The Secrets of Armstrong House

by A. O'Connor

  One evening Arabella and Charles were having dinner with guests.

  “Arabella, that was simply delicious,” said David Chester, a young guest at the table.

  “Thank you, David,” said Arabella.

  Dessert was being served and the footmen placed white bowls in front of the diners. In each bowl was a large solid sphere of chocolate. The footmen then went around with silver jugs of piping hot cream. They poured the hot cream over the chocolate spheres which caused them to dissolve instantly and out of the middle of each one oozed raspberry.

  “That’s not a pudding – that’s art!” declared another guest as she looked down at the sudden creation of a swirl of melted chocolate, raspberry and cream.

  “That looks too good to eat!” said David as he smiled down at the dessert.

  Arabella picked up his silver spoon, handed it to him and said, “I insist!”

  David was a young man who had suddenly come into a large inheritance and moved up from the country to enjoy London. His family was known and he was welcomed on to the social scene. He was slightly naïve and awestruck since coming to the capital, and Charles had befriended him at a few events and invited him to dine at Hanover Terrace a couple of times. David was very grateful as he felt lost in the big city.

  “Any luck in finding a house to buy yet?” Charles asked David.

  “I’m afraid not,” said David. “I’ve been going around with an agent but can’t find anything suitable.”

  “Why don’t you let me help you?”

  “I’d be very grateful, Charles,” smiled David.

  After dinner the women retired to the drawing room while the men stayed at the table to enjoy cigars and port.

  Charles opened a cigar box and offered one to David. “Try one of these – imported from Cuba.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” said David, taking one.

  “They’re excellent, I assure you.”

  After he had lit up David said, “Thanks again for the offer to help find a house, Charles. Some of these estate agents can be real shysters.”

  “Yes, they can. It’s all about who you know in London.”

  “Yes, I’m finding that out.”

  “I mean, having lots of money is all very well, but it’s connections that matter.”

  “Yes, I see that . . . and thank you, Charles – you’ve introduced me to a lot of important contacts.”

  “My pleasure. I say – are you any good at playing cards?”

  “Eh – not bad. I was the best in my school!”

  Charles lowered his voice and neared him. “I’m a member of a small circle which meets to play cards once a week.”

  “Really?” David’s eyes opened wide.

  “If you wish I could see about the others letting you attend once or twice.”

  “Do you think they’d agree?”

  “I don’t know, it’s a fairly select circle. These are serious players playing for serious money . . .” Charles shook his head and turned and looked out across the park again. “No, forget it – it wouldn’t be for you.”

  “No, Charles, please ask them at least. I’d be very grateful!”

  “Well, I can’t promise anything – but I’ll try if you insist.”

  “Thank you, Charles!”

  Charles reached forward and put out his cigar in an ashtray. “Right, shall we go and join the ladies upstairs?” he suggested smiling.

  Charles and Arabella were at the London Palladium in a box beside the royal box, watching a show. In the main audience a man and a woman were sitting in one of the aisles. The woman looked up and, spotting Charles and Arabella, turned to her companion.

  “Who are that couple beside the royal box?” she asked.

  The man peered up. “Lord Armstrong’s son, Charles, and his wife from Dublin.”

  “Oh, that’s them, is it?”

  “They’ve quickly become a must-have at any party worth its salt.”

  “I’ve heard they serve the best food in London at their dinner parties.”

  “Yes, it’s all caviar from Russia, champagne from the best French vineyards. Money seems no object to them . . . Of course you heard the rumour?”

  “No?”

  “She ditched the spare for the heir.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Seemingly she was engaged to the younger brother and left him to marry Charles.”

  The woman took out her binoculars and studied Charles. “Clever girl! Do you know them?”

  “I’ve spoken to Charles a couple of times.”

  “You just have to introduce me to them after the show. I’d love to get an invitation to their house. I believe it’s quite breathtaking if also somewhat vulgar!

  chapter 24

  At Armstrong House Margaret was reading through a letter from a friend of hers in London. It was after dinner and Daphne, Emily and Lawrence were enjoying the summer evening with her in the drawing room.

  “Penelope’s whole letter is about Charles and Arabella!” said Margaret as she continued to read through it.

  “What does she say?” asked Lawrence, concerned.

  “Well, she merely repeats what other people have been telling us. That they appear to be having a wonderful life, get invited to all the best places and seem to be rolling in money!”

  Margaret was due to travel to London soon with Daphne to have her fitted for a wedding dress.

  Lawrence sat thinking. “I think I shall go to London with you and Daphne, otherwise our granddaughter will be in pigtails before I meet her.”

  “It might be wise, Lawrence, to see what is actually going on there.” Margaret was consumed with concern.

  Emily sat in a dreamlike trance as she always did when news came of Charles and Arabella’s life in London. She could only imagine the glamorous time they were having there. She desperately missed Charles. And even though she knew the whole fiasco nearly ended in disaster, she hadn’t had a moment’s excitement since her secret part in Charles and Arabella’s affair.

  “I’ll go too in that case. I don’t want to be left here on my own,” said Emily.

