Amberley Chronicles Boxset I: The Impostor Debutante My Last Marchioness the Sister Quest (Amberley Chronicles Boxsets Book 1)

by May Burnett

  She had purchased a variety of sweets, intended for the children at the workhouse she would be checking on later in the day. Put on her mettle by Sir Jasper Ludlow’s condescending attitude during the recent dinner, she was determined to investigate its practices more systematically, and draw up written suggestions for possible reforms. A Mrs. Fry in London was doing similarly for prisons, especially female prisons, she had read in her uncle’s papers. How horrible it would be to be an inmate of such an institution, or even the local workhouse. She was very lucky indeed to be rich, and in no danger of such a dire fate. And being thus privileged, it was her Christian duty to assist the less fortunate.

  When Celia had walked halfway to the Manor, a carriage driven by a young man in sober clothes overtook her and slowed to a walk.

  The driver respectfully doffed his hat to her. “Pardon me, Miss, is this the way to Conway Manor?”

  “Indeed, it is just behind that next turn of the road, not much further. I am going there myself.”

  He did not speed the horses on, as she had expected. “Then is it possible that you are Miss Celia Conway?”

  “I am,” she said with some surprise.

  “Forgive me for not introducing myself first, Ma’am. My name is Henry Beecham. I am a solicitor, from London, and have the honour to handle some of your business affairs.”

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Beecham,” she replied. “I am glad to hear that my affairs are in good hands.”

  “I thank you, and hope to deserve the confidence you so graciously express. There has been a recent development I need to discuss with your uncle, and probably yourself as well, since you are all grown up now.”

  “Not in the eyes of the law, unfortunately.” Until she reached the age of twenty-one, over three years in the future, Celia’s rights would be severely limited, notwithstanding her wealth. It was a new and pleasant experience to be treated as a sensible adult by this young solicitor. He also was quite personable, with kind brown eyes and dark brown hair.

  Together they rounded the bend in the road and came upon sight of the Manor, a sprawling building dating back to Elizabethan times.

  Taking her leave of Mr. Beecham, Celia went to the kitchen door, to order an additional setting to be laid for luncheon. After handing the basket to a maid, she hurried to put on a more becoming dress. Any stranger was a welcome event in her overly placid life, and she felt a burning curiosity about the problem that had brought the man all the way from London to Kent. From his words she divined that it could not be a mere business matter. Could it have anything to do with her long-lost father?

  +++

  Celia left the gentlemen to their private business conference, but made sure they were summoned to table when the usual hour of lunch arrived. She had seated Beecham opposite her own chair, at Sir Mortimer’s left side.

  “I could have eaten in an inn on my way back,” Beecham protested, but easily yielded to persuasion, and thanked Celia for her hospitality.

  True to the precepts learned at her select Bath academy, Celia did not attempt any serious subjects during the first and main courses, but used the occasion to practice her skill at light conversation. Mr. Beecham easily kept up, entertaining his hosts, and listening with courteous attention to anything they said.

  Surely he was not like the professional men her uncle had described, and would be a pleasant husband to some lucky woman – or most likely already was, after all he looked to be at least thirty. It would hardly be polite to ask. Celia had a preference for men around that age; the younger men she had met, admittedly only a small number, had been callow and boring. She had formed a tentative conclusion that men needed three decades to mature into satisfactorily conversable human beings. Mr. Beecham had certainly attained that state, she concluded, as she signalled to the butler to pour the sparkling wine to go with the sweet course.

  “What you told me earlier greatly intrigued me, Mr. Beecham,” she said once the servant was gone. “What is it that you believed I ought to be told, about a recent development?”

  Her great-uncle frowned at the solicitor. “Do you really think –?”

  Beecham returned Sir Mortimer’s gaze with a frank look. “Sir, in my legal experience no good ever comes of keeping vital information from the persons it most concerns. And remember that at least with parental consent, the law deems Miss Conway old enough to marry. If she can marry, she is old enough to know about problems that might stand in the way of her doing so.”

