chapter 14

The weeks flew by and Gwyneth’s wedding was approaching fast.

Charles was preparing himself for another trip to Dublin and was brushing his hair in the mirror in his room as Margaret talked to him.

“There are going to be some very important people at Gwyneth’s wedding. Important people with important daughters. And Gwyneth’s marriage will be elevating us and putting you in a prime position to select a wife.”

Charles admired himself in the mirror. “I wasn’t really thinking of marriage quite so soon.”

“Well, when were you thinking of it?”

“I hadn’t given it much thought . . . I’d better run, I don’t want to miss my train.” He kissed her cheek and walked out of the room.

Charles came bounding down the stairs and into the drawing room where he saw Harrison sitting in front of the fire, legs up on a footstool. Harrison had taken some time off from work for Gwyneth’s wedding and was relaxing for the week in Armstrong House as he thought about his next step with Arabella.

“What are your plans for the week?”

“Oh, just staying in, nothing planned.”

As Harrison observed Charles, dressed in an immaculate black cape, all set for a few days’ fun in Dublin, he wondered would Armstrong House ever be enough for him.

“Well – have fun. See you in a couple of days!” Charles glided out.

The house was a hive of activity in the week leading up to the wedding with the door constantly being opened to receive presents from far and near. Margaret was in a spin as she rushed around, checking the final arrangements for everything from the flowers to the cake.

“It’s exhausting, just exhausting!” she exclaimed as she entered the drawing room where all the family, except Charles, were gathered.

“Come and sit down, my dear!” said Lawrence, gesturing to the armchair beside his. “You need to rest!”

“Rest?” Margaret demanded as she sank down beside him. “There is so much still to be done!”

“Well, we’ve only another week or so of it, and then we’re back to normal!” soothed Lawrence. “But I do think Charles should have been here for the week to assist.”

Margaret looked over to where her five other children were chatting and laughing together. “Soon Gwyneth will be married to His Grace, and then we will never be together as a single family again.”

Lawrence saw the sadness in his wife’s face. “You’ve done a wonderful job raising our family and, tomorrow, when our daughter takes her position at the head of one of the empire’s great families it will be a reward for all that work.”

“After all this effort preparing for the wedding, it’s hard to believe it will soon be all over.” Margaret shook her head in wonder.

“Well, come to think of it, you won’t have much time to relax. From what Harrison tells me you’ll be straight to work on his wedding with Arabella.”

She smiled at him happily and hugged him.

Charles had given the servants in the house in Dublin the week off as he entertained Arabella there with nobody to disturb them.

“Where do your parents think you are?”

“With my friend Mabel. I can’t stay late tonight, Charles. My parents and I are heading down early tomorrow to be in good time for Gwyneth’s wedding the next day.”

Charles grimaced. “Oh, the wedding! It’s costing a fortune. My parents keep insisting that, as she’s marrying His Grace, we have to spend money accordingly and not let the side down. If my other two sisters cost as much with their marriages, there will be nothing left for me to inherit by the time I become Lord Armstrong!”

“I’m quite looking forward to the spectacle of it all,” said Arabella. “And yet dreading it as well. Staying in Armstrong House again. Having to go through the game of charades with Harrison and our families again.”

Charles reached out and took her hand. She held it tightly.

chapter 15

And what a spectacle it was! The morning of the wedding a fleet of carriages brought the guests to the church in the village. The cream of society from all around the United Kingdom had made their way there to celebrate the Duke of Battington’s wedding to Lord Armstrong’s eldest daughter.

As Lawrence and Gwyneth were brought to the church in an open-topped carriage the roads were thronged with local well-wishers clapping and cheering. Arabella and her parents arrived only just in time for the ceremony as Caroline mislaid her white lace parasol at the last moment and their departure from Armstrong House was delayed. Now Arabella watched from one of the middle pews as Gwyneth glided gracefully up the aisle on her father’s arm to her awaiting groom, her twenty-foot wedding train being tended to by Daphne and six other bridesmaids. Emily had refused to be a bridesmaid, and no amount of bribes or blackmail changed her mind. As Arabella watched the Bishop officiate the service and looked around at the calibre of the guests, she realised the Armstrongs were now connected to the top tier of society by this marriage of their daughter. It made her feel a little insignificant. As she looked up at Harrison sitting in the first pew with his family, she thought he looked a little sad. Unlike Charles beside him who looked very pleased with himself and the attention he was receiving as the Armstrong heir that day.

The service over, the bells rang loudly as the newly married couple walked down the aisle and the grounds around the church were swarming with guests and onlookers.

Harrison came rushing over to the Tattingers.

“I was worried you wouldn’t get here on time,” he said. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t have waited at the house and accompanied you here.”

“Why wouldn’t we get here on time?” snapped Arabella.

“Well, you were rather late . . . I wasn’t sure whether you were being driven by a coachman or if Sir George had chosen to drive himself – in which case you might have got lost or –”

“Hardly! Do we look like imbeciles?” said Arabella, as she studied Charles who was flirting outrageously with some refined-looking young women.

Harrison looked embarrassed. “Anyway, I’d better go, my family is waiting. I’ll see you at Armstrong House for the reception.” With that, he turned and walked away.

“Arabella!” chastised Caroline. “That was impolite of you.”

Arabella quickly turned her eyes from Charles and looked at Caroline, confused “Sorry?”

“Harrison was only making conversation. There was no need for that tone you used with him.”

“What? Oh, I was distracted . . . I didn’t mean to be rude.” She quickly scoured the crowd in search of Harrison but couldn’t see him.

Caroline watched Gwyneth and her Duke walk happily into Armstrong House followed by the family. “Imagine, Arabella, your and Harrison’s children will be cousins to a Duke,” she whispered.

Inside they circulated among the other guests in the hall where footmen dressed in dark-blue and white livery and white wigs served champagne.

“There’s Harrison now,” said Arabella, spotting him in the corner of the crowded hallway.

Caroline took Arabella’s arm and looked at her pointedly. “Try and be nice to him today, Arabella. It’s his sister’s wedding.”

“Aren’t I always nice to him?” Arabella was surprised by her words.

“Not always . . . not recently. You’ve been very dismissive of things he says.”

“Have I?” Arabella was even more surprised. “He hasn’t complained.”

“There’s a surprise! Harrison complaining about anything? Complaining about anything to you?”

Arabella looked at the floor as they made their way over to Harrison.

However, they were soon separated from him again for the lavish wedding banquet in the ballroom, as he was seated with his family at the top table. But afterwards he came straight back to the Tattingers and was an attentive host.

It certainly was the Armstrongs’ day, thought Arabella, as people thronged around them. And Charles in particular was receiving a lot of attention. A lot of female attention that made her burn with jealousy.

Arabella forced herself to avoid watching Charles all the time and to concentrate on Harrison, but she found it difficult. And when Charles did come over to them to talk, she didn’t find it awkward or feel guilt – she was just glad he was paying her attention.

“There you are, Charles!” said Margaret, rushing over to him and grabbing his arm. “Oh, hello, Arabella dear!” She reached forward and kissed Arabella’s cheek. “I must chat to you and your parents later. Charles, come with me this instant! I need to introduce you to an earl’s daughter who I have just met. She’s about to be presented at court, so it’s her first season; she speaks four languages, and has the most beautiful table manners I’ve ever seen! Quickly, follow me!” And she raced off.

Charles turned to Harrison and Arabella and smirked. “Meeting this young lady really does sound like too good an opportunity to miss!”

Arabella stared after him as he walked off after his mother.

Ten minutes later and Charles was still lavishing all his attentions on the multi-lingual young woman.

“Arabella, it’s warm in here, would you like to go for a walk?” asked Harrison.

Arabella tore her stare away from Charles. “Yes, I think that’s a good idea.”

The couple went out through one of the French windows and began to walk. There were other guests strolling through the parklands in the sunny afternoon.

“Your parents will be delighted – the day is a triumph,” said Arabella.

“They did put a lot of work and money into it.”

They said nothing more as they walked along, Harrison trying to think of things to say that would interest or entertain her, Arabella wondering if Charles was still charming the earl’s daughter.

“You’ll be returning to Dublin tomorrow, you said?” said Arabella at last.

“Yes, I can’t wait to get back. All I know is, this past week here, all I’ve thought about is you and how I couldn’t wait to see you again.”

“You talk too flippantly about feelings,” said Arabella, trying not to sound cutting.

“No, I just speak the truth. I missed you so much.”

“You shouldn’t think about me as strongly as you do,” she said.

“Why not? I’m in love with you. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together.” He stopped walking and looked at her, puzzled.

“You deserve somebody much better than me, Harrison,” she sighed.

“They don’t come any better than you.”

“Oh, yes they do. If you had any sense you’d get back to that wedding and get your mother to start introducing you to those young women she’s rounding up for Charles as quickly as possible.”

“Arabella, what are you saying? Not one of them could even hold a light to you.” He stepped towards her.

As she looked at his loving kind face, tears sprang to her eyes.

“You don’t even know me, Harrison.”

“Don’t be stupid. I know you better than anyone.”

She started to wipe away her tears. “I – I – don’t think I can marry you, Harrison.”

“What?” He moved quickly towards her, put his arms around her and started to wipe away her tears. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t be nice to me – I really don’t deserve it. If you only knew . . . the real me.”

