Belle (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 2) Read online

  “But this sounds cheerier,” he went on. He strode about the room, stepping over the books scattered on the floor, declaiming in his best pulpit voice. “‘We talked of change of manners. Dr Johnson observed, that our drinking less than our ancestors was owing to the change from ale to wine. 'I remember,' said he, 'when all the decent people in Lichfield got drunk every night, and were not the worse thought of. Ale was cheap, so you pressed strongly. When a man must bring a bottle of wine, he is not in such haste.’”

  “That is very true,” she said. “Wine is a leisurely drink, to be combined with good food and good conversation.”

  “And expensive,” he said, smiling. “Now, here is a profound thought.” He went back to reading from the book. “‘We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.’”

  She said nothing, taking a handful of books from the crate and settling on the floor with them. He thought he must have offended her, but then he saw from her face that she was struggling with some deep emotion, and was close to tears. He had never seen her distressed and it tore at his heart to be unable to offer comfort, not even a few words.

  Was it the talk of friendship that upset her? He wanted so badly for them to be friends. They could never be anything more to each other, he accepted that, but surely they would always enjoy the comfort of this easy comradeship? It would grieve him beyond measure to lose that entirely, and be nothing but strangers when they met.

  For a while they read in silence, the only sounds the hissing of the fire, and Eliza’s broom clacking in the hall outside, the door wide open. Belle reached for another book.

  “Oh, here is something interesting,” she said. “’Poems, chiefly in the Scots dialect’. I have never read anything in the Scots dialect before. The words are very strange, and yet I can understand most of it. Oh, this one is very pretty! Listen to this.” She began to read, stumbling over one or two of the odd words.

  “‘Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;

  Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!

  Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,

  Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

  Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,

  While the star of hope she leaves him?

  Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me;

  Dark despair around benights me.’”

  “That is very moving, is it not?” she went on. “I do not understand it all, but it seems very mournful. ‘Dark despair around benights me.’ That is so sad.”

  “It is very affecting,” he said, sliding down to sit beside her on the floor, and reading over her shoulder.

  “Look, the poet gives her name — Nancy,” she said. “There it is, in the next verse. So many poems of this nature are overwrought, but there is a simplicity and truth to this one that I like very much. Will you read the rest? It is better suited to your voice, I believe.”

  He took the book from her and read on.

  “’I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,

  Naething could resist my Nancy:

  But to see her was to love her;

  Love but her, and love for ever.

  Had we never lov'd sae kindly,

  Had we never lov'd sae blindly,

  Never met-or never parted,

  We had ne'er been broken-hearted.’”

  He paused, as the words wove themselves round him, wrapping him in warm affection. ‘Love but her, and love for ever.’ His heart tightened with the truth of it. Belle said nothing, her face upturned, mesmerised by the beauty of the poem. With an effort, he read on.

  “’Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest!

  Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest!

  Thine be ilka joy and treasure,

  Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure!

  Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!

  Ae fareweel alas, for ever!

  Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,

  Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.’”

  Belle gazed at him, rapt. “Oh, that was so beautiful!” she breathed.

  Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted, and her cheeks flushed.

  He was dizzy with her nearness, overflowing with grief and joy and love, all at once. The words of the poem coiled round him like smoke, insubstantial and ephemeral, yet striking at his very heart and soul. Without any conscious thought, his hand cupped her cheek, he leaned forward and kissed her full on the lips.

  ~~~~~

  They both scrambled to their feet and stared at each other, aghast. Belle could hardly breathe, and her heart was racing so fast it would surely burst, yet she was numb, frozen in disbelief.

  Burford’s face was agonised, his hands tearing at his hair. “I… I… Oh, Belle, I am so, so sorry. I cannot imagine what came over me. Can you forgive me? But no, for that was unforgivable. Oh, what have I done? What shall I tell Hope?”

  That roused Belle to exert herself as nothing else could. “Tell her nothing, I beg you. Indeed, there is nothing to tell. Everything shall be forgot. I have forgotten it already.”

  “You are so good, but we cannot pretend nothing has happened here.”

  “Yes, we can.” She wondered how it was she could still form sentences and sound so rational and calm, when she was trembling from head to foot. “We must.”

  “But we cannot… it will be impossible… how can we…?”

  “Hush, you must be calm, John. Do not alert the servants.” She paused, listening for Eliza. Noises from outside told her that the maid was still hard at work. He began to protest, but she said again, “Hush. Say no more. This never happened. I shall go home, and you will continue your daily routine, and when we meet again, we must be exactly as we were before. Do you understand?”

  He hesitated, his breathing fast, but then gave a quick nod.

  “Then I shall go. Goodbye, John.”

  She fled from the room, and down the passageway to the front door, almost tripping over Eliza, who was scrubbing the front step. Then she was gone, striding through the woods, head down, heedless of the mud. When her vision grew too blurred, she brushed away the tears angrily with frozen fingers, for she had left her gloves at the cottage. At the Hall, she entered through the garden door, and ran up the back stairs to her room, hurling herself to the bed. There she lay, weeping heart-wrung tears of her own, weeping for the touch of his hand on her face, his kiss warm on her lips and the knowledge that he could never, ever be hers.

