The Golden Songbird

by Sheila Walsh

  ‘I’ll tell you something, Lucia ‒ he thinks the world of you. There is a warmth in his eyes when he speaks of you!’

  Her whole face softened. ‘Yes ‒ we have become very close. I shall miss him dreadfully when I leave.’ She smiled sadly at Toby. ‘I shall miss you too.’

  ‘Stuff! You’ll have so many men at your feet, you won’t give me a thought.’ He took her by the shoulders and studied her with unaccustomed seriousness. ‘If you are in any trouble, with that villain Benedict for instance, let Hugo know ‒ he’ll see him off!’ He saw Lucia’s expression and shook her slightly. ‘Oh, I know you and he don’t always deal together ‒ and I’ll admit he has a damned disagreeable way with him at times, but there’s none better in a fix.’

  Lucia, however, assured him that it wouldn’t be necessary.

  She clung to Toby’s hands as he left. ‘You will write, won’t you? And promise you will take care?’

  Toby squeezed her hands gently, his brilliant blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned down from the saddle. ‘You have my word on it, m’dear. No Froggie is going to get the better of me!’

  Chapter Seven

  Lucia was restless. Everything in her room served to remind her that by this time tomorrow she would be in London; the shabby corded trunk stood roped beneath the window and smaller boxes lay open, waiting to receive the neatly folded piles of garments. She turned her back on Chloe’s excited chatter and wandered disconsolately along the quiet, softly lit corridors, leaning over to peer down into the cool hall, loving the lingering fragrance of fresh flowers.

  At the library door she tapped hesitantly and went in.

  Colonel Mannering laid his book aside and stretched out a hand. Lucia perched on his chair and wound an affectionate arm round his neck.

  ‘Packing all done?’

  ‘Nearly.’

  ‘Good.’ There was a strained silence. ‘I’m going to miss you,’ he said.

  Lucia stood up and drifted aimlessly about the room. He watched the drooping figure with an echoing sadness in his own heart, but after a moment said bracingly, ‘Come now, child ‒ it isn’t the end of the world. Would you be good enough to bring me that box you are manhandling!’

  The box was made of soft calfskin, beautifully tooled. Lucia put it into his hands and it seemed an age before he looked up at her, his fierce eyes very bright.

  ‘These are your grandmother’s jewels. They should have gone to your mother by rights … now they are yours.’ He flicked open the box and Lucia gasped.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly …’ she began, but he wasn’t listening. He was lifting out a single square emerald on an ornate gold chain, a beautiful simple jewel which glowed in the candlelight. Lucia glanced up ‒ it was the necklet her grandmother was wearing in the portrait!

  The Colonel was holding it almost reverently. ‘I gave this to Marianne the day Freddie was born.’ He looked up at Lucia and there were tears in his eyes.

  ‘Oh Grandfather!’ Lucia put her arms round him and so they sat for a long time, very close, without speaking.

  Lady Springhope arrived shortly after noon on the following day and the manner of her arrival was a revelation to Lucia, who first stared unbelievingly from the parlour window and then flew out on to the steps as the cavalcade drew to a halt.

  The travelling coach with Newbury up on the box was attended by two postilions and two out-riders; a smaller coach carrying my lady’s servants and most of the baggage brought up the rear.

  A young man sprang down, a veritable sprig of fashion dressed up to the very crack, his dark curly hair brushed into a careful semblance of disorder. He turned to assist Lady Springhope, who bounced down the steps like a well corseted india-rubber ball, her tiny plump form resplendent in purple silk, a number of feathers bobbing riotously over the wide brim of her hat.

  Lucia was greeted with brusque affection, and found her breath caught by a vision in pale blue cambric picking her way daintily down from the coach.

  Lady Henrietta Elliott was just eighteen ‒ vivacious, headstrong and quite distractingly lovely, with a pair of merry dark eyes; a profusion of glossy brown ringlets clustered beneath a charming chip bonnet.

  She drifted across to Lucia, holding out her hands. ‘You must be Lucia! I’m Hetty Elliott, Hugo’s sister. I hope we shall be friends.’

  Lucia warmed to her at once; indeed it would be impossible to resist such friendliness.

  ‘We have brought Bruno with us.’ Hetty drew her brother forward. They were incredibly alike. ‘Bruno is to stay with us in London until it is time for him to go up to Oxford.’

