Reckless Griselda

by Harriet Smart

  She had dressed herself quickly and, still tying her bonnet strings, went downstairs to find the housemaids scattering at her approach. The hall floor was still being scrubbed.

  Manton came running after her.

  “Do you not want the carriage, my lady?”

  “No, Manton, not today, thank you.”

  “Any messages, my lady?” he said, hastily unbolting the door for her. She knew what he meant: any messages for Thorpe? She shook her head and hoped to satisfy him with a smile.

  It was a brisk September morning, sunny but still cool enough for Griselda to be glad of the fur-trimmed pelisse that she wore. She was equally glad of her sensible old boots. There had been so much rain the day before that the streets were awash with puddles and mud. They hardly went with the elegance of the pelisse but Griselda supposed that no fashionable women were about at that hour to find fault with the combination.

  She made her way down Brook Street towards the Park which glistened in the bright morning mist, enticingly empty and green. She quickened her pace, anxious to be there. As she came into Park Lane, a couple of gentleman on horseback were turning into the Park intent on early morning exercise. Griselda watched them break into a vigorous canter as soon as they reached a clear stretch, envying their freedom and their speed. It would be pleasant to be out putting Bellefleur through her paces, with a clear conscience and a light heart.

  Instead, she let herself be distracted by the speed and energy of the passing cavalcade. How easy it would be to dash into the traffic and simply let the horses trample her to death. She stood there for quite some time looking at the thundering hooves in the soft mud, contemplating whether she had the courage to put everything right in such a spectacular fashion, thinking the unthinkable.

  “Griselda!” A woman’s voice was calling her name. “Cousin Griselda.“

  She glanced up. A woman on horseback was looking down at her. In an immaculate olive-green habit on a stylish grey, she was an unmistakable figure, although her face was closely veiled.

  “Caroline…” said Griselda and turned on her heel and ran.

  “Griselda, please stop,” Caroline out called but Griselda took no notice. Hugh had told her not to talk to her and for once she would try to do something to please somebody. So she gathered up her skirts and ran across the soggy grass as fast as she could.

  “Griselda, please!” came a breathless shout behind her.

  Griselda glanced over her shoulder. Caroline was running too. She had dismounted and was now making an undignified dash, her habit skirt bundled up over one arm, her long legs in pale kid breeches on display to the entire world. Griselda stopped in her tracks. What did Caroline want, to make her so forget herself?

  “No, Caroline, please. I can’t talk to you,” she said putting up her hands. “Please.”

  Caroline stopped, leaving half a dozen paces between them. She let her habit skirts fall down again. A little way off, Griselda saw the groom who had been riding behind her, leading their two horses.

  “Why not?” Caroline said.

  “Because…” said Griselda, at a loss. “Why on earth do you want to talk to me?”

  “I was going to call on you this morning anyway. I made up my mind last night,” she said. “I could not sleep another night without seeing you and talking to you. And when I saw you standing there – it seemed like fate was being kind. Please, let us talk. Don’t run away from me.”

  “It is better that I do. I will only make mischief for you. I should not speak to you. Really I should not. And you should not have to beg me for favours like this,” said Griselda feeling the tears starting in her eyes. “It is too dreadful. When really I should be begging you for forgiveness.”

  She looked away, covering her hand with her mouth, unable to stop the sobs shaking her whole body.

  “Oh God…” she said. “What must you think of me?”

  Suddenly Caroline’s arms were around her but Griselda could not accept the embrace. She pushed her away.

  “Please do not think you have to be kind to me!” she exclaimed and then remembered how she had said that to Tom and found she was sobbing violently again.

  “Shush there,” said Caroline, putting a gentle hand on Griselda’s shoulder. “It does not matter. It really does not matter.”

  “But it does!” exclaimed Griselda. “I have ruined your life. How can you forgive me?”

  “Because,” Caroline paused, and Griselda stared at her through her tear-blurred eyes. She had heard a tell-tale crack in her voice and it alarmed her. “Because I do not love him.”

  “No, Caroline, no!” exclaimed Griselda, putting her hands on Caroline’s shoulders. “You must not say that. You must not. You might think it is the right thing to say but it is not. You cannot deny that just to calm my conscience. I will not let you do that. Please!”

  “But it is true.” Caroline said. “I do not.”

  “It is not,” said Griselda with an emphatic shake of her head. “You are being kind and good as you always are – and therefore you are lying.”

  “I do not love him.”

  “How can you not love him?” Griselda persisted. “When he is so worthy of love? When he is so kind and patient, and generous too? When he treats all his people so well? When there is no malice even under the greatest provocation. When he thinks of a girl’s distress rather than his own reputation…” She broke off and gazed at Caroline. “Oh…”

  “My dear Griselda,” Caroline said softly. “Then you love him.”