  “You won’t be on your own,” Margaret shot down her suggestion. “You’ll have James and a household of servants.”

  “But, Mama!” objected Emily.

  “You’ll stay here, Emily! And concentrate on your German grammar!” insisted Margaret.

  David Chester placed a winning hand of cards down on the table at Tom Hamley’s house.

  Charles shouted in irritation. “You win again!”

  There was a chorus of annoyed groans around the table. It was the fourth time David had joined Charles’ gambling circle.

  David was almost embarrassed but very excited. “It must be beginner’s luck.”

  “Beginner’s luck, my arse! You’re a bloody natural!” sighed Charles as he rose from his chair. “Anyway, I’d better be getting back home – it’s after one already.”

  “I’ll get my butler to call you a cab,” said Tom as he tugged the bell pull.

  “Come on, David, I’ll drop you at your hotel on the way home,” offered Charles.

  “Thanks!” said David, also getting up.

  “Until next weekend, gentlemen,” said Charles with a wink as they left.

  “Male-female-male-female . . . female . . .” said Arabella. “I’m one male guest short to make up the table for the dinner party this Saturday.”

  She and Charles were sitting in the drawing room where Arabella was making the table plan.

  She looked up at Charles. “Why don’t we invite David Chester? He’s always very pleasant company.”

  Charles looked up from his newspaper. “No – actually David has left London. He’s returned home to Wiltshire.”

  “Returned home! But I thought he loved it here.”

  “Evidently not. He missed home. I think he made a couple of unwise investments as well.” Charles returned to reading his paper.

  “What a shame! He was such a nice character.”
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  David Chester was sitting in a train-carriage looking despondent as he travelled back to the country. He was trying to figure out what had gone wrong. A few weeks earlier he had arrived in London with a large inheritance and the city at his feet. Now he was travelling home having lost most of his money in a game of cards.

  chapter 25

  Arabella was dreading the visit from her parents-in-law. Meeting Gwyneth regularly was different: Gwyneth didn’t know the truth. But Margaret and Lawrence did and that was an entirely different matter. The servants had been working non-stop to ensure the house was spick and span for their arrival. Prudence was dressed in her best outfit from Harrods. They waited in the drawing room.

  The butler was showing Margaret, Lawrence and Daphne up the stairs.

  “It is good to see you again, Lord Lawrence and Lady Margaret,” said the butler.

  “And you, Burchill? How have things been?” asked Margaret.

  “Eventful, Lady Margaret, eventful,” Burchill said as he reached the top of the stairs.

  “I can imagine,” said Lawrence as he inspected the new banisters.

  “We have so many French staff employed here, I’m afraid there’s hardly anybody left for me to speak English to downstairs, my lady,” said Burchill.

  “Poor Burchill!” said Margaret, as he opened the drawing-room door and ushered them in.

  “Lord and Lady Armstrong and Lady Daphne,” announced Burchill.

  “Charles!” said Margaret as she went to hug and kiss him.

  “Mother!” said Charles, embracing her warmly. “And Father and Daphne!” He embraced them all.

  Arabella stood up.

  “Hello, Lady Armstrong,” said Arabella.

  “Please, dear, call me Lady Margaret,” said Margaret, giving her a polite kiss but fixing her with a steely look.

  “And this must be little Prudence!” said Lawrence as he picked her up.

  They all swarmed around Prudence.

  “She has a strong determined look about her,” said Margaret, realising Gwyneth was correct in describing the child as plain.

  “She’s quite a good baby,” said Arabella. “She never cries or is contrary.”

  “Well, that’s a blessing – at least,” said Margaret, eyeing Arabella.

  “Goodness, I hardly recognise my house,” said Lawrence, looking around at the décor.

  “Very ostentatious taste,” said Margaret.

  Arabella felt herself go red. “I hope you don’t mind –”

  “Of course they don’t mind!” said Charles quickly. He turned to his parents. “Your house is all modernised and it didn’t cost you a penny.”

  “I imagine it cost you a very pretty penny,” said Margaret pointedly.

  “And what’s it all for?” asked Lawrence. “A house that is only used for a couple of months for the season and will be unoccupied for the rest of the year.”

  Arabella decided to change the topic quickly. “We’ve prepared lunch for you. You must be starving after the journey.” She went over and tugged the bell pull.

  “Pheasant!” said Charles. “Roast pheasant for lunch.”

  As Charles and Arabella followed his parents out to go downstairs to the dining room, she whispered to him, “Thank you for not claiming full responsibility for the refurbishment and for letting them think I was behind it!”

  “Of course – I couldn’t take the credit for all this décor myself!”

  Luckily Margaret was preoccupied with Daphne’s wedding dress and arrangements during their stay, which Arabella was glad of because her mother-in-law constantly got subtle digs in at her when they were together. It was obvious to Arabella that Margaret had no intention of letting her forget her past. Lawrence was kind but kept his distance from her, and seemed more preoccupied with his son’s lifestyle in London than anything else.

  The night before they were to return to Ireland Margaret and Lawrence were speaking in their bedroom.

