A Sister's Secret

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Betsy, you’re dreaming. But dream on, puss.’

  Betsy sighed, her eyes closed and she stretched. The warmth of the day and the wine she had taken drew her into bliss. People sauntered by on the other side of the leafy screen. The Gardens were murmurous with the faint sounds of music, the soft laughter of ladies and the lazy hum of July.

  She fell asleep. Captain Burnside smiled. The wine had taken care of Betsy.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The George Inn at Winchester, a highly respectable and most comfortable hostelry, was noted for the excellent service it offered to ladies and gentlemen of the quality. That afternoon it received Lady Clarence Percival and her sister, Miss Annabelle Howard, with much courtesy, providing for them adjoining rooms well appointed and welcomingly cool. Supper, mine host ventured to say, was at six thirty, and there was to be a music recital in the guests’ lounge later in the evening.

  With Annabelle taking a little rest after the long journey, Caroline went in search of Sammy. She found him in the carriage yard. She required him, she said, to find the location of the grace-and-favour residences in which lived retired members of the clergy or their widows, and to discover which one housed Mrs Burnside, widow of a deceased bishop.

  ‘Right, Your Ladyship, very good,’ said Sammy, asking no questions.

  ‘Convey the information only to me, Sammy.’

  ‘That I will, yes’m,’ said Sammy.

  He did not take long. He was an intelligent youth.

  After a most satisfying supper, during which Caroline with her superb looks and Annabelle with her vivacious prettiness received many glances of interest from other guests, Caroline advised her sister she was going out on a little matter of business.

  ‘Business, sister? Here, in Winchester?’

  ‘Yes, here, Annabelle, in Winchester. I will join you in the music room later. I did say there was a person I wished to see.’

  ‘Yes, but I thought we were to visit the cathedral and enjoy the shops,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘We will do that tomorrow morning,’ said Caroline, ‘before we depart at midday.’

  ‘I vow I shall be dreadfully bored if I have to sit and listen to music by myself,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘And I vow, dearest sister, it is time you stopped being bored unless Cumberland is within reach. Be thankful you are not within his reach. Now, I am sure I shan’t be long, but, if you become truly bored, then pray entertain yourself by writing a letter to our parents.’

  A middle-aged lady, servant and companion to Mrs Honoria Burnside, answered Caroline’s knock on the little white door of the apartment near the cathedral.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Caroline.

  The servant, recognizing quality, dipped a knee and said, ‘Good evening, madam, may I help you?’

  ‘I am Lady Clarence Percival, and I should consider it most helpful if you would present my compliments to Mrs Burnside and ask her if she would be kind enough to give me a few moments of her time. If she has visitors, then perhaps I might venture to call again, say tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Madam has no visitors, Your Ladyship,’ said the servant. ‘Will you please step in, and I will ask her if she will receive you.’ She took Caroline into a charming little sitting room, delicate with light colours and graceful furniture. She begged Her Ladyship to seat herself, then went to speak to Mrs Burnside.

  Mrs Burnside entered the room a minute later. Caroline had rather imagined she would be stately of form and carriage, but Mrs Burnside was petite and still with a hint of girlish prettiness. In her early fifties, she wore a widow’s cap on her brown hair, and a black silk gown graced her slim figure. She advanced in brisk fashion, a smile on her face, her hazel eyes clearly showing interest. Caroline came to her feet.

  ‘Mrs Burnside?’ she said, and Mrs Burnside, who might have been a ladyship herself had her husband not passed away while still in office, regarded the widow of Lord Clarence Percival with distinct approval. In an evening cloak of emerald silk and a feathered turban, Caroline did not look less than her usual magnificent self.

  ‘Yes, I am Mrs Burnside, Mrs Honoria Burnside. I am advised you are Lady Clarence Percival.’ Her voice was a sweet lightness. ‘I am intrigued by your visit.’

  ‘You must forgive me in that I gave you no notice,’ said Caroline, ‘but, finding myself in Winchester for a brief stay, I felt I should like to see you.’

  ‘Please, do sit down,’ said Mrs Burnside, and both ladies rustlingly seated themselves.

  ‘I have, you see, recently made the acquaintance of your son Charles,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Charles?’ Mrs Burnside looked most intrigued. Young at heart, she had a liveliness about her. ‘Charles?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Caroline, slightly tentative.

