The Hemingford Scandal

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Is she not well?’ he asked. ‘I know the journey was a tiring one.’

  ‘She is exhausted, Captain. After all, she is not completely recovered from the accident, but now she is home, she will be well looked after, you may be sure of that.’

  ‘Then please convey my good wishes,’ he said, bowing and taking his leave.

  Jane, who had heard the door knocker and voices in the hall from her bedroom, heard the front door shut and went to the window to look out on the street. Harry was striding away, his uneven gait hardly noticeable, his long unbuttoned greatcoat swirling out behind him, his top hat clamped firmly on his head. At the corner, he turned to look back at the house and even at that distance she could see the strong set of his jaw, the tension in every muscle of his body, and she wished with all her heart she could call him back. But she had told her aunt to send him away. She could not entertain him, even briefly, and maintain her resolve to scotch the rumours, not so much for her sake but for his and her father’s. But, oh, how her heart ached for him. She turned as Aunt Lane came into the room.

  ‘I sent him away, as you asked.’

  ‘I know.’ She sank on to the bed and put her hands over her face. ‘What have I done, Aunt?’ she cried. ‘What have I done?’

  Her aunt sat beside her and put an arm about her shoulders. ‘Bear up, child. It is for the best.’

  ‘Is it?’ she asked dully.

  ‘You know it is. You have to live down the scandal of your treatment of Mr Allworthy and it will be sooner done if Captain Hemingford is not seen as a frequent caller.’

  ‘I know. But I promised to be his friend. How can I be that if I turn my back on him?’

  ‘My dear child, refusing to see him will be the act of a friend. You are not the only one who has to live down scandal. He must distance himself from that accusation of enticement too.’

  ‘Poor Harry, it is so unjust.’ She paused. ‘Why do people take so much notice of gossip? It is always the same—if the tattlemongers can blacken someone’s name, they are triumphant.’

  ‘While they are gossiping about someone else, no one is looking at what they are doing themselves. It is a kind of defence.’

  ‘That may be, but why choose me? Why pick on Harry? He has been kindness itself. I would have died but for him and I cannot even publicly acknowledge that. I blame Mr Allworthy. He did not have to come back to London and spread malicious rumours. I cannot imagine what he hopes to gain.’

  ‘I think he is trying to save face. Everyone knew he had offered for you, and he is a proud man.’

  ‘He is also a hypocrite. He is repelled by my infirmity. He cannot abide anything that is not perfect, and I am now imperfect, damaged. You remember what he was like at Coprise, always setting things to rights, moving an ornament two inches, grumbling at the gardener because there was a weed in the flower bed, insisting on meals being on time to the minute. And so formal. I think I began to know then that I did not want to marry him.’

  ‘You remember all that?’

  ‘I do now. I had not done so when he came to Sutton Park. When he saw me there, he recoiled from me, his distaste was obvious, and I believe he was relieved when I told him I would not marry him, which makes it so much more difficult to understand why he is so vindictive towards Harry. And Papa, too—it was not his fault.’

  ‘I know. Your papa was very disappointed.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘In the library, where else would he be at this time of day? When you have dressed and had your breakfast, go down to him. He is expecting you.’

  Her father was at his desk surrounded by mountains of paper when she joined him. He looked exhausted. ‘Papa, you work too hard,’ she said, going over to kiss his papery cheek. ‘You will make yourself ill.’

  He ran his fingers through his spiky hair. ‘I am perfectly well, simply tired. You have been away so long and I have missed your help.’

  ‘I thought the book was finished.’

  ‘I would have drawn it to a close, if…’ He shrugged. ‘But no matter, it may have been a blessing after all. I need to make some changes. It is not right yet.’

  It was always the same, always more changes, more improvements, more research. She was becoming convinced he did not want to finish it and, if he ever did, he would be at such a loss to know how to fill his time that he would fade away and die. She smiled encouragingly. ‘I am here now, Papa. Tell me what you wish me to do.’

