Deception (Daughters of Mannerling 3) (20 page)

Abigail, in her wedding gown at last, with her train looped over her arm, was waltzing in the arms of her husband. She had resisted all suggestions that she lie down and rest after her ordeal. Abigail felt as if she were floating on air.

Tommy Cartwright was dancing with Rachel, well aware he was the hero of the day. He was saving up every moment to put in a letter home that very night. Two reporters had taken down his story. It would all be in the newspapers on the following morning. The only thing that he regretted was that there were so few guests. He only wished it had been a huge fashionable wedding so that he could have performed on a larger stage. But a large number of society had been outside the church and had witnessed his dramatic arrival. He dreamily ran that magnificent moment of glory through his brain again and trod on Rachel’s toes, apologized, and tried to concentrate on his steps.

Lady Evans was there, sitting with Miss Trumble, watching the dancers. ‘You may have your say, Letitia,’ said Lady Evans. ‘But mark my words: money lasts, love don’t.’

‘You still do not think Burfield would have been better off with Prudence Makepeace?’

‘Why not? Whatever you may say, that Abigail is a wild one. Can you imagine a real
lady
climbing up a cottage chimney and then insisting on getting wed in all her filth?’

‘No,’ said the governess drily, ‘a real lady would have waited patiently for Harry Devers to come back and rape her. Furthermore, to my way of thinking, little Miss Prudence was involved in this in some way.’

‘Pooh, how could she be?’ demanded Lady Evans. ‘She doesn’t even know Devers, and her family would not have let him near her.’

Barry came into the saloon in Lord Burfield’s house, where the dancing was being held, and made his way round the room until he reached Miss Trumble.

‘Oh, miss,’ he said, ‘the most shocking thing. Several people have come forward to say as how they saw that Miss Prudence Makepeace talking to Mr Harry Devers in the street on several occasions, and only this morning two guards officers saw them in St James’s Park.’

Miss Trumble swung round and said to Lady Evans, ‘So what do you think of your precious Prudence now?’

‘I cannot believe it,’ cried old Lady Evans, her lips trembling. ‘But if she is guilty, she will be arrested. What a scandal! Scandal upon scandal!’

‘Let us not spoil the festivities with any more dramas,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘Come, Barry, we will go to the Makepeaces and see what we can find out.’

They took a hack to the Makepeaces’ town house. A butler answered the door and said stonily that the family were not at home. Miss Trumble fished in her capacious reticule and extracted a guinea and held it up. ‘Really not at home?’ she asked sweetly. ‘I am a friend of Lady Evans.’

The butler leaned forward and looked up and down the street and then said with a little jerk of his head, ‘Step inside.’

She and Barry walked into the hall. The butler held out one plump white hand. Miss Tremble put the guinea into it, which the butler first bit to see if it was real, and then slipped it into his pocket.

‘They’ve gone to Italy. All in a rush, like. Usually it takes the quality weeks to prepare for such a journey to foreign parts.’ Miss Tremble felt quite weak with relief. She had realized that if Prudence Makepeace had been arrested, the scandal would have quite destroyed her old friend, Lady Evans. What a tale of revenge and jealousy it had all been!

To marry is to domesticate the Recording Angel. Once you are married, there is nothing left for you, not even suicide, but to be good.

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

Lord Burfield began to think that his bride meant to dance the whole of the night away. And because Abigail continued to dance, so the guests continued as well. Lady Beverley had recovered from all the shocks and alarms and finally woken to the fact – prompted, of course, by Miss Trumble – that she now had three daughters who had all married well.

Miss Trumble, who had returned to report to Lady Evans about the flight of the Makepeaces, watched anxiously as the festivities continued. There were violet shadows under Abigail’s eyes. The girl was obviously tired after all the strain of her imprisonment and escape.

Miss Trumble gave a little click of impatience. Unless Abigail made a move to ‘behave like a proper wife’ – as Miss Trumble delicately put it to herself – this marriage might end its first day with a monumental row. Abigail was dancing with Mr Cartwright, so Miss Trumble rose and approached Lord Burfield, who was helping himself to another glass of champagne.

‘To put it bluntly, my lord,’ said Miss Trumble, ‘is it not time you retired?’

A flicker of amusement shone in his blue eyes. ‘It is indeed. But alas, my young bride appears to be enjoying the company of others too much.’

‘Bride nerves,’ said the governess. ‘And unless you make a move, they are going to get worse.’

He gave a reluctant laugh. ‘My Abigail has been through so much, I do not want anything more to trouble her this day.’

‘Some things have to be resolved on the spot.’

The dance was finished. Abigail was curtsying to Tommy. Lord Burfield crossed to her side.

‘It is time we retired, my sweeting.’ He saw fear dart through her eyes and fought down a surge of impatience. Was she stupid enough to think him another Harry Devers? And then it dawned on him that to take her upstairs for their first night as man and wife under the same roof as the guests, where some of the men were drunkenly beginning to make lewd remarks, would not help. ‘Go to your room,’ he said, ‘and put on your carriage gown.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘I’ll think of somewhere. Now, go!’

Abigail went up to her room, where she was soon joined by her sisters. ‘Where are you going?’ asked Lizzie. ‘I thought you were staying here!’

‘Lord Burfield, I mean Rupert, has suddenly decided to take me somewhere, I don’t know where,’ said Abigail, her voice muffled as Betty lifted the wedding gown over her head.

‘I think it is all very romantic,’ sighed Rachel. She stroked the folds of the wedding gown. ‘How beautiful this is. I wonder if I shall ever wear a wedding gown.’

‘You are bound to.’ Lizzie peered in the mirror and tugged at a strand of her red hair. ‘Why was I ever cursed with red hair? How can one ever be classed as a beauty with red hair? Do you know, it is said the Duke of Wellington shaved his son’s eyebrows because they were red?’

‘Miss Trumble says it is because of the prejudice against the Scottish people,’ said Belinda. ‘I have never met one Scottish person with red hair. But people will have it they are all redhaired.’

‘What do you think will happen to Mannerling now?’ asked Lizzie. ‘I mean, I doubt very much if the Deverses will continue to live there.’

‘I do not care,’ said Abigail. ‘The very thought of the place frightens me now. I think it tricks us all, offering peace and tranquillity and supplying instead obsession and danger and shame. I never want to see it again. Do you . . . Lizzie?
Lizzie?
’

‘No, of course not,’ said Lizzie hurriedly, too hurriedly, thought Jessica worriedly, remembering her own terrible obsession with the place, which had nearly lost her the love of Robert Sommerville, now her husband.

‘I wonder if we shall ever see Isabella again,’ she went on. ‘But we all seem to wed so hurriedly that there is never time for her to make arrangements to come over from Ireland. But all her letters are so happy. I hope you will be as happy as I am and as Isabella is, Abigail.’

Abigail longed to ask this elder married sister about the mysteries of the marriage bed, but in an age when young misses were not even supposed to mention dreadful words like ‘legs,’ she found she could not bring herself to say anything.

They all helped the maid to prepare her for this unknown journey. Lizzie began to become tearful. One after one, her sisters were leaving home, and soon she would be left alone.

Lady Beverley came in and aimed a kiss somewhere in the air above Abigail’s cheek. ‘Be good, my child,’ she said sententiously, ‘and obey your husband in all matters. Ah, if only your dear papa could have been alive this day.’

A guilty silence fell on her daughters. The late Sir William Beverley had become a shadowy figure in their minds. They had all been so bitter about the loss of Mannerling, had blamed him for that loss, that they had not mourned his passing very much.

‘You must remember, Abigail, to tell your husband his duty towards the impoverished Beverleys,’ said Lady Beverley.

Abigail surveyed her mother with cynical eyes. ‘You mean, I am to ask him to send you money?’

‘You were always too blunt, my child. Remind him of his duty.’

‘He has no duty to you,’ said Abigail with a flash of anger.

Miss Trumble entered the room and said quietly. ‘Are you ready, Abigail? Lord Burfield is waiting for you.’

The sisters crowded around Abigail, hugging her and kissing her. Then, as she was leaving the room, Abigail kissed Miss Trumble on the cheek and whispered, ‘Keep them safe from Mannerling.’

Then, followed by them all, Abigail went downstairs to where the guests were gathered around Lord Burfield’s travelling-carriage. Her hurriedly packed trunks were brought down by the footmen and put in the rumble. Lord Burfield was driving himself. He leaned over from the box and held out his hand. ‘Come and join me.’

