Текст книги "Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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'It is not old ... as castles go/ he told her. 'My family bought it little more than a hundred years ago, in 1641, for although the foundations were laid about the time the Armada was defeated, the castle wasn't completed until some forty years later.'

'It must be most exciting to live in a castle.'

'I find it so. Do you think you would?'

'I'm sure I should.'

'Well, who knows, perhaps you will.'

She laughed lightheartedly. 'I hardly think so. I shall have to be content with our house which is very pleasant but by no means a castle.'

'But perhaps you won't live there always. Perhaps you will marry and er ...'

'Who can say? Have you a chapel in the castle?'

'Yes. Would you like to see it?'

'Very much. At home we have to worship in the priest's house. Papa has made a chapel there. It must be wonderful to have your own chapel.'

He laid his hand on her arm and she showed no objection. She thinks of me as an uncle, he thought despairingly. And how lovely she was! How young! How full of health and vigour.

On the way to the chapel he pointed out the round towers at each corner of the building, battlemented and made of Chel-mark Stone. She was deeply interested in everything and delighted when he pointed out how the chapel had been built in four sections to make a cross.

She thought the views from the park were delightful, looking across the Dorset coast as they did, and she suggested climbing to the top of one of the towers for a better view.

She led the way up the narrow stone spiral staircase. The way was steep; it was years since he had been up there; he followed her, trying to keep up, trying to hide his breathless-ness, and when he finally stood beside her at the top of the tower she turned to him in alarm and cried: 'Mr. Weld, are you feeling ill?'

'No, no ...' he gasped.

'But you are. Oh dear, how careless of me! I ran up those stairs. Pray sit down. Yes, you must, Mr. Weld.' She insisted he be seated on a stone ledge and she knelt beside him, looking

up at him anxiously. He thought how beautiful she was in her concern and he loved her more than ever, but hopelessly, he thought. He had meant to impress her by his castle and all he had succeeded in doing was showing her that he was an old man.

'I am all right.' He made to stand up.

But she would not hear it. She was charmingly authoritative. 'Oh no, Mr. Weld. I insist.'

'You insist.'

She blushed. 'I am sorry. But I really am a little anxious/

'I find it delightful that you should care for a poor old man.'

'But of course I care. And you are not an old man. I have been stupid. I ran up those stairs. Mamma says I am sometimes thoughtless and I'm afraid I am.'

'I... I find you charming. I would not change you.'

'Careless or not?' Her laughter rang out.

'And what are you thinking of me?'

'Thar it was very kind of you to allow me to come here with Uncle Henry and to show me your beautiful castle and ...' She had paused to look at him. Then she added severely: 'But I can see I shall have to make you more careful in future. There 1 I've been impertinent again.'

'Please go on ... being impertinent.'

'Do you know, Mr. Weld, you are not in the least like an uncle. Do you feel rested now? Shall we go down?'

He rose and said: 'One moment. Let us look over the parapet so that you can see the countryside.'

She stood with him so close that a strand of her long hair blew across his face.

Ask her now? Say: 'AH this is mine. Share it with me.' If she were mercenary ... but she was not. She was just sweet, innocent and infinitely desirable.

'Maria,' he began.

She turned to him, her eyes shining with pleasure in the beautiful landscape.

'Yes, Mr. Weld?' she prompted.

'You like ... all this?'

'Certainly. Who could help it?'

'You would like to live here?' 'I think it's the most delightful spot.' 'Then ...'

She looked at him expectantly.

'No/ he said. 'I am too old ... and you are too young.' Then she understood.

She was bewildered. She wanted to get to her room and think.

There was a letter from Mamma. Mr. Weld had offered marriage. Mamma and Papa had thought a great deal about this offer. Uncle Henry could vouch for Mr. Weld who was a good man and belonged to one of the foremost Catholic families in England. He was devoted to Maria; he did not ask for a dowry which, Maria would realize, was a great consideration, poor Papa's affairs being what they were. Mr. Weld had already proved himself a good husband to a lady of high rank. It was flattering that he should wish their dearest Maria to take her place, so Maria should think very seriously about this. It was not that they would force her to marry where she did not wish; they would not even urge her to do so; but what they would do was ask her to think very carefully of her position. She was not rich; she had little to offer but her beauty; there were the boys and Frances to consider. And while Mamma and Papa would not for one moment suggest that she accept Mr. Weld's offer if she did not wish to, they would be very happy if she decided to be wise and do so.

