Mistress of Madderlea Page 9

  ‘Fustian!’ her ladyship said, bracingly. ‘It is all part of the game. You will see.’

  Game! Sophie grimaced. Was that how Lord Braybrooke saw it? Had he simply been amusing himself until his cousin arrived in the capital and put an end to the fun? If so, she had been right to discount him. But it hurt, it hurt so much she didn’t know how she was going to keep her composure for the rest of the evening.

  Chapter Five

  Mrs Whitworthy, who had not seen her new guests arrive, hurried forward to greet them, all a-twitter. ‘My lady,’ she said, ‘please forgive me, I did not see you there. And Miss Braybrooke, how charming you look.’ Emily, in a white muslin open gown over a pale pink underskirt, inclined her head at the compliment. Their hostess turned to Richard. ‘Lord Braybrooke, I had not expected you to honour our little gathering with your presence. You are welcome.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ He bowed towards her, immaculate in an evening coat of mulberry velvet and dark pantaloons, his cravat a masterpiece of his valet’s art.

  ‘I believe you are acquainted with most of the company,’ Mrs Whitworthy went on, almost dragging her ladyship round the room, to meet her guests one by one. Stopping opposite Charlotte, she said, ‘But I do not think you know Miss Roswell. Allow me to present her.’

  Lady Braybrooke, in mauve half-mourning for a husband lost over three years before, lifted her lorgnette and subjected Charlotte to a thorough inspection. ‘Earl of Peterborough’s niece, I believe. Inherited the lot when his lordship stuck his spoon in the wall. Not that it isn’t a millstone round your neck, for I am persuaded it is in a parlous state of repair and needing a man’s hand.’

  Charlotte, taken aback by her ladyship’s outspokenness, curtsied but could find nothing to say. Richard gave her a wry smile of sympathy as they passed on to Sophie, who was bubbling with indignation. ‘This is Miss Roswell’s cousin, my lady, Miss Hundon.’

  The quizzing glass went up again and Sophie, unlike her cousin, returned the gaze unwaveringly, looking from a mauve satin turban topped with a tall black feather, down over a thin face and thin lips to a rakelike figure which was held very upright. It was meant to intimidate, but she would not be intimidated, especially as Richard was standing just behind his aunt, smiling enigmatically. Was he laughing at her or with her? She could not tell. Her chin went up. ‘How do you do, Lady Braybrooke.’

  Her ladyship’s answer was almost a snort. Toplofty in the extreme, Sophie decided, watching her move away, followed by her daughter, a tall dark-haired girl who had not yet rid herself of her puppy fat. She had her hand on Richard’s sleeve in an un-equivocal gesture of possession. So Lady Fitz had been right and that was where the wind lay!

  ‘This is Lady Fitzpatrick, Miss Roswell’s sponsor.’

  ‘Oh, we have known each other since we were girls,’ Lady Braybrooke said. ‘How do you do, Harriet?’

  ‘I am well, thank you, Philippa. What brings you to town?’

  ‘Family affairs, my dear. Must keep the young people up to the mark, must we not?’

  ‘Indeed, we must.’

  ‘I did not realise you were acquainted with the Earl of Peterborough.’

  ‘I was not. Mrs Hundon is a distant cousin and Hundon is Miss Roswell’s trustee. I am acting in loco parentis for both girls.’

  ‘Oh, so that is the connection.’

  Sophie was beginning to worry that somehow other truths might be revealed and the last thing she wanted was for anyone to begin digging deeper. The deception was hard enough to maintain as it was.

  Lady Fitzpatrick, equally reluctant to be quizzed, came to her rescue. ‘I was about to suggest charades, my lady,’ she said, then, turning to Mrs Whitworthy, ‘What do you think, Annabel?’

  ‘Capital idea!’ their hostess exclaimed. ‘Perhaps Miss Braybrooke and his lordship would care to take part.’ And without giving the new arrivals time to respond, she added ‘I shall select teams of four.’

  This took some organising because the good lady was mindful of the main reason for the gathering, to bring hitherto single young men and ladies together and she had already mentally paired everyone off, except Sophie and Charlotte.