  ~~~~~

  Burford collapsed into the chair, pushing several books aside, and buried his face in his hands. ‘We must be exactly as we were before.’ So she had said, and so they must. It was imperative that no one suspect what had occurred, or the censure of the world would fall upon both of them. They might even be forced to marry — his treacherous heart leapt at the prospect, but how could he be at peace with such a situation, knowing that he had left Hope broken-hearted?

  Outwardly, they must be just the same, but inwardly everything had changed. One kiss had torn him apart, ripped him into tiny pieces and put him back together in a different arrangement altogether. He was not the man he had been just ten minutes earlier. The contented suitor of Hope was lost for ever, replaced by a stranger who loved another, and would regret her loss for the rest of his life.

  And yet in a peculiar way, he was glad it had happened. For one brief moment, he had tasted paradise, loving a woman who, for that one moment, had loved him in return. That one kiss — ‘ae fond kiss’ indeed — would sustain him through many miserable moments. Never had the words of a poem rung so true. ‘To see her was to love her; love but her, and love for ever.’

  But that would never do. He should not be glad of the wrong he had done. Buttoning his coat, he crossed the road to the church. The clack of the latch echoed in the arched roof. Ah, the smell of a church was so reassuring. Whatever wrong he had
done, however laden with guilt his conscience might be, that odd mixture of dust and candle smoke and beeswax always comforted him.

  He made his way down the aisle, every footstep sounding hollowly, like a drum. He felt himself unworthy of the main altar, with its great window of the risen Lord in all his glory, surrounded by his devoted saints. Instead, he knelt at the lady chapel altar to the side, as if the Madonna might be more understanding of his human weakness.

  How long he prayed he could not tell, but he gradually became aware that he was not alone. Opening his eyes, he turned his head. Miss Endercott sat beside him, watching him. Was that sympathy in her eyes or censure? He could not tell, but it was clear that she knew something of what had occurred. Rising to his feet, he sat a little further along the pew.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she said, her tone blessedly mild. Not censure then, not yet.

  “I have done something very wicked.” His voice shook, but he steeled himself to say the words. “I kissed her. Miss Belle Allamont. I kissed her. Such a madness came over me for a moment, as I cannot account for at all.”

  “Can you not?” She raised an eyebrow. “And was it observed, this moment of madness?”

  “I think not. Samuel was in the garden, I believe, and Eliza was at work on the front step. I thought… I believed that having the maid nearby would be sufficient, combined with my profession. I failed to take into account the effect of a poem in the Scots dialect. Miss Endercott, what am I to do? Belle says we must pretend nothing has happened, but how can we?”

  “Belle is a sensible girl,” Miss Endercott said. “That is indeed what you must do. A little pretence and a lot of prayer will see you through this.”

  “But I cannot pretend for the rest of my life. I must not be dishonest with Hope, not when I—”

  “You will say nothing to Hope! Not a word, I implore you! She may notice some little change in you, but that is of no consequence. If you tell her of this, you destroy her happiness for ever. If you then marry her, she will always know that you loved Belle better. If you do not, she will always regret you. What you must do, John, is nothing at all, or at least nothing precipitate. You cannot contemplate marriage for some years, since your income cannot support a wife, and Hope must wait until all her older sisters are wed. So you wait in patience for those years to pass. She is very young, and anything may happen in that time.”

  “The only thing that will happen is that Belle will marry that wastrel cousin of hers, and I shall have to watch her face grow thin with unhappiness. How can I bear it? And meanwhile, I am eaten up with all manner of forbidden desires, and can do nothing about them.”

  “As to that, it is the price you pay for your moment of madness, and you must bear it with fortitude,” Miss Endercott said, but despite the stern words her voice was gentle.

  “If I can,” he said miserably.

  “We must all pray that you find the strength within you. Patience, John, patience and fortitude and prayer. Do nothing now, and see what the future brings.”

  16: The Journal

  The new schoolmaster arrived. To the delight of the young ladies of the parish, he was a single man both handsome and amiable, with a ready smile and an easy manner. To the delight of the young gentlemen, he brought his younger sister to keep house for him. All agreed that it was the greatest pity there was no money attached to either of them, no more than a hundred pounds a year each from their mother, and beyond that they had only their own persons to recommend them.

  Mr Burford brought them both to Allamont Hall the very day after their arrival, accompanied by Mr and Miss Endercott. It was the first time Belle had seen Mr Burford since their unfortunate lapse in the cottage, and she was naturally aflutter with nervous anxiety. How would he seem? Would he even speak to her? And could she speak to him with any composure?

  In the event, the meeting passed off more smoothly than she had dared to hope. He was a little flushed, but then he often was in company. She blushed herself, hoping no one would notice. She made her curtsy, he bowed over her hand and asked how she did, she made a random response and he moved on. There! It was over, and she could compose herself. Burford settled next to Hope, across the circle from Belle, and she was able to take notice of the conversations going on.

  The two newcomers were a wonderful distraction, scattering their charm like blossom petals. Mr Alexander Drummond was a fine looking man of six and twenty, stylishly attired but without flamboyance, quite open about his reduced prospects in life, but not in the least downhearted.

