The Folly (18 page)

“You still look very upset after Mr. Cater’s shocking behaviour,” said Lizzie. “That is why you are so upset, is it not?”

“Yes,” said Rachel, a bleak little monosyllable. She could not bring herself to tell her sisters of her night-time expedition to Mannerling or how Charles had proposed, although she had told Miss Trumble. She thought of her own abandoned and passionate behaviour with a blush. Perhaps he had decided she had loose morals and was not suitable to be his bride. Miss Trumble had told her that his late wife had been considered flighty. Perhaps he thought her the same!

Then she heard the sound of carriage wheels. The
colour rose in her face and she ran down the drive to the gate, her eyes shining.

But it was only the general. Lizzie and Belinda joined Rachel as the old man descended stiffly from the carriage. “No sign of that villain Cater,” he said. “Charles has just returned and is going to bed. He is exhausted.”

Rachel wanted to weep. He had obviously not thought to call at Brookfield House first to see her, to give her any news…to propose.

Then she realized the general was saying, “I am come to see your Miss Trumble. Is she available?”

“I will see,” said Rachel, and went slowly into the house.

She found Miss Trumble in her room and told her that General Blackwood wished to see her.

“Oh dear,” murmured the governess, getting to her feet. “I may as well get it over with.”

“I hope nothing ails the children,” said Rachel, her voice sharp with alarm.

“No, it is something else.”

“Charles is returned to Mannerling. I thought…I thought he would call here first.”

“And propose all muddy and exhausted? No, my child, do not fret. He will be here in the morning.”

Miss Trumble went slowly down the stairs to where the little maid, Betty, was waiting at the bottom.

“I’ve put the general in the drawing-room, miss,” whispered Betty.

“Very good. Give me ten minutes and then bring in the tea-tray and some of Josiah’s seed-cake.”

Miss Trumble went into the drawing-room. Betty went off to the kitchen to tell Josiah to prepare the
tea-tray. As she came back into the hall, she found her mistress just descending the stairs.

“Was that a carriage I heard arriving?” demanded Lady Beverley.

“Yes, my lady. General Blackwood is called.”

“Where is he?”

“In the drawing-room, my lady, but—”

Lady Beverley swept past the maid and opened the door of the drawing-room.

And stood stock-still.

General Blackwood was down on one knee before the governess, his hand on his heart.

Lady Beverley backed away quickly and nearly collided with Rachel.

“I have nourished a viper in the bosom of my family,” she cried.

Rachel saw her mother’s pale eyes were beginning to bulge, the way they always did before a bout of hysterics.

“Hush, Mama. Come into the parlour and tell us what ails you.”

Lady Beverley wrestled with the desire to spoil the romantic scene in the drawing-room or allow herself the relief of unburdening her shock to her daughter. The unburdening won and she followed Rachel into the parlour.

“The general is proposing to Miss Trumble.”

“It is not so strange,” commented Rachel. “He has shown himself to be a great admirer of hers.”

“
I
never noticed!”

No, you would not, thought Rachel. She wondered whether to tell her mother about Charles’s proposal. But what if he had changed his mind?

“I shall send that serpent packing as soon as the general leaves,” Lady Beverley was saying.

“Oh, I would not do that.” Rachel realized her mother did not know anything about the proposed sale of Mannerling.

“And why not, pray?”

“I would have thought you would be more inclined to be very courteous to Miss Trumble.”

“And why on earth should I be?”

“Because Miss Trumble will be the mistress of Mannerling, and if you make an enemy of her, none of us will ever see Mannerling again.”

Lady Beverley opened and shut her mouth like a landed carp while she digested this idea.

“In any case,” went on Rachel smoothly, “we must not jump to conclusions. Perhaps your eyes tricked you.”

“We will see,” said Lady Beverley grimly.

“If you think about it, General,” Miss Trumble was saying gently, “you will find you really don’t want to marry me at all. A mere governess, indeed! You must remember what is due to your position.”

The general, now seated in an armchair, said sadly, “I thought we should suit very well, two old people like us.”

“But you are not in love with me.”

