The Hemingford Scandal

by Mary Nichols

  ‘I hope so, sir.’

  ‘What now? Going to settle down, are you? Find yourself a wife and give me a great-grandchild. Now that would prove you are a man.’ He had chuckled aloud and beckoned a servant to refill his wine glass. ‘If I thought you would do that, I might restore your full allowance.’

  The Earl had never stopped his allowance completely, though he had threatened to do so more than once. Harry had been managing on a much smaller amount and his captain’s pay, now reduced to half, and though the extra money would be welcome, he would not be bribed. ‘Not at the moment. I have other plans…’

  ‘Oh?’ The old man had put down his glass and eyed him warily.

  ‘Harry has this wonderful idea for winning the war,’ Anne said.

  ‘Sis, that’s coming it too brown,’ Harry put in quickly.

  ‘I will be the judge of that,’ the old man said. ‘Let me hear about it.’

  Harry would rather not have involved him, but as Anne had mentioned it, he gave him the same outline of his plans he had given to Anne, at the end of which his grandfather laughed. ‘So it’s blunt you want, is it? I might have known you would not come back just to see an old man.’

  ‘Grandfather, that’s not true,’ Anne said. ‘Harry would have come anyway.’

  ‘Be silent, miss, and let him speak for himself.’

  ‘Yes, Anne,’ Harry said. ‘Let me explain.’

  He had done his best, said he could not have come back before, being a soldier on active service, but that did not mean he did not wish them to be reconciled. He thought his grandfather would be glad to know he was going to do something useful.

  ‘A tradesman, by God!’ the old man had said. ‘You are my heir, you should be here, taking up your responsibilities on the estate. I am getting old and shall soon stick my spoon in the wall—’

  ‘Grandfather, no!’ Anne cried.

  He ignored her and continued to address Harry. ‘Sutton Park is not entailed, you know. I can leave it elsewhere.’ He meant Jane’s father, who was his nephew and next in line after Harry, though what James Hemingford would make of it was uncertain.

  ‘You must do as you think fit, sir. But if I have no expectations, then it is all the more important to have independent means, is it not?’

  ‘And if you think that will make me change my mind, you are mistaken, young man. You are an aristocrat—if you cannot behave like one, then I wash my hands of you. And do not come to me when you swallow a spider.’

  Harry was as stubborn as his grandfather and, to Anne’s infinite sorrow, he had prepared to return to London.

  They set off in the pouring rain, going back the way they had come, by stage, but when they reached Boston, instead of joining the main road to London, Harry announced he intended to visit King’s Lynn. ‘I know someone there who might help me,’ he said and because she knew how important it was to him, Anne agreed. It meant taking a cross-country route, but he reckoned it would not add above a day to the journey. However, after they transferred to the local conveyance, she was not sure it was a good idea.

  The coach was heavy and unsprung and its upholstery minimal and, to add to their discomforts, the rain continued unabated. Every time the coach door was opened for someone to enter or leave, the rain blew in and before long there was a puddle on the floor and Anne’s skirt was sodden. By the time they reached King’s Lynn and pulled into the yard of the King’s Head, Anne was decidedly wet and grumpy.

  Harry bespoke rooms for them and left her to change her clothes and rest. ‘If I am late back, don’t wait for me. Go to bed, you look all in.’

  She overslept and was woken by Harry hammering on her door. It was a minute before she could rouse herself. Her head ached, her eyes stung and her limbs felt heavy as lead and she knew she had caught a cold. By that time her brother was in the room and fretting round her, blaming himself. ‘Oh, do stop fussing, Harry,’ she said. ‘I am not dying. Go down and have your breakfast, I will be down myself directly.’

  It was more than an hour before she could force herself to get up and another half an hour before she finally entered the dining room to join her brother. She shrugged aside his concern and insisted on going on, but by the time they reached Cambridge she was done in. They went into the Blue Boar and he went off to see about a room for them, leaving her in the dining room. She had not been there more than two minutes when Mrs Lane and Jane came into the inn for refreshment, having set off from Coprise early that morning.

  ‘Anne, what are you doing here?’ Jane asked.