“I do know you. And that’s why I want to marry you. We’ve delayed too long. Let’s set the date.”

“Harrison –”

“I was thinking before the summer’s end – August maybe? Papa said we can get married at Armstrong House. But if you would prefer Dublin – whatever you want!”

She pulled away from him and dried her tears with her hands. “I can’t marry you, Harrison. I’m sorry.”

“What kind of a joke is that?” he said half smiling. “We’ve already agreed to be married.”

“That was before!”

“Before what?”

“Just leave it, Harrison!”

“No! Before what?”

“Before I met somebody else!”

They stared at each other, both in shock at what she had said.

“Before I met somebody else,” she repeated. “I don’t love you any more, Harrison. I’m sorry, I really wish I did, but I don’t. I did love you. But it’s gone. And I can’t deceive you any more.” She turned and started walking back to the house.

He ran after her and grabbed her arm. “Who?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters! Who is he? Do I know him?”

She shook his hand off and continued walking. “No!”

“Well, who is he then?”

She started crying again. She stopped, reached out and stroked his face. “I would never have wanted to hurt you.”

“You’re breaking my heart!”

She grabbed up her skirts and went rushing across the parklands towards the house.

He stared after her in disbelief.

Arabella came rushing into the ballroom and her eyes darted around the crowd until she spotted her parents. She went racing over to them.

“Quickly, we have to leave now!” she said.

“Whatever are you talking about? It’s only getting into full swing!” said Caroline.

“Please! We have to return to Dublin immediately!”

Caroline looked at her daughter’s distraught face “All right. But what about Harrison?”

“We have to go now!” said Arabella as she walked towards the door.

Caroline shrugged at George and they both followed their daughter out.

Harrison stumbled through the French windows and just caught sight of the Tattingers leaving.

Charles was with Emily while he regaled a group of guests with stories of the tenant farmers on the Armstrong estate when Margaret came over to them and took them aside. She looked confused and distressed.

“Charles, I don’t know what has happened but Harrison has taken to the bed upstairs. He is beside himself.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Seemingly it’s Arabella. He says she has broken off their engagement!”

Emily gasped as she heard this and stared at Charles, who ignored her.

“Broken it off?” he said. “Surely there’s a mistake? They were practically married.”

“I fear there’s no mistake. I’ve searched everywhere for the Tattingers and seemingly they have already left for Dublin. She’s ended their relationship all right.”

“Poor Harrison!” Charles was genuinely shocked at Arabella’s actions and that he had received no indication of what she had planned to do.

“Charles, will you go to him and try to comfort him? I don’t want to tell your father yet or Gwyneth. I don’t want to ruin their big day with this terrible news.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll go too!” said Emily and began to follow Charles.

“You will not!” insisted Margaret, grabbing hold of Emily’s arm. “You’ll stay here and mingle!”

Charles steadied himself before knocking on the door and opening it.

He found Harrison inside, sitting on the side of the bed, the curtains drawn. Charles drew the curtains back a little and saw Harrison had his face buried in his hands.

“Harrison?” he said softly as he came over and sat on the four-poster bed beside him.

“She’s left me, Charles. She walked out. She said she didn’t love me any more.”

“I see!” Charles sighed and put his hand on Harrison’s shoulder.

Harrison lifted his tearstained face out of his hands and looked up at Charles.

“She said there was somebody else. That she had fallen for somebody else.”

Charles felt a shiver, but his face remained emotionless as he took his hand off Harrison’s shoulder.

“Did she . . . did she say who it was?”

“No, but that’s not the point! She’s fallen for somebody else.”

“Maybe it’s best she told you now, before you got in too deep?”

“Too deep! We were engaged! I worshipped her! She was my whole life! I couldn’t get in any deeper!”

“Yes, I see that now,” said Charles, frowning.

“What will I do, Charles? What’ll I do without her?” Harrison buried his face in his hands again.

chapter 16

The news of Arabella’s desertion of Harrison cast a shadow over the rest of Gwyneth’s wedding as Harrison refused to come down for the rest of the day and night. The following day Gwyneth and the Duke were waved off on their honeymoon and the guests who were staying in the house or on the estate all departed.

Harrison was as pale as a ghost as the family tried to get him to talk about what he was going to do next.

“I think it’s best you stay at Armstrong House with us and not go to Dublin on your own,” advised Margaret, worried about the state he was in.

“I think that’s wise. I’ll write to the bank and tell them you’ll be taking some time off,” said Lawrence.

“The bank!” exclaimed Harrison. “I’m never going back to the bank again.”

“You’re giving up your job?” asked Lawrence.

“How can I go back there? And work for Arabella’s father? See him every day after what has happened?”

“Are you sure? This is your career,” Lawrence pointed out.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

Everyone at Armstrong House had hoped Harrison might start being himself again. But he seemed to have entered a strange dark world and nobody could snap him out of it. He would spend all day in his room. He rarely came down to eat, but had food delivered to his room. Occasionally he would instruct a horse to be brought to the front of house and he would go galloping off through the estate for hours on his own.

Charles looked on, distressed to see how much the break-up had affected him. The glorious day of Gwyneth’s wedding seemed to be overshadowed since there was a cloud over Armstrong House with Harrison’s black mood.

“I should have realised there was something wrong with that girl when she wore that red dress last Christmas Eve,” said Margaret.

“All we can do is rally round him and support him as best we can,” said Charles.

In the afternoon Charles found Harrison sitting at his window staring out at the view across the lake.

“I just wondered if you fancied going into Castlewest?”

“No.”

“What about the two of us heading up to Dublin this weekend and painting the town red? Take in a show, see if there are a couple of parties to attend?”

“Definitely not – I might bump into her.”

Charles came and sat beside him and spoke gently. “You’re going to have to leave this room at some stage. You can’t spend the rest of your life in here staring out that window.”

“She was my life. She was everything to me. I’m empty without her.”

Charles nodded and looked down at the floor. Then he rose and left the room quickly.

As he was coming down the stairs he met Emily coming up.

“I’m just on my way to see Harrison,” she said.

“There’s not much point. I’ve just left him and he’s completely despondent.”

“I know. But I’ll sit with him anyway. Even though he doesn’t speak. Oh, Charles, what have we done?” She became distressed.

“Shhh!” he said and led her downstairs where they went into the small parlour and he closed the doors.

The tears started falling down Emily’s face. “It was all just a bit of fun and excitement. I never guessed it would end up breaking Harrison.”

“None of us did.” He shook his head.

“What can we do?” she asked. She knew Charles always had the answers to everything.

“Nothing, there’s nothing we can do.” Charles held her arms. “Emily, look at me. Harrison can never find out the truth, do you understand me? He can never find out about me and Arabella. It would finish him off.”

Emily nodded and wiped away her tears. “I understand . . . I’d better go to him. He might eat something for me today.”

Charles watched her leave the room and shook his head in disbelief. The whole situation had exploded before his eyes. He would never have guessed Arabella would have weakened and end up leaving Harrison. He realised he could never see Arabella again. If the truth came out, it would destroy him and blow a hole in his family forever.

chapter 17

Arabella was sitting at her dressing table on which her morning’s post was thrown. Again there had been no letter from Emily. She was expecting one every day.

Her mother came into her room, wearing the same worried expression she had worn since Gwyneth’s wedding.

“Your father has received a letter from Lord Armstrong,” she informed her daughter.

Arabella spun around. “What does he want?”

“Nothing, it was just to inform him Harrison will not be returning to the bank.”

“Oh, no! He didn’t say anything about – how Harrison was?”

“No, it was short and impersonal.”

“I see.”

“I imagine Lord and Lady Armstrong are as shocked by all this as we are, Arabella.”

“I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

Caroline sat down beside her, took her hands and looked into her eyes imploringly. “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? Harrison worshipped you. I just don’t think you’ll ever find anyone like him again.”

“I can’t go back to him. It would be unfair on him. I’ve deceived him enough by continuing to see him when my feelings had changed for him.”

And still no letter came from Emily. She had expected Charles to make contact with her. She was free now. There would be no need for any further deception. She wasn’t naïve enough to think they could be publicly seen together yet. But why was he breaking off all contact? After four weeks she could stand it no longer and opened her writing bureau to start a letter.

Emily came into the library where Charles was working on estate business, an opened letter in her hand.

He looked up from his paperwork. “Who is that from?” he asked.

“It’s from Arabella,” stated Emily.

“What?” Charles snatched the letter from her and started to read it. “What does she want?”

“She fills the letter about mundane things, and then uses her usual code to say she wants to meet you in The Shelbourne on Saturday at three.”

“Is she mad?” Charles stood up. “Doesn’t she realise Harrison is upstairs destroyed?”

“Will I write back?”

“No – ignore her!” Charles crossed over to the fire and threw the letter in.

That Saturday Arabella waited two hours in the tearoom in The Shelbourne for Charles to arrive, but he never did. As two more weeks went by she wrote to Emily again. This time she used less coded language and said she needed to speak to Charles. That letter ended up in the library fire as well.

Then one day Emily came knocking on Charles’ door, looking very worried.

“Charles, I got another letter from Arabella,” she said.

“For blazes’ sake, does that woman not take a hint?” Charles exploded.

