Belle (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 2) (19 page)

“And you had not the least idea of it?” Mr Drummond said.

“None at all. I thought I might get Uncle Edgar’s books when he went, and I knew it could not be long, since he was above ninety.”

“I wish
I
had a mysterious wealthy uncle to leave a vast fortune to me,” Miss Drummond said. “It is so exciting! You were expecting a few books, and you find yourself unimaginably rich. But sadly all
my
uncles are as badly off as I am.” But she laughed merrily at the thought, not in the least disappointed.

“But what will you do with it all?” Grace said. “Shall you buy land? An estate?”

“Perhaps, in time,” he said with a little smile.

“You can afford anything you want,” Grace said, giggling. “You could afford to marry.”

Hope and Mr Burford both flushed crimson. “It would be m-m-more than enough to s-s-support a family in comfort,” he said, his voice not much above a whisper.

The room fell into silence, and Belle hardly knew where to look. She dared not look at Mr Burford, nor did she want to see the triumph on Hope’s face. Luckily, Ambleside’s calm voice broke the silence.

“Shall you look for a house in town?” he said. “This a good time of year to establish yourself in society, find out the best tailors and so on. You will want to order your carriage, I daresay, and perhaps a phaeton and pair. Servants, as well — London is the place to find the best trained servants.”

Mr Burford shook his head. “Such plans are too hasty, I feel. This is a large and unexpected change in my fortunes, rather too much to take in all at once. I need time to reflect before I act. Besides, I am still a curate. I shall not desert my post.”

Belle caught a glimpse of Hope’s countenance, which puzzled her exceedingly. She should have been disappointed by this pronouncement, but her expression lifted, almost as if she were relieved. But that could hardly be so. Belle felt sure she must have misunderstood, and dismissed the thought from her mind.

“Perhaps that is wise,” Ambleside went on. “It must be intoxicating to find yourself so rich in so sudden a manner. You must adapt to this change slowly. I have seen too many men go to ruin when they inherit, from over extending themselves.”

“Really, Mr Ambleside, he could hardly do
that
,” Grace said. “He is as rich as a lord, so he could not possibly overextend himself.”

And so it went on all evening. The Drummonds were the only comfort, for Mr Drummond set himself to amuse the younger Miss Allamonts, while Miss Drummond talked of the school, and her delight in the village, and the forthcoming ball — anything but Mr Burford. Even so, Belle was heartily glad when their guests had departed and she could could retire to bed. But even there Amy would not give her any peace.

“Do you think he will offer for Hope now? Mr Ambleside thinks he could do better, and perhaps aim for a title, with so large a fortune. What do you think? For myself, I think if he is truly in love with Hope, he should marry her, and he has been waiting for two years, so he must truly love her, do you not think? But Mr Ambleside says that Mr Burford should move in the best society now. Perhaps he will take a house in London. Imagine Hope as mistress of a grand London house!”

Belle let her rattle on, for she mostly talked to herself, expecting no replies. Still, it was a long half hour before Amy’s excitement finally wound down enough to let her sleep. In the blessed silence that followed, Belle tried to arrange her own thoughts on the matter.  She was very well aware by now of her own heart, but of Mr Burford’s she was less certain. He had kissed her, certainly, and that suggested an attraction, but it could be argued that his passion was not love, but merely an overwrought moment brought on by an excess of heart-rending poetry. Did he love Hope still? She could not say. The only surety was that Hope loved Mr Burford, as did Belle herself, and that was not a situation that could ever be resolved to the satisfaction of all parties.

But whether Mr Burford married Hope or a Duke’s daughter or, like his uncles, never married at all, it was no help to Belle. Just as his star had risen, so hers had fallen, and she was not sure how to proceed. All her options were equally disagreeable. And with that depressing thought, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to overcome her.