Maria read that letter over and over again.

Mr. Weld was so kind, so good, so very anxious to show her that he would understand perfectly if she refused his offer. Uncle Henry obviously wanted her to make his old friend happy; and she wanted to please everyone.

She took a delight in seeing that Mr. Weld did not exert himself. This pleased and yet disturbed him. He enjoyed her attentions, but at the same time was aware that they stressed his age.

And one summer's day when Mr. Weld seemed to find the heat too much for him and she exerted her charming tyranny

and insisted that he sit in the shade with her instead of going to ride, she thought he seemed a little sad and she mentioned this.

He said: 'There is only one thing that makes me sad, Maria. It is because I am not twenty years younger.'

'Why should that make you sad? The young are often very foolish.'

'It makes me sad because I am not your age. Then I could ask you to marry me and if you said yes I should no longer have any reason to be sad.'

'You might ask me to marry you,' she told him severely, 'which is something you have not done yet, although you have spoken to my uncle and my parents on this matter. Perhaps if you were to ask me ...'

A look of great joy came into his face.

'Maria,' he said, 'will you marry me?'

'But certainly I will,' answered Maria; and she laughed with pleasure to see his joy.

Edward Weld was delighted with his marriage; as soon as Maria had agreed he had hurried on the ceremony and Walter and Mary Smythc congratulated themselves that their eldest child had done very well. With little effort and no expense they had arranged for her an advantageous union, for at eighteen years old she was comfortably settled; her home was a castle; her husband was rich and indulgent and most important of all a Catholic.

As for Maria, she was very happy. It was gratifying to know that she could make her husband so happy; he delighted in showing her off to his friends and there were frequent house-parties at Lulworth Castle. Maria quickly learned to become a good hostess; the poise she had acquired in France was an additional asset and she could converse with the grace and ease of a much older person; and as she matured a little she grew even more beautiful.

Edward Weld could not do enough for her. Her portrait must be painted. He must always be able to see Maria as she was during this first year of marriage. He would have her

painted beside him. There was a picture of him in the castle hall in which he was portrayed with his first wife, and as there was room to paint in Maria on the other side of him this was done. He was delighted with the result and whenever he came into the hall he would stand for a few moments looking at himself with the two women on either side of him, but his eyes would linger on Maria.

Then he decided that Maria should have a portrait to herself and he summoned Gainsborough to Lulworth.

When the artist arrived he was delighted by the beauty of the sitter but a little surprised that she wore her hair in its natural state. He commented on this.

'Madam, the ladies of the Court wear wigs or powder their hair.'

'Do they indeed, Mr. Gainsborough?' reported Maria. 'I do not.'

Mr. Gainsborough could not hide his dismay, for this portrait would not look like those which he was accustomed to painting. It was clear that he wished his sitter would make some concession to fashion.

Maria had spirit, her husband was not displeased to note. He liked to see a little fire in his goddess; she quite clearly had not taken to Mr. Gainsborough; but he was surprised when after the first sitting she came to him, her eyes flashing with an indignation he had never seen before.

'Would you believe it, Edward, that man has given mc a grey wig!'

Edward went lo sec the portrait and it was true that Gainsborough had sketched in her curly hair with grey impaste.

The next day, however, Maria told Mr. Gainsborough that she had no intention of giving him another sitting. The painter shrugged his shoulders; he would be paid for what he had done and there were many people more important than Mrs. Weld of Lulworth who were asking for his services.

'Why,' said Mr. Weld, as the artist drove away from the castle, 'what a determined young person you are to be sure!'

Maria laughed. 'Was I right, Edward, in thinking that you wished for a portrait of your devoted wife?'

'You were indeed.'

'Well, I was determined that you should have that or nothing. Do you imagine I wished Mr. Gainsborough to present you with some Court beauty who bore no resemblance to her whom you have honoured with your name.'

Edward smiled fondly.

'We'll find an artist who will give me exactly what I want– which is my own Maria.'