“I think you should see her, Charles. She’s practically begging me to get you to meet her.”

Charles grabbed the letter and started to read it. “Has she lost her mind? If this fell into the wrong hands!” He went to the fire and burned it.

“I think you have to meet her, Charles.”

“All right!” snapped Charles, furious at the thought of it all. “Write to her and tell her to be in Stephen’s Green by the bridge at two on Saturday afternoon.”

When Arabella received the letter from Armstrong House, she was overjoyed, but even more so relieved.

She waited by the bridge in Stephen’s Green, looking at the ducks swim in the pond underneath as the sun shone that Saturday afternoon. She kept looking at her watch and then checking for any sign of Charles. Eventually she saw him walking towards her and she tensed as he reached her.

He made no attempt to take her hand or touch her in any way. “Sorry I’m late. I got the train up from Castlewest this morning,” he explained.

“That’s fine.”

“Will we walk as we talk?” he suggested and she nodded.

They walked over the bridge and along one of the footpaths that criss-crossed the park.

“How’s everything at Armstrong House?” she asked.

He looked at her incredulously. “How do you think they are? Harrison is devastated. He hardly leaves his room.”

“I never meant to hurt him,” she said, overcome with guilt.

“Well, you did! Whatever possessed you to end it with him, and to tell him you were in love with somebody else to boot!”

“It felt like the right thing to do. What we were doing to him was wrong . . . perhaps you could live with your conscience, but I couldn’t.”

“Very noble of you, I’m sure.” He raised his eyes to heaven.

“I was surprised when you didn’t contact me afterwards,” she said.

“How could I? My family are in disarray over Harrison. Look, you ending it with Harrison has made it impossible for us ever to see each other again. You need to realise that.”

Arabella stopped still and stared at him in shock. “But what was it all about? What was it all in aid of? Us seeing each other, creeping behind Harrison’s back, where was it leading to?”

“My dear, it could never have led anywhere – because you were Harrison’s fiancée.”

Tears of anger and frustration gathered in Arabella’s eyes. “But we love each other!”

Charles sighed loudly. “We were infatuated with each other – there’s a difference. And when I see the cold reality of Harrison’s face, I know our infatuation must stop.”

She felt dizzy and sat down on a bench. He sat beside her and took her hand “You always said we were in an impossible situation,” he said. “Now it’s become so much more impossible.”

“And we never see each other again?”

“I’m afraid we can’t.”

“While you go off to the season in London to call on all those earls’ daughters who were flirting with you? The ones who could speak several languages and do perfect tapestry?” Her expression hardened.

“Don’t be bitter, Arabella.”

“Oh, I’m not bitter,” she said. “I’m pregnant.”

He dropped her hand slowly. “What?”

“I’m with child.”

He found it hard to speak but managed, “How long?”

“A couple of months.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What am I going to do?” she asked disbelievingly.

“You need to tell Harrison immediately.”

“Harrison! It’s not Harrison’s, you fool!”

“How do you know?”

“Because nothing ever happened between me and Harrison as you well know! It’s your bloody child!” She was nearly shouting, causing people to look over from the lawns.

He stood up and began to walk up and down. “I don’t know that. The child could be anybody’s. I think we know what kind of a woman you are.”

She stood up and marched up to him. “I have only ever been with you. This is your child and you have to accept responsibility for it.”

“You’re insane! My brother will kill me and so will my family. I’ll be disowned and –”

“And what will happen to me? I’ll be ruined if you don’t marry me. I and my family will be destroyed. My name will be filth. I’ll be ostracised from society. And what of the child? The child will be a bastard.”

“You should have thought about all this before you abandoned Harrison. I always assumed that if you became pregnant you would have had the sense to . . . to . . . arrange things so he thought the child was his! And then married him promptly. What else could be done?”

She stared at him, horrified.

“Instead you have done the worst thing possible and left him,” he said coldly. “But I have to go now to catch my train. I have to get back to Armstrong House.” He reached forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You see the situation I’m in. If it was anyone but Harrison . . . but he can never find out. Your parents are kind and wealthy – I’m sure they will stand by you.”

She stared in astonishment as he walked quickly away from her in the park. She stood there for what seemed like hours, bewildered. Finally she turned and walked in a trance back through the streets to her home in Ailesbury Road.

“Watch out!” came a scream from a cab driver and she realised she was standing still in the middle of the street with a horse-drawn carriage coming straight at her. She quickly made her way to the footpath and continued her slow walk home. She was finished, she realised. Her life was over. Her mind was a maelstrom of emotion, switching from hurt and rejection as she realised she was nothing more than a conquest for Charles, to terror and panic when she thought of the situation she was now in. Not just her, but all the Tattingers would be ruined.

She had always carried herself with pride and confidence and yet now she would be the talk of Dublin. People would snigger and laugh about her and call her a whore and a slut. She wouldn’t be received into other peoples’ homes any more and people wouldn’t want to be seen with her. Even her closest friends wouldn’t be permitted near her in case they were tarred with the same brush. Her father could lose his job, and definitely his position in society. As for her mother . . .

She got home and went to the store room and searched amongst the bottles until she found what she was looking for. She took the bottle of rat poison and walked up the stairs to her room where she locked the door. She then unscrewed the bottle and put it on her dressing table. She sat down, staring at her snow-white reflection in the mirror.

chapter 18

Charles tried not to think about Arabella’s situation when he got back to Armstrong House. The whole thing was far too distressing to give much thought to, he reasoned. When he compared the beautiful independent wilful Arabella who he had first met to the scared desperate girl in the park, it was hard to equate them. As if he could marry her! What on earth was she thinking? He hoped he had explained the situation adequately to her. He wondered what would become of her. As he had said, her parents were kind and wealthy. Perhaps they might find a lowly bank clerk with few brains who could be quickly cajoled into marrying her. Or there was the case of that daughter from a ‘big house’ they knew in Cork who was flirtatious and loved men’s attention and who suddenly disappeared for one year off the social scene. Rumours abounded she was in a convent in France. When she returned she was a different girl who never went to parties and spent all the day doing tapestry, a hobby she had picked up in the French convent, they said, while she waited to give birth to her baby. What a stupid girl Arabella was, and he thought she had been so intelligent! She could have had the best of all worlds. Marriage to Harrison and the Armstrong name. And she could have had Charles until they became bored with each other. But she had played her cards ridiculously wrong and now could be destroyed.

Returning from a ride some days later, he dismounted in the forecourt of Armstrong House and gave the reins to a stable lad. Then he bounded up the steps and in the front door.

He threw his coat onto a sideboard and walked into the drawing room where he got a start. On one couch sat his parents and on the other couch sat Arabella and her parents. All had stony solemn faces except for Margaret whose face was red and tearstained from crying.

“Come in, Charles, and close the door behind you. I’ve told Barton we are not to be disturbed,” said Lawrence.

Emily had been waiting for Charles in the small parlour across from the drawing room. She had seen Arabella and her parents arrive earlier from her bedroom window and, realising all must not be right, she had looked for Charles everywhere. Unfortunately a maid entered the room with a laden coalscuttle just at the wrong moment and the noise of her tending to the fire cloaked the sound of Charles’ arrival. As the maid left Emily flew to the window and spotted Charles disappearing in the front door. She rushed out into the hall to warn him but she was just too late. She saw him entering the drawing room and close the door slowly behind him. She thought for a few moments and then seeing there was nobody about, rushed across the hallway and put her ear against the keyhole of the door to listen in.

A million thoughts went racing through Charles’ mind as he closed the door and walked into the room.

“Take a seat,” ordered Lawrence.

Charles sat down in the armchair that had obviously been positioned there for him between the two couches.

In the silence and with the cold stares, Charles decided to take control and said, “I can guess why you’re all here.”

“Is it true?” asked Lawrence.

Charles knew there was no point in denying it at this stage. “Yes.”

“Ohhh!” cried Margaret as her handkerchief came to her face and tears began to spill again. “How could you, Charles, with your own brother’s fiancée!”

“I have no excuse,” he said.

“And neither do you!” Margaret snapped at Arabella.

“Perhaps,” said Caroline sternly, “if you kept a tighter control on what goes on under your roof, this would never have happened, Lady Armstrong!”

“My roof! Who said anything about under my roof?” Margaret was furious.

“Well, it must have happened when she visited here. When else could it have happened?”

“Nothing untoward has ever happened under my roof! From what I hear, your daughter is left without a chaperone a great deal of time!”

“I don’t think it matters how the situation occurred,” said Lawrence in a powerful voice. “All we need to concern ourselves with now is that it has occurred and what we do from here.”

“Well, we all know what needs to be done. He must marry her without delay,” said George in an equally powerful voice.

“Are they agreeable to this?” asked Lawrence, looking at Arabella and Charles.

“Who gives a damn if they are agreeable!” George’s voice rose further. “I will not have my daughter and name destroyed over this.”

“Nevertheless,” said Lawrence, “we need their consent.” He turned to Arabella. “Will you marry Charles?”

Arabella had been staring ahead unfalteringly since she arrived. She glanced quickly at Charles and said, “Yes.”

Lawrence nodded and then turned to Charles. “Are you willing to marry Arabella and accept this is your child?”

