Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (13 page)

“Now,” she continued, when she was certain he was ready to listen. “I will come with you to our cousins’ house next week. I will not beg, but I will be friendly. I will behave in a manner they will approve of. I will allow Edward to be condescending if he wishes, but if he insults my mother I will defend her. Don’t interrupt me.” Richard had opened his mouth to make an objection, but now subsided. He relaxed back a little further into the chair, and she continued. “I am willing to do a lot but I will not allow my mother to be slandered without retaliating. I will accept their charity if it is offered. I will go to London if we are invited. I will try to do whatever is expected of a lady. If a suitable man asks for my hand in marriage, I will accept. As part of the condition of acceptance I will insist that he purchase your commission for you and provide you with an additional lump sum to set you up in your officer’s rank. If I am as irresistible as you seem to think, that will not be difficult.” Richard cringed noticeably at her comment, but she ignored him. “I trust that you will by then have made enough connections to take your place in society without any further assistance from me.” She stopped and rose, going across to the cupboard. She took out a bottle of wine and poured two glasses, handing one to him before resuming her seat.

He eyed her speculatively. “I assume you want something from me in return,” he said cautiously.

“Of course, but it is not much, considering what you stand to gain in return. I’m not asking you to be false, to lower your pride, or to act against your principles, as you expect me to do.”

“What do you want, then?” he said.

She took a sip of her drink before answering.

“I have written excellent character references for all of the servants. You will sign them. Anyone who wishes to leave will be allowed to do so immediately, and will be given three months’ pay. If Martha and John can be found, they will be reinstated if they wish, and if they do not, will be given six months’ pay. If any of the servants wish to stay they will be treated with the respect they deserve.” So far, so good. Richard was listening attentively.

“When Sarah is well enough to leave the house, you will let her go. I have written a reference for her as well. You will give her twenty pounds to allow her to start a new life if she pleases.” Now he reacted, as she had expected he would.

“What?! Twenty pounds? That’s ridiculous! That’s three years’ wages for a kitchenmaid. Do you know what she is? She’s nothing but a...”

“She’s nothing but a woman who you came close to murdering last night because you were angry with me and ashamed of yourself. Yes, I know she’s a whore and I know you have used her as such. But she didn’t deserve what you did to her last night, Richard, and you will compensate her, even if you have to ask for a loan from your cousin to do it.”

He inhaled deeply through his nostrils and the muscle jumped in his cheek, but he held his temper in check and did not object any further. Beth was surprised by how easy she was finding this. She had felt so sick with terror and disgust the previous night that she had not known how she would be able to face him again without vomiting or running cravenly from him. But now that she was actually in his presence she felt only an icy hatred and utter contempt for him. She emptied her glass then spoke again.

“When we are with my family, or in any public place, we will behave to one another as a brother and sister would who have been distanced by circumstances. I will not pretend any great affection for you. I’m not that good an actress. Once I am married and you have received your commission, you will remove yourself from my life. I do not wish to see you or hear from you ever again, as long as I live. You will communicate neither with me nor my husband under any circumstances whatsoever and you will to all intents and purposes be dead to me. Is that clear?”

He had the grace to look ashamed, and deeply uncomfortable.

“Beth, if I could turn back the clock, I swear I...”

“But you can’t,” she cut in brutally. “My conditions are not up for negotiation. You accept them all, or I will refuse Isabella’s invitation and any subsequent invitations she may extend, and you can do your worst.”

Richard looked at her, incredulous. This was not bravado. He had seen bravado; it was usually used to disguise fear. He had seen courage, too, many times; that was an acceptance and conquering of fear. But he had rarely seen what he was witnessing now; someone who had no fear at all, either of dying or living. She was truly indifferent. He had broken something in her, but it was not what he had wished to break. He had not cowed her spirit; instead he had irrevocably broken his hold over her.

She placed her empty glass on the table and stood.

