Grace (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 5) Page 3

  “Alice!” George boomed, beaming at his younger sister. “Finished your lessons already?”

  “Lessons ended hours ago,” she said in a tiny thread of a voice. “Mama sent me to tell you that the carriage is being brought round for Miss Allamont. Oh, what have you done!” She gazed at her brother and Grace, taking in for the first time the enormity of the devastation afflicting them. “Oh, Grace, you are so dirty! I am confined to the schoolroom for a week if I get so much as a mark on my gown. And is that… can it really be soot? Whatever have you been doing?”

  “The chimney needs sweeping,” George said.

  “But you did not need to do it yourself,” Alice whispered.

  For some reason, this struck Grace as exquisitely funny, and started her laughing all over again.

  “Oh, do not laugh!” Alice said distressfully. “Please come down, or I shall be in trouble for not fetching you.”

  Grace scrambled to her feet, and a loud ripping sound echoed round the room. She looked ruefully at the torn hem of her gown. “Oh dear.”

  “Oh Grace, you will be in so much trouble,” Alice said mournfully.

  Grace could not disagree.

  3: Chimneys

  “Lady Hardy,” the butler intoned.

  An elegantly attired young woman stood on the threshold of the Allamont Hall drawing room.

  “Mary!” Grace shrieked from her seat near the window. “Do come and sit by me. I want to hear all about London!”

  “Please moderate your tone, Grace,” her mother said gently.

  Grace jumped up, setting a small table wobbling, and bobbed a curtsy. “I beg your pardon, Mama.”

  She hoped her tone was demure enough. Mama had been more amused than censorious at her appearance after what she had come to think of as the Incident with the Chimney, but still, it would not do to incur her displeasure. Even though Grace was three and twenty, her mother still had the power to forbid her from visits or — horrid thought! — from attending the next ball. She might not be looking for a husband, but Grace enjoyed dancing as much as anyone, and the loss would be keenly felt.

  Mary smiled at Grace’s outburst, but she was too polite to neglect Lady Sara or the other callers clustered around her. She made a slow circuit of the room. Lady Sara, first. Then Sir Matthew and Lady Graham. The older Mrs Wills. Mr Torrington, the physician. Mr and Miss Endercott, and here she stuck, for Miss Endercott, old maid and village busybody, grabbed Mary’s hand and practically forced her to sit down. Grace sighed. It would be some time now before Mary could make good her escape. No doubt Miss Endercott wanted all the details of Sir Osborne’s illness.

  Grace still could not get used to the idea that her cousin Mary had married Sir Osborne Hardy. Such an odd match! He was very eligible, of course, with the baronetcy and a great fortune, it was said, but his mama was formidable, and he had two elderly unmarried sisters living with him, as well as Mr Merton, his friend. An unusual household. And Sir Osborne had such a strange way of dressing, with those violently coloured waistcoats! He was always so concerned about his health, and the least spot of mud on a coat would send him into a paroxysm of fear. It was lucky he had married the tidy Mary, and not someone like Grace, who would have driven him to distraction with her torn hems and odd stains on her gowns that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

  Marriage certainly seemed to suit Mary, and Grace was conscious of a twinge of envy of her cousin’s fashionable pelisse and positively ravishing bonnet. So elegant! Mary was a fine-looking woman, but she had always dressed quite plainly. Now a little town polish set her off to perfection. She appeared contented with her lot, too. It had seemed she was quite on the shelf until Sir Osborne had taken the notion to marry her a year ago. Quite a sudden whim, after they had known each other for years.

  Eventually Mary managed to satisfy Miss Endercott, and made her way to the window seat where Grace was ensconced.

  “Well, Grace,” Mary said, settling herself down. “It is dispiriting to repeat the same news over and over, so let us suppose that you have asked me how Sir Osborne does, and I have told you that he is tolerably well today, a little improved since yesterday, and then we may talk of something else. But I need not enquire if you are in spirits, for I have already heard all about your escapade with the chimney.”