  Celia had never met such a sensible man in her life. She beamed at him. “Uncle, I do believe Mr. Beecham is right. I am no longer a child to be kept in ignorance.”

  The two men exchanged another long look, which ended with Sir Mortimer grudgingly nodding his permission at the solicitor.

  Beecham turned to her gravely, ignoring the pastry and syllabub as well as his full wine glass. “Miss Conway, you are aware that your late grandfather’s fortune came to you absolutely, apart from what he set aside for your grandmother? If I had been consulted at the time, I would have strongly advised against such a course, given the fact that you have a father still living; a man who has a history– forgive me, Miss Conway, – of enriching himself at the expense of women.”

  “You mean the way he married my mother for her dowry and expectations?”

  “That and other things not relevant now,” Beecham stated. “In November 1816, he married another wealthy young lady, a Miss Bessemer.”

  “1816? I was still living in Bloomsbury with Miss Barrett then,” Celia said. “You mean he was living right there in London with his new wife, and I never got to meet her?”

  Beecham nodded. “We believe he never told her about you, just as he did not tell you about her, and kept your whereabouts hidden from your grandparents, even as he was demanding money from them for the expensive boarding school you supposedly attended. You may remember that you went under a false name during your time in his custody.”

  “I thought at the time that was to escape creditors. In Bloomsbury such things were common enough.”

  “Your father, I am sorry to say, has repeatedly shown a penchant towards leading a double life. About the same time your grandparents found you in Bloomsbury and brought you back to Kent, your father and his new wife were estranged. He had incurred heavy gambling debts and it was no longer advisable for him to stay in the capital.”

  “I understand.” Compared to her lurid imaginings and her great-uncle’s dark hints, this news was almost disappointingly tame. “Where did he go?”

  “He seems to have spent considerable time in the West Indies, and later in the French part of the New World – Charleston and New Orleans. But there are indications that he is returning to London.”

  “I hope you are mistaken,” Sir Mortimer said, scowling. “Though I do thank you for the timely warning.”

  “Just how does his return affect me?” Celia asked.

  “As a legal minor with a large fortune, you are highly vulnerable. Your fortune is currently administered by your grandmother and uncle, with my help, but that is only pending your father’s return. At the time of your grandfather’s death last year, it seemed unlikely Mr. Conway would turn up before your majority, and no other formal custody arrangements were made. Your father may well attempt to take custody of your person again, even using force.”

  “Over my dead body.” Sir Mortimer sent Celia a reassuring look.

  “Also, were you to marry before you are of age, you would need his consent. He would probably demand a large percentage of your fortune in exchange for granting it.”

  A heavy silence hung over the room after this depressing speech. Celia raised the wine glass to her lips and took a steadying sip.

  “And this news you thought to keep from me?” she said to Sir Mortimer reproachfully. “Forewarned is forearmed, after all. I do not want a single penny of my grandparents’ fortune to fall into my father’s hands.” She turned back to the solicitor. “How can it be prevented?”<
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  “If worst comes to worst, I can stall for several weeks, if not months, by legal means. But it would be best if you do not submit to his physical custody at any time, Miss Conway. The only sure way to foil your father’s claims, before you reach full age, would be to marry in Scotland. Here in England he could conceivably contest the validity of a Special License.”

  “Without a suitable husband to drag to Scotland with me, that is not much use,” Celia said. “And I would still lose my fortune, just to another man. What made you believe that my father is back?”

  “The house in Half Moon Street where he and the second Mrs. Conway resided in 1817 is being refurbished and fully staffed. It may be relevant that Mrs. Conway’s father has died of apoplexy some weeks ago, making his daughter a very rich woman. It would certainly be in your father’s best interest to reconcile with her.”

  “Where has she been during all this time?” Celia asked, putting her chin into her hand, and fixing her eyes on the solicitor’s.