  ‘Are we to travel to London like that?’ Lucia indicated the cavalcade.

  They both giggled. ‘You know Aunt Aurelia!’ Bruno breathed. ‘A footpad round every corner, a highwayman behind every bush!’

  ‘If you are quite finished chattering,’ commented that good lady tartly, ‘I should be glad of an arm up the steps.’

  Lucia and Bruno assisted the small plump figure to mount to the front door.

  Colonel Mannering was in the hall. He had insisted on coming downstairs for the occasion and stood now leaning heavily on his ebony cane.

  The two old friends surveyed one another ‒ frankly appraising. Lady Springhope broke the silence. ‘Well Rupert! It’s been a long time. You’re still a handsome devil, I see!’

  The eyebrows twitched appreciatively. ‘And you, my dear Aurelia, are just as you were ‒ if a trifle plumper!’

  She chuckled. ‘Lordy my dear man, sometimes I feel a hundred! Ah, Addie! I hope I find you well?’

  Aunt Addie, who had been hovering in the background, came forward full of effusive greetings.

  She shepherded them, all talking at once, into the parlour. A light luncheon had been prepared, she told them eagerly; just a cold collation that might be served whenever they were ready.

  ‘Whenever you like, Addie my dear. We are entirely in your hands. I hope we aren’t putting you to a vast deal of trouble.’

  ‘It is no trouble.’ There was a quiver in Addie’s voice. ‘After today … we shall be … very quiet! I’ll go and see …’ Her voice trailed off and her face crumpled. She scurried from the room and Lady Springhope raised one expressive eyebrow.

  ‘Oh poor Aunt Addie!’ Lucia rose. ‘She’s upset. I’ll go after her.’ Lucia returned later alone; Aunt Addie had gone to lie down.

  Before the party left for London, the two old friends had a few moments together.

  ‘So, Rupert! We did well, to find Lucia for you?’

  Aurelia wondered if he had not heard. When he did answer, his voice was husky. ‘I do not believe I can ever repay you. That child has become all the world to me.’

  ‘Ah! I knew it! The moment I set eyes on her, my mind flew back over forty years!’

  ‘I want no expense spared!’ the Colonel insisted. ‘She is to have the very best … you shall have a draft on my Bank. I am depending on you, Aurelia, to do for Lucy what I cannot!’

  ‘Never fear, my dear Rupert! I have a great fondness for the child. You will not be disappointed.’

  Lady Springhope was as good as her word. Back in town, Lucia found herself caught up in a frenzy of buying; she was swamped by material, prodded and pinned and twitched by a succession of dressmakers until she was bemused and couldn’t think it all necessary!

  But her ladyship was adamant. Since Hugo was bearing the cost of Hetty’s outfitting, she was determined that the one should not outshine the other.

  People were still drifting back to town, but already there had been a number of callers and the mantelshelf was littered with calling cards and invitations.

  Aunt Aurelia beamed with satisfaction. ‘I believe we shall do very well,’ she said.

  Mr Conrad was among their first callers. Lucia watched, amused, as his eye lighted on Hetty; with one glazed look he was instantly and irrevocably enslaved.

  They did not see Hugo at all for several weeks. He had taken a party of friends to h
is hunting box in Derbyshire. When he returned to town he called briefly and having assured himself that all was well, he considered his duty fulfilled.

  Wherever the two girls appeared together they created a stir, so perfectly did they complement one another. Aunt Aurelia would sit on her little gold rout chair, her ample bosom swelling with pride, listening to their praises being sung on all sides and offering up a quick prayer that Hetty would not persuade any susceptible young man to indulge her weakness for gambling.

  She experienced a twinge of malicious amusement to see Bella Carew, thin-lipped with resentment! Her own spoilt brat was quite eclipsed ‒ and a good thing too!

  Lucia’s pleasure was tempered by the thought that sooner or later she must encounter Sir Gideon Benedict ‒ it was almost a relief to find him awaiting her one evening as she left the floor with Bruno after an energetic country dance.

  He greeted her with the usual odious familiarity, and Bruno, assuming him to be an old friend ‒ and having just glimpsed a game of hazard in progress in an adjoining room, said cheerfully, ‘There, Lucy! you have found a friend and will wish to talk.’

