Authors: Francesca
Mr Barton nodded. ‘You are very wise, Miss Shelwood.’
‘Do you…do you know why my father has remained silent all these years, Mr Barton? Unless…unless he is…dead?’
‘I have no reason to believe he is.’
‘Then…why?’
‘When your parents eloped, Miss Shelwood, Sir John Shelwood refused to have any further contact with his daughter Verity. But when she died, he asked me to write to your father, offering to bring you up in England, and make you his heir. This would be on condition that Lord Beaudon should have no further communication whatsoever with you, once you had arrived at Shelwood Manor.
‘I have to say that I disapproved of the arrangement, and was surprised that Lord Beaudon eventually agreed. Of course, the inducement was a strong one. You were motherless; as the Shelwood heiress your future would be assured, and—I have to say—your father’s previous manner of life was not one in which a young child could flourish.’
Francesca said slowly, ‘I suppose so, but…’
‘However, your grandfather and aunt are now both dead, you are of age, and, in my opinion, it would not be improper for you to meet Lord Beaudon, if you wished.’
‘I…I’m not sure…Mr Barton, you must excuse me. I am…overwhelmed by what you have told me. This change in my circumstances has come as a complete surprise, as you see. But tell me, how many others knew of my grandfather’s will? Why did no one ever indicate something of the matter to me, even if my aunt did not?’
‘You said your aunt was a woman who kept her secrets, Miss Shelwood. She always said she was very anxious that your position as a considerable heiress should not lead others to court and flatter you. She required my silence, and led me to believe it was out of a desire to protect you. As you know, you both led a somewhat reclusive life here at Shelwood. I doubt anyone else knows.’
With this Francesca had to be satisfied. She felt she had had enough for the moment, so asked Mr Barton to come again after she had had some time to reflect on the change in her fortunes. They fixed on the morning of the next day but one.
‘You have been so discreet in the past, I know that you will continue to be so, Mr Barton. I need time to think things out for myself. To decide what I am going to do about Shelwood and my own life.’
The lawyer agreed, then took his leave with a deference that demonstrated, more than any words could have done, Francesca’s new importance as owner of Shelwood and all that went with it.
The fact that Miss Fanny had not even been mentioned in her aunt’s will scandalised the countryside. The news soon reached Witham Court, where there was a certain amount of speculation over her fate, now that she had been left penniless, together with some ribald suggestions. But after a while the company grew bored with this and forgot her in other pursuits. Everyone, that is, except Marcus. Once again he had the urge to seek Francesca out and offer what help he could, but the gossip and lewd suggestions about Francesca’s likely future gave him pause.
What could he possibly offer that would not compromise her further? A girl without money, without friends and without respectable background would have to be more than ordinarily circumspect. She could not afford the risk of scandal. After some thought, he decided that Francesca would be safe at Shelwood for a short while until the lawyers sorted things out. Meanwhile, he would consult his sister about her when he returned to London. Sarah might be able to find something suitable for Francesca—a post as a companion, or governess, perhaps?
When they got to London, Marcus delivered Lady Forrest to her house in Chiswick, and went on without further ceremony to see his sister, depositing Nick on the way. But Lady Chelford was not at home, and Marcus found to his annoyance that she would not be able to see him till the next
morning. He spent the night haunted once again by Francesca’s image, and was relieved when morning came and he could go round to Duke Street.
But here he was doomed to disappointment. Lady Chelford, somewhat put out at having to receive her brother at a ridiculously early hour, was unhelpful.
‘Marcus, when will you direct your considerable talent for helping others into more suitable channels? I am sure your family could do with your counsel, and…and help.’
‘My dearest Sarah, you need neither! Your husband may be a touch stuffy, but he is perfectly sound financially, and has a great deal of common sense. Too much so!’
‘But he does not understand the children as you do! He is talking of sending Charlotte to a seminary! He says she needs the discipline of school life.’