Edward Weld was forty-five—not a great age certainly, but since he did not enjoy good health it occurred to him that the time had come for him to make sure that in the event of his death Maria would inherit all he had, for if he did not make a new will the castle and everything he possessed would go to his brother Thomas.

He therefore took the first opportunity of going to see his lawyers and instructing them to draft a new will which was to be brought to the castle at the earliest opportunity.

This was done and delivered at the castle for his signature. He could not resist telling Maria what he had done, so he sent one of the servants to her room and asked her to come to him in the library.

She came in a riding habit of a most elegant cut, for another thing Maria had learned in France was how to dress to advantage, and as ever Edward was deeply conscious of her beauty.

'Ah, my love, how delightful you look.'

'Such a lovely morning, Edward. I have come to insist that you come riding with me.'

'It will give me great pleasure. But first I have something to show you. I have made a new will.'

She looked alarmed and he laughed at her. 'I am not going to die, dearest Maria, simply because I make a will.'

'I hate talk of wills.'

'Bless you. But these things have to be. This will be signed and put away and then we will talk of it no more and I shall have the satisfaction of knowing that should anything happen to me, my Maria is comfortably settled.'

'You are so good to me, dear Edward.'

He smiled at her fondly and she sat down while he read the contents of the will to her. Apart from a few legacies everything was for her.

'Now,' he said. 'The witnesses have to sign. We will get this settled immediately.'

'But then it will be too late to ride. Have you forgotten that the Framptons are coming over from Moreton. There is just time to ride if you have to change. The will can be signed after the Framptons' visit.'

Ever ready to please her he put the will into his bureau, locked it and went to change into his riding clothes.

It was a lovely morning. Galloping across the fields, walking their horses close to the sea, they talked of the Framptons and other friends and new furnishings Maria had decided on for certain rooms in the castle.

The time passed quickly and soon Maria was reminding him that they must return to the castle if they were to change in time to greet the Framptons.

As they cantered across the park surrounding the castle Edward's horse stumbled over a molehill and he was thrown right out of the saddle. He lay still on the grass while the horse cantered back to the stables. Maria hastily dismounted. 'Edward,' she cried. 'Oh ... my dearest...' Edward opened his eyes.

'Thank God,' she cried. 'Edward, I am going to get help ... Just lie still ... and wait.'

Edward was apparently uninjured by the fall but his doctors advised him to remain in bed for a week or so. The incident had been a great shock to him, they said.

Maria proved herself to have another excellent quality: she was a good nurse. A week passed and Edward did not recover. No bones were broken, but it was certain that the fall had had an adverse effect. He seemed to have aged considerably and although he was at peace while Maria was at his bedside his memory seemed to be failing.

Two weeks passed. The doctors shook their heads. They

;$2 Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill

did not understand his condition. The fall had not appeared to be serious and yet after it he changed considerably.

'Good nursing is what he needs/ they told Maria. 'But keep him quiet for a little longer.'

Maria rarely left the sick room; but she noticed that each day her husband was growing more feeble.

And one morning when she went into his room and spoke to him he did not answer.

She went close to the bed and stared at him. One glance was enough to show her that she was a widow.

Ft> '■ J.'.-fgfe

Mrs.Fitzherbert

Afa. Fitzherbert

It was not until the will was read that Maria realized what had happened and that she alone was responsible for her position. The new will had lain unsigned and forgotten in the bureau during Edward's illness and in the old one there was no mention of Maria. How could there have been? Edward had been unaware of her existence when he had written it. The Castle and Edward's fortune therefore had all gone to his brother Thomas and there was not a penny for Maria.

Thomas—Edward's brother—arrived at the castle. He was sorry for Maria and assured her that she would not be left without means of support.

'You should not concern yourself with me,' she told him. 'I shall return to my parents.'

Thomas thought that would be the wisest plan; he would however insist on making her a small allowance which he was sure was what his brother would have wished.

Maria knew that what her husband had wished was to leave her the castle and the bulk of his fortune, but she did not remind Thomas of this. She herself was to blame. Who would have thought on that sunny morning when she had persuaded Edward to postpone the signing of his will that such an act

could have the effect of making her a poor widow instead of a rich one?

