by M C Beaton
“Are you sure?” demanded Harriet, her busy hands scrabbling in the lead box.
“Of course,” wailed Clarissa. “I know paste when I see it.”
“There’s something else here,” cried Harriet. “At the bottom of the box. A piece of paper.”
“Allow me, madam,” said Mr. Summers, edging her aside. “It may well be another document.”
Out through the glittering pile of paste jewels he drew a single sheet of paper. There was a message on it, short and to the point. He read it out.
“‘Well, you greedy lot, it’s a pity I’m not there to see your faces. Yes, I sold the lot and had paste ones made instead. But you will all be glad, James in particular, to know that your loss is the home for fallen women’s gain.”
There was a stunned silence. Then the air was filled with a terrible gurgling choking sound as James Manley scrabbled at his collar.
Lord Storm bent over James and loosened his clothing, then called for brandy. Jimmy and Duke sat together in the corner, their small eyes darting this way and that.
Miss Emily Winters began to laugh and laugh.
The Misses Kipling burst into tears. Clarissa sailed from the room without a backward glance. John Harris slumped down miserably in a chair. Harriet waited in a rigid silence until her brother was recovered and then harshly ordered him to escort her to her carriage.
Still crying, the Misses Kipling arose and followed the Manleys out. Mr. Summers sat at the table, staring at the glittering pile of fake diamonds.
Jimmy slipped from the room with Duke at his heels.
“Terrible,” muttered Mr. Summers. “Your father, Miss Winters, was a wicked, malicious old man.”
“But he left Miss Winters the estate and the fortune,” said Lord Storm calmly, “so there must have been some good in him.”
Mr. Summers waved his hands helplessly. “I fear I am quite overset, Miss Winters. Pray may I be allowed to retire?”
Emily nodded and rang the bell for a footman to show the lawyer to his room.
“I say, Bart,” said John Harris miserably. “I say, old man. I don’t know how to put this, but…”
“I think you will find Mrs. Singleton is waiting for you,” said Lord Storm quietly. “I think you should leave.”
Mr. Harris got wearily to his feet. “I didn’t mean any harm,” he said, looking from Emily to Lord Storm. “Really I didn’t. Clarissa said there was no harm in trying to put a ball in the dog, and she made it seem like a game. You must understand, Bart…”
“Please go,” said Lord Storm quietly. “I think Miss Winters has endured enough.”
John Harris walked to the door of the library and then hesitated with his hand on the handle. “I say, Bart,” he said over his shoulder. “I mean, can I come and see you one of these days, without Clarissa, I mean?”
“I do not think that would be in order for a while,” said Lord Storm in a kinder voice. “You are to be married quite soon, and it would not be at all the thing to leave your bride.”
“Who says I’m going to be married?” shouted John, and then, as if appalled at the loudness of his voice, he fled from the room.
Lord Storm and Emily were left alone.
“Women!” said Lord Storm in accents of loathing. “Only see how my friend John has changed to a weakling almost overnight.”
“Do not blame women,” said Emily. “Mr. Harris was probably always so. Circumstances highlighted his bad side, not Mrs. Singleton.”
He walked over and stood looking down at her. “So, you do not think love can unman anyone, Miss Winters?”
“That I could not tell you, my lord,” said Emily in a flat voice. “You see, I have never been in love.”
For one minute his eyes blazed, and then he said in an equally colorless voice, “You are like those diamonds over there, Miss Winters. Hard and glittering and cold and fake!”
And with that he turned on his heel and marched from the library, crashing the door behind him with a resounding bang.
Outside in the hall, Rogers snapped his fingers and two footmen rushed to open the main door for Lord Storm.
Rogers stood for some moments in thought. Then he went down to the kitchens. Sitting by the fire, feeding Duke a marrow bone, was Jimmy. The servants approved of Jimmy, because he was quiet and well behaved and he had trained the horrible Duke to behave himself in the house.
“Come into the pantry, Jimmy,” said Rogers.