“I would like to say one thing,” he said, and she stopped, waiting for him to continue, her face composed and cold. “I think it would be better if you are known as Elizabeth from now on rather than Beth, which is somewhat informal and common, I feel. I am sure you have already noticed that the servants are addressing you as Miss Elizabeth. I will also call you Elizabeth, from this moment.”

This was a pathetic attempt to reassert some authority over her. She looked down at him with contempt.

“I have no wish to be on informal terms with you or any of the Cunningham family,” she said. “As long as once I am married you do not call me sister, between now and then you may call me the Queen of Sheba, if you wish. I care not.” She moved away towards the door. “I will leave you to think over what I have said,” she said carelessly. “Let me know when you have made your decision.”

He had no choice. He accepted her conditions, and that evening wrote a letter to his cousin Isabella stating that he and his sister would be delighted to call on Thursday next, at twelve o’ clock.

Chapter Four

Late November 1742

Brother and sister clattered down the road in a phaeton hired especially for the day from the landlord of the Ring o’ Bells Hotel on Didsbury village green. Beth had complained that the expense was unnecessary; they could cut just as dashing a figure if they were to ride to Raven Hall on their own horses, especially as their cousins lived only five miles away, and the money saved could be used to repaint the windows and front door of their house.

Richard had argued that first impressions were all-important, and as he held the purse strings he got his way. As they entered the privately owned Ardwick Green, with its leech-shaped lake, known as ‘the canal’, and turned into the driveway of Raven Hall, Beth had to grudgingly admit that Richard had a point. She had forgotten how large the hall was. It was approached along a gravel driveway wide enough to take a carriage with ease, its formal lawns dotted with painstakingly trained and clipped topiary animals and birds, which alone denoted that the owner of the house had sufficient funds to employ an army of gardeners.

The hall itself was a Palladian villa, built of honey-coloured stone. Its portico was supported by columns of white marble, and its cornice ran around the house at first-floor level. Its many-paned windows glittered in the weak autumnal sunshine, and as they drew to a halt outside, the front door opened and the plump figure of Isabella, the eldest of the three Cunningham sisters, appeared in the doorway.

Richard, immaculate in his freshly-laundered uniform, leapt lightly down from the phaeton and reached up to help his sister, who ignored his hand and climbed down unassisted. His mouth tightened slightly but he showed no other sign of his displeasure, and the siblings walked up the steps side by side, Beth smoothing her voluminous yellow skirts as she went and composing her face into a mask of politeness as she drew closer to her cousin.

Isabella was wringing her hands and hopping about on the spot, as though uncertain as to whether she should come forward to greet them or not. Beth knew enough of polite etiquette to know that her cousin should really have waited in the drawing room until her guests were announced by a footman, rather than stoop to meeting them at the door herself. The fact that she had, showed how pleased she was to see them. Beth would also have laid a wager that Lord Edward was not at home.

“Oh, dear cousins, it is so good to see you!” Isabella gushed as Richard and Beth attained the top step, kissing each of them in turn on the cheek. Beth inhaled the faint aroma of lavender, then Isabella was turning away. “Do come in!” She led the way through a gloomy if spacious oblong entrance hall panelled in dark wood, into the drawing room, where her sisters Charlotte and Clarissa were sitting on velvet upholstered chairs, their faces masks of nervousness. Isabella motioned her visitors to sit down, and fluttered anxiously in the background, summoning a maid to bring refreshments.

“I trust you had a safe journey?” she said politely after a moment.

“Yes, thank you,” Beth replied, when Richard showed no sign of doing so.

They perched stiffly side by side on the sofa where they had been directed to sit, Beth making sure she had no physical contact with her brother.

“Edward makes his apologies,” Isabella said, confirming Beth’s suspicions. “He has been called away on urgent business, but assures us he will return shortly.”

“I trust it is not bad news?” Beth replied.

“No, no, I am sure it is not,” cried her cousin, clearly clueless as to why her brother was absent.

There was a short silence. The clock that Beth remembered so well from her previous visit ticked ponderously in the corner. Isabella glanced towards the door, obviously praying for the appearance of the maid with the tea things.