  ‘We’ve been to visit Grandfather.’ She nodded towards Harry returning from his errand. ‘We are on our way back to London.’

  If he was surprised to see them, he did not show it. ‘Mrs Lane, Miss Hemingford, your obedient.’

  ‘Captain Hemingford.’ Jane knew if she attempted anything like a curtsy or a smile, she would come unstuck, fall to pieces, talk gibberish. How could she let herself down like that? He was nothing to her, not any more, and if it had not been for Anne, she might have been tempted to cut him. Her friend looked ill and she immediately forgot they had quarrelled. ‘Anne, dear, you do not look at all the thing.’

  ‘It is this confounded weather,’ Harry put in, noticing Jane’s heightened colour and the way she refused to look at him. Had his time as a soldier made him so uncouth, so odious? ‘We do not keep a carriage in London, and if we had borrowed Grandfather’s coach we would have had to arrange to send it back; it seemed easier to take the stage. It would not have mattered if the weather had been fine. Now Anne has taken cold and I do not know what to do for the best: go back to Grandfather, go on, or stay here.’

  ‘Don’t be a clunch,’ Anne retorted thickly. ‘I am certainly not staying here and it is just as far to go back as it is to go on. And we have an important engagement in London, you recall.’

  ‘Oh, you poor dear,’ Jane said. ‘There is nothing worse than not feeling up to snuff when travelling.’ Jane turned to her aunt. ‘Could Anne not come with us? It would be much more comfortable and quicker than the stage.’

  ‘I could not trouble you…’ Anne looked from her to Harry and then to Mrs Lane.

  ‘It is no trouble,’ Mrs Lane agreed. ‘We can easily make room for you, if you do not have much baggage.’

  ‘Hardly any at all.’

  ‘Then it is settled.’ She paused and looked towards Harry. ‘Captain Hemingford, you are welcome to ride up beside Hoskins. Your sister will undoubtedly be glad of your presence when we arrive in London.’ And having thus disposed of everyone, like a commander on a battle-field, she ordered refreshment.

  Half an hour later, with the boot full of luggage, more strapped to the roof and Lucy with the jewel case on her lap and Anne beside her in its place, Harry cheerfully climbed up to share the driving seat with their driver and they set off again. There was nothing Jane could say against it. It seemed days ago, not hours, since she had left Coprise and Mr Allworthy. Only by touching the necklace was she able to bring him back to mind.

  Chapter Four

  Jane was worried about Anne; she looked so ill and it was obvious that every jolt of the carriage was making her head hurt. Whenever they stopped, Harry went into the inn to fetch a hot drink for her and hot bricks for her feet. ‘It’s my fault,’ he told Jane at one stop, while they were waiting for water to be heated. ‘I should not have taken her to King’s Lynn, not in that weather.’

  ‘No, you should not,’ she said sharply, wondering what he had been doing in that town. ‘But it is done now. Let us hope it is nothing more than a catch-cold.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ he said fervently. ‘You know, Jane, she was the only one to stand by me over that scandal, the only one. She had faith in me, you see. Without her I should not have come through.’

  Jane knew his words were aimed at her. She had not stood by him; she had shouted and wept and sent him away. If she had really loved him, she would not have done that, she would have ignored all her well-meaning friends and re
lations who advised her to break off the engagement. Should she feel guilty? No, she told herself over and over again; he had deceived her by visiting that woman secretly, then tried to deny it and that had been his crime, not what had gone before, and she had done the right and proper thing. ‘She is your twin,’ she said now. ‘I should have been very surprised if she had not.’

  The flannel-wrapped bricks were brought to them and he carried them out to the coach, put them carefully under Anne’s feet and they resumed their journey.

  They arrived in Bishop’s Stortford hours later than they should have been. The innkeeper told them gruffly he couldn’t keep post horses standing idle and they had all gone out—they must either wait for fresh ones or go on with what they had. Jane was anxious about Anne and thought the sooner she was home and in her own bed with her own servants round her, the better. Besides, Harry unsettled her and it was all she could do to remember that she was all but engaged to Donald Allworthy.

  It was Anne herself who decided the matter. ‘I long for a bed,’ she said in a husky voice. ‘If I could only sleep for a few hours, I would feel better in the morning. If we go on and the poor horses collapse in some out-of-the-way place, we shall be in worse straits.’