Charles glanced at the Tattingers who looked as if they were ready to have him killed. “Yes.” He looked at Arabella. “Of course I’ll marry Arabella. It was never in question that I wouldn’t.”

There was an audible feeling of relief around the room.

Margaret, who looked heartbroken, said between her sniffles, “We’ll try to arrange the marriage as soon as possible.”

“But what about the banns?” said George. “Either the banns will have to be called, for three Sundays in advance of the wedding, or a special marriage licence obtained from the bishop.”

“Leave that to me,” said Margaret. “The bishop is a close friend of ours who is, by the way, a most discreet man. I’ll travel to see him this very day. He can officiate at the wedding himself in the chapel at the Bishop’s Palace, hopefully on Monday morning.”

“That should give enough time to get the licence,” said Lawrence.

“We’ll have nobody in attendance at the service but ourselves,” Margaret went on. “Nobody must ever find out about this, for the sake of us all! Not even our other children.”

“Well, I imagine everyone is going to realise something is the matter,” said Caroline. “When one minute she is engaged to Harrison, and the next minute married to Charles!”

“And then when the baby arrives too soon!” George pointed out.

“They can’t return to Dublin or stay at Armstrong House. Everyone knows them here. They must go away for a while, until after the baby is born,” said Margaret.

“Where to?” asked Caroline.

“They can go and live in our house in London for most of the pregnancy. When it comes to near the time the child is to be born they must travel abroad and have the child delivered there. Then after a while return to London and register the child’s birth incorrectly in order to arouse no suspicion the child was conceived before the marriage.”

“Fraud! Fraud on top of everything else!” shouted George, horrified.

“We have no choice,” stated Lawrence.

Arabella sat back, amazed at Margaret. The woman was obviously as efficient at organising a cover-up as she was at organising a ball or a wedding.

“And . . . and what about after the baby is born?” asked Arabella meekly.

“You’re to go to London and keep a low profile for a while, until it all blows over. Out of sight, out of mind,” said Margaret. “Arabella was never presented at court or did the season in London so she’s not known there like she is known in Dublin. They can stay there until so much time has elapsed that it won’t matter any more.”

“It sounds the best way to avoid any scandal,” acknowledged Caroline.

Everyone sat in silence. “Well, that’s that then!” said George.

“Not for us, Sir George. We have the little matter of Harrison who will obviously need to be informed of Charles and Arabella’s forthcoming wedding and how we are going to deal with him I do not know!” said Margaret.

Caroline nodded and coughed. “I think everyone is in agreement that Harrison is the true victim here. We all feel sorry for him.”

Arabella’s impassivity broke and she quickly wiped away a tear.

“There’s just the other small matter of the dowry,” said Charles, sitting up.

“Charles!” shouted Lawrence in horror.

“You can speak about money at a time like this?” George nearly screamed.

“Well, I have to be practical. If I’m taking on the responsibility of a wife and child, I’ll need funds. Father is in perfect health, so hopefully it will be some time before I come into the Armstrong estate and its income.”

“Unbelievable!” stated George in disgust.

“I need to know where I stand – under the circumstances.”

George stood up. “I’ll double her bloody dowry – under the circumstances. Is that enough bloody money for you?”

Margaret stood up, flushed and embarrassed. “I’ll have Barton make up some rooms for you for tonight.”

“No need!” said George unpleasantly. “I wouldn’t spend another night in this house. We’ll stay in a hotel in Castlewest.”

George went storming out and Arabella and Caroline stood up.

“We’ll see you at the wedding on Monday,” said Caroline curtly and she and Arabella quickly left after George.

“A May wedding!” exclaimed Margaret. “We used to say – marry in May and rue the day!”

Margaret and Lawrence stared at Charles as he took out a cigarette and lit it, his hands slightly shaking.

“You’ve ruined your life!” declared Margaret.

“Have you anything to say in your defence?” asked Lawrence.

“I’m afraid not. Guilty as charged,” said Charles as he managed to take a drag of his cigarette.

“You’ve let us down terribly,” said Lawrence. “But you’ve let Harrison down even more. I suppose I’d better tell him what’s been happening,” said Lawrence as he looked at the fear on Margaret and Charles’ faces.

Lawrence knocked on Harrison’s door and entered. He found him lying on the bed.

“How are you today?” he asked, sitting on the bed beside him.

“The same as yesterday and the day before,” said Harrison.

Lawrence said nothing as he searched for the right words to tell Harrison what had happened.

“Were there visitors earlier?” asked Harrison in a disinterested fashion. “I heard some commotion downstairs.”

“Yes, there were . . . it was Arabella and her parents.”

Harrison sat up straight, his face a mixture of excitement and confusion. “Arabella! Why didn’t you call me?”

“She didn’t come to see you, Harrison.” Lawrence put his hand on Harrison’s shoulder. “Son, I need you to prepare yourself for what I’m about to tell you . . .”

Harrison became extremely agitated as Lawrence said nothing more. “Well, tell me – damn you!”

“There’s no easy way . . . there’s no easy way to say this . . . Arabella and Charles have fallen in love. They are to be married. I presume . . . I presume that is why she broke off her engagement with you.”

Lawrence studied his son’s face as it went from a strange deathly pale to a bright red in a few seconds. Suddenly Harrison leapt from the bed but his legs gave way from under him and he fell to the floor.

“Harrison!” shouted Lawrence, rushing to his assistance.

As Harrison lay on the floor, he suddenly started laughing hysterically.

“Harrison!” pleaded Lawrence, kneeling beside him.

“Arabella and Charles!” gasped Harrison through his laughter as if he had been told the best joke ever. Then suddenly the laughter stopped as quickly as it began and, as he scrambled to his feet with Lawrence’s assistance, Harrison’s face became a mask of distraught horror.

“She would never – he would never –” he stuttered.

Lawrence nodded sadly. Harrison tore himself away from Lawrence and raced from the room.

Charles was in the library holding a decanter of whiskey as he poured himself another full glass and downed it in one. Suddenly the door swung open and Harrison came rushing in like a madman.

“You fucking bastard!” screamed Harrison as he marched right over to Charles and punched him in the face. The decanter went flying through the air and crashed to the ground as Charles was knocked to the floor.

Harrison jumped on top of him, put his hands around Charles’ neck and started to strangle him.

“You couldn’t leave her alone, could you? You had to take her, even though you knew she was mine!” he screamed as Charles tried to remove Harrison’s hands from around his throat.

“Barton!” shouted Lawrence as he came into the room and viewed the spectacle on the ground before him. He rang the bell frantically then rushed to his sons and tried to pull Harrison away from Charles, but his younger son was so overcome with anger it was impossible.

A few seconds later Barton came rushing in.

“For pity’s sake, help me, man!” pleaded Lawrence.

Barton and Lawrence managed to pull Harrison away.

Charles sat up, choking and coughing.

Harrison pointed at Charles. “I never want to see you again. You and that bitch are welcome to each other – you deserve each other!” Turning, he stormed out of the room.

Lawrence stood shaking his head as he observed Charles trying to gasp for air.

chapter 19

Caroline came into her daughter’s bedroom in the small hotel in Castlewest, holding a tray with a sandwich on it.

“I got the kitchen to prepare this for you,” said Caroline.

“I’m not hungry.” Arabella pushed the tray away.

“You have to eat something, Arabella – you’re eating for two now.”

“Don’t I know!”

Caroline sat on the bed and started stroking her daughter’s hair.

“I received a note from Margaret. The marriage is to be tomorrow at eleven at the Bishop’s Palace. As practical as ever, she’s given excellent instructions how to get there.” She crossed over to the wardrobe and started looking through the three or four dresses Arabella had brought with her. “We have to choose what you will wear.”

“Oh, does it matter at this stage?”

Caroline came and sat beside her again. “You know I always imagined you with a great big wedding, like the one Gwyneth had.”

Arabella’s voice was heavy with cynicism. “Sorry to disappoint you, Mama, but tomorrow is going to be a far cry from Gwyneth’s. A pregnant bride, a reluctant groom and the guests being just the two sets of parents to ensure the whole damned thing takes place!”

“Hardly a reluctant groom, perhaps just a surprised one.”

“You didn’t see his face the day I told him in the park. It’s a shotgun wedding, pure and simple.”

Caroline sighed loudly “You’ve been very stupid, Arabella, we all know that. And very cruel to Harrison. But what’s done is done. And now luckily it’s working out for the best.”

“Only because it’s been forced on Charles.”

“But you do have feelings for him?”

Arabella nodded. “Unfortunately, I love him . . . I hate him too, for what he’s put me through with all this.”

“But you do love him, and tomorrow you are going to marry the man you love . . . that’s the important thing, no matter what the circumstances are.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, and you have to think of the future now. With this funny twist of faith you are marrying the Armstrong heir. You will one day be Lady Armstrong and this child you are carrying will also be the heir.”

“I don’t care about any of that.”

“I know, but I’m just trying to make you realise you have new responsibility now and you’ll have to live up to it. You might love Charles, but these past few days have shown you can never trust him or rely on his love. You’ll have to be one step ahead of him at all times. Never take him or your marriage for granted. You’re entering the Armstrong family under difficult circumstances. You have to show them and the world and, most importantly, Charles, that you are a great woman who deserves the title and position you will now get. You have to, in order to have a happy future.”

