Cadenza

by Stella Riley

  ‘Giving him a musket?’ interposed Julian mildly.

  ‘Oh.’ Her colour rose a little. ‘Ellie told you about raiding the attics?’

  He nodded. ‘In detail. However … about the musket?’

  ‘It’s old and will never fire again. But Tom seemed interested – the first time he’s been interested in anything – so I gave it to him to take apart.’ Arabella hesitated. ‘I know I should have asked your permission --’

  ‘Why? With Tom, anything is worth a try. He thinks that, sooner or later, I’ll toss them out. Nothing so far has convinced him that if I was going to do that, I wouldn’t have brought them here in the first place.’

  ‘Have you told him that in so many words?’

  ‘I thought I had.’ Perching on the arm of a chair, he met her gaze with a diffident one of his own and said, ‘I should try again, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘It certainly wouldn’t hurt.’ She smiled cheerfully at him and changed the subject. ‘Mistress Featherstone called on me this morning to ask how I was getting on … and probably also to make sure I wasn’t making your life a misery. I gather that she and her husband are good friends of yours.’

  ‘They’ve both been very kind,’ agreed Julian. And then, making an effort, ‘As it happens, I saw Paul in the village. He asked after you as well.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ Sudden and involuntary laughter danced in her eyes and quivered in her voice. ‘I suppose he told you he nearly sent me packing at Newark?’

  He nodded, wanting only to look and silently begging her to laugh aloud.

  ‘Not that I can blame him,’ Arabella went on truthfully. ‘I realise I’m not what you asked for … or much like a real housekeeper.’

  ‘I don’t know what a real housekeeper is supposed to be like.’

  ‘I’ve gathered that.’ This time she did laugh. ‘And am suitably grateful.’

  Julian drank her in, realising that he was staring but seeming unable to stop. He said abruptly, ‘The Caldercott ladies told me to invite you for tea.’

  Accepting the change of subject without a blink and pretending she’d never heard the name before, Arabella said, ‘The Caldercott ladies?’

  ‘Miss Abigail and Miss Beatrice. They live on the edge of the village.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘They’ve been allowing me to play their harpsichord.’

  ‘Oh. That is good of them. But I imagine they enjoy listening to you.’

  He flushed a little, considered telling her what had happened that morning and then, deciding it would probably come out wrong, said instead, ‘Yes. I … think so.’

  ‘Mistress Featherstone mentioned that you studied music in Vienna.’

  Fortunately, Violet entered bearing portions of trout which gave Julian the opportunity to merely nod while they took their seats. Arabella tried a bite of dried-up fish, watched his lordship prodding his piece with his fork and, deciding a casual approach might be best, said, ‘It’s not good, is it? Mistress Phelps seems to cook everything to death. But I suppose she came with the house?’

  ‘Yes.’ He ate some of the trout and said, ‘It’s not so bad. I recall a suet pudding that was truly terrible.’

  She giggled. For an instant before he looked away again, that vulnerable green gaze rested on her face as if she’d done something remarkable. Feeling her colour rise but determined not to lose this more relaxed mood, Arabella said, ‘She felt bad about that. She didn’t expect you to eat it and was impressed that you did.’

  ‘I suppose I was hungry,’ he muttered.

  ‘No. You were just too kind to hurt her feelings. However, I was going to ask about Vienna. This is the first time I’ve left Yorkshire – so Vienna sounds positively exotic.’

  ‘Exotic? No. At least, I didn’t find it so. But beautiful; bitterly cold in winter; and bursting with music and musicians.’

  ‘Which is why you were there.’ And probably why you wish you still were, thought Arabella. Abandoning the trout, she said, ‘Did you meet anyone famous?’

  ‘That depends on your definition. Have you heard of Wanhal or Pleyel?’

  She shook her head. ‘Should I have done?’

  ‘They’re well known in Europe, though perhaps less so here. But --’ He stopped as Violet replaced the trout with mashed potatoes and something smothered in sauce. Peering cautiously at what lurked beneath, he said dubiously, ‘Lamb chops, I think.’

  Arabella poked at her own portion. ‘And the sauce?’

  He tasted it. ‘Possibly something to do with tomatoes?’

  She watched him hack through the meat, work at chewing it and eventually swallow.