  He was gone and her path was blocked. ‘Sir Gideon, be good enough to let me pass!’ she demanded.

  ‘Now ‒ now! Is that any way to greet an old friend?’

  She was flushed and out of breath from her exertions and the emerald on her breast flashed as it rose and fell; his eyes fastened on it covetously as his insolent glance swept her.

  ‘My God ‒ you’re beautiful!’ He put out a hand and she flinched. It was an involuntary movement, but she knew he had seen; for an instant the smiling mask slipped. Then his teeth were flashing white and his words held an underlying threat.

  ‘I don’t see Mandersely here this evening? I wonder now, would these good people be interested to learn how you first became acquainted with Lord Mandersely?’

  Lucia’s heart began to thud. ‘You cannot know … nobody knows! Unless …’ Her eyes widened. ‘Mr Franklyn! Did he …?’

  Sir Gideon was almost purring with satisfaction. ‘Thank you, my dear, for confirming it! I’ll not say how I heard, but a word dropped here and there, in the right quarter … it would soon get around. Poisonous little things, words!’ He laughed softly. ‘It could be most entertaining!’

  ‘No one would believe you!’

  ‘You think not? That’s all right then.’ His attention appeared to wander; a speculative gleam came into his eyes. ‘Is that not Mandersely’s sister? Quite devastatingly pretty! A bit of a gambler too, I’m told. It runs in the family you know!’

  Lucia’s mouth was dry. ‘You will leave Lady Hetty alone.’

  He smiled.

  ‘What do you want of me?’ she whispered.

  ‘Well now ‒ a little kindness will do for a start; a few of those favours you’ve been distributing so freely this evening!’

  Lucia’s mind was twisting this way and that in a desperate effort to seek some way out. Tell Hugo, Toby had said; but Sir Gideon hadn’t actually done anything except utter vague threats which he could easily deny. If she could just keep him away from Hetty …

  ‘We should need to be discreet!’ Her voice sounded unbearably coy ‒ and his eyes widened. ‘Lady Springhope doesn’t approve of you. She is already sending me black looks; she would pack me straight back to the country if I made a scandal.’

  ‘You have no idea how discreet I can be, dear Cyprian! And I have a way with sour old dowagers!’ He offered his arm with a mocking bow and though every nerve in her body screamed, she took it.

  ‘There is one condition, sir.’ She gave him an arch look. ‘You must promise to leave Hetty Elliott alone.’

  ‘And what would I want with Hetty Elliott when I have you?’ Like most vain men, he found nothing odd in her apparent change of heart.

  ‘And … you will say nothing?’

  ‘You will not give me cause!’ he insisted softly.

  Sir Gideon led her to Lady Springhope’s side. He stayed but a moment, devoting himself to the formidable task of charming the old lady, a ploy that met with little success. When he left, she bent a particularly searching look upon her charge. ‘I need not tell you, of all people, that that connection will not do!’

  Lucia murmured something incoherent but the evening was ruined.

  Back home, Hetty collapsed on Lucia’s bed and kicked her slippers in the air. ‘Lordy, what an evening! I’m exhausted and my dress is ruined!’ She sat up, hugging her knees, her eyes shining. ‘And so many compliments, I declare I am dizzy!’

  She leaned forward. ‘Who was that divinely wicked-looking man ‒ the one I saw you talking to earlier?’

  Lucia had been staring out of the darkened windows. Now she twitched the heavy curtains together with unsteady fingers. ‘Oh, he was just someone I knew a while back. You wouldn’t care for him.’

  To her immense relief Hetty didn’t pursue the matter; she was too full of her own conquests.

  ‘Did you hear that absurd boy with the face of an angel? He vowed he would compose a poem to the beauty of my eyes!’ She giggled. ‘Charles was furious!’

  ‘Don’t hurt Charles Conrad, Hetty; he is very much in love with you and too nice to play fast and loose with.’

  Hetty pouted. ‘Goodness! What a fuss! I shall be thinking you in love with him yourself!’

  ‘Don’t be idiotish!’ Lucia said sharply. ‘I just don’t like to see you making him jealous deliberately.’

  ‘Oh well ‒ he shouldn’t be so possessive.’ Hetty slid off the bed and trailed her wrap to the door. She swung round with a sudden return of enthusiasm. ‘Lucy! Let’s have a picnic!’