The general turned red. “Really, Miss Trumble, we are both too old for such emotions.”

Miss Trumble gave a little sigh. “Perhaps you are right, sir. Why I said that was to underline the fact that your heart is not broken. No one shall know of your proposal.”

The general brightened. He had begun to feel
ashamed of having proposed to a servant only to be rejected. Then his face fell. “But Lady Beverley saw me.”

“And so she did. And so we will tell her that you have decided to amuse the children by having amateur theatricals at Mannerling. You are monstrous fond of theatricals and you were showing me just how well you could play the part of the gallant.”

The general looked at her with all the old appreciation. “Demme, ma’am, but you are a pearl above price.”

She gave an amused little nod as Betty entered the room bearing the tea-tray, followed by Lady Beverley.

“I am not interrupting anything, I hope?” demanded Lady Beverley with a thin smile.

“Not at all, my lady,” said Miss Trumble, rising to her feet and dropping a curtsy. “General Blackwood came to consult me about the amateur theatricals he means to hold at Mannerling for the amusement of the children. He acts the part of swain very well, as you witnessed.”

“Amateur theatricals!” Lady Beverley sat down and waved one thin white hand to indicate that Miss Trumble should serve tea. “How amusing. Do you know, General, you are so convincing that for one mad moment I thought you were proposing marriage to Miss Trumble.” And Lady Beverley gave a silvery peal of laughter.

The general stood up abruptly. “If you will excuse me, ladies, I do not think I will stay for tea after all. My son is returned from the search for Cater extremely exhausted, and I feel I should be with him.”

“As you will.” Lady Beverley looked somewhat huffy. She walked with him to his carriage, telling him that he really ought to have consulted her on the matter of theatricals—“for poor old Miss Trumble does not have our experience of the social scene, General.”

The general bowed without replying and entered the carriage and rapped on the roof for the coachman to drive on. He did not lower the glass to say any goodbyes. He had also forgotten to suggest to Miss Trumble that she might like to join the Blackwood household as governess.

“Such an odd creature,” murmured Lady Beverley to herself. “But I shall have him yet!”

Rachel awoke very early the next morning and spent a long time choosing what to wear. At last she selected a muslin gown embroidered with little sprigs of lavender with deep flounces at the hem and little puffed sleeves. Then she went down to the parlour and sat by the window to wait.

The sun rose higher in the sky. She was joined about noon by Belinda and Lizzie, demanding to know if what Betty had told them was true—that the general had proposed to Miss Trumble.

Rachel turned reluctantly away from the window. “Miss Trumble says he was merely rehearsing for some amateur theatricals, but I think she said that so as to save his face and not upset Mama.”

“But she could have been mistress of Mannerling,” exclaimed Lizzie.

“There are still some sane people on this earth who do not want to be mistress of Mannerling,” said Rachel tartly. “Do you not realize that every time
one of us plots to regain Mannerling it all ends in shame and humiliation?”

“Meaning that now you know that Charles Blackwood will never propose to you,” said Belinda with a toss of her head, “you pretend you never cared anyway.”

“And neither do I,” said Rachel. She turned wearily back to the window, her shoulders drooping.

“The children have not come this morning either,” said Lizzie.

Belinda joined Rachel at the window. “Why, there is the carriage from Mannerling now. But it is only Mr. Charles, not the children. Oh, I hope the Blackwoods have not been offended by Miss Trumble and decided not to bring the children any more. I enjoyed their visits.”

They then heard Charles’s voice in the hall, demanding to see Lady Beverley.

“There you are,” said Lizzie. “He has come to complain about Miss Trumble.”

Rachel wanted to protest, to say that he had called to ask for her hand in marriage, but a superstitious fear kept her silent, as if long black shadows were reaching out over the fields from Mannerling to touch her very soul. Perhaps the house would have its revenge on her, and Charles would turn out to have called simply, as Lizzie had suggested, to complain about Miss Trumble.

She picked up a book and pretended to read. How the minutes dragged past.

And then the door swung open, to make her start and drop the book.

Lady Beverley sailed in.