  “I shall like very well to be a village schoolmaster, Miss Allamont,” he said in answer to Amy’s polite enquiry. “It will be delightful to be usefully employed for a change, and in a profession where I might hope to do some good. My wants are few, so I shall manage to live quite comfortably, I am sure. And my friend Burford assures me that the neighbourhood affords some excellent society and all manner of entertainments. You have plenty of balls, I trust? For I dearly love a ball. There is no more agreeable manner of passing an evening than by dancing with a succession of beautiful and amiable young ladies.”

  “We have monthly balls at the Assembly Rooms in Brinchester, Mr Drummond,” Grace said. “In addition, the Grahams hold several private balls over the winter.”

  “Who are these Grahams, who are so obliging as to hold several balls each year?”

  Grace giggled. “Why, Sir Matthew and Lady Graham of Graham House. They love to hold dinners, as well.”

  “Burford, you must introduce me to Sir Matthew and Lady Graham at the earliest opportunity.”

  Despite her current agitation, Belle could not help smiling at his enthusiasm. His sister was even more lively, her curls as black as his were fair, and as pretty as a flower, with a delicate nose and mouth and chin, and eyes of a deep blue. Miss Jessica Drummond was one and twenty, and within fifteen minutes of her arrival at the Hall had got all the sisters’ names straight in her mind, and had discovered everything about Amy’s wedding, her future husband, her new home and their planned wedding tour to the lake country.

  She too, it seemed, was a great dancer. “So when is the very next public ball to be?” she said to the room at large. “For I love a ball above all things.”

  “The next at the Assembly Rooms is two weeks on Tuesday,” Hope said, leaning forward in her eagerness. “It will be the first since we came out of mourning for Papa, and my very first ball.”

  “Your first! How excited you must be!” Miss Drummond said. “I declare I could not sleep or eat for a week before my first ball, or for at least a week after. Oh, how much you will enjoy it! And you will stand up for every dance, I am sure.”

  “I do hope so!” She giggled. “Who else will be going? Mr Burford, do you mean to attend?”

  “Indeed I do, Miss Hope,” he said. “I am looking forward to it immensely.” But his heavy tone belied the words.

  Hope looked at him oddly, and then across at Belle, as if wondering. Belle quickly turned away to say something to Mr Endercott, who sat beside her, and Miss Drummond’s merry voice said something that made everyone laugh, and the moment passed.

  Even so, Belle’s nerves were over-set by the time the visitors rose to leave, and as soon as she could she escaped to the book room. She spread the account books on the desk, opening the one she had last been examining, but she did not sit down. Her mind was in too much turmoil to settle to anything. It was a relief to have got the first meeting with John out of the way, and a relief also that it had passed off reasonably well. Neither of them had disgraced themselves, and the small signs of embarrassment were easily overlooked in such lively company as the Drummonds provided. Even so, she was happy to be alone.

  She paced up and down the room, wishing she had something more active to distract her. If only she rode, she could exhaust her agitation with a gallop across the fields. A brisk walk would provide the activity, but it had the unfortunate effect of leaving her mind free to wander wherever it would go, and lately that
had been a very gloomy place indeed.

  The difficulty with having a clear insight into her own heart was that she could never deceive herself. She had discovered, rather belatedly, what it was to love, and now she could not erase the memory of that fatal kiss. It haunted her as she went about her daily duties, and it kept her restless and awake at night.

  The worst of it was that her mind was rational enough to offer possible solutions. In her wilder moments, she pondered manoeuvring John into truly compromising her, so that they would be forced to marry. Or she could go directly to Hope, explain the situation and ask her to step aside. But she was too sensible to execute such plans. Her care for her own reputation and John’s in the first instance, and her care for her sister’s happiness in the second prevented her taking any action. She could not see any escape which did not hurt one or other of them. Her lot was to be unhappy and take her secret with her to the grave.

  The thought of secrets reminded her of her father’s own secrets, and his locked journal that she had found in the desk. Who knew what might be written there? Perhaps there would be some clue to reveal his feelings about Jack Barnett. Did he acknowledge him as his son? Perhaps — a thrilling thought — there might be a hint about Ernest and Frank, and why they ran away.

  Yet she could not find out what was hidden inside it. None of the keys she had found so far fitted it, indeed, they were all far too large. The key would be small and delicate, and very easy to conceal. But where could it be hidden? John had searched every likely place in the book room, and had even managed to find the key to the small money box hanging from a hook at the back of a desk drawer. It was unlikely that any more keys remained to be found. But perhaps Papa had kept it with him at all times? Perhaps it still sat in a pocket somewhere amongst his clothes, or in a drawer beside his bed.

  Something to keep her busy at last! Her quick steps took her from the book room and up the stairs. The first door was the sumptuous guest bedroom where Mr Eddington had stayed recently, called the Duke’s Room, because the first Duke of Marlborough was supposed to have slept in it. Belle rather doubted it, however, since he was dead before Allamont Hall was even built. Mama’s room was to one side of it, and to the other, Papa’s room.