Jilted (4 page)

A black-clad, long-legged figure, possibly a clergyman, came scuttling out of the house, his hurried movements and skinny limbs causing him to bear more than a passing resemblance to a spider fleeing from a broom. The reason for his haste became apparent when a diminutive dark-haired lady came bustling after him, a closed umbrella raised threateningly above her head.

‘But my lord bishop,’ bleated the clergyman, half raising his hands in order to protect his head, as he turned to address his pursuer.

‘A fig for the bishop, sirrah,’ exclaimed the lady in authoritative tones. Her manner, if not the activity in which she was engaged, reminded Eustacia very much of her mother in full flight. ‘How dare he send his minions to hound a defenceless widow in her own home?’

‘But madam, the church owns—’

‘“My lady” to you, insect,’ she of the umbrella interrupted. ‘The church does not own the right to put me out into the street.’ She indicated the carriage in which Eustacia and Trixie were sitting. ‘See, now, here is the carriage of my kinsman, Sir Wilfred Hope. Heaven only knows what he will say to this intrusion.’

At once, Eustacia sat back in her seat, not wanting to be seen, then briefly leaned forward to push Trixie back in hers. Unsurprisingly, Trixie showed a distressing tendency to gape out of the window at the unfolding scene.

By dint of rather an impressive degree of athleticism, the
clergyman
managed to scramble into his carriage without sustaining more than a glancing blow or two. ‘The bishop will hear of this
outrage,’ he declared, rendered braver once the carriage was in motion.

‘And God will hear of my complaints in my prayers,’ retorted his opponent in a very unprayerful manner, before turning to greet the new arrivals.

The departure of the clergyman had vacated the space by the front door. As Eustacia was assisted down, the lady of the house, who had taken a few threatening steps in pursuit of the
unwelcome
visitor, turned back with her free hand extended. ‘Eustacia, my dear, this is delightful! It must be at least two years since I saw you last. I had not expected you so soon, but now you can join my campaign.’

‘Your campaign, Godmama?’ ventured Eustacia.

‘My campaign to defeat the Church of England, of course,’ answered the other lady. ‘It promises to be great sport. Come inside and let me show you to your room. There will be time enough for all of that when you are rested.’

Wondering how much time it would take for her to be rested sufficiently to build up enough strength in order to bring down the Anglican Communion, Eustacia obediently followed her godmother into the house.

The entrance hall was bright and airy. From it, a fine marble
staircase
led up to the next landing, then divided in two, going left and right in front of a large rectangular window. Above the foot of the stairs, a modest dome set into the ceiling let in more light.

‘This is charming, Godmama,’ said Eustacia spontaneously as she looked around.

‘It is indeed,’ agreed her godmother with a decisive nod. ‘Perhaps you now begin to understand my determination to remain here; apart, of course, from the fact that justice is on my side,’ she added hastily.

‘Of course,’ Eustacia agreed. ‘This is Trixie, my maid, by the way.’

‘Hm,’ said Lady Agatha, eyeing Trixie in a way that was strangely reminiscent of Lady Hope. Then she looked at her goddaughter again, paying special attention to Eustacia’s hair, becomingly arranged beneath her head-gear, and the choice and arrangement of her apparel and accessories. Eustacia was wearing a blue carriage dress trimmed with dull gold, and her bonnet, with blue ribbons and gold flowers, conformed to the same theme. ‘The young woman seems to know her business, at all events. Go with Grimes to the kitchen,’ she said to Trixie, indicating the elderly butler who was standing close by, looking as if the recent contretemps with the departed clergyman had taken its toll. ‘My housekeeper will meet you there and acquaint you with the house and the other servants. Grimes is my right-hand man, Eustacia. Grimes, Miss Hope is my goddaughter and is to stay with us for
the time being.’

Grimes bowed in a stately manner. ‘I trust your stay will be a pleasant one, miss,’ he said, before indicating to Trixie that she should go with him. Trixie threw her mistress a surreptitious wink before disappearing in the direction of the kitchens.

‘Come along,’ said Lady Agatha to Eustacia. ‘I’ve had the most delightful room prepared for you. I know you will love it.’

Lady Agatha walked ahead of her, her black silk skirts rustling as she mounted the stairs. She was clad from head to toe in black, even to the lace cap that she was sporting atop her hair, which was still black, with just a few strands of grey. In stature, she was a little taller than Eustacia with a neat figure. At the age of 48, her
ladyship
was still a handsome woman, with just a suggestion of tiny lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes. She also had a very determined chin.

The room to which Lady Agatha took her goddaughter was indeed delightful. Decorated in shades of green with a thick carpet on the floor, it was set into the corner of the house and had two windows, one with a view facing onto the drive and the other looking across a lawn towards a scattering of beech trees which marked the boundary between the garden and the fields beyond.

‘This is lovely,’ declared Eustacia. ‘I shall be very comfortable here, I’m sure.’

