I seem to move among a world of ghosts,
And feel myself the shadow of a dream.
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
Minerva went out of the front door of Mannerling, her eyes narrowing as she saw Rachel, Charles, and the children approaching her across the lawns, looking like a family party.
She pinned a smile on her face. She would need to appear all that was amiable, she would need to pretend to like Rachel, and then she would try to pour some poison into Charles’s ears about the plots of the Beverleys. Minerva was wearing a white lace morning gown and another wide-brimmed bonnet. Her white kid gloves were wrinkled in the current fashion and elbow-length. Her white kid shoes peeped out from under her gown. Her hat was of white straw and embellished with white silk flowers. Minerva considered that she now looked the very picture of a virgin.
She floated towards Charles, her hands outstretched in welcome.
And then Charles shouted, ‘Look out!’ He ran towards her and pulled her roughly to one side as a long scream descended from the heavens towards her.
There was a sickening thump behind her. Rachel shouted to the children, ‘Don’t look,’ and pressed their faces against her skirts.
Over their heads, she saw Charles stoop over the crumpled body which had fallen from the roof.
‘Get the children inside,’ shouted Charles. ‘Now!’
Rachel hurried off with Mark and Beth.
‘Who is it?’ asked Minerva. ‘And how did he come to fall?’
In all his fright and distress, part of his mind still registered how calmly Minerva appeared to be reacting to the whole thing.
‘It is one of my footmen, John.’
‘Oh, a footman!’ said Minerva, and turned away as Miss Trumble came out of the house.
‘It is only a footman,’ said Minerva, ‘fallen from the roof.’
Servants came running out of the house and over from the stables.
‘Take the body inside,’ ordered Charles. ‘Miss Trumble, see to Rachel and the children.’
‘I came to tell you Mrs Kennedy called, but I cannot find her.’
He gave an exclamation and strode ahead of the governess into the house.
A weak voice from the landing sounded down to them, Mrs Kennedy’s voice.
‘I killed him,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t help it.’
They were finally all gathered in the drawing-room to hear Mrs Kennedy’s amazing story. The general slowed up the telling of it by demanding to hear all about the haunting first and asking why no one had thought to rouse him.
‘The question now is,’ said Miss Trumble quietly, ‘who employed him to do such a thing? And why did the house-keeper and that boy lie about him being present with the other servants when we were looking for the ghost of Judd?’
They were then interrupted by the arrival of Lady Beverley, and all the explanations had to be gone through again.
‘Well, really,’ bridled Lady Beverley, glaring at Miss Trumble, ‘I should have been roused. I am the one most qualified to deal with nervous children.’
‘You went to bed complaining of illness,’ said Miss Trumble, ‘and demanded not to be roused before noon, no matter what happened.’
‘Miss Trumble and your daughter were a tower of strength,’ put in Charles, but all that did was make Lady Beverley angrier than ever.
Charles rang the bell and asked for the housekeeper and the boy, Freddy, to be sent in.
Mrs Jones came in after quite a long wait, dabbing at her eyes. ‘My apologies, sir,’ she said in her hoarse voice. ‘I am so overset by the death of poor John.’
Barry entered the room and bowed low. ‘I have some news,’ he said to Charles.
‘Go on.’
‘I took the liberty of examining the dead fellow’s head. There was a bump on it which I do not think was caused by the fall, for he fell on his left side and the blow I struck him – for I now know it must have been John – was on the right. The bump must have come up after you examined him, sir. Also in his quarters, I found this.’ Barry held up a sandy wig.
Charles turned again to Mrs Jones. ‘So what have you to say for yourself? You said he was standing beside you in the hall.’
‘It was afterwards that John talked to me about me standing next to him and reminded me of what he had said.’
‘But you must have remembered yourself whether he was there or not!’
‘I was so frightened with all the fuss, and sleepy too, sir. And I never thought John, of all people, would do such a thing. He had nothing against you, sir, only the Beverleys.’
‘That’s quite enough,’ snapped Charles. ‘You, boy, what have you to say for yourself?’
Freddy twisted his apron and looked at him dumbly.
‘Speak,’ commanded the general.
‘It were her,’ blurted out the boy, jerking a thumb at the housekeeper. ‘Her told me I was to say I’d seen ’im.’
‘Were you in this plot with John?’ demanded Charles wrathfully.
‘Oh, no, no, no,’ wailed the housekeeper.
Miss Trumble’s level voice sounded in the room. ‘I think the poor woman was drunk and could not remember much of what happened.’
‘I swear I only had a little gin and hot to soothe my nerves, sir,’ screeched the housekeeper. ‘It was John who told me all about standing next to me. I swear on my mother’s grave. He told me Freddy was there as well, so I told the boy what to say, him being not right in the head.’
She began to cry noisily and Charles looked at her with a sort of angry pity. ‘Go away and we will talk later,’ he said.
When the housekeeper had made a noisy and lachrymose exit, followed by the boy, the company looked at one another.
‘I think we should ask in Hedgefield whether John was seen talking to anyone,’ said Charles. ‘I cannot believe a servant would go to such lengths on his own behalf.’ He turned to Barry. ‘Perhaps you could ask around.’
Barry touched his forehead and left the room.
‘This should put an end to the hauntings now that the wretched creature is dead,’ said Minerva, stifling a yawn.