  Lucia stared ‒ and laughed. ‘Oh Hetty! It’s October!’

  ‘I don’t see why that should stop us. The days are quite unseasonably warm! We could make up a party; the Bellinghams and Charles, Bruno, you and me …’ her eyes lit up, ‘… and Hugo! In fact, Hugo can organize it. It’s high time he stirred himself on our behalf!’

  ‘Your brother will never lend himself to such a venture.’

  Hetty refused to be discouraged. She would tackle Hugo!

  Lucia lay awake wondering what she was going to do about Sir Gideon. He wouldn’t long be content with a few kindnesses … her mind shied away from the dilemma that would present. Sooner or later, Hugo was bound to find out and there would be a dreadful row. She tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter. So that is it, said a still small voice; you are fancying yourself in love with him. Well, forget it ‒ it is the greatest piece of nonsense to imagine that he could ever view you in that light! On which depressing thought she slept.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘I’m sorry, Lady Hetty,’ said Edward Jameson. ‘Your brother is away. His Grace the Duke of Troon was taken ill and his lordship was summoned urgently.’

  Hetty was furious. She had spent an age cajoling Aunt Aurelia into letting them approach Hugo ‒ and all for nothing!

  ‘That awful, selfish old man!’ she fumed. ‘Just because Hugo has the misfortune to be his heir, Great Uncle Bertram has him running back and forth at his least whim!’

  ‘Hetty ‒ really!’ whispered Lucia.

  ‘It’s true! Oh well, we shall have to manage the picnic for ourselves.’

  The door opened and an agitated young footman hovered uncertainly on the threshold.

  Edward excused himself and went to speak with him. In a moment he was back. ‘Would you forgive me if I leave you for a few minutes? There is a matter requiring my attention. The housekeeper has taken advantage of Lord Mandersely’s absence to have the chimney swept in the gold drawing room. Being unable to get the usual man, she employed a casual and now the climbing boy has fallen and knocked himself senseless.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ cried Lucia in quick sympathy. ‘I wonder … may I come with you, Mr Jameson? I might be able to help.’

  Edward hesitated. Lord Mandersely would not approve, but Miss Mannering did look sensible, and from the way her chin tilted just so, h
e deduced that she was also a very determined young lady. On the way upstairs, Lucia was able to admire Hugo’s house which surpassed anything she had yet seen; in particular, the beautiful proportions of the entrance hall, where, from a wide, cool expanse of Italian marble, the balustraded staircases rose in graceful, sweeping curves.

  The drawing room was swathed in covers. Before an enthralled group of servants, Mrs Merson, his lordship’s housekeeper, was soundly berating a thin, stooping man with a wheezy chest.

  He was protesting loudly that it wasn’t his fault if the stupid little perisher’d fallen down a’ruining ’is precious lordship’s precious carpet ‒ and when he got ’im home he’d get a proper leathering.

  That was all very well, countered the irate housekeeper, but how did he intend to put the matter right?

  Edward consulted with Gutteridge, the major domo, who was endeavouring to bring some kind of order to the proceedings.

  The cause of the trouble lay inert and completely ignored; in falling he had disturbed the covers laid everywhere for protection, and had come to rest, a sooty, crumpled heap, on the priceless Aubusson carpet. Lucia ran forward and dropped on her knees, her fingers gently probing his head where a trickle of blood oozed.

  Hetty, who with Bruno, had followed Lucia upstairs, uttered a shriek and implored her friend not to touch the boy!

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Hetty! If you are squeamish, you had much better go back downstairs.’

  Hetty protested petulantly that she could see no reason for Lucia to get involved, and muttered darkly about interference.

  ‘Well, someone must interfere!’ Lucia stood up, the light of battle in her eye. ‘You cruel, monstrous wretch! You will never lay a finger on this child again!’

  The sweep stirred uneasily. ‘’e ain’t snuffed it?’

  ‘He still lives ‒ no thanks to you!’

  Relief mingled with anger exploded in the wheezy chest. ‘Now look ’ere! No slip of a girl ain’t telling me what I can and can’t do wiv me own …’

  ‘Hold your tongue, man!’ snapped Edward. ‘You will treat Miss Mannering with respect.’