‘I’m glad,’ replied Lady Agatha, taking her hands and giving them a squeeze. ‘I will leave you to refresh yourself from your journey. Have a little rest if you like, but come down when you are ready. We’ll have some tea and you can tell me all about your dear mama.’

The subject of Eustacia’s broken engagement hovered in the air between them. No doubt it would have to be discussed at some point, but if Lady Agatha was tactful enough to leave the timing of that discussion to her goddaughter, then Eustacia was very
thankful
for it.

She took off her bonnet, smoothed down her hair and stood looking out of the window for a few minutes. Just a few days ago, she should have been united in marriage to Morrison Morrison.
Where would she have been now, if her wedding had taken place? Might she have been standing looking out of some other window, and might she then have felt the clasp of Morrison’s hands on her shoulders? She glanced round quickly, almost surprised to find that she was alone. She looked down at her gown, and recalled that blue was Morrison’s favourite colour. Suddenly conscious of a prickling behind her eyes, she fumbled in her reticule and pulled out her handkerchief. She had shed a few tears over Morrison’s defection, but never in public. Even with her mother, she had only dabbed at moist eyes for a moment or two. Any extravagant displays of temperament in the Hope household were the province of her ladyship. Eustacia always felt that her part was to be more restrained in her behaviour.

Now, however, there was no audience and no likelihood of interruption. Trixie, she knew, would be enquiring into the
appearance
of any male servants on the premises. Lady Agatha had
withdrawn
, telling her not to come downstairs until she was ready. So she sat down on the edge of the comfortable four-poster bed with its green coverlet, patterned with pink flowers, and sobbed into her handkerchief.

It was not a very cheering thing to be rejected in favour of a career in the military, she decided. No doubt had she been tall and blonde and classically beautiful like her mother, Morrison would have turned up at the church with his tongue hanging out!

After her tears were done, she spent a little time splashing her face, then waited to recover her complexion before going
downstairs
. On her arrival back in the hall, she found Grimes, who conducted her to the drawing-room. This room, she decided, must be almost exactly beneath her bedroom, for the aspect was just about the same. Unlike her chamber upstairs, however, this room was decorated in apricot. Lady Agatha was seated writing at a little table in front of one of the windows, but at Eustacia’s entrance, she got up and asked Grimes to bring tea.

‘I have just been writing to the bishop,’ she explained. ‘I think that he should apologize for the mannerless intervention of that insect who came today. Not that he will, of course. My opinion of
the bishop is not very high! Enough of him for now. Come and sit down. It is a shameful thing, but I have barely seen you recently. Tell me all about your mama and papa.’

‘And about Morrison Morrison?’ Eustacia asked, proud of her tranquil tone. The subject could not be avoided indefinitely, so the sooner that it was raised and then dropped for good, the better she would like it.

‘If the fellow does not think my goddaughter good enough for him, then the less said about him the better, in my opinion,’ replied her ladyship decisively.

Eustacia was conscious of an instinct to leap to his defence, which she instantly repressed. ‘I only thought that you might want to hear what happened.’

At this point, Grimes came in with the tea tray, but after he had gone, Lady Agatha said ‘My advice to you, my dear, would be to put the whole matter behind you. I had a friend who was left at the altar and she told the story at great length to every
acquaintance
. It became very tedious. Not only that, but it drove new
suitors
away as well. She became known as “The Jilted Miss Maybury.” You would not want to become known as “The Jilted Miss Hope,” would you?’ Eustacia shook her head, remembering how she had imagined herself being given that very title. ‘The best plan would be to put Morrison Morrison out of your thoughts. I have to say that his parents must have very commonplace minds if they could not think of a Christian name that differed from his surname. Imagine if your parents had called you Hope Hope?’

Eustacia had to laugh at that. ‘I should then have been doubly annoyed with Morrison for not giving me the chance of changing my name,’ she agreed. ‘I have to admit, too, that I sometimes wondered whether speaking to him as a married woman, I would have been assumed to have been fashionable and dashing, or rather vulgarly familiar.’

‘Your dilemma is solved, then,’ declared Lady Agatha, pouring the tea and passing Eustacia a cup. ‘Now let us not say another word about him. He has occupied far more of our time than he deserves already. Indeed, I urge you not to mention the matter to
anyone. It could damage your chances of achieving a good match in the future, you know. I have put it about that you have come to stay with me for your health.’

‘My health?’ echoed Eustacia.

‘Certainly. You are inclined to be delicate, my dear Eustacia. I have always suspected it.’

‘But Godmama, I am in the very best of health,’ Eustacia protested. ‘I am like Mama – never ill. I ride every day—’

‘Hush, my dear,’ replied her ladyship reprovingly. ‘It is not at all the thing for a young woman to boast about her robust health. As soon go round with your face covered with freckles! Now let us put your troubles aside and instead, let us think about my own personal difficulty, which concerns how to put the bishop in his place.’

