It was while they were drinking tea, and while Eustacia was still taking in the fact that her godmother was deliberately deceiving the church in order to remain in a house to which she was clearly not entitled, that the door opened and a lady wearing a neat but unremarkable bonnet and a modestly cut smoky-grey gown came into the room.
‘Oh, I beg your pardon,’ she said in a soft musical tone.
‘Come in, Jessie,’ said Lady Agatha. ‘Allow me to introduce Eustacia Hope, my goddaughter. You will remember that I told you that she was to come and stay with us for a while. Eustacia, this is Jessie Warburton, who resides with me as my companion.’
Eustacia got up to exchange polite greetings with the newcomer. Miss Warburton was taller than Eustacia by a good three or four inches, and she looked to be in her thirties. Her hair, neat and smooth beneath her plain straw bonnet was of an ordinary shade of light brown. Her eyes were also brown, and her features held nothing to displease, but nothing to catch the eye either. Altogether she was the kind of woman that one might easily pass in the street and instantly forget. This was Eustacia’s opinion, until the other woman smiled, whereupon her face was lit up with an expression of such sweetness that her appearance was instantly transformed to something that was very like beauty.
‘I’m sorry that I was not here to greet you, Miss Hope,’ said Miss Warburton. ‘I was doing a little visiting on Lady Agatha’s behalf.’
‘I like to keep an eye on the parishioners,’ said her ladyship. ‘Someone has to do so, if there is no priest here.’ Then, before anyone could comment upon the connection between the lack of an incumbent and her refusal to quit the house, she said, ‘Take off your bonnet, Jessie, and ring for more tea. This is cold.’
‘I have already had tea with Mrs Swanage,’ Jessie replied, doing as she was bid. As she removed her head covering and walked to the bell, her movements were as smooth and gentle as the tone of her voice.
‘Tea with Mrs Swanage!’ exclaimed Lady Agatha in disgusted tones. ‘Cat’s wee with a wet hen!’
Eustacia coloured again at her godmother’s forceful language, for Lady Hope. despite her former connections with the stage, never expressed herself in unladylike terms. Jessie, who was obviously more used to it, simply smiled and enquired about the visitor’s journey.
‘It went very smoothly, thank you,’ Eustacia replied.
‘Until the last few minutes,’ her ladyship put in. ‘That insect Henry Lusty came again and I had to eject him.’
‘You do Mr Lusty a disservice,’ said Jessie calmly. ‘He is only doing what he believes to be right.’
‘Ha!’ ejaculated her ladyship. ‘He would not come here nearly so often if you were not here. Still, you’re better off entertaining his suit than sighing over Ashbourne, I suppose.’
Jessie coloured faintly, but made no response to this, simply enquiring for how long Eustacia was intending to stay. ‘I am not sure as yet,’ Eustacia told her, as Grimes came in with more tea. ‘For how long have you resided with my godmother, Miss Warburton?’
‘For the last eight years,’ Jessie answered. Eustacia was surprised. She had expected to hear that Lady Agatha’s companion had come to live at the vicarage on the death of the vicar.
‘Never mind that. It’s all past history,’ said Lady Agatha dismissively. ‘The main thing is that we now have reinforcements.’
‘Reinforcements?’ repeated Jessie and Eustacia, almost at the same time.
‘Yes indeed,’ responded Lady Agnes, smiling like a cat that had not only got the cream, but also knew from where to procure the next bowlful. ‘A young girl, all alone, jilted, penniless, and in delicate health: how could the church be so heartless as to throw her out?’
‘But I’m not alone and penniless, and I’ve already told you that my health is excellent,’ Eustacia protested, mystified.
‘Yes, but they don’t know that, do they?’ answered her godmother, still beaming.
