06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection) (11 page)

“I will say someone in the house — one of the servants will do - has scarlet fever. It is very infectious and I cannot believe that Madame D’Arbley will wish to run the risk of catching it.”

Lord Corbury stood looking at Fenella for a moment. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

“Fenella, you are incredible!” he exclaimed. “I believe you would rescue me if I had gone down into Hell itself!”

 “I should do my best,” Fenella answered, “since you have a genius for getting yourself into scrapes.”

Lord Corbury, still laughing, shrugged his shoulders.

“What is life if we never take any risks?” he said. “But I must say I was not expecting my pigeons to come home to roost so quickly, if that is the right expression!”

“One pigeon, and of French origin,” Fenella said. “Do you think she will make a great fuss?”

“What can she do if you are really convincing?” Lord Corbury asked. “After all, when I left her she was married. She could not expect me to carry a torch for her for ever.”

“No, of course not,” Fenella said, in a matter of fact voice. “And now let us make plans. If we are not careful, she will dismiss the Post-Chaise, and then she will be stranded here.”

“That must not happen,” Lord Corbury said quickly.

Fenella put her hand up to her forehead.

“What I suggest,” she said, “is that I will greet her in the hall when I hear the Post-Chaise drive up to the door. You can be somewhere about, but she must not see you, and as soon as she steps in the Salon, you must stop the Post-Chaise from driving away, and tell the driver that he will be required to take his passenger back either to Dover or to London, wherever she decides to go.”

“We do not know what time she will be arriving,” Lord Corbury protested. “Have I got to hang about the whole afternoon? “

“I am afraid you have,” Fenella said severely, “and once you have dealt with the Post-Chaise, you must come into the Salon and greet her.”

“Why must I meet her? I am sure it is unnecessary!”

“Really, Periquine, you cannot be so cowardly as to leave me alone with your
chère amie
who will doubtless be incensed at the thought that you have escaped her. If you are not there, after she arrives, I swear to you I will tell her the truth, and then you can handle the situation by yourself.”

“You are blackmailing me! “ Lord Corbury said accusingly.

“It may be blackmail,” Fenella answered, “but I promise you I am not joking.”

“All right,” he capitulated, “I will do as you wish. But for God’s sake get rid of her as quickly as possible, in case Hetty comes over and finds her here!”

“Hetty is not likely to call this afternoon if she is coming to dinner this evening. Of course, if you like, we can ask Madame D’Arbley to make us six — five is an uneven number.”

There was a mischievous twinkle in Fenella’s eye as she spoke. Lord Corbury picked up one of the cushions and threw it at her.

She turned aside so that it missed her head but struck the wall with some force. The old faded silk split open and a quantity of white goose feathers fell out on to the floor.

“Really, Periquine, you are impossible!” Fenella cried. “How can you make such a mess when there is so much to do?”

“It is entirely your fault,” Lord Corbury retorted. “You deliberately provoked me, and if it is a punishment to pick up all those feathers, it is one you undoubtedly deserve.”

Fenella stuffed as many of the goose-feathers back into the cushion as she could and opening a drawer of an ancient oak chest, pushed it inside.

“I will mend that later,” she said. “I had best go upstairs and tidy myself, just in case Madame D’Arbley arrives before we are ready for her.”

She turned towards the door. Then she paused.

“Would it be very remiss of me, Periquine,” she said in a somewhat embarrassed voice, “if I suggested that I should wear one of your Mama’s gowns?”

For a moment Lord Corbury looked surprised, and then he glanced at what Fenella was wearing and realised, as if for the first time, how old and faded her frock was and how she had, in fact, grown out of it. It was too tight over her breasts and too narrow across the shoulders.

She saw he was staring at her and the colour rose in her cheeks.

“I would not ask such a — thing,” she said uncomfortably, “if I did not feel Madame D’Arbley would think it very mean of you to economise so obviously on your wife’s attire.”

“I had no idea Mama’s clothes were still here,” Lord Corbury said, “but of course take what you want. I am quite certain she would approve if she knew you were getting me out of trouble.”