  “Of course I do!” she exclaimed, furious that she had said so. She struggled to regain herself. “But that is not the point, Caroline. You loved him first and – ”

  “No,” Caroline said. “We liked each other. We enjoyed each other’s company. We became friends – just as you and I became friends. But it was not love. Had we married it would have been a mistake. I know that now.”

  “How?”

  “Because,” Caroline said, “I understand love. I understand what it feels like to be in love. Because I am in love.”

  Griselda saw her smile.

  “Oh, Caroline it cannot be?” she said.

  “If fate is kind,” said Caroline, nodding. “I hope we shall be more than friends. I hope we shall be sisters.”

  “Then Hugh has…” Griselda managed to say. “Oh, when did this happen?”

  “Last night.” said Caroline, taking her arm. “He dined with us and then afterwards in the drawing room – oh it was such a surprise but there was something so right about it. He simply drew his chair up to me and told me – told me that he could no longer keep silent.” Caroline laughed suddenly. “And then, we were playing anagrams with my little niece afterwards – nothing is too much trouble for him – and I said something very foolish I dare say, but it made him laugh. It was such a transformation. I don’t think I have ever seen him laugh like that – or perhaps I have.” She broke off smiling. “That summer he came to us before he joined his regiment. I remember him laughing then. He laughed a great deal.”

  “No doubt it was at something you said then,” Griselda remarked.

  “I thought him very handsome. And I did think when he had gone that I hoped he would come back when I was old enough to marry him. So I must have loved him even then.”

  “And he loved you,” Griselda said.

  “As he still does,” Caroline said simply. “Now will you come and have breakfast with me? Hugh is expected and he will want to see you.”

  ***

  Having seen the happy couple, Griselda walked back to Upper Brook Street. She tried to imagine herself going into the breakfast room and telling Thorpe that Caroline was going to marry Hugh and was no longer in love with him. And then if she managed to tell him that, might she be able to tell him what she really felt about him?

  That I love you, Tom Thorpe, despite everything I know about you?

  But to admit that to him, without knowing what he felt in return? What if he said nothing and if everyt
hing she had suspected about him all along was true – that he was not capable of that sort of lasting attachment? That he merely threw women away when he had extracted a certain amusement from them.

  Was it her destiny to discover she loved a man who could not love the way she wanted him to love her?

  Manton opened the door for her.

  “My lady, we were all alarmed.”

  “There was no need. I have been walking in the park,” she said. “That is all. Where is Sir Thomas?”

  “Gone to court, my lady. An hour since. He waited until the last minute, hoping to see you, I believe.”

  Griselda came into the inner hall, untying her bonnet. She watched as one of the footmen manoeuvred a large trunk upstairs, with Gough in fussy attendance.

  “Be careful with that, you clumsy oaf!” shouted Gough.

  “Are we leaving, Manton?” said Griselda. “Are we going back to Priorscote?”

  Manton glanced at Gough, and Gough glanced at Manton.

  “What is going on?” Griselda said.

  “The master hasn’t spoken to you, my lady?” said Manton. “You don’t know?”

  “It seems she doesn’t, Mr Manton,” said Gough. “Oh dear.”

  “Perhaps you should tell me, then. What is it I should know?” Gough was already scuttling upstairs after the trunk. “Please would someone explain,” Griselda added, following them up.

  Manton called up from the bottom of the stairs.

  “My lady, there’s another matter – the dowager Lady Thorpe is in the drawing room. She insisted on waiting to see you and I could hardly turn her away.”

  “No, of course not,” said Griselda, her heart sinking. “Thank you, Manton.”

  Griselda went upstairs, taking off her gloves, as she did so. What on earth did she want? She hesitated for a moment outside the drawing room door before walking in with her most confident step.

  Arabella, Lady Thorpe was sitting by the fire, looking somewhat bored.

  “My lady,” Griselda said, making a slight curtsey, “I am sorry I was not here to receive you. I have been out taking the air.”

  “Did you walk all the way to Fulham to do so?” said Lady Thorpe, getting up. “There is enough mud on your hem.”

  “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

  “Do for me?” she said. “Very little, I fear.” She gave a weary sigh and walked a few steps up the room, to where the Claude hung on the wall. “That dreary landscape. Does Thorpe change nothing? Perhaps you will get the upholsterers in. Though your taste in hangings won’t be the thing that the town wants to talk about.”

  “I am sorry, ma’am?”

  “Oh, don’t be so innocent. I know what you are – an ambitious little baggage who has ensnared my son. And by the most degrading means I think. I don’t suppose he married you just because he thought you had a pretty face. He married you because he had to. When will I have to face the dubious honour of becoming a grandmother? Eight months hence, I should think.”