  Sophie found herself in the same team as Richard and Emily, probably because it was deemed more prudent, in view of Emily’s arrival, to keep Richard away from the heiress of Madderlea than from the poor cousin, a situation Sophie might have found amusing, if she had not been worried about the fact that the viscount was standing next to her, his head bent towards her as the group decided on the adage they were going to enact.

  He was stirring her insides up in such a froth she could hardly breathe. If his close proximity did this to her, whatever would happen if he touched her? But, remembering that kiss, she knew the answer to that. She would melt, just as if she hadn’t a bone in her body and everyone present would see and guess what was the matter with her. She would be a subject for derision; the poor relation who had the temerity to wear the willow for the Season’s biggest catch. The fact that she wasn’t the poor relation was neither here nor there. Whatever happened, she must remain cool.

  They chose ‘a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush’ at Richard’s suggestion. Three chairs were set side by side and a large potted plant placed behind them to represent the bush. Sophie and Emily and one of the young men sat side by side pretending to preen themselves and flutter their wings, oblivious of Richard stalking them. He reached out suddenly and grabbed Sophie by the hand, pulling her to her feet, while the two remaining birds twittered nervously.

  They had expected the company to guess the answer at this point, but when they did not Richard cupped Sophie’s hand in his, stroking the back of it, as if stroking a nervous bird. She was meant to cheep like a bird, but the sound she made was more a strangled cry of distress. The gentle pressure of his fingers was playing havoc with her resolve. She was shaking and prayed that everyone would assume it was part of the play-acting because she could not stop it. Was he also play-acting when he looked down into her eyes with such gentle concern for the bird he had trapped?

  He released her at last and made an effort to catch the two in the bush, but his efforts ended in failure. He spread empty hands to the company and shrugged his shoulders in defeat, as they began murmuring among themselves.

  ‘Have you not guessed it yet?’ he enquired, forcing himself to sound normal, though Sophie’s little hand trapped in his had had the most disturbing affect. ‘Must we do it all again?’

  Sophie didn’t want a repeat performance, especially as Emily was looking at her with venom in her dark eyes as if it were her fault Richard had chosen to ‘capture’ her. ‘Oh, Charlotte, you surely know,’ she said. ‘It is a very common truism.’

  ‘They were birds, were they not?’ one of the young ladies said. ‘And one of them was trapped in Lord Braybrooke’s hand.’

  Charlotte laughed and clapped her hands. ‘Oh, I know what it is. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.’

  The players bowed and took their place in the audience while the next team, which included Charlotte, began their charade, but Sophie could not concentrate—she was too aware that Richard had chosen to sit beside her, even though he seemed to be concentrating on the players. She hid her hands in the folds of her gown so that he would not see that they were still shaking, and tilted her chin up.

  ‘I enjoyed your little song, Miss Hundon,’ he whispered, proving that he was paying no more attention than she was.

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  ‘You learned the French accent very well.’

  ‘You understood it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I understood most of it. The point is, did you? Or did you simply learn it by rote?’

  She could not admit that her French was perfect or that she knew the song to be a little risqué. She smiled. ‘I learned it by rote, my lord. I have a good ear.’

  ‘Indeed you have and a very pretty one,’ he said, looking at that organ. He leaned towards it to whisper. ‘Mis
s Hundon, I must speak to you. It is important.’

  He had a guilty conscious, she told herself, and all he wanted to do was to excuse himself and explain about his attachment to his cousin and how he had been amusing himself with the young ladies of the ton until her arrival. Sophie did not want to hear it. Besides, it was Charlotte who deserved an explanation, not her. ‘Shush, my lord,’ she whispered. ‘You are disturbing the others.’

  He sighed and turned his attention back to the charades. It was not the right time to unburden himself to her, he must wait for a more appropriate moment. But no such moment presented itself that evening.

  Charlotte’s team managed to portray ‘too many cooks spoil the broth’ and this was followed by ‘pride goes before a fall’ and then the party broke up. As everyone was saying their goodbyes and arranging to meet at other social occasions, Sophie heard their hostess invite Lord Braybrooke and Miss Braybrooke to a ball and the young lady’s enthusiastic acceptance.