  “In one of the other town houses belonging to her late father, bigger and more commodious, and at various seaside resorts over the summers. There is no good reason why she would want to move back to the House on Half Moon Street, which is still held in your father’s name.“

  “For all we know,” Sir Mortimer said, “Mrs. Conway may merely be planning to let the house to some family of mushrooms for the season,”

  “The current season is ending,” Beecham pointed out. “And it is not the custom to let houses stand idle with a full staff over the summer.”

  “Indeed, it would be too expensive if there is a long interval between tenants,” Celia concurred. “Please promise to send us word immediately, Mr. Beecham, should you receive more certain intelligence, one way or the other. And of course in case my father should make any legal move against my person or fortune.”

  The solicitor bowed. “You may depend on it, Miss Conway. Now that I have met you, my anxieties are already greatly lessened. Still, if I might suggest, this is an excellent time of the year for a journey to some picturesque destination. All the world seems to be travelling lately. Do consider the possibility.”

  Chapter 6

  Henry Beecham’s mission was not concluded when he left Conway Manor, since he had other clients with a long-standing interest in the whereabouts of Peter Conway. Thus he directed his carriage in the direction of Sussex, and arrived at James Ellsworthy’s abode only a scant half-hour before dinnertime.

  Charlotte hid her surprise at this second unexpected guest in a single week, and held dinner back for another thirty minutes, while Beecham hastily washed and changed into evening dress. As one of her husband’s associates, who had also been instrumental in helping her sister Belinda with a serious legal problem, she had long treated him as a friend of the family.

  Finally they sat down five to dinner that night. Alphonse was acquainted with Beecham through James and their mutual friend Jonathan Durwent, but Minerva had not met the young solicitor before.

  “Your devoted servant, Lady Minerva,” Beecham said, when James introduced him. Minerva replied graciously. She had not failed to notice the gleam of appreciation in the solicitor’s brown eyes, familiar from many others but none the less welcome.

  Beecham was seated next to her, and she found him very pleasant to talk to, well-informed on a wide range of issues, and inclined to listen closely to what she had to say. They soon engaged in a spirited discussion about the breaking up of the Spanish colonies. Minerva fully supported the revolutionaries led by Bolivar, and expressed the hope that the newly liberated continent would face a bright future. Beecham was more sceptical, and contended that for the common people, a master across the Atlantic might prove less onerous than a local one. Minerva sounded him out on the morality of slavery, but Beecham agreed with her condemnation of that institution so completely, that there was no room for argument. By then he had achieved her approbation as a man she would not mind sitting next to, during any future meal.

  At the end of dinner, Charlotte said, “I suppose it is time to leave you gentlemen to your port,” and made to rise.

  “Ma’am, – Charlotte–”, Beecham said, causing Alphonse to raise his brows at this familiarity. “I have come with potentially important news that concerns you as much as your husband. It has already been a long day, as I was in Kent this morning. If you don’t mind, I would as soon speak now.”

  “In that case, I will take my leave,” Alphonse immediately offered, and Minerva echoed him, though half-heartedly.

  “If the news is what I think it might be, you had better stay,” James said with a quick glance at Charlotte, who nodded. “If two heads are better than one, who knows how much five clever heads can resolve?”

  Both Alphonse and Minerva sat back down without any further demur after this flattering assessment. Charlotte personally placed the port on the table close to the three gentlemen, and lemonade for Minerva and herself, while James made sure the door was closed and no servants were within earshot. Once all was secure, he nodded at Beecham to begin his tale.

  “One of the tasks I have had from your husband for the last five years,” the solicitor explained to Charlotte, “was to keep an eye out for any news of Peter Conway.”

  “Who is he?” Minerva asked.

  “A scoundrel,” James said briefly. “Go on, Henry.”

  “That house in Half Moon Street where he used to reside with his wife has recently been refurbished, and a full staff was hired through a reputable agency.”

  “That would be only natural if it had been sold at last,” James said.

