Scandal at the Dower House (9 page)

He had been made aware of Sir Humphrey’s proprietorial attitude towards her when they had both been at the Dower House. Whether it was fatherly or something warmer he had not been able to judge. But surely Catarina would never again marry an old man? She had, at sixteen, little choice, but she seemed to have been content with Walter and sorry when he died. If she had freedom to choose, would she not prefer a man nearer her own age?

She had not repulsed his kiss; perhaps she had been too startled. The rain had started so soon afterwards there had not been time for anything but running into the house. Then Sir Humphrey had appeared, and any chance he might have had of talking to her had vanished.

He fretted all the way to London, had to ask his Grosvenor Square housekeeper to repeat some of her questions, and paid little heed to the debates in the House. When Lady Mortimer arrived he was distracted; more than once she asked him if he had heard what she said.

‘You seem like a man in love,’ she commented, after dinner the first evening she was there. ‘Who’s the gal? Yet I gather you have been down in the country. Don’t tell me some country miss has achieved what none of the debutantes of the past dozen years has managed.’

‘Very well, then, Cousin, I won’t.’

She laughed. ‘I shall be watching you with more than normal interest. You will be coming back to Town soon, I hope.’

‘Once Olivia is settled with you, I must go home for a while. Jeremy may stay, but he is having difficulties at Marshington. The people do not want to accept the reforms he is proposing.’

‘Marshington? The Grange? Of course, you inherited the estate last year, did you not?’

‘And I have given it to Jeremy. Or I will do as soon as the formalities of breaking the entail are completed.’

‘I believe Sir Walter left a young and, if reports can be believed, beautiful widow,’ she said slowly, and suddenly laughed. ‘I shall look forward to meeting her. No doubt she will be coming to London now her year of mourning is over. I shall insist you present her to me.’

‘If she does come,’ he replied, trying to sound as though it mattered nothing to him one way or the other. ‘I believe her house in Mount Street is let. Now, have we settled all the details about Olivia? You will choose a day for her ball when you have had time to see what else has been planned by other debutantes’ mothers. Have her bills sent to me, but no doubt there will be occasional expenses, so if the amount I have given you is insufficient let me know. I have no idea how much a come out will cost, but I don’t want Olivia to economize.’

‘I shall have great pleasure in spending your money, Nicholas. You have far too much!’

The day after Sir Humphrey’s proposal, Sir Ivor Norton arrived at the Dower House. For once it was not raining and Catarina was in the garden, talking to her head gardener about the vegetables she wanted him to plant.

‘Though it’s been so wet the ground’s not fit,’ he said.

‘Well, do what you can, when you can, and if you really think it would help to extend the glasshouses along this wall, arrange to have it done. I confess I would miss my early peas
and potatoes, and would be happy if you can make them grow under glass.’

‘The little ’un will be ready to enjoy some by then, well mashed up,’ he said. ‘My missus says it don’t do to keep them just on milk, like some do, and she’s reared six.’

‘I’m sure she will enjoy them,’ Catarina began, when she was interrupted by a harsh voice haranguing someone.

She heard him before, with a sinking heart, she turned to face Sir Ivor who was striding down the path towards her, followed by Staines.

‘Catarina, I wish to speak to you. Tell this fool to stop bleating and go and order some refreshment. It’s a long drive from Bristol.’

‘Come into the house, Uncle. A nuncheon should be ready by now; no doubt you are hungry after your journey. Will ham and fruit be enough for you, or should I order some mutton chops to be cooked?’

‘How do you get fruit at this time of year? Spending your money forcing it, or buying it at outrageous prices from Bristol, no doubt.’

‘We still have apples – they store well – and yes, I do buy oranges. Papa’s partner brings some on the wine ships.’

He snorted. ‘I’ll have a couple of chops.’

‘See to it, please, Staines. This way, Uncle.’

He glared at the house.

‘Far too big for you now you’re widowed.’

‘Not yet ready to have guests as the bedrooms need
decorating
,’ Catarina said hurriedly. It would be disastrous if he expected to remain the night.

He waved aside her remarks.

‘Bad organization. But I have to be back in Bristol tonight, however late it is. That wasn’t what I came about. How dare you take your sister to Portugal without my leave? I’m her guardian and she’s under age. Now I have this impertinent letter from some knave of a foreigner saying he’s married her
and wants her fortune. Well, he can whistle for it. She married without my consent, so not a penny will she have until she’s of age!’