Over the next few days, Eustacia frequently found herself wondering what her mother would have made of the situation in which her daughter found herself. Her intention in sending Eustacia to her godmother had been that she should be cared for at some distance away from the scene of her jilting, with all the scandal that that entailed. No doubt Lady Hope had anticipated that her daughter would benefit from the wise counsel of her old friend, the vicar’s widow. What Eustacia’s mother could never have expected was that the same vicar’s widow would seek to embroil her young guest in an intrigue which involved falsifying the opinions of a peer, deceiving ecclesiastical authorities as to the nature of her, Eustacia’s, circumstances, defrauding the church of its rightful property and denying the village the priest that it was entitled to have.
She recalled how Lady Agatha had visited them once when she, Eustacia, was only seventeen. She had taken her goddaughter to York and they had gone to an inn and, as there was no parlour, they had sat in the taproom. She remembered another occasion when Lady Agatha had taken her driving in the country. When they had found a secluded spot, her ladyship had taken out brandy and cigars. Eustacia had tried both and been vilely ill. In many ways, it was not surprising that a lady with such a capacity for plots and plans should still be plotting now.
It was odd, though, that at one moment, her ladyship seemed to be saying that they should keep quiet about Eustacia’s Unfortunate Experience, and at another that she should be advocating using this sad circumstance as a weapon in her fight against the bishop. Part of her rejoiced at this piece of intrigue. At Woodfield Park they had always led a very quiet life. Most of the time, Eustacia did not mind. Sometimes, though, she thought of her mother’s exciting and slightly scandalous past, and wanted to have adventures of her own. This scheme of her godmother’s, surely harmless in its way, promised a little intrigue and excitement, if only for the short term.
How strangely things fell out, she thought. Her mother, the former actress, would always be tainted with immorality in many people’s eyes. Yet her mother was a pillar of the local community, a vigorous supporter of the church, and a fierce opponent of falsehood. Lady Agatha’s approach seemed rather entertaining in comparison.
There had been no further visits from the church authorities, and no correspondence from them either. On the other hand, a letter had arrived from another source that very morning which had brought to her ladyship’s face that self-satisfied smile with which Eustacia was beginning to be very familiar. ‘Ashbourne is still hell-raising in Italy,’ she had declared. ‘He will have no interest in my concerns.’
‘What if the bishop writes to him?’ Eustacia had ventured.
‘Ha! If anything arrives for him with the frank paid for by the bishop, he’ll throw it in the fire,’ her godmother had stated positively. ‘We’ll not see him here.’
Throughout this discourse, Miss Warburton had sat quietly in her place, buttering her toast with careful precision and cutting it into small, neat squares.
Now, although she had not finished, she stood up. ‘If you will excuse me, I think I will go to my room,’ she said in even tones.
‘Shall we go for a walk in a little while?’ Eustacia asked her. The two younger ladies had quickly formed the habit of walking together each day.
‘I shall be ready,’ Jessie replied, before leaving the room.
‘Poor Jessie,’ said Lady Agatha shaking her head. ‘I fear she has always had a weakness for my brother, but it would never do. A rake like Ashbourne would never look her way. She’s not the kind of pretty slut that appeals to him at all. In reality, she wouldn’t like it above half if he did pay her any attention, although she’d never believe it if I told her so. Unfortunately, the alternative is no better in my opinion.’
‘What is the alternative?’ asked Eustacia curiously.
‘Henry Lusty, of course,’ her godmother replied scornfully. ‘You don’t think this business with the bishop is the only reason he calls, do you? If I thought he was really interested in her, I would encourage him tomorrow. Unfortunately, I suspect that he believes that by courting her, he will get a foot into this place. If you’ve finished your breakfast, you might as well go and find her. She seems to have taken to you.’
To Eustacia aged 22, Miss Warburton at 30 seemed venerable. The notion that this lady could at one and the same time be smitten by a rake and pursued by a curate was novel indeed. They had talked about all kinds of things as they had strolled about the village together, but their conversations had not encompassed either of these two gentlemen. The truth was that in Miss Warburton, Eustacia had discovered the kind confidante that she had not found in her godmother. Jessie’s gentle sympathy had drawn out the whole sorry story of Morrison’s desertion, and it had been about him and about Eustacia’s own life that they had talked.
