Anne took this as a promise, but unfortunately, calm did not return for some time. Separating an enraged Augustus from the thoroughly embittered kitchen cat, even in that low-ceilinged room, proved a lengthy task. And by the time it was done, Charles had to go out. “I’m sorry,” he apologized when he left her. “I have been promised to Alvanley for this afternoon these two weeks.”
“It doesn’t matter,” replied Anne, and she spoke no more than the truth. She neither felt nor wanted to feel any hurry over this matter.
“We will meet at dinner, then,” he added tenderly.
“Yes.”
He took her hand and kissed it briefly before striding out.
Anne went to the window to watch him ride away, a meditative smile on her lips. But once he was out of sight, a plan that had been forming in her mind since their earlier talk surfaced once more. The single weakness in their proposed course of action could, she thought, be removed if she could convince a certain person to help them. The chances of success were small, but she was determined to try; she wanted to contribute something of her own to the conspiracy.
Accordingly, she went up to her room and fetched a bonnet and light pelisse. She avoided Crane, who would certainly be scandalized if she discovered that Anne meant to go out alone. Mariah was again shut up in her garden, and the front hall was empty when she slipped down. No one saw her leave the house and hail a hackney cab on the corner.
She directed the driver to an address on King Street and sat back to compose her thoughts and decide what to say. All of her persuasive powers would be called upon in the next hour or so, and she wanted to put her case as well as possible. The approach would be very delicate.
After what seemed to her a very short time, the cab pulled up. She paid her fare and stepped down onto the pavement before the Branwell town house. For a long moment Anne gazed up at the facade. She knew that Lydia was out; Laurence had mentioned that he was driving her to Richmond Park this afternoon. And she felt tolerably certain that the bishop did not sit with his wife during the day. Callers were equally unlikely, in view of the lady’s shyness. She expected to find Mrs. Branwell alone.
Anne stepped up to the front door and plied the knocker briskly. It was opened by the butler, and she asked for Mrs. Branwell. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Branwell is not at home,” was the reply. But the tone the man used told Anne that her quarry was in, though not receiving visitors.
“This is very important,” she said. “I will just run up and speak to her. You needn’t announce me.” And before the butler could do more than gape at her in astonishment, she slipped past him and ran lightly up the stairs to the first floor.
She looked quickly into the drawing room. It was empty. Hearing the servant’s heavy tread ascending the staircase, she swiftly tried two doors farther along the corridor; both opened to reveal empty parlors, and she hurried on. She must find Mrs. Branwell soon if she wished to avoid an unpleasant dispute. She heard the butler call, “Miss! Excuse me, miss, but you cannot…”
She thrust open a third door, and found the lady—cozily settled in an armchair before a crackling fire, with a pot of tea, a plate of biscuits, and a novel open before her. It was an attractive picture, and Anne could not help smiling slightly; it was so clear that Mrs. Branwell was reveling in a solitary retreat from her formidable family.
When the older woman saw Anne, her mouth fell open in astonishment and chagrin, and an almost laughable disappointment showed in her face. She looked like a little girl deprived of a promised treat. Anne felt sorry for her, but her errand was too important for more than a hurried apology as she shut the door in the face of the scandalized butler. “Pardon me for disturbing you, Mrs. Branwell,” she said, “but I must speak to you about something.” She sank into the armchair opposite her hostess.
Regret turned to alarm and bewilderment in Mrs. Branwell’s features.
“You will think it odd of me to have come,” acknowledged Anne. “We are not very well acquainted, but we are connections of a kind, through your daughter and Laurence Debenham.”
The mention of Lydia made Mrs. Branwell shrink back slightly. “Lydia is out,” she murmured so softly that Anne scarcely heard it.
The girl surveyed her. What could have made this woman so timid and frightened? Had she always been so? And was it a mistake to think that she could help them? She had expected a difficult conversation. It would be very hard to explain Lydia’s conduct to her mother without offending, and even more so to enlist the aid of this painfully retiring creature. But she was determined to try. She leaned forward. “Tell me, Mrs. Branwell, are you pleased with your daughter’s engagement? Do you think they will be happy?”
Her companion looked more alarmed.
“You needn’t mind about Laurence; you may say what you like to me. Do you truly think they will suit?”
“Wh-why not?” stammered the other.
“Well, to my mind, their temperaments are antagonistic. It seems to me that your daughter has strong opinions and does not enjoy having them contradicted. And she prefers to make most of the decisions. Now, Laurence is very kind and considerate, but he will expect to rule his own household. I fear they may not agree on that, and you know, the happiness of each party is essential to a successful marriage.”
Mrs. Branwell stared at her like a bird fascinated by a snake.
“I honestly believe that both of them might be better off with different sorts of partners. Your daughter, for example, seems to have many more common interests with a man like Mr. Hargreaves. Do you like him?”
A spark showed briefly in Mrs. Branwell’s eyes. Anne could not tell what emotion it signified, but she felt she was making an impression. Her listener no longer looked quite so timorous and downtrodden.