  She watched his lordship closely. He gave no indication that the arrangement was not acceptable to him. Indeed, he seemed to have lost his light-hearted air of dalliance and though he smiled, it was a smile of serious intent, as if his wings had truly been clipped. And by Miss Braybrooke! Sophie was more sure than ever that was what he had wanted to speak to her about.

  She turned away to fetch her pelisse and bonnet, feeling as though her heart were breaking. All her play-acting, her masquerade as her cousin, had been to no purpose. She could not have the man she loved; though there were others eager to become master of Madderlea and her fortune, they thought Charlotte was the heiress, not she. Not that she wanted to marry any of them, so that did not signify.

  She could return to Upper Corbury unattached but that would certainly displease her uncle who had been so good to her, giving her a home and looking after Madderlea, but he could not be expected to continue to do so now that she had recovered her health and was of marriageable age. Madderlea was a burden he should not have to bear, especially when he would rather be spending more time with his invalid wife.

  Oh, what a coil she had got herself into! And she had embroiled Charlotte. She had not been fair to Charlotte. She was thankful that her cousin had not fallen in love with any of the young bloods she had met, that her mind was as firmly fixed as ever on marrying Frederick Harfield.

  The cure for her ills, she decided, during a sleepless night, was to immerse herself in the problems of others and perhaps, in trying to solve those, a solution to her own would present itself to her.

  The keys to the house in Maiden Lane had been handed to Mrs Stebbings the day before and she and her helpers were going to start preparing it for its new role. It was not enough to provide the money, Sophie decided, she must become actively involved.

  ‘I would like to go shopping,’ she told Lady Fitzpatrick and Charlotte after breakfast the following morning. ‘There is a law book Papa was interested in and I thought I would buy it for him. It is quite a rare book and I might have to visit several shops, so do you mind if I take your coach, my lady?’

  Charlotte gave her such a look of blank astonishment that Sophie was glad her ladyship was concentrating on her correspondence and did not notice. ‘A book for Papa?’ she queried.

  ‘Yes,’ Sophie said firmly. ‘I remember him saying he needed it.’

  ‘Why should she not buy her father a book?’ Lady Fitzpatrick put in, proving that her loss of hearing was inconsistent. ‘I am sure it is a very daughterly thing to do.’

  ‘And I collect you and Charlotte are taking the carriage out this morning,’ Sophie went on. ‘So may I borrow the coach? Luke will drive me, I am sure.’

  ‘Very well,’ her ladyship agreed. ‘But do take care, won’t you?’

  Sophie went to fetch her cloak and then made her way to the kitchen where she made sure the servants were busy elsewhere before delving in the store cupboards for brooms, scrubbing brushes, dusters and soap. Putting the smaller things into a bucket and carrying the two brooms, she hurried out to the mews and instructed Luke to put the horses to the old coach.

  If he was surprised at the strange collection of implements Miss Sophie was carrying he did not express it, nor did he question why she was taking the coach which, in his opinion, was fit only for the dustheap; he was becoming immune to the young lady’s little peccadilloes. Ten minutes later they were trotting down the road on their way to Maiden Lane.

  Because there was bound to be many more men than they had places for at the refuge, they had decided to limit a stay to one night. The men would be given a bed, a bath and a healthy breakfast before going on their way. Feeling clean and refreshed, they might find it easier to obtain work.

  Sophie also intended to try and set up an agency to find employment for them, but that would mean talking to prospective employers and she was not sure if she were the right person to do that. They needed a man to help them, a man of some substance, who would understand what was needed and, more importantly, had a persuasive manner.

  The only man who came to mind was Richard Braybrooke, but he came to her mind whatever she was doing, sleeping or waking, so that did not signify anything except that she was not making a very good hand at forgetting him. Asking for his help would only make her shattered emotions worse. And he would very likely refuse on the grounds that what she was doing would not make a scrap of difference.

