Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (15 page)

Finally Beth turned to Graeme. To her surprise he made no move to embrace her, keeping his hands by his sides.

“You make sure you write, now,” he said gruffly. “And don’t you go marrying the first man that asks just to be rid of your brother. We’ll always be here for you. Better be penniless with people who love you, than married to a lump of shite.”

It was a measure of how upset Jane was that she made no comment on Graeme’s language.

“Well, then,” he said roughly, and stepping forward he crushed her to him suddenly, so tightly that her ribs creaked and her face was squashed against his chest. Then he released her, and turning, walked out of the kitchen without a backward glance.

Beth stood for a moment looking at the place where he’d been seconds ago. In all the years she’d known him, she had never seen him cry, not even when her mother and father died, both of whom he’d been devoted to. But in the moment between releasing her and turning away, she’d seen the tears standing in his eyes. It was too much. She broke down and sobbed.

* * *

Beth missed her home enormously, an abiding pain that lodged somewhere under her heart; sometimes dull, sometimes sharp, but never completely absent. The house at Didsbury was small, warm and cosy, if a little shabby. Raven Hall, in spite of its size and magnificence, was cavernous and draughty, its huge fires failing to penetrate the chill of the enormous, high-ceilinged rooms.

She blessed the contempt her lowborn mother had earned from Lord Edward; it was no doubt due to that that she had been delegated to a small, sparsely furnished bedroom. It was still twice the size of her room at home, but by Cunningham standards was poky. The bed was a huge canopied monster and the wardrobe and dressing table were so solid they would probably outlast the house, but the walls were decorated a warm shade of dusky pink, the size of the room meant that the fire had some effect on the temperature, and the window faced in the direction of her old home. At nights she would sometimes sit by the window, imagining an impossible world in which women had the same rights as men and did not have to be financially dependent on them, a world where she could live where she pleased, with whom she pleased, and do as she liked.

The servants seemed cool and distant, almost like ghosts. When she greeted them with a smile and enquired after their health they would merely mumble an incomprehensible reply, before bowing or curtseying and blending back into the surroundings. After a few days Beth discussed this with Grace, for whose welfare she was deeply concerned.

“They are really very friendly,” Grace replied in answer to Beth’s anxious queries as to their coolness. “They’ve made me very welcome. Of course there are a lot of them, and I haven’t learned all their names yet, but the ones I’ve met are nice. They have to be distant with the family, though. That’s what Lord Edward has commanded. They must remember their place. They would be dismissed if they were too familiar.”

Beth was shocked. She now understood the mumbled replies to her friendly overtures. Presumably they were afraid that their tyrannical master would overhear and dismiss them on the spot.

“Does Edward beat them, Grace?” Beth asked, thinking of Richard and John, and wondering if her cousin was as brutal as her brother.

“No, I don’t think so. But he is very demanding, or that’s the impression I get. I don’t think he is like Sergeant Cunningham.” Her voice held a trace of bitterness.

That was the nearest Beth had ever heard Grace come to stating an opinion.

“You miss John, don’t you, Grace?” Beth said.

Grace blushed and bent over the dressing table, searching for an imaginary hairpin.

“Yes,” she admitted after a moment. “But I miss all of them, even Graeme and his terrible language.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Beth persisted. Grace was so sensible and sober-natured, she sometimes forgot how young the girl was. Only sixteen, certainly young enough to fall in love with the charismatic stable boy. Beth turned in her seat at the dressing table and captured Grace’s hands in hers.

“We will find him, Grace,” she said gently. “Does he know how you feel for him?”

Grace shook her head, her face on fire. A single tear trickled down her face, and she squeezed Beth’s hands.

“There was no point,” she replied sensibly. “My parents would never allow me to marry a non-juror. That’s the next worst thing to a Catholic in their view. And I think I would be too sober for him.”

Beth thought of the commanding impulsive Thomas and his level-headed wife, and begged to differ. But there was no point in raising Grace’s hopes. She was right. No self-respecting Protestant parents would want their daughter married to a member of a church that had refused to take the oath of allegiance to the Hanoverians. And John was more than that. He made no secret of his devotion to the Stuart restoration.