Arabella thought about Harrison. “And can you have a happy future that has been built on somebody else’s misery?”

Lawrence came into the bedroom that night and saw Margaret, looking exhausted, lying back in her pillows.

“I tried Harrison again, but his door is locked and he won’t answer.”

“Do you think we should break the door down?” asked Margaret, sitting up, concerned.

“No, he just wants to be alone – he won’t thank us for doing that.”

“I’m in shock, Lawrence. That we have gone from the highs of Gwyneth’s wedding to this sordid secret affair in a matter of weeks . . . To think Arabella will be Lady Armstrong and be the head of this family one day. A woman like that!”

“You used to think she was marvellous,” he pointed out.

“That was before I realised what she was like. Your parents Edward and Anna, bless them, would be mortified if they were alive to see that the future of this family is now in her hands.”

Lawrence took Margaret’s hand and tried to comfort her. “My parents were very pragmatic about these things. They understood destiny and nature and let it take its course. And they would just see this as nature bringing the next heir to Armstrong House . . . in its own way.”

“And what a way!”

That night Charles was the only one up in the house as he stood at the window drinking whiskey in the drawing room, looking at the moon shining its light across the lake.

Emily came creeping in, in her dressing gown, and closed the door after her.

“Charles! Is what I’m hearing true? You’re marrying Arabella in the morning?”

“It’s true all right,” he sighed heavily. “How do you know?”

Emily stared at him. “I was listening at the door when the Tattingers were here. I know everything . . . that she’s expecting your child.”

He looked surprised and then nodded. “You’re not to tell anybody.”

“Of course I won’t. I’d never betray you like that.” She came over and hugged him.

“I’m afraid our little game has exploded in our faces, dearest little Emily.” He stroked her hair.

“I overheard you and Harrison fighting . . . What’s suddenly become of us?”

“We’ve grown up, that’s all, Emily – it happens in all families.”

“You picked the wrong girl to trifle with, Charles. She was too clever and her family too powerful to ignore. At least now you can be together.” Emily was studying him intently.

He smiled at his sister, not sure if she was being naïve or just testing him. “True. And I’m getting to live in London, which is what I always wanted. And I’m getting a very substantial dowry which will keep us in the style that we need to be accustomed to . . . I guess you could say I got everything I wanted.” He bent down and kissed her forehead. She watched him saunter out of the room and up to bed.

The wedding took place in the chapel in the Bishop’s Palace at eleven. The Bishop was a little amazed with the whole promptness and mystery that clouded the event. He had been sworn to secrecy by Lady Armstrong not ever to reveal any details of the marriage. As he stood at the altar looking at the groom Charles with a big black eye, the bride Arabella in a plain cream dress and hat, the only guests being both sets of parents positioned on opposite sides of the aisle, he could only imagine what was going on. As the bride and groom both confirmed ‘I do’, their respective mothers burst out crying. Caroline out of relief and Margaret out of sorrow.

Armstrong House seemed quiet that night with Charles and Arabella already left for their new life and all of the drama the Tattingers brought with them gone. Lawrence and Margaret sat in a kind of disbelief, as if the past three days had been a strange and awful dream and they would wake up and everything would be back to normal.

To their surprise Harrison came in, looking pale and drawn.

“Have they gone?” he asked.

“Yes, they got the train this afternoon,” said Lawrence, who had informed Harrison of their plans to go and live in London.

Harrison laughed bitterly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking – I need to get away.”

“Excellent idea,” said Lawrence. “I’ll arrange a holiday for you . . . somewhere you can take the waters . . . Switzerland maybe.”

“No, I mean get away for good. There are too many bad memories in this country and I need a brand-new start.”

“Go away!” Margaret was horrified.

“To New York. I’m going as soon as I can.”

“But for how long?” asked Lawrence.

“For ever,” he said bitterly. “For ever.”

chapter 20

Present Day

There was a lull of some days in the filming and Kate decided to take advantage of the time to try and see if she could find out more about the mysterious photographs that were hidden in the police file.

One evening Kate and Nico opened a bottle of red wine and sat in the drawing room, the black-and-white photographs glaring at them from the coffee table, contradicting what was in the official inquiry. They were studying the family’s statements in the police file.

“All the family’s statements given to police are exactly the same as what the inquiry reported,” said Nico. “That he was shot in the carriage while travelling on his own. And the policeman investigating the case, a Sergeant Kevin Cunningham, in his official report here also wrote this and as we know later gave the same evidence to the inquiry.”

Kate threw a pile of papers on the coffee table. “There are pages and pages of statements from locals and in the town talking about the lead-up to the shooting and the Land War Charles was involved in.”

“But why would they not just say Charles was in the automobile?” Nico’s mind was trying to come up with a solution. He picked up the pile of papers she had flung down and began to go through them again.

He suddenly stopped at one of the crumpled handwritten papers.

“This is a statement from another police officer, Tadhg Murnahan,” he said.

Kate reached forward, took the paper and started to read aloud. “‘On the morning of December 9th, 1903, I was on night duty at the Castlewest Police station. At seven o’clock in the morning an official from the hospital came and reported that Lord Charles Armstrong had been admitted to those premises the previous night with a significant gunshot wound to the chest. I rode out to the Armstrong Estate. On reaching the estate I found an automobile abandoned at the gateway. There was a bullet-hole through the windscreen and the interior of the automobile was stained with a considerable amount of blood. I set up my camera and took photographs of the scene. I called to Armstrong House where Lady Margaret Armstrong confirmed there had been an incident and requested my superior, Sergeant Kevin Cunningham, to come at once.’”

Nico and Kate looked at each other.

“So why did Sergeant Cunningham ignore this evidence his officer reported?” asked Kate.

“Sloppy police work?” suggested Nico.

“Very sloppy! In fact, too sloppy. It’s no wonder they didn’t capture this chief suspect Joe McGrath before he absconded to America.”

“But this says something else as well,” Nico pointed out. “Lady Margaret, Charles’ mother, was not only the first at the scene of the shooting the previous night, as her statement says, but she was also at Armstrong House in the morning by daylight. She must have been aware of the damaged car and for whatever reason said it was a carriage.”

“So, if she could get such a blatant thing wrong, then her statement that she saw a peasant rushing past Hunter’s Farm with a shotgun – in the dark, mind you – can’t be trusted either. Indeed, her sighting of that man seems all too convenient, doesn’t it?”

“Yes – and it’s always struck me as peculiar that the culprit would rush down the road past her house anyway, waving a shotgun, when he could just cut across country.”

“You’re right. He wouldn’t stay on the road.”

Kate suddenly jumped up from the couch, went over to her desk and opened her laptop sitting there.

“I’m just thinking,” she said. “McGrath was supposed to have fled to America. If he did, then all the records for Ellis Island are on the website and we can see if he actually did go there.” She started tapping on the keyboard.

“But there will have been millions of people passed through Ellis Island on their way to their new life to America,” Nico objected.

“Yes, back in the early 1900s it would be almost an impossible task to track a fled criminal to America, but now with the wonders of the internet . . . everything has been uploaded and a few seconds away. I’ve tracked a lot of my relatives who emigrated through this.”

Kate typed in: Joseph McGrath – Castlewest – 1903.

After a few moments she began to read from the screen. “Joseph McGrath, aged 30. Residence – Castlewest. Ship – Oceanic, Port – Queenstown. Destination – Queens. Date – 9th of December 1903.”

Kate and Nico looked at each other.

“Well, one thing for sure is Joseph McGrath, despite what Lady Margaret testified and the police report said, did not shoot Charles because he was about to dock into New York at the time,” said Nico.

The old Victorian hospital in Castlewest which Charles had been admitted to in 1903 was long closed down. Kate drove back into town and inquired at the local library about the records.

“They were all forwarded to the National Archives of Ireland in Dublin,” the librarian informed her.

Kate found gaining access to those files was not an easy task as she was told that generally they were not available for public viewing and she would have to obtain permission from the Health Service Executive. But she wasn’t going to give up that easily. She had uncovered too much already that made her believe something sinister happened with the Armstrong family all those years ago.

She contacted a friend who worked for the Health Service Executive and finally got permission to view them but only with the permission and signature of Nico, Charles’ great-grandson.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering to look at that file,” said Nico as he signed the consent form for her. “You said you had to sign a confidentiality agreement as well.”

“True,” she said as she happily put the consent form in her handbag.

“Well, you won’t be able to use anything you found for the film then,” Nico pointed out.

Kate just smiled, delighted she had secured permission.

The guide in the National Archives walked her down long corridors of shelves stacked with files.

“We’ve got many of the files from around the country stored here,” said the woman, whose name was Gillian. “There are some very interesting cases, from the lunatic asylums particularly.”

Kate nodded and smiled at her. “What kind of records do you have?”

“Oh, a lot of management minutes, operational records – case books and theatre records as we move into the twentieth century,” said Gillian.

Kate nodded, becoming more excited.

“Here we are,” said Gillian. “These are from the hospital you are inquiring about. Can you tell me the information you have?”

“Yes. Lord Charles Armstrong was admitted on the night of the 8th of December 1903 or early morning of the 9th,” said Kate.

Kate waited patiently as Gillian sifted through the files for what seemed an eternity.

