A Sister's Secret (16 page)

‘Well, the devil, but it’s as much as I can expect. However, the word from Ireland being as definite as it is, we can’t afford to be merely hopeful. Something very unpleasant is afoot. Wales is being watched, but it ain’t to his liking to have a guard pussyfooting around him. And Cumberland?’

‘Cumberland can look after himself,’ said the captain, ‘and will.’

‘I take your meaning. But what makes you think his meeting with his elder brothers has a significance?’

‘It’s unnecessary, Your Grace, if the subject to be discussed is as set down.’

‘And why did Cumberland set it down in such a way?’

‘It occurs to me,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘that a diary entry is an official notification. It can always be conveniently pointed to.’

‘Cumberland’s up to something?’

‘I fancy I can’t say yes, but I ain’t prepared to say no.’

‘And what of Lady Clarence?’

‘Entirely magnificent, Your Grace, in appearance, character, intellect and sensibilities. She’ll not marry Cumberland.’

‘God’s life,’ said the dignified gentleman, ‘I hope not. She don’t deserve another impossible husband. But women are strange creatures, Burnside. They’re apt to be drawn more passionately to the wicked than the good. Cumberland has dined with Lady Clarence, frequently, yet she says she hates him.’

‘Faith, some women find a deal of pleasure in hating a man,’ said the captain.

‘Well, I’m relying on you to find every loose end and to tie ’em neatly together.’

Caroline left her house at eleven and called first on Lady Hester Russell, who received her with an emotional kiss on the cheek, and rushing words.

‘Caroline, how good to see you, and how ravishing you look. George will be sorry to have missed you, for he declares you the grandest sight in London. But he is out, walking again, would you believe. He is still determined to exercise his leg and cure his limp, which he says he will and despite the contrary advice of Dr Purvis, who he says is becoming an old goat and too fond of keeping patients in bed. Oh, am I going on a little foolishly? But everything is more and more unbearable, and it’s even a terrible effort to show my face to George …’

‘Hester, it need no longer be unbearable,’ said Caroline, ‘for I’ve called to give you this.’ She handed Hester the letter, tactfully and securely wrapped. She had not read it. ‘There, that is it, dearest. But don’t ask me how I came by it.’

‘Caroline?’ Hester was as incredulous as Caroline had
been. Feverishly she undid the wrapping, opened the letter and scanned it. There was pain in her eyes to see what she had written in her excessive infatuation. Then tears welled. ‘Oh, darling Caroline, thank you, thank you. You have saved my life, and I hope too you have saved my marriage.’ She embraced Caroline, then sank into an armchair and wept tears that were bitter as well as joyful.

‘I cannot stay,’ said Caroline gently, ‘I am on my way to lunch with Mr Wingrove and his mother.’

‘Yes. Yes. I shan’t detain you.’ Hester brushed away her tears and smiled mistily. ‘Mr Wingrove is so exceptionally pleasant, and such an upright gentleman. He’ll be delighted to see you looking so ravishing. We must value gentlemen like him, and fight the weaknesses we have for the other kind. Oh, Caroline, how very, very grateful I am to you.’

Lunch with Mr Wingrove and his mother, Lady Wingrove, was, as usual, an agreeable occasion for Caroline. Lady Wingrove personified the cheerful kindness of her sex; she had been among those friends who had given Caroline tactful and sympathetic support during her years of marital disillusionment. On the death of Lord Clarence, she had remarked that the deceased gentleman, having earned his place in hell, would give the devil himself a run for his money, as would Cumberland when his turn came. Mr Wingrove never spoke of Caroline’s late husband, for he could not bring himself to speak ill of the dead. In his honesty, he could have said nothing that was complimentary.

Lady Wingrove had an endearing charm, and the personable Mr Wingrove an easy flow of conversation. So, since the lunch was excellent and the atmosphere so agreeable, Caroline could not think why she kept losing her way in the table talk. Naturally, she did have Hester’s letter on her mind, and just as naturally she was curious about how Captain Burnside had laid his hands on it. Even so, it was ridiculous that Mr Wingrove frequently had to repeat himself to get a response from her. It was
also discourteous. She was compelled to excuse herself on the grounds that she had something on her mind.

‘Ah, the mind,’ smiled Mr Wingrove, ‘how it can run away with us when we would prefer it to remain close by. But who can define the mind in all its complexities? It is the voice of the soul, of course, and I dare say nothing is more abstract than the soul.’

