The Ragged Heiress

by Dilly Court

  During the weeks that followed Giles said nothing to make her feel uncomfortable, but sometimes Lucetta caught him looking at her with a serious, almost wistful expression in his dark eyes. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his normal insouciant smile, convincing her that she had imagined the whole thing. After all, he had never spoken to her of love or romance and he was a good ten years her senior. What would a man of the world like Giles see in a penniless orphan? Despite the generous Christmas present and his obvious pleasure in her company, she decided that he was just being kind. His real interest must lie with Mary, whose feelings were painfully obvious, at least to Lucetta who had grown to love her like a sister.

  The days passed pleasantly enough, although the weather continued to be dreadful with continuous snowstorms and reports of drifts several feet deep making travel outside London virtually impossible. Lucetta hoped that this was the reason for the lack of a response to the letter she had sent Sam, but she was still determined to go to Devonshire the moment that winter released its icy grip. She worked diligently for Sir Hector, and even when Parliament returned after the Christmas recess she continued to write much of his private correspondence, for which he paid her a modest salary. She saved every penny of her wages, placing the coins in an old stocking that was too laddered to darn, and stowing it away in a drawer with her clean undergarments.

  Soon after Christmas, Sir Hector had taken Lucetta and Mary to the studio of a photographer who was renowned for his daguerreotype portraits. Sir Hector and Mary had their likenesses taken together and separately, posing rather self-consciously amongst potted palms set against a lavish curtained backdrop. Then it was Lucetta’s turn to sit on the horsehair sofa for what seemed like hours while her image was captured for posterity and an extra print ordered so that it could be sent to Bali for validation by the consul.

  ‘It seems as though this is the only way we can prove your true identity,’ Sir Hector had said. ‘Even if you find your young seafarer, I doubt whether his word alone would be enough to convince a magistrate that your uncle is lying.’

  When the daguerreotypes were delivered to Lonsdale Square, Lucetta could hardly recognise the elegant young lady who stared dreamily into the distance. The sepia tint gave her an ethereal look. Her eyes looked huge in her pale heart-shaped face and the photo grapher’s flash had illuminated her blonde hair so that it framed her head like a halo. She found it hard to believe that anyone would recognise this person as being Lucetta Froy, even though both Mary and Giles insisted that it was an exact likeness and not even very flattering. The print was duly posted to Sir John Boothby at the British consulate in Denpasar, and once again there was nothing Lucetta could do other than wait for a reply.

  Each morning she collected the post from a silver salver on the hall table hoping to receive a letter from Sam, and although she knew it was ridiculous to expect anything from Bali so soon she found herself hoping for a miracle. When there was nothing bearing her name, Lucetta resigned herself to yet another day’s delay. She took the correspondence to Sir Hector’s study, where he read the letters and dictated replies to those he considered most urgent, leaving Lucetta to answer the more mundane enquiries from his constituents. This took up most of the morning and occasionally an hour or two after luncheon, which Lucetta took alone in the morning parlour. Mary continued to work long hours at the hospital, as did Giles, although when he was doing a night shift he had time off in the afternoon. Rather than return home to the chaotic household where his sisters continued to spend most of their time bickering, he took Lucetta on outings to art galleries and museums, followed by tea at Brown’s Hotel. Lucetta had never been up West before, and if she had thought the houses in Lonsdale Square and Thornhill Crescent were the height of luxury, she realised that she had seen nothing to compare with the grand mansions in Mayfair.

  ‘One day, I might have a practice in Harley Street,’ Giles had said with a teasing smile. ‘What do you think of that, Lucetta? Could you imagine living in such a place?’

  His tone had been bantering but there had been an intense look in his eyes which had suggested that his question was serious and required an honest answer.

  ‘No, Giles. Nor can I imagine you taking money from rich people with imagined illnesses. I’ve seen first hand how dedicated you are to your chosen profession.’

  ‘Yes,’ he murmured, turning away to hail a cab. ‘Such a life is obviously not for me.’