“Here we are!” said Gillian, taking a file box from the shelf.

Kate followed her over to a desk and they put the box on the table.

The two women sat down at the desk and Gillian put on white cotton gloves and handed Kate a pair, then opened the file and started going through it.

“This man was admitted to the hospital at twelve thirty the morning of 9th of December. He was signed in by a Harrison Armstrong,” said Gillian.

“That’s all correct from what I know,” said Kate. “What I’m trying to discover is exactly what kind of injury? What caused it?”

Gillian looked through the file. “Let’s look at his theatre record . . . He was admitted for surgery that night . . . and a single bullet was removed from his chest . . . severe internal injuries, ruptures to the –”

Kate leaned forward and gently took the report from her. “It definitely says a single bullet?”

“You can see for yourself,” said Gillian.

“Yes, I do . . .” Nico was right. A shotgun wasn’t used to kill Charles. A handgun was – leaving a single bullet, not pellets from a shotgun.

Kate and Nico were having a meeting with the director Brian while they ate dinner at their kitchen island. In front of them was all the evidence Kate had compiled about Charles’ shooting.

“There’s no doubt something peculiar was going on,” agreed Brian.

“I want to get to the bottom of it, Brian,” said Kate.

“But how does this affect the filming?” pushed Brian.

“Well, I was hoping we could delay things while I do more research,” suggested Kate.

“Delay things! Kate! Our budget won’t allow that.”

“Well, at least to film around the shooting for now. We can concentrate on the other areas of the documentary. The social life here, the politics of the estate. Stuff we’re already sure of.”

“We thought we were sure about the shooting!” Brian pointed out.

“But imagine if we put all this new stuff into the film and whatever else I can uncover – it would make it so much more engrossing.”

Nico took a sip of his red wine, not at all liking the direction in which Kate was manipulating the documentary.

Brian nodded. “But where else can you go with this – what’s your next step?”

“I want to go through all the documents and journals that are being stored here at Armstrong House from the period,” said Kate. “See if there’s anything there. When this house was evacuated during the War of Independence, everyone left in a hurry and a lot of the personal items were abandoned here.”

“But you already researched all that stuff before you began the documentary,” said Nico, becoming irritable.

“I know, but I wasn’t looking for anything in connection to a cover-up. I was just looking for indications of what life was like here at the time.”

Brian nodded as he finished off his lasagne. “Okay, we’ll film around it for now. But I can’t allow this to cause any delays – there’s a limited amount of time allotted to the project, Kate. You should know that.”

“I do!” she said, smiling happily. “We’ll work round the clock on it, won’t we, Nico?”

Nico gave her a displeased look.

Book two

1890–1897

chapter 21

The carriage drove up the curve of Regent Street as Arabella held her baby close. Charles sat beside them. They had all just returned from the Continent and were on their way home to the Armstrong family’s house in London. As Arabella looked at her six-month-old baby she marvelled how the months had passed. She had been dazed those first few weeks when they moved to London as she contemplated how much her life had changed overnight and how close she had come to utter ruination. What amazed her in equal measure was Charles during those first few weeks. The whole experience hadn’t knocked a feather out of him. He didn’t seem one bit upset or concerned or confused by the events. He behaved as if it were all the most normal thing in the world as he went about with his usual cheerful disposition. He didn’t seem one bit concerned about Harrison knowing the truth at last or his parents’ knowledge of events. He seemed immune to it all.

He arrived back one day with an exquisite mink coat for her and told her happily that her father’s dowry had cleared successfully into his bank account.

“The one you coerced Papa to double,” she said evenly to him.

“Yes, very clever of me, don’t you think? Let’s face it, all your parents’ wealth will go to your elder brother, and so clever of me to negotiate an extra share now for you when we had the opportunity, was it not?” He bent down and kissed her and she raised her eyes to heaven as he happily went off to his club.

When the time came close for her to give birth they travelled to France where they rented a house in the south near Cannes. There was only a midwife present at the birth as they didn’t want any doctor registering it.

Arabella gave birth to a baby girl.

“A daughter!” exclaimed Charles as he held the baby with a bemused look on his face. “To think of all that fuss and bother, and not even a son!”

“Sorry to disappoint!” said Arabella sarcastically.

“What are we to call her?” he said as he peered curiously down at her.

“Prudence,” said Arabella.

“Prudence!” exclaimed Charles. “Why on earth Prudence?”

“A favourite aunt of mine was called Prudence. The name has happy connotations for me.”

“I never imagined a child of mine would be called Prudence. I can’t imagine a child of mine being prudent!”

“All the more reason to call her that. I don’t want her to follow in our footsteps. I want her to be careful and sensible and practical and never to get into any bother. I hope she is prudent in life.”

Charles made a face as he handed the baby back to Arabella.

They had waited a couple of further months in France and Margaret had registered Prudence’s birth as two months later than it actually was in a little backward town hall in a small provincial town where the elderly official asked no more questions. Armed with their daughter’s new birth certificate, they arrived back in London.

The carriage continued as far as Regent’s Park, then pulled into the private driveway in front of Hanover Terrace. Hanover Terrace was a long row of four-storey terraced townhouses that looked across the road to the park. Lawrence owned the end house, which was the most spectacular of all the houses on the terrace. Charles got out of the carriage and reached to take Prudence from Arabella.

As Arabella alighted, she looked up at what would be their home for the foreseeable future.

The end house had a fleet of steps leading up to it onto a terrace which had three arches along it. Upstairs was a balcony terrace with pillars that rose to the third and fourth floor and at the top of the building was a Grecian-style triangular pediment with statues adorning it.

Arabella and Charles walked around to the side of the house where the main door was located and knocked loudly on the door.

The butler opened the door and welcomed them as they walked inside.

Margaret had never really interfered with the original antique interior of the house and, as Arabella stepped inside, she got a shock. The whole interior had been refurbished. The hallway divided the ground floor in half. To the left was a study and a staircase that led upstairs and one that led downstairs to the kitchens and servants’ quarters. On the other side of the hallway double doors led into the dining room which was at the front of the house. The windows here were French windows that led onto the terrace. As Arabella looked around she didn’t recognise the gentle elegance that had been there before they left for France. In its stead was highly polished new walnut floors, a stone staircase with cast-iron balustrades, and Venetian crystal chandeliers.

“Charles?” she queried as he smilingly opened the doors into the dining room. Again, the inside had been transformed into an arena of opulence with thick pile carpet, a new Grecian marble fireplace and a gigantic oak table with ornate curved-back embroidered chairs.

“Well?” asked Charles proudly.

“But who organised all this?” she asked, concerned.

“I did, of course!”

“But do your parents know?”

“No.”

“But it’s their house, Charles!”

“And it’s going to be mine one day, so why not invest in it now when we have to live in it now?” he said as he led her out of the dining room and up the stairs to the first floor, which was mostly taken up with an L-shaped drawing room. Arabella walked in and marvelled at the polished walnut floor, the gold mirrors, the extravagant drapes at the two French windows that opened up onto the balcony at the front of the house, offering stunning views across Regent’s Park.

“It’s all from Paris,” declared Charles proudly. “I met with the interior designers before we left for the Continent and told them what I wanted.”

“But how much did all this cost?” asked Arabella, still in shock.

“Who cares? It’s only money and we can afford it.”

“Thanks to my dowry!” she said, crossing over to the French windows and inspecting the drapes.

“Don’t be so suburban Dublin, Arabella!” he chided. “We’re going to be part of London high society now and need a home to impress.”

“But I thought your parents said our move to London was to be temporary until all the fuss dies down and we return to Armstrong House?”

“Pah!” he said dismissively. “There will be plenty of time for me to return to Armstrong House when I’m Lord Armstrong. Until then I plan to live a little. And now we have the means to do so.”

“Well, I don’t know what your parents are going to say about it all,” said Arabella.

He smirked at her. “I shouldn’t worry too much what they think. I can guess already what they think of us both at this stage.”

“Don’t, Charles!” snapped Arabella, going red with embarrassment as she always did when she thought of Margaret.

Charles went over and tugged the bell pull and a minute later a young dark-haired woman entered in a nanny’s uniform.

“Arabella, this is Mademoiselle Isabelle.”

“Bonjour, madame, so pleased to meet you,” Isabelle said, doing a little curtsy.

Arabella nodded at her, confused.

“I think Prudence needs a sleep after all the travel, Mademoiselle. Take her to the nursery,” instructed Charles.

“Oui, monsieur,” said Isabelle as she went over to Arabella and reached out to take Prudence from her.

“I’m sorry, but who exactly are you?” asked Arabella as she refused to hand her child over.

Isabelle looked at Charles, concerned. “But I am the new baby’s nanny, naturellement!”

“The new baby’s nanny! But I never employed you!” said Arabella.

“Non – Monsieur Charlesinterviewed me,” the girl explained.

“Oh he did, did he?” said Arabella, glaring at Charles.

“Yes, before we left for the Continent . . . Arabella dear, hand the child to mademoiselle and let her take her to the nursery,” said Charles.

Arabella reluctantly handed over Prudence and Isabelle left the room.

“Charles, I wanted to interview the nanny.”

“Well, I saved you the bother.”

“I didn’t want a foreign nanny! I wanted an English or Irish one!”