“Something that happened recently made me see all this more clearly,” continued the girl, choosing her words with great care. “I believe your daughter misunderstood Laurence’s politeness to a friend of mine, and as a consequence she passed on a false story about her, which is doing a great deal of harm.” She paused, watching Mrs. Branwell. This was the best possible construction she could put on Lydia’s behavior.
The older woman straightened in her chair. Her thin lips turned down. “Did Lydia start those rumors about Miss Arabella Castleton?” she asked in a voice Anne had never heard her use before.
Anne colored; she did not know exactly how to answer this. She could not lie, but she did not want to antagonize Lydia’s mother. “Well…er…I’m not certain she…”
“She did!” The woman’s nervous expression faded entirely. “I knew she was using them. That was bad enough, but if she deliberately spread a lie!” Mrs. Branwell stood and faced the fire, seeming to struggle with herself. “If she did that, then I can be silent no longer,” she finished. And she sighed so heartrendingly that Anne held out a comforting hand. Mrs. Branwell did not take it. Turning to face her, she continued, “You are absolutely certain of what you say? I do not like to believe this of my own daughter.”
Slowly Anne nodded. “I overheard her. And I know the story is false!”
Her hostess scanned her face in silence for a long moment, then nodded and sank into her chair again. “I did not think it had gone so far with her. I tried in the beginning, you know. I set out to be a good mother. But Lydia was always headstrong, and so attached to her father, who is…a man of strong opinions. And then, when there were no more children…” She trailed off, but Anne built a vivid picture from these few phrases, and felt sorrier for the other woman than ever.
A silence stretched between them. Mrs. Branwell seemed lost in thought, and Anne was overcome by her suddenly broadened vision of the world. She had not quite realized what life could be like in a loveless marriage.
“Why did you come here?” asked Mrs. Branwell finally. “I suppose you want something from me.”
“No! You have borne enough.”
The other looked surprised, then smiled thinly. “Very kind. But I wonder if you will feel the same when you have returned home without whatever you came for?”
Seeing Anne’s horrified expression, her smile widened. “Come, my dear, I am very ready to make what amends I can for Lydia’s behavior. You needn’t look so stricken. None of this is your fault, I suppose.”
“I…I mean to break up the match,” stammered Anne. “And I came to ask you to help me.”
Some of her former timidity seemed to return as Mrs. Branwell contemplated this idea. She looked distinctly alarmed, but resolved. “H-how do you hope to accomplish this? And what part am I to play?”
“You would only have to see that Lydia comes to a particular room at a set time,” replied Anne eagerly. “You would not have to stay, or to…to do anything else. Oh, except make it seem that Laurence is behind it.”
The other woman eyed her. “You must tell me a little more than that. We are talking of my daughter, after all.”
Nodding, Anne explained their plan in some detail.
“I see.” She thought it all over. “Very well, I will do what you ask.”
Anne held out her hands. “Thank you!”
Mrs. Branwell merely looked at her. “That is all I will do, mind. And I agree only because Lydia has acted very badly and deserves a lesson.” She sighed. “I daresay she would rather marry Mr. Hargreaves in any case; she seems to like him. Now, if there is nothing else, I wish you would go.”
This was spoken in such a tired, hopeless voice that Anne could not be offended. She rose at once. “Of course. I will write to you when we have made our final plans. Thank you, Mrs. Branwell. I think you are doing the right thing.”
Her companion smiled slightly again. “Indeed? How could you not?”
As she walked down the stairs to the door, Anne felt very subdued, and she was too preoccupied even to notice the butler’s freezing courtesy as he bowed her out. Poor Mrs. Branwell; how did she bear it? Then Anne remembered the fire, the tea, the novel—perhaps she knew.
She reached home in the late afternoon and had just taken off her bonnet and come back down to the drawing room when Laurence came in. He looked angry. “Anne, I want to speak to you!”
She raised her eyebrows. “Here I am.”
“Something must be done about this ridiculous gossip!”
“I have told you that—”
“Yes, but it is worse than I realized. Lydia was telling me—”
“She mentioned it to you?”
Anne’s tone was so outraged that Laurence frowned at her. “Yes, it has reached her as well. She was very shocked and didn’t seem to credit it when I told her it was, of course, a total fabrication.”
“Did she not?” The girl laughed scornfully.
“No, Anne, she did not. And many others, who do not know Miss Castleton as you do, will feel the same. We must do something!”
Nearly speechless with rage at Lydia Branwell’s new offense, Anne replied, “We? What do you propose to do, Laurence?”
“What is the matter with you? I thought you would be as upset as I over the way this story is spreading.”
“But I am. And I asked you what you mean to do.” The words came out harshly. But Anne was too angry to care that she was blaming Laurence for his fiancée’s fault and expecting him to behave as if he knew the truth when he did not.
“I shall tell everyone I know that it is a lie,” he retorted. “But that will not be enough. Rumors are pernicious; they stick even in the absence of evidence. We must try some more dramatic measure soon. This could make Miss Castleton bitterly unhappy!”
“It already has,” responded Anne.
“She does not know!”
“Yes, indeed. Some kind soul told her.”
Laurence struck the palm of his hand with his fist. “Monstrous! I must go at once and tell her…”
“Tell her what?” asked the girl sweetly when he paused.
He seemed to struggle with himself, every limb vibrating with tension. “No,” he added finally. “But you will tell her, please, when you see her next, that I do not believe a word of it. I find it inconceivable.”
“I’m sure that will make her feel a great deal better,” answered Anne sarcastically.
“What is the matter with you?” said Laurence again. “You are acting as if this were my fault somehow.”
Realizing that he was right, she tried to regain her composure. When she thought of Lydia Branwell’s poisonous tongue, she nearly screamed with vexation, but it was, after all, none of Laurence’s doing. “I’m sorry. I am upset. It has been very hard to see Bella treated so.”
“I should say so!”
“And we have worked out a plan, so you needn’t worry.”
“What is it?”
This time Anne cursed her own tongue; she couldn’t tell Laurence without spoiling everything. “Really, Laurence, you needn’t be concerned.” Suddenly inspired, she added, “Indeed, I don’t think you should be, considering.” She gave him a meaningful look.
He colored a little. “What do you mean?”
“You are very taken with Bella, are you not? But of course, you are an engaged man.”
His flush deepened. He seemed to search for a reply. Finally he said, “I am,” in a strangled voice.
“Well, then, you’d best leave it to others to defend her.” Anne shrugged. She did not wish to be unkind to Laurence, but she must divert him from the subject of their plan.
“You promise that something will be done?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And if I can help in any way, even the smallest, you will tell me.”
“Of course.”
“Very well,” he replied curtly, and he turned and walked out of the room without another word.
When he was gone, Anne’s first thought was to find Charles and tell him of recent developments. But he had not yet returned home, and as it was nearly time to change for dinner in any case, she went up to her room and curled up in the window seat, looking out over the rooftops and chimney pots of London and thinking over the dramatic events of the past few days.
She was still angry whenever she thought of Lydia Branwell. That girl was utterly unscrupulous, and she obviously cared for no one in the world but herself. Anne could hardly wait to see her forced to retract her lies about Bella. And poor Bella! How low she must be feeling, and how helpless. That would perhaps be the worst, to know about the rumors and not to be able to do anything.
Anne clenched her fists in frustration, then told herself that something was being done. She and Charles were doing something. And it was all settled now; everything was ready. As she insisted upon this, she seemed to realize it fully for the first time. Their plan was made, except for the final details; she had seen to the last element today. All was ready, and in a short time, Bella would be cleared.
With a sigh, Anne relaxed, leaning back against the side of the window. She had been so worried about her friend for what seemed such a long time that she had not been able to consider anything else. But now that she knew what action would be taken, she could think of other things, and the first that occurred to her, quite naturally, was Charles.
When she remembered how she had viewed him just months ago, she was amazed. She had come home from school intent on making him miserable, and getting revenge, certain that he was the most odious man alive. But the more she saw of him, the less she believed that. Either he had changed radically during the years she was away or she had been mistaken from the first.
Anne frowned. Perhaps neither was precisely true, for Charles had seemed to have two personalities when she first came home—one for his family and another for his close friends. She still did not understand how he had become that way. However, he had abandoned his “family” manner almost completely as time passed, until she had nearly forgotten it.
Anne smiled to herself and drew a finger lightly across her lips. She now had some notion of why that change had come. Who could ever have predicted that Charles would fall in love with her? Or she with him? It was the oddest thing. But Anne had known since this morning that it was indeed true. When Charles had kissed her, a great many things had suddenly come clear. She knew in that instant that what she had been feeling for him was not simple respect and liking. His gradually changed behavior and recent sympathy and help when her friend was threatened had led Anne step by step deep into love. And what of him? She had no doubt of his feelings; she was filled with a calm certainty whenever she thought of him. But what had made him love her? She was still the mercurial, unconventional girl he had sent away so long ago. Why, she wondered, had he changed his opinion of her so radically?
After a while Anne abandoned this question with a shrug and a smile. Perhaps she would ask Charles when an opportunity came, or perhaps she wouldn’t. It would depend. She reviewed their meeting in the library once again; how strange and wonderful that kiss had been. A dreamy smile crossed Anne’s face as she imagined telling Charles that it had made her wish strongly for another.
The door opened, and Crane came bustling in. She did not notice Anne at first, curled in the corner window seat, but went about her business getting out an evening dress and laying it across the bed. Then Anne moved slightly, making a small noise, and the maid started and whirled around. “My lady! I nearly jumped out of my skin, I was that startled!”
Anne rose. “I’m sorry, Crane. I was here the whole time.”
“I didn’t see you.” She sounded accusing. “And you’re never upstairs so early. Are you feeling well?”
“Yes, indeed, very well.”
The maid eyed her, suspicious of the enthusiasm in her voice.
Anne grinned. “We shall all be wonderfully happy before very long, Crane. Wait and see!”
The other turned away and went to fetch a pair of Anne’s evening slippers. “That’ll be a rare thing, my lady,” she replied. “I shall look forward to it.” Her expression merely became more severe when Anne started to laugh.