‘Since the child has had four governesses in as many months, I am not sure I disagree with him there, Sally.’
‘Then there’s Nick…He is so often at odds with his father.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with Nick that can’t be cured by a little experience. He’ll soon grow up. Indeed, he showed surprisingly good sense at Charlie Witham’s.’
When his sister looked doubtful, he added impatiently, ‘Sally, he’s no gambler, I promise you. In any case, I’ll keep an eye on him. Now, what can you do for Francesca Shelwood?’
‘Why are you so anxious about this girl? She’s nothing to you, is she?
Is
she, Marcus? It would never do!’
‘My God, women are all the same! Your imaginations leap from a slight comment, a simple desire to help someone who badly needs it, to wedding bells and the rest. No, I have no personal interest in Francesca Shelwood. I simply wish to preserve her from a fate she does not deserve! Now, can you help or not?’
‘It’s all very well, but you cannot reasonably expect me to
come up with instant ideas for a girl who has no experience and no…background! What would my friends say if I foisted Rake Beaudon’s love-child on them as a governess or whatever? This is yet another of your quixotic impulses and I have suffered from these before! Ever since you were a child, you have leapt in to help those you regarded, often mistakenly, as less fortunate than yourself. Your reformed pickpocket, whom I placed as a groom with Lady Castle, ran off with a selection of her best silver, and she hasn’t forgiven me yet.
‘Then there was the widow of a serviceman, a certain Mrs Harbottle, whom I took on myself as an assistant housekeeper. She created havoc in the servants’ quarters before I managed to get rid of her. I have no doubt there have been others, if I chose to remember them. No, I will not help you.’
‘This is different, Sarah! Miss Shelwood is a lady!’
‘She cannot be a lady if, as you tell me, she is Rake Beaudon’s illegitimate daughter. I’m sorry for the girl—it sounds as if life has treated her most unfairly—but I cannot help you. And if you wish the girl no harm, you will stay away from her. Tongues will soon wag if you are seen to be taking an interest, however platonic it is.’
‘Dammit, of course I mean her no harm!’
‘Then leave her alone.’ There was a short silence, then she said irritably, ‘I suppose I’ll have to find something—if I don’t, I can see you marrying the girl out of a more than usually stupid attack of conscience. And I owe you something for looking after Nick. If you wish, I will keep an ear open for anyone who seems to be looking for a companion, and is not likely to ask too many questions about the girl’s breeding. But I warn you, such a one is most unlikely to be an agreeable employer.’
Marcus left Duke Street in an even gloomier frame of mind. It was clear that Francesca was doomed either to
penury, or to life as a drudge, unless something intervened. His sister’s words haunted him throughout the night; by the morning, he had come to a desperate decision. He set off for Shelwood later that day.
Francesca was not given much opportunity to consider her situation in peace. First, Agnes Cotter left Shelwood after a final, mercifully brief, interview, then Madame Elisabeth called to sympathise and to renew her offer of help, though she did not stay long, either. Francesca was glad of this—her old friend would be the first to know of the change in her circumstances, but not yet.
But the other servants and people on the estate trailed in one after the other, anxious to express their concern, both for Miss Fanny and for their livelihood. It took all her ingenuity to deal with them tactfully and reassuringly, without telling them anything of the changes in store.
The morning after the funeral, Mr Chizzle arrived to keep his appointment. Francesca was still reluctant to receive him. She had never liked him. He had been unctuously ingratiating with Miss Shelwood, but had followed his patron’s example in dealing with her niece. His manner to Francesca had always been either indifferent or suffocatingly condescending. And she found it difficult to forgive those hour-long sermons on the question of her moral welfare after her escapade with Freddie. But she made herself welcome him. He was probably fulfilling some duty to Aunt Cassandra, who had mentioned him that last afternoon. Was it to do with the money she had left him?