  ‘Better than the suet pudding?’

  ‘Marginally.’ And then, just as she put a forkful of potato in her mouth, ‘I know Wolfgang Mozart.’

  She managed not to choke and eventually croaked, ‘Mozart? Really?’

  Julian nodded, his eyes on his plate. ‘He’d just resigned from his post in Salzburg and was spending a couple of weeks in Vienna before seeking a new position. There was a private party and he performed his newest concerto – the E flat major. Someone I knew introduced us and told him --’ He stopped abruptly.

  After waiting a second or two, Arabella prompted, ‘Yes? They told him what?’

  Herr Krassnig had told Mozart that if he heard his compositions played by Herr Langham he’d be a lot less satisfied with his own renditions. But that was definitely something that couldn’t be repeated without sounding conceited.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. But the result was that the two of us got together over a pianoforte, taking it in turns to play this and that whilst arguing over phrasing and dynamics.’ Keeping his eyes on his plate and sawing heroically at a chop, he added, ‘It was a long evening with a good deal of wine. It ended with us both passed out on the floor.’

  ‘You and Mozart got drunk together?’ she demanded, delighted shock illuminating her face. ‘Truly?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked across at her, then away again, mumbling, ‘I suppose I ought not to have mentioned that bit.’

  ‘Why not?’ Arabella abandoned her food and, leaning her elbows on the table, cupped her chin in her palms. ‘Was it fun?’

  ‘The parts I can remember were.’ Her laughter caused his insides to lurch. ‘The knives grinding in my skull next day weren’t.’

  ‘No. I imagine not. What is he like?’

  ‘Mozart?’ Julian thought for a moment, wondering how best to describe genius. ‘He’s young, loud and exuberant. Maybe a little brash.’

  ‘Younger than you?’

  ‘Six years younger. And destined to be the greatest composer of his generation.’

  ‘You said you were playing the pianoforte that night,’ she said consideringly. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Why do you play the harpsichord instead?’

  ‘I prefer the sound,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s more delicate and intimate than that of the pianoforte. And virtually all of the music I enjoy playing – Bach, Scarlatti and Rameau, for example – was written for the harpsichord, so is best performed on one.’

  Arabella hesitated and then, because his lordship seemed to have forgotten his shyness and was opening up to her more than she’d expected, she said tentatively, ‘When the harpsichord here is fully repaired … will I hear you play?’

  He gave a small, wry laugh. ‘Undoubtedly. More than you want to, I imagine.’

  ~ * * ~ * * ~

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Earl of Sherbourne’s coach drew up outside Wynstanton House in St James Square at a little before five in the afternoon. The last day of the journey had been accomplished in something approaching frosty silence caused by Elizabeth’s appalled reaction to the notion that she and the earl might be expected to marry.

  She had said, ‘No. Absolutely not! It’s the most ridiculous – not to say impossible – thing I ever heard. I can’t – and I won’t.’

  And Ralph, unaware that her attitude had nothing to do with him personally and everything to do with the
fact that she wasn’t who he thought she was, had been more offended than he cared to admit. In truth, he suspected that it would be a cold day in hell before Rockliffe either suggested or even permitted a marriage between them – regardless of what gossip Philippa stirred up. In a sense, that was a pity because Ralph had to marry someone … and he recognised that he could do much worse than beautiful, well-connected Arabella Brandon. Her reaction, therefore, struck him as vaguely insulting.

  However, when the chaise came to a halt and both Frayne and Annie had stepped down to see to the unloading of the luggage, he unlocked his jaws to say, ‘If the duke is at home, it will be best that I speak with him immediately.’

  ‘No. It will be best if I explain the circumstances and tell him that, regardless of anything he may hear, you have behaved impeccably. If he accepts my word – and I don’t see why he shouldn’t – you may be spared the need to speak with him at all.’

  Ralph found that he couldn’t be bothered to explain how unlikely this was. He merely said, ‘As you wish. But I would appreciate it if you refrained from giving the impression that I am reluctant to face him.’

  ‘Of course I won’t!’

  ‘Excellent. Then I will bid you au revoir – since, society being what it is, we are bound to meet again. Frayne … see Mistress Brandon to the door and help Cox with her luggage.’