  ‘She is right,’ Aunt Lane put in. ‘Do go and bespeak beds for us all, Captain. If we set out early in the morning, we should be home by ten. I am not expected at the Countess’s until the afternoon.’

  Jane helped Anne to bed as soon as the rooms were prepared, dosed her with a tisane and then settled down to sit with her until she fell asleep. ‘You do not need to stay with me,’ Anne said thickly. ‘Go down and eat with your aunt and Harry,’ and, when Jane demurred, ‘I shall be perfectly all right. All I need is a good night’s rest. And if you do not rescue Harry, your aunt will talk him to death.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure he can hold his own.’

  ‘Are you afraid?’

  ‘Afraid?’ Jane repeated. ‘What have I to be afraid of?’

  ‘Of yourself, your own feelings, of being thought soft, of relenting by the smallest degree.’

  ‘You must be more ill than I realised, you are rambling.’

  ‘So, I am rambling. Then leave me to ramble alone and go down to the dining room and have some supper. You must be hungry.’

  Jane was hungry, and it was true she was also afraid, which was very foolish of her. She had nothing to be afraid of. It would have been different if she still loved Harry and had been waiting for him to come back to her, ready to throw herself into his arms as soon as he appeared, which of course was unthinkable. There was no reason at all why she should not join him and her aunt. ‘Very well,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ll go to please you. If you need anything, call Lucy, she is in the room next door and she will fetch me.’

  After going back to her own room to change out of the dusty gown she had been wearing all day, brush her hair and tie it back with a mauve ribbon, she made her way down to the dining room, ignoring the quick fluttering of her heart that made her slightly breathless. The room was crowded with people either staying or simply waiting for coaches to arrive or horses to be changed. There were well-dressed families, gentlemen on their own, women who could not be exactly described as ladies and working men in moleskin trousers and fustian coats, some of whom looked very rough. It was a moment or two before she spotted her aunt and Harry, seated at a corner table.

  He had his back to the door and had not seen Jane arrive, but some sixth sense told him she was there and he turned to watch her approach. Her gown was in a pale shade of lilac, trimmed with coffee-coloured lace. It set off a glorious body, a body that had matured in the two years since he had last seen her. From being a girl just out of the schoolroom, she had blossomed into a woman he could sigh for. Did sigh for. He moved his glance upwards. Her hair was just prevented from being unruly by a couple of combs and a length of ribbon, but some of it had escaped and was framing her oval face. There was a soft blush on her cheeks and her expressive green eyes were fringed with dark lashes and in the poorly lit dining room seemed to have a light of their own. It was a moment or two before he remembered his manners and rose to pull out a chair for her. ‘Miss Hemingford. I am glad you could join us. How is Anne?’

  She accepted his ministrations with a smile, apparently in total control of herself. The control was almost lost when he sat next to her and his pantaloon-clad thigh brushed against her skirts. ‘The tisane is making her drowsy,’ she said, recovering quickly. ‘I think she will sleep and that will do her more good than any medicine.’

  ‘I have been telling Mrs Lane how grateful I am to you both—’

  ‘Nonsense! Anne is my dear friend. I would do anything I could for her.’ She nearly added, ‘Even to having supper with her brother’, but decided that would be unkind.

  But he knew what was in her mind, for he laughed. ‘Even to sharing a meal with her reprobate brother!’

  A waiter came to take their order. Jane asked for a little roast chicken and vegetables, her aunt plumped for the lamb and Harry asked for beef and oyster pie. After consulting the ladies, he ordered a bottle of hock for himself and ratafia for them.

  ‘And how did you find your grandfather, the Earl?’ Mrs Lane asked, when they had been served.

  ‘As cantankerous as ever,’ he said, laughing. ‘If Anne had not been there to soften him, I doubt I would have been allowed over the doorstep.’

  ‘You are still disinherited, then?’

  ‘Am I?’ he queried, half-mockingly. ‘Do you know, I had not realised it?’

  ‘You sound as if you do not care,’ Jane said.

  ‘I do not. If my grandfather wishes to leave the estate elsewhere, who am I to quarrel with his decision?’