‘Only if the malice was all his own,’ retorted Miss Trumble.
‘I think I will take the children outside again, if I may,’ said Rachel.
‘Such a good idea.’ Minerva rose and smoothed down her skirts.
Charles, sharply anxious for the welfare of his children, who were looking frightened, suddenly could not bear them to be subjected to Minerva’s brand of ‘motherly’ concern, and said, ‘Do go along with Mark and Beth, Miss Rachel. Miss Santerton and I have much to discuss.’
Minerva sat down again, a little triumphant smile on her lips.
‘I will come with you, Rachel.’ Miss Trumble headed for the door.
‘Could do with some fresh air myself,’ said the general.
Lady Beverley stood up. ‘Your arm, General. We will all go.’
‘Sit down, Father, and Miss Trumble. We shall all discuss this affair,’ said Charles and then added innocently, ‘but go along with your daughter by all means, Lady Beverley.’
‘On second thoughts,’ said Lady Beverley, ‘I feel perhaps my place is here.’ She sat down again.
‘Well, I’m bored with the whole thing,’ drawled George Santerton. ‘Such a lot of fuss over a mere footman.’
‘And, sure, I am shaken to the core of my poor old body,’ complained Mrs Kennedy. ‘I for one am going home.’
‘You are a brave lady,’ said the general. ‘What an experience! I will escort you out to your carriage.’
Miss Trumble, half-amused, half-exasperated, saw the sudden alarm and consternation on Lady Beverley’s face as the general tenderly escorted Mrs Kennedy to the door.
Rachel had already gone. Minerva kept turning that intense blue gaze of hers on Charles. Miss Trumble wondered whether Minerva’s ambition to be mistress of Mannerling, for such an ambition was very obvious, would ever be fulfilled. But then, men were so silly when it came to pretty women.
Rachel walked with Mark and Beth towards the folly. She wondered what to say to them. They admittedly lived in violent times and there was death all about them on every gibbet they passed. But the sight of a body plummeting from the roof of Mannerling, to die at their feet, was enough to shake an adult, let alone two vulnerable children. Rachel was beginning to feel rather sick and shaken herself. It was not only the death of John but that he had been prompted by such evil malice. Even if someone had been paying him, it had been an evil thing to do to carry out such orders.
‘We will take the boat out on the lake,’ she said, ‘and we will talk a little bit about what has happened.’
The children, who normally would have treated such an offer with noisy joy, followed her silently down the grassy slope to the jetty. They sat side by side, facing her as she slotted the oars into the rowlocks and began to pull steadily away from the jetty.
‘You are both very brave children,’ began Rachel. ‘After we have spent some time on the water, we will return and have something to eat and then I think you should both go to bed. I am very shaken and tired myself.’
Beth began to cry and Mark put an arm round her. Tears welled up in his own eyes. Rachel shipped the oars, took out a handkerchief, and began to cry herself.
At last, she firmly dried her eyes and said with a shaky laugh, ‘Now I feel better. But think on it, Mark, I was going to play at pirates, but we don’t look very ferocious, any of us.’
With children’s lightning changes of mood, both stopped crying. ‘Real pirates?’ asked Beth cautiously.
‘Yes. I tell you what. If you want to be real pirates, you must learn to row. I know the oars are rather big, but you could take an oar each.’
She rowed back to the jetty. She changed places with the children. ‘Now, you are the wicked Turkish pirates and I am your hostage.’
‘You don’t look like a hostage,’ pointed out Mark. ‘You should be bound and gagged.’
‘I saw some string under a bench in the folly,’ said Rachel.
She tied up the boat again. Soon she was bound with string and gagged with her scarf. The children gingerly rowed away from the jetty. At first they went round in circles because Mark was pulling more strongly than Beth, but they finally managed some sort of co-ordination.
Rachel was soon beginning to tire of playing the part of hostage, straining at her bonds and making gurgling noises from behind her scarf, but the children were so enraptured with this new skill of rowing that she did not have the heart to call an end to their play – which she very well could, for the scarf over her mouth was quite loosely tied.
And so that was how Charles Blackwood saw them as he paused in the folly and looked down on the lake. His children were uttering quite dreadful oaths and threats to the bound and gagged Rachel.
He strode out of the folly and down to the lake.
He hailed Mark, crying, ‘You’d best come ashore. The sky is darkening and I think it is going to rain.’
At first they spun in circles, both children being anxious to show off their prowess to their father, but at last they managed to reach the jetty, just as Charles was joined by Miss Trumble.
‘We were playing pirates,’ said Mark, his voice squeaky with excitement, ‘and Rachel is our hostage.’
Rachel said plaintively from behind her scarf, ‘Would someone please untie me?’
Charles knelt down on the jetty and untied the scarf and then her hands, and Rachel untied her ankles.
Miss Trumble helped Mark and Beth out of the boat and said briskly, ‘Come along. You will eat and go to bed, and if you are very good, I will read a story to you.’
They went off with her, still chattering excitedly. Charles helped Rachel out.
‘You are very good, Miss Rachel,’ he said, beginning to walk with her.
‘I like your children,’ said Rachel. ‘We have all had a bad fright.’
A fat drop of rain struck the back of Charles’s hand. He looked at the sky and said, ‘Let us shelter in the folly for a little. I think it will only prove to be a shower.’