  Rendered speechless by his cool dismissal, Elizabeth was on the pavement before she remembered her manners. Equally cool, she said, ‘Goodbye, my lord. And please accept my deepest gratitude for your help.’

  Then she swept up the steps to the door as it swung open to reveal an imposing black-clad butler she might have taken for the duke himself had she not known better.

  ‘Mistress Brandon? Please come in, ma’am. Their Graces have been expecting you for some days and will be most relieved at your safe arrival. Henry, William … pray attend to the trunks and convey them to the Jasmine Suite. Mary … show Mistress Brandon’s maid upstairs.’ He cast an all-encompassing glance at Frayne’s retreating back and the muddied crest on the earl’s carriage but forbore to remark on it. ‘Please follow me, ma’am. Her Grace will wish to welcome you and show you to your rooms herself.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Elizabeth, responding to Annie’s anguished glance with what she hoped was an encouraging nod when all the time she was aware of the massive hall, the wide marble staircase and paintings that would have graced a palace.

  Oh dear lord, she thought, What have I done?

  For this, Elizabeth realised with sudden, sickening clarity, was where it all truly began. Although her journey had been beset with obstacles, her part in the Grand Masquerade had been easy compared with what lay ahead. Now she had to start being Arabella in earnest. She had to remember that her aunt was her mother, her father was her uncle, her cousins were her siblings and her sisters were her cousins. It hadn’t sounded so very complicated before. Perhaps it still wasn’t. But one thing was clear. She had better begin thinking of both families in terms of their pretended relationship rather than in mental translation; because it needed only one tiny, stupid slip and the game would be over.

  The butler halted outside a pair of double doors, tapped and then opened them.

  ‘Mistress Brandon has arrived, your Grace,’ he announced.

  ‘What?’ asked a disembodied voice. Then, ‘Thank goodness!’

  ‘Indeed, your Grace. I have taken the liberty of bringing her up directly.’

  Pink-cheeked and with a lock of hair falling over one eye, the duchess’s head appeared from behind a sofa. ‘Arabella! At last – no, Vanessa! Don’t --’ This as something hit the polished floor with an ominous crack, followed by a baby’s giggle. ‘It is not funny. Mama is not laughing.’ Simultaneously disentangling herself from her skirts and picking up her small daughter, Adeline struggled to her feet and said, ‘Forgive me for just a moment, Arabella. She’s terrifyingly quick – and this room is full of delightful temptations.’

  Vanessa grabbed a handful of her mother’s necklace and said, ‘War!’

  ‘War, darling? Surely not.’ Sailing across the room, she handed the child to the butler, saying, ‘Take her ladyship to Lily, Symonds and send tea, please.’

  ‘Certainly, your Grace,’ said Symonds.

  Both his bow and his exit were somewhat spoiled when her small ladyship hit him on the nose shouting, ‘Gah!’… and totally ruined when he jiggled her on his arm and walked away saying, ‘Gah to you, too, little madam. Gah, indeed.’

  Catching the surprise in her newly-arrived guest’s eyes, Adeline said, ‘Symonds is quite wonderful – the nearest thing Vanessa will ever have to a grandfather.’ Then, taking Elizabeth’s hands and drawing her into a warm, scented hug, ‘Welcome, my dear. Tracy said he’d heard dire reports of the state of the roads further north but, even so, I was starting to worry. Was it the weather?’

  ‘Yes, your Grace.’ Elizabeth allowed herself to be drawn down on a sofa beside the duchess. ‘A two-day deluge … amongst other things.’

  ‘Well, I want to hear all about it – but so will Tracy.’ Adeline smiled at her. ‘He is from home just at present but will dine with us this evening … so rather than make you tell it all twice, shall we save the tale until then?’

  Elizabeth smiled and nodded, half relieved by the temporary respite and half not.

  A footman arrived with the tea-tray, bowed and left.

  ‘Your mama’s letters didn’t tell us how very pretty you are,’ remarked Adeline, reaching for the tea-pot. ‘But that’s to her credit. Most mothers rhapsodise over their daughters’ looks whether there’s any basis for it or not.’ She paused. ‘It is a great pity that your uncle wouldn’t permit your cousin to join you for this visit.’