“Do you think you can be happy here, Grace? If not, you must tell me. You can go home any time you want,” Beth said, changing the subject.

Grace considered for a moment.

“Yes, I think I will be content,” she said. “And I want to stay with you for as long as you need me.”

“That may be a very long time,” Beth warned.

Gratifying as it was that Grace thought she could find contentment, Beth doubted she would ever feel the same emotion whilst living under her cousins’ roof. There were benefits. She no longer had to fear Richard’s violence or make excuses to avoid spending time alone with him. She had hardly seen him since they had moved in and Edward had spirited him away. The men spent the days riding and shooting pheasant, if the weather was fine.

The Cunningham women followed their own routine, a rigid timetable which had Beth paralysed with boredom after only a week. They would rise at seven, taking a dish of chocolate in their rooms. Then they would dress casually and go down for breakfast, after which Edward would appear briefly and read some carefully chosen illuminating verses from the Bible. He would then disappear, and the sisters would discuss the meaning of the holy writing. After this they would all go back upstairs and dress to receive visitors, which took at least an hour. From ten o’ clock until two they would sit in the icy green drawing room, occupying their hands with a piece of embroidery or sewing of some kind, one or other of them leaping up at every noise in case it was a visitor, which it never was. No one had been near the house since Beth and Richard had arrived seven days previously.

At two they would repair to the parlour, which, if decorated in shades of dark blue every bit as gloomy as the drawing room’s green, was at least a little warmer, being of much smaller dimensions. They would then read or write letters. If the weather was very pleasant they would take a short stroll in the gardens. Occasionally Clarissa would play the harpsichord, at which she was very proficient, technically at least. Then they would go and dress for dinner, which was served precisely at five p.m. After dinner, Richard and Edward would retire to discuss ‘important business’ and the ladies would be left to pass the interminable hours until bedtime, after which the whole routine would begin again.

Dinner was the most dangerous time for Beth, due to Edward’s presence at the table. Having survived six of these events, Beth realised that her notion of dinner conversation bore no resemblance whatsoever to that of her cousins. It would seem that in society conversation consisted of the male head of the household pontificating on a subject for half an hour while the ladies dutifully agreed with everything he said. Towards the end of the meal Edward would ask the ladies in a disinterested tone how they had occupied themselves during the day, and would then cut their replies short, departing as quickly as possible to his bottle of port or brandy, Richard trailing in his wake.

Beth, faithfully keeping her promise to Richard, avoided being dragged into the minefield of commenting on Edward’s views by keeping her eyes modestly cast down and concentrating fiercely on the food that was placed in front of her. Isabella had recently employed a French chef, who provided the ladies with the latest cuisine, while their regular cook continued to dish up the traditional fare Richard and Edward relished. This was a cause of some dissension, but for once the three sisters had stood their ground, hating the stodgy and fattening food that England considered patriotic, and Edward had given in to them, reluctantly.

On the sixth day, Edward, finding Richard’s company excellent, as they clearly had many interests in common, and being reassured by Beth’s demure demeanour at the dinner table, announced that he thought it would be perfectly acceptable for them to accompany the family when they went to London after Christmas. Richard had expressed his profuse thanks in an unctuous manner that made Beth’s stomach turn. There had then been a pause, while Edward looked expectantly at her.

“You are most generous, cousin,” she muttered, hoping that would be enough to satisfy him.

“Oh this is marvellous news!” cried Isabella. “We have no time to lose. We must call in the dressmaker immediately.”

Edward looked somewhat alarmed.

“But surely you have enough clothes for the season? I have already spent a fortune on several new gowns that have not yet been seen.”

