Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (39 page)

“I assure you sir, that any man who tried to enter my bedchamber with evil intention would have a very unpleasant reception,” Beth said vehemently. She glanced across at her brother, who, to Sir Anthony’s curiosity, reddened and looked the other way.

“Oh, but what can one do against such a man!” cried Anne Maynard. “We are all so helpless in the hands of man’s greater strength!”

“It strikes me that some ladies are more helpless than others,” Sir Anthony commented, keeping his eyes on Beth. “But as dear Miss Maynard says, what can a woman do against such a determined man?”

“If we follow the advice of the author Mr Richardson, presumably wait until he miraculously reforms and proposes marriage, whereupon she can instantly become the most appalling creature, bemoaning her unworthiness to occupy such a privileged position from morning till night.” Beth’s voice was laced with disdain.

 “I would that all women were so virtuous and sensible of their role,” said Mr Johnson pompously. “I often find it to be the opposite case. Many women continually tempt men by their lewdness into imperilling their souls.”

“Ah, but sir, if you will persist in your acquaintance with the ladies of Drury Lane, what can you expect?” Sir Anthony commented. A snigger ran along the table. None of the company, the Cunninghams excepted, liked the self-righteous Mr Johnson Every one of them was regularly subjected to one of his lengthy improving lectures, with the exception of Sir Anthony, who had been heard to proclaim in a loud voice that if he wished to hear a sermon, he would go to a minister, not a hypocrite. Mr Johnson had given the baronet a wide berth after that, and looked at him now with a hatred most unbecoming in a man of professed faith.

Blithely disregarding his enemy, Sir Anthony proceeded to address Beth.

“I take it from your expression that you don’t consider Pamela to be so virtuous after all? She does resist him, under the most trying circumstances.”

“Yes, but she deliberately puts herself in those trying circumstances. But you told me you had not read the book, Sir Anthony. You seem to know a lot about it.”

“Yes, well, I thought I would make the effort after all, in the hope of engaging you in a discussion. I was sure that your opinions would be diverting.”

Everyone at the table except Beth pricked up their ears at that. Sir Anthony had never expressed interest in any particular woman before. Was he smitten? Only Beth failed to notice, having not been brought up in a society so obsessed with matchmaking. She was still pondering the character of Pamela.

“I think she is hoping for marriage all along,” she continued. “I find it most unconvincing that she spends the first half of the book denouncing the hero, only to suddenly discover she has been in love with him all along the moment he proposes marriage. I think all in all they deserve each other, for she is the most unctuous mercenary thing, and he shows all the makings of an absolute tyrant.”

Lord Edward had entered while Beth was talking and now took his seat at the head of the table, muttering apologies as he came for his tardiness. The master having reappeared, the second course was now served.

“So who are you talking about? Who is unctuous, and who is a tyrant?” he asked.

“We were discussing Mr Richardson’s novel, ‘Pamela,’ Edward,” said Isabella. “Elizabeth was giving her opinion of the hero and heroine.”

“Ah, you take the view of Henry Fielding then, cousin,” he stated.

“I have not read Mr Fielding’s comments on the novel,” she said.

Edward smiled, pleased to have read a book his over-educated cousin had not. “He wrote a parody on the novel, entitled ‘Shamela’. Most diverting. But of course this is what happens when a man marries beneath his station. The hero is most fortunate that his family and friends do not cast him out, as they should have done.” He looked sharply at Beth, who coloured. “Still, at least
Pamela
remained humble, and was truly grateful for the honour bestowed upon her.”

“But does that give Mr B. the right to be a tyrant?” Beth retorted.

“He has the right to be whatever he wishes. He is well born, whereas she is not. She would do well to remember it, as would any woman who finds herself with the opportunity to marry above her.” He took a forkful of venison, chewing it with gusto.

It was clear that the conversation had suddenly moved from the general discussion of a novel to something of a personal nature between the Cunningham family. Sir Anthony glanced at the various members. Richard looked smug, but wary. The three sisters appeared a little nervous and fluttery; everyone else seemed slightly bemused, clearly not fully comprehending the undertones. Sir Anthony sat back to observe, his face impassive.

