On this occasion Guy was supposed to be in London, on a flying visit – this time not supervised by Margaret – to see his tailor. Margaret still permitted visits to the tailor, the shirtmaker, the bootmaker and hatter, though if possible she liked these visits to coincide with a time when she was able to travel up with him too. Then she would visit her dressmaker and milliner, her furrier and jeweller.
But all the children had the measles, Carson particularly badly, and Margaret, the good mother, had not wished to leave them. Guy did his business in record time and stopped off in Blandford on the way back, booked a room at the Crown Hotel and hired himself a horse. He had left the horse at the local inn in the village of Moreton and walked the two miles to Moreton Park. He had loitered near the house until after dark and a light came on in Agnes’s room.
It was all very difficult and exciting. It was the spice of life. But for Agnes it was getting too much. Guy had initiated her into the delights of love, but one couldn’t live on love alone. She had wanted more, and what she wanted above anything else was to be Lady Woodville. She thought she deserved it. Everyone knew Guy didn’t love his wife and she no longer loved him. Moreover, she treated him like a child, kept him constantly short of money, which was why he enjoyed these boyish escapades.
As Guy lay on top of her, his heart thudding against hers, she wriggled uncomfortably beneath him. ‘Guy ...’ she began.
‘I know, my dearest.’ He slid off her and drew the bedclothes over his shoulder. ‘Just a little sleep, and then I’ll go.’
‘It isn’t that, Guy.’ Agnes’s tone was querulous. ‘I just can’t go on like this. The Mounts ...’
‘The Mounts haven’t found out yet, and why should they?’
‘We can’t go on for ever.’
‘I don’t see why not.’ Thoroughly awake now and a bit irritated, he put his arms behind his head and gazed at the ceiling. ‘All right then, if you’re tired of me tell me.’
‘It’s not that ...’
‘Then what is it?’ By now it was daylight, and he looked at his watch by the side of the bed. Maybe he could creep out of the house without being seen and get away from this tiresome woman. They were all the same. It always came down to marriage in the end. Maybe Agnes had made the mistake of thinking he loved her more than he did, equating passion with love. He would have breakfast in Blandford and then go to the station to await collection. He was supposed to be arriving from London in the afternoon.
Actually he was a little tired of these escapades. In a way they were becoming more dangerous, and Agnes was turning into a shrew. Nag, nag, nag... Better use her continual complaining as an excuse to break with her altogether.
‘Right,’ he said, sweeping back the bedclothes and swinging his feet on to the floor. ‘I’ll chance it.’
‘Don’t be silly, Guy.’ She put a restraining hand on his arm.
‘I can’t bear all this nagging, Agnes. You might as well know. My wife is a nag and you are a nag. It is a bit too much.’
‘I only nag because I love you, Guy,’ she pouted, feeling a little frightened. If she lost him ... ‘If we were married it would be very different.’ She paused as if wondering whether to continue. ‘I do have money, Guy. I don’t think you realise that.’
‘My dear!’ Guy exclaimed, walking naked across the room to where he had left his clothes. It was freezing cold in the bedroom and he hurriedly shrugged on his shirt and coat. The huge modern Palladian-style house had been built with the latest central heating system, but only downstairs. It was considered that the English upper classes prefer a cold bedroom.
He sat on the chair and pulled on his socks. Opposite him Agnes sat up in bed, her small neat breasts appearing over the top of the sheets. Fancy considering herself good enough to be his wife! He thought the fact that his sister had married her brother sometimes gave Agnes delusions of grandeur. Guy liked Ryder, but he considered him a rustic all the same – no fit spouse for a Woodville.
‘It’s not a question of money,’ he said roughly. ‘I am married to Margaret and we have three children. Marriage is an institution, and I approve of institutions. It is the fabric of society. I couldn’t divorce Margaret and marry you even if I wanted to.’
‘And do you?’ She seemed on the verge of tears, and her voice quivered.
‘Of course, dearest.’ He went over to her and sat on the bed to give her a kiss. ‘Other things being equal I would.’ His hand rubbed her nipple and then he squashed it flat against her chest.