20: Willowbye Home Farm

The next morning, Belle rose early and ordered the carriage. It was as well to get the business over with, however disagreeable it might be. She ate a hasty breakfast and then began the long drive to Willowbye. If only she could ride, the journey would be no more than an hour over the fields and farm lanes, but Papa had never permitted his daughters to learn, thinking it unladylike. So she had to suffer the long drive by road, slowly through the mud to Brinchester and then out on the western road, where the surface was better and they made faster progress.

It was years since she had been to Willowbye, and she found herself anticipating the sight of it with pleasure. When she had been very young, and the two branches of the family had been close, she and Amy had stayed at Willowbye for several weeks each summer. She even had a memory of Cousin Vivienne, before she went away. But Papa had thought they fell too far behind in their studies when they were away from home, so for a few years the Willowbye children had stayed at the Hall each summer instead. Then it had been Mary alone, and eventually even she had stopped coming.

The gates stood open, one leaning slightly, and a drift of dead leaves suggested that they were not often closed. The lodge and the dower house a little distance behind it were shuttered and deserted. Along the drive, shrubs grown into small trees encroached so that the coachman had to weave about to make his way along it. Belle shook her head at the neglect.

But then the house came into view and her spirits soared. Such a glorious old house, with its rambling wings at odd angles, its misaligned roofs and latticed windows. Allamont Hall had symmetry and modern elegance, but Willowbye’s red brickwork exuded warmth and charm.

Belle was admitted by a stern-faced housekeeper, sufficiently well-trained to display no surprise at her unexpected arrival. When she would have shown Belle into the drawing room, Belle said, “May I wait in the library?”

Silently the housekeeper led the way into the great hall and through the double doors beyond.

“Shall I light the fire, madam?”

“Thank you, it is a little chilly in here.” It was almost as cold as it was outdoors, so that Belle wondered if any of the windows had been left ajar, or had a broken pane.

The housekeeper took some time to get the fire going — Belle suspected the wood was damp — and then disappeared to find one or other of the family. Belle walked slowly round the room, wishing she had Mr Burford to share her pleasure in it. The bookcases stretched to the high ceiling, each wall had its own ladder and there was even a reading desk at one end. All it wanted was more light, and more attention from the housemaids, although Belle knew the difficulty in keeping junior maids at Willowbye, with James in the house.

It was a long wait before anyone came, and then it was Mary, her face flushed with heat, no doubt from the kitchen. But her pleasure in seeing her cousin was obvious.

“Belle! How lovely! And how like you — only in the house five minutes and already you have your nose in a book.”

“I love this room. If I lived here, I would be in it all day, and the servants would have to bring me every meal on a tray.”

Mary laughed. “I am not sure anyone has been in it since you were last here. I feel certain the housemaid has not. Look at this dust! I shall speak to Phillips.”

“It is the woodworm that would concern me more,” Belle said.

Mary looked rueful. “I know, but there is no money for such things. We barely scrape by as it is. The house must scrape by, too. But you did not come here to discuss woodworm, I fancy.”

“No. I must talk to James, and since he will not come to me, I am obliged to come to him. And now you will tell me that he is away from home and my journey is in vain.”

“He is not in the house, that is true enough. He is down at the farm, as he is most days.”

“What is this sudden obsession with farming?” Belle said.

“More likely a sudden obsession with a milkmaid, although…” She frowned. “Whatever the attraction, it keeps him there all day. If you want to see James, you will either have to go to the farm or stay the night.”

“I will walk down to the farm. It is a good path, and I shall enjoy the exercise. If need be, I shall summon Mr Whittle to drag James away from the milkmaid.”

“If it is the milkmaid, I shall drag him away myself. The boy has not the sense of a baby. Let me fetch my cloak and I will walk with you.”

The path to the farm ran through the full width of the Willowbye grounds. The kitchen gardens were in very good order, Belle was pleased to see, although the old hot houses had been dismantled. Beyond was the orchard, a few trees still bearing late fruit, then the two ponds, a meadow and a small patch of woodland. On a summer day it was a delightful stroll, but even in autumn, with the sun shining, it was very agreeable, with much of beauty still to be seen in the trees and distant hills.

Belle could take little pleasure in her surroundings, however. Her situation was pitiable, and it was difficult to see a happy outcome. She was so lost in her own thoughts, she had almost forgotten she had a companion, until jolted back to awareness when Mary spoke.

“Do you think you will get him to the point? For that must be the purpose of your visit, I imagine.”

“Not exactly,” Belle said. “I am come to tell him that I may shortly be without any dowry at all.”

Mary stopped and spun round to face Belle. “You are jesting, surely? You are not! Oh, Belle, whatever has happened?”

“I am attempting to pay off Mr Jack Barnett to stop him claiming the estate. Unfortunately, he wants twenty thousand pounds before he will agree to leave us in peace, and the only possibility of obtaining such a sum is to give him my portion.”

“But—! No, you cannot be serious, Belle! I refuse to believe that you would entertain the idea. Twenty thousand! Yet your father left him well provided for. God in heaven, it is insupportable, the presumption of the man! Such people as that would do better to keep out of sight and not put themselves in the way of good society. We shall have him strutting about like a lord, if this goes on.”

“Oh, Mary, you make me laugh, but I do not think the boundaries of good society are quite as open as all that.” Feeling the cold, she pulled her cloak more tightly around her. “Come, let us walk on. In all seriousness, I have to consider the idea. James said that Jack Barnett was an obstacle, and so I set out to remove that obstacle, but it can only be done if I give up my dowry. James might still agree to the marriage, though, for we should get the Hall, in time.”

“Only if Ernest and Frank are not found.”

“They have been gone for seven years, and Mr Plumphett advertised everywhere after Papa died. I do not believe we will ever see them again.”

“But Belle, just consider,” Mary said, grabbing her arm. “If you marry James, he would have a legitimate claim on the estate, much better than this Jack Barnett’s, so even if he goes to law, it will not signify.”

“That is too uncertain,” Belle said. “I want him to sign papers saying that he will never claim. Only then will he be gone from our lives, and I can be easy.”

“Well, the only answer is for you to marry a man wealthy enough not to mind your lack of money,” Mary said cheerfully, linking her arm in Belle’s. “I am sure there must be any number of such men to be found in the county, enough for both of us, and then how happy we shall be.”

But Belle could only think of one wealthy man who would make her happy. She pushed the thought to the darkest recesses of her mind.

They came to the wooden gate that led to the lane directly opposite the farm house. It was clear that the farm was prosperous and well run, for the yard was clean and tidy, the animals were penned in stone barns and the farm house would have served even minor nobility as a home without disgrace. It was even older than Willowbye itself, much of it being medieval. In fact, it was rumoured to be the original manor house, reduced to farm service when Willowbye was built. Nor were the Whittles typical of farming stock in the county, being better educated than most, and connected through marriage to most of the county’s great families.

Even a clean and tidy farm yard is unpleasantly muddy, so the ladies used the kitchen path to reach the house without danger to their boots. From there they walked round to the front door and rang the bell. After an interval, a maid came to open the door. As soon as she saw the cousins standing outside, she screamed loudly and ran back into the house.

“Well, that was unusual,” Mary muttered. “What should we do? The door is open, but we can hardly walk in uninvited.”

From inside the house, raised voices could be heard, then running footsteps. Somewhere in the distance, a baby wailed.

“What is going on?” Belle said. “If there is some emergency, perhaps we may be of some assistance.”

She pushed the door further open and stepped inside. Immediately, she was taken back hundreds of years, for the arched ceiling, narrow windows and ancient wooden beams all proclaimed that this was the medieval great hall. If there had been rushes on the floor, minstrels in the gallery above and a few dogs chewing bones beside the fire, she might have truly believed she were no longer in the nineteenth century. She gazed around, enchanted.