  “It was definitely not sold. And it may be relevant that old Mr. Bessemer died quite suddenly some weeks ago, leaving another hundred and twenty thousand pounds to his daughter, Mrs. Conway.”

  “What are all these people to do with us?” Minerva asked, still confused. “None of these names sound at all familiar.”

  Charlotte sighed. “What I am about to tell you must not be shared with any other soul, especially your mother,” she said.

  “I can keep a secret,” Minerva said indignantly.

  “Long before I met James, I married a young officer named Peter Conway, in a perfectly respectable way, with banns, in church.”

  “But then how –,” Minerva’s eyes were round. “Are you saying that your marriage to James is invalid, bigamous? I don’t believe it!”

  “Of course not,” James said testily. “Really, Minerva! Charlotte could marry me because it turned out that the first marriage to Conway was invalid. He still had a legal wife living at the time, somewhere in Kent.”

  “Oh.” Minerva was still looking at her sister-in-law in shock. “How perfectly horrid. If this became common knowledge…”

  James nodded gloomily. “We could not indict Conway for bigamy without causing a scandal and damaging our own family. The fellow knew it, too, and actually tried to blackmail us with it.”

  “Where has he been all this time?”

  “In the West Indies and Louisiana, as far as we know,” Beecham explained. “But he could still cause trouble if he comes back, and not just to your family, James.”

  “The trip to Kent you mentioned –,” Alphonse said, putting two and two together. “I remember recommending your services to Sir Mortimer Conway, when he came to see me in France. Can it be that you have been to his place earlier today? Celia Conway would be far more vulnerable than Charlotte, if the man is back at his old tricks.”

  “Who is this Celia?” Minerva asked.

  “Conway has a daughter from his first, legal marriage, “Alphonse explained. “Since the first wife was a brewery heiress, the daughter is well provided for. I have never met her, but I have kept up an acquaintance with Conway’s uncle, Sir Mortimer, since our first meeting some five years ago. He came to visit me for some days at the Château when I was in mourning and glad enough for any familiar face. A good man, even if I had to introduce him to proper cognac – and he was so appreciative that I sent a s
upply to his home in Kent.”

  “You never mentioned that detail,” James said. “How is the child, young Celia?”

  “No longer a child, I suppose. She must be close to eighteen now. According to her great-uncle, who is undoubtedly biased, she is pretty and has an excellent understanding. At the time of his visit she was finishing her education in an exclusive Bath girl’s school.”

  “Poor girl,” Charlotte said thoughtfully. “She could have been my step-daughter, had things turned out otherwise. Like me, she does not clearly belong to any definite social class. With her breweries in the background, she would not have had an easy time of it among young ladies in a seminary.”

  “Oh, I don’t know – the Conways are a respectable old county family,” James disagreed. “The wealth from her breweries should more than compensate for her plebeian mother. Only the highest sticklers would turn up their noses at such a match.”

  “But if her father is such a scoundrel,” Minerva said, troubled, “if people find out about the details, they will say she has bad blood, and it would greatly diminish her chances.”

  “That is exactly what your mother said about me, and yet James married me,” Charlotte remarked with a fond smile at her husband.

  “I’m afraid she still says so now and then,” Minerva told her. “Only among the family, of course. She is too proud to exhibit our disputes to outsiders.”

  James pressed his lips together, as though to repress some remark that jumped to his lips. “We are getting off the point,” he called the meeting to order. “For Celia Conway’s sake as well as our own, we must hope that Conway is not back, and if he is, that he contents himself with preying on his current wife.”

  “She’s his legal daughter, though, underage and very rich,” Alphonse said, unable to hide his concern. “Could Conway simply appear in her home and take her away, Beecham?”

  “Conceivably. If he finds her at home.”

  “In her position I would travel to the Outer Hebrides for a good long while,” Minerva commented. “Did you advise her to do something of the kind, Mr. Beecham?”