‘Ouch!’ she cried indignantly, ‘that hurt. If you wish to marry me...’
‘Let’s talk about it when we meet again,’ Guy said. ‘I’ll give the matter some serious thought.’
He then shrugged on his topcoat and, with a finger to his lips, gently opened the door and crept silently down the corridor of the huge house.
Sally was the housemaid who was always first up in the morning to light the fires and clean the grates. She stole into the bedrooms of the master and the mistress, then into the children’s rooms, but she was never allowed into the bedroom of Miss Yetman. Sally knew why.
If she had seen Sir Guy Woodville creep out of it once, she had seen him a dozen times in the past few years. She knew quite well who he was because he came to dinner with his wife, and though his children were younger than the Mount children, in the summer he would bring his family over and they would play on the lawn, sometimes with his sister’s children, or be taken rowing on the lake.
In common with the rest of the staff, Sally didn’t like Miss Yetman, yet she was a little in awe of her. The staff all knew about Sir Guy’s visits because Sally was not one to keep explosive information of this sort to herself. Even that high and mighty eminence, the butler, knew. He had a direct line to Lord and Lady Mount, but he had warned the staff that the scandalous conduct of the governess must never reach the ears of their employers. Lady Mount was a gentlewoman through and through, her father an earl, and the shock might well kill her. Though they would have liked to inform on the governess, with her airs and graces, and have her ignominiously dismissed, they were all fond of her ladyship and could not risk upsetting her.
As Sir Guy went to the door that led to the servants’ staircase Sally, who had just emerged from the room of Laetitia Mount, Miss Yetman’s pupil, flattened herself against the wall and stayed there, scarcely daring to breathe, until he had opened the door and disappeared.
Eleanor Mount was a pretty, graceful woman in her mid-forties, the mother of four, and a loyal and loving wife. She was a woman of some distinction. She could draw, sing and play the piano, some said almost to a professional standard. Her watercolours had been exhibited in London and had been favourably compared to the works of distinguished contemporary artists.
Her husband, the first Baron Mount, was fifty years old, and had recently been appointed a circuit judge following a career as a successful barrister. He had commanded high fees, and there was money in his family and hers, so the Mounts lacked for nothing. They were a close and, to all appearances, happy family.
As a circuit judge Lord Mount was often away from home, and once the three boys were all at boarding school he would sometimes take his wife with him. As he sat at the various Assizes Lady Mount would get out her easel and watercolours, or even pencil and paper, and while away the time in the countryside surrounding whichever county town they happened to be in.
The Mounts felt very confident about leaving their treasured only daughter to the care of Miss Yetman, that pleasant, reliable girl who had come to them three years before. They treated her as one of the family, an elder daughter of the house. They were aware that the staff considered her a bit uppish, but they attributed this to the fact that maybe her upbringing had not been as liberal as theirs, when one was taught to value the services of staff, to treat them courteously at all times and never to regard them with contempt.
Gifted and pleasant though Miss Yetman was, she had not the same leisured, affluent, cultured and upper-class
background as Eleanor and Geoffrey Mount and they made allowances for it.
Lord Mount was away on circuit, the boys were at their schools, but Eleanor had stayed at home because, with the summer approaching, there would, as always, be a lot to do in the house. The Mounts loved entertaining and, besides, Eleanor, in addition to her other accomplishments, was a keen gardener. At this time of year, the end of the winter and beginning of spring, she preferred being at home to travelling around with her husband.
When her husband was away she usually took breakfast with nine-year-old Laetitia before lessons began. When the judge was at home he and she breakfasted alone. Otherwise family meals, which included Agnes, were usually the rule. Frequently there were guests for dinner in the evening; sometimes the Woodvilles, sometimes the Sudburys or the Abbots, or Eliza and Ryder Yetman, Agnes’s brother.
It was a delightful way of life lived in the midst of a most tranquil and beautiful part of the country. Nearby was Milton Abbey, the home of the Hambros, and not far away was magnificent Kingston Lacy where the Bankes family, who owned a good slice of Dorset, kept a hospitable table.
