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

by May Burnett

  Alphonse nodded morosely. “I agree, and I think the time has come for us to separate. You can still reach your home in time for that ball you were planning. I shall go up to London and pursue my search there. Maybe they will be at my place, safe and sound; I am praying for such a miracle.”

  “I suppose you are right,” James said, albeit hesitantly. “It goes against the grain to give up and return home before we have found your child, but you are as familiar as I with London, and have as many friends to call upon. I advise you to use Beecham and Jonathan, if necessary, and of course there are always the Bow Street runners. If she is not in London, it might be time to call in professional help. And if she should be in Sussex, by any chance, of course I shall send word at once.”

  “Very well. It only remains for me to thank you for your support and company. I will never forget –

  “Don’t talk such rot,” James interrupted. “After all, what are friends for?”

  Chapter 21

  Beecham escorted Minerva to the apartments of the Marquis, occupying the first floor of a modern and convenient terrace house in Connaught Street. They had confirmed the exact address with its owner’s valet, still desolately awaiting his master back in Sussex. The maid walked behind them, looking around curiously.

  Upon Beecham’s peremptory knock, the door was opened by a pudgy middle-aged servant, correctly attired as befitted a butler in an aristocratic household. Reluctant at first to admit three unknown persons in the master’s absence, he yielded to their joint determination so far as to let them enter into large hall.

  “We came to inform you that Mademoiselle de Ville-Deuxtours, the daughter of the Marquis, aged one year, may be on her way to England in the charge of her Nurse, one Mme Fourrier,” Minerva explained to the nervous servant. She spoke slowly and clearly. The man did not impress her as overly intelligent, or easily receptive to startling news.

  “One year old?” The butler paled. “Are you sure, Ma’am?”

  “My lady,” Minerva’s maid primly corrected.

  “You look anxious – can it be that they have already arrived? That would be excellent news indeed.”

  The butler began to wring his hands in distress. ”But I did not know! How was I supposed to know? Why am I only told of this now?”

  “Explain yourself,” Beecham addressed him sternly. “Did they come here? When? What exactly happened?”

  “Yes-yesterday afternoon. This strange woman in dusty brown bombazine, with a small child clinging to her arms, rang the front bell – when she clearly was a servant!”

  “But the child was the daughter of your master,” Minerva said, frowning.

  “I didn’t know that! The woman spoke in French, very rapidly, as though she expected me to understand her foreign lingo. Naturally I thought she was just some foreign floozy, maybe someone from the master’s past trying to pass her brat off as his. She was very reluctant to go. I literally had to shove her out of the door with the help of a footman.”

  Minerva and Beecham exchanged horrified glances.

  The solicitor’s voice reflected his disgust. “You threw your master’s own daughter out, into the streets? A baby who had just survived a long and dangerous journey?”

  “How was I supposed to know who she was?”

  “In your place,” Minerva said to the trembling wretch before her, “I would start looking around for another position. You have no idea at all where Mme Fourrier can have gone afterwards?”

  “No, as I said, I could not understand a word of what she said, except ‘Mademoiselle’, which she said repeatedly, and ‘Marquis’. Nothing made sense.”

  “Send the whole staff out right away,” Minerva ordered, “to search for the woman and child. Perhaps they sought shelter at some nearby boarding house.” There were none in the immediate neighbourhood, as far as she knew, but the servants might know the area better. “If you discover anything at all, send word to me at Amberley House right away.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “And if the nurse should come back, send word also – I will immediately take her and the child down to Sussex, to wait there for the Marquis. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, my lady.” The butler was thoroughly cowed by now.

  “What a fool,” Minerva said to Beecham, as they resumed their places in the carriage to proceed to Mount Street. “I felt absolutely furious with his futile excuses.”

  The maid looked as though she wanted to speak up, but thought better of it.

  “It might have been better all around,” Beecham said neutrally, “had the Marquis engaged a butler with some knowledge of French, seeing that he’s French himself.”

  “Surely you are not making excuses for the man?”

  “No, I agree that he is a fool, and should have found somebody to translate Mme Fourrier’s words, before showing her the door. But he was acting on insufficient information.”

  “Never mind about that,” Minerva said impatiently, “how can we find the child now? I don’t have any idea where to search. London is so vast.”

  “Leave it to me. I will contact Bow Street, and send out messengers to all magistrates, prisons, hospitals, as well as canvass the boarding houses within walking distance of that apartment. We could also place an announcement offering a reward for information in the morning papers.” He hesitated. “Doing the latter will lead to a great deal of notoriety, however, unpleasant to the Marquis. In his place, I would consider the child’s safety more important than any amount of gossip, but as a member of his class, you may be better able to judge what he would wish.”

  Minerva did not have to think about it. “Never mind the notoriety, finding the child must be the highest priority.” The maid nodded agreement, though she had not been asked.

  “Very well then, I will begin my efforts as soon as I have delivered you to your home – and there it is already in sight. Traffic is not as heavy as I anticipated.”