Catarina reined in her temper. She led him into the drawing room where Staines was ready with the decanter of Madeira, and excused herself, saying she needed to wash her hands and tidy herself after being in the garden. Hastening up to the nursery she warned Clarice not to bring Maria downstairs until the visitor had gone.

‘But the weather is good, and fresh air good.’

‘I know, but I don’t want this particular gentleman to know about Maria, not yet.’

Clarice smiled and nodded. ‘He not like children?’

That was the easiest explanation, so Catarina nodded and, on her way back to the drawing room, slipped into the kitchen to warn Liza and Staines also not to mention the baby.

‘He … will not approve of my adopting her,’ she said, and surprised a sceptical look in Liza’s eyes. Did Liza not believe the story?

Dismissing the idea, she went back to Sir Ivor and managed to keep her temper during the meal. She explained to him that Eduardo was very rich, had large estates in Brazil, and a connection with the Portuguese Royal family, but none of it placated her uncle.

‘How long had she known the wretch?’ he demanded. ‘Was that why you stayed there for so long, when you told me you were going to visit your mother’s family? No such visit ought to last for months.’

‘We have many cousins there,’ Catarina explained. She did not need to tell him that they had in fact visited only her mother’s sister. Also she did not want to admit how short a time Joanna had known Eduardo, or that she had gone with him on the ship without telling Catarina. She would, she decided, let people believe Joanna had known him for a long time, or even that she had left Portugal much earlier. It would
also be better if they thought she had gone before Maria was born.

To her relief, having vented his fury on her, eaten some very good mutton chops and drunk a considerable amount of wine, he soon afterwards took his leave, saying he must be back in Bristol before it was too late. Feeling weak, she waved him off and almost staggered back into the drawing room. When Staines appeared at her elbow with a glass of wine she laughed.

‘This is the good wine, my lady, not what I served at table.’

‘You had better have one yourself, Staines. I am so sorry he was so rude.’

‘I have had occasion to meet Sir Ivor before, my lady, so I knew what to expect.’

‘I’m ashamed to be related to him!’ she burst out.

‘Most of us have relations we might prefer not to know. Cook is preparing your favourite syllabub for dinner and I have fetched up another bottle of the best wine.’

How fortunate she was with her servants. They took good care of her, were enchanted with the baby, and clearly capable of keeping their mouths closed when necessary.

So far very few people knew of Maria’s existence. But she could not keep the baby hidden and had no desire to do so. The next time Mrs Eade called she must tell her the story she had told the servants, that Maria was a dead cousin’s child. Then the entire neighbourhood would know within days.

It was two weeks before Nicholas returned to Marshington Grange. Catarina saw a carriage sporting the earl’s crest sweep past the Dower House late one afternoon, but it did not stop. She knew it was Nicholas, and the following morning dressed in one of her best gowns and her most fetching cap, trimmed with more lace than the ones she normally wore about the house.

If he meant to make her an offer it would not do for her to be wearing mourning black, or even half mourning, so she pulled out a silk morning dress in deep cream which she had bought just before Walter’s death, and never had an
opportunity
to wear. The sleeves were close-fitting; they and the bodice were trimmed with coquelicot embroidery, and a coquelicot rouleau edged the skirt. It suited her colouring and, with a shawl of the same colour round her shoulders, a pearl necklace and pearl drops in her ears, she told herself she was looking her best.

It was the middle of the morning before Nicholas came. It was another fine day, after several when it had rained almost continuously. Clarice had taken Maria outside to sit on a bench under one of the apple trees, where the baby could watch the changing patterns of the branches against the sky.

Staines, beaming, showed Nicholas in.

‘His lordship, my lady,’ he said, and Catarina, nervous, thought his tone was almost paternal. Did her servants suspect the same as she did?

‘How are Jeremy and Olivia, my lord?’

‘They are both in Town. Olivia makes her come out this Season, under the auspices of a cousin of our mama. Jeremy is there too, and I believe has for the moment given up trying to convince the villagers of the advantages of his proposed changes.’

‘Olivia is looking forward to the Season?’

‘With some trepidation, but Lady Mortimer is the sort of woman who can give her confidence.’

‘Will you have some Madeira, my lord?’ Catarina asked, suddenly aware of the decanters she had asked Staines to bring in earlier, so that she would have something ready to offer Nicholas if he came.

