by Julie Matern
The Grays led them into the vestibule, and the young woman fell further and further back, shrinking into the wall. Phillip was intrigued.
They were shown to their rooms and then invited to the drawing room to socialize before dinner should be served. Phillip’s father was soon in deep reminiscence with Charles, and his wife and Phillip’s mother found much to talk about and were becoming fast friends.
The daughter, whose name was Anne, played very quietly at the piano. Phillip could watch her without feeling that he was prying since there was no one else to talk to at present, and she was performing an entertainment of sorts. Her skin was the color of marble, he supposed a testament to her staying indoors much of the time, her hair twisted up in a very plain manner as though in an attempt to disguise her beauty. Her dress, too, was very plain and a light gray rather than the usual white muslin. Her eyes whispered of sadness, and he noticed that she did not smile. However, her attempts to diminish her comeliness had failed.
As she finished a piece, her eyes met Phillip’s accidentally, and she immediately dipped her head to avoid his gaze, embarrassed—or was it ashamed?—at his attentions. Gallantly, he moved to sit by his father on the other side of the room so as not to give the young woman any more discomfort.
Just before dinner, several other couples arrived who had been friends with the Grays for many years. When they sat at dinner, Phillip found himself placed next to a Mrs. Waterman. She was very good company, had traveled much abroad with her husband, and had some very humorous tales.
After several stories, she quietened, letting others share the limelight. Phillip noticed her looking at Anne with sympathy as the next guest shared an anecdote. Mrs. Waterman turned her head to take a sip from her glass and caught Phillip looking from her to Anne. She lowered her voice so that only Phillip would hear and said, “It is such a shame about Anne. Would you believe me, sir, if I told you that she was once the belle of the county?”
“Actually, I can readily believe it. Though she goes to great lengths to disguise it, her fairness is without match!” said Phillip.
“She is a mere shadow of her former self. Such a crime. She is one of life’s random beauties that sometimes grace a household not otherwise blessed with it. Oh, sir, if you had met her just four years ago you would have seen the spell she could cast on a room. All the young men were in love with her, with no coquetries on her part. It was not purely her physical appearance that appealed; she was such a lively soul with a zest for life and all it could offer. It makes me want to weep seeing her now, so dry, brittle, and broken.”
“Pray, what could have befallen her that would merit such a change?”
Sotto voce, Mrs. Waterman replied. “She lost her character.”
Phillip could not help but glance in Anne’s direction at this shocking news. “How could it be?”
“Oh, sir, it is a very sorry story, one I take no delight in sharing. Four years ago, she met a very fascinating young man at a ball in the next county. They were well matched in looks, and by all appearances he was a young man from a good family, though no one quite knew all the details. He was quite taken with Anne and pursued her aggressively. He was all manners and good breeding, and her family welcomed him readily into their bosom. His conduct could not be criticized in the slightest, but alas, in that, they were deceived.
“He suggested that she visit her cousin in Hertfordshire with only her brother as companion. He had relations in the area, he claimed, and it would enable them to visit each other with more privacy. He emphasized that this should be a journey she took without her parents.
“At first, he was as good as his word and continued to act in an honorable manner befitting a gentleman, but after a few days he encouraged her to stroll alone in the estate to facilitate a private rendezvous. She was young, and he exploited her inexperience shamefully.
“They fell into a pattern of meeting in a clandestine way each afternoon, unaccompanied.”
She gave Phillip a knowing look and glanced down the table to where Anne sat quietly staring at the tablecloth in front of her, a hollow statue.
“I am very sad to hear it,” said Phillip. “I would never think to put a young lady in such a compromising position. He perhaps, had other motives?”
She nodded. “He obviously was not the gentleman he had presented himself to be and valued her virtue but little. His manners and breeding soon left him and were replaced by more … base emotions. He pressured her to become more intimate than is acceptable for a lady without a chaperone.”
Phillip shook his head in disbelief. Mrs. Waterman appeared to be finished with her account, but he felt compelled to know the end and urged her to continue.
“By and by they were exposed by a manservant returning from the village, where his mother lay ill. He was shocked to find a lady alone with a gentleman in a deep embrace and uttered a small cry that alerted the couple to his presence. He ran and told the housekeeper, who alerted Anne’s uncle.
“By the time the uncle found the place, the young man had escaped, leaving Anne sobbing in the glade. Her reputation was in shreds, and it was all the uncle could do to contain the damage. The manservant was threatened to within an inch of his life that he should never reveal what he had seen. Nonetheless, there were rumors.
“Her parents were devastated, of course, and as the full realization of the ramifications dawned upon Anne, she withdrew from life and shrank into the person you see today. Her dear parents never prosecuted the fellow as they did not desire to bring down any more disgrace upon their daughter. Despite that, the secret spread. She lives daily with the guilt and the shame.”
“That is a truly mournful tale. I imagined that some adversity had befallen her, but I did not imagine it to be anything of this sort,” said Phillip.
“Please, never disclose that you know the account. It is just so hard to see her this way. She was such a light and that wretch extinguished it. She is broken, quite broken.”
Phillip felt a subtle shift in his reasoning and a puzzle piece dropped into place, causing an ugly thought to wander into his consciousness. His stomach rolled and he broke out in a cold sweat.
“Do you, by chance, recall the name of the scoundrel?” asked Phillip.
“I do indeed, sir. His name was Langley Ashbourne.”
Fifteen
UV
FRANCE
The sun was casting its tangerine glow on the white stucco as it fell to its slumber. Giorgio felt more as though he was in Morocco than the south of France. His bones ached, his head ached, his eyes ached. Would that this journey prove fruitful! He put one foot on the steps and braced his body with his arm on the wall, head hung low, struggling for the next breath. He felt a cool breeze touch his brow and looking up saw that the door to the little hotel was open.
“Monsieur, Monsieur, are you unwell? Here, let me help you into the foyer and get you some refreshment,” said a young woman.
He smiled, unable to speak for the present and allowed the young woman to guide him up the last of the stone steps.
Once inside, he slumped onto the simple wooden bench, closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.
The return of the young woman surprised him from a slumber he had unwittingly fallen into. She pressed the glass of cool, clear water into his hand. The water sloshed as he took it, and the glass wobbled all the way to his mouth, only stopping when it was pressed to his lips. The chilled liquid slid pleasantly down his throat. He smiled at the young woman, and as his consciousness returned, he noticed for the first time that her gown protruded beneath her chest.
The disorientation ebbed, and he asked in his broken French, “Madame, would you be so kind as to find the manager of this hotel for me. I fear I must rest a little more.”
“Of course, of course,” she replied and hurried off.
Giorgio loosened the kerchief at his neck and took another sip.
Within a few minutes, an old, white-haired woman appeared wearing a hel
pful expression. A couple of young gentlewomen, who appeared to be in the last stages of imminent motherhood, descended the stairs behind her.
“Monsieur, I am the manager of this establishment. I understand that you have asked to see me?”
“Indeed, dear Madame. I have traveled far to get here and feel confident that you are in possession of facts that will make my journey worthwhile.”
The woman frowned, stepped back, and crossed her arms. “We do not give out information, Monsieur. I regret to inform you that you have wasted your time!” She turned to leave.
Giorgio struggled to stand, but his knees gave way and he sunk back onto the bench causing the wood to groan. The woman turned back in alarm. He raised his arm and spoke in a small voice, “Madame this is concerning something that happened more than eighteen years ago.”
The walls of the hotel seemed to lean in with interest. The woman paused and then decided to walk back and sit next to Giorgio.
“Even so, Signore,” she said in Italian. “My records are confidential. But let us say that you have piqued my interest. Tell me your story.” At Giorgio’s surprise, she added, “My mother was Italian, and I am fluent in both languages.”
Giorgio nodded and began his tale. “It would have been in the autumn eighteen years ago. My daughter came here, unbeknownst to me. She had left Italy to stay with friends in Nice, but I have since learned that she left them for the space of some months and came here with a hired maid.”
“Tell me about her.”
“She was full of life, slight of build, and had magnificent hair that was wild and thick unless trained very well. She spoke French very well with but a slight accent.”
“Was? Is she no more?”
“Alas, she is not. However, with her last breath, she confessed that she had birthed a child. But death triumphed before I was able to learn more. You know not how far I have traveled, seeking clues hither and thither, and I fear it has taken a toll on my health.”
The good proprietress nodded in acknowledgment. “You understand what kind of establishment this is, Monsieur?” Her eyebrows raised slowly and a wry grin appeared on her lips.
“I do, now, Madame. I come not to condemn. I come merely to seek for the babe. I am old and aging every day, and I have no one left. I have so much to share. I am a wine maker of some repute, the emperor of a grand kingdom, and I seek the child in order to bestow it upon them. If not …”
“Monsieur, there are many girls who come here who can answer the description you gave. Can you not give me more details?”
“Her name was Isabella Giaccopazzi. She was sweet and kind and had a laugh like a melody.”
“It is not enough, the young mothers come to us under assumed names …”
“She had a strawberry birth mark upon her neck. Just like the one her mother had.”
The woman grabbed his arm. “I remember that girl! It was such an unusual blemish, and she took great care to cover it when she had her hair dressed. The baby had it too, I recall. Wait here, Monsieur. I was undermanager in those days, and I kept the records. I will search in the cellar for the record book.”
She left at a great pace, and Giorgio leaned his head against the cool brick wall and closed his eyes. Fatigue hit him like a glacier.
He awoke as the madame gently shook his arm, exclaiming, “I have found it, Monsieur!”
He struggled to open his eyes and gradually focused on a large leather-bound book with shiny parchment pages. The proprietress’s finger was under a name written in fine script: Imelda Grimaldi.
“See here, there is a notation at the side: baby shares mother’s strawberry birthmark.”
Giorgio shuddered with relief. “Is there an indication of where the baby was placed?”
“No.”
Giorgio slumped again.
“But I was there, I remember now because of the commotion she caused. Our custom is to find peasant farmers to take the babies or send them to the Sisters of Grace orphanage, but your daughter bonded with the baby and seemed to become attached to it. She would take it out in a carriage, and we thought she might decide to keep the babe. But then one afternoon she returned in some distress with an empty carriage, looking as though death had visited her. We feared that someone had stolen the baby, but in great gasping tears, she told us that she had found a couple worthy to take her baby, and that no child of hers would end up in an orphanage. Most of the girls did not care. They were happy to be rid of the problem, but not your daughter. She truly cared for the little girl and found a home for her, but it tore her apart.”
Giorgio looked up sharply. “The baby was a girl?” He smote his chest. “Do you know to whom she gave the child?” he asked, his tone pleading.
“I know only that they were English and that they were staying in the villa Normandie.”
Sixteen
UV
ENGLAND
Does Miss Haversham suspect that you have followed her here to Brighton?” the older gentleman asked.
“I would wager she does not, Father,” said Langley.
“What good fortune that her grandmother let that little treasure of information slip. Do you have further plans to gain her confidence?”
“We have arranged to go for a little adventure to Lewes Castle tomorrow.”
“Well played, my boy. Though it is very tiresome to be continually on the lookout for funds, I am rather enjoying my stay here in Brighton. I haven’t been for years. What ruse did you use?”
“An old one. I told her that you have an eccentric elderly sister who lives here whom we have come to visit.”
“Well, at least you refrain from describing me that way! Is this one handsome at least?”
“Oh, Father, this one is perhaps the prettiest of them all, though it really matters little to me. Are you entirely sure, this time, that she is to inherit?”
“Well, her mother has a fortune of her own, though not enough to run Haversham House alone. But her father stands to inherit from his father, and he has an enormous rambling estate up in north Wiltshire, so they must be worth a large fortune, though I cannot seem to find anyone who can accurately detail it. Importantly, neither estate is entailed, so the granddaughter will inherit after her father dies. If you can reel in this fish, you will save us and live as a wealthy man the rest of your days. Do you think she is someone you could learn to care for?”
“I have found that I really care for no one other than myself, Father, but she is pleasant enough and will make a tolerable partner in life. She is quite young and exceptionally naïve—I can easily train her to expect that many husbands live their lives quite apart from their wives, most of the time, leaving me free to pursue my own interests while maintaining a very pretty wife at home. Yes, she will look decidedly well on my arm as we visit all the best houses in society. I do believe, Father, that she is the one to save us.”
“Do you think you are yet a favorite of hers?”
“I have paid her very little attention until today as, in my experience, the ladies seem to thrive on a little mystery. After our stroll, and tea on the front, I am reasonably sure that she has bitten my lure. I will enjoy the game of reeling her in, as you so aptly put it!”
“What about the other one?”
“Katherine? Well, there again fate has not been so good to us. Would you believe she is Francesca Haversham’s cousin? She keeps asking me how well I know Katherine, and I am obliged to maintain a pretense of not knowing her. Dashed awkward, really. Had you not learned that Katherine is to receive nothing and that she will have to depend on the largesse of her brother, I should probably be married to her already! A lucky escape! Where did you hear that she would inherit a large fortune of her own, anyway?”
“Sir William Benchley. I should have known he was a doddering old fool and did not know his facts. How did she take your breaking off the engagement? You did break it off, I suppose?”
“I did broach the subject, but the girl is more determined than I thought.
She would not accept it and has threatened to expose me if I do not honor my promise. It may be a bluff, though, as her cousin Francesca certainly knows nothing of it. However, we do have insurance; by exposing me, she will expose herself as a lady compromised. Not something a young lady would do before careful consideration.”
“Well, that is a complication! Will she not eventually tell her cousin?”
“No, I am sure if it. As I said, she has too much to lose. We agreed that the engagement should be kept a secret because of my supposed, previously arranged, engagement. Indeed, she has allowed herself to be in several compromising situations with me that a true lady would never want to come to light for fear of damaging her reputation. You see, I always hold the trump card!”
The older man laughed, a deep menacing guffaw. “My dear son, you have learned your lessons well. She would no more talk of it than she would confess to seeing a vision! You have done well. Now, let us secure the real prize forthwith.”
T
“Does my bonnet sit correctly, Aunt? It feels as though something is amiss.”
“My dear Francesca, it is most becoming and sits quite well on your head. You are taking prodigious care of your appearance today. Are we to assume that you do, in fact, favor Mr. Ashbourne?”
“Oh Aunt, I hardly know! I fall quite to pieces when he is near and feel very young and immature. Until recently, he appeared not to even notice my existence, and I own I was rather hurt by it. Yesterday, however, has given me hope that he might like to pursue me.”
“Have your parents met him?”