But she was young and she could not regret the loss of a fortune. She was still mourning for Edward whom she had loved, if not passionately, with devotion and gratitude.

She was delighted when Papa arrived to take her back to Brambridge.

Mary Smythe was glad to have her daughter at home, but she did deplore what she called her lack of worldliness. Edward had been ready to sign his will and what had stopped him was Maria ... the chief beneficiary!

'My goodness!' cried Mary. 'What irony! A fortune handed to you and you calmly say, "Later, please. Let us ride first." Really, Maria!'

'Oh, Mamma, how was I to know ...?'

'No, no, my dearest, of course you did not. But I think you should try and take a slightly more practical view in future/

'Mamma, it is over. Dear Edward is dead and I am not rich, though I have enough. I must be content with that.'

Mary Smythe sighed. Her daughter grew more beautiful every day. Would a young widow have as much chance of finding a husband as an unmarried girl? She was not sure, for the widow was very little better off than the young girl had been.

Maria stayed at her parents' house for some months and then decided to take a cottage nearby on Colden Common, which was not a bad idea. 'It makes her status clear/ said Mary to Walter, 'and after a year of mourning there is no reason why Maria should not go into society again. She will then be under twenty which, Walter, you must admit is very young. And I begin to think that our Maria is beautiful enough to do without a dowry/

'No one is beautiful enough for that, Mary.'

'You are a cynic, Walter. Maria married Edward did she not? She would have been rich but for her own folly ... well, hardly that—heedlessness. But I doubt not that she has now learned that financial affairs should be settled at the earliest possible moment—and that is a very valuable lesson learned.'

'At the price of a fortune, yes.'

'Perhaps my brother will help again. He was very useful before. But Maria must have her year to mourn poor Edward. Then we shall see.'

So Maria settled quietly in her cottage.

Henry Errington was very interested in his sister's family, having none of his own, and he made up his mind that having succeeded in finding Maria a husband once he would do so again; but like his sister and her husband he agreed that the year of mourning must first be lived through.

Maria found life in her little cottage with the one servant she could afford, suited to her mood. She thought a great deal of that short period when she had been mistress of Lulworth Castle and was sad mourning poor Edward who had loved her so devotedly and had doubtless shortened his life in trying to keep up with her youth. There had been no need. She had not wished him to.

But she was sensible enough to know that her feeling for him had been no deep-rooted emotion. She had tried to please him because she enjoyed pleasing people; and after a few months she began to find the quiet life at the cottage very much to her taste. She read a great deal; she studied politics, for she quickly realized that she was living in momentous times. The conflict with the American colonies was certainly one of vital importance; she followed the activities of Pitt– now Lord Chatham; and she thought often of affairs in France and was a little sad because the King who had presented her with a dish of sugar plums had died and on the throne was now that gauche young Dauphin and his dainty Austrian-born wife.

Well, nothing remained the same and she wondered how long she would stay in her little cottage on Colden Common. She knew that Uncle Henry had his eye on her. They would soon start matchmaking again. But at the moment there was respite, and she could enjoy it.

As her brother Walter came breathlessly into the cottage, one glance was enough to show her that something was very wrong.

'Maria,' he said, 'come home at once. Papa has been taken very ill.'

She snatched up her cloak and climbed into the trap. She had never seen Walter so serious.

'Tell me what happened/ she demanded.

'Mamma went to see what had happened to him and found him in his chair unable to move/

Through the avenue of limes they went as fast as the pony would take them and as soon as they stopped by the door Maria leaped down and ran indoors.

Her mother, white faced and silent, embraced her. The doctors were with Walter Smythe; and it did not take them long to give their verdict. He had had a stroke which had paralysed him.

Life had indeed changed in the house in Brambridge. Maria gave up the cottage and went home to console her mother, but with poor Papa an invalid who would never walk again, nothing was the same.

Uncle Henry came over and was a great consolation; he would be a father to the family, he said. Frances should remain with the Blew Nuns to complete her education, for no good could come in bringing her home; and the boys would have to be found careers, which was not easy, as being Catholics they would be debarred from the professions most suited to their position in life, such as government posts, the Bar or the Army or Navy.