‘No, thank you. Catarina. For once it’s a fine day; can we not walk in the garden for a short while? I did not have an
opportunity
to see it the last time I was here.’

Catarina led the way through the doors at the back of the drawing room which opened on to the terrace, and they trod down the steps at the end on to one of the gravelled paths. Nicholas took her arm and they made stilted conversation as they walked through the flower garden and into the small walled garden where the new glasshouses were being built.

‘You plan to grow more grapes?’ Nicholas asked.

‘Amongst other things. The weather has been so bad this year we are going to try some of the early vegetables under glass, but I’m not sure the new glass houses will be ready in time.’

They went on towards the small orchard at one side of the garden. As they reached the gate leading into it, Nicholas stopped, put his hand on it to stop her opening it, and turned towards Catarina.

‘My dear Catarina, I think you must know how I feel about you. I was so worried when you were away for so long, without anyone here having any news of you.’

He reached out towards her, but just at that moment Maria began to wail. Nicholas gave a start and turned round to see Clarice coming towards them, Maria cradled in her arms.

‘I take her in, she hungry,’ Clarice said, and, as she walked towards the gate, Nicholas hurriedly stepped back. He watched, silent, as Clarice came through the gate and held Maria out for him to see. ‘See baby, pretty, no?’

‘Whose baby is that?’ Nicholas asked, his voice hoarse. ‘Is it yours?’

‘Yes. No. That is, yes, she is in a way. I have adopted her. She is a cousin’s baby, the cousin died,’ Catarina stammered.

He was looking at her so accusingly she was almost
incapable
of speaking. He watched Clarice go towards the house, then took a deep breath.

‘I will speak to you another time. Goodbye, my lady.’

Chapter Eight

C
ATARINA LOOKED DOWN
at the letter in her hands. It was the round, unformed calligraphy of a schoolgirl, and Olivia had crossed the lines so much she had difficulty reading it. Besides, she was finding it hard to concentrate after Nicholas’s abrupt departure the previous day. He had suddenly become cold when he had seen the baby. Did the notion of her having adopted a child make him change his mind? She had been so certain he was about to make her an offer. Was the thought of having to accept a baby as well as herself such a frightening one he had decided he did not after all want her as his wife?

She forced herself to concentrate on the letter. Olivia sounded happy. The dreaded Lady Keith had gone to Paris, so she was making her come out under the auspices of a cousin of her mama’s. Already she had met a few other girls, and it wasn’t nearly so terrifying as she’d expected. Lady Mortimer, her cousin, would be arranging a ball for her soon, and she did so hope dear Catarina would come up to Town for it.

Catarina shook her head slightly. The town house was let and she would not stay in an hotel. She had no friends she could visit, and if Nicholas remained cold she had no desire to meet him again, as she would be bound to do at Olivia’s ball. Her thoughts swung back to the previous day and the
unanswered
question. Why had the sight of Maria changed him?

This dwelling on the matter was pointless. She stood up decisively. She would go for a ride. So far she had not been able to ride around the entire estate since she had returned to England, it had either been raining, or she had too much else to do. Even though she was no longer the owner, she would like to see some of the tenants. They had been her friends, many of them nearer to her in age than Walter and his cronies.

She sent to have her mare saddled, then rang for her new maid, Blodwen. She was a Welsh girl from Swansea who, when her former mistress died, had come to live with an aunt in Bristol to find another position. The registry had sent her and another cook, and so far Catarina had been satisfied with both of them. Blodwen spoke with a strong Welsh lilt, which confused poor Clarice even more than the local accent. Catarina herself, and Staines, were the only people in the house Clarice could understand properly.

Soon Catarina was cantering along the edge of the common. What ought to be hay in a few weeks did not look promising, the constant rain had flattened the grass. If there was not a good crop the villagers would have little with which to feed their animals during the winter. She turned towards the marsh, wanting to see what Jeremy had done with the drainage. The way lay alongside the woods, and she dropped to a walk, since the storms had blown dead and fallen branches across the path, and brought down a few trees. Ought she to suggest they be cleared, or would that be presumption? Then she recalled that although Jeremy was not here Nicholas was. But she would not inform him of the problem. She did not wish to have to meet him again. She had to stop thinking about him.

One particularly large oak had fallen right across the path. She was trying to find a way round it when someone rose up in front of her and caught the mare’s reins. Catarina’s heart gave a leap of fright. Perhaps she ought to have brought the
groom, she thought in sudden panic, but she had always ridden alone, expecting to be safe on Walter’s land.