  He gave her a pile of handwritten pages to copy and she took it to her desk and began work. It was as if she had never been away.

  They had been working in silence for some time when her aunt knocked and came in to tell them she had had the tea things taken to the drawing room and it was time they took a rest. ‘I am too busy,’ Mr Hemingford said. ‘Ask Hannah to bring mine here.’

  ‘Very well, but Jane must take a rest. There might be callers and it would be agreeable to have her with me.’

  Jane, whose eyes were aching from the close work, was glad to put down her pen and follow her aunt to the drawing room. ‘Are you expecting calls, Aunt?’

  ‘When your friends know you are home again, naturally they will want to know that you have made a full recovery.’

  Jane could not think who might be interested enough in her welfare to call, except perhaps Anne, but she joined her aunt in the drawing room. They had hardly settled themselves in their seats when the Countess of Carringdale was announced. She was the last person Jane wanted to see and she would have liked to plead a headache or business to attend to, or another engagement away from the house, but she was given no opportunity. The lady was in the room, looking about her, appraising the decor and the furnishings, shaking her head, making the plumes on her pink turban nod.

  ‘Afternoon, Harriet,’ she said, addressing Mrs Lane who murmured a greeting, fluttering her hands uselessly.

  Jane rose and made a small curtsy. ‘Countess, good afternoon. Please be seated. I am afraid Papa cannot be with us. He is much occupied with his work, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I did know,’ her ladyship said, seating herself on the edge of a chair and putting both her hands on the top of her parasol, as if she mean to beat the ground with it. ‘But he should not shut himself away as he does, it cannot be good for him. Nor can he keep up with the latest on dit if he neglects to be in company.’

  ‘I think he is not much interested in gossip, my lady.’

  ‘Then he should be. How is one to avoid it, if one does not know what is being said?’

  ‘I think if people are determined to prattle, then there is no avoiding it,’ Jane said, as her aunt dispensed tea. ‘One can only hope the tattlers will tire of it and turn to something else.’

  ‘Oh, indeed, but they can do prodigious damage before that happens.’

  Jane was not sure where the conversation was leading, but it seemed to be loaded with innuendo and she was sure it was directed at her. She had this confirmed when her ladyship, having accepted a cup of tea, went on. ‘I will speak plainly, Jane. You are distant kin and so I must declare an interest in what you do. And I have been shocked by what I have been hearing.’

  ‘Oh, what have you been hearing?’ Jane asked, smiling sweetly, though inside she was boiling with fury. If it were not for her aunt, who set so much store by the good opinion of the lady, she would have shown her the door.

  ‘That you have been cavorting in the Lake District with that rakeshame of a cousin and his hoyden of a sister, and getting into all manner of scrapes.’

  ‘I cannot accept cavorting,’ Jane said. ‘Anne and I went on holiday together to recuperate from illness and Captain Hemingford escorted us. Unfortunately we had a very bad accident on the return journey. We were lucky we were not all killed. I owe my life to Captain Hemingford and I do not like to hear him described as a rakeshame. He is a gentleman I am proud to call my friend.’

  ‘Well!’ her ladyship exclaimed. ‘If that isn’t the outside of enough! Impertinence added to impropr
iety will hardly mend matters.’

  ‘I am sorry, my lady, but I must defend my friends.’

  ‘Then I have no more to say to you. I had hoped that you might repent of your folly and accept Mr Allworthy, but I see I have been wasting my time.’ She put down her cup and turned to Mrs Lane. ‘Harriet, I am leaving.’ And with that she rose and sailed out of the room.

  As soon as she had gone Aunt Lane burst into noisy tears; though Jane tried to comfort her, she was inconsolable. ‘She will never speak to me again, I know it.’

  ‘Does it matter so much?’

  The old lady dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. ‘Of course it matters! She has so much influence in Society. One word from her, and we shall be given the cut direct by everyone.’

  ‘But, Aunt, the Season is long over and there is hardly anyone in town. I am surprised the Countess is here.’

