Deception (Daughters of Mannerling 3) (11 page)

‘But again, he will not be expecting the switch. Nobody would think us capable of such a monstrous idea.’

Rachel gazed at her twin, wondering what to do. She knew she could not marry Harry. Abigail was the strong one. Abigail could cope with him; Abigail could cope with anyone. She, Rachel, would need to live out the rest of her life as Abigail, but that would be no bad thing. Harry had said to her that he had no intention of allowing Lady Beverley to live at Mannerling, and Rachel knew that once her mother became aware of that fact, she would retreat back into her accounts’ books and fictitious illnesses.

They discussed the matter, backwards and forwards, for two hours, until the dinner bell sounded.

‘It would be better not to be seen together this evening, Rachel,’ urged Abigail. ‘I will say you, Abigail, are feeling tired and you are having a meal on a tray in your room. I will go downstairs in your clothes as you. If my act fails, then we will know the game is up.’

And somehow the plot, which had seem so outrageous when Abigail had first suggested it, seemed to be the only solution. Abigail’s room was next to Rachel’s and they shared a sitting room, and so it was easy to change belongings from one room to the other without being observed by the servants.

Abigail sent a message by a footman that she did not require the services of a lady’s-maid and dressed herself in one of Rachel’s gowns, glad in a way that their new gowns were different, so that she could look more like Rachel. She even smoothed a tiny bit of lampblack under each eye to imitate the shadows under her sister’s.

Harry, having had nothing more to drink, and having slept heavily, was sobered enough to regret his behaviour. He should have held off until after the wedding. It was therefore with great relief that he found himself joined in the drawing room before dinner by a shy ‘Rachel’ who actually flirted with him modestly and prettily. Abigail was in luck. Lord Burfield was spending the evening with friends in Hedgefield and Miss Trumble was keeping to her room. Lady Beverley, as usual, was acting out the part of mistress of Mannerling and did not notice anything odd.

As Harry made every effort to please, Abigail became more and more convinced that she was doing the right thing. Once the marriage was a few months old, she would tell Harry the truth and they could be married properly, in secret. With the beautiful rooms of Mannerling surrounding her, Abigail felt she could achieve anything.

Before she retired that night, Abigail went to her twin’s room to tell her that everything would be all right.

‘There is something you must do,’ said Rachel, her eyes wide and dark in the candle-light of her room. ‘You must somehow not consummate the marriage until Harry knows who you are and agrees to a proper wedding. For if he flies into a passion, you must be able to annul the marriage.’

‘I have heard ladies talk about asking gentlemen to wait,’ said Abigail. ‘That is what I shall do. He seemed most eager to please. Are you sure you were not frightened over nothing?’

Rachel gave a shudder. ‘No, and I hope you know what you are doing, Abigail.’

‘I will manage. Remember, tomorrow you will have Miss Trumble watching you, so try to behave as much like me as possible. But as one of my bridesmaids, she will not see you until we march up to the altar in the Yellow Saloon and so your back will be to her during the service. If she suspects anything is wrong after I am married, then she would not dare say anything because of the disgrace.’

Rachel clutched her arm. ‘Listen, Abigail. Last night I could not sleep. I decided to go outdoors, but when I got as far as the landing, the main landing, the chandelier was turning and tinkling, backwards and forwards, although there was no wind, just as it must have done when Judd’s body was hanging from it. It is an omen.’

‘Pish! You are overset and so you imagined it all.’

‘No, no, I feel something bad is going to happen.’

‘All will be well. Mannerling will be ours again. The ladies can always manage the gentlemen if they are of strong enough character.’

‘But Jessica was very strong and yet Harry shocked her and almost made her ill with fright. And her dress was torn.’

Abigail could feel all her confidence beginning to ebb away. ‘Jessica was already in love with Mr Sommerville and . . . and . . . she had just turned Harry down, and that is enough to make any gentleman mad with rage.’ She determinedly talked on about the rightness of what they were about to do. Had they been men, then the world would have applauded them for fighting to regain their home and estates. Rachel listened, feeling guilty, but at the same time feeling so relieved that she would never, ever have to face the ordeal of becoming Mrs Harry Devers.