“You are to go to the drawing-room, Rachel,” she
said. “Mr. Blackwood is desirous to pay his addresses to you. Oh, my dear child, you have succeeded where your sisters have failed. We will all soon be home again.”

But Rachel had already left.

She stood for a moment at the entrance to the drawing-room, looking shyly at Charles.

He silently opened his arms and she flew into them. He crushed her against him and kissed her passionately. Betty, the maid, outside the door, gave the couple a shocked look and quietly closed the door on the scene.

“Oh, my little love,” said Charles finally, “you have not changed your mind?”

“No, but I feared you had when you did not call yesterday.”

“I was muddy and exhausted, in no state to propose marriage. My heart, I will keep Mannerling for you, if you wish.”

“Oh, no,” said Rachel with a shudder. “I do not want the place. Just you, Charles.”

Which made him kiss her so passionately that when they finally surfaced, both of them were breathing raggedly.

He sat down and pulled her onto his knee. “I must tell you now about my late wife. Had I not been so bitter about her flighty behaviour and so suspicious of every member of your sex, I swear I would have proposed to you that very first day, when I found you with my children at the lake.”

“You quite frightened me.”

“Am I too old for you?”

“No, beloved. Kiss me again.”

They finally broke apart when the door opened
and Lady Beverley gave a loud cough. They stood together hand in hand as Lady Beverley came in, followed by Lizzie, Belinda, and Miss Trumble.

“Congratulate me,” said Charles. “Rachel is to be my bride.”

Lizzie and Belinda gave cries of joy and ran to hug Rachel.

“And you will live at Mannerling,” cried Lizzie.

Rachel shook her head and smiled. “Not Mannerling. We will live elsewhere.”

“Have you gone mad?” shrieked Lady Beverley.

Miss Trumble gave a little sigh and backed away and made her way through the back of the house and out into the garden.

She hailed Barry, who came over to join her. “Such news, Barry,” said Miss Trumble. “Rachel is to marry Charles Blackwood and they are so very much in love.” She sat down on a garden chair suddenly and, taking out a handkerchief, dabbed at her eyes.

Then she blew her nose firmly and went on, “Dear me, I am quite overset. Such success! The fourth Beverley sister to marry well.”

“I did hear,” said Barry, looking down at her, his expression veiled, “that the general proposed to you.”

“I have put it about that he was merely rehearsing a play, Barry, but yes, he did propose and I refused him.”

“Why, miss? You could have been set for life!”

“You mean, for what’s left of it,” said the governess with a rueful grin. “I am afraid I am one of those tedious romantics. I could not marry for anything
other than love. Ridiculous at my age, is it not?”

Barry bent his grey head and pushed at the grass with the toe of one square-buckled shoe. “Well, now, I do reckon that I am of the same mind, miss, or I’d ha’ been spliced this long since.”

Miss Trumble rose. “You are such a comfort to me, Barry. Now I must go and tell Betty to look in the cellar and see if we have any champagne left.”

She moved away across the grass and Barry stood for a moment looking after her before returning to his work.

M
INERVA SANTERTON READ
the announcement of Rachel’s forthcoming wedding in the
Morning Post
and threw the newspaper angrily across the breakfast table at her brother.

“Rachel Beverley and Charles are to wed,” she hissed.

He tossed the paper on the floor and looked at her blearily. “He told us that.”

“But I had begun to think it was all a hum, that he only said it to get rid of us.”

“Even if that had been the case,” pointed out George, “then it stands to reason he didn’t want you.”

“Those brats of his turned him against me. I hate children.”

“Just as well then that you ain’t got any.”

The butler entered. “There is a person called to see you, Mrs. Santerton.”

“Miss,” said Minerva crossly.

“Don’t know why you don’t call yourself ‘Mrs.’
Silly, I call it,” complained George, “particularly when it looks as if you won’t marry again and folks will forget you ever were married and think you’re a spinster.”

Minerva ignored him and turned to the butler. “We do not see persons,” she said. “Tell whoever it is we are not at home.”

The door opened and Mr. Cater walked in.