The Folly (3 page)

“I would be most grateful. Are you sure Lady Beverley will allow you to do this?”

Miss Trumble rose to her feet. “I will ask her now.”

She left the room with her graceful gliding walk.

“An exceptional lady,” said Charles to Rachel after the door had closed behind the governess. “Where did your mother come by such a treasure?”

Rachel laughed. “Our Miss Trumble has certainly made an impression on such a brief acquaintance. What makes you think her a treasure?”

“She has great style and dignity. And I am sure I have met her somewhere before.”

“There is a mystery about Miss Trumble,” said Rachel. “She appeared one day, without references, references which she swears she will produce if she
can ever find them. But she so quickly made herself an indispensable part of the household that none of us can bear to think of her leaving. I trust you will not lure her away from us, sir.”

“Please don’t,” put in Lizzie. “Miss Trumble swore she would stay with us until I am married.”

“And when will that be?” asked Charles. His odd green eyes were full of laughter. Rachel looked at him in surprise. He was certainly changed from the grim-visaged man of the day before.

“I will need to be very lucky,” said Lizzie solemnly. “You see, none of us has much of a dowry.”

“Lizzie!” hissed Rachel furiously.

“It’s true,” said Lizzie defiantly. “The whole district knows it to be true and Mr. Blackwood will hear it sooner or later.”

“It is not ladylike to discuss money,” pointed out Belinda.

“We talk of nothing else in this house,” muttered Lizzie rebelliously.

Meanwhile Miss Trumble was saying evenly to Lady Beverley, who was reclining on a day-bed in her darkened bedchamber, “As you say, my lady, I am employed by you. But only see the advantages in my helping Mr. Blackwood with his children. While he is paying me for my services, you need not. Of course, it would probably mean your being invited to Mannerling again and that might distress you. I shall leave you now and tell Mr. Blackwood that I cannot help him—unless I decide to leave you and move to Mannerling. Perhaps that might be a good idea.”

Lady Beverley’s face was a study. She was well
aware that this elderly and dignified governess not only lent her status but ran her household. She forgot, too, that she had neglected to pay Miss Trumble any salary last quarter-day and said faintly, “Stay. My poor head. You must realize I am not well and am unable to deal with decisions. But if your heart is set on it, yes, I agree.”

Miss Trumble curtsied and quickly left the room before her employer could change her mind.

When she returned to the parlour, Charles Blackwood looked cheerful and relaxed and Rachel was telling him about an assembly to be held in two weeks’ time in the Green Man. “But perhaps a country hop is too undignified for you, Mr. Blackwood.”

“I have not really engaged in many social entertainments since the death of my poor wife,” he said. “But yes, I shall probably attend. I hope I can remember how to dance. Ah, Miss Trumble, good news, I hope?”

“Yes, sir. If it is convenient, I think you should bring the children tomorrow morning and we can start as soon as possible.”

He rose to his feet and bowed all around. To his secret amusement, it was Miss Trumble who walked out with him to his carriage, quite like the lady of the house, he thought.

“Perhaps nine o’clock?” said Miss Trumble.

Although she was only a governess, he found to his surprise that he was bowing over her hand.

“Until then.”

John, the footman, let down the carriage steps. Charles climbed inside. John raised the steps and
shut the carriage door and turned and gave Miss Trumble a pale, curious, calculating look.

If I gain any influence with Charles Blackwood, thought Miss Trumble, I will tell him to get rid of that gossiping, plotting footman. For she knew that John dreaded any Beverley getting a foothold in Mannerling again because he knew he would lose his job, for he had gone out of his way to be horrible to them.

Inside the house, Rachel was facing her sisters’ angry questions. “You are become secretive, Rachel,” said Belinda. “Not to tell us you had been to Mannerling and had met the owner. And he is vastly handsome.”

“But a widower with children and much too old,” said Rachel. “I have no desire to wed a man old enough to be my father.”

Belinda twisted a lock of hair in her fingers and sent Rachel a sideways look. “I would not find such a man too old,” she said.