As he spoke he gave Fenella his most irresistible smile and without speaking again she turned and left the Salon.

 ‘He never notices what I wear,’ she told herself as she went up the old oak staircase. ‘But perhaps if I dressed like Hetty, he might even admire me.’

It was a fascinating thought, but at the same time she knew that never was she likely to possess even one gown to equal the expensive, elaborate creations of which Hetty had an apparently inexhaustible supply.

‘It is hard for men to realise how much clothes mean to a woman,’ Fenella told herself sensibly.

At the same time she could not help wishing that her Father would be more understanding, and that it was not so hurtful to realise that Periquine never really looked at her.

He accepted her, he knew when she was there, he found her useful. He obviously liked being with her, but until this moment, when she drew attention to herself, he had never noticed her.

She doubted, if he were asked, if he would be able to tell the colour of her eyes.

All Lady Corbury’s clothes had been moved upstairs to the room on the second floor which had been used by her lady’s-maid. On every wall there were huge wardrobes, but the dust was thick on the floor and Fenella knew that no one had entered the room for years.

She pulled back the curtains over the windows and opened one of the wardrobes. Inside there were riding habits, cloaks, driving-coats, but no gowns.

She tried another and was greeted by a kaleidoscope of brocades, velvets and gauzes. These she realised were the evening-gowns.

But the third wardrobe was more productive. This contained Lady Corbury’s day-clothes. There were quite a number of elegant dresses which Fenella realised were not too ludicrously out of date.

The fashion vogue had changed very little during the war and although Hetty’s gowns were beginning to show signs of a waist and they were wider than those of six years previously when Lady Corbury had died, the difference was not startling.

It was true however that dresses were now far more elaborate, with frills, lace-ruchings, bows and braid, but such details were, Fenella thought, immaterial.

After inspecting a number of gowns in the wardrobe she chose one which she knew would make her look older. It was of dark green crepe and trimmed with satin ribbons and a small amount of lace round the décolletage.

Carrying it carefully over her arm so it should not touch the dusty floor, Fenella took it next door into what had been the maid’s bedroom.

Here there were all the other boxes, objets d’art, brushes, combs and toilet accessories which bad been brought upstairs from Lady Corbury’s bedroom.

It was not difficult to find her Ladyship’s jewel-case standing on the dressing table. Fenella expected it to be empty, as she was well aware that any jewels which Lady Corbury left had been sold during her husband’s long illness after she herself had died.

But in one of the small compartments there was what she was seeking for - a gold wedding-ring.

That had not been sold, neither had a necklace of jet beads and two small earrings to match. As they were valueless, they had been left behind.

Fenella picked up the ring and looked at it for a moment before she slipped it on her finger.

She had the uncomfortable feeling that she was doing something wrong, but she knew that any woman in Madame D’Arbley’s position would be suspicious if she noticed Lord Corbury’s wife was not wearing a wedding ring.

She felt the ring encircle the third finger on her left hand.

 ‘Forgive me,’ she said, as if she were speaking to Perequine’s mother. ‘But I have to help your son — he does not wish to be involved with this — woman and I do not suppose anyway — that you would wish her to be your — daughter-in-law. I must save him — he is so — hopeless at looking after — himself.’

The little prayer seemed to bring Fenella a sense of peace, and the uncomfortable feeling of guilt disappeared.

She did not ask herself whether Periquine would mind her wearing his mother’s wedding-ring, because she was certain that unless she drew attention to it, he would not even notice it on her finger !

Then shutting the jewel-case, and carrying the jet jewellery in her hand, Fenella went downstairs to one of the less dusty rooms to change.

The gown was rather big for her round the waist, and somewhat too long but otherwise it fitted comparatively well and, as she had hoped, made her look more mature.

She arranged her hair in curls high on the top of her head, pinning it securely and thinking with a smile it gave her both height and dignity. With the jet necklace round her neck and wearing the earrings she went downstairs.

There was no sign of Lord Corbury and finally she ran him to earth in the Gun-room.