Uncle Henry stayed with them for a while but Maria discovered that her uncle, although a delightful host, a man who loved to entertain and who enjoyed good food and wine, was not really suited to be the guardian of boys who were fast becoming men. The discipline imposed by their father was completely lacking and Maria had some uneasy moments contemplating their future.

It was now that she regretted her ill luck or lack of pre-

Mrs. Fitzherbert 37

science which had prevented her from seeing that the will was signed before that fatal ride. What a lot she could have done for her family if she had been the rich widow of Lulworth Castle instead of the poor one of a cottage on Colden Common!

Uncle Henry was, however, very interested in his beautiful niece and he was constantly endeavouring to see that she was not hidden from sight. One of his friends was Thomas Fitzherbert, a rich Catholic squire who had estates in Swynnerton in Staffordshire and Norbury in Derbyshire; he was some thirty years old—older than Maria, it was true, but Maria was now no inexperienced girl. Uncle Henry was right when he guessed that Tom Fitzherbert would be impressed by his niece.

'She is delightful,' he cried. 4 I am sure, Henry, that I never saw a more lovely girl.'

Uncle Henry chuckled. If Maria married Tom Fitzherbert she would have a life more suited to her than that she had had through her first marriage. Edward Weld had been very worthy, a good rich Catholic husband, but he had been somewhat old for Maria and he had really lived too quietly at Lulworth. Tom Fitzherbert knew how to live well—which was in that manner so enjoyed by Henry Errington. Maria would really have been wasted at Lulworth where comparatively little entertaining had been done.

As Henry predicted it was not long before Tom Fitzherbert was making his intentions clear; and Maria, like the good sensible girl she was, accepted him.

Maria was just turned twenty-one when she became Mrs. Fitzherbert.

Maria was quickly to discover that life with Thomas Fitzherbert had a great deal more to offer than that which she had enjoyed with Edward Weld. Now she had an energetic husband, who was as devoted to her in his way as Edward Weld had been in his. Maria was beautiful, goodnatured, poised and intelligent and Thomas Fitzherbert was certainly not disappointed in the marriage—nor was Maria.

They had plenty of money; they entertained lavishly, not

only in the country but in London where they had a house in Park Street, off Park Lane. Here politicians and members of the aristocracy came often and the conversation was witty and amusing. Maria Fitzherbert began to be known as one of the most successful hostesses in London; and how much more to Maria's taste was London life than that of the country!

Mr. Fitzherbert, though an ardent Catholic, was liberal in outlook and fully supported the monarchy. He had great faith in the King whom he knew was anxious to abolish intolerance and he had hopes of seeing a reform in the laws against Catholics.

In her new affluent circumstances Maria did not forget her family, and when it was time for Frances to leave the convent she suggested that her sister come and stay with her.

It was a great joy to see Frances again—grown into a tall and pretty young woman. The sisters embraced warmly and Maria was interested to discover that her sister had been as regretful to leave the Blew Nuns as she had been. She had tales to tell of Paris, the scandals of the Court, the inability of the King and Queen to get children until the recent birth of a Princess to them—Madame Royale.

Maria listened eagerly and with pleasure to her sister's accounts of life in France and told her what had been happening at home.

'You will not find it difficult to settle down/ she assured her.

'I should have hated to be shut away at Brambridge, Maria. Oh, it is so changed! Poor Papa! He is just there ... not like his old self at all; and Mamma seems to have lost her spirit and the boys are so wild. How glad I am that you married Mr. Fitzherbert and have invited me to stay with you.'

'I am glad about both of those things also/ Maria told her.

Maria enjoyed launching her sister on London society and when she took her to Swynnerton, Frances was a success. She was exceptionally pretty, charming, gay and goodnatured; but a pale shadow of Maria, most people agreed.

There was one young man who was entertained frequently at Swynnerton who did not however agree with this verdict.

Frances came into her sister's bedroom while Maria was at her dressing table. Maria, who liked to dress her own hair, had dismissed her maid. She still wore it naturally. She was secretly proud of those thick corn-coloured curls and was not going to have them disfigured by powder; and as her own hair was abundant she had no need to pad it. Besides, she preferred to follow an original style.