It was a man, dressed in what looked like rags, his hair wild and tangled, his face and hands streaked with dirt. The mare, startled, tried to rear, but he held her firmly, and began stroking her neck, crooning softly so that she soon quietened.

‘What do you want?’ she demanded, thankful to find her voice calm and steady. Then she looked closer at him. ‘It’s Dan, isn’t it? You used to work for Mr Lewis.’

‘Aye, used to, missus. My lady, that is. I didn’t mean ter frighten the mare. I’m sorry. But I ’as ter speak wi’ someone. An’ Mr Jeremy ain’t ’ere.’

‘I’m so sorry about your wife, Dan, and that you’ve lost your cottage. Where are you living? Have you another job?’

Looking as he did, he would have problems finding anything, she thought. She had heard that some of the people from villages nearby had left and gone to Bristol to find work, since there was not enough on the farms for everybody. Was that because of the enclosures everyone was talking about?

Dan was shaking his head. ‘It were me own doin’s; I were daft, an’ my poor Annie ’ad ter suffer fer it. I could a’ killed meself after what she done, but that there Ellen, enough ter drive a man mad, she were. And Annie, she dain’t want me no more. Said as ’ow six childer were enough, an’ on’y one livin’, so I weren’t ter go near ’er. It were more than flesh and blood could stand, so it were, lyin’ in same bed an’ ’er so cold. We’d bin wed sixteen year.’

Catarina pushed away the thoughts of Dan and his wife in bed, together, but forced to be celibate. At least she and Walter had always occupied separate rooms.

‘You had a boy, I think. What’s happened to him?’

‘Annie’s sister took ’im. ’E’s got a good job now, errand boy fer a shop in Bristol.’

‘So where are you living?’

‘Shack. In woods. I’ve got fellers bring me bread. I’m not poachin’ Mr Jeremy’s conies.’

Fleetingly Catarina thought that a pity. If he were convicted he would be sent out to New South Wales and might be reunited with Annie. He seemed fond enough of her, deep down. But she could hardly suggest such a course.

‘What do you want?’ she repeated.

‘Could yer ’av a word wi’ Mr Lewis? If ’e’d gi’ me me job back, I’d work fer lowest rates. I know I don’t deserve it, but it weren’t my fault Ellen’s lad an’ ’is friends come lookin’ fer me an’ started a fight. I’d sleep in barn, I don’t want cottage back. It ’ld remind me too much of my Annie.’

‘I’ll speak to him,’ Catarina promised. It had, from what Staines had told her, been Dan’s fault in the first place, and Annie had been provoked. Losing her, and the guilt he felt, was punishment enough.

‘Or Master Jeremy might ’av work fer me. I ’eard he were goin’ ter enclose common, there’ll be men needed ter put up fences.’

‘I don’t know if he is,’ Catarina told him, ‘but when he comes down from London I’ll ask if he could find you some work.’

‘Bless yer, me lady. You was always kind.’

He disappeared into the woods as silently as he had come and Catarina went on towards the marsh soberly. Was Jeremy going ahead with his plans without getting the villagers on his side? Could he make enclosures, legally, without an Act of Parliament? She must try to talk to him when he returned from London. He would probably consider it interference, and resent it, but she felt a continuing responsibility to the people who had once been Walter’s.

Nicholas was sitting in the library at Marshington Grange. The book he had been trying to read was discarded on the floor beside him. He had dismissed Mr Trubshaw brusquely when the man wanted to ask his advice. After three glasses of wine
he had rung to have the decanter taken away. Getting drunk, which he would very much like to have done, would not solve his dilemma.

All night he had tried to decide what to do. Seeing that baby with her olive complexion, dark curly hair, and large eyes, so like Catarina’s, had given him a severe jolt. She had
contradicted
her immediate acceptance that the child was hers, and then spun him some unlikely tale that the baby was her Portuguese cousin’s. He supposed it might be the truth, that a cousin had died. Many women did, in childbirth. But she had presumably possessed a husband, so what was he thinking of permitting his child to be taken out of the country and brought to England? Were there not many other cousins in Portugal, married and with families, to whom the child could have gone?

He rubbed his hands over his eyes. Lord, he was tired! In London he could sit up all night at play and feel no ill effects, but now he was spent. He did not know what to do. Yesterday his instinctive reaction was to walk away, to do nothing until he had thought over the implications. He had, fortunately, not actually made Catarina an offer. Did he still wish to?