The next day, Rachel determinedly bounced about, trying to look sure and confident. Abigail was bathed and dressed by the maids and then, when she was ready, her mother came to see her. Lady Beverley was as short-sighted as she was vain and would never wear spectacles for anything other than poring over her precious accounts, and so she saw only the daughter she assumed was Rachel.

‘You are very lucky, my child,’ said Lady Beverley, ‘that you have brought us all home again.’

‘As to that,’ said Abigail, remembering what Rachel had said, ‘I fear that Harry does not wish you or my sisters to live at Mannerling.’

‘You must be mistaken!’ exclaimed Lady Beverley. ‘You are too young to run such a mansion. You will need guidance.’

‘He was most firm on that point,’ said Abigail, suddenly realizing that a distressed mother would not pay too much attention to her.

‘Oh, you must have misunderstood him,’ said Lady Beverley. ‘I will speak to him.’ And to Abigail’s relief, she hurried from the room.

Abigail was glad she was not to be married in church. Had that been the case, she could not have gone through with it. But there would be nothing particularly sacrilegious about tricking everyone, just for a little, in a house wedding.

Miss Trumble sat in one of the little gilt rout chairs in the Yellow Saloon among the other guests and awaited the arrival of the bride. Her heart was heavy and she felt old. Looking after the Beverley sisters, teaching them, had given her a purpose in life. She could only pray that Rachel would find Harry reformed, and if she did not, then would have the sense to leave him.

Mr Stoddart, the vicar, stood before the temporary altar. There was a rustling among the guests. Harry was standing before the vicar with a fellow officer as brideman. Then the double doors were thrown open. Abigail, veiled, walked slowly in on the arm of the squire, who had forgiven Lady Beverley all her recent snubs and had agreed to give Rachel away. Behind her, pretty as a bouquet in white muslin and wreaths of silk flowers in their hair, came Rachel, Belinda, and Lizzie.

Lord Burfield looked sharply at the bridesmaids. Then he looked at the bride. He could only see their backs, and yet he had the oddest feeling he was seeing Abigail being wed and not Rachel.

Lady Beverley cried most affectingly during the service. Harry had confirmed her fears. He did not want her at Mannerling.

The long service dragged on. Miss Trumble was glad when it was over. The deed was done. It was up to Rachel now. The bride raised her veil and turned around.

Miss Trumble drew in a sharp breath. Surely the bride was Abigail, and that bridesmaid was Rachel! But then she shook her head. The twins would not dare to play such a monstrous trick. As if aware of her gaze, Abigail modestly dropped her eyes.

Lord Burfield stared at the bride with a puzzled expression on his face. But like Miss Trumble, he could not believe for a moment that anyone would play such a monstrous trick. During the festivities, he took Rachel up for a dance, believing her to be Abigail. He found her unusually quiet. When they were promenading after the dance, he said, ‘You seem remarkably subdued on such a happy occasion, Miss Abigail.’

‘It is sad to lose my twin,’ said Rachel.

‘You are both remarkably alike, are you not? Your own mother must often mistake the one of you for the other.’

‘Yes, she does. But her eyesight is not very good.’

‘I shall be in London for the Season. Is there any chance that you might be there?’

Rachel shook her head. ‘We do not go to London.’

‘And you would like to go.’

It was not a question. Lord Burfield was remembering how Abigail had told him about her boring life in the country. But Rachel did not know that and said quietly, ‘I enjoy life in the country. There is much to interest me.’

Again he experienced that puzzled feeling of unease. He did not find himself elated and charmed in her company as he had been before. Rachel’s next partner came up to claim her and he saw the relief on her face.

The long festivities went on. The bride and groom went out to the marquee on the lawn, where Harry, who was becoming increasingly tipsy, made a muddled speech to the tenants.

Abigail, who had been congratulating herself on how well she was playing her part and in her mind’s eye was already making several alterations to the furnishings of Mannerling, was taken aback when Harry said, ‘It is time for us to retire.’

‘So soon?’ Abigail looked at him wide-eyed. ‘But our guests are still here.’

‘They will know we want to be alone. Come along.’

Abigail allowed him to lead her upstairs. She turned on the landing and looked down. Lord Burfield was gazing up at her. She felt trapped in that blue gaze. Then Harry jerked her arm impatiently and she turned away.

He followed her into her room and stood staring at her lecherously, rocking a little on his heels.

