The Landower Legacy (18 page)

“They’ve just been delivered, Miss,” she said.

Miss Bell rose. She read: “For Miss Tressidor.” Then: “Oh, Olivia. For you.”

Olivia flushed and took the roses.

I said: “They’re lovely.” Then I saw the card attached. Written on it was: “Thank you. Rupert of the Rhine.”

I turned away. I thought: He knew who I was. And he has sent the flowers for me.

Olivia was looking puzzled.

Miss Bell smiled. “Obviously one of the gentlemen at the ball,” she said.

“Rupert of the Rhine …” began Olivia.

She looked at me.

“Rupert of the Rhine,” went on Miss Bell. “He would have been in some sort of armour, I suppose. Rather difficult to achieve.”

“There was no one in armour.”

“It was evidently someone who noticed you,” said Miss Bell.

The maid was hovering. “Shall I put them in water, Miss Olivia?”

“Yes,” said Olivia. “Please do.”

I could not concentrate after that.

Miss Bell said: “You are reading very badly this morning, Caroline.”

Olivia did not mention the flowers to me. I suppose it did not occur to her that anyone would have known that I was at the bail. I tried to figure out how Rupert knew.

While Olivia and I were taking tea with Miss Bell in the small sitting room which was used for such occasions, one of the maids came in to announce that Mr. Jeremy Brandon had called. Miss Bell looked at Olivia, who flushed a little. It was quite in order for young men who were interested in young women to call discreetly at the house and see the object of their interest in the company of a chaperone.

“Perhaps Mr. Brandon would care to join us for a cup of tea,” said Miss Bell graciously.

He came in and I immediately knew him. His blue eyes rested on
me and there was mischief in them. He took Olivia’s hand and bowed to her and Miss Bell.

“And this,” said Miss Bell, is Miss Caroline Tressidor, Miss Tressidor’s younger sister.”

He bowed to me, smiling that conspiratorial smile.

He seated himself next to Olivia. I was opposite. I averted my eyes from him though my thoughts were in a whirl. How soon had he known? He must have realized that I had no right to be there. I knew that it was not Olivia whom he had come to see, just as the roses had not been meant for her.

“It was an interesting evening,” he said. “And the gardens were so suited to the occasion. I thought some of the costumes were delightful.”

“I had great difficulty in keeping my oranges in my basket,” said Olivia. “I realized quickly that it was not a good idea to be encumbered with them.”

“I thought Henry the Eighth and Marie Antoinette were very amusing,” he said, “and there was an enchanting Cleopatra.”

“I daresay,” said Miss Bell, “that there was more than one.”

“I only saw one,” he said.

They talked in a desultory way for a few minutes. I kept very quiet. I think Miss Bell was wondering whether I should be present, and was coming to the conclusion that no harm could come of it, even though I had not passed the magical “coming out” barrier.

He was determined to bring me into the conversation.

“Miss Caroline,” he said, “did you enjoy the ball?”

I hesitated and Miss Bell said: “Caroline has not yet come out, Mr. Brandon.”

“Oh, I see. So we shall have to wait another season before we are able to see more of you.”

Olivia was fidgeting a little.

He then began to talk to me, asking about the finishing school in France. He said that France was a country he liked to visit. In a way he was shutting Olivia and Miss Bell out of the conversation.

I was feeling more of that excitement which I had known at the ball. He was very good-looking. His features were regular; he had twinkling eyes and a mouth which turned up naturally at the corners, indicating that he found life very amusing.

But I was becoming aware of Olivia’s dismay and the disapproving glances of Miss Bell.

When he left he asked permission to call again and Miss Bell said she was sure that would be most agreeable.

Olivia did not mention him to me, which I thought strange. But she did seem to be a little bemused. I fancied she had believed at first that he had come to see her, which was natural of course; and she did not connect his visit with the red roses.

For the first time in my life I felt restrained with her, a little shy of saying what was in my mind, so I resisted the impulse to tell her that Mr. Jeremy Brandon was Rupert of the Rhine and that I had spent almost the entire evening with him.

The next day when I was walking in the Park with Miss Bell, we met him as if by chance; but I was delighted because I knew he had contrived the meeting.

He swept off his hat and bowed to us.

“Why it is Miss Bell and Miss Tressidor, I do believe.”

“Good day to you, Mr. Brandon,” said Miss Bell.

“What a pleasant afternoon. The flowers are beautiful, are they not? Have you any objection to my walking with you?”

I think Miss Bell would have liked to refuse but she was not sure of the propriety of this, but she could hardly do so without appearing brusque, and what harm could a young man do to a girl not yet “out,” simply by walking beside her in the Park?

He talked of the flowers and pointed out the various trees; and I had a notion that he was trying to create a good impression with Miss Bell. She joined in the discussion with enthusiasm.

I said: “It is really becoming like a botany lesson.”

“Knowledge is so interesting,” he said. He pressed my arm and I knew that he was finding the situation very amusing. “Do you not agree with me, Miss Bell?”

“I do indeed,” she replied with fervour. “One misses gardens in London. Do you have a garden, Mr. Brandon?”

He replied that there was a very fine one at his parents’ country house. “What a joy to escape from Town to be in the peace of the country,” he added, giving me a look which suggested he felt exactly the opposite.

Miss Bell was warming to him. One would have thought that she was the object of his pursuit. I knew differently from this. I knew that he was acting just as much now as he had done at the masked ball and that he was no more a country lover with a passionate interest in horticulture than he was Rupert of the Rhine or a nameless cavalier.