Mary crept in behind her. “What a place! How draughty it must be in winter.”

From a door at the far end of the hall, a middle-aged woman emerged, rather breathless. “Why, Miss Allamont! And—?”

“Belle Allamont,” Belle said.

“Oh. Miss Belle. How good of you to call. I wish you had let us know you were coming, so that we could have received you in a proper manner. Will you step into the parlour and take some refreshment?”

“Thank you, but we will not put you to any inconvenience,” Mary said. “We are looking for my brother James. Is he here?”

The woman took a step back, her sharply indrawn breath audible. “Mr James? I… I do not… Perhaps I may convey a message when next I see him?”

“Mrs Whittle, answer me plainly,” Mary said, using her sternest voice. “Is James here or is he not?”

“I cannot say,” she gasped. Then, bobbing a curtsy, she turned and fled.

“They are hiding something,” Mary said. “Oh, what if something has happened to James? Some accident has befallen him, I am sure of it. That is the only explanation.”

Belle thought it possible there might be alternative explanations, but she said nothing.

“Quick, let us follow her,” Mary cried, setting off at once, so that Belle was forced to scamper after her.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Belle said, but Mary had gone, vanished through the door. Belle followed, as Mary crossed another hall and threw open a door.

Mary screamed. Then, sorrowfully, “Oh, James, what have you done?”

Belle came up behind her and looked over her shoulder. There, in a pretty little sitting room, sat a young woman shrouded in shawls, with a wailing baby in her arms. Beside her, guilt written all over his face, was James.

Jumping to his feet, he cried, “No, no! It is quite all right! You see, Alice is my wife!”

“Your
wife!
”

“We were married… some months ago. Thought it best not to upset Papa, so we kept it quiet. I have a son, Mary, is it not wonderful?”

“Am I supposed to congratulate you?” Mary said sharply. “Alice, I wish you joy of your husband, for he has brought none to anyone else he has known. James, Papa will be home by now. Will you come back with us and confess what you have done, or shall I tell him?”

“I will come,” he said. “It must be done, I suppose. I will be back tomorrow, my love.”

To Belle’s disgust, it took no more than five minutes for James to return to his usual ebullient self, insisting on relating the whole tale of his attachment to Alice, despite Mary’s protestations that she wanted to know nothing of it. She strode on ahead, mute with rage, but Belle could not walk so fast, and had to listen to the whole of it. It was the usual story, and no matter how much James dressed it up as a romantic attachment, it was clear that he had behaved very badly, as he had been known to do in the past. This time, however, his victim was not a helpless scullery maid, but the daughter of a wealthy and well-connected man, who insisted on marriage. Belle wondered how they could have hoped to avoid discovery.

She could not escape, but she would not give him the satisfaction of a response.

“Ah, I see how it is,” he said after a while, when she remained silent. “You are in the dismals because I did not offer for you, and now you must look elsewhere for a husband. I am sorry for that, Belle. It was never my intention to harm your prospects. We would have got along famously, and it was always my wish to marry you, but I could not hurt my beloved Alice, could I?”

“You hurt her when you dishonoured her,” Belle said, stung to a reply. “Why on earth could you not tell me what you were about, instead of leaving me wondering? Honesty has much to be said for it. But let us not quarrel, cousin. Your father will berate you with far greater cause than I. Your actions here, far from harming me, have set me free at last. All these months I have assumed my future was settled, but now everything is possible again. My fate is mine for the choosing.”

Her heart sang as she spoke. Truly she was free now, free of a man who would never have loved her and would have tormented her life in a thousand ways. She would have had the enjoyment of Willowbye and its library, and children to comfort her, but otherwise there would have been little joy in her life. She was not foolish enough to imagine that marriage would change James in any fundamental way. She had not realised until that moment just how little she had relished the prospect of becoming Mrs James Allamont.