  As soon as she arrived at the house she rolled up her sleeves, donned an apron and worked with a will, sweeping and scrubbing alongside Mrs Stebbings and two other women, while Luke helped some of the soldiers, recruited for the purpose, to assemble beds, put up shelves, fill palliasse covers with straw, chop firewood, put bolts on the doors and generally do everything the women could not. By the middle of the afternoon, the house was beginning to look habitable, if not exactly homely.

  Sophie was exhausted, but it was a contented kind of exhaustion. Chatting to the women and the soldiers about their lives while they worked had put her own privileged existence into perspective. She was fortunate she had her health and a roof over her head and was in no danger of starvation and for that she must give thanks.

  She was about to suggest they finish for the day and go home, when she heard a crash coming from the adjoining room where Luke was putting up a curtain rail. She dropped the broom she was using and ran into the room to find Luke sitting on the floor, tangled in the steps he had been using, and broken glass everywhere.

  ‘Luke, are you hurt? Oh, my goodness, you are bleeding.’ He was holding one hand in the other and blood was pouring down his arm. ‘It’s nothing, Miss Sophie. The steps gave way an’ I put out my hand to save m’self.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘Straight through the window.’

  ‘We must bandage it up.’ She looked round as Mrs Stebbings came in from upstairs where she had been making up beds. The good lady took in the situation at a glance and told one of the men to fetch her basket and a bowl of water. The men had been to the pump several times during the day and there were some buckets of clean water still in the kitchen.

  ‘I always carry ointment and bandages,’ she said. ‘It’s being a soldier’s wife, I suppose. When we were out in Spain—’ She stopped speaking as the water and basket were brought to her and she set about washing the wound, which was quite deep, and picking out tiny shards of glass, which made Luke bite his lip in pain. ‘I preferred to treat my husband’s minor wounds myself, rather than let him go to the army sawbones. If I’d been with him at the end instead of coming home ahead of him, he might have survived.’

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Sophie murmured, squatting down to support Luke’s hand.

  ‘Curtains!’ one of the men said, watching her. ‘I said we didn’t need curtains. Now, we’ve got a wounded man and a window broke. This ain’t Carlton House, nor yet Grillon’s Hotel. And it ain’t a bit of use pretending it is.’

  Sophie was too worried about Luke to argue with the man. It had been her idea to have curtains and rugs on the floor to make it more homely, less
like the workhouse which was what the men dreaded most of all.

  ‘Dawkins, you are the most downpin man I ever did meet,’ Mrs Stebbings said. ‘If Mrs Carter is so good as to provide curtains, then why brangle about it? She did not know the steps would collapse, did she? It was an accident.’ She finished bandaging Luke’s hand. ‘There, it’s the best I can do, but perhaps you should see a physician.’

  ‘No, no, I’ll mend,’ Luke said, trying to move his fingers and grimacing when he discovered it hurt him. ‘They be a bit stiff. I’ll be right as ninepence tomorrow.’

  ‘Then we’d better get you home,’ Sophie said, reaching down to help him to his feet.

  Aghast that she should do such a thing, he scrambled up on his own.

  ‘You’ll never manage the horses with one hand,’ Dawkins said. ‘Shall I drive you?’

  Sophie looked at Luke, as the realisation dawned that he could not drive and she could not allow anyone else to see where they lived. Her identity was secret and she wanted it to stay that way. Luke caught her eye and gave her an imperceptible nod of understanding. ‘I can drive,’ he said. ‘’Tain’t nothin’ but a scratch.’

  Sophie smiled at the sergeant. For no reason that she could explain, he made her nervous. It may have been the scar on one side of his face which gave him a permanent leer, or it may have been that he was constantly finding fault, even when people were trying to help him. To give him his due he had worked hard during the day and his offer was a kind one—she ought not to be ungrateful. ‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ she said, allowing him the courtesy of his rank, though he had long since been discharged. ‘But if Luke is incapacitated, I can drive myself.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Mrs Stebbings asked.

  ‘Yes, I often drive, don’t I, Luke?’

  He could hardly call the young lady a liar and so he muttered that, yes, Mrs Carter was used to amuse herself by taking the ribbons occasionally.