  “You are mistaken in that, ma’am.”

  “Oh, was it a love match? I am sorry. Has he turned your head? You would not be the first one, my dear, and you won’t be the last. And don’t fool yourself that being his wife makes any difference. Why only last night I was talking to Lady Happisburgh – they were entangled you know, for quite some time – one of his longer episodes – and she told me how he deserted her for an opera girl. ‘I pity the creature who becomes his wife,’ she said – to me, his own mother. And she is the sweetest creature alive, not given to malice.”

  “I wish I could believe that,” Griselda managed to say.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, dear girl,” said Lady Thorpe. “It is better to face the facts than live in a cloud of fancy. I never had any illusions about my husband and I don’t think you should about yours.”

  “If you have come here merely to make trouble,” Griselda said, “I think you should leave.”

  “There isn’t any need for me to make trouble,” Lady Thorpe said with a wicked smile. “The facts are self-evident. A journey to Italy and Greece? Why, he’s bored already. You’re with child. What further amusement can you be to him? He’ll come back in nine months – if it’s a boy – and you might get a pearl necklace out of him then, if the confinement doesn’t kill you first.”

  “Italy…” Griselda said.

  “Didn’t you know?” She began to laugh. “Of course you don’t.”

  “Has he told you this?” Griselda said.

  “Manton told me. And poor silly old Gough. Servants can be so delightfully loyal sometimes.”

  And she strolled from the room, saying, “Adieu, poor goose. I wish you joy of my son.”

  Chapter 25

  Tom got to the courtroom just as Clarke was coming down from the witness stand.

  “You’ve missed all the drama, Tom,” Will muttered as Tom sat down. “Clarke was magnificent.”

  “I was waiting for Griselda.”

  “Did you manage to talk to her?”

  Tom shook his head, glad to see that Woburn was approaching the judge. He would be spared a cross-examination from Will.

  “In the light of this new evidence, I would like to recall Lord Wansford, my lord.”

  “Granted,” said the Judge.

  “Call Lord Wansford!” bawled the usher.

  “Why not?” said Will to Tom.

  “Because she’s been out since the crack of dawn. Heaven knows where she is.”

  “And you didn’t manage to broach the subject last night?”

  “No,” said Tom. “She was asleep. How can you disturb a sleeping woman and tell her you are leaving her?”

  “Indeed,” said Will, rather critically.

  “I know you don’t approve of this but you have to understand it is for the best.”

  “That I can’t accept,” said Will. “Ah, here comes Wansford. You must be looking forward to this, Tom.”

  Tom watched as his old tormentor took the bible and swore to tell the truth, with an unconcerned air.

  “He’s damnable cool,” said Will. “I wish Woburn would let me at him.”

  “He’s beneath you, Will,” said Tom.

  “Lord Wansford,” Woburn began, “you were attending to Mr Clarke’s evidence, I dare say.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Unfortunately?”

  “It is painful to hear a man perjure himself,” said Wansford. “A tragic case. He’s clearly a rogue.”

  “Perhaps then you would tell the court the reason that you gave him such a valuable living?”

  “One likes to be charitable,” said Wansford with a wave of his hand. “And I was sadly deceived by him. He was very plausible in his distress.”

  “And it was most generous of you to settle his debts,” said Woburn.

  “From your tone, it seems that you think me incapable of such a disinterested action, Mr Woburn,” said Wansford, bristling.

  “What I think is niether here nor there, Lord Wansford. The opinion of the court is what should concern you. They have listened to a very credible witness in Mr Clarke.”

  “He is lying,” said Wansford quite calmly. “How could such a farrago be true? Lady Thorpe dictating love letters from her son in the library at Felsham? What brain fevers produced that fancy, I wonder?”

  “It would be an easy matter to call Lady Thorpe to the witness stand,” said Woburn.

  “And you would find her a very credible witness. Her reputation is spotless.” This amused the crowd in the public gallery but Tom felt his heart sink. His mother’s notoriety was beyond dispute. However, the crowd’s reaction did seem to put Wansford on his mettle. He continued, raising his voice slightly, “Unlike Mr Clarke about whom a great many unfortunate stories might be told. For example, the reason why Sir Francis Thorpe turned him out all those years ago.”

  “No!” exclaimed Clarke jumping up from his place. “No, Wansford.”

  The Judge began to bang his gavel.

 
“Sit down, Mr Clarke,” he said. “You have had your chance to speak.”

  But Clarke seemed determined to speak to the Judge. He pushed past the ushers and went up to the bench.

  “My lord, I cannot stand this any longer.”