Jimmy followed him obediently. He was somewhat in awe of the stately Rogers, who ruled the staff very strictly indeed.
“I don’t believe in gossip,” said the butler, picking up a glass, holding it to the light, and beginning to polish it with unnecessary vigor.
“No, sir, an please you, sir,” said Jimmy dutifully.
“But a happy mistress is a good mistress, and it is in our interest to take care of her welfare.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Rogers, sir,” said Jimmy, his hand automatically stealing down to pat Duke’s smooth head.
“So,” said Rogers, swinging around, “I would be obliged if you would tell me what all this is about Miss Winters’s being engaged to Lord Storm and then breaking off the engagement.”
Jimmy screwed up his face in thought. He had promised not to mention the Mr. and Mrs. Freham business, but perhaps he could tell the rest of it, and anyway, Miss Winters’s lady’s maid knew of the broken engagement.
“It was in Bath, Mr. Rogers, sir,” he said. “Miss Winters and his lordship seemed very happy about the engagement, like. They had come down to the country to find me when I ran away with Duke. But I told you about that. Well, when we got back to that there Lady Bailey’s, miss went upstairs to take off her bonnet and my lord went to talk to Mr. Harris, what was visiting. Miss went singing up the stairs, so to speak, and changed and was that happy and told her maid all about it and went down the stairs again. John, the footman, he was on duty in the drawing room, but he says she never came in and her maid says she was up the stairs again in a minute, her face looking that dreadful, and says for to pack.”
“Hum,” said Rogers consideringly. “Could it be she heard something before she came into the room? Did his lordship say anything to Mr. Harris?”
“I dunno, sir,” said Jimmy. “Mr. Harris said my lord was angry at him for wanting to marry Mrs. Singleton on account of Mrs. Singleton tried to poison Duke. But nothing else.”
Mr. Rogers almost absentmindedly poured himself a glass of port. “Ye-e-es,” he said, holding the glass up to the light “We must take action, boy. I would say Miss Winters feels like a sort of guardian to you.”
“She’s wunnerful,” breathed Jimmy. “Why, I—”
“She! She? Kindly remember when referring to your betters to refer to them by name or title. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Rogers, please, Mr. Rogers.”
“Very well, don’t forget it. Ah, Mrs. Otley, just the lady I want to see. Now, would you say young Jimmy here was angelic-looking enough to winkle out the secrets of our mistress’s heart? You know the reason for my concern, Mrs. Otley?”
“Indeed I do, Mr. Rogers. Jimmy, now, let me see…”
She studied Jimmy for some time and then sighed. “He’s not what you would call angelic-looking. I do believe he looks like that there dog!”
Jimmy beamed.
“But,” she went on, “If we curled his hair and pressed his black suit and put a bit of lace around the collar and told him what to do, why, I think he would do very well.”
And so Mrs. Otley and Rogers retired to a corner with their backs to the wondering Jimmy and began to whisper.
Emily had retired to the drawing room after dining in solitary state. She had hardly touched her food; she did not know that each returned dish she sent back to the kitchens was greeted with gleeful smiles. The servants thought the untouched food was a good sign of the turmoil of their mistress’s heart.
She tried to make out why she did not feel better now that she had snubbed L
ord Storm, now that she had, in effect, told him she did not love him. But it had not cut him to the heart as she had hoped it would. He had merely been angry at her rudeness, that was all.
The autumn winds howled in the chimney, a log shifted in the fireplace, and the clocks lethargically ticked away me minutes.
Emily sighed. This was to be the pattern of her evenings for a long time to come, sitting alone, listening to the wind, and watching dream castles rising and falling in the flames.
The door opened and Jimmy and Duke sidled in. Emily merely glanced at them and then went on staring at the fire. It came as something of a shock when she found, a few moments later, that Jimmy was sitting at her feet, his elbow resting on her knee, and looking up into her face.
He looked quite peculiar. His scrubby brown hair had been teased into artistic curls, he wore a huge fall of lace around his neck that looked suspiciously like the hem of a petticoat—as indeed it was, Mrs. Otley having considered no sacrifice too great—and two circles of rouge had been painted on his cheeks.