‘If you will leave me for a moment,’ said Abigail, ‘I will ring for the maid.’

He advanced on her. ‘I will be your maid.’

Abigail smiled weakly. She was his wife now. She could hardly push him away. But she tried to play for time. Perhaps if she got him to leave her for a short while and go to his own quarters, he might fall asleep.

‘I have a vastly pretty night-gown,’ she said flirtatiously. ‘I hoped to surprise you.’

To her relief, he laughed and said, ‘Very well. But I will be back very soon.’

Once he had gone, Abigail undressed, washed, and put on a silk night-gown trimmed with fine lace. She climbed into bed and lay staring up at the canopy, listening to the sounds of merriment filtering up from below. Gradually it dawned on her that what she had hoped for had actually happened. Harry must have fallen asleep.

One by one, carriages began to rumble off down the drive. Voices could be heard raised in farewell.

At last, she closed her eyes and composed herself for sleep. That was when the door crashed open.

Harry, wearing a brightly coloured dressing-gown, strode in. ‘You should have sent for me,’ he grumbled. A branch of candles was still burning brightly on a table at the window. Harry took off his dressing gown, revealing he was naked underneath. Abigail let out a whimper of fright and crouched back against the pillows. He climbed into bed and fell on top of her, his mouth, hot and wet and reeking of stale drink, covering her own in a suffocating embrace. With a superhuman effort, Abigail broke free and ran for the door.

‘Hey, come back here!’ he roared.

Abigail jerked open the door and fled along the passage. She shot round a corner. She heard him thudding after her. She opened the nearest door, slipped inside, ran for the bed, jumped in and pulled the covers over her head and lay trembling.

And then she heard the striking of flint on tinderbox and the room was bathed in the soft light of an oil-lamp. Beside her in the bed was Lord Burfield, looking down at her quizzically.

‘Is this an old-fashioned country way of celebrating a wedding?’ he asked.

‘Demme, where the deuce is that hell-cat?’ came a yell from the passage.

Frightened out of her wits, Abigail clutched Lord Burfield by the shoulders. ‘Do not betray me,’ she begged.

‘You’re Abigail!’ said Lord Burfield. ‘I knew there was something strange. You married Devers, not Rachel, and yet your name was given as Rachel.’

‘Rachel couldn’t bear it,’ said Abigail, ‘so I took her place.’

‘
WHAT
!’

The door crashed open. Harry Devers stood there, his dressing gown clutched about him. Behind him stood Lady Beverley, Miss Trumble, and Lady Evans. Abigail squeaked with terror and threw her arms around Lord Burfield’s neck.

‘I’ll kill you, Rachel,’ said Harry.

‘This is not Rachel,’ said Lord Burfield. ‘It’s Abigail.’

Lady Beverley began to scream hysterically, great rending screams which sounded through the rooms and passages of Mannerling, screams which roused the roosting peacocks outside and set them screaming in a mad imitation.

‘I knew it,’ said Miss Trumble bleakly when Lady Beverley’s hysterics had subsided into hiccuping sobs. ‘A curse on this house!’

A council of war was held in the drawing room, the other interested house guests being kept away.

Harry and Abigail were now dressed, as was every-one else there: Mr and Mrs Devers, Harry, the Beverley sisters and their mother, Lord Burfield, Miss Trumble, and Lady Evans.

‘Before you all begin shouting at each other again,’ said old Lady Evans, ‘we had best begin at the beginning. Rachel!’

Rachel said in a low voice, ‘I could not go through with it and so Abigail said she would take my place. I knew Harry did not love me and so I knew he would not notice the difference. He often mistook Abigail for me.’

‘You are wicked, wicked girls,’ said Mrs Devers. ‘Only look at my poor boy!’

Harry Devers hung his head. His brain had been working at a furious rate. The Beverleys were shamed, shamed beyond repair. Nobody would believe Jessica’s story now. Now
he
was the victim. If he did not rant or rail, but looked totally crushed by the shame of it all, his parents might still allow him to sell out and stay at Mannerling without the encumbrance of a wife. If he shouted and stamped, then sympathy might veer in Abigail and Rachel’s direction, and he wanted them to suffer as much as possible.

‘This is what comes of having got rid of Miss Trumble here,’ said Lady Evans. ‘Had she still been in your employ, Lady Beverley, none of this would have happened.’