Now, Eustacia felt guilty. She had poured all her troubles out to Jessie without ever wondering whether Jessie might have things that she wanted to talk about. Eustacia resolved that she would remedy the situation that very day. The essential thing would be to show herself ready to listen to Jessie’s problems without looking as if she was being vulgarly intrusive.
In the event, it was Jessie herself who raised the matter. ‘I suppose you must be wondering why I fled the breakfast-table this morning,’ she said.
‘It seemed to me that you left just after my godmother spoke about Lord Ashbourne,’ Eustacia replied. They were walking down the drive, making the most of the sunny day. Eustacia, dressed as usual by Trixie, was in a dark pink gown, set off handsomely by dove grey gloves and kid boots, and a charming bonnet with pink flowers and pink and grey striped ribbons. Jessie, in a mustard-coloured gown with a plain bonnet, managed to look several years older than she really was.
‘You must think me such a fool,’ Jessie said, after they had walked along in silence for a short time.
‘Of course I don’t,’ replied Eustacia without hesitation. The other woman’s gentle kindness had won her heart almost from the very first. It made a welcome change to Lady Hope’s imperious conviction that she must know best for everyone, and Lady Agatha’s inclination to make use of other people quite shamelessly in order to further her schemes, and to discount any concerns that did not affect herself.
‘Well I do,’ Jessie replied frankly. ‘I have told myself time out of mind what a fool I am, but it does not seem to make any difference, I’m afraid.’
‘Have you known the family for long?’ Eustacia asked her.
Jessie nodded. ‘Mama and Lady Agatha were friends for years. My father was a squire with a small income, but he wasn’t very wise with his money, I fear. After he died, Mama and I were left without a home, so Lady Agatha persuaded Lord Ashbourne – the present Lord Ashbourne’s father – to provide us with a cottage on his estate and somehow we managed. Mama was ill for some years before she died, and I looked after her. Then after her death eight years ago, Lady Agatha invited me to come and live with her.’
‘Is Lord Ashbourne like his sister?’ Eustacia asked.
‘A little,’ replied Jessie.
‘Is he handsome?’
‘Yes, he’s very handsome,’ answered Jessie wearily. ‘Handsome and wicked and careless, and he’s never cast so much as a glance my way. Perhaps if I met him every day, I would get used to him. If I never saw him at all, that would be even better; but I see him just enough to keep him in my mind.’
‘Forgive me for asking,’ said Eustacia tentatively, ‘but surely Lord Ashbourne must be a married man.’
‘He is a widower,’ answered Jessie. ‘His wife died giving birth to his only son. Ilam was brought up chiefly by a local farmer’s family. Ashbourne has been kicking over the traces ever since. Mercifully his fortune is immense, or he would have run through it years ago.’
‘Have you never thought of anyone else?’ Eustacia asked curiously.
‘Not really,’ replied Jessie simply. ‘However, it may be that that situation could be on the point of changing.’
Eustacia remembered her godmother speaking about the curate, Henry Lusty. Could it be that Jessie was considering encouraging his suit?
By now, they were walking along the main street. Eustacia and Trixie had travelled the other way down it when they had first arrived in the village. Now, the two ladies strolled up the gentle incline. As they reached the gates of Illingham Hall, Jessie said impulsively, ‘Would you like to see Ashbourne’s portrait? There is one inside.’
‘Would it be allowed?’ Eustacia asked.
‘The housekeeper likes showing people around,’ Jessie told her.
‘What about Lord Ilam?’
‘He would not mind. In any case, he is from home.’
‘Is he gambling in Italy with his father?’ Eustacia asked, remembering her mother saying that he might be a rake as well.
‘Oh no,’ replied Jessie positively. ‘He and his father are not upon good terms. Shall we go in?’