He wanted her body, he freely admitted to himself. He had spent many nights dreaming of possessing her while she had been away. But there was some mystery regarding that baby, and it seemed as though he did not know the real Catarina at all. Until he did, there was no way he could ask her to be his wife.

There was a tentative knock on the door and his valet came in.

‘I said I wasn’t to be disturbed,’ Nicholas snapped. ‘What the devil are you doing here in any case, Chettle?’

‘No one else dared interrupt, my lord, so they begged me to tell you.’

‘Tell me what, man? I trust it’s important!’

‘Some of the villagers have asked to see you. Apparently Mr Jeremy has sent orders that the whole common is to be enclosed immediately.’

Mrs Eade was waiting in the drawing room when Catarina returned to the Dower House.

‘Please, my lady, I won’t keep you a moment,’ she said, when Catarina said she ought to change out of her riding habit. ‘I have to get back soon, we have one of our daughters coming to stay, but I really had to come and tell you what is happening in the village.’

She paused for breath and Catarina sat down. ‘I think I know. It’s the common, isn’t it?’

‘Were you aware of Mr Brooke’s plans?’

She sounded accusing and Catarina quickly shook her head.

‘I saw Dan up near the woods while I was out, and he seemed to think that was what had been ordered.’

‘We thought, the Reverend and I, that Mr Brooke was concerned for the village. He completed the drainage scheme your dear husband started, and the new earl hastened the building of the new cottages. But to rob the poor people of their grazing land, the rights they have held for centuries, is cruel! Most of them will have nowhere else to graze their beasts, and nowhere to grow winter feed for them.’

‘Is there no other provision being made for grazing?’

‘We have not heard. But there is also the hay that grows there, which has always been allowed to the villagers for the winter feed.’

‘Lord Brooke is in residence at the moment, I believe. Can you not speak to him?’

‘Will he contradict his brother’s orders? As far as we
understand
he gifted the estate to Mr Brooke, so he may not feel able to overrule him. However, the Reverend and I hope you, as the former owner, might have some influence. Can you not speak to both Mr Brooke and his lordship?’

How could she explain that at the moment she did not know whether his lordship would ever speak to her again?

‘I really believe that a representation from your husband would do more good,’ she said at last. ‘From me it would seem to be interference, as though I were unwilling to relinquish the estate, but you and the Reverend have a duty to care for the village. You have a right to be concerned. And, perhaps, a man speaking to his lordship might be listened to more
sympathetically
than a mere female.’

Mrs Eade looked at her closely. ‘Perhaps you are right. Now, my dear, tell me about this child you have brought home with you. There are all sorts of rumours flying around.’

Catarina tried a light laugh. ‘Indeed? People will always gossip, won’t they? Maria de Freitas’ – she emphasized the name – ‘is a cousin’s child. It was very sad, she had so longed to have a family, but she died giving birth and, as her husband had died six months earlier, I offered to take the baby in and bring her up. After all, now that Joanna is married and so far away I have no close family. I think you know I do not get on well with my uncle in Bristol.’

She was getting almost as good as Joanna at inventing untruths, Catarina thought in disgust. But what else could she do to protect her sister’s reputation?

Mrs Eade sighed. ‘Such a pity when families cannot get on. I don’t have time now, I must go, but I hope you will soon tell me all about this sudden romance of Joanna’s. A Portuguese prince, I heard.’

Catarina did not bother to correct her. To the villagers people from further away than Bristol were considered foreigners, and real foreigners would be singularly exotic, even to people more educated, like the rector and his wife. She ushered Mrs Eade out, and went upstairs to change from her riding habit. Now, as well as her own problem, she had the village concerns to worry about.

Nicholas looked at the three men in front of him. They were all elderly and had clearly worked hard all their lives if the gnarled hands and weathered faces meant anything.

‘You tell me my brother has sent orders for the whole common to be enclosed? To whom did these orders come?’

‘His agent, Mr Trubshaw. He said he were going to tell you this morning,’ said the eldest, who seemed to be the spokesman.

Nicholas guiltily recalled how he had dismissed Trubshaw that morning, telling him he did not wish to be bothered with estate business at the moment. He’d been too absorbed in thoughts of Catarina and the child.

‘I’ll speak to Trubshaw and send a message to my brother. He will have to stop if he does not have the agreement of the villagers. We’ll delay doing anything until he is able to come down and speak to you himself.’