Rachel looked at her, startled. Belinda had grown even more beautiful. Her black hair was dressed in one of the fashionable Roman styles which Miss Trumble could create with all the deftness of a top lady’s-maid. Her cheeks were smooth and pink and her wide eyes fringed with heavy lashes.

What effect had such beauty on Charles Blackwood? Surely no man could look at Belinda and remain unmoved.

“You are too young, Belinda,” she snapped.

Belinda gave a quiet little smile. “We’ll see.”

“But we promised Miss Trumble that we would put Mannerling from our minds,” protested Rachel. “Only look at the vulgar reputation we sisters
gained in the country by trying to marry previous owners or sons of owners.”

“One son,” corrected Belinda, thinking of the rake, Harry Devers, son of the previous owners, who had caused the Beverleys so much heartbreak. “Anyway,” she said with a little shrug, “if Mr. Blackwood has not heard the gossip about us, he soon will, and he will fight shy of us for fear one of the dreadful Beverley girls is going to ensnare him for the sake of his home.”

“Such old gossip,” said Rachel. “I doubt if he will hear a word!”

C
HARLES BLACKWOOD RODE
over the next afternoon to pay a call on Lady Evans, an elderly widow, accompanied by his father. The old general had known Lady Evans for years and was pleased to learn she resided in the neighbourhood, in Hursley Park.

Lady Evans, a formidable dowager with a crumpled old face under a gigantic, starched cap, welcomed them with enthusiasm. “General Blackwood,” she hailed Charles’s father. “I declare I have not seen you this age, and you are grown more handsome than ever.”

The general, a genial gentleman with a portly figure and a high colour, bent gallantly over her hand and kissed her fingertips. “The minute I learned we were to be neighbours, Lady Evans, my poor old heart beat much faster.”

“Silly boy,” she giggled, rapping his shoulder with her fan. “Now do be seated and I will ring for tea. How do you go on, Charles? So sad about your dear wife. You have two young children, I believe. Well, I hope?”

“I am arranging matters better for them. I have been too distant from my children and it has only just been brought to my attention that their governess was dealing too harshly with them.”

“Children must not be spoilt,” said Lady Evans. The tea-tray was carried in, the spirit stove lit. Lady Evans prepared the tea herself. “A good beating never harmed a child.”

Charles smiled. “We must not quarrel on matters of discipline. But they are now in the hands of an estimable governess at Brookfield House.”

“Miss Trumble,” exclaimed Lady Evans. “She is still there? Why does she not call on me?”

The general looked at her in some surprise. Lady Evans was known to be very high in the instep and it was most unlike her to be pining for a call from a mere governess.

“Miss Trumble was governess to the children of a friend of mine,” said Lady Evans quickly. “She is out of the common way.”

“I agree,” said Charles.

Her old eyes suddenly narrowed. “But why does she not reside at Mannerling? Why Brookfield House with those Beverleys?”

“Miss Trumble did not seem anxious to move, so the children are to be taken there every day. A comfortable arrangement. In fact, it was one of the Beverley girls, Rachel, who brought their plight to my attention.”

“You became quickly on calling terms with the Beverleys.”

“It was by accident. I found Miss Rachel rowing my children about the lake.”

“At Mannerling?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But she was not there by invitation?”

“No, but Mannerling is her former home, so I could not really chastise her for trespass.”

“I have something I must tell you,” said Lady Evans. “The daughter of friends of mine, Prudence Makepeace, was here on a visit. I had hoped to make a match of it for her with Lord Burfield, but he was tricked and ensnared by Abigail Beverley in a most degrading way.”

“You fascinate me. Go on.”

“Abigail is the twin of Rachel. Rachel was to marry Harry Devers, son of the previous owners of Mannerling. She took fright, and on the day of the wedding Abigail, who looks much like her, took her twin’s place. But on her wedding night she took fright as well—or so she
says
—and ran away from him and was found in Lord Burfield’s bed. The scandal! Of course he had to marry her after that, which was more than any of those penurious, grasping Beverleys deserves. Miss Trumble is all that is excellent, but I want you to be on your guard against the Beverleys. They have but one aim in life—to reclaim Mannerling, and they do not care how low they stoop to do it.”

“They are all too young for me,” said Charles mildly.