  “I am glad that you were at hand at this critical juncture,” Minerva said to him warmly. “If you have any news at all, you will call on me right away? I was planning to remain until tomorrow afternoon, but with this new development I may have to stay longer, until the child is found.”

  “Without your mother, my lady?” The maid frowned. “That may also cause gossip.”

  “If I have to stay for more than this one night, I will seek the hospitality of one of my relatives,” Minerva said. “It is irregular to be here at all without chaperon, but with a house full of servants, I don’t think it signifies. I was planning to be gone again before anyone even noticed my presence.”

  “I will tell the staff not to gossip, my lady, but you know the news will leak out.” The maid sounded pessimistic.

  “Who cares about the gossip of ignorant busybodies, when a little child is missing?” Minerva only held on to her patience with an effort. Fortunately the carriage was stopping at last in front of her family’s house.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Beecham, may your search be crowned by success as quickly as possible.”

  He gallantly bowed over her hand as he took his leave. As she swept into the house, Minerva was conscious of slightly warm cheeks, unusual after sitting so long in the cool air.

  +++

  There was no time to think about Mr. Beecham. Minerva called the butler and housekeeper to her, and handed them the list of items she planned to take to Sussex for Charlotte’s ball.

  “Here is the mail, milady,” her brother’s butler said, respectfully handing her a large pile of envelopes in exchange for the list. “And these are cards that were left in your absence.” A thick sheaf of the little rectangles followed.

  Minerva swiftly looked through the mail, and extracted a letter postmarked in Greece from the rest. News from her brother George, that she would read at leisure as soon as all her orders were relayed.

  “The food and wines should be bought right away, on my brother James’ account,” she told the housekeeper. “Could you see to it, please? I suppose we’l
l need the Berline to convey everything to Sussex.”

  “It is in Amberley, my lady,” the butler pointed out regretfully. “If I might suggest …?”

  “By all means.”

  “These bulky supplies, and the items from our own and Mr. Ellsworthy’s household, can just as easily and quite cheaply be transported by hired cart. For safety I propose to send one of our own coachmen and a footman along.”

  “That makes sense. If you don’t need him, the footman could stay to help during the ball, and then escort the borrowed items back.”

  “Very well, my lady. I will send Bert.”

  “Before you start, let me tell you about the other errand that brought me to town.” In a few words Minerva explained about the disappearance of the small Mademoiselle de Ville-Deuxtours and her wet nurse. “If you hear anything at all that might help, inform me right away.”

  “There was one thing,” the butler said slowly. “Could it be connected?”

  “Speak up, please!”

  “Yesterday in the early evening a young gentleman from the French Embassy called, you will find his card among the others I just gave you, my lady. He wanted to know if we had any news of M. le Marquis, where he might be found.”

  “Which was his card? Quickly, show me.” The butler identified it with ease, and she read, M. le Chevalier Georges Matthieu de Mantigny.

  “Send a footman right away – running – to the Chevalier, and beg him to call upon us again, if his visit had anything to do with the child and Mme Fourrier,” Minerva ordered, trying not to give in to premature optimism. “Wait – let me write a note.” Pulling the pencil out of her pocket, she wrote on the back of the visiting card, in very small letters, If you have any news of Mme Fourrier and Mlle de V-D, please bring them to Amberley House. M.E.

  As she handed the card to the butler, doubt assailed her. “Would she really have thought to apply to her embassy, a simple woman like that?”

  “We should soon know,” the housekeeper said. “Just in case, should I have the nursery readied?”

  “Of course – thank you, Mrs. Peckling.”

  The butler left, but the housekeeper was not done yet. “And would you like a meal served to you now, milady, or maybe a bath prepared as well?”

  “A tray in my room will to for now, and I will bathe in the evening, after I have finished all my errands. I shall have to answer these letters, too. I may need more ink and quills,” she said ruefully, looking at the envelopes. “They look like invitations, most of them. Any future correspondence is to be forwarded to my brother’s Hall in Sussex. Send me word the moment we hear from the Chevalier.”

  She walked up the staircase to her rooms on the second floor, and sank down onto her silk-upholstered chaise longue for a few minutes’ rest, with her legs stretched out, after kicking off her shoes. It was good to be home, even if the big house was strangely empty of family. Normally, it was her mother or Marianne who ordered the staff around as she had just done, but once she married, it would become routine for her as well. She closed her eyes for a moment, savouring the moment of peace.

  “Here are the ink and quills you asked for,” her maid’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “The tray should come within the next half hour, Mrs. Peckling said, and have you opened the earl’s letter yet? All the staff would be grateful for any information you might wish to share.”

  “Ah, yes, hand me the paperknife, please.” She pulled the long-awaited missive out of her pocket and carefully sliced it open. “That will be all – you can go and help with the packing up of the glasses and trays, after your own lunch. I will tell the staff later what news of the earl might be of interest to them.”

  Within twenty minutes a tray with a selection of warm and cold foods appeared, carried by a footman, and accompanied by Mrs. Peckling herself. “My lady,” the housekeeper asked after the tray had been arranged on a small table with the silver cutlery and damask napkin, and the footman had left, “Are the Earl and Countess all right? We are all right worried downstairs.”