Laetitia was a dark, rather solemn girl who took after her father the judge rather than her pretty, fair-haired artistic mother. At nine Laetitia was scholarly for her years, a bookworm. Unfortunately she had to wear spectacles on account of her poor eyesight, and Eleanor often compared her with her three handsome, outgoing brothers and thought it was a pity that she had not been born a boy too.
Laetitia never gave anyone the slightest cause for complaint. She was a model child; a good and loving daughter, an assiduous pupil. Between her and Agnes there existed a fond, rather than close relationship. Agnes was a good instructor and Laetitia a good learner, but otherwise they had little in common. Laetitia liked her own company; Agnes was secretive and enjoyed walks on her own.
Because of her undoubted intellectual ability, it had been decided that when she was eleven Laetitia would also be sent away to school, to Cheltenham Ladies’ College, that enlightened place of learning founded by the redoubtable Miss Beale. Until then the Mounts hoped that Agnes would remain with them.
Eleanor was already seated at table, opening her post, when Laetitia came into the breakfast room and, after kissing her mother, sat opposite her, unfolded her starched linen napkin and tucked it under her chin. A footman almost immediately entered with the lightly boiled egg and toast which Laetitia always had and, his eyes questioning, turned to the chair normally occupied by Agnes.
‘Yes, where is Miss Yetman?’ Eleanor asked, looking up from her letter.
‘She’s not well, Mama,’ Laetitia said, carefully knocking the spoon against the shell of her egg.
‘Not well again? Dear dear, we must get Dr Brothers to see her. This must be the second or third time this month.’
The footman discreetly exited from the room, and Eleanor, who enjoyed a copious correspondence with people all over the world, thought no more of the matter and went on reading her post.
A short while later Agnes, looking pale, entered the room and apologised for her indisposition.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Lady Mount said. ‘I thought I should ask Dr Brothers to call. You have been quite unwell lately, Agnes.’
‘I have suffered from migraine all my life, Lady Mount.’ Agnes passed a hand across her forehead, a pained expression on her face. ‘I assure you it is absolutely nothing.’
‘Nevertheless I think ...’
‘I beg of you, please not. It will pass. It always has.’
‘I must say you’ve never complained of migraine before.’ Eleanor peered at her closely.
‘That’s because I’ve concealed it from you, Lady Mount, not wishing to worry you. It comes and goes, I assure you.’
‘Oh, very well,’ Eleanor said as the footman again entered, bearing a plate on which were grilled kippers, which he placed before Agnes with a slightly malevolent smile. Immediately her hand went to her mouth, and she turned away from the table to retch.
‘No, please...’ She barely managed to indicate the offending plate. ‘Please take it away.’
‘May I bring you something else in its place, Miss?’ The footman swept the plate away and stood with it poised on the palm of his hand.
‘Just tea, please,’ Agnes said, sitting upright again though her eyes were streaming with tears brought on by her exertions. ‘Thank you, Ralph.’
Later that morning Eleanor, wearing an old linen hat and an overall, repaired to one of her greenhouses to prick out the little seedlings which were now appearing as a result of her labours in the winter months.
It was a beautiful March day, the wind a little blustery, but the sun, beaming through the glass, made it seem quite hot and Lady Mount, though keeping her hat on, removed the cardigan she wore under her overall. The park was full of trees of great age and beauty – vast oaks, broad cedars, tall poplar and ash trees – and the tiny leaves, beginning to burgeon, seemed to invest the scene with a shimmering gossamer web full of light, through which darted insects in search of pollen.
Lady Mount, conscious of a feeling of happiness, began to hum a little song as she proceeded delicately and quickly with her task. The time seemed to fly by.
After a while she was interrupted by the head parlourmaid, Jessie, who knocked timidly on the door.
‘Come in,’ Lady Mount called cheerily. ‘Yes, Jessie?’
‘Would you like coffee in the conservatory, my lady, or in the greenhouse?’
