The Drayton Legacy

by Rona Randall

  “I was unaware that you were acquainted with my sister.”

  “Only distantly, until I found her in Larch Lane last night.”

  “You must be mistaken. A sister of mine would not be in that vicinity.”

  “Unless sent there. She was huddled by Martha Tinsley’s gate, drenched through. Did you spare her a single thought during that storm? I doubt it, unless it was to congratulate yourself on having found a solution to a problem. Fortunately, I was able to forestall it.”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Then why so apprehensive? I can see it in your eyes. Are you afraid I shall tell the world how you sent your sister to that old woman, and why? Your mother, at least, should be thankful she escaped Tinsley’s primitive handling. No doubt you assured her that nothing could go wrong and that Jessica would return happy and well and willing to marry Max Freeman. How little you know your sister! She would never go through with that marriage. She told you so, and she meant it.”

  “Get out.”

  “When you have heard all I have to say. I will then take Jessica to her mother who, if she is wise, will give us her blessing.”

  “Her blessing — ?”

  “It is customary to hope for it from a bride’s parents. In this case, just one. As head of the Drayton family, I know you are officially her guardian, but I have no intention of asking for either your blessing or any view you may hold on the matter. I am showing you more consideration than you deserve by coming here at all. Jessica has agreed to be my wife and we will marry in the quickest possible time, which should please you in the circumstances. You look as if you could do with a brandy, Drayton, despite the hour. It is a good remedy for shock.”

  *

  Joseph’s mother arrived unexpectedly after he returned home. Her visit was ill-timed for the hour after his homecoming was a precious oasis after his day’s toil, and the ritual of relaxing began the moment he stepped indoors. Mrs Walker would relieve him of his outdoor things and help him into one of his long sleeved, long skirted waistcoats. He had an array of these in velvets and brocades, and his housekeeper was never so remiss as to produce the same one on consecutive evenings.

  Next, with his long-stemmed clay pipe, came his glass of Madeira while she put the final touches to her carefully prepared, if unimaginative, supper. His wine finished, he would then retire to his room to complete a leisurely toilet, refreshing his newly shaven chin with rosewater, polishing his fingernails, and attending to his handsome head of hair, sometimes wearing it loose, but only in the privacy of his home. At other times he tied it in a queue at the nape, with a black bow, but never concealing its beauty beneath a wig except on formal occasions. Once satisfied both with his appearance and his comfort, he would then descend to his dining room, of which he was inordinately proud unless he compared it with the one at Tremain Hall.

  Such was the routine of an ordinary night, but this one was different. The Freeman invitation spared him Mrs Walker’s mundane cooking and gave him time to anticipate the evening ahead — also to reflect on an excellent new plan to dispose of any possible Freeman doubts. Time, too, to take especial care with his appearance. When seeking to impress important people a man could have no greater asset than looking handsome and well dressed and, for the time being, the Freemans were all important.

  So his mother’s ill-timed visit was decidedly unwelcome.

  He kept her waiting until he was ready to descend, knowing that as soon as she saw his elaborate clothes she would realise she had made a mistake. The assumption was right; she was instantly apologetic. She had quite forgotten he was supping at Tremain Hall tonight, and she did so hope he would forgive her!

  That she had forgotten was not really surprising, for he had told her the invitation was solely for himself, adding that this was natural since he was head of the Drayton family. If, as mother of the bride-to-be, she had felt overlooked, that was unfortunate, but of little account. In any case, she was now no longer mother of the bride-to-be so far as the Freemans were concerned, and that, no doubt, was her reason for being here.

  “My dear Mother, you look agitated. Pray take a seat, but not for long. Time presses.”

  She looked back at him tearfully, and he read the whole story in her face. She had been forced to wait the entire day for her son to return to Carrion House, and here she was, seeking reassurance from him. And now she faced him, was she to meet with no comfort, either in his glance or his words? Irritated, impatient, he pretended not to read her thoughts.

  “Dear Mamma, pray forgive me if I don’t linger, but, as you know, I have a prior engagement.”

  “You are still going to Tremain Hall?”

  “Naturally. Why not?”

