The House in Grosvenor Square (4 page)

“I am so glad we thought to call upon you just now,” gushed Lavinia, as they fell into step together. “To think I shall see the whole of the Paragon's establishment! And that it is to be your house! Can you quite conceive of it, my dear Ariana?”

This was the very thing she was actually having trouble conceiving.

“In truth I cannot.”

“You'll soon be living there as mistress! Is it not exciting?” Lavinia giggled.

Suddenly Beatrice exclaimed, “Oh, 'tis Mr. O'Brien and his mama! I mustn't go to their house yet! Please say they may come with us, Ariana, so that I shan't miss your new house! May they come? Please say they may!”

“They have been so kind to open their home to you. Of course they may,” the elder sister responded. “But who is to say they desire to come?”

“We cannot invite the whole town, Miss Beatrice!” Mrs. Bentley's words were sharp and not without a hint of disapproval, but when the twosome reached the group, Beatrice burst out, “Hullo! What do you think? We are going to Mr. Mornay's establishment to deliver Ariana's trousseau and look over the whole house! And you may come, if you like!” She was smiling from ear to ear.

Mrs. O'Brien, responding with a little smile of her own, curtseyed hastily for Mrs. Bentley, Ariana, and the Herleys and looked thoughtfully at the young girl.

Mr. O'Brien's countenance was less promising. He had no way of know-ing that the Paragon would not be at home and no wish to see him if he was.

Beatrice registered Mr. O'Brien's response, refocused on Mrs. O'Brien, and said with precocious intuition, “You will see the Paragon's house! It will be enormous fun! Everything expensive and agreeable!”

Ariana's lips tightened.

“Oh, do let us go,” said Mrs. O'Brien to her son, looking at him plaintively.

He hesitated. Then as his gaze took in Ariana, dressed in a lovely walking-out gown of light, jaconet muslin and an over-tunic trimmed with satin ribbon applique and lace, he felt his repulsion of Mr. Mornay melt in the face of the prospect of spending time with her. Her head was framed in a gauze turban with a single egret plume. Just at that moment, while he watched, she looked over and smiled a gentle greeting at him.

And that settled it. He agreed—if Miss Forsythe had no objection.

“I have already asked her,” put in Beatrice, “so 'tis settled!”

When they had reached the corner of Brook and David Street, Mr. Pellham appeared, as he had been sent for by Mrs. Bentley via messenger. Ariana greeted him happily, and he bowed his head at her and the other ladies before offering his arm to Mrs. Bentley, who was already smiling at him fondly.

Mr. Pellham was glad to be included and hoped to see Mr. Mornay. Mornay's intervention, sending his own surgeon to look after Mr. Pellham's ankle injury earlier in the season, was responsible for its healing so prettily. He would always use a cane, but then he had favored the use of one even before he had taken that nasty fall leading to the painfully prolonged injury.

This meeting of friends on the street resulted in quite a large entourage, including the parade of servants, moving along in a merry swarm of caps, bonnets, feathers, and top hats and descending upon the house in Grosvenor Square that morning at half past twelve. As they approached the Paragon's dwelling, they cheerfully admired other stately homes, for Grosvenor Square was circled by famous dwellings. Although the Georgian townhouses they passed were near palatial, the company was never more admiring than when they reached number 25—Ariana's future home.

They stopped to survey the stately building of Portland Stone. Such
architectural details! Such carvings and moulded stonework! Intricate plasterwork. Wonderful portico and pillared frontage. All was elegant, neat, and classical. Ariana smiled and nodded, giggling now and then at the sheer exuberance of the company and how they were all so eager to be pleased. She enjoyed the beauty of Mr. Mornay's house herself—indeed marveled at it—but she felt rather like a mother hen in a barnyard full of cheeping, trailing chicks. She would have to lead these chicks through the entire three-storey structure, as well as the garret and basement kitchens and service area. To the rear of the house were stables and coach and mews houses—were they also to be toured? She hoped she had the energy.

So intent was the little group on admiring the stately mansion that no one noticed an old black coach parked at the curb of the square. It was a little farther down and across the street from house number 25, with a pair of sorry-looking nags harnessed in front. Behind the equipage, the equestrian statue of George I stood high and dignified—and ignored.

Generally such equipages were not seen in the vicinity of Grosvenor Square, and on another day, it might have elicited curiosity. But the jolly group admiring the Paragon's house paid it no mind whatsoever. From inside the coach, the two faces peeking covertly out at the company were very much on the alert. They were intensely scrutinizing the arrivals on the sidewalk, mindful to see but not be seen.

“I knew this vigil would pay off,” said the elder of the two.

The other suddenly cried, “I say 'tis Miss Herley!”

“To the devil with Miss Herley!” came the caustic response. “She's done with you. Which is the one we want?” There was a pause, while the first speaker swallowed his pride and no small distress. Was Miss Herley indeed done with him? But of course she was. That's what this was all about! He looked glumly at the merry-looking company, with Miss Forsythe clearly visible near the head of the party.

“She's there, wearing the white and yellow, next to Miss Herley.”

Ariana and Lavinia were engrossed in an animated dialogue, and Ariana laughed at a small joke her friend told. Her face shone prettily with youth and happiness.

The other gave a low whistle. “A prime article, indeed.”

“I told you she was top o' the trees. Only I wish there was another way!”

“Don't get pasty-faced. You're stronger when you're in your cups. We've agreed on this, haven't we?”