  The weeks turned into months but the snowfalls continued until April, when there was a sudden thaw followed by the welcome first signs of spring. Lucetta had saved enough money for the train fare to Devon, but before she could make the necessary arrangements Mary had gone down with a chill which developed with frightening rapidity into pneumonia. There was no question of Lucetta leaving while her friend was so ill, and she devoted herself to looking after Mary, hardly leaving the sickroom other than to snatch a few hours’ sleep while a night nurse took over. But on finding the woman dead drunk one morning and Mary lying in a nightgown soaked with sweat, Lucetta sacked the woman on the spot. She sent for Phyllis and between them they managed to get Mary onto a chair while they stripped and remade the bed with fresh linen. Having sponged Mary’s fevered limbs with cool water they dressed her in a clean nightgown and laid her back against the pillows.

  ‘I think she’s a bit better, miss,’ Phyllis whispered. ‘She don’t seem quite so hot.’

  Lucetta laid her hand on Mary’s brow. ‘You may be right. We can only hope that the crisis is past, no thanks to that dreadful woman. Mary could have died and that old hag wouldn’t have been in a condition to notice.’

  ‘I’ll fetch you a nice hot cup of tea, miss. And I’ll ask Cook to make up a breakfast tray. You need to keep your strength up too.’

  Phyllis whisked out of the room and Lucetta sat down in the chair by the bedside. She smiled, thinking how Phyllis had changed in the past few months. Her initial antagonism and suspicion which she had done little to conceal had vanished, and it comforted Lucetta to know that the servants, all of whom were devoted to Sir Hector and Mary, now accepted her as part of the family. She had had to earn their respect but she knew that those below stairs were often more adept at recognising an imposter than their masters. Satisfied that Mary’s breathing was much easier and that she was sleeping peacefully, Lucetta set about tidying the room while she waited for Phyllis to bring the tea.

  When the family physician made a house call later that day he confirmed that the crisis was past. With complete rest and constant care, Miss Hastings would undoubtedly regain her full strength, but there was no question of her returning to work in the hospital for some time to come. Mary greeted this pronouncement with a resigned smile, and Lucetta had to face the fact that she must put off her trip to Devon for a while longer. She hid her disappointment, putting on a cheerful face and spending every afternoon in the sick room with Mary who was allowed to sit out of bed for increasingly long periods each day. Lucetta read to her or they pored over copies of The Young Ladies’ Journal, discussing at length the latest Paris fashions. They marvelled at the elegance of the gowns, the size of the bustles and the length of the trains worn by fashionable ladies. They exclaimed over the tiny hats trimmed with feathers, flowers and ribbons that had taken the place of the more homely bonnet, and as the days began to lengthen they made plans to go shopping together as soon as Mary had regained her strength.

  Giles visited almost daily, or as often as his hospital duties would allow. He never came empty-handed and would arrive with bouquets of daffodils or nosegays of snowdrops, boxes of chocolates to tempt the invalid’s appetite and baskets of hothouse fruit. As soon as the doctor considered that Mary was well enough to take a little air, Giles arrived early one afternoon, and, despite her protests, he insisted on carrying her downstairs to the entrance hall where Phyllis was waiting anxiously with her mistress’s cape, bonnet and kid gloves.

  Mary shook her head, laughing. ‘Phyllis dear, the sun is shining. It’
s a lovely warm day. I think a shawl will suffice.’

  ‘No, miss. The doctor says you must be well wrapped up against the chill wind. It might be May, but you can’t trust the weather and we don’t want you to suffer a relapse.’

  Lucetta saw Mary’s lips tremble and she took off her own shawl, wrapping it around Mary’s thin shoulders. ‘Wear this, and I will carry your cape. Then if a wicked wind should rage round the square we will be prepared.’

  Phyllis pursed her lips with an ominous frown, but Giles took the bonnet and gloves from her hands. ‘Don’t worry, Phyllis. I promise to look after Miss Mary. After all, I am a doctor, and I do know best.’

  ‘Very well, sir. But Miss Mary must wear her bonnet.’

  Mary reached out to take the straw bonnet trimmed with white lace. ‘I will put it on to please you, Phyllis dear.’ She placed it on her head, but her hands shook a little as she attempted to tie the ribbons beneath her chin.