As they reached the folly, the heavens opened. They stood together, looking out, surrounded on all sides by a silvery curtain of rain. ‘The children will be soaked,’ said Rachel.
Charles laughed. ‘Did you not notice the estimable Miss Trumble was carrying an umbrella?’ Then he studied her thoughtfully.
‘I do not want to distress you, Miss Rachel,’ said Charles, ‘but you know the recent history of Mannerling. The house appears to take hold of people in a strange way. Can you think of anyone who would go to such lengths to scare me away, or do you think that footman was deranged?’
Rachel felt guilty. For who could know better about an obsession to gain Mannerling than the Beverleys?
‘It is difficult for me to speculate on the subject,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You must have heard the gossip about us. Mr Judd was obsessed with the place, as was Harry Devers. But both are dead and I know of no others.’
He gave her a slanting look from those green eyes. ‘And the Beverleys are no longer obsessed?’
‘No,’ she said in a half-whisper.
‘I am sorry to pain you, but it is all too evident that Lady Beverley is setting her cap at my father.’
Rachel felt immeasurably tired. She was intensely aware of his masculinity, of his attraction. But also that she did not stand a chance with such a man because of such a mother and such a reputation.
‘Mama has not been quite . . . right . . . since the loss of Mannerling and is apt to be a trifle silly on the subject,’ she said stiffly. ‘But Mama would never do anything to hurt your children, nor would I or my sisters.’
He gave a sigh. ‘It is all very strange. Mr Cater seemed much taken with the house. What do you know of him?’
‘Only what he has told me, that he is a sugar-plantation owner, here in England on a visit. Yes, he wishes to settle here. But just suppose he craved to get possession of Mannerling. How would he know that John out of all the other servants would prove such an easy tool?’
‘Who told him of Mannerling?’
‘A Lord Hexhamworth, an old friend of my father.’
‘Mr Cater resides at the Green Man in Hedgefield, I believe. How long does he plan to remain there?’
‘I do not know. I will ask him, if you wish. He is a frequent caller.’
‘Oho, and why is that?’
Rachel blushed.
‘He is a good catch,’ said Charles, looking at her with affectionate amusement.
There had still been a little spark of hope in Rachel’s heart until that last comment. Now there was no hope at all.
‘It has stopped raining,’ she said in a stifled voice.
‘So it has, and look, over there, a rainbow.’
They walked back to the house together. He chatted easily of this and that, looking all the while curiously at her sad, averted face.
‘I am sorry if I distressed you by seeming to accuse your family of being behind these hauntings. You must forgive me and realize I have been overset at what I see as a threat to my children. Come now, Miss Rachel, and smile at me. What would I have done without you to bring their plight to my attention?’
He stopped and looked down at her. She gave him a watery smile and then began to cry.
He took out his handkerchief and, tilting up her face, gently dried her tears. ‘I am the veriest brute to distress you so. We both need some tea and something to eat.’
He linked his arm in hers and Rachel walked beside him, feeling the strength of that arm, her body a tumult of mixed emotions.
Minerva stood at the window with her brother beside her and watched their approach.
‘Pretty picture,’ sneered George.
‘What am I to do about that wretched girl?’ demanded Minerva.
‘Why do you always ask me what you are to do? You’re always accusing me of being stupid.’
‘When you are not stupid in drink and all about in your upper chambers, brother dear, you have some ideas.’
‘I did hear in Hedgefield that the Cater fellow was courting Rachel.’
Minerva brightened. ‘Perhaps that might be the answer.’
‘Not if little Miss Rachel thinks she can get Charles and Mannerling as well.’
‘A bribe to Cater might answer.’
George shrugged. ‘You can try, but the fellow’s supposed to be as rich as Croesus.’
‘It has been my experience that no matter how much money people have, they are always ready to accept more.’
‘You can try. I have had too much excitement for today. Do you join the others to dine?’
‘And see Rachel making sheep’s eyes at Charles and the mother flirting grotesquely with the general? Not I. I think I will search out this Mr Cater. Order the carriage for me.’
‘Order it yourself,’ complained her brother. ‘The house is full of servants. They didn’t all fall off the roof.’
Mr Cater returned to the Green Man after a brisk ride across the local countryside to learn that a lady was waiting for him.
Minerva noticed the way his face fell when he saw her and experienced a spasm of irritation.
‘I beg your pardon, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I was somehow expecting to see Miss Rachel Beverley.’
Was every man besotted with that wretched girl? Minerva gave him a thin smile. ‘We met briefly, if you remember, Mr Cater. At Mannerling.’
‘Yes, indeed, Miss Santerton. And what is the reason for this very highly flattering call?’
‘I thought we should have a comfortable coze about our ambitions.’
‘I am a happy man. I do not think I have any ambitions at the moment.’
‘Perhaps I am mistaken. Rumour has it you are courting Rachel Beverley.’
‘If that be the case . . .’ he said gently, sitting down opposite her in the coffee-room. He signalled to the waiter and then ordered a glass of shrub. When the waiter had departed, he went on. ‘If that be the case, then it is not something I would discuss freely. It would be . . . er . . . my private business.’
A flash of irritation, quickly masked, crossed Minerva’s face. This was all going to be much more difficult than she had imagined. ‘I see I will have to put all my cards on the table.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘Why not? I understand you to be interested in gaining the hand of Rachel Beverley and the ownership of Mannerling.’
