwell couldn’t be so unjust! Could she?
Miss Sinclair, having had dreams of her gowns making a great splash in London, scrapped her ambition without a backward glance. Now she was simply hoping that she did not lose more clients than Lady Rothwell.
At length they were all back in the open carriage and starting along the road to the Manor. Lady Rothwell, no longer attempting to play gracious lady, glowered at all whom she met. Chloe, for her part, strove for a little deportment, but even her smile lacked force.
They were so intent upon their own troubles, Lydia sobbing in her corner, Lady Rothwell frowning forbiddingly into space, that no one saw Julian Stoddard leaving the inn, and struck by the attitude of the Rothwell party, saying to himself, Something is sadly amiss there!
Lydia wept all the way home. Lady Rothwell gave the impression of a fireworks display mistakenly set alight and about to explode.
Sophy, without her new ribbons, began to have second thoughts about deceiving her brother. If Edward were so high-handed as to cancel their order to Miss Sinclair without a word to anyone, then Sophy thought quite simply there was nothing he wouldn’t do. If she could get to Bath, then she might be safe — but now she began to wonder if Edward would in fact come to Bath and drag her home in disgrace.
Chloe, judging the time was not right to set forth her ideas, nonetheless sympathized entirely with Edward. It was not miserliness, it was not high-handedness — it was simply that Edward was trying to keep the family living within the bounds of propriety, and finding it uphill all the way. The journey home was endless, and it seemed that even nature sympathized with Lady Rothwell, for a thin veil of cloud moved across the sun, darkening the day.
Once home, they all retreated to their various rooms to recover. Chloe decided to set her dresser drawers in order. It was while she was engaged in this commendable activity that she noticed that the pearl box was still empty. She went to Lydia’s room and found Lady Rothwell trying to console Lydia, being much in need of consolation herself. Chloe said, “Lydia, if you’d just give me my pearls —”
Lydia, to whom Chloe’s natural request was simply the last straw, cried out, “I’ve lost them!”
Chloe, her knees shaking, cried, “Lost! How could you?”
Lady Rothwell, as an indication of the seriousness of the matter, joined in the search. Lydia’s room was turned inside out. But there were still no pearls. “Did you lose them at Lady Partridge’s?”
Lydia said, “I don’t know where I lost them. Does it matter?”
Chloe was shocked to her toes. “I’ll send to Lady Partridge and ask her to make a search for them.” Chloe’s voice tightened. “When did you see them last? Were they in the dress? Are they caught in the coach cushions? In that case, they are in London.”
Suddenly Sophy became very quiet. If anyone had noticed, there was an arrested look of realization on Sophy’s plump face.
The house was turned upside down, but there were no pearls. At last, late in the afternoon, Lydia gave up the search. She cried out, “What difference does it make to you, Chloe? You’re rich enough to buy half a dozen strands of pearls!”
Chloe, shocked and hurt, turned instinctively to Lady Rothwell for support, but to her great dismay, Lady Rothwell said nothing. Lydia was not even scolded for losing the pearls, nor for her very common remark.
24
The third day after the ball arrived, and there was still no sign of Richard. That first day, she had cried on his shoulder when Thaddeus Invers had left her in such an emotional state. Now she feared that she had turned Richard away, with her constant clinging to him as though he were the only rock on the shore. For her, he was.
Chloe was, as her stepmother pointed out critically, in the mopes. “I hope that Lady Partridge finds my pearls, for I am heartbroken at losing them,” she explained.
The habit of sharing was deeply ingrained in her. All her life, she had been told that she must share with her younger sisters and her brother, and she could not now change, even though she saw now how little she was valued! Like sand on the shore, her generosity was taken for granted, with no suspicion that there might come an end to it. Chloe herself felt fairly caught, trapped in unhappiness of her own making. Even her Great Friend Richard was avoiding her.
But Richard, had she only known it, was absenting himself for good reason. After he had seen her real distress at Invers’ offer, even though he did not know what accusations Invers had hurled at her, Richard traveled again to London. He spent some hours with Aston, and satisfied at last, if not pleased, accomplished his purpose. He had stopped at Lady Theale’s on the way, and had received certain information from his cousin-in-law that had put wings to his feet. As soon as he was finished with Aston, he returned, anxious to be at Davenant Hall as soon as possible.
While Richard was in London, Julian Stoddard brooded over his own scheme. The inn he stayed at was not luxurious, but at least there were no bailiffs banging on the door. He needed money. He wished once and for all to be put beyond the reach of clamoring tradesmen, of the uncertainties of life, even, if his luck turned bad, of being evicted from his modest lodgings. His luck had not been overly generous recently, and he had a fear for the future.
Chloe, a shy nullity, was not to his taste, but her fortune certainly was.
Julian did not wish to approach Rothwell Manor as boldly as he had the first time. His welcome then had been cool, and he feared that now, after dancing with Lydia and prompting her outburst, he would be turned away. But Julian, a man with a devious mind well honed by circumstance, was in the process of working out a scheme which would bring him everything he wanted.
Francis, at last, arrived in the inn, and Julian greeted him impatiently. “I’ve been waiting for you to come — so I can tell you that I’ve given up on your cousin.”
Francis was manife
stly relieved. “I can pay you what I owe you, I think.”
Julian, with an expansive gesture, said, “You did what I asked you to, so we’ll consider the debt paid off.”
Francis, as a matter of honor, promised Julian, “I’ll pay you. It won’t be today, but soon.”
Now on much easier terms with each other, Julian called for drinks, and he and Francis sat further in conversation. Francis, for lack of anything else to say, explained that Chloe’s pearls were missing.
Julian said, “Was your cousin wearing them?”
Francis said, “Yes, Lydia was, and now the fat’s in the fire for sure. For she has lost them, and no one knows where they are. I am going back to London, for there’s no reason to stay any longer.” In Francis’s mind were mingled gratitude that Chloe had refused him and relief that he would no longer have to meet his aunt’s accusing gaze at every meal.
Julian, pursuing his own scheme, told Francis that he was going on to Brighton. “For the Prince Regent is much more amusing than Rothwell Manor, I’ll tell you.”
Francis, when he left, thought he had seen the last of Julian Stoddard. He made a vow to himself never again to gamble in a private house, or in fact — and this was a hard decision for Francis to make — to gamble anywhere. He had a strong suspicion that the cards had been marked, and while he had thought that his host was a man of honor, clearly he was mistaken.
Julian, on his part, brooded over the new information that Francis had unwittingly given him. Dare he try? Stoddard weighed all the facts, and finally decided that at worst he could only be shown up as a gambler — and the world already knew that.
Poring long over the form that his plan was to take, he at last penned an equivocal letter to Miss Lydia Rothwell. Reading it over, he was satisfied. It said enough, not too much. If, on the basis of the letter, Lydia thought he had the missing pearls, so much the better. He had not said so, but he banked heavily on Lydia’s shallow intellect to fill in the missing blanks in the letter.