He had a piece of paper, which he drew out from behind his back and looked at and then put away. “Oh, mistress dear,” said Jimmy in a terrible simpering voice. “Art thou troubled in heart?”
“He’s doing very well,” whispered Rogers from the other side of the drawing-room door.
“Shhhh!” admonished Mrs. Otley.
“Am I what?” asked Emily.
Jimmy glanced at his piece of paper again and carefully put one hand over his heart. “What troubleth my mistress, troubleth me,” lisped Jimmy painfully. “I wouldst lay down mine life for thee.”
“Jimmy!” said Emily crossly. “What is this mummery? Are you having amateur theatricals in the kitchens?”
“That’s blown it,” said Rogers gloomily from his position behind the door.
“I knew it wouldn’t work,” said the second footman, James, who was of a pessimistic nature.
And the under housemaid, who prided herself on the delicacy of her nerves, burst into tears.
“And what is going on out in the hall?” demanded Emily. “There seems to be a whole army of people rustling and shuffling. You may sit here with Duke if you like, Jimmy, but only after you have scrubbed the paint from your face.”
Jimmy began to blubber, and Emily looked down at him in exasperation. “What on earth is the matter?”
“They’ll all b-be so disappointed in me,” sobbed Jimmy. “I was for to charm the secret of your love from you, miss. We’re right sorry for his lordship, seeing how badly he’s in love with you and he would make a good master.”
“I’ll strangle that boy,” muttered Rogers.
“Jimmy, dry your eyes this minute,” said Emily in a stifled voice. “You do not know what you are talking about. Lord Storm does not love me.”
“But he does,” wailed Jimmy, emotion making him bold. “I know it. Everyone knows it. How come you doesn’t know it?”
“Leave me immediately,” snapped Emily. “You go too far.”
Jimmy trailed from the room, followed by Duke.
Emily sat with her bosom heaving. It could not be true. If it were true, then she, Emily, had behaved abominably. All at once, she could not bear it any longer and rang the bell.
The knowledge that Miss Winters had ordered the carriage and was going to call on Lord Storm swept through the kitchens like wildfire, and Mrs. Otley left off cuffing Jimmy and gave him a sugar plum instead—which was just as well, since Duke was about to savage her left ankle.
Lord Storm paced up and down his library. He had been hunting most of the day and had been looking forward to an evening of pleasurable fatigue. But all he could think about was Emily Winters, sitting wearing her silly frivolous cap and telling him she had never been in love.
How could she be so cruel? How could anyone be so cruel?
He had made a fool of himself over her just as surely as John had made a fool of himself over Clarissa.
He looked down at the magnificence of his evening dress and thought it absurd. Why go to all this trouble to spend an evening alone? He savagely kicked at a burning log in the fireplace.
And then his butler came in, looking worried. “There is a young lady called, my lord, accompanied only by her groom. She says she is Miss Winters of Manley Court and is desirous of speaking to your lordship.” The butler looked meaningfully at the clock on the mantel, which was chiming out eleven o’clock.
Lord Storm experienced a sudden spasm of pure exhilaration, which was immediately followed by dark despair. No doubt she had had trouble with the Manleys and had come to him as her nearest neighbor because she had no one else to turn to.
“Show her in,” he said abruptly, “and bring wine and cakes.”
He leaned his elbow on the mantel, staring down at the fire. There was a low murmur of voices in the hall and then his butler announced, “Miss Winters, my lord.”
Without turning around, he said wearily, “Why have you come?”
“To see you.” Her voice was only a little above a whisper.
She was standing just inside the door, her scarlet cloak falling back from her shoulders. The Manley diamond collar blazed around her neck. Her gown was of fine white muslin, embroidered with a design of green silk ferns.
“I trust those diamonds are real,” Lord Storm commented.
“Yes,” said Emily, looking at his hard, set face and hard eyes and feeling her courage ebb away. Never had a man looked less in love.