  “Oh dear. Did Lady Graham tell you of it? For I cannot believe Mama would mention it.”

  “Indeed not. It was neither of the two. I stopped in the village on my way here to collect one or two things from the haberdasher’s, and Mrs Wiseman told us of it. Your adventures have quite delighted everyone, I assure you. But there is no sign of this fabulous necklace, I collect?” Grace shook her head. “Ah well, that is a pity, but I daresay the maid secreted it away years ago and it will never be found now.”

  That was a possibility which had not occurred to Grace. Her spirits sank at once.

  “But that puts me in mind of something else,” Mary went on. “I hear that your mama has a new lady’s maid, is that so?”

  “It is. She brought Rushton back with her from London on this most recent visit, and Ellesmere is gone.”

  “Would it be presumptuous in me to ask why? For I am sure she was not caught pilfering the silverware.”

  Grace laughed. “Nothing of the sort. Mama just said she wanted a change, someone more up to date with London styles. Ellesmere was not very pleased about it, but she got her year’s salary and a very good reference.”

  “Has she gone far? Because she would do very well for Susan. You remember Susan, the wife of Sir Osborne’s heir? The present maid has not answered at all — Susan will not stand up to her, so the maid bullies her dreadfully.”

  “Ellesmere has gone to Newcastle, I believe. Mama found her a position.”

  “Oh. Well, that is disappointing. We shall have to look elsewhere. I should have asked in London, I suppose, but we had such a busy time of it that I never thought.”

  “Was it lovely in London?” Grace said wistfully.

  “Oh — I suppose so. We were only there for two weeks, just the three of us — Mama, Susan and me — for I could not leave Sir Osborne for longer. Just shopping, you know, but Mama enjoyed herself so greatly that I was quite in charity with her for once. At home, we just do not get along, but London is her natural habitat, I declare. We seldom ventured beyond the shops and warehouses, although we did go to the opera twice.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You will never guess who we saw there.”

  “Oh, do tell!”

  “Your aunt, the Lady Matilda.”

  “What, Mama’s sister?”

  “Indeed. I thought it was Lady Sara at first, but when we enquired, we discovered it was Lady Matilda, with some very distinguished names. Very distinguished indeed. I wonder we have not heard more of her in the Gazette if she mixes in such society.”

  Grace was silent, not sure what to say about Aunt Tilly, who was so disreputable that her own family had disowned her. Yet Mama went to stay with her sometimes, she knew that much.

  “I will not tease you about her,” Mary said. “I know something of the story, so perhaps the less said the better.”

  “Shall you go back to London for the season?” Grace said.

  “I doubt Sir Osborne’s health will permit it. His mama plans to go, however, and introduce Rupert and Susan to society. Poor Susan is terrified! Such a timid soul, she will hate it, I am sure.”

  “How sad, to be amongst such wonders and excitement, and yet not enjoy them,” Grace said. “How sorry you must be to miss it all.”

  Mary smiled. “Not sorry in the least. Sir Osborne would certainly agree to let me go if I wished it, but I love the country in the spring, when I can ride for mile after mile through fields and verdant woods. Who would exchange that for dusty streets and smoky air and the smell of horse-dung everywhere?”

  “But the balls and routs and parties!” Grace cried. “The fashions! The shops! The acquaintance you would make! You could be presented at court!” She could imagine no greater felicity.

  But Mary shook her head. “Those hold no appeal for me, and as a married woman, I make my own decisions about what pleases me, and what I shall be happy to ignore. You cannot imagine, Grace dear, the freedom that comes from a few words spoken in front of the parson, and a plain gold ring.”

  “And a tolerant husband,” Grace said.

  Mary laughed. “That too.”

  ~~~~~

  It was not long before George resumed the search for the necklace. He poked around the other rooms in his great-grandmother’s apartment, but his heart was not in it. What had seemed like the most tremendous fun when he and Grace had crawled about together was decidedly boring on his own.

  He had examined the chimneys again, however. This time he had had the forethought to summon one of the gardeners, in his oldest clothes, to scrabble around in the chimneys. The housekeeper, displeased at the length of time it had taken her housemaids to scrub the room clean after the previous attempt, had insisted on laying dust sheets over the floor while this operation was underway. The result was much less sooty, but in one other respect the outcome was unchanged: the diamonds were still missing.

  After that, he found himself quite bereft of ideas. There was only one thing to be done — he must go at once to Allamont Hall and engage Grace’s interest in the project once more.

  “What are we to do next?” he said to her, having found her trying to mend a bonnet in the morning room.

  “We?” she said, smiling archly at him.

  “Very well, what am I to do next?” he said crossly. “Come on, Grace, do not be coy about it. You enjoyed the search as much as I, you know you did. Tell me what to do.”

  “The walls,” she said with a sigh. “If you have checked all the furniture, the floors and the chimneys, then there remain only the walls. After that, you might look at any other rooms that the old lady might have used. Did she go into the saloons, for instance? Was there a sitting room other than her own that she was accustomed to use? What about the long gallery?”

  “Excellent,” he said, grinning. “Will you come and help?”

  “I am not sure. My efforts last time gave your servants a great deal of extra work, and my own maid would not speak to me for a week after she saw the state of my gown. Besides, I am not sure I have got all the soot out of my hair yet.”

  He gave a bark of laughter. “When has that ever mattered to you? Do come! It is much more enjoyable with company, and I cannot get any of the girls to take an interest, and they would be the principal beneficiaries, after all, should the necklace be found. It is of no use to me.”

  “I will ask Mama.”

  George knew Lady Sara’s ways, so he placed no dependence on that’s lady’s compliance with the scheme. His own mother, on the other hand, was more malleable when approached in the right way. Besides, she was naturally very fond of her only son, and must wish him to be happy. Even so, he chose his moment carefully, after a family dinner when good food and wine had made her mellow.

  “Mama, I have been considering Alice’s situation,” he began.

  “Really, dear?”

  “Indeed. I know you want her to go off in style next year and make a splendid match, and I am certain she will, of course. But perhaps what she needs just now is a more experienced friend to encourage her.”

  Sir Matthew lowered the book he had been reading. “This benevolence towards your sister is most touching, George.”

  “Oh… thank you, sir.”

  “I presume you have a more experienced friend in mind for Alice?”

  “Why, I do,” he said eagerly. “Grace would be just the thing, and I thought—”

  “Grace Allamont!” his mother screeched. “You must be mad! Alice is a good, well-behaved child, and I do not want her learning to tear her gown and race around like a hoyden and shout loud enough to be heard in the servants’ hall.”

  Sir Matthew lowered the book still further. “Grace is an enthusiastic dancer, my dear. Alice is still very hesitant, as you have remarked yourself. She could benefit from learning to execute her steps with a little more spirit.”

  “And have her tread on her partner’s feet every third step? No, no. I thank you for the thought, George, but no.”

  “Oh. Are you sure? I believe if Grace came to stay for a while…” Seeing his mother’s face, he gave it up.

  “George, you have not developed a tendre for Miss Allamont, have you?” his father said, smiling gently.

  “Good heavens, no! Nothing of the sort. Grace Allamont? I should think not! Indeed, she is just a friend, a good friend who has been out for some years and could perhaps give Alice a little more confidence, that is all.”

  “Do you know, I think you may be right,” his father said.

  “Sir Matthew, I really must object—” Lady Graham began, but her husband waved his hand with a sweet smile.

  “Invite her to stay for a few days, Julia. Alice can hardly pick up any bad habits in such a short time, but it will do her good to have a female friend to talk to about fashions and… well, whatever young ladies talk about.”

  “She has her sisters to talk to,” Lady Graham protested.

  “With whom she quarrels constantly.”

  “If we must have one of the Allamont girls here, let it be Hope, who at least will not knock over the vases or trail mud through the house.”

  “Hope is as timid as Alice. No, let it be Grace. Just a few days, Lady Graham. That is not so much to ask, is it?”

  And with that, he picked up his book again and composedly began to read.

  4: An Assembly

  Before Grace’s visit to Graham House could be contemplated, there was a ball at the assembly rooms to enjoy. Brinchester was the county town, and boasted of its premier position by holding an assembly once a month for the enjoyment of anyone able to find the cost of the subscription. For the Allamont sisters, deprived of the possibility of a London season, it was the only opportunity to mingle with a wider society than their own neighbourhood. It was unfortunate that the county boasted few eligible men. Had Grace wished to marry the son of a wealthy farmer or the better sort of merchant or shopkeeper or banker, she might have chosen from a score or more. Gentlemen, sadly, were scarcer. Nevertheless, it was an evening of dancing, with a good supper and a chance to meet up with far-flung relatives.

  Of these, Grace was most pleased to see her sister Belle, now happily married to the former curate of Lower Brinford. Once Mr Burford had been head over ears in love with Hope, but he and Belle had discovered a mutual love of books and now they spent their days contentedly buried in their library at Willowbye. It was not a life that would have appealed to Grace, and she scarcely thought it would have suited Hope, either, although Hope herself could never be convinced of it. Poor Hope! She had never quite got over the loss of her first and most ardent admirer, and every suitor now was held up to the example of Mr Burford, and found wanting.

  The other Willowbye family were of less interest. Cousin Henry, who was really Papa’s cousin, was friendly enough, but his second wife, Cousin Vivienne, had not a good word to say about anyone. She was never happier than when others were in trouble. Of Cousin Henry’s four children, only Mary was tolerable company. The three boys had been wild as children, and the memory of the tricks they had played on the Allamont sisters still rankled. Still, they had improved somewhat as they grew into adulthood. James was quite settled with his young wife, and Mark had taken up a life preaching the word of the Lord, which could hardly be faulted. Even Hugo, always in a scrape at school, had found a useful role managing the Allamont estate.

  Grace was fully occupied for the first few dances, but seeing Belle sitting alone at the side of the room, fanning herself, she declined the next and went to sit beside her sister.

  “What, no doting husband in attendance?” Grace said.

  “He has gone to fetch me some lemonade. I am a little hot.” She blushed.

  Grace guessed the reason — another baby on the way. “Ah! I wondered why you did not dance, for I know how much you delight in it.”

  “I do, but I am so tired tonight that I have not the energy to stand up, even for the country dances. But how are you, sister dear?” Belle rushed on. “I do not see a certain person at your heels, so I must assume he has given up the chase.”

  “If you mean the person I think you mean, I sent him back to his splendid but much encumbered estate in Wiltshire.”

  “Was he very much disappointed?”

  “Not so much disappointed as astonished that I could fail to be dazzled by the prospect of becoming mistress of… what was it called? Darrowhall. And such a privilege for me to settle all his debts and see him able to take his rightful place in the world. How could I possibly refuse the honour?”

  Belle smiled a little, but said, “Ah, you are becoming cynical, Grace. A man may like to have your dowry and also have a genuine affection for you.”

  “Perhaps, but I have seen little of genuine affection this last year and a half. Seventeen offers, sister, since Dulcie married and my dowry was released. And how many before that? Not one.”

  “True, but you could not consider marrying earlier, Papa’s will was very clear on that point. It is an odd arrangement, and I have no idea why Papa chose to order things in quite that way, but you would not have wished to marry before your turn. If you had, then all of us would have lost our dowries, and you would never have done anything to harm your sisters’ prospects.”

  “Of course, but a man who cared for me might attempt to fix his interest, even if we could not be married immediately.”

  “That would not be honourable, to attach a young lady without being in a position to marry her. I do believe, Grace, that a number of your disappointed suitors would have been very happy to offer for you sooner, and were delighted when Dulcie married and they could in good conscience make an approach to you. Look how they swarmed around you the winter before last!”