  “But surely — in the circumstances — “ She fluttered in helpless anxiety. “I should have thought — Oh dear, what are we to say or do? I understand Simon Kendall came to see you early this morning, so you have had all day to think about this latest turn of events.”

  “I do have other things to occupy my mind, other matters than my tiresome sister who, incidentally, can scarcely expect to be acknowledged as my sister from henceforth.”

  “Dear Joseph, you cannot mean that! Surely you would never turn your back on your own flesh and blood!”

  “Since my own flesh and blood cares nothing for the embarrassment she now causes me, I can hardly be expected to consider her further. I gave her the best possible help, the best possible advice, and she chose to ignore both. Worse, she has chosen to go her own way. So let her. I assume the pair faced you with the news, together?”

  “He brought her home, yes, and I did thank God she was unharmed, unhurt. One hears such terrible things about village medicine women and the way they handle abortions — “

  “I must ask you not to use that word. It is ugly. Jessica’s condition could have been remedied and her marriage to Max placed in no jeopardy had she only had the good sense to do as I told her. And now, you must excuse me. I am due at Tremain Hall within the hour.”

  As he led her firmly to the door, Emily said in confusion, “But what are you going to do, Joseph? What are you going to tell them?”

  Approaching Tremain Hall through the late June dusk, Joseph surveyed his surroundings covetously. To be a great landowner was the dream of every country gentleman, and he was no exception. Marrying Agatha Freeman could be a big step toward achieving this ambition. With the further expansion of Drayton’s, which her inherited fortune would ensure, he would also benefit from her income from the Tremain estates and, though Max was heir to the property, Joseph saw no reason why he himself should not preside over Tremain Hall one day. Max was a fly-brained youth who showed every sign of wanton extravagance. He might well accumulate debts so enormous that he would gladly hand over his heritage in lieu. The important thing was to be the strongest creditor — preferably the only one, but certainly the one who could wield the heaviest pressure.

  But all that was in the future. It was in the present that the ground had to be prepared and the seeds sown. Then, in due course, the harvest could be reaped. Meanwhile, there was much to do, starting tonight.

  Driving across a vast expanse of fields, laid out for pasture and divided by hedgerows which were interspersed with the grey dry-walls of Derbyshire and the north, he saw the Tremain chapel etched against the sky beyond a sea of willow herb and wild anchusa, a misty haze of purples and blues fading out against the black rise of Merrow’s Thicket. Beyond that lay the western boundary of the Tremain estates, and very soon he was entering Tremain Park and bowling along the three-mile drive leading to the house itself. By the time he swept round the apex and halted at the pillared entrance, late dusk cast deepening shadows from which the Hall rose majestically, dwarfing his own property by comparison.

  Carrion House had been a splendid purchase at the time, a year after his father’s death, and in view of the state in which the old man’s affairs had been left, it had been a mark of Joseph’s succ
ess that he had been able to afford it. But three years of occupancy had whetted his appetite for a great deal more. Tonight he must make his first bid for it, and win.

  Chapter Nine

  Agatha was well pleased with her gown, adapted from a sketch sent to her mother by one of the Freeman aunts now living in London.

  “They do say,” wrote the aunt, “that these dressmakers’ sketches will soon be available as fashion plates — actually printed so that anyone may buy them. What a boon that will be! Meanwhile, we must rely on these drawings, so I beg you, dear Charlotte, to return this batch without fail and without delay. Make copies quickly, for they belong to Lady Suffolk, who loaned them to me with the strictest instructions to let no other woman see them. But my heart goes out to you and your dear daughters, buried in the country and therefore in need of guidance where fashion is concerned.”

  Agatha’s mother had been somewhat indignant at that, but read on — “You will see that the robe ronde is quite the latest style, replacing the contouche, and of course you know how that particular mode came into being? Women of fashion take so long over their toilettes that they turn the event into a reception for their friends — particularly men, which, I am sure, will shock your prim country mind — so an enveloping garment is really necessary to conceal how little they wear beneath…”

  At that point, Charlotte Freeman had stopped reading aloud, leaving her daughters agog with curiosity. Agatha particularly. London society seemed to consist of fast women, almost as bad as some of Burslem’s lower orders, and it really was too bad of dear Mamma to withhold her sister-in-law’s gossippy letter, particularly when she knew that her eldest daughter did good works amongst the local poor and was therefore so well acquainted with their sins that she was unlikely to be shocked.