“Trust me, my dear,” he said as he examined the fine whiskey in the decanters and poured himself a glass.

As she looked at him in exasperation, she felt she could never trust anyone less.

chapter 22

“Another letter from Gwyneth,” said Charles over breakfast in the dining room. “She wants to come and see her new niece.”

It had been a few weeks since they had arrived back in London and they still were lying low. They wanted some time to pass before people saw Prudence so nobody would spot she wasn’t a newborn.

“Oh Charles, put her off for another while,” said Arabella, dreading the thought of meeting her.

“I’m afraid she insists. She is coming down from Battington Hall next week to London.”

“Not to stay here?” Arabella was alarmed.

“No, the Duke has a villa nearby, don’t you know.”

“I don’t want to see her, Charles.”

“Why? I think it’s time we stopped shutting ourselves away.”

“What must Gwyneth think of me? One minute with Harrison and the next married to you,” Arabella said.

“I’m sure she’d think much worse of you if she knew the real truth!” chuckled Charles as he put the letter back in the envelope.

“And of you!” retorted Arabella.

“Anyway, we need to get on with life now . . . I’m getting bored.”

Charles threw his hand of cards down on the table.

“I can’t believe it!” exclaimed Tom Hamley. “You win again!”

The other four men around the table shook their heads in resigned admiration.

“What can I say?” laughed Charles. “Lady Luck is being good to me! Another round?”

“No!” said Tom. “That’s me out for the count.”

They were in a panelled room in Tom Hamley’s house. Tom had been at university with Charles and was an old friend of his. All the men present were friends of Charles from his school and university days, and all were avid card players. The butler came over quickly and began to fill their balloon glasses with cognac.

“I think we’ll call it a night . . . same time next Friday?” asked Charles as he took a cigar from the wooden box being offered by a footman.

“To win more money from us?” asked Tom mockingly.

Charles sat back and lit his cigar. “I’m sure your luck will change.”

“Yours will have to change first!”

Charles looked around happily. He had missed this in Ireland. These friends, this scene.

“Tell me, Armstrong, when are we going to meet this wife of yours?” asked Michael Darnton, another friend.

“Well, you know, she’s been busy with the baby,” said Charles.

“I think my mother met her during the week in Regent’s Park,” said Tom. “They ended up talking by the boating lake. She was with your French nanny and the baby.”

“Yes, they go for a walk in the park every morning, weather permitting.”

“She said she was very beautiful and very nice,” said Tom.

“Oh, it was definitely her in that case!” laughed Charles.

They continued talking and drinking into the night.

“What we need is some new blood to join this card game. Somebody who’s not as good a player but has plenty of money to lose,” said Charles.

“What about your new brother-in-law, the Duke of Battington?” suggested Tom.

“Are you joking me? His Grace is far too sensible and stoic ever to get mixed up in gambling. He’s much too concerned with his prize heifers on his estate.”

“Well, he must have a large circle of wealthy friends whom you could plunder?” suggested Tom.

Charles dragged on his cigar. “Gwyneth is visiting me this week. I’ll keep a look out . . . Of course, we have to be careful . . . baccarat is illegal, gentlemen.”

Gwyneth marvelled at the décor of the house in Hanover Terrace as she was shown through the hallway and up the stairs by the butler.

“The Duchess of Battington,” announced the butler as he opened the door in the drawing room and she entered.

“Duchess!” declared Charles as he came over to her and gave her a hug.

“Charles – you’re looking well,” said Gwyneth. “The Riviera obviously suited you.”

“Oh, it did!” he said.

She saw Arabella sitting on the couch with the baby in a cot beside her.

“Hello, Gwyneth,” said Arabella, unable to keep her voice from sounding nervous.

Gwyneth walked over to her and then bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

“It’s good to see you again, Arabella.”

Arabella nodded and smiled at her.

“And this must be Prudence,” said Gwyneth, turning her attention to the cot. She reached in and picked up the baby.

Charles came and stood beside her.

“Well?” he asked.

“What a lovely baby!” said Gwyneth.

She was surprised. The baby looked like neither Charles nor Arabella. This baby was quite plain, Gwyneth thought, unlike her two good-looking parents.

Gwyneth sat down beside Arabella as she cradled Prudence.

“I was giving up hope of ever meeting my niece,” laughed Gwyneth. “I thought you were going to keep her all to yourselves.”

They spent some more time discussing the baby and then Isabelle came and took her away and the butler brought tea.

“I hardly recognised this place,” said Gwyneth, as she examined the ornate gold-framed couch she was sitting on, wondering where all the money was coming from. “I’m just back from a visit to Armstrong House. It was the first time I was home since I married His Grace.”

“And how is everybody there?” asked Charles.

“More or less the same. Papa still going on about the Land War, Mama still trying to train Emily, James still doing whatever James does.”

“I imagine the house is quieter now without you and Charles,” said Arabella, afraid to mention Harrison.

“Well, life goes on in Armstrong House much as it always has . . . though I daresay life is going to become even quieter there now.”

“Why?” asked Charles.

“Daphne has got engaged.”

“Really?” Charles was surprised. “To whom?”

“To Gilbert Hatton.”

“He’s a son of one of those Dublin brewery families, isn’t he?” asked Charles.

“Yes, that’s him.”

“Mama must be delighted,” said Charles.

“It’s certainly got their blessing,” said Gwyneth as she looked uncomfortably at Arabella.

“Unlike my marriage to Arabella,” said Charles with a knowing look.

Gwyneth cleared her throat. “I won’t deny we got a shock on hearing you two had married.”

The butler knocked, came in and said, “Your lordship, there’s a gentleman downstairs to see you – Mr Arbuthnott.”

“Ah, he’s come to give me my winnings from a card game I played with him last weekend – I’ll be back in a short while,” Charles said as he followed the butler out.

Arabella and Gwyneth sat awkwardly together.

“It’s all right,” said Arabella. “We don’t expect your approval.”

“I can’t speak for the rest of the Armstrongs, but I think you did a very brave thing in . . . in letting Harrison go.”

“You do?” Arabella was surprised.

“If you didn’t love Harrison, it would be far more cruel to have gone ahead and married him.”

“That’s kind of you to say, but I don’t think anyone else is thinking like that . . . We’re in a kind of exile here in London. Our parents thought it best for us to live here for a while because of the scandal.”

“I won’t pretend that your dumping Harrison and marrying Charles hasn’t been the talk of the drawing rooms of Dublin and the big houses around Ireland. But the thing is, did you do the right thing in marrying Charles? Are you in love with him?”

Arabella nodded and smiled. “Yes, I am.”

“Well, then, does anything else matter? Besides, looking at Charles, he looks as if he is enjoying this exile immeasurably. Card games indeed! I don’t think he was ever cut out to be a country gentleman, much to my father’s chagrin.”

“And what about Harrison? Have you heard how he is? I understand he went to New York?”

“Yes, he’s still there, working in a bank. He has no plans to return.”

Charles came in, counting an amount of money.

Gwyneth stood up. “I’d better be getting back. We’re having a party at our house in London on Saturday. You’ll both be able to come?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” said Charles gleefully.

Arabella came down the stairs on the Saturday evening dressed in an extravagant ball gown she had bought in Bond Street during the week. She felt nervous about the evening ahead at Gwyneth’s but as she walked into the drawing room Charles seemed overly excited at the prospect of the night.

“Will I do?” she asked self-consciously.

He looked her up and down and then took a drink of his cognac. “Very well indeed.”

He walked over to her and kissed her. She put her hand around the back of his neck and kissed him before pulling back and smiling. All the trauma was worth it for moments like this.

“The carriage awaits!” he said as he offered her his arm.

They made the short journey to the Duke’s London residence on Prince Albert Road. It was a four-storey detached villa up a short drive. As their carriage pulled up outside, Arabella could see the rooms inside full of elegantly dressed people.

“I think we’re a bit late,” said Charles as they climbed the steps to the front door.

“There’s a surprise!” said Arabella, who had become accustomed to Charles’ lateness.

A footman was waiting at the door and showed them in.

“Charles!” said Gwyneth as she spotted them and came over.

“A nice small gathering!” remarked Charles sarcastically as he took in the crowd.

Gwyneth kissed Arabella on the cheek. “Come, and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Charles and Arabella caused quite a stir that night. The young Irish aristocrat and his wife offered what most of them wanted to be associated with: youth, beauty, money, class, family connections and one of the finest addresses in the city. Arabella noticed Charles lapped it up as people flocked to them. She noticed he seemed to be almost on a mission to ingratiate himself with as many people as possible.

On the following Monday Arabella and Charles were in the dining room waiting for breakfast. There was a stack of envelopes in front of Charles which he was feverishly opening. Prudence was sitting in her high chair close to Arabella.

“And another invitation to a party next Saturday night!” said Charles with relish.

“You were obviously quite a hit at Gwyneth’s,” remarked Arabella.

“Yes,” he said absent-mindedly as he read another request for their company at a cocktail party. He looked up at her quickly. “We were a hit, my dear . . . I’ll have to study these invitations and see which ones we should attend.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” she said with a mixture of incredulity and bemusement.

“Of course, I’ll leave out the invitations I think we should attend and you just tell me if you have any objections.”