“And yet did our Lord Jesus Christ not say that, ‘He that is least among you all, the same shall be great?’” Beth said. “And, ‘Whosoever of you will be the chiefest, shall be servant of all?’”

“Are you seriously telling me you believe that everyone is born absolutely equal?” Lord Edward glowered. He leaned back in his chair and beckoned imperiously to one of the footmen standing nearby. “Here, sir, what is your name?”

“Samuel, my lord,” replied the man, astonished that after several years of being ignored in his service, his master should now address him personally.

“Well, Samuel, what do you think to replacing me as Lord Cunningham, eh? My cousin seems to think you worthy of the post. What do you say?”

The unfortunate Samuel opened his mouth and then closed it again, at a loss for words.

“Come, come, man, don’t be shy,” the lord barked. “Do you think you are up to the job?”

“I...I am sure I am happy where I am, my lord. I would never presume to rise further...” he stuttered, clearly wishing the ground would open up and swallow him.

Beth had been about to change the subject before Lord Edward unfairly attacked his servant. She had noticed the nervous reaction of her female cousins and the puzzled expressions on the faces of the rest of the company, and realised that she had overstepped the mark. Although Lord Edward was behaving boorishly, he was both the head of the family and the host of this dinner party, and convention dictated that she owed him respect and deference as such. But the sight of the humiliated red-faced footman stammering, while her cousin eyed him with a mixture of contempt and triumph was too much. Outwardly calm, inwardly she raged at the injustice, and flung propriety to the four winds without a care.

“You are being unfair, Edward, in attempting to humiliate a man who cannot answer back,” she remarked icily. “You do yourself no credit to behave thus.”

Her comment had the desired effect. Samuel was forgotten and retired gratefully into the shadows.

“Tell me then, madam, who clearly consider yourself my equal to speak to me in such a manner, do you think this Samuel is capable of replacing me?” asked Edward angrily, his attention now fully back on Beth.

“No, of course not. Some are born to poverty and low position, and some are born to high position, as God wills.”

“I am glad to hear you think that way, because...”

“But it is the duty of everyone born to high position to behave in a manner befitting the honour God has bestowed upon him,” Beth interrupted. “If he thinks that noble blood gives him the right to be a pompous, ignorant tyrant, then he does not deserve the position. Add to that the fact that the highborn person has access to the most improving education and company, and he has even less excuse for being a despot. A man may be born to an exalted position, but that does not make him a gentleman, or deserving of respect. Respect can only be earned by gentlemanly conduct.” Her tone made it very clear that she felt Lord Edward had not earned
her
respect, at any rate.

The noble had gone purple with rage, and Richard was subtly but fruitlessly trying to attract his sister’s attention, no doubt in an attempt to stop her inflaming her cousin’s anger further.

Isabella broke nervously into the momentary silence that followed. “I am sure, though, that those who are born to privilege would never seek to abuse it. I am certain that I always try to set a good example to others in everything I do and say.”

“I know you do, my dear Isabella,” Sir Anthony reassured her kindly. The poor woman seemed to spend her life humouring her arrogant brother, and he pitied her. “But unfortunately I must agree with Elizabeth, that not everybody shows such a good example.”

“Even if they do not,” blustered Edward, riding roughshod over his sister’s feeble attempts at conciliation, “who are we to argue with what God has ordained? Are you saying that we should promote beggars to replace peers of the realm who behave in an unsatisfactory manner?”

“No, of course I am not saying that, cousin,” said Beth, in a deceptively humble voice. There was a little sigh of relief from Isabella and a few other ladies at the table. “But I do think that more of the company in fact agree with my views than you think. Indeed, I believe that you yourself secretly subscribe to them.”

“What?!” How can you possibly justify that?!” her cousin exclaimed. Several people leaned forward, disregarding the servants’ attempts to take away their empty plates. All eyes were on Beth.

“How else can you justify the replacement of a king born to his position by divine right, with a distant relation who had no hereditary right at all?”

The silence was profound. Even the servants froze.

“My God, woman!” roared Edward, leaping to his feet and knocking over his wine glass in the process. A red stain spread slowly across the immaculate snowy tablecloth. “Are you telling me I have a bloody Jacobite traitor in the midst of my family?”