Eustacia allowed herself to be persuaded. In truth, she was feeling rather curious about Lord Ashbourne. Her mother had warned her about this notorious rake before she had ever come here. Now, she had the chance to see him for herself.
The housekeeper, a thin, wiry-looking woman with iron-grey hair, obviously knew Miss Warburton very well, seemed to be gratified to meet Lady Agatha’s goddaughter, and was quite happy to permit the two ladies to make a tour of the house without her.
‘I won’t take you all the way round,’ said Jessie confidingly as they made their way up the stairs that led up from the hall. ‘I expect Lady Agatha will want to do that. I would be grateful, however, if you will perhaps not mention today’s visit.’
‘Of course,’ Eustacia replied, as they climbed the stairs. Like the majority of the house, it was Elizabethan, and richly carved with vines and grapes, in the style of Grinling Gibbons. There was a sharp turn to the right at the top of the stairs, and Eustacia gasped with admiration, for she found herself standing at the end of a long gallery, with huge windows on one side, and bookcases which extended from floor to exquisitely painted ceiling on the other. The windows looked out onto a well kept old-fashioned parterre.
‘This place seems well managed,’ remarked Eustacia looking round her with the eye of one accustomed to a father’s diligence and a mother’s good housekeeping. The house was obviously cared for, with highly polished wood and sparkling windows, and the fabric of the place looked to be in good order. How much was Ilam responsible for this good care, she wondered? She bent to examine an exquisitely decorated table, and slipped her reticule off her wrist when it got in the way.
‘The gardens are beautiful, aren’t they?’ said Jessie. Eustacia looked up and wandered over to join her at the window. Beyond the parterre was a terrace with a summerhouse, and a variety of trees behind. ‘They were tended especially by Ilam’s grandmother. Ilam was born here, as his grandfather was alive at the time, and Ilam’s father was the viscount. He and the previous Lord Ashbourne hated each other. It runs in the family, I’m afraid – fathers and sons hating one another. Do you want to see the portrait now?’
They went into an anteroom set in a corner of the house, with latticed windows in two of the four walls. With two doors diagonally opposite each other, there was little space for furniture or wall decoration. There was one large picture in the room, hung to face the window to the left of the door through which they had just come. The gentleman in the picture was dressed according to the fashion of about twenty years ago. He was leaning negligently against a heavy wooden desk, his arms folded, one leg crossed over the other. It was an unusual pose.
There was only one portrait of Eustacia’s father at her home. In that picture, he was depicted as being outside in the grounds, the house appearing in the background. Beside him was seated Lady Hope with a diminutive Eustacia upon her knee. There was also a sketch of her father, again outside with the house in the distance. In this drawing, he was shown with his gun, and his dog lying obediently at his feet. On visits to other stately homes, Eustacia had seen similarly stylized depictions of the owner in a family group, or in a pose which sought to convey his sporting prowess. Often, too, there were portraits of peers in the ermine robes of their rank.
The stance of the sitter in this picture, however, seemed to suggest an attitude which might best be described as ‘If you want to paint me, you’ll do it here, damn your eyes.’ His expression was not a pleasant one; yet it was a handsome face as Jessie had said, if rather a lean one, with high cheekbones, soaring brows, a well-shaped but thin-lipped mouth and dark, rather hard eyes with a hint of a cynical smile behind them.
‘Was the painting done here, or at Ashbourne?’ Eustacia asked, wondering why it remained here when the man who had sat for it was resident elsewhere.
‘It was done here, when he was Lord Ilam,’ Jessie replied. ‘His father only died ten years ago.’ She paused for a short while, then said, ‘Shall we go now? I really ought to stop myself from looking at this picture. It does me no good at all.’
Eustacia readily agreed. As for the picture doing Jessie no good, doubtless she was right. After all, the picture was only a depiction of a man who, according to his reputation. had never done any woman any good either.