  Giles took them from her and he tied them in a perfect bow. ‘What would you do without me, cousin?’

  Mary’s cheeks reddened and she gave a shaky laugh. ‘What indeed, Giles?’

  Phyllis opened the front door. ‘Best not keep her out too long, Mr Giles.’

  As the door closed on them, Mary uttered a heavy sigh. ‘I am quite well now. I do wish everyone would stop fussing and treating me as if I were ten years old.’

  Giles tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. ‘If you’re going to be a crosspatch, I won’t tell you what your father and I have planned to speed your convalescence.’ Smiling, he proffered his free arm to Lucetta. ‘This includes you too, Lucetta.’

  She fell into step beside him as they crossed the road to enter the gardens through a gate in the iron railings. ‘That sounds interesting, Giles.’

  Mary came to a halt, leaning heavily on his arm. ‘This is too much excitement for me on my first outing. If you don’t tell me at once, I’ll have to go back indoors and lie down in a darkened room.’

  Her tone was serious but Lucetta noted a twinkle in Mary’s dark eyes. ‘And I too, Giles,’ she said, smiling.

  He raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘I can’t win if the pair of you gang up on me.’

  ‘Then tell us,’ Mary insisted. ‘Please, Giles.’

  He led them to a seat beneath a huge plane tree in the centre of the lawns. Above them the sky was a soft baby-blue dotted with fluffy white clouds and the sun filtered through the fresh summer foliage, making dappled patterns on the grass. Mary sat down but Lucetta remained standing. This was a family matter and she felt quite suddenly that she was intruding.

  ‘Everything is arranged,’ Giles said, taking a seat beside Mary. ‘We travel to Dorset tomorrow where we will stay for a month while Uncle Hector deals with constituency affairs.’

  Mary stared at him wide-eyed with surprise. ‘But Giles, I have to go back to the hospital. I can’t just take a month off as I please, and neither can you.’

  ‘And I would love to accompany you,’ Lucetta said, thinking that this might be the chance she had been waiting for. ‘But I must go to Devonshire. I’ve put it off for too long already.’

  ‘Don’t you think you would have heard something before now if your friend wanted to contact you?’

  Lucetta met his steady gaze with an angry toss of her head. ‘Sam is more than a friend, Giles. You know very well that we are unofficially engaged to be married. He loves me.’

  ‘Then why hasn’t he replied to your letter?’

  Lucetta gasped as a shaft of genuine pain shot through her breast. The same question had been running through her mind, but hearing it voiced by Giles was more than hurtful and worst of all, it was a just comment. Before she could think of a reply, Mary had risen to her feet.

  ‘Giles, I’m surprised at you. That was uncalled for and unkind. There could be all manner of reasons why Sam hasn’t written to Lucetta and the most obvious of all is that he is away at sea and her letter has not yet reached him.’

  Giles stood up, shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry, but his family must know his whereabouts and one would think they might have either forwarded the letter, or opened it in an attempt to discover the name and address of the sender.’

  ‘It was private,’ Lucetta murmured. ‘I would not want anyone but Sam to read it.’

  ‘Then you must face the fact that he is either sailing the high seas or has had second thoughts.’ Giles moderated his tone with an obvious effort. ‘You knew him only for a short time, Lucetta. His feelings might have changed.’

  ‘Giles, that is cruel,’ Mary said in a voice that throbbed with emotion. ‘How can you say such things to poor Lucetta? Hasn’t she suffered enough?’

  ‘I am being realistic, Mary. I don’t want to see Lucetta’s heart broken or for her to waste her youth dreaming impossible dreams.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Lucetta cried passionately. ‘Sam loves me. He loves me, Giles.’

  ‘You’re so young,’ Giles said gently. ‘You have little experience of life. Don’t throw yourself away on the first man who says that he loves you. This fellow is a seafarer, one foot in sea and one on shore as the great Bard wrote. You deserve better, my dear.’

  Mary laid her hand on his shoulder with a warning glance. ‘Giles, stop. You’ve said enough.’