‘I think I’d like it here,’ Lady Mount said. ‘I have a thousand and one things to do, and once I go indoors ... I really must remember to call Dr Brothers and get him to take a look at Miss Yetman. I’ve never known her so frequently indisposed in all the time she’s been here, have you, Jessie?’ Eleanor, frowning, looked sideways at the maid.
‘No, my lady.’ There was something in the maid’s tone of voice as she turned to go that made Eleanor summon her back again.
‘Jessie?’
‘Yes, my lady?’ Jessie looked innocently at her.
‘Why do you say it like that? As though you really do know?’
‘Well, my lady, it’s not for me to say, is it?’ Jessie appeared commendably diffident and, dropping her head demurely, folded her hands in front of her.
‘To say what, Jessie?’ Eleanor, beginning to think the unthinkable, pulled a stool towards her so that she could sink on to it.
‘Well, it’s like ...’ Jessie paused, as if her limited education made it difficult for her to find exactly the right words. ‘It’s just what my mother was always like when she was expecting, and there were twelve of us, my lady.’
Lord Mount gazed at Guy Woodville with an expression of the utmost severity.
‘You are a villain and a scoundrel, sir. If I had the powers I’d put you behind bars for good.’
‘Just as well you haven’t, then.’ Guy feigned insouciance, though in fact he’d been very frightened indeed by his lordship’s news, the first intimation he’d had of Agnes’s condition.
The meeting took place, at Lady Mount’s urgent request, in the gracious cream and gold reception room of Moreton Park to which Guy had been summoned, but her ladyship preferred not to be present.
‘Don’t you give me any cheek, young man –’ Lord Mount wagged a judicial finger at him ‘– or I will find ways to have you apprehended. As one of Her Majesty’s judges I have certain prerogatives, you know.’
‘Geoffrey,’ Guy said, indicating a chair, ‘do please let us sit down, and try and take the heat out of this matter.’
‘I don’t see how you can, sir, and I prefer to stand.’ Lord Mount was a large man, twice the girth of Guy, who, however, was much younger and fitter looking. It was, though, a psychological battle rather than a matter of fisticuffs. ‘This poor girl has been seduced, most vilely, by you – and in my house. That, Sir Guy, I consider a gross betrayal of friendship.’
‘That “poor girl” could have been seduced by anyone, anywhere,’ Guy said contem
ptuously. ‘She laid traps for me around every corner, and for any other man as far as I know.’
‘She has told us everything.’ Lord Mount stuck his nose in the air. ‘You seduced her at Moreton Park about three years ago, a short time after she came into our employment. Scandalous, sir, scandalous.’ By now the judge’s face was puce, his whole body quivered and shook with rage. ‘For three years you have been skulking into my house, sleeping with a woman of previously good character, I understand, and skulking out again. Maybe I could sue you for trespass, yet publicity would bring even more disgrace on a woman who is suffering deeply already.’
‘It appears that practically the entire staff knew of it. How little regard they had for Miss Yetman as a result, you may imagine. How they must have sniggered behind their hands at the gullibility of her employers, though they profess to have wished to save us pain. And then, when the truth became apparent and Miss Yetman was trying to disguise it as a “migraine”, my wife had to hear the awful news from a servant. Poor Eleanor, what she has been through ... And what that poor girl has been through, too, frightened to death, ignorant of her condition ... Now, what are you going to do about it, Sir Guy?’
‘What can I do?’ Guy said, shaking his head. ‘It’s done, sir, and I am very, very sorry. I can offer no excuse except that Miss Yetman did set her cap very deliberately at me, and as I have found life in the country somewhat tedious I was easy prey.’
‘She says that you told her you wished to marry her; that you and your wife were incompatible and that Lady Woodville was going to leave you and return to Holland.’
‘I think she is exaggerating, sir.’ Guy blenched at the thought that Margaret should hear even a word of this. ‘I, of course, had to pacify her a little – the matter was on her conscience – but I never promised marriage. If you ask me, Geoffrey, her condition may have been engineered to try and trap me. After all, in three years she never became pregnant before.’
The People of This Parish (Part One of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 32