Cakes and wine were brought in and set on a table before the fire. He dismissed the servants and poured her a glass and wordlessly held it out to her. Emily took it from him silently. Gingerly, she sat down on the very edge of the sofa as Storm poured himself a brimmer and drained it in one gulp.
“Now, Miss Winters,” he said sternly, “why have you come?”
“I—I felt I had done you a disservice by leaving Bath without explaining why I had terminated our… our engagement,” said Emily in a rush.
“Odso? I had thought you had performed that service very well today, madam. If you recollect, you told me you had never been in love.”
“I—I lied,” said Emily.
He sat down suddenly on the sofa next to her, his eyes raking hers.
“Then tell me why you broke off our engagement,” he said harshly.
“I—I heard you tell Mr. Harris that you were only marrying me because you had been compromised.”
A faint flush crept up his face. “And that was why you went away without giving me a chance to explain?”
“I could not believe you loved me after that!” cried Emily.
“You could not…? Dammit, woman, I love you with my mind, my hands, my body, my very soul. And you put me through months of hell because you were too proud to ask for an explanation?”
Emily looked at him wonderingly. “I did not think I had it in my power to put you through any kind of misery. Oh, my love, if you only knew how ashamed I am of my birth, how you seemed too good for me. I felt you were ashamed of my birth.”
The hard lines of his face softened. He drew her gently into his arms and caressed the back of her neck, feeling the long shiver that ran down her body.
“I do not care anymore about your birth. I want you, Emily.”
“As your mistress?”
He gave her a little shake. “As my wife, Emily. As my wife, I will even give houseroom to that damned dog, if you will only say you love me.”
She looked up at him with her heart in her eyes and then threw her arms around him and buried her head in his chest. “I love you, Bart,” she said, her mouth buried against his shirt frill. “I have been so unhappy.”
“You have made me very unhappy too, and you shall pay for it, my love. Kiss me!”
She raised her mouth shyly to his, and he gave a low groan and began to kiss her savagely, bruising her mouth, and holding her so close she thought her bones would break.
At last his kisses became longer and more tender, sending a dizzying swe
etness coursing through both of them until they forgot where they were, only burning with an insane need to lose themselves in each other.
Some time later, she lay naked in his arms in front of the library fire and said sleepily, “Why are you laughing?”
“I am laughing, my love, because we both started the evening so miserable and so splendidly dressed, and now look at us!”
Emily seemed to come fully to her senses at last and clutched his shoulders.
“Bart! The servants! What must they be thinking?”
With a touch of his former arrogance, he looked down at her.
“I neither know nor care,” he said haughtily. “The charms of your left breast are infinitely more interesting. Now perhaps if I kiss it you will cease to bother with trivialities….”
The servants of Manley Court sat around the table in the servant’s hall. Rogers eyed the clock. “Still not home yet,” he said.
“I wonder if we dare hope? You see, if Miss Winters does not become married, I am sure she will soon weary of the estate and might even sell it. Now, Lord Storm would look after us. What would happen to us? There are so many bad masters, and perhaps a new owner would not want us. He might even bring his own staff!” A low groan greeted this comment.
And then, from out in the drive, they heard the crunch of wheels.
“That’ll be the mistress back,” said Mrs. Otley. “If only we could ask her point-blank. Perhaps Sam, the groom, will have gleaned something.”
They listened anxiously, and then at last they heard steps on the kitchen stairs and the groom came in, pulling off his cloak.
“Well?” said everyone.
“His Lordship sent the carriage home,” said Sam, grinning, “and said I was to get a good night’s sleep. He gave me a yellow boy and said I was to drink the health of himself and Miss Winters and he hoped I’d wish them well on their wedding day!”
What a cheer went up! Lord Storm was known throughout the county as a good and fair landlord. Their jobs were safe.
“Champagne, I think,” said the beaming Rogers. “Hey, look at Duke. I swear he’s as happy as the rest of us!”
Up on his hind legs, Duke was waltzing slowly around, a grin on his narrow face, while Jimmy jumped up and down.