  ‘What will you do, then?’

  ‘No doubt I shall find something to pass my time.’ He paused. He did not want to talk about himself or what he had undertaken to do, he wanted to hear about her. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I have been helping Papa with his work. It is a comparison of the different religions of the world and how in many ways they are similar. I do not pretend to understand half the arguments, but what I do comprehend is very enlightening.’

  ‘And do you go out and about in Society?’

  ‘Of course she does,’ Aunt Lane put in before Jane could reply. ‘She is very popular, you know. The number of eligibles we have had to fight off is prodigious.’

  ‘But now the right man has come along.’ He smiled, though it was an effort. ‘I collect a betrothal is imminent.’

  Jane did not know what to say. If she said yes, she would definitely commit herself, but if she said no, he would think… She stopped her foolish thoughts; he did not want her, any more than she wanted him, not now. ‘It is not imminent,’ she said. ‘We have decided to wait until the end of the Season.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Instead of eating her supper she was fiddling with the necklace she was wearing, he noticed, as if she wanted to gain strength from it. It would not have been out of place in a ballroom, enhancing her creamy throat, but here, in a posting inn, it was incongruous and a temptation to thieves. Some of the occupants of this room were quite capable of taking it from her. He felt an almost overwhelming desire to snatch her hand from it and rip it from her neck. ‘How was your stay in Norfolk?’

  ‘Delightful,’ she said. ‘We went out and about everywhere, paying calls on Mr Allworthy’s friends, who were all very welcoming. We attended a botanical lecture which was very interesting, made a visit to King’s Lynn where Mr Allworthy has an interest in one of the cargo ships, and we went walking and riding. The countryside around Coprise is very pleasant and luckily the weather was beautiful until yesterday—’ She stopped suddenly, realising she had been babbling.

  ‘It has made up for it since,’ Mrs Lane put in. ‘I do not believe it has stopped raining for twenty-four hours. The roads will be awash.’

  ‘Yes, but perhaps it will have stopped by tomorrow. I do not know what I shall do if Anne is not well enou
gh to travel.’

  ‘If she is not, then I shall stay with her,’ Jane said. ‘If you are in a hurry to return to London, Captain Hemingford, you may go on alone.’

  ‘I am not in such haste that I would abandon my sister,’ he snapped. ‘No one is more important to me. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go and see how she is.’ And with that, he stood up, bowed to them and hurried away.

  ‘Living with common soldiers has not improved his manners,’ Aunt Lane said.

  ‘He is worried about Anne,’ Jane said mildly. ‘And I did provoke him.’

  Harry was angry with himself for allowing her to goad him into being rude. She had managed to upset his hard-won equilibrium. Enemy gunfire, hunger and cold had not upset him half as much. Not even the ostracism he had received immediately after the scandal broke had affected him in the same way as one angry word from her. Two years of battling, not only with the French but also with his emotions, had been for nothing. But it had. In one thing his grandfather had been right, it had made a man out of the boy. He had come back determined to put his past life behind him. The lazy life of one of Society’s favourites, the conviction that he could enjoy himself without the need to work, the fanaticism about fashion and the snobbery of it all, would no longer satisfy him. If Jane and others like her could not stomach the change, then bad cess to them.

  He went to Anne’s room, but, though she was hot, she was sleeping, so he retired to his own bed and lay there, thinking of his visit to King’s Lynn. Funny that Jane and Allworthy should be there too. If he had gone a day or two earlier he might have run into them. In the event it had been a wasted journey, and he wished he had never made it because it had resulted in Anne taking cold.

  He could spread the word of his disappointment that no one would back him and hope it would bring the rats out of their holes, but the odds were very long. On the other hand, pretending to be bitter and resentful would not help his restitution in Society, which had apparently begun with that invitation to the Regent’s banquet. It would only take one tattler of a courtier to remind his Highness that this was the man who had brought disgrace on the regiment he had graced with his name, and it would be over before it had properly begun. He did not care for his own sake, but for Anne and his grandfather. In any case, it looked as though Anne would not be fit to travel, let alone go to a banquet, and he could not and would not leave her, for all Jane Hemingford had implied that he might.