Beth looked at the three women and realised with a start that they were more disturbed by this meeting than she herself was, although she doubted that they felt the resentment she did at having to lower her principles. Unexpectedly, she felt sympathy for her relations, who seemed uncertain how to begin a conversation. Richard, no conversationalist at the best of times, was clearly flummoxed at being in the presence of so many women. Beth had a mischievous urge to allow the silence to continue indefinitely, but remembering her bargain with Richard, took a deep breath, pasted a bright smile on her face, and plunged in.

“What a delightful room!” she said, looking around. It must have cost a fortune, she thought. Every wall was covered with expensive drab green wallpaper, printed with a pattern of Grecian urns. The floor was covered with an enormous carpet of dark red, and the uncomfortable mahogany furniture was upholstered in maroon velvet. The general effect was dark and oppressive, in complete contrast to her own cosy parlour, decorated in warm shades of yellow and cream.

“Oh, do you like it?” Charlotte spoke for the first time. “We chose the paper ourselves. Edward says it is too dark, but we like the colour. Green is so restful, you know. My dear Frederick always used to say that colours affect our moods.”

“Indeed,” Beth replied, too annoyed that she should share an opinion with a cousin she remembered as being boorish and pompous to ask who ‘dear Frederick’ was. “My bedroom is decorated in shades of green,” she continued, omitting to mention that her wallpaper, a pale green originally, was now very faded, its original flower pattern almost invisible. The conversation pattered on for a few minutes, and just as it was in danger of drying up again the maid appeared with the tea things, and whilst the ladies were occupied in pouring tea and handing out tiny cakes, Beth took the opportunity to discreetly observe them.

They all had the Cunningham dark hair, deep brown eyes and sallow colouring. But whereas Isabella was plump, her pleasant face round and kind, her two younger sisters were painfully thin and looked as though they were just recovering from some terrible illness. Their faces were haggard, their skin already wrinkled, although they could hardly be out of their thirties, Beth estimated.

She was just about to enquire after their recent health, when Isabella, as though having read her thoughts, anticipated her. She seemed to have relaxed a little now that she had something to do with her hands.

“Charlotte and Clarissa always tell me that I eat too much,” she smiled, deftly dropping a large lump of sugar into her teacup with the tongs, and picking up a cake. “I know it is the height of fashion to be slender as they are, but it is so tiresome to always have to refuse the tastiest food. And I have been told that men prefer ladies with a little...ah...roundness to them. What do you think, Elizabeth? I trust I may call you by your first name immediately, as we are related?”

“Of course,” replied Beth, warming to her cousin in spite of her earlier determination to hate the family eternally. “But I really cannot venture an opinion on the matter. I think we must ask the gentleman present. What do you think, Richard? Do gentlemen prefer slender ladies, or those of more ample build?” She smiled sweetly at her brother, and waited.

Richard coloured furiously. Any man would be in a quandary over this query. He could not express an opinion without insulting someone, and he didn’t have the social skills to deflect the question. The three sisters looked at him eagerly, as though he were the fount of all knowledge, and Beth rejoiced inwardly.

“I...ah...I am sure it would depend on the gentleman,” he said lamely, after a pause. “Each man’s tastes are different, you know.”

He was not getting away with it that easily.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s true,” Beth responded. “But surely you must discuss the ladies with your dragoon friends. What would you say the majority prefer?”

Richard flashed her a look of pure hatred. He sipped his tea to gain time. The last thing he could talk about in polite company were his men’s views of the female gender, which dwelt only on sexual matters and varied from the contemptuous to the obscene.

The door opened and Lord Edward strode in, an older, more portly version of Richard. The Cunningham blood was certainly strong, Beth thought, feeling out of place among all these dark relations. Richard had never been so relieved to see anyone in his life, and leapt to his feet to greet the peer. Beth rose more slowly.

“Sorry to be late,” Lord Edward barked, sounding anything but. “Several hounds down with something, you know. The Master of Hounds is afraid they won’t be fit for the meet next week. Had to go and reassure the fellow.”