The waiter put a glass of shrub at Mr Cater’s elbow. Mr Cater took a meditative sip.
‘I can dream,’ he said.
‘But do you not see, it could be a reality?’ Minerva leaned forward. ‘And I am the person to help you.’
‘Why, Miss Santerton? You barely know me.’
‘I am interested in securing Mr Charles Blackwood for myself – in marriage.’
‘And what is that to do with me?’
‘Mr Blackwood is becoming uncommonly interested in Rachel Beverley and he is the owner of Mannerling.’
‘In which case, Miss Rachel would regain her old home without my help.’
She gave a little click of impatience. ‘You do not strike me as a stupid man, Mr Cater.’ She began to gather up her reticule and pull on her gloves.
‘No, stay, you interest me, Miss Santerton. If I remove the affections of Miss Rachel away from Mr Blackwood, how would that gain me Mannerling?’
‘Without such competition, Charles would wed me and I would persuade him to remove from Mannerling. He is already upset about the place. I think the death of that footman might have been the last straw.’
‘What footman?’ demanded Mr Cater sharply.
‘I cannot remember his name. Mrs Kennedy of Perival found a livery button on the roof and assumed that whoever had been haunting Mannerling was the owner of the button. This footman came up behind her and tried to seize it and she pushed him off the roof. Amazing! An old woman like that! Why, you are a trifle pale, Mr Cater. It was only a footman.’
‘I do not like to hear of any man’s death. There was really no reason for you to go to this trouble. I do not anticipate any difficulty over my courtship of Rachel Beverley. The family is in need of money and I gather she has little dowry to speak of, unless, of course . . .’
His voice tailed off.
‘Unless, of course,’ Minerva finished for him, ‘Charles Blackwood gets there first.’
‘Is there any danger of that?’
‘I do not think there is any immediate danger. I heard rumours, I sense that Mr Blackwood’s last marriage was not a happy one. That will make him cautious. But Rachel has a clever ally.’
‘That being?’
‘Miss Trumble, her governess, a sharp and scheming woman. She places Rachel like a chess piece neatly in Charles’s way on all occasions. Charles’s father is becoming enamoured of this governess.’
‘So what do you suggest, O wise Miss Santerton?’
‘I would suggest you approach the mother, Lady Beverley, without delay, and gain her permission to pay your address to her daughter.’
He regarded her shrewdly. ‘What if I told you I was not interested in either Miss Rachel or Mannerling?’
Minerva smiled at him sweetly. ‘I would not believe you.’
He smiled back. ‘And what do I get if I do as you bid?’
‘You get my help and a large sum of money.’
His eyes raked over her and he leaned back in his chair. ‘I have no need of money. Perhaps you could reward me in other ways.’
‘We will pretend that was never said.’ Minerva rose to her feet. ‘I made a mistake.’
‘No, no, please be seated. I jest, and rather crudely, too. My sincere apologies.’
Minerva sat down slowly. ‘Do you know who was behind those hauntings at Mannerling?’
‘This footman, surely.’
‘A mere footman would not go to such lengths. Someone was paying him.’
‘If you say so. I have no interest in what goes on at Mannerling.’
‘Only in the house itself?’
‘Yes, it fascinates me. I often dreamt of it.’
‘Why? When you had never seen it till you came here.’
‘Someone told me of it, in Barbados, where I sweated under the sun and dreamt of England. I came expecting the place to be nothing out of the common way and fell under its spell.’
‘I have heard of the enchantment of Mannerling,’ said Minerva. ‘But to me, it is only a house, and one that is too far from the delights of London for my taste. So do we agree to help each other?’
He held out his hand. She took it in her own and he shook it. ‘Remember the governess,’ she warned. ‘She will make trouble for you.’
‘Why? I am a good parti.’
‘A feeling. Make your proposal and we will see.’
Mr Cater dressed carefully in his best the following day and rode over to Brookfield House. The weather was warm but wet and he learned from the maid who took his hat and gloves that the young ladies were abovestairs in the schoolroom with the Mannerling children and their governess. He said he had come to see Lady Beverley.
Fortunately for Mr Cater, it was not one of Lady Beverley’s many ‘sick’ days. She received him in the drawing-room, which smelt of damp and disuse.
‘Mr Cater,’ said Lady Beverley after that gentleman had refused an offer of refreshment, ‘we are extremely glad to see you on this inclement day. Shall I summon my daughters?’
‘Not yet. I am here to ask your permission to pay my addresses to Miss Rachel.’
‘I did not expect this, sir!’
‘You must have noticed that my attentions to your daughter were particular.’
‘My daughters are so beautiful that I am accustomed to gentlemen paying them particular attention. Rachel is a pearl above price.’
By which she means, thought Mr Cater cynically, that there is no dowry worth mentioning.
‘I am a very rich man, my lady,’ he said, ‘and would be able to furnish your daughter with every comfort. I understand’ – here he gave a delicate cough – ‘I have been warned that there is little dowry but I am not interested in mere money.’
Lady Beverley smiled on him fondly. ‘Well, well,’ she said indulgently. ‘We must not rush matters. We will see what Rachel has to say to the matter, but I cannot think of anything against your suit. Our respective lawyers will deal with tiresome things like marriage settlements. Excuse me for a moment.’
She swept out, leaving the door ajar. Lady Beverley met Miss Trumble on the stairs. ‘Such news,’ she cried. ‘You must fetch Rachel immediately. Mr Cater has asked my permission to pay his addresses to her.’
Miss Trumble went very still. ‘I trust you did not give your permission, or rather, not yet.’
‘Are your wits wandering, woman? This is a rich planter. I will fetch Rachel myself.’
To her amazement, Miss Trumble barred her way. ‘Step aside! You forget yourself!’
‘No, stay, my lady, listen to me. What do we really know of this Mr Cater? He says he is a rich planter, but we have only his word for it. Rich men usually stay at private homes, having secured letters of introduction. He says that Lord Hexhamworth had told him of Mannerling, and yet he carries no letter from him. I have written to friends to find out what I can and await their reply. Do not turn him down, but tell him to give you time.’
‘You silly woman. The man is richly dressed and his horses are the talk of the neighbourhood.’
‘Who knows he even paid for them?’ demanded the governess. ‘What if your daughter wed him and then disappeared, to be never heard of again? The Beverleys have suffered enough scandal. You cannot promise your daughter to a man whose background we know nothing of and who is staying at a common inn. I only beg a little more time, my lady. Only think how you would sink in General Blackwood’s esteem if you were party to a misalliance for your daughter!’
‘Perhaps I have been too hasty,’ said Lady Beverley. ‘I will be cautious. Find out what you can.’ She turned and went back down the stairs.
Mr Cater retreated quickly from the doorway of the drawing-room, where he had been listening intently to the conversation on the stairs. Damn that poxy governess. Something would have to be done.
Lady Beverley returned. Mr Cater listened as she said that she had been too hasty in accepting his proposition. Give it a little more time and get to know Rachel better, urged Lady Beverley.
Mr Cater received this with every appearance of good grace, secured a promise that he could take Miss Rachel driving on the morrow if the weather was fine, and took his leave.
After he had gone, Lady Beverley paced up and down. She did not like the way this high-handed governess kept taking matters into her own hands. She would watch the post and when any letters arrived for Miss Trumble, she would read them herself and make up her own mind about any news they contained.
Lady Evans received a call from Miss Trumble on the following day. ‘Letitia!’ she cried. ‘You are welcome.’
Miss Trumble sat down and heaved a little sigh. ‘Have any letters arrived for me in care of you?’
‘Two. I planned to send them over today by the footman. Not that I mind you using this address, Letitia, but why?’
‘Lady Beverley often thinks it is part of her position to open letters addressed to her daughters. I do not want her to look at mine. May I see them?’
Lady Evans went to an escritoire in the corner and picked up two letters and handed them to Miss Trumble.
‘You will excuse me for a moment.’ Miss Trumble opened the letters and scanned them swiftly. ‘No, they do not contain news of the mysterious Mr Cater but of the Santertons. There is not much. Only that business about the late Mr Santerton having died under mysterious circumstances. Minerva is considered of flighty temperament and given to out-bursts of rage. But the general opinion is that she had nothing to do with her husband’s death. All hysterical gossip fuelled by the lady’s unpopularity in her county. Nothing really that I did not know already. I am awaiting news of Mr Cater.’
‘Why?’
‘He wishes to propose to Rachel.’
‘Then she is very lucky. He is rich and handsome.’
‘And unknown. And residing at the Green Man and not at a private residence. I must find out more. Have you heard the news of the death at Mannerling?’
‘The footman? Yes, that Irish aunt of Fitzpatrick’s was amazing brave.’
‘She is an exceptional lady.’
‘So what is behind the trouble at Mannerling, unless this footman was simply deranged?’
‘That I do not know. Perhaps that wretched house has put its spell on the Santertons and they are trying to scare Charles Blackwood out of it, and yet Minerva obviously wants to marry him, in which case she would get Mannerling as well.’
‘I heard something of Charles Blackwood’s marriage,’ said Lady Evans.
‘Indeed? What was it?’
‘Only rumours that his late wife was too free with her favours, and among her own servants, too.’
‘That might explain a certain sadness and reserve in him.’
‘Are you scheming to get him for one of your girls?’
‘I never scheme.’
‘And are you not supposed to be instructing the Mannerling children?’
‘Not today. Their father has taken them to some fair. Do you think it will rain?’
‘I do not think so.’
‘Pity.’
‘Why? You do not want to get wet on the road home.’
‘I just wanted to know that someone’s drive might be curtailed.’
‘Miss Rachel,’ Mr Cater was saying, ‘did your mama mention to you that I wish to pay my addresses to you?’
Rachel looked at him, startled. ‘No, sir.’
‘But it would not distress you?’
Rachel gazed down at her hands. Here was a chance of a good marriage to a rich and handsome man. It was unusual that her mother had not leaped at the offer. Charles’s face seemed to rise up before her.
‘What did my mother say?’
‘Lady Beverley suggested we give it a little more time.’
‘I think that is very wise,’ said Rachel, her heart beginning to beat hard and her head full of confused and muddled thoughts.
‘I have plans,’ he said slowly, ‘great plans. I have decided to return to the Indies soon and sell my property and settle in England. I need a good house, good land . . . and a wife.’
‘I am very honoured – very flattered,’ said Rachel. ‘I realize you would like an answer before you return. Give me some time to think.’
‘As you will. But may I make a suggestion?’
‘Certainly.’
‘I feel that spinster of a governess has too much influence on your family. I would not discuss this with her.’
‘Miss Trumble is kind and wise.’
‘But what can a shrivelled-up old spinster know of marriage?’
‘I am sorry,’ said Rachel stiffly. ‘I will brook no criticism of Miss Trumble.’
‘You must forgive me then. I am anxious to secure you.’
Rachel cast a quick little sideways glance at his face. Perhaps, she thought, if he had claimed to be in love with her, had taken her in his arms, she might have been swayed. But there seemed nothing of the lover about him. They had reached Brookfield House. Rachel reluctantly offered him refreshment. He was about to accept when he saw Miss Trumble come out of the house and stand on the doorstep, awaiting their arrival. Her eyes were shrewd and assessing as she looked at him. He shook his head and declined Rachel’s offer.
‘I have been waiting for you,’ said Miss Trumble, following Rachel into the house. ‘Did Mr Cater propose to you?’
Rachel nodded. ‘I asked him to give me a little more time, although he appears anxious to get an answer soon. He returns soon to the Indies and plans to sell up and buy a property in England.’
‘Interesting,’ said Miss Trumble.
‘Do you think I should accept?’
‘That is for you to decide, Rachel, but we do not know anything about him, really, or his family, or his background. Perhaps we will find out something soon.’
There was a rumble of carriage wheels outside. Miss Trumble went back to the doorway and looked out. ‘Why, it is Mr Blackwood and the general and the children.’
Rachel went out with her. Her heart lurched as she saw Charles. Was she really becoming enamoured of him, or was it because of Mannerling?
Miss Trumble welcomed them all and ushered them into the parlour and then went to fetch her mistress. The children were bubbling with excitement over their day at the fair. Beth sat on Rachel’s lap and Mark at her feet as with shining eyes they described their day.
‘Now, now,’ she interrupted them at last. ‘Let me remove my bonnet and gloves. I am just this minute returned from a drive.’
Lady Beverley, Belinda, Lizzie, and Miss Trumble entered the room just in time to hear Rachel’s last sentence.
‘Ah, you had a pleasant time with Mr Cater, I hope?’ asked Lady Beverley. She turned to the general. ‘Mr Cater is desirous of wedding our little Rachel, but our stern governess demands caution. But then elderly spinsters were always cautious, were they not?’
‘Mama!’ protested Lizzie.
Charles looked sharply at Rachel. He had always thought her a pretty girl, but far too young for him, and then that Beverley obsession with Mannerling was always at the back of his mind. But there was something so lovable about her, so vulnerable, as she sat there with Beth on her knees and Mark at her feet.
She looked up then and met his eyes and found herself trapped in his gaze. Her cheeks flushed pink.
‘And did you accept the proposal?’ asked Charles.
‘I do not know what to do,’ said Rachel. ‘I think it would be better to wait a little to find out more about our Mr Cater.’
Rachel urged Beth down onto the floor next to Mark, for her legs had begun to tremble under that gaze. She was intensely aware of him and at the same time frightened to look at him again.
‘So how do you go on, Miss Trumble?’ asked the general. ‘You should have been with us this day to keep these unruly brats in order.’
‘You should have asked me to accompany you, dear General,’ said Lady Beverley just as if she had never damned fairs as vulgar. ‘I am excellent with children.’
As she never even looked at Mark or Beth or talked to them, the general wondered if she had even had much conversation with her own daughters.
He was irritated with Lady Beverley and he had not liked that remark about elderly spinsters one bit. ‘We should be pleased to see you at Mannerling soon, Miss Trumble,’ said the general. ‘The gardens are looking very fine.’
‘The gardens were always accounted beautiful,’ said Lady Beverley before Miss Trumble could reply. ‘And yes, we would be delighted to accept your invitation. Would tomorrow be suitable?’
The general rolled his eyes at his son, but Mark cried excitedly, ‘Please say you’ll come, Rachel. We can have such larks!’
‘It is up to your father,’ said Rachel quietly.
‘Miss Rachel to you, Mark,’ said Charles, sounding half-amused, half-exasperated. ‘Oh, very well. I shall send the carriage for you all at three.’
‘Unfortunately, Miss Trumble will be needed here.’ Lady Beverley smoothed the folds of her gown, a hard little smile on her face.
‘In that case,’ said the general, ‘we will leave it until Miss Trumble is free.’
‘What is it that you wish Miss Trumble to do?’ asked Rachel. ‘Perhaps I could stay behind and help.’
‘Now I come to think of it,’ said her mother, throwing her a baffled look, ‘it was but a trifling matter and can wait until another day. Yes, we are pleased to accept your invitation, Mr Blackwood.’
They rose to take their leave. The girls and Lady Beverley walked out to the carriage with them.
Charles took Rachel’s hand in his and bent and kissed it. ‘Until tomorrow,’ he said. She felt a surge of sheer gladness rush through her body. She smiled at him suddenly, a blinding, bewitching smile. He smiled back until an impatient little cough from Lady Beverley brought him to his senses and he realized he was holding her hand in a tight grip.
After they had gone, Rachel went up to her room and locked the door. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts.
Mr Cater was in the drawing-room at Mannerling. ‘You had the right of it,’ he said to Minerva. ‘She has not accepted my proposal . . . yet . . . and I know it is all the fault of that governess. Rachel don’t rate her own mother very highly, but she dotes on that shrivelled bag of bones.’
‘Such an old woman,’ cooed Minerva. ‘The old are so frail and subject to heart attacks, apoplexies . . . and . . . er . . . accidents.’
They both regarded each other for a moment and then Mr Cater gave a little nod.
Charles entered the room and stopped short at the sight of Mr Cater.
‘My apologies.’ Mr Cater rose to his feet and made his best bow. ‘I was passing and called to see you.’
‘Do not let me delay your departure,’ said Charles stiffly.
‘We have had such a comfortable coze,’ said Minerva brightly. ‘Mr Cater has proposed to Rachel Beverley.’
‘Indeed,’ remarked Charles, his face stiff.
‘I will walk downstairs with you.’ Minerva got up gracefully and looped the lace train of her gown over her arm. Minerva was very fond of trains and Charles wondered if she would ever take her leave or whether Mannerling was to be perpetually haunted by the swish of her gowns on the stairs or along the corridors.
‘He looks on me as a rival,’ muttered Mr Cater as they went downstairs. ‘I can see it on his face.’
‘Then do something about that governess,’ hissed Minerva. ‘Leave Blackwood to me.’
She turned and went back upstairs. ‘Such a charming man, Mr Cater,’ she sighed. ‘Rachel Beverley would do very well to marry him. Of course we all know what is holding her back.’
‘That being?’ demanded Charles moodily.
‘I think your intimacy with the Beverleys has raised their hopes of getting back into Mannerling again.’
‘I do not think that troubles them any longer.’ Charles leaned with one hunched shoulder against a curtain and stared out moodily across the park.
She gave a tinkling little laugh. ‘With their ambitious reputation? Do not be so naïve. If the daughter’s ambition is not apparent to you, only look at the mother. She would have demanded her daughter marry Mr Cater were she not so blatantly setting her cap at the general.’
‘I have things to attend to.’ Charles strode from the room. But the poison she had poured in his ear worked its way into his brain. Had he not suffered enough from having been married to a jade who had only wanted his money?
But he now hated Minerva with a passion for having disillusioned him. The happiness and elation he had felt earlier were all gone. He went in search of his father and found him in the library.
‘Father!’
‘Hey, m’boy, you look like the devil. What’s amiss?’
‘I think the Santertons have outstayed their welcome and I am anxious to see them gone.’
‘Difficult,’ said the general. ‘Short of telling ’em bluntly to get out, I don’t think you’ll move them. Anyway, Minerva Santerton wants you to propose and she’ll hang around until all hope is gone.’
‘And how is all hope to go?’
‘Wouldn’t fancy that pretty Rachel, would you?’
‘I have no desire to realize the Beverley ambitions of getting Mannerling back.’
‘Apart from the mother, I don’t think they have any. Tell you what, you could tell Minerva that you are proposing marriage to the Beverley chit. Bet you she leaves prompt.’
‘And what if Miss Rachel finds out from Minerva that I am supposed to be about to propose to her?’
‘Well, she won’t. What’s Minerva going to do, hey? Ride over to Brookfield House and make a scene? Hardly. Tell her, my boy, she’ll go off, and then you’ll be free of the woman and her boring brother.’
Charles paced up and down. ‘It might work. I think it might just work. I’ll do it!’
At dinner that evening, Charles said, ‘I was taken aback by your remarks about the Beverleys, Miss Santerton.’
‘Minerva,’ she corrected with a smile.
‘You see,’ said Charles earnestly, ‘I myself have proposed to Rachel and been accepted.’
Minerva’s eyes flashed blue fire.
‘You said nothing of this!’
‘There was really no reason for me to discuss my private affairs,’ said Charles.
‘But is this official?’
‘Not yet,’ put in the general. ‘Rachel and Charles have got to get to know each other a little better before Lady Beverley calls down the lawyers and marriage settlements on all our heads. It’s still all a secret. Pray do not say anything.’
George Santerton had been drinking, as usual, too much before he even sat down to dinner.
‘May as well leave tomorrow, sis,’ he said sleepily. ‘Nothing for you here.’
‘I do not know what you are talking about,’ snapped Minerva. She had a determined chin and a Roman nose. How odd, thought Charles, that he had not noticed before how prominent her nose was.
‘But,’ she went on, ‘I had intended to announce our immediate departure. May I wish you joy? The Beverleys will be in alt at having their ambitions fulfilled.’
‘As to that, if you mean to regain Mannerling, that will not be the case,’ said Charles.
‘How so?’ slurred George.
‘I have decided I do not like the place. Is that not so, Father? We plan to sell.’
‘That’s it, my boy,’ said the general, although the sale of Mannerling was news to him.
‘And little Miss Rachel knows of this proposed sale?’ demanded Minerva, her eyes narrowing.
‘Yes,’ said Charles, deciding to add one more lie.
‘You amaze me.’ Minerva picked fretfully at the food on her plate. ‘I have the headache. Be so good as to summon my maid. It has been kind of you both to entertain us, but I pine for home and will repair there on the morrow.’
Charles found he was almost feeling sorry for her as she trailed from the room, another of those long trains of hers swishing across the floor. George Santerton, however, had no intention of leaving the table before he had demolished several more bottles of wine. Charles suppressed a sigh. One more boring evening, but tomorrow he would be shot of the pair of them.
But before Minerva left the dining-room, Mark and Beth, who had been listening outside the door, scampered off up the stairs.
‘There you are!’ exclaimed Mark when they reached the privacy of his room. ‘You said it was wrong to listen at doors, but Papa is to be married, and to our Rachel! And that horrible Minerva woman is leaving.’
‘We are not supposed to know,’ cautioned Beth.
‘Won’t say a word. And selling this place! I shall be glad to say goodbye to Mannerling.’ Mark lowered his voice. ‘This house does not like us.’
‘Pooh, that was that footman,’ said Beth, but her voice trembled.
‘I did not mean to frighten you. I just made that up,’ said Mark quickly, proving that he could lie as well as his father.
The last light was leaving the sky as Miss Trumble stood in the garden talking to Barry. ‘The sad thing is,’ she said, ‘that Rachel is very aware of Charles Blackwood and she would be good for his children, but I do not think she has much hope there. He looks on her with affection, it is true, but I fear the scandal about the Beverleys’ ambitions will stop his feelings from becoming anything warmer. I told you how I counselled Lady Beverley to wait until I found out more about our Mr Cater, and yet I am worried that I might be stopping Rachel from seizing hold of a good marriage.’
‘And yet there is something about Mr Cater you do not like?’
‘It is not quite that. It is simply that he is not very forthcoming about his family or background. But I should hear from my friends quite soon.’
‘You have many influential friends, miss.’
‘I have worked in many important households. My employers were and still are very kind to me. I must go to bed now. Good night, Barry.’
Barry went to shut the hens up for the night and Miss Trumble made her way slowly across the lawn.
The night was very still and quiet. Then an owl flew out of the branch of a cedar tree above her head. She swung round to watch its flight.
And that was when she saw a black masked figure in the moonlight, racing across the garden towards her, cudgel raised.
For one second she stood still in amazement and then, with an agility surprising in one so old, she picked up her skirts and ran, screaming ‘Help!’ at the top of her voice.
Barry darted out of the hen-house, saw the distant flutter of Miss Trumble’s skirts as she rounded the house, saw the pursuer, and with a great roar began to run, grabbing a spade as a weapon.
Miss Trumble’s pursuer heard the thud of feet behind him and swung round, cudgel raised. Barry stood panting, his spade at the ready. Miss Trumble’s cries could now be heard from inside the house.
The man lunged at Barry, who jumped nimbly back and then swung his spade, catching the man on the hip. He grunted with pain and turned and began to run, Barry after him. As he reached the brook that ran along the boundary of the garden, Barry swung the spade again and brought it down on the man’s head. He stumbled and fell face down in the brook.
Barry stopped, turned him over, and ripped off the mask. In the brief glimmer of light before the moon was obscured by the cloud, he found himself looking down at a face he did not know.
Josiah, the one-legged cook, was making his way across the grass, holding a lantern. Barry turned. ‘Bring the light here,’ he called.
But just as he turned, the man on the ground leaped to his feet and ran off through the brook and over the fields beyond like a hare. Barry swore under his breath and set off after him again, but the clouds were gathering overhead and the night was black, and soon he realized he had lost him.
When he returned to the house, it was to find everyone awake.
‘I lost him,’ said Barry to Miss Trumble, who was being comforted by Rachel.
‘Did you get a look at him?’ asked Miss Trumble.
‘I took off his mask. Never saw the fellow before. Must have been some footpad. I’ll need to ride to Hedgefield and rouse the constable and the militia.’
‘Do not be away all night,’ cautioned Lady Beverley. ‘You are to act as footman on the visit to Mannerling on the morrow and we will all need our sleep.’
‘Really, Mama,’ protested Lizzie. ‘Miss Trumble could have been killed. The man may come back.’
‘I’ll go to the farm and get farmer Currie to send two fellows over to keep guard while I am gone,’ said Barry. ‘And Josiah has the shotgun primed.’
Rachel finally helped Miss Trumble upstairs to bed. ‘Who would attack you?’ asked Rachel. ‘Did someone think you were the mistress of the house?’
Miss Trumble sat down wearily on the bed. ‘I do not know.’ For some reason she kept remembering urging Lady Beverley not to accept Mr Cater’s proposal, remembering now that she was sure she had heard footsteps from the drawing-room downstairs, retreating from the door. But to think that a rich gentleman such as Mr Cater would pay some thug to attack her was surely far-fetched.
‘Tell me, Rachel,’ she said, ‘what do you think of Mr Cater?’
‘He is all that is pleasant and he is extremely suitable, and yet . . .’
‘What is it?’
‘Just something. Perhaps the thought of going abroad and leaving you all. He talks of selling up in the Indies and returning here, but perhaps that might not happen. Do you think I should accept him?’
‘I cannot give you an answer yet. Give me a little more time. I would like to know more about him. I will do very well now, child. Go to bed. Lady Beverley will want us all to look our best for the visit.’
Rachel went to her own room, wishing she did not feel so dragged down, wishing somehow that she could accept Mr Cater’s proposal, for she was sure she would never receive another.
Certainly not one from Charles Blackwood!