  But at this moment Agatha’s only concern was her new and striking gown, delivered this morning and to be worn for the first time tonight. Joseph Drayton would surely be impressed by her elegance and certainly, as far as Burslem was concerned, the robe ronde was well in advance of the times. That, she felt, should appeal to him since he was the kind of man who would desire a fashionable wife. She was therefore pinning her hopes on this magnificent creation and well pleased with her talent as a designer. She had planned the whole thing far more boldly than in the original sketch. She had also scorned the comment of a dressmaker who had dared to question whether it was wholly right for her.

  Beneath a billowing skirt which opened from the waist to display an underdress, side paniers added width to the hips and, in contrast, reduced the appearance of the waist. Or so Agatha believed. It worried her not in the least that her gown was too wide to be wholly encompassed by her cheval mirror; all she saw was the suggestion of a smaller waist above the centre slice of the skirt, so the overall impression of excessive girth escaped her.

  As for the material, it delighted her. This, too, had been her personal choice. In broadly striped satin, multi-hued in shades of orange, kingfisher blue, emerald green and scarlet, it could not fail to catch the eye. The stripes went downwards in the overdress, but crosswise in the underdress, and no amount of persuasion on her mother’s part, when at last she was allowed to see this splendid creation, had prevailed on Agatha to have it otherwise.

  “But underdresses are not meant to contrast, my love. You can see from your aunt’s sketches that they are meant to match.”

  But Agatha would have none of it. Broad stripes in both directions did not seem, to her, in the least bizarre. They were dramatic. And so was the scarlet satin bodice edged with scarlet ruching.

  She would certainly eclipse Amelia tonight. No doubt her sister would appear in something insipid, such as white, which would do nothing to enhance her blonde hair and pale complexion. And she would be sure to choose one of the gossamer materials she favoured so much. Lawn, muslin and dimity were her perennial favourites, and no doubt she would still ape Marie Antoinette’s milkmaid fashions.

  Complacently, Agatha reflected that her own dark looks and olive skin were far more striking. Well satisfied, she cast one last glance at her partial reflection, twirled sideways in an attempt to see the rest of her billowing skirt, and beamed happily as it swirled. (Oh, the elegance of it, the swing of it, the glorious blaze of colour!) She then sailed contentedly downstairs.

  Dear God in heaven, thought Joseph, she looks like a buxom maypole!

  Seconds later, he was walking toward her, his full skirted coat of dark blue velvet swinging gently with his stride. The deep cuffs were embroidered in silver, with matching embroidery at the collarless neck and enhanced by silver buttons all the way down the front. The coat opened on a long, silver embroidered waistcoat, with breeches of the same dark blue velvet finishing at the knee with a narrow band of silver threadwork, thereby displaying his white silken hose as splendidly as the collarless coat displayed his elaborately frilled white shirt and spotless white cravat.

  But Agatha was sorry he wore a peruque over his fine head of hair, though no gentleman would do otherwise on a formal occasion. Joseph Drayton could always be relied upon to do the right thing.

  When he stooped over her hand the touch of his lips on her fingers thrilled her. She was at no pains to hide her reaction, nor to withdraw. She let her hand linger in his and he made no effort to relinquish it until footsteps echoed on the stairs and the intimate moment was shattered.

  It was Charlotte Freeman, wearing a contouche over her full skirted gown. However the style had originated, and whether it was still fashionable or not in distant London, this loosely draped over-garment, sweeping into a semi-train from the shoulders at the back, was still very much a la mode in Staffordshire and she had no intention of abandoning it or of trying to look conspicuous in a style no one in these parts had yet seen. In a transparent material of soft grey, through which her undergown of soft blue was reflected, Charlotte looked a dignified and handsome figure. Joseph’s admiration was instant and genuine. Her eldest daughter could learn a lot from her mother, he thought, as indeed she could from her younger sister who came tripping down the stairs a minute or two later dressed in a simple Marie Antoinette gown of pale green mousseline-de-soie lacking any adornment but its matching sash and wide, becoming, lace-edged collar.

  It was a pity the youngest daughter had not been Great Aunt Margaret’s favourite…

  Next came his host, bluff, corpulent and genial, every inch the comfortable landowner. His elaborate brocade suit, his silk shirt and matching hose, his silver buckled shoes, the falls of lace at throat and wrists, all were of the finest quality and he wore them with the ease of a man accustomed only to the best. Hand extended, he came to greet Joseph with an affability not reflected in the face of his son, descending behind him.

  Max was in a mood. Max was sulking. Max was a problem and promised to become even more so as the evening wore on. Joseph recognised the signs and knew it would be wise to break his news as quickly as possible. It was no use waiting until his host had been mellowed with good food and wine, for the son, he suspected, had already been drinking and by that time could well become fractious and make matters worse. So Joseph said to Ralph Freeman without hesitation, “Sir, I must speak with you. It would be unfair of me, and impolite as a guest, to delay until the evening is through. I have regrettable news which I must impart at once.” He bowed slightly in Charlotte’s direction. “To your wife, also, if you wish her to be present.”

  His host frowned. “Regrettable news? Bad news? Am I right in assuming it can only concern our recent understanding? If so, that is now known to all of us and can therefore be discussed freely, but if it involves any backsliding over the business side, I warn you, Drayton, I will be none too pleased. Or is it the other matter, still to be finalised?”

  “That remains unchanged, sir. On that, I am of the same mind and cherish the same hopes.” He heard Agatha’s fluttering breath and the ruffle of her gaudy gown as she trembled in anticipation, but his gaze remained steadfastly on her father. “It is indeed the former I
have to discuss, and I am more than willing to do so in the presence of your family since, alas, it will be common knowledge throughout Burslem by tomorrow — to the embarrassment and shame of the Draytons.”

  Max burst out, “Good Lord, sir, d’you mean the whole thing is off? Am I jilted or something? What damnable impertinence if I am!”

  Resolutely, his mother led the way into the room which Agatha affectedly called the salon although everyone else called it by the good old-fashioned name of withdrawing room. Once the double doors were closed, Charlotte said quietly, “Bad news should always be broken quickly, sir. Has my son been jilted, or are you reneging on your promises?”

  “Madam, that is something I would never do. To my shame, my sister Jessica has agreed to marry a man who is wholly unacceptable in the eyes of my family, and will remain so.”

  “The devil she has!” burst out Max, then subsided at a glance from his father, who said angrily, “So your agreement is not to be honoured, Drayton. That displeases me. You must have known about this impending marriage.”

  “I can assure you I did not, sir. Neither I, nor my mother, nor any member of my family.”

  “Jessica was always secretive,” put in Agatha, implying that she knew a great deal about his sister. But this was something she certainly did not know, and she was agog to know more. “Pray tell us, who is this wholly unacceptable man?”

  “One known to all in Burslem, but, at our level, not socially. A common labourer. A canal digger. You will appreciate my embarrassment and shame — “

  “Not Si Kendall!” Agatha’s voice was shrill, more with amusement than with shock. “Has she taken leave of her senses?”

  Charlotte Freeman said quietly, “Surely this cannot be true? As far as I am aware, Jessica has never been seen in the man’s company, and your mother has never referred to him as a family acquaintance.” “Which he has never been, believe me, apart from doing odd jobs at Medlar Croft when he was a lad — chopping wood, sawing logs, cleaning out stables and so forth. As your dear daughter observes, Jessica has always been secretive, and this is a secret she kept from all of us. Sir — Madam — how can I apologise for this gross insult to such a family as yours? Every branch of the Draytons will deplore my sister’s behaviour and be as ashamed as my mother and myself.” “As well you should be,” growled Ralph, “but not on your sister’s behalf. You should have found out if her affections were pledged elsewhere before guaranteeing her willingness to marry my son. Presumably she’s in love with the man, and to marry Max when in love with another would have been highly regrettable. If she is obeying the dictates of her heart, she is at least doing so honestly. Did you tell her of the union we planned? If so, doubtless it hastened her decision and far be it from me to sit in judgement on her.”