  Lucetta bit back tears of anger and frustration. ‘I’m not a child. I will be nineteen at Christmas and I know my own mind and heart. You can take Mary to Dorset, but I am going to Devonshire to find Sam.’

  Taking her by the shoulders, Giles looked deeply into her eyes. ‘If the man loved you as you say he did, don’t you think he would have moved heaven and earth to find you, even if it was just to lay flowers on your grave?’

  ‘He might have done just that. You don’t know him, Giles. You are being very unfair. I hate you for saying such things.’ Lucetta broke free from his grasp and she raced across the grass heading for the gate. She could not bring herself to return to the house and she left the square, walking briskly with her head down so that she did not have to meet the curious gaze of passers-by who might wonder why a well-dressed young lady was allowed to roam the streets unaccompanied.

  She passed the fever hospital in Liverpool Road without giving its impressive façade a second glance. She had no purpose to her walk; she just wanted to put distance between herself and Giles Harcourt, who had the unhappy knack of speaking his mind and hitting on the truth. It was over a year since she had left Sam in Bali. He had thought her dead for almost all that time, and even if he had tried to find her he would have been met by a wall of silence from Uncle Bradley. If he had visited the churchyard he would have seen a grave where some other unfortunate young woman had been laid to rest. Sam might have been sincere in his love for her, but he was young and attractive and one day he would inevitably take a wife. She gulped back a sob, narrowly avoiding bumping into a burly workman carrying a stepladder over his shoulder. He muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath and carried on in the opposite direction. She paused at a road junction, finding herself in the City Road, outside a public house called the Angel. She knew then that she had come too far and she started back the way she had come, but she had lost her bearings, and jostled by the crowds of pedestrians, costermongers and urchins begging at the kerbside she took the wrong route and only realised her mistake when she came to the open space of Islington Green. She was hot and tired but it was quieter here amongst the trees in a place that had retained a little of its rural past. She sat down on the grass beneath an oak tree and blew her nose on one of the handkerchiefs that Sir Hector had given her at Christmas. The gold bracelet on her right wrist glinted in the sunshine, and she was immediately assailed by feelings of guilt. She had shouted at Giles when she knew that he had been thinking only of her welfare, and worse still she had upset Mary, who was convalescing from a near-fatal illness.

  Lucetta dabbed her eyes and sniffed. The whole family, with perhaps the exception of the Harcourt
sisters, had shown her nothing but kindness. Giles and Mary had taken her in when she had nowhere else to go. They had fed and clothed her and treated her like a sister. They must think that her behaviour rivalled that of young Caroline at Christmas. She rose a little unsteadily to her feet and shielded her eyes against the sunlight, looking around in an attempt to get her bearings. The spire of St Mary’s church dominated the skyline; it was a familiar landmark and she could use it to guide her way back to Lonsdale Square. She straightened her bonnet, droped the cape around her shoulders and headed in the direction of home, intent on apologising and begging her friends’ pardon.

  The journey to Stockton Lacey took a whole day. It could have been accomplished much faster had the family taken the train, but Sir Hector liked to travel in the comfort of his own carriage, stopping frequently at coaching inns to change horses and to allow the family time to stretch their legs and to take sustenance. The mail coach, he said proudly, could travel from Dorchester to London in twelve hours, but that entailed travelling at breakneck speed and he preferred to progress at a more leisurely pace. The family rode in the landau with the servants and luggage preceding them in the wagonette.

  It was almost dark when the party arrived at the Grange, but Lucetta could just make out the house set amongst tall beeches, horse chestnuts and oak trees. The carriage crossed a narrow stone bridge over a fast-running but shallow stream, which Mary said flowed around the property like a moat. And, she added, as the carriage passed through wrought iron gates opened by a boy who had come running from the coach house, there had been an even earlier building on the site, erected by the Norman lord of the manor who had owned the farmland for miles around. The farmhouse had been added to by successive generations and largely rebuilt in the time of Queen Anne when the stone façade had been added.

  Giles patted Mary’s gloved hand as it lay in her lap. ‘There, Lucetta, you have a potted history of the Grange. You can see how Mary loves her old home.’