Only Beth and Sir Anthony remained apparently calm amongst the uproar at the table. Isabella and Clarissa looked about to faint. Mr Johnson spluttered his mouthful of wine across the table; Richard appeared about to assault his sister. Indeed he half-stood, his hand moving automatically towards the sword he had forgotten he was not wearing. Sir Anthony reached across and laid a restraining hand on the other man’s arm. Richard shook it off angrily, but he subsided back into his chair.

“I said no such thing, Edward,” Beth replied sweetly once the noise had subsided a little. “I did not state that I thought it wrong to replace an unworthy king. I do not hold the view that every man deserves to hold his place regardless of his conduct. You however, do hold such a view. I therefore asked you, a devout Hanoverian, in all seriousness how you can justify the removal of a divinely ordained monarch, according to your stated principles?”

“It is a completely different matter altogether,” Edward spluttered, aware that he had been wrong-footed somehow. He sat down again, and motioned a servant forward to clean up the spilled wine. “James was incompetent. He had to go. The man was a papist, for God’s sake! If he’d had his way we’d all be kneeling to Rome by now, and the pope would be head of the country.”

“Hear, hear,” said Mr Johnson.

“So, then, you agree that the country is fully within its rights to remove an incompetent king, but an incompetent mere lord cannot be challenged in any way by those beneath him?”

“I did not say that!” Edward said.

“Yes, you did. To quote your exact words, uttered not five minutes ago – ‘who are we to argue with what God has ordained?’ Yet you agree with a parliament who did indeed argue with what God had ordained. James was the hereditary heir to the throne, competent or not. If I, who am, as you insinuate, not your equal,” her voice was thick with scorn, “have to endure the dictates of my
superiors
regardless of their moral or intellectual right to be called so, then should not you follow the same rule with regards to
your
superiors? You cannot claim right by birth for yourself, but deny it to others when it suits you, my lord.”

Lord Edward was clearly stumped. He gulped at his refilled glass of wine, trying to gain time before having to answer.

“James abdicated his throne voluntarily,” he said sullenly after a pause. “A king who will not fight when challenged is not worthy of the title.”

Sir Anthony laughed out loud, drawing attention away from the duelling cousins.

“Come, my lord, that is not true. James may not have fought to retain his crown, but he did not abdicate, everybody knows that. But you prevaricate. The lady has a point. Will you not answer her?” He was in his element. He had never thought he would see the day when Lord Edward was bested by a woman. He usually surrounded himself with sycophants or people who depended upon him for their livelihood, or who could be easily bullied. Clearly he had got more than he had bargained for when he had taken his cousin under his noble wing.

“She is no lady, sir, surely that is obvious by her impertinence? Her father may have been my uncle, but her mother was nothing more than a...”

He got no further, as the carefully controlled rage suddenly exploded. Beth jumped up and threw the newly replenished contents of her wineglass straight into Edward’s face. Isabella gave a little shriek of horror. Beth stood facing her cousin, who had also risen from his chair and looked about to strike her. She was white-faced, but with anger, not fear.

“You may call
me
anything you wish, cousin,” she said. Her voice shook with emotion. “But you will not insult my mother while I am present to defend her. If you are coward enough to do so when I am not present, that is your prerogative.” She turned to the sea of shocked faces looking up at her. Only Sir Anthony was smiling. “You will excuse me if I leave the table now. I beg your pardon if I have ruined your meal.”

“On the contrary, dear lady. I for one feel you have considerably enlivened it,” said Sir Anthony merrily.

She hardly heard him through the fire that roared in her blood. She turned, straight-backed and swept from the room, closing the door behind her.

There was a short silence, broken only by the servants ministering to their drenched lord.

“Well, are we to have the next course, or are we all to die of starvation first?” Sir Anthony asked.

“Oh...of course. I beg your pardon.” Isabella clapped her hands and the servants who had frozen along with the diners while Beth and Lord Edward argued were galvanised into action. Plates were removed and the next course brought in. The rattle of crockery and cutlery masked the awkward silence, and by the time the plates were filled, sporadic conversation had started up again in which any topic that touched on noble birth and hereditary rights was carefully avoided. Lord Edward left the room temporarily to change his waistcoat. A semblance of normality returned to the evening.