‘Miss Fanny—’
‘Mr Chizzle, you have known me since I was a child, so I suppose it is difficult for you to think of me as Miss Shelwood—as I now am. But if you insist on using my Christian name, I should like you to use the correct one, which is Francesca,
not
Fanny.’
Mr Chizzle was full of confusion and fulsome apologies. Then he took up a position in front of the fireplace and began sonorously, ‘I hope you will not condemn me, or think me presumptuous, if I claim a certain interest in your happiness, Miss Francesca. I like to think we have always understood one another very well, and that my efforts towards providing you with spiritual guidance and comfort over the years have not been unappreciated.’
‘Of course,’ Francesca said, somewhat confused. This was a different Mr Chizzle from the one she had been used to. What could account for it? She was quite certain that no word of yesterday’s revelations had reached any other ears. What was this about?
After some small talk, in the course of which he expatiated on the virtues of her aunt—a subject which was hardly likely to make him popular with his audience—he said gravely, ‘Your dear aunt, your late and sadly mourned aunt, was much exercised in her mind about what would become of you after she had passed on to higher things—an inexperienced girl, lacking any protector, and, dare I say, with certain unfortunate propensities—’ Francesca straightened up at this, and he said with a kindly smile ‘—though these seem to have been somewhat subdued of late. But your aunt did me the honour of confiding her anxieties to me, and I have to say that I shared her fears.’
‘Your concern does you credit. But I assure you, sir, it is misplaced. I am in no need of protection or guidance.’
Mr Chizzle smiled, and he shook his head in tolerant understanding. ‘My dear Miss Francesca, that is precisely the problem! You are too young, too…headstrong to see it. You need someone—someone with maturer wisdom—to save you from the many pitfalls that life presents. Someone such as my humble self, perhaps.’
‘Well, if I should ever feel the need for a friend—’ Francesca began doubtfully.
‘Ah, I shall not allow your modesty to cause you to misunderstand. Nor should you let the thought of your shameful birth—or any incident in the past—give you pause, either. Let him who is without sin…I do not regard it, I assure you. I am here, Miss Fanny, to tell you that my dearest wish—and that of your aunt as expressed to me on her deathbed—is to share your life, to give you companionship where there is loneliness, guidance where there is confusion, wisdom where there—’
‘I am not sure what you mean, sir. Can you be more plain? Are you…
can
you be asking me to marry you?’
Mr Chizzle, put somewhat off his stride with this blunt question, mopped his brow and said that he was.
‘I see.’ Francesca turned away to hide her expression. Then she turned back and asked calmly, ‘Did my aunt discuss with you the terms of my grandfather’s will before she died, Mr Chizzle?’
‘As it happens, she did mention it, yes. We both saw the inheritance as a source of danger to you and a temptation to unscrupulous men, attracted by your riches, rather than your…lovely self.’
‘I see,’ said Francesca flatly. ‘So you knew about the money.’
‘But I flatter myself that you would not dream of ascribing a mercenary motive to my efforts to secure your hand and heart, Miss Fanny—’
‘
Francesca
, if you please.’
Mr Chizzle got somewhat awkwardly on to one knee. The effort made his face red, and he mopped it once again before saying, ‘My heart is all yours, believe me, dearest Francesca, without any taint of venality. Even had it not been your aunt’s dying wish that we two should carry the burden of the great Shelwood inheritance together, had you been the merest pauper, as bereft of fortune as you are bereft of name—I
should still have offered you all I have—my admiration, my heart and my life.’
‘I…I am flattered, of course. That you should be prepared to overlook the stain on my birth means a great deal to me. And what it pleases you to call my…propensities. But I cannot permit you to compromise your own good name, dear sir. Why, what would less worthy people say? That you are prepared to marry a bas—love-child as long as she is rich enough? That sin can be washed out in a stream of investments? That the Shelwood gold can persuade you to overlook the Shelwood shame? It is unthinkable! No, much as I am touched by your…disinterested offer, I’m afraid I must decline it.’