“I shall be able to hear the Post-Chaise coming up the drive from here,” he said quickly as she entered, as if he expected her to complain that he was not nearer the Hall.

He was polishing the barrel of one of his guns and he did not look up as he spoke.

“I am ready,” Fenella said.

He raised his head. Then he gave an exclamation of surprise.

“I should not have recognised you!” he said, “you look so - respectable!”

His eyes were twinkling as he spoke, and Fenella replied,

 “One more word, Periquine, and I will refuse to be the staid wife you would undoubtedly have chosen as your bride.”

Lord Corbury did not answer. He was still looking at her and after a moment he said,

“I did not know you had such a white skin, Fenella. You should wear green more often.”

“Your compliments overwhelm me,” Fenella replied. “Do you think them up before you spring them on your ladyloves, or do they just come naturally?”

“You little vixen!” Lord Corbury exclaimed.

He stepped towards her as though he would shake her as he had done before when she had provoked him, but at that moment they heard the sound of wheels coming down the drive.

“She is coming — she is coming!” Fenella cried. “Now, Periquine, do not forget to hold the Post-Chaise, and I only pray she believes the moonshine I am about to relate.”

The sound of the Chaise drew nearer and now Fenella, picking up her green skirt, ran down the passage from the Gun-room into the Hall.

She had only just reached it when the horses drew up outside the front door and she stood striving to get her breath, conscious that Lord Corbury who had been running behind her, had stopped too.

“Do not let the Chaise drive away, whatever you do,” she whispered, and with a composure she was far from feeling she moved towards the front door.

It was opened to the summer sunshine and even as she reached it a vision of elegance came up the stone steps. Madame D’Arbley was dark and extremely alluring. She had eyes that slanted up at the corners and a red mouth which curved invitingly.

She was not beautiful in the accepted sense, but Fenella realised that she had never before in her life seen a woman’s face which was so fascinating.

She was dressed in black with touches of white. But her gown was sophisticated, elegant, Parisienne black, which had nothing in common with the sombre, dull mourning assumed by a British widow.

Drawing in a deep breath, Fenella moved forward and dropped a curtsey.

“You must be Madame D’Arbley,” she smiled, “I am delighted to welcome you to the Priory.”

“Enchantèe, Madame,”
Madame D’Arbley replied. “Has Lord Corbury received my letter?”

She spoke with a pronounced accent which made her words sound extremely attractive.

“Yes, indeed,
Madame,”
Fenella answered. “Will you not come into the Salon?”

She led the way across the Hall, opened the door into the Salon, and invited the French woman to precede her. As she did so she glanced towards the passage and saw that Lord Corbury was waiting there ready to hurry out to the Post Chaise.

Fenella went into the Salon and shut the door quickly.

“Pray be seated,
Madame,”
she said. “I am afraid you have had a long journey. My husband and I were not certain what time you would arrive.”

Madame D’Arbley looked surprised. Then she said,

 “You have not yet told me your name,
Madame,
although you are aware of mine.”

There was only the slightest hesitation before Fenella managed to say,

 “I am Lady Corbury, Periquine’s — wife !”

 “His wife!”

The words were almost a scream and the expression on the French woman’s face changed completely. She no longer looked fascinating or attractive. Her slanting eyes narrowed and her curved lips became a straight line.

At that moment it was easy to see that she was not an aristocrat but a petite bourgeoisie.

“Married!
C’est impossible! Répétez, s’il vous plait!
Did you say married?”

“It was of course unlikely you would have heard of it in France,” Fenella said in a pleasant conversational tone, “but we did in fact have quite a big wedding, nearly three months ago in London.”

“Mon Dieu!
Are you telling me the truth? My Lord is married to - you?”

“We have known each other for many years,” Fenella replied demurely.

The French woman did not speak for a moment, and Fenella realised that she was trembling with rage, but keeping a tight control on herself.

As Fenella was wondering frantically what to say next. Lord Corbury came into the room.

He was smiling and appeared at ease, but Fenella, who knew him so well, was aware that he was in fact nervous and, like all men, apprehensive in case he should become involved in a scene.