“They are serpents all, and your years will not protect you from their wiles.”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed the general. “Perhaps it would be better to make other arrangements for Beth and Mark.”

Charles Blackwood sat silent, his thin black brows drawn down. Then he said, “If this Miss
Trumble is such a precious pearl, such a lady, such an estimable governess, then what is she doing with this wicked family of Beverleys?”

“She is fallen on hard times, obviously, and must earn her bread somewhere.”

“But with a powerful patroness such as yourself, she could surely find a better position.”

“More tea, General?” Lady Evans refilled his cup. “Ah well, truth to tell, she does seem unfortunately attached to them. Perhaps she feels if she abandoned them they might end up on the streets.”

Charles’s face darkened. “I feel you go too far, Lady Evans. From what I have seen of the Beverley sisters, they appear high-spirited but I would not describe them as sluts.”

“Let us talk about something else,” said Lady Evans. “The subject depresses me. So how goes the world, General?”

The general talked about mutual friends and after a while he and his son rose to take their leave.

“So what did you think of all that, my boy?” demanded the general as their carriage rolled out through the gates of Hursley Park.

“About the Beverley girls? I do not know. But it is very simple to clear up the matter. I will ask Miss Trumble.”

“What! The governess? Remember your position, Charles.”

“You will come with me as well. Miss Trumble is not in the common way.”

When they approached Brookfield House, they could hear sounds of laughter from the garden. As they drew nearer, they saw the Beverley sisters and
Mark and Beth playing a noisy game of blindman’s buff in the garden. Little Beth had a scarf over her eyes and was tottering this way and that, trying to catch one of them.

Charles felt a stab of conscience. He realized he could not remember the last time he had heard his children laugh. He dismounted from the carriage and scooped Beth up into his arms. He removed the blindfold and she cried, “Papa!” and threw her chubby arms about his neck.

“Enjoying your studies?” he asked, seeing Miss Trumble rise from a chair at the corner of the lawn and walk towards them.

“Oh, Papa, we are having such larks,” said Beth.

He set her down on her feet. “Then run along and have more larks. I wish to talk to Miss Trumble. A word with you in private, if you please, Miss Trumble.”

She curtsied and led the way back into the house. When they were in the parlour, Charles introduced his father.

The general surveyed this governess curiously. Although he judged her to be as old as he was himself, she carried herself with a sort of youthful grace. The brown curls under her lace cap did not show any signs of grey and her eyes in her lined face were large and sparkling.

“We have been on a call to Lady Evans,” began Charles, after they were seated.

“How does Lady Evans go on?”

“Very well, Miss Trumble, and desirous of a call from you.”

“It would hardly be fitting,” said Miss Trumble
equably, “for a woman in my position to call on Lady Evans.”

“Lady Evans appeared to think very highly of you.”

She bowed her head.

“Warned us against those Beverley girls,” put in the general bluntly.

“Oh, dear. Lady Evans has reason. She was desirous to make a marriage between a young lady, a Prudence Makepeace, and Lord Burfield, but Lord Burfield married Abigail Beverley.”

“This is awkward,” said Charles. “But Lady Evans did alarm us by telling us about how that proposal was brought about.”

“Did she also tell you that Lord Burfield was and is deeply in love with Abigail? No, I thought not. Sirs, you must have heard the scandal. Prudence Makepeace had to flee the country after conspiring with Harry Devers to abduct Abigail on the day of her wedding to Lord Burfield.”

“We must have been abroad at the time,” said Charles.

“You were also not told,” went on Miss Trumble, “that burning ambition to reclaim Mannerling was at the root of the Beverleys’ schemes. They no longer harbour such ambitions. But do you blame them?”

“Well, yes,” said the general, amazed. “Very unwomanly.”

“Exactly. Had they been men, you would have found their ambition laudable. Think on it, gentlemen. How many men do you know in society who have married heiresses to save their estates and not one breath of scandal sticks to their name?
You must not be anxious. There will be nothing in their behaviour to alarm you. I promise you that. If, on the other hand, you do not trust me, then you must take your children away.”

A burst of happy laughter sounded from the garden.