  ‘He felt that it would not ultimately be to Lizzie’s benefit.’

  ‘And how did Elizabeth feel? Or you, come to that.’

  At this precise moment, Elizabeth felt she was walking over very thin ice. She said, ‘We were both disappointed. We’ve shared everything for as long as I can remember, you see.’

  ‘Very clearly. And it renders your uncle’s attitude even more regrettable than I’d previously thought,’ came the blunt reply. She smiled suddenly, ‘But you are here. And we intend you to enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Thank you, your Grace. I’m sure I will.’

  ‘Good. Perhaps we can begin by dispensing with my title. Cousin Adeline will do, don’t you think? Not strictly accurate – but as close as we can get. For the rest, in a few weeks’ time when you have some acquaintances and become accustomed to society, we shall hold a ball. But next week, I am giving a small supper-party to introduce you to our closest friends. How does that sound?’

  ‘It sounds very kind, your – I mean, Cousin Adeline – if a little alarming.’

  ‘It need not. Among them are a number of young married ladies you will like very much – indeed, I think we will pay calls on some of them in advance of my party. Now … finish your tea and I will show you to your rooms while there is still time for you to rest before dinner.’

  The Jasmine Suite comprised bedchamber, sitting and dressing rooms, all of them furnished in shades of dusky rose and palest green. In the middle of it and assisted by a second and very smartly-clad maid, Annie was busy unpacking. The duchess said, ‘Ah – Jeanne. No doubt you’ve given Miss Arabella’s maid all manner of useful information.’

  ‘I’ve tried, my lady,’ agreed Jeanne, with a small curtsy. ‘I’ve also rung for a bath, Miss Arabella – it should be here directly.’

  Jeanne left. And, glancing around the room as if to assure herself that everything was as it should be, Adeline said, ‘I’ll leave you to settle in – oh, there is a letter awaiting you which I’m sure you will want to read. If you need anything further, don’t hesitate to ring.’

  ‘A letter?’ asked Elizabeth, as soon as the duchess had gone. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Looks like it’s from Miss Belle,’ said Annie, handing it to her. ‘I’ll wager sh
e hasn’t got rooms as lovely as these. I’ve never seen the like!’

  Elizabeth skimmed the few lines Arabella had written the morning after her arrival at Chalfont. The estate is run-down and impoverished; the earl is young, outrageously good-looking and shy; and the children belonged to his predecessor. Nothing here is what we thought but I think I’ll like it. I’ll write again when I know more.

  ‘Is that it?’ sniffed Annie, when Elizabeth had read it aloud. ‘Not very helpful, is it?’

  ‘No. But she’d barely arrived – just as we have.’

  ‘That’s as may be, Miss Lizzie. But --’

  ‘Stop. Don’t make that mistake again. From now on, I’m Miss Belle – even in private.’ And do not tell her Grace’s maid about Lord Sherbourne. It’s bad enough that I’ve got to explain him to the duke and duchess.’

  ‘You haven’t met the duke yet, then?’

  ‘No. I’m to have that honour this evening at dinner. So decide what I ought to wear and get the creases out of it, please. I’ll need every ounce of confidence I can muster.’

  * * *

  A couple of hours later, his Grace of Rockliffe strolled into the house and found his wife curled up in her boudoir with a book. Her hair was loose and she was wearing a cream lace chamber-robe, prettily threaded through with pale blue ribbon. Rockliffe took a moment to enjoy the picture she made and then crossed to tip her face up for a kiss before sitting beside her. He said, ‘How many priceless family heirlooms did Vanessa break today?’

  ‘Only the small Chinese vase.’

  ‘Only?’ He winced, thinking of its age and rarity. ‘Ah well … I suppose one must be grateful for small mercies.’

  ‘Yes. I don’t think either of us will miss the ugly Chelsea shepherdess or the fretwork bon-bon dish.’ She slid beneath his arm and leaned against his shoulder. ‘Symonds told you that Arabella has arrived?’

  ‘He did. He also told me something else … but I am attempting not to jump to hasty conclusions. What is she like?’

  ‘Well-mannered and extremely pretty. If, as we understand, she also has a substantial dowry, there won’t be any shortage of potential suitors.’