“Charles!” snapped Arabella. “You can leave out all the invitations and I will go through them myself in my own time!”

He smirked at her. “As you wish.”

The butler came in with a large tray which he deposited on the sideboard. Then he approached the table carrying two plates which he put in front of them, looking embarrassed.

Arabella looked down at the burned bacon and eggs.

“What is this?” she asked, surprised.

“I’m afraid the kitchen maid isn’t a very good cook,” he said.

“The kitchen maid! Why is she cooking breakfast? Where is Mrs Glover?”

The butler glanced down nervously at Charles. “I’m afraid Mrs Glover is no longer with us.”

“Well, where is she?” Arabella demanded.

The butler started coughing as he looked down at Charles.

“Charles?” said Arabella, looking for some kind of explanation.

“I’m afraid I had to give Mrs Glover her marching orders. Don’t worry – I gave her an excellent reference.”

“Marching orders! But why?”

“Because she could only cook plain fare.”

“Plain fare!” She looked down at her plate. “I think I would prefer plain fare to burned fare! Besides, Mrs Glover was an excellent cook.”

“Yes, if you like a continual diet of Brussels sprouts and boiled bacon!”

“And who is to do the cooking now, as it is obvious the kitchen maid is not up to the job?”

“Monsieur Huppert.”

“And who is Monsieur Huppert?” demanded Arabella, her disbelief increasing.

“Monsieur Huppert is one of the finest chefs in London. He worked in the Ritz.”

“The Ritz!” Arabella’s voiced rose further decibels. “You have employed a French chef to be our cook?”

Charles put his hand down on the stack of envelopes. “Well, we are going to be doing a lot of entertaining. We want our house to be associated with good food and not Brussels sprouts!”

Arabella turned to the butler. “Could you take away my plate, please. I’m no longer hungry.”

“Moi aussi!” said Charles as he pushed his plate away.

The butler quickly took the plates and left.

“Charles, you mustn’t do everything without consulting me!” Arabella said.

“Yes, dear!” said Charles as he got up from the table and sauntered out. Arabella stared at the closed door and then in a fit of temper took up her fork and threw it at the door. The clatter caused Prudence to start bawling.

“For goodness’ sake!” said Arabella as she took the child and started to soothe her. She went and tugged on the bell pull and called, “Mademoiselle!”

chapter 23

The weeks flew by into months and Charles and Arabella found they soon became one of the most sought-after couples on the London social scene. It wasn’t long before they started to host dinner parties and occasions at the house on Hanover Terrace, and an invitation there became a coveted prize. Charles would select the wittiest and most connected people to gather at their home as he had a clear ambition for their house to gain a reputation as one of the most talked-about houses in the capital.

One evening Arabella and Charles were having dinner with guests.

“Arabella, that was simply delicious,” said David Chester, a young guest at the table.

“Thank you, David,” said Arabella.

Dessert was being served and the footmen placed white bowls in front of the diners. In each bowl was a large solid sphere of chocolate. The footmen then went around with silver jugs of piping hot cream. They poured the hot cream over the chocolate spheres which caused them to dissolve instantly and out of the middle of each one oozed raspberry.

“That’s not a pudding – that’s art!” declared another guest as she looked down at the sudden creation of a swirl of melted chocolate, raspberry and cream.

“That looks too good to eat!” said David as he smiled down at the dessert.

Arabella picked up his silver spoon, handed it to him and said, “I insist!”

David was a young man who had suddenly come into a large inheritance and moved up from the country to enjoy London. His family was known and he was welcomed on to the social scene. He was slightly naïve and awestruck since coming to the capital, and Charles had befriended him at a few events and invited him to dine at Hanover Terrace a couple of times. David was very grateful as he felt lost in the big city.

“Any luck in finding a house to buy yet?” Charles asked David.

“I’m afraid not,” said David. “I’ve been going around with an agent but can’t find anything suitable.”

“Why don’t you let me help you?”

“I’d be very grateful, Charles,” smiled David.

After dinner the women retired to the drawing room while the men stayed at the table to enjoy cigars and port.

Charles opened a cigar box and offered one to David. “Try one of these – imported from Cuba.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” said David, taking one.

“They’re excellent, I assure you.”

After he had lit up David said, “Thanks again for the offer to help find a house, Charles. Some of these estate agents can be real shysters.”

“Yes, they can. It’s all about who you know in London.”

“Yes, I’m finding that out.”

“I mean, having lots of money is all very well, but it’s connections that matter.”

“Yes, I see that . . . and thank you, Charles – you’ve introduced me to a lot of important contacts.”

“My pleasure. I say – are you any good at playing cards?”

“Eh – not bad. I was the best in my school!”

Charles lowered his voice and neared him. “I’m a member of a small circle which meets to play cards once a week.”

“Really?” David’s eyes opened wide.

“If you wish I could see about the others letting you attend once or twice.”

“Do you think they’d agree?”

“I don’t know, it’s a fairly select circle. These are serious players playing for serious money . . .” Charles shook his head and turned and looked out across the park again. “No, forget it – it wouldn’t be for you.”

“No, Charles, please ask them at least. I’d be very grateful!”

“Well, I can’t promise anything – but I’ll try if you insist.”

“Thank you, Charles!”

Charles reached forward and put out his cigar in an ashtray. “Right, shall we go and join the ladies upstairs?” he suggested smiling.

Charles and Arabella were at the London Palladium in a box beside the royal box, watching a show. In the main audience a man and a woman were sitting in one of the aisles. The woman looked up and, spotting Charles and Arabella, turned to her companion.

“Who are that couple beside the royal box?” she asked.

The man peered up. “Lord Armstrong’s son, Charles, and his wife from Dublin.”

“Oh, that’s them, is it?”

“They’ve quickly become a must-have at any party worth its salt.”

“I’ve heard they serve the best food in London at their dinner parties.”

“Yes, it’s all caviar from Russia, champagne from the best French vineyards. Money seems no object to them . . . Of course you heard the rumour?”

“No?”

“She ditched the spare for the heir.”

“Sorry?”

“Seemingly she was engaged to the younger brother and left him to marry Charles.”

The woman took out her binoculars and studied Charles. “Clever girl! Do you know them?”

“I’ve spoken to Charles a couple of times.”

“You just have to introduce me to them after the show. I’d love to get an invitation to their house. I believe it’s quite breathtaking if also somewhat vulgar!

chapter 24

At Armstrong House Margaret was reading through a letter from a friend of hers in London. It was after dinner and Daphne, Emily and Lawrence were enjoying the summer evening with her in the drawing room.

“Penelope’s whole letter is about Charles and Arabella!” said Margaret as she continued to read through it.

“What does she say?” asked Lawrence, concerned.

“Well, she merely repeats what other people have been telling us. That they appear to be having a wonderful life, get invited to all the best places and seem to be rolling in money!”

Margaret was due to travel to London soon with Daphne to have her fitted for a wedding dress.

Lawrence sat thinking. “I think I shall go to London with you and Daphne, otherwise our granddaughter will be in pigtails before I meet her.”

“It might be wise, Lawrence, to see what is actually going on there.” Margaret was consumed with concern.

Emily sat in a dreamlike trance as she always did when news came of Charles and Arabella’s life in London. She could only imagine the glamorous time they were having there. She desperately missed Charles. And even though she knew the whole fiasco nearly ended in disaster, she hadn’t had a moment’s excitement since her secret part in Charles and Arabella’s affair.

“I’ll go too in that case. I don’t want to be left here on my own,” said Emily.

“You won’t be on your own,” Margaret shot down her suggestion. “You’ll have James and a household of servants.”

“But, Mama!” objected Emily.

“You’ll stay here, Emily! And concentrate on your German grammar!” insisted Margaret.

David Chester placed a winning hand of cards down on the table at Tom Hamley’s house.

Charles shouted in irritation. “You win again!”

There was a chorus of annoyed groans around the table. It was the fourth time David had joined Charles’ gambling circle.

David was almost embarrassed but very excited. “It must be beginner’s luck.”

“Beginner’s luck, my arse! You’re a bloody natural!” sighed Charles as he rose from his chair. “Anyway, I’d better be getting back home – it’s after one already.”

“I’ll get my butler to call you a cab,” said Tom as he tugged the bell pull.

“Come on, David, I’ll drop you at your hotel on the way home,” offered Charles.

“Thanks!” said David, also getting up.

“Until next weekend, gentlemen,” said Charles with a wink as they left.

“Male-female-male-female . . . female . . .” said Arabella. “I’m one male guest short to make up the table for the dinner party this Saturday.”

She and Charles were sitting in the drawing room where Arabella was making the table plan.

She looked up at Charles. “Why don’t we invite David Chester? He’s always very pleasant company.”

Charles looked up from his newspaper. “No – actually David has left London. He’s returned home to Wiltshire.”

“Returned home! But I thought he loved it here.”

“Evidently not. He missed home. I think he made a couple of unwise investments as well.” Charles returned to reading his paper.

“What a shame! He was such a nice character.”

David Chester was sitting in a train-carriage looking despondent as he travelled back to the country. He was trying to figure out what had gone wrong. A few weeks earlier he had arrived in London with a large inheritance and the city at his feet. Now he was travelling home having lost most of his money in a game of cards.