‘La,’ said Lady Wingrove, ‘to concern oneself with one’s soul is a hopeless essay. I am much more addicted to people, who are fascinating in their variability.’

‘We are, of course, all individuals,’ said Mr Wingrove. ‘How say you, Caroline?’

‘Pardon?’ said Caroline, wondering if Captain Burnside was yet back from his appointment. What appointment? Was it with his present fancy, that covetous serving wench, Betsy, who worked in Cumberland’s household? ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, Mr Wingrove, what was it you said? I have my sister on my mind. She is delaying her return to South Carolina and my parents write me in concern about this.’

‘From my observations of Annabelle,’ said Mr Wingrove, ‘I doubt if she means to return. She has taken London’s Corinthian scene to her young and impressionable heart, and one can only sympathize with your parents. I fear too that she is developing a fondness for your friend, Captain Burnside, whom I’ve not yet had the pleasure of meeting.’

‘Do you fear for Annabelle, Gerald, because you haven’t met the captain?’ asked Lady Wingrove. ‘But I am sure Caroline can vouch for him as a wholesome gentleman.’

‘Annabelle is friendly with him, that’s all,’ said Caroline, and felt a perplexing restlessness, as if this entirely sociable lunch was becoming too drawn out in the face of a wish to return home and examine her hireling. But it
was not until well after they had risen from the table that the arrival of her chaise was announced. By then she was all too ready to depart. Mr Wingrove said a lengthy and fluent goodbye, having accepted her invitation to meet Captain Burnside on Friday evening and to join him at the card table with the Duke of Cumberland and Mr Robert Humphreys.

Stepping into her chaise, she said, ‘Off you go, Sammy, at a spanking trot,’ to her young coachman.

‘Yes’m,’ said seventeen-year-old Sammy, son of her previous coachman, retired on account of crippling rheumatism.

Caroline would have liked to drive herself, but in town it was simply not the thing for a lady to take up reins. In Sussex, life was less conventional, and there she drove every kind of vehicle with dash and elan. She had learned to handle a pair in South Carolina, even though conventions there could be stricter than in London.

As Sammy took the chaise through the streets at a smart trot, she thought of Sussex. Why should she not take Annabelle there for a while? It would remove her from such easy contact with Cumberland. Captain Burnside could accompany them. He could conduct his own devious pursuit of Annabelle in the quiet countryside. Indeed, Annabelle would probably refuse to go unless she had the company of a man she liked.

Captain Burnside had achieved wonders in laying his hands on that letter. She could not now doubt he would be entirely successful in winning Annabelle’s affections.

Caroline frowned.

On arriving home, she looked for her hireling. Neither he nor Annabelle were in the house. Her secretary informed her that Captain Burnside and Miss Annabelle were out on an afternoon drive.

That left Caroline definitely restless. She was burning to know exactly how he had procured the letter. Had Cumberland given it up in exchange for the standing IOU? It was, after all, for a considerable amount of money. Yet she did not think that likely, for Cumberland was bent on cancelling it out on the return game. Wait. His house, and that baggage called Betsy, one of his servants …

A thought seized her and shocked her. Captain Burnside had been inside Cumberland’s residence, through the agency of the maidservant. Had he committed an act of burglary? He was quite capable. He was a smooth, polished professional, and probably accounted thievery as useful to his ends as trickery.

For some reason, her heart sank.

Captain Burnside, at the reins of Caroline’s handsome carriage, drove at a leisurely pace to Cumberland’s residence. Annabelle, beset by quivers, hid them under light observations of the London scenes. The traffic itself was colourful, a slow-moving procession both ways in the vicinity of Horse Guards Parade. Spanking traps and other two-wheelers vied with stately carriages for possession of the thoroughfares. Kitchen boys darted in and out on domestic errands.

‘I’ll deliver you at the door of your majestic swain, Annabelle,’ said the captain, ‘though I’ll be reluctant to part with you. You’re a picture, young lady, a delicious picture.’

‘Oh, you surely do your best to convince a lady she’s irresistible,’ said Annabelle. Her parasol was up lest the humid sun laid its spoiling light and heat on her complexion. In a blue and white bonnet, and a turquoise blue day gown, she looked very pretty, very charming and very innocent. Bucks on horseback on their way to parks
paused in their cantering to raise their hats to her, thus suggesting they had met her somewhere and would not say no if she invited them to renew the acquaintance. But it was not done, of course, for any young lady to fall for such a ploy. ‘It’s flattering to be looked at,’ she said.