  ‘The Earl came to attend the House of Lords and though she does not often travel with him out of Season, she decided to come this time.’

  ‘To see for herself what I have been up to?’

  ‘I suppose so. She has taken a great liking to Mr Allworthy and was determined to encourage the match with you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She is wealthy in her own right, you know, but she has no children of her own, no one to leave her fortune to. She told me in confidence she had been looking about her for a worthy recipient and had decided you would be the one. She meant to raise you up in Society and leave you a substantial inheritance if you shaped up.’

  Jane could not help laughing. ‘And I did not shape up! How disappointed she must be!’

  ‘It is not a laughing matter, Jane. She is in a strong position to ruin your reputation.’

  ‘I thought I had managed to do that very well on my own.’

  ‘It will be worse. She is a great letter writer and knows everybody.’

  Jane was not sure how it could be worse, but when she ventured out to the shops or the library, or took a stroll in the park, she noticed people turning away and becoming engrossed in something their companions were saying when she approached. Some even crossed the road to avoid her.

  Once, when she and Aunt Lane were taking a carriage ride in Hyde Park, they met the Countess in her carriage, accompanied by Donald Allworthy. He was immaculately attired in a double-breasted tailcoat of snuff-coloured superfine with a high stand-up collar. His cravat was tied in an intricate froth of muslin and lace, spilling over the top of a striped marcella waistcoat. Both carriages were obliged to come almost to a standstill to pass each other. The Countess looked straight ahead, her nose in the air, but Mr Allworthy, being on the side nearest the Lane carriage, doffed his tall hat and smiled without speaking. Jane did not like that smile; it was wolf-like, as if he were saying he had not done with her yet.

  As the carriages moved apart, Jane could hear the Countess berating him for acknowledging them, but she did not hear his reply. Jane did not care for herself, but it upset her aunt so much, they decided not to risk going to the park again.

  No one called and no one sent invitations. ‘It is not at all surprising,’ Jane said, one afternoon as they sat together in the drawing room. ‘It is because the knockers are off all the doors, not because we have been ostracised.’

  ‘All the same, I think I shall go home to Bath. There is plenty to do there. You could come with me, away from all this. Stay until after Christmas.’

  ‘It is very kind of you, Aunt, but I have been away from home so much this year, I cannot leave Papa again.’ Mr Hemingford was working in the library as usual. He had always been of a retiring disposition, but just recently he was becoming more and more of a recluse. He had even waved away her offers of help, preferring to be alone. Apart from his disappointment over the publication of his book, the gossip had not touched him.

  ‘He should come too. The change will be beneficial. If he stays in that gloomy library much longer, he will shrivel and die.’

  Jane was of the same opinion. Her father was becoming thinner and more haggard and his sight was getting very poor. And he always seemed to be in a far-off place and hardly heard her when she spoke. ‘Perhaps I should try and persuade him.’

  But he would not hear of it and Jane would not leave him. Mrs Lane returned to Bath alone. After she had gone, Jane was left without company or advice. She came down to breakfast each morning in order to see her father before he shut himself away, but after that there was nothing to do. She read book after book, did a little needlepoint and kept house, but that barely filled her time. Sometimes, when Hannah was not too busy to accompany her, she went for a walk, taking a cane to help her along. She would not admit that she hoped she might meet Harry, but it must have been in the back of her mind because she found herself looking for his broad frame, his dark curly hair, the ungainly gait, so like her own, and was disappointed when he failed to appear.

  The disappointment was acute. She could not banish him from her thoughts. He was there, in her head, whatever she did. In the middle of reading a book, his face would appear on the page, smiling at her. When she was sewing, she could hardly see where to put her needle for the tears that welled up at some memory of something he had said. Her memory had returned completely; it was all there, everything they had ever said and done, and most particularly the way he had kissed her when they were caught in the storm and the intensity of her response. He loved her, she knew it, and she loved him, but it was that love which prevented her from seeking him out. If they were seen together, his newly won good reputation would be gone and no one would finance his gun project.