  ‘Dear me, dear me,’ said Mrs Burnside, which Caroline at once took to mean Captain Burnside’s mother was well aware he could not be considered England’s worthiest citizen.

  ‘Oh, I assure you, madam, I have found much good in him,’ she said, and her warm voice, with its lingering Southern lilt, came delightfully to Mrs Burnside’s ears, although the implication of the comment somewhat puzzled her.

  ‘I cannot refrain from asking if that means you have also found him a little wanting,’ she smiled.

  ‘Oh, do believe me, I am not so critical as to expect perfection in any human being,’ said Caroline earnestly, ‘for I cannot find perfection in myself, nor ever will.’

  ‘As to that,’ said Mrs Burnside, ‘my dear husband, the bishop, always declared that while perfection may be coveted, a lack of it in some people can be quite endearing. Weakness is very human.’

  ‘Alas,’ sighed Caroline.

  ‘Alas?’ Mrs Burnside was even more intrigued.

  ‘It is all too true, is it not, Mrs Burnside, that some ladies find the weaknesses of some gentlemen foolishly endearing?’ said Caroline, thinking of herself and Lord Clarence, and of Annabelle and Cumberland.

  ‘Oh, dear me,’ said Mrs Burnside, ‘I would hope not to be so foolish myself as to value any gentleman more for his weaknesses than his virtues.’

  ‘That is of all things a most sensible outlook,’ said Caroline. ‘It is far wiser, I am sure, to help a man set aside his failings and to encourage development of his better self.’

  ‘My dear Lady Clarence,’ said Mrs Burnside with a smile, ‘is it the failings of my son Charles we are discussing?’

  ‘Oh, not at all, no, no,’ said Caroline in haste. ‘Indeed, such are his good points that I have offered him a position as assistant to my steward on my Sussex estate.’

  Mrs Burnside’s eyes opened wide. ‘Goodness me,’ she said, ‘oh, my goodness.’

  ‘You are surprised?’ said Caroline, wishful to have Captain Burnside’s mother as an ally in her campaign to turn him into a man of honest endeavour.

  ‘I am fascinated,’ said Mrs Burnside.

  ‘I must confess I have an earnest desire to see him with an untroubled future in front of him,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Untroubled? Bless my soul,’ said the sprightly Mrs Burnside. ‘May I ask how he responded to your offer?’

  ‘Not at all seriously,’ said Caroline. ‘It is to my great regret, Mrs Burnside, and I say this in all respect to you, his mother, that he is serious about few things and approaches most with alarming levity. Of course, I am only a friend, a new friend, but his lack of concern for his future is very worrying.’

  ‘It has not been too worrying to me,’ said Mrs Burnside, ‘for he has always managed to emerge safely from his scrapes. Um – do I recall that I have heard something of Lord Clarence Percival, your husband?’

  ‘Lord Clarence died two years ago,’ said Caroline. ‘I am a widow, as you are.’

  ‘Not quite as I am, I venture,’ said Mrs Burnside, a little perplexed, a little amused. ‘You are young and extremely attractive, and I am a little elderly and a little faded. But I am sorry, of course, that you suffered such a grievous loss while still young
.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Caroline, and added quietly and frankly, ‘however, as you see, I do not wear mourning black.’

  ‘That may offend people unchangeably attached to the custom,’ said Mrs Burnside, ‘but not all of us lack understanding. I am sure your reasons are reasonable, and the wearing of black don’t always signify sincere mourning. So, you are your own mistress, Lady Clarence, and wish to help my son approach his future in a serious way. You do not feel his present occupation ensures a commendable future?’

  Caroline did not want to comment specifically on that. It was bad enough for Captain Burnside’s mother to know her son was a ne’er-do-well. ‘Oh, I hardly think it an occupation,’ she said.

  ‘Myself,’ said Mrs Burnside, ‘I am never quite sure what he is at or what he is about. It is either one vague thing or another, here or there or elsewhere, and I am sure my dear husband would have allowed himself to say that even God does not move in more mysterious ways than Charles.’

  Caroline felt a surge of relief that this charming lady was obviously ignorant of the true nature of her son’s way of life, which accounted for the calm and almost amused fashion in which she spoke of him. It was also a relief not to have made the mistake of being specific.

  ‘I have, perhaps, been mistaken in feeling his mysterious ways point to an unsatisfactory future, Mrs Burnside. It led me to think his many talents should be directed into clearer channels, and that perhaps was an impertinence on my part. Being in Winchester, I could not resist calling on you and to suggest that you and I together might persuade him to take up my offer. I declare myself quite out of order, and beg your indulgence of my misguidedness.’

  ‘La,’ said Mrs Burnside lightly, ‘pray don’t consider yourself out of order, Lady Clarence, for I don’t. I only wonder if – um – what you are offering Charles is what he would think suitable.’

  ‘Suitable?’ said Caroline, who could only think that any kind of honest work might save Captain Burnside from himself.

  ‘I don’t say Charles is the worthiest man in the world,’ said Mrs Burnside, ‘but unlike those who eschew any kind of work, feeling it is not what gentlemen are born to, my son has always liked to turn his hand to something or other. My only complaint, as his mother, is that he says so little about his activities.’

  It was a point in his favour, thought Caroline, that he had refrained from distressing his mother by keeping her blissfully ignorant of his sins and omissions. It would surely shame such a sweet woman to know that her son had deceived young ladies and made off with their jewellery, never mind how dubious his activities had been in behalf of the patrons he talked about. Caroline felt very relieved indeed that Mrs Burnside was entirely vague about his reprehensible ways. She had thought her meeting with his mother might be a little painful and embarrassing. She had intended to be completely sympathetic and reassuring, to declare herself determined to bring about a change in him, and with Mrs Burnside’s help. Now, however, she must cease implying that he was an unworthy son.

  ‘I was constrained to feel my offer might advantage him,’ she said.

  ‘And he himself did not share that feeling?’ murmured Mrs Burnside.

  ‘Perhaps, as you say, he did not feel the work would be suitable for him,’ said Caroline, still quite sure that anything was preferable to that which might lead him to transportation or Tyburn. ‘But there, I shall not take up any more of your time. It has been so kind of you to receive me, and I am happy to have met you.’ She rose, and Mrs Burnside followed suit. ‘When do you expect next to see Charles?’

  Mrs Burnside laughed lightly. ‘Oh, when he is next disposed to visit,’ she said, ‘and then I shall tell him that his newest friend is entirely delightful. Goodness, how very fortunate he is.’

  ‘Fortunate?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Mrs Burnside, smiling.

  The following morning, after a most comfortable night and satisfying breakfast, Annabelle was preparing to go to the shops with Caroline, and to visit the cathedral, when there was a very peremptory knock on her door. Opening it, she found Mr Jonathan Carter there.

  His look was severe. ‘Damn my eyes if you didn’t make a fool of me,’ he said.

  ‘I cannot be blamed for nature’s handiwork,’ said Annabelle, and tried to close the door. Jonathan put his foot in the way. ‘Pest, go away,’ she said.

  ‘Can’t be done,’ said Jonathan. ‘Beg to inform you you’re leaving. At once. Kindly pack your dainty wherewithals, while I speak to Lady Caroline.’

  ‘Oh, such impertinence,’ breathed Annabelle. ‘My sister and I are to shop, sir, and to visit the cathedral.’

  ‘No, you ain’t,’ said Jonathan, ‘you’re going back to the cottage. If that’s why you’ve led me such a dance, to visit Winchester Cathedral and go shopping, may the saints preserve my patience.’

  ‘The gentlest saint would pay no heed to you, sir,’ retorted Annabelle. ‘You are an interfering creature. What does it matter whether my sister and I are here or at the cottage? The cottage is boring. So are you. How you found us, I do not know, but you are welcome to return as hurriedly as you like. My sister and I will do so at our leisure. And I vow, sir, that if you do not remove your foot, I shall kick your leg.’

  ‘In which event, Miss Howard, I shall—’

  ‘Mr Carter? Mr Carter?’ It was Caroline’s astonished voice. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Jonathan eyed her with the kind of disapproval she would have considered an impertinence in any man. ‘Beg to inform you, Lady Caroline, that that question should be asked of you, and in the sternest way. The orders—’

  ‘Orders?’ said Caroline warningly.

  ‘Innocence don’t signify, Your Ladyship …’

  ‘Mr Carter, kindly favour me by entering this room, for I don’t wish to quarrel with you in the corridor,’ said Caroline firmly.

  ‘After you, Your Ladyship,’ said Jonathan. Caroline entered Annabelle’s room and he followed, closing the door.

  ‘Now, sir,’ said Caroline, ‘you may apologize, if you wish, and so avoid a quarrel.’

  Jonathan flourished the beaver hat in his hand and bowed. ‘My sincerest apologies, Lady Caroline,’ he said, ‘but it don’t alter the fact that orders were for everyone to remain at the cottage.’

  ‘Orders?’ said Caroline again. ‘Are you referring to instructions given by Captain Burnside, and, if so, are you under the impression that my sister and I accept these as orders? It may please you to do so, but my sister and I are not to be ordered by any man, whether he be a gentleman of the highest quality or a lord of the highest esteem. And Captain Burnside is neither.’

  ‘All the same, Your Ladyship, beg to request you and Miss Annabelle allow me to escort you back to Sussex immediately, or there’ll be the devil to pay. Charles ain’t going to like this escapade, no, not a bit. It was no easy task climbing out of that window and getting myself to the ground. Nor was it easy finding a horse to hire and then riding the suffering nag all over Sussex to look for people who had spotted your coach. Persistence is a wearing thing, but it took me to Petworth in the end, and to the inn where you changed horses and announced your destination. It was near to midnight when I arrived here, and not before this morning was I able to discover where you were staying.’ Jonathan shook his head in sorrow. ‘It’s a sad thing, Your Ladyship, to have been done in the eye by so fine a lady as yourself, for never did I think you capable of duplicity. Your sister, Miss Howard, there’s no telling what she might get up to …’

  ‘Why, you objectionable wretch, I do not get up to anything,’ said Annabelle. ‘If you have been done in the eye by Caroline, I am overjoyed.’

  ‘Well, I ain’t even pleased about it myself,’ said Jonathan. ‘However, now that all’s been said and done, I propose an immediate return to Sussex.’

  ‘Annabelle and I will be returning first thing this afternoon, when we have seen the cathedral, finished our shopping and enjoyed a midday meal,’ said Caroline. ‘Really, M
r Carter, you must see we are just as safe here in Winchester as at the cottage. It can make no difference whether we return now or this afternoon.’

  ‘Charles still ain’t going to like it,’ said Jonathan, ‘and he’ll like it even less if he gets back before we do and finds all of us missing. He’ll think Cumberland’s bullies have carried us off, which ain’t going to make him dance for joy.’

  Caroline frowned, then smiled coolly. ‘I have left him a note, telling him of our excursion,’ she said.

  ‘Thoughtful of you, Lady Caroline,’ said Jonathan, ‘but unless he has the key to the front door, I fancy he ain’t going to have the consolation of reading your note.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Annabelle, and Caroline frowned again and bit her lip.

  ‘Bother it,’ she said. ‘Very well, Mr Carter, Annabelle and I will pack and depart with you as soon as possible. Perhaps you will ask Sammy to get the coach ready.’

  ‘Yes, we cannot put Charles into a fret,’ said Annabelle. ‘Charles is a gentleman. It is not the same with Mr Carter, Caroline. One cannot help being indifferent to his sensibilities.’

  ‘Well, I ain’t a ruffian for the fun of it,’ said Jonathan, cheerful again, ‘I’m noted for being as hard as iron. I’ll go down to the carriage yard and find Sammy.’

  ‘Was there ever such an uncaring brute?’ said Annabelle when Jonathan had gone.

  ‘I must confess he seems uncaring of how sweet and pretty you are, dear sister,’ said Caroline gravely. ‘All other gentlemen of our acquaintance esteem your looks.’

  ‘I vow Mr Carter an oaf, not a gentleman,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘So,’ said the gentleman of distinguished bearing, ‘here we have the very devil of plots and plots. Pelion is piled on Ossa. A plot to assassinate Wales and Cumberland, topped by a plot of silence from Cumberland. He’s made not a single move against the papists, nor informed on them. His own informant is under a peculiar kind of restraint, and sworn to silence. By God, Burnside, your method of breaking his silence was also of a peculiar kind. Using an innocent serving wench in such a way don’t commend itself to me. Too damned unsavoury by half. You’re a blackguard, sir.’