‘Why should the bishop need putting in his place?’ ventured Eustacia.

‘Because he is out of it, of course,’ retorted Lady Agatha. ‘A bishop should be in his palace, or in his cathedral communing with his God, not throwing poor defenceless widows out of their homes.’

Eustacia stole a look at her godmother over the top of her tea cup. The older lady was straight-backed in her handsome silk gown. Her eyes sparkled with a militant light, and her chin was raised. Anyone less like a defenceless widow Eustacia had never seen. ‘Is that what the bishop has been trying to do?’

Her ladyship gave a decisive nod. ‘Hardly a Christian attitude for a clergyman to take,’ she said scornfully. ‘Is that tea to your liking, my dear?’

‘Yes, it’s very good,’ Eustacia replied. ‘That gentleman who was here today—’

‘That clergyman,’ Lady Agatha corrected. ‘Not a gentleman, but a clergyman. There is a difference.’

‘That clergyman, then. Was he here at the bishop’s instigation?’

‘He certainly was.’ Her ladyship sniffed. ‘As if I would be
intimidated
by such a skinny, lanky creature as that.’

Eustacia sat in silence for some moments before venturing to
say, ‘This house, Godmama: to whom does it belong?’

There was a pause. ‘Do you mean technically or morally?’ her ladyship asked with a touch of hauteur.

Realizing that she had made a
faux pas
, Eustacia hastened to recover herself. ‘Technically, of course,’ she replied, then added craftily, ‘I can see that morally there is no question as to who is the rightful owner.’

Lady Agatha’s expression relaxed visibly. ‘You are right in asking the question. It will enable you to follow my reasoning as I describe my campaign.’ She paused briefly. ‘You will be aware that I was married to the vicar of this parish, the Reverend Colin Rayner.’

‘Yes, I was aware of that.’

‘My husband, Eustacia, died in the performance of his duties. Had he not been vicar here, then his death would never have occurred in the manner in which it did, and we would probably have enjoyed a ripe old age together.’

Eustacia had never discovered how the Rev’d Colin Rayner had died. It had not been discussed in front of her at home, even when the death had occurred six months before. She had heard part of a conversation that had taken place in the kitchen between the man who had brought the news and one or two of the upper servants. She had been able to make out very little beyond
something
which sounded like ‘falling into a pit of his own making’. This phrase had been followed by stifled laughter, and Eustacia had left hurriedly, rather shocked by the callous attitude displayed by those she had overheard.

Sir Wilfred had not referred to the matter at all, nor had her mother made any comment, beyond telling her to send a letter of condolence to her godmother. When Eustacia had asked about the circumstances so that she might make her letter more sensitive, her mother had replied that these need not concern her and that she was by far too young to understand such matters.

Looking back, it seemed to her that she must have been very incurious. At the time, however, she had been far too preoccupied by the immediate prospect of a visit from some of Morrison’s
relations
to worry about the death of a gentleman whom she had never met.

‘About what duties was he engaged, ma’am?’ Eustacia asked, feeling that it would be impolite not to say anything at all.

‘He died within sight of his church, whilst clad in his vestments,’ her godmother replied with dignity.

‘That must have been of some comfort to you,’ Eustacia murmured.

‘Indeed it was, child, and the fact also provides me with a powerful argument. If he died in such circumstances, it could be maintained that he never actually ceased being the vicar here. If that were the case, how could they appoint another man? Despite this argument – which I have put most forcefully – the church still wants to throw me out of this house – the house to which I came as a bride thirty years ago. Indeed, it was only just finished when I moved in, so it has never been occupied by anyone else. I have lived in this house for longer than I have lived anywhere else. I have made it my own. I have stamped my taste upon it. It some senses, it might even be said that I created it. Who has a better right to live in it? Doubtless the bishop would enjoy throwing me out whilst Ashbourne looked on, rubbing his hands.’

Eustacia could not think of anything to say that would be
pleasing
to her godmother. Had they been having this conversation six or even three months previously, she could have agreed with Lady Agatha without so much as a qualm. After the vicar had been dead for half a year, however, it did not seem to her to be unreasonable for the bishop to want to install another clergyman in his place. This kind of response would clearly not be acceptable. Instead of commenting directly upon the situation, therefore, Eustacia asked, ‘How does Lord Ashbourne come into this?’

Her ladyship’s back straightened and her expression became even more outraged than before. ‘Ashbourne! Pah! In a civilized society, I, as the elder, would be the one with the title and lands, and he would be the one begging for a foothold in a miserable vicarage.’

Eustacia found herself very much in sympathy with some of this
speech. She recalled some words of Mary Wollstonecraft that she had read during the night after she had been jilted.
The society is not properly organized which does not compel men and women to discharge their respective duties
, that lady had written. No doubt her godmother would agree with this sentiment, taking the
argument
further by saying that as Ashbourne obviously was not discharging his duties, his sister ought to be allowed to assume them, along with his title.