  Harry, together with Giles whose opinion he valued, left Robinson and Cook in Mount Street, well satisfied with the carriage they had chosen. It would be delivered the following day after the Bostock coat of arms had been painted on its doors. Their next stop was Tattersall’s, where they spent some time choosing four horses to draw it, two chestnuts for leaders and two bays that he decided would work well together. Leaving Giles to arrange for their delivery, he returned home.

  He found Anne in the conservatory, one of Cook’s big aprons over her gown, painting a watercolour of an exotic plant that grew there. ‘All alone?’ he queried.

  ‘As you see.’ She put her brush in a pot of water and turned to him. ‘Did you buy the coach?’

  ‘Yes, the horses too. I venture to think his lordship will be pleased with the bargain I made.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘As far as he is pleased with anything I do.’

  ‘Oh, Harry, I wish you could deal better with each other. If you are not going ahead with making your new gun, just what are you going to do?’

  ‘I am waiting.’ It was October now, July when he had first visited Clarence Garfitt, and in that time he had made some small progress, but not enough. He had no proof of treachery and he would have to have that before anyone in authority would move. Thoms was on the trail, watching the Leeds manufactory, ordered to follow the carts that left it. He was as sure as he could be they would end up in King’s Lynn aboard the Fair Trader, and even then the owner of the vessel could easily blame the captain and say it was all being done without his knowledge. He needed to be caught red-handed.

  ‘She will not come here, not now. You must go to her.’

  She had misunderstood him, but he knew perfectly well what had been in her mind. ‘Anne, she has said she does not want to see me and I must accept that. There is already gossip and I do not wish to add to it.’

  ‘For her sake?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And she is estranging herself from you for your sake. What a pair of ninnies you are!’

  He sighed heavily. ‘What would you have me do? Batter down her door?’

  ‘I am sure it is not beyond your ingenuity to think of something. She has to go out sometimes.’

  ‘You would have me waylay her in the street like a thieving footpad?’

  ‘If it is the only way…’

  ‘Oh, leave off refining on it, Anne, you mak
e my head spin.’

  He knew he had hurt her and quickly apologised, but being reminded of Jane unsettled him and he could not sit still. He sent for his horse to be saddled; he needed some exercise.

  He rode for hours, covering ground on Hyde Park and Green Park, where he was reminded again of Jane. She had been riding there with Allworthy when he had seen her for the first time since returning to England and realised what he supposed he had known all along, that he still loved her. He wished that confounded fellow, Allworthy, would take himself back to Norfolk. While he remained in London, going about with the Countess of Carringdale, the gossip would never end. Nor could he complete his mission for Colonel Garfitt. He returned his tired horse to the stable and went indoors, where he found an ill-spelled letter from Jerry Thoms waiting for him. It sent him scurrying to Horse Guards.

  ‘I heard you were back in town,’ Garfitt said when Harry was shown into his office after kicking his heels in an anteroom for over an hour. ‘Some mushroom from Norfolk threatening to call you out for enticing his lady love from him.’

  Harry was as sure as he could be that Allworthy no longer wanted Jane, but if he had realised how close on the trail Harry was, he would want to bring him down, discredit him in the eyes of the world. What better way to do it than by pretending to be aggrieved by Jane’s rejection and calling him out? But surely a duel would be too risky? ‘Strange, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Everyone seems to know about this but me. I have seen neither hide nor hair of the man myself.’

  ‘It’s not true what he is saying, then?’

  ‘Whatever he has been saying, he has not said it to me.’

  ‘So you have not been diverted from your purpose over a lady?’

  Harry was glad the colonel did not know how very nearly true that accusation was. ‘No, though I think that is what our man has in mind.’

  ‘Oh? Enlighten me.’

  ‘I visited the manufactory of Franz Stoller in Leeds. He is the one making the traitor’s guns, I am sure of it. I set my man watching the premises and he has today sent me word the cargo is on the move, heading for King’s Lynn. According to him, the crates are labelled umbrellas.’