  “They have mentioned nothing about returning home!” said Lawrence.

  “They have no excuse any more. Prudence is older and nobody will doubt the facts of her birth . . . We’ll have to tackle them tomorrow before we leave.”

  “Yes, I’ll speak to him and you can speak to her,” said Lawrence.

  Margaret raised her eyes to heaven. “I suspect she’s somebody who doesn’t bend too easily. She’s far too stubborn for her own good . . . She never once asked about Harrison.”

  “Do you know, I haven’t gone out to inspect the gardens even once since I arrived,” said Lawrence.

  “Oh, they are being very well tended to,” Charles assured him. “We have an excellent gardener.”

  “Is he French as well?” Margaret asked sarcastically.

  “Come, Charles,” said Lawrence, standing up. “We’ll go and take a walk outside.”

  Charles shrugged and followed his father out of the drawing room, leaving Margaret alone with Arabella.

  Margaret smiled over at Arabella. “I’m glad we have this time to talk.”

  “Yes?” said Arabella, shifting uncomfortably.

  “I wanted to discuss your plans for the future.”

  “I don’t think we have any, Lady Margaret.”

  “That was what I was afraid of . . . you know, it’s wonderful to have a townhouse, but all this,” Margaret waved her hand in the air, “is only a townhouse to spend a few weeks in during the season. The same as the house in Dublin caters for the family for visits in the winter. But our real home is Armstrong House.”

  “Yes.”

  “So when will you be returning?”

  “Well, Charles has no plans to return. He quite likes living here.”

  “Then it is your duty to convince him otherwise.”

  “I don’t think anyone can convince Charles to do anything he doesn’t want to.”

  Margaret spoke slowly and patiently. “A wife’s role is to advise, guide and encourage her husband. That’s what you must do now, in order to return to Armstrong House and start training for your roles in life.”

  “Our roles?”

  “Arabella, you will be Lady Armstrong one day, and it takes a lot more than just sitting around in pretty frocks to assume that role. You need to return to Armstrong House where I can start directing and training you so that you are ready when the time comes.”

  “I’m not Emily!”

  “I’m not suggesting you are – and what do you mean by that?”

  “I’m not a project for you to mould and create.”

  “My dear, you will learn a lot from me,” Margaret spoke assuredly.

  “And where would we live during this – training?”

  “In Armstrong House, of course.”

  “All under the same roof!” Arabella said.

  “If you prefer you can live in Hunter’s Farm for now. Hunter’s Farm is a very pretty –”

  “I know what Hunter’s Farm is!” snapped Arabella, thinking of her secret liaisons there with Charles before they were married.

  “I must say I have huge concerns about the fact that you will one day be the matriarch of our family,” Margaret said. “You very nearly brought destruction, not only on yourself but the whole Armstrong and Tattinger families as well.”

  “I’m trying to put all that behind me now.”

  “Easier said than done. You destroyed poor Harrison.”

  “I know what I did to Harrison, and accept full responsibility for it.”

  “Good! Somebody needs to! You behaved despicably and without conscience or morals.”

  “And from what you are saying you will obviously never let me forget it, will you? I will always be a fallen woman to you. A woman who had intercourse before marriage. Who got pregnant before marriage. A whore!”

  “You are only reaffirming my opinion that you are not worthy to be Lady Armstrong.”

  “And you are reaffirming my opinion that we cannot return to Ireland to live. Live under the same roof as you? And put up with your co
nstant disapproval?”

  “I can see there is no talking sense to you.”

  “I will always be grateful to you and Lord Lawrence for your intervention at the time, but I need to get on with my own life now – with Charles, with Prudence and with the child I’m carrying.”

  Margaret blinked a few times. “You’re pregnant again?”

  “Yes . . . Nobody knows yet – I haven’t even told Charles.”

  “I see!” Margaret was taken aback by the news.

  Arabella’s face softened. “I want us to be friends, Margaret. But you don’t. You want to punish me for the past.”

  The garden was a long straight one with a mews house at the end.

  “You see, Father, nothing to worry about, the garden is in full bloom,” said Charles.

  “Yes . . . of course, maintaining a small garden in London is one thing – maintaining an eight-thousand-acre estate in Ireland is another.”

  “Which you do excellently.”

  “But I need help running it, Charles.”

  “You have James.”

  “James isn’t my heir, you are. And . . . well . . . this arrangement of living in London was only ever temporary, as you know.”

  “And suggested by you.”

  Lawrence felt himself become annoyed. “Suggested to get you out of the ridiculous circumstances you and that girl in there found yourselves in.”

  “And a wonderful suggestion it was too. It’s worked out perfectly.”

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “So when are you coming back to Armstrong House now the situation had blown over?”

  “I’m not coming back, Father. I enjoy life here too much.”

  “But this is not your destiny! Your destiny is Armstrong House and the estate.”

  “And destinies wait until we are ready for them.”

  “You think you are very clever, don’t you? I find it all irresponsible.”

  “You find everything irresponsible.”

  “This is still my house you are living in here, even though you’ve done it up like a bordello and filled it with French waiters!”