‘Annabelle, the strength of young ladies, don’t you see, is that each is irresistible in some way, which is a fact of life and a principle of nature.’

‘But, Charles, I never feel irresistible, only unsure. Are my eyes the right colour? Is my face in fashion? Is my hairstyle a triumph or a disaster? Is my nose a little too retroussé? Oh, how can one’s self-confidence be assured when one’s self-doubts are so profuse?’

‘Your nose is faultless, your eyes are finely blue, your hairstyle is delightful, and your face will always earn you kisses,’ said Captain Burnside.

‘I vow you a dear man. But I am not the magnificent beauty that Caroline is.’

‘You are young and delicious.’

‘And you are cutting a superb dash,’ sighed Annabelle. Captain Burnside had donned his uniform. His red jacket, high blue collar, thigh-hugging white breeches, shining black boots and cavalry officer’s cap made her eyes linger. Of all things military, she adored a redcoated soldier, for no other colour gave a man more dash. And a redcoated cavalryman, could any soldier come more bravely to the eye? ‘Charles, I declare, you have the eye of every lady we pass. Even Caroline will sigh when she sees you.’

‘Will she?’ Captain Burnside avoided a collision with a badly handled cabriolet by drawing up his pair into a sudden halt. ‘Tut, tut, sir, you should learn to walk before you ride,’ he called.

The driver of the cabriolet, a fop of frills and flounces, smiled at him with sweet malice. ‘Damned, sir, if your
head ain’t remarkably like a cannonball,’ he said, and drove on, heedless of his lack of skill.

‘The pretty sprigs of London are very petty,’ said Annabelle.

‘H’m,’ said Captain Burnside. ‘Now, young lady, in a few moments we shall arrive. I enjoin you to take care. Your sister won’t think too kindly of me for delivering you to Cumberland, nor will she like the thought of your being alone with him in his house – for if he seizes you, I fancy you’ll not be able to count on help from his servants.’

Annabelle’s laugh was a little nervous, a little excited. ‘Seizes me? Charles, how melodramatic.’

‘Very,’ said the captain drily. ‘But a prince so dark of brow and so enamoured ain’t averse to seizing enchantment and making off with her.’

‘Making off?’ Her laughter bubbled. ‘Dear Charles, how amusing you are, and not at all boring, like Mr Wingrove, who is so constantly agreeable that he comes close to sounding like a single note of a flute. Whatever else is said about the Duke of Cumberland, no one could accuse him of being boring.’ Annabelle laughed again. Thoughts of Cumberland always excited her, and London never failed to exhilarate her. Before her and around her, all was a colourful panorama of carriages and people, handsome brownstone buildings and uniformed soldiers. A troop of Horse Guards rode by in jingling panoply, every horse a sleek, shining black. ‘Please do not forget the duke and I are meeting only to converse.’

‘About his intentions or your irresistibility? To be sure, Annabelle, it’s plainly time you determined whether you are being lovingly courted or passionately pursued.’

‘Passionately pursued?’ Annabelle blushed, thought of the pleasure the duke took in caressing her bosom, and blushed again.

‘Quite so,’ said Captain Burnside, fully aware that this sweet but naive young lady was going to stand or fall according to the amount of instinctive feminine caution and common sense she could bring to bear. ‘Cumberland don’t lack passion, nor purpose. So be strong, dear girl. Ask him quite plainly if he has marriage in mind. If not to you, then whom.’

‘But it’s so difficult to be strong when he’s so formidable.’

‘The first thing you must do is forbid him your lips.’

Annabelle hid herself under her parasol. ‘Charles, I beg you not to embarrass me so.’

‘Cumberland has stolen some sweetnesses from you, I’ll wager.’

‘Oh, land sakes, must I discuss such intimacies?’

‘What you must do is remember that gentlemen who deny a lady honest answers to honest questions must be denied favours in return. Point out to Cumberland that you’re a guest of his country, and that he, as a royal duke, should at least be truthful with you. Tell him some men have been assassinated for playing false with young ladies.’

‘Assassinated?’ gasped Annabelle.

‘Yes, mention assassination by all means. You’ve hit on a powerful argument there, Annabelle. Point out that his brother, the Prince of Wales, has wronged so many ladies that he may yet be assassinated before he inherits the Crown. See how Cumberland reacts.’