The younger one nodded reluctantly.

“There's nothing left for us, in any case. We've nothing to lose, and I daresay we shall exact a pretty penny for that piece of work.”

“Nothing to lose?” said the first. “Only our heads, I suppose.”

“Don't be such a gull!” came the disgusted response. “Who's that young chit? Just a girl.”

The younger man reluctantly tore his eyes from Miss Lavinia Herley, whom he had not seen for some few weeks now and studied the youngest member of the promenade.

“Must be a sister. She's not a Herley.”

“As I thought. Hmmm, if the elder one is trouble, we can always take the younger. Her absence might provoke stronger feelings altogether, in fact.”

But the younger man was paying little heed to his brother. His eyes were once again on the object of his affection—Lavinia Herley. The entourage was moving into the house now. The house where their enemy, Phillip Mornay— he would never call him the Paragon—dwelt.

As the party entered the house, they walked past the whole of Mr. Mornay's staff, who had been summoned by Frederick to line up and greet their soon-to-be mistress. While the guests exclaimed at the loveliness and expense of the delicate hand-painted Chinese wallpaper, Frederick gave Ariana the name and station of each servant. Beatrice walked aside her sister, her eyes large as if she too were soon to relocate to the square. She was fascinated, she would later say to the O'Briens—utterly fascinated—by the number of servants her sister should command!

Each servant dropped a respectful curtsey or bow, some smiling shyly. Ariana recognized a few of the footmen and a handful of the maids, including gaunt Lettie and the rosy-cheeked, plump cook. When she came to the new scullery maid, the lowliest of the staff, she smiled and said, “Why, 'tis Molly!” The little girl almost smiled, curtseyed shyly, but kept her eyes lowered. “Are you happy here, my gel?”

The servant nodded.

“Excellent!” said Ariana, and then she moved on.

Meanwhile the upper staff were roiling with the wonder of how their
future mistress could know the least important member of the servants, stopping to speak to her! It was rather shocking. She had stopped to merely smile and nod a greeting at the rest of them. It was felt as a snub.

Mrs. Hamilton, the housekeeper, felt a distinct chill as she watched her future mistress. Mr. Mornay hired her less than a year ago to replace Mrs. Addison, who had passed away unexpectedly while visiting her sister in Brighton ten months prior. Mrs. Hamilton had never set eyes on Miss Forsythe prior to this day and indeed had been dreading doing so. A young mistress, to her mind, spelled trouble. Had not her own mother twice been dismissed by a new young mistress? Her mother, who had been an excellent housekeeper in her day, twice had lost her situation due to the capricious whims of spoilt young women. Miss Forsythe, she just knew in her bones, would be no different!

She would undoubtedly bring her own favourite servants, and if she, Mrs. Hamilton, did not get on with them, she'd be out on the street before the honeymoon ended. Ladies were loyal only to their own maids—it was a fact of life.

The hardest part of it was that Grosvenor Square had been Mrs. Hamilton's best station to date. And now she was convinced the fate which had twice befallen her mother, was about to occur to her. With a sudden strong fear, she thought of Margate in Draper's Hospital, that place that was called a refuge for “decayed housekeepers,” and shuddered to think she might soon be forced to join its ranks!

To begin with it had been nothing short of miraculous that Mr. Mornay had approved her for the position of housekeeper in his establishment. Women of her age were seldom hired. Most people preferred younger, middle-aged blood. Of course Mr. Mornay did not. He avoided youthful women in fact—until he met his betrothed, that is.

Further, he was a generous master. Though known for his temper, she had never known him to be cruel or excessively out of countenance with his staff. The servants were uniformly attached to him, proud of him, happy to work for him. Indeed, it was the situation of her dreams. Mrs. Hamilton had gloried in her good fortune as housekeeper of number 25 Grosvenor Square. She now realized that she would unlikely ever retain such a position of esteem again if she lost this one and that Miss Ariana Forsythe would be to blame. What could be done to prevent such a calamity? There had to be some answer. And she, Mrs. Hamilton, must find it.

Ariana, meanwhile, had motioned to the servant, indicating she wished
a private word with her. “Mrs. Hamilton, I hope you shall teach me what I must know to run this household successfully. I so want to please Mr. Mornay. Everything must be smooth as ever it was, for which I will very much rely upon your knowledge.” Ariana's words, though meant kindly, were not received in kind.

“Ma'am, I am at your service, but there is no need to concern yourself, I assure you. Mr. Frederick and I shall maintain the running of the house. You are too great a lady, ma'am, if I may say so, to condescend to our concerns.” She curtseyed as she spoke.

Ariana smiled. “I thank you, Mrs. Hamilton, but you must not spare me domestic concerns. It is my part to know these things and my intention, I assure you.”

Mrs. Hamilton curtseyed stiffly and murmured, “As you please, ma'am.”

But the colour that had popped up on her cheeks was not from pleasure. With a sinking heart, she was thinking,
And put myself out of a situation, that's what. So she's a sly one, is she? Her ‘part to know these things,' indeed!

She did not wish to think wrongly of Miss Forsythe—she was a pretty, sweetly countenanced girl—but her words were like the proverbial nail in the coffin. After this there could be no doubt. The young woman clearly sought to make Mrs. Hamilton dispensable. And why make her dispensable if she was not to be dispensed with? Miss Forsythe had made her intentions clear, and now it only remained to be seen what Mrs. Hamilton could do to prevent those intentions from being realized.