Frances sat on the bed and watched her sister.

'You should see the hairstyles in Paris. They get higher and higher. Women are wearing feathers and even country scenes in their hair. And the Queen leads the fashion, which becomes more outrageous every day. Monsieur Leonard, her hairdresser, goes rattling along in his very fine carriage every day from Paris to Versailles to dress the Queen's hair/

'I shan't change my style ... not even for the Queen of France,' said Maria.

'I don't blame you. Yours looks lovely. Maria, I have come to the conclusion that you are a very unusual woman.'

'Have you only just come to that conclusion?' asked Maria lightly.

'Well I've always known it. You're very happy with Tom, are you not?'

Maria agreed that this was so.

'But then you were happy with Mr. Weld.'

That was also true.

'I wonder whether, Maria, you are the sort of woman who would be happy with any man.'

'I'm sure I should not.'

'But two happy marriages. You are, of course, very good-natured, amusing, clever and beautiful.'

'Please, you are making me blush.'

'But you are also wise, so you know these things. How much am I like you, Maria?'

'Quite a bit, I believe.'

'I wonder if I shall be happily married.'

'I am sure you will if you marry wisely.'

'Are people wise when they are in love?'

Maria was thoughtful. She had married what was considered wisely twice. Yet she hesitated to answer that question. A

thought came into her head. Had she ever been in love? She was fond of Thomas, of course; she had been fond of Edward, but...

Frances was looking at her intently.

'I think/ said Frances steadily, 'that I could feel the same for Carnaby Haggerston as you do for Thomas Fitzherbert.'

Maria was excited. 'Frances. He has...'

Frances nodded.

'And you have accepted?'

'Not exactly. I wanted to talk to you first.'

'But you are fond of him, Frances? I have seen you together. I know.'

'Yes,' said Frances, Tm fond of him.'

'I'm delighted.' Maria rose and embraced her sister. 'Mamma will be so pleased and so will Papa ... poor dear Papa ... if he is able to grasp what this means. Uncle Henry and Thomas will both be so ... gratified. It is just what we should all have wished.'

Frances nodded and kept her eyes on her face. Maria was happy; and her happiness had come through wisdom. No one could deny that Sir Carnaby Haggerston of the Northumberland Catholic Haggerstons was not an excellent match.

With Frances safely married and the chance of helping the boys which marriage with Thomas gave her, Maria was at peace. Occasionally she invited her mother to spend a little time with her in the country. Poor Mamma, she had changed a great deal since Papa's stroke and Maria feared she sighed nostalgically for the past. Walter had gone into the Austrian Army since his religious opinions debarred him from joining that in his own country; and Uncle Henry was often at Bram-bridge. But he was too indulgent and the boys, Maria feared, sadly missed a father.

She was growing closer and closer to Thomas whose activities were of the utmost interest to her; and for him it was a great pleasure to have a well-informed wife with whom he could discuss those issues which were of such importance to him.

There was only one disappointment in their marriage; there

was no sign of any children. But Maria was very young and they had their whole lives before them. Thomas was certain that such a paragon as Maria could not fail to give him all he wanted.

He delighted in those occasions when they could dine alone together. These were rare because there seemed to be a continual round of entertaining, for he had always been a jovial man who liked to surround himself with friends; he was wealthy; he had fine houses in which to entertain, and as there were three of them in different parts of the country and he had so many friends in each part, naturally there was a constant round of visits.

But there were rare occasions when he and Maria could dine intimately together and this was one of them. How beautiful she looked with her golden hair falling about her shoulders, so simply dressed and so charming. He thought that in her muslin gown with the blue ribbons she was more beautiful than in a satin silk velvet or brocade evening gown.

Driving home through the Mall they had passed a young woman in a carriage—a flamboyant, overdressed young woman in pale pink satin and big straw hat decorated with pink and green feathers. An undoubted beauty but, in Maria's opinion, decidedly a little vulgar. Thomas had told her that the woman was Mrs. Robinson, the actress who was known as Perdita because she had been playing Perdita in The Winter's Tale when the Prince of Wales had first noticed her.

While they dined they discussed the woman and the scandal she was causing.

'I am sorry for His Majesty,' said Thