Wicked Godmother (16 page)

He smiled at Harriet suddenly – a warm, tender, and seductive smile. She felt the hot colour rising in her cheeks and wished he were not quite so attractive.

‘Well, Miss Metcalf,’ he said, after the topic of the weather had been thoroughly exhausted, ‘you know why I am come.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Harriet calmly. He looked at her a little surprised. He would have considered it more in character if Harriet had looked a little flustered or nervous. But the wide blue eyes that met his with such open candour betrayed no nervousness or embarrassment whatsoever.

‘And you accept?’

‘I can hardly accept for someone else.’ Harriet smiled. ‘But, yes, you have my permission, and you will find Sarah delighted to see you.’ Harriet rose.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked, his voice sharp.

‘Why, to fetch Miss Sarah.’

‘Do you need that chit’s approval? You are the chaperone and not Sarah.’

‘But I am not a tyrant. I do not tell my charges whom they must marry!’

‘Sit down,’ barked the marquess.

Harriet sat down again, her blue eyes filled with wonder.

‘We appear to be talking at cross purposes. I shall make matters plain and simple. I wish to marry
you
, Miss Metcalf.’

‘Oh, no!’ shrieked Harriet. ‘Not you as well!’

‘Explain yourself.’

‘I thought Lord Vere had come to propose to Annabelle, but he proposed to me instead, And now you! I thought you wanted to marry Sarah.’

‘Why should I want to marry some chit barely out of the schoolroom?’

‘She has a dowry,’ wailed Harriet.

‘Money appears to control all your thoughts and motives. I do not want to marry Sarah Hayner. I want to marry you.’

‘I don’t want to marry you,’ said the much-goaded Harriet.

‘Why not?’

‘I do not love you. You . . . you frighten me.’

‘I thought love did not enter into your calculations, my mercenary widgeon. I am rich—’

‘I do not want money.’

‘I am a marquess.’

‘I do not want a title.’

‘Then, in heaven’s name, what do you want?’

‘I had not thought of marriage for myself,’ said Harriet. ‘Oh, but I should want someone to love me and cherish me and be faithful to me.’

That was surely the marquess’s cue to go down on one knee and swear undying love and devotion, but pride kept him where he was; pride made him say in a flat voice, ‘Then you ask the impossible. I once had all that to give and gave it to that heartless strumpet I made my first bride.’

‘I did not think you had ever been married,’ whispered Harriet.

‘I am thirty-two.’

‘But with such a reputation for philandering—’ began Harriet.

‘Enough,’ he said. ‘I had forgot that tongue of yours. I must be out of my wits to have ever contemplated allying my name to a vulgar, countrified wench such as yourself.’

‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Harriet wholeheartedly. ‘So now you know I am not worthy of you, we may be comfortable again.’

‘Comfortable!’ He seized his locks and gave them a massive pull. ‘Madam, pretend we have never met.’

Once more, Number 67 saw the hurried departure of a rejected lord. Once more, Annabelle and Sarah scurried upstairs to nurse their rage and burning cheeks.

‘You see!’ cried Annabelle. ‘
You see!
’

‘I see,’ said Sarah. ‘Oh, here she comes. Tell her I have lain down with the headache and shall see her later.’

Sarah gloomily listened to the whisperings at the bedroom door until Annabelle came back.

‘And he
did
propose to her,’ said Sarah in a flat voice.

Annabelle nodded.

‘She has done it again,’ said Sarah. ‘Anyone who might love us is ruthlessly snatched from us, and she stands there with her eyes full of tears, looking as if butter would not melt in her mouth, and says she had nothing to do with it. Isn’t that the way of it?’

‘She was sore distressed – or appeared so,’ said Annabelle. ‘But she did not accept him either.’

Sarah rang the bell and when Emily appeared she said, ‘Fetch us champagne.’

‘I may wish you well, my ladies?’ asked Emily.

‘No, you may not wish us well,’ said Sarah. ‘We are in need of a restorative. Our dear godmother received proposals from our beaux all right, but they proposed to
her
.’

‘I told you, ma’am,’ said Emily hotly. ‘She is not to be trusted.

‘Get along with you,’ said Sarah wearily. When Emily had left, Sarah muttered, ‘I would like to kill Harriet.’

‘Why don’t we get Emily to spread some gossip after all?’ said Annabelle. ‘All we need to do is tell the truth. She did set out to steal Papa’s affections away. She
did!
’

‘Did she?’ said Sarah. ‘Do you know, Sis, perhaps what makes Harriet such a formidable rival is that she never does mean any wrong. She did not do anything with Huntingdon and Vere other than run around trying to push them into our arms.’

‘But you said—’

‘I said, I said,’ cried Sarah. ‘Do not let us discuss the matter further until we have had that champagne.’

* * *

After Emily had left the servants’ hall that night, the others sat in a stunned silence and discussed what the lady’s maid had just told them about Miss Metcalf. ‘Emily was sore distressed, but I cannot credit it,’ said Mrs Middleton. ‘That sweet Miss Metcalf should have been the mistress of Sir Benjamin Hayner, that she should be salting away the girls’ fortune to feather her own nest!’

‘Emily was certainly convincing,’ said Rainbird gloomily. ‘She practically choked it out in bits and pieces, and we had to drag most of it out of her.’

‘Them fair ones are always the most sly,’ said Joseph, who obscurely blamed Miss Metcalf for Lizzie’s new coldness.

‘I think that’s awful rude of you, Joseph,’ said Alice, ‘seeing as how I’m fair meself.’

‘I hate Emily,’ burst out Lizzie, startling them all. ‘I’ve hated and distrusted her from the minute she arrived. She’s the one what’s sly. And if Miss Metcalf is such a low, selfish, and cunning woman, why then does she bother about a scullery maid’s health or trouble to teach her her letters?’

‘That’s right,’ said Rainbird, ‘and I’ll tell you something more. Seems to me as if Lord Vere and Lord Huntingdon was calling on Miss Metcalf, not on the Hayner girls and what’s more got sent off. Now . . . let me think, Joseph, and I can’t if you keep on strumming that mandolin . . . What if the misses became jealous and told Emily to . . . ? Oh, it’s nonsense. They would never do a thing like that.’

‘But we know her, we’ve spent a whole day with her,’ said Lizzie passionately. ‘Are we going to believe the evidence of our own minds and eyes and ears, or are we going to listen to that Emily?’

‘The lassie’s got the right o’ it,’ said Angus MacGregor. ‘See here, it’s no’ Miss Metcalf that’s done any wrong, and it’s no’ the Hayner girls, it’s probably just that Emily is wanderin’ in her head. We’ll just be kind tae her an’ no let on we dinnae believe her.’

‘And no repeating any of this to Luke or talking to the others at The Running Footman,’ said Rainbird sternly. ‘Emily’s probably had one of these queer turns that take women sometimes. She’ll be all right tomorrow.’

Perhaps if Emily’s gossip had found root in the servants’ hall and had spread throughout the
ton
, Sarah and Annabelle might have been comforted by Harriet’s humiliation. But as Harriet’s popularity appeared to increase rather than decrease, so did their jealousy increase, and they disliked Harriet more than ever.

They dissembled well. Outside, they appeared much the same – giggling and laughing and flirting at balls and parties.

Sarah’s anger was further fueled by two pieces of gossip. The Marquess of Huntingdon had gone back to his estates in the country and showed no signs of returning. Lord Vere had indicated in a drunken farewell to his friends that his heart was broken and had left to re-enlist in the army.

But lying in bed at night, Sarah often worried and wondered why Huntingdon could have preferred Harriet to herself. She was more modish than her godmother and certainly more beautiful.

But although the twins’ vanity regarding their personal appearance was intact, they were still beginning to feel defeated. Each longed for a sphere where they could shine without the dampening presence of Harriet Metcalf.

When the Hymalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,

He shouts to scare the monster who will often turn aside,

But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

KIPLING

Miss Spencer was a great comfort to Harriet. She was often on hand to cheer her up and banish any guilt Harriet might feel because the two lords had proposed to her and not her god-daughters.

But as the marquess was still noticeably absent from ball or rout or opera or even from the opening dance of the Season at Almack’s Assembly Rooms, Harriet’s spirits began to droop again. She could not confide the reason to Josephine, for she was not very sure of the reason herself. It was only that Lord Huntingdon seemed like a sickness in her blood. She saw a tall man with chestnut hair at a ball, and her heart began to hammer against her ribs, but he turned round and revealed a raddled, aged, painted face.

But Miss Spencer, confident that all was well with Harriet and that her charges were behaving nicely, took herself off to the country for a few days, promising to make sure Harriet’s cottage was aired.

After the opening at Almack’s, Harriet’s spirits sank even lower. She had a nagging pain at her temples and when, two days later, Annabelle and Sarah requested the carriage to make calls, she begged them to go alone and take Joseph to guard them.

It had been a blustery and chilly day. Harriet, lighting the candles in the back parlour, became aware of the time. It was getting on for seven o’clock, and the girls had not returned.

Then she heard the rumble of a carriage outside and ran through to the front parlour and looked out of the window. Her sigh of relief was cut short, for although Annabelle and Sarah descended, they looked up and saw her at the window and the unguarded look of dislike on both faces before they resumed their social masks made Harriet feel near to tears.

She did not go out to meet them. She could only be relieved when they went straight upstairs, calling for Emily. Harriet sat down wearily. The Season was turning out a disaster. She bitterly blamed Sir Benjamin. Now, looking back, she had to confess that he had been over-affectionate towards her compared to the cool way he treated his own daughters.

Joseph, who had been out with the twins, entered and handed her a note. ‘Someone must have pushed it through the letter box,’ he said. ‘It was lying on the hall floor as I came in.’

‘Thank you, Joseph,’ said Harriet. ‘It is no doubt some last-minute invitation.’ She carried the letter through to the back parlour and sat down to read it.

At first she could not believe her eyes. It was written in pencil in block letters.

‘Miss Metcalf,’ she read, ‘if you do not want the Hayner ladies’ reputation to be ruined, I suggest you see me this evening. I shall show you Proof that they are not the Legitimate Daughters of Sir Benjamin. Unless you wish me to broadcast this Proof, bring jewels with you and come to 10 Carrier Street, St Giles. Do not tell anyone. I watch you and will know if you have.’ It was unsigned.

Harriet looked about her frantically. Her one thought was to get to the address. If the note turned out to be a farrago of lies, then she would be able to return and go to sleep. If it were true, then she must save the girls at all costs. For the first time, Harriet really began to wonder if she herself had unwittingly done Sarah and Annabelle a great deal of harm. The proposals she had received from Huntingdon and Lord Vere worried her conscience. Then she remembered she had heard that Sir Benjamin’s wife had been vicious and flighty. All at once, it seemed to explain his preference for her company rather than that of his daughters. If they were not his own daughters, but he had honourably given them his name, it would explain everything. Harriet became terribly sure that the writer of the anonymous letter spoke nothing but the truth. She rang the bell.