He was with us for the best part of an hour and took his departure with a bow and fervent expression of thanks for an interesting time.

Miss Bell said: “What a charming young man! It is a pity there are not more like him. I rather hope something comes of his interest in Olivia. It would be so good for her.” She was more communicative than usual and I think she had fallen a little under the spell of the captivating Jeremy Brandon. “I have spoken to Lady Carey about his call at the house and I have told her about the flowers. I wonder if he sent them. It could well be. He comes of a good but impoverished family. A younger son, but I think … for Olivia … he might be acceptable.”

I burst out laughing.

“Really, Caroline. I fail to see what is so amusing.”

I replied: “You have to admit it is rather like a market.”

“I never heard such nonsense,” she said shortly. Then she was silent and her mood softened. I imagined she was thinking of Jeremy Brandon.

During the week he called again. I was not present and Olivia received him. The visit was rather brief, and the next day Miss Bell and I met him in the Park. It was not so easy to pretend this was a chance meeting. I don’t know what Miss Bell thought. I wondered whether it occurred to her that I might be the one in whom he was interested. We walked along by the Serpentine and then we sat on a seat and watched the horses in the Row. He talked knowledgeably about horses, but this was a subject in which Miss Bell was not interested as she was in horticulture.

She would clearly become suspicious if there were any more “chance” meetings in the Park.

It was a week after the ball. There was no more news of Rosie Rundall. I was constantly trying to learn something from the servants, but although they were willing to talk—for the mystery of Rosie Rundall was one of the main topics of conversation in the servants’ hall —I could glean nothing, only certain descriptions of the clothes she had.

“To my mind, Miss,” said one of the maids, “she must have gone off with a gentleman friend. She must have had one. Look at the clothes she had. I reckon he gave her them lovely things.”

So Rosie had disappeared leaving no trace. Olivia and I talked of her, speculated about her and deeply regretted her departure.

Then one morning there was great consternation throughout the
house. When his manservant had gone to the bedroom with my father’s hot water, he had found him lying in his bed, unable to move.

Within a short time the doctor’s brougham arrived and Dr. Cray hurried in.

The verdict was that my father was gravely ill. He had suffered a stroke and his life was in danger.

Everyone was subdued. This could mean great changes in the household and they were all deeply aware of that.

There were doctors in and out of the house. Two nurses were installed. Miss Bell, who added a knowledge of nursing to her many accomplishments, became attached to the nursing contingent and I saw less of her.

For a few days we expected my father to die, but he rallied.

Miss Bell told us that his health had been much impaired and that he would never be the same again but, as sometimes happened in these cases, a recovery could be made.

And it was. In a month’s time he could leave his bed and walk about with the aid of a stick, though he dragged one leg a little.

After the first shock had subsided I began to realize that Miss Bell’s involvement with the nurses meant that I had more freedom. I made the most of it.

Olivia and I were allowed to go out together and we enjoyed escaping from continual supervision. Jeremy Brandon had been considered by my aunt Imogen, and as his family connections, although not brilliant, were passable, and Olivia had been “out” for some time and had so far failed to capture a rich prize, he was acceptable.

He was allowed to take us to tea at the Langham Hotel, which was a great occasion.

We rode with him in the Park, too. I was allowed to accompany them and was amused to think of myself as a chaperone.

But Olivia, of course, was not long deluded. She knew that she was not the one in whom he was interested. It was a fact which even he could not hide; and finally I confessed to her that I had met him at the masked ball and that he was that Rupert of the Rhine who had sent the roses, which in fact were meant for me.

Now that the secret was out we could talk about the ball, and we did over tea.

“Your sister was such a plausible Cleopatra,” he said to Olivia. “Really to talk to her was like being transported back to ancient Egypt.”

“What exaggeration!” I cried.

“Oh, it was so indeed. I was looking over my shoulder all the time expecting Mark Antony or Julius Caesar to put in an appearance. There was an air of mystery about Cleopatra. I could not place her at all. I knew most of the girls in the circle. I was so surprised. I got the truth out of Moira Massingham. That was after the unmasking, when Cleopatra, the Cinderella of the ball, had disappeared. I recognized the snake necklace. I knew it was Moira’s. She told me the whole story.”

“It gave us many a qualm, didn’t it, Olivia?”

She agreed that it did.

“Olivia was wonderful.”

He smiled at Olivia. “I can well believe that.”

She flushed and cast down her eyes. I felt sorry for Olivia who, I was sure, had first thought he came to see her.

Sometimes with Jeremy as our escort we left the dignified streets and went into the byways. I loved the bustle of the little streets where you could sometimes see children hopping over chalk marks on the pavements, chanting as they did so. I loved the hurdy-gurdies playing the popular tunes, and I liked the pavement artists whom we would stop to admire. Jeremy would sometimes talk to the artist and always dropped some coins into his upturned cap. The wider streets always seemed to be congested with landaus and broughams and hansom cabs.

We went shopping for ribbons and such articles, at Jay’s in Regent Street mostly, and every day we saw Jeremy Brandon.

I was intoxicated by this newly found freedom which my father’s illness had brought me.

One day—it was almost a month after my father’s stroke—Jeremy drew me a little aside and whispered: “Why can I never see you alone?”

“It is just not allowed,” I said.

“Surely we can arrange it.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh come, when you consider all the effort which went into fixing the Cleopatra episode, what insurmountable difficulties could a meeting on our own present?”

“I’ll see if I can slip out alone tomorrow afternoon,” I said. “Be at the end of the street at half-past two.”

Olivia, who had been a few paces behind us, caught up then. He squeezed my hand surreptitiously.