  Minerva smiled. “Please reassure the staff that Lord and Lady Amberley are in good health. The misunderstanding that kept them marooned has been cleared up, and as they wrote they were about to depart the island for Constantinople.” George’s letter had not said if that change of plans had been altogether voluntary, and she chose not to express her doubts.

  “Constantinople?” Mrs. Peckling’s voice held disappointment and a shadow of disapproval.

  “It’s not the end of the world, Mrs. Peckling, but a bustling seaport. Hardly any further from home than that Greek island, at least by ship.”

  “If you say so, my lady. If you want anything else, we are at your service.”

  The woman left, and Minerva rose on her stocking-clad feet, to see what delicacies had been provided for her sustenance. Did George and Marianne have any idea how much they were missed? How long would they let their retainers, and more importantly, their daughter Verena, wait until their return? When she had children, Minerva decided, she would either forego very long journeys, or take them along with her.

  Chapter 22

  Charlotte missed James. At least the preparations for her ball provided a welcome distraction from her worry about him and Alphonse. All the neighbouring families had sent their acceptances, and as it was the first event of this size she was organising at their Sussex estate, she was determined to provide the kind of hospitality Marianne would so easily conjure in Amberley, albeit with far greater resources.

  The Hall – formerly Bensford Hall, after a family whose last profligate member had sold it to James’ father in 1806 – was a comparatively modest country house, with no more than eighteen bedrooms, a size the late Earl had considered suitable for his younger son. They owned another estate of similar size in Cornwall, which Charlotte preferred in most respects, but entertaining on such a scale would have been more difficult there, so far from town. It was unlikely she would see Cornwall again before her confinement, for the remote village close to their house had no physician, and James did not consider a midwife sufficient at such a dangerous juncture. Charlotte herself had her doubts which attendant was preferable. She was not worried, however; the twins had been born with little delay or fuss, and everyone said second and subsequent births were easier, although there was always some risk, of course. Poor Marianne had very nearly died at Verena’s birth, and it was little wonder that she and George were taking their time about trying again.

  In her preparations for the ball Charlotte was aided by Miss Conway, who had proved a pleasant and helpful houseguest. Her greatest service, as far as Charlotte was concerned, was her willingness to entertain the increasingly restless Rook with long arguments and discussions about many subjects, most of which Charlotte had never even thought about. Miss Conway was as unconventional as she was clever, and Charlotte found it increasingly difficult to believe that Peter Conway, the man who had so deeply wronged her, was the girl’s father. The chin was exactly his, to be sure, but little else. The luminously red hair must also come from the mother’s side, since Peter’s was a dark brown. “I really must ask her to call me Charlotte,” she reflected, “and call her Celia.” After all, in a strange non-legal way they were family, or at least they might have been.

  “The furniture and carpets from the ballroom must all be carried to the attics,” she told her housekeeper, “except what is standing against the walls. And we’ll put additional chairs against the walls, here.”

  “For the wallflowers?” Celia asked. She was following proceedings with keen interest, taking mental notes against her own future entertaining. “I hope there will not be any. It must be so lowering to see others dancing and have no partner.”

  “I doubt you will ever be in that position, but it is up to the hostess to ensure that nobody is miserable and ignored, or has to sit out too many dances. That is why a sufficient number of gentlemen is so crucial for the success of any ball. A certain number of them will not dance at all, so there m
ust be more gentlemen than ladies, if at all possible.”

  “Isn’t there any way to get the laggards dancing?”

  “Not unless they are your own connections and afraid of you. Many young men are intrinsically selfish, and there is very little we ladies can do about it. I set James on them. He can usually get young men to dance, when I could not.”

  “You work well as a team,” Celia remarked. “That is what I would also wish for when I am a married lady.”

  “And have you any particular gentleman in mind for that role?”

  “No, how could I?” The denial came too quickly to ring entirely true to Charlotte.

  “Well, my advice is to discuss his notions of working as a team before you accept any man. With so much money as you have, and so many plans and ideas, it would be tragic if your future husband stifled your activities or clipped your wings.” The possibility is all too real.

  “I know.” Celia pulled a flower out of the arrangement in front of the big mirror, and put it back in another way. The small change made the whole arrangement more elegant, Charlotte noticed without comment.

  After Charlotte sent the housekeeper away and they were alone, Celia said, “I have a question that you may not want to answer. But it would mean a great deal to me, if you would.”

  “Let’s go outdoors for a short while,” Charlotte suggested, and led her young guest through the open French doors to the garden. For a minute neither spoke. “I daresay you want to know what connection there could be between us and your father?”

  “Yes,” Celia said. “I have asked my uncle and grandmother, often, what father has done that was so bad, but they always claim it is not suitable for my ears. Yet it affects me – has always affected me, even as a child. I have a right to know. Just how bad is it?”

  Side by side they walked along the gravel path towards the orchard. “I understand,” Charlotte said. “It may be painful knowledge, however. You are certain you want the truth?”