Abigail grasped his hand and was lifted up. The carriage began to move slowly away. ‘Goodbye,’ called Abigail’s sisters, clustered around Miss Trumble.

Tommy Cartwright, overcome by fame and champagne, began to cry noisily, and that started everyone else off. The sound of sobs died away in the distance as the carriage turned the corner of the street.

To Abigail’s relief, her husband did not talk, merely drove his team competently along the Great West Road, the wheels sending up spurts of gravel. The countryside swam in the golden evening light. Abigail’s eyes began to close. She leaned her head against Lord Burfield’s shoulder and fell asleep.

I wonder if she realizes how nervous
I
am about this night ahead, he thought ruefully. Unlike my peers, I do not find the idea of bedding a virgin exciting. What a responsibility, particularly after all she has been through.

Abigail awoke as the carriage rolled under the arch of a posting-house in Richmond. Underneath them the carriage door opened and Barry emerged and ran into the posting-house. He returned after a few minutes, followed by the landlord.

‘A room has been prepared for you, my lord,’ said Barry.

‘Why Barry?’ asked Abigail, sleepily as he lifted her down from the box. ‘He is not one of your servants.’

‘I thought you would be more comfortable with a familiar face. This is the one time in our life when we do not wish to be surrounded by servants.’

Abigail stifled a giggle as a whole retinue of servants rushed from the inn to bow and scrape and carry their bags.

They followed the landlord upstairs. He threw open the door of a bedchamber. There was a great four-poster bed, its curtains looped back. The casement windows were open to show a vista of the slowly moving river.

Maids appeared to unpack their bags. Abigail rested her elbows on the window-sill and watched the river turning gold in the setting sun.

And then she heard the door close quietly. The servants had left. She straightened up and gripped the window-sill with nervous fingers. He would surely leave her to wash and undress and so delay that terrifying moment when she would face the unknown.

He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I am very frightened I will hurt you, my love, or give you a disgust of me. And you are frightened as well, are you not? Let us be frightened together.’

He turned her round to face him and then kissed her gently on each cheek and then softly on her mouth. For a long time all she felt was his lips moving against her own, his body pressed against her, and all she heard was the sleepy bedtime chatter of the birds outside the window and the soft lapping of the water. Her lips began to move against his own in response and she buried her hands in his thick fair hair. How she had fretted over that terrible embarrassment of undressing! And yet, as his hands began to move over her body, unfastening the long row of buttons at the front of her gown, loosening the tapes at the back, it all felt so natural. And when she was finally lying naked in his arms, she lost her virginity in such a surge of red passion that she barely noticed the pain, writhing under his busy body and moaning against him.

She awoke at dawn and lay and stretched. She heard a noise from outside and climbed stiffly from the high bed, pulled on a wrapper and went to the still-open window and looked down. Barry was standing directly below the window on a strand of shingle, throwing stones into the river like a schoolboy. As if conscious of her gaze, he turned and looked up. Abigail’s radiant face looked down at him.

‘Happy, miss?’ he called up softly.

‘Oh, yes, Barry, so happy.’

He bowed and moved quickly away.

Abigail climbed back into bed, and leaning on one elbow, studied her lord’s face and then tenderly brushed a lock of hair back from his forehead. He awoke and pulled her across his chest. ‘Where were we?’ he murmured.

Miss Trumble awoke with a scratching at the door. ‘Come,’ she called sleepily. She looked at the clock on the mantel. Nine o’clock. She had slept later than usual because, no matter how late she stayed up the night before, the governess usually awoke early.

Barry came in, a sheepish smile on his face.

She sat up and exclaimed, ‘Barry! What are you doing here? You are supposed to be with them.’

‘They are at Richmond and they will not miss me. I hired a horse on Lord Burfield’s account and rode straight here to tell you all is well.’

‘Now how can you know that, Barry?’

‘I was down at the river as the sun came up, and I was below their bedroom window. I looked up and there was Miss Abigail, I mean Lady Burfield. I asked her if she was happy and she said yes, she was, and she looked so beautiful.’

‘And you rode straight to tell me. How good of you, Barry. How very good. Three gone and three more to go. Surely we cannot expect more success.’