“Yes of course, we have adequate fashionable clothing,” his sister agreed. “But Elizabeth has only two formal outfits, which I am sure are sufficient for a retired life in the country but will never do in London. One is judged by one’s dress, my dear,” she said, looking warmly at Beth and then back at her brother, who was frowning ominously. Isabella wrung her hands, as she always did when nervous. “It would never do for a member of the Cunningham family to be seen in anything less than the height of fashion, Edward,” she reminded her brother gently. “I am quite happy to spend some of my own allowance on ensuring that Elizabeth is suitably attired. In fact I would be delighted to.”

Within a few days Beth realised that her cousin had only been speaking the truth. She took far more pleasure than Beth in selecting fabrics and suggesting trimmings, and went into transports of ecstasy over such details as buttons, lace and fans. They spent hours poring over drawings and tiny wooden puppets dressed in the latest fashions from France, trying to decide what would suit Beth’s slender beauty. In spite of their dreadful taste in wallpaper, Beth was surprised to discover that the sisters had excellent taste in fashion, and in what would suit her fair hair and complexion, and left all the decisions to them. Only on one point did she put her foot down; she would not wear a wig.

“I absolutely hate them,” she said when Charlotte advised her that her dear Frederick always used to say one was quite undressed without a wig. “They are hot and itchy and a breeding ground for lice.”

Beth had, however, submitted meekly to the dressmaker, enduring standing for hours, being inadvertently pricked with pins and listening to the delighted exclamations of her cousins as the new outfits took shape. At least it was a change from sitting in the drawing room waiting for visitors who never appeared while the clock ticked away the empty hours.

Once the dressmakers and milliners had departed, life settled back into its normal routine. The outfits would be ready in three weeks, with another fitting probably being necessary in the meantime to make adjustments. Other than that, there were five more weeks to go until the date which had been set for their removal to London, weather permitting, in January.

Beth was in despair. Her proposal that they spend a day in Manchester buying Christmas presents was greeted with horror. The weather was far too uncertain at this time of year to venture any further from home than the garden.

“But we can surely take the carriage?” Beth suggested, although she had intended that they walk; it was only a mile, after all.

“Oh, but then one still has to walk around the streets, in and out of shops, and if it should rain...” Clarissa said.

If it should rain, what? What would happen? Did the nobility melt in the rain? She had visions of her three companions dissolving into piles of slush at her feet, like slugs sprinkled with salt, and smiled, which her cousins took as a sign that she had realised the foolishness of her suggestion, and the matter was closed.

Chapter Five

“’But I would have you know, that the head of every man is Christ; and the head of the woman is the man; and the head of Christ is God,’” Edward intoned in a sombre voice, quoting his favourite apostle, Paul. “’For a man indeed ought not to cover his head, forasmuch as he is the image and glory of God; but the woman is the glory of the man. For the man is not of the woman; but the woman of the man. Neither was the man created for the woman; but the woman for the man. Let your women keep silence in the churches; for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience, as also saith the law.’”

Edward closed the Bible reverently and beamed around the room. His sisters all looked suitably attentive, as he expected. His texts in the previous days had been chosen mainly with his cousin Elizabeth in mind. She seemed to be docile enough but it would do no harm to reinforce her submissiveness with a little of God’s authority. He looked at her now, gazing as always at the floor. It disturbed him a little that she never met his eye, so he addressed a question directly to her.

“So, what do you think of these wise words of St. Paul, Elizabeth?” he said. Richard looked at her anxiously. It was the first time Edward had asked her opinion on anything. She looked mildly at him, folding her hands in her lap.

“If the words of St. Paul are correct, my lord, then surely it is not permitted for me to have an opinion, but to be regulated by a man?” Richard closed his eyes. Although her words were innocent enough, her tone was one of pure contempt. He waited for Edward’s angry response, but to his surprise the peer merely smiled.

“Just so,” he said. “Well, I will leave you ladies to discuss the reading further. Richard and I are to attend a cockfight in town but we will return in time for dinner.”

Richard could not believe it. He knew his cousin was somewhat dense, but his sister’s tone was so obvious that even the relatively stupid Isabella had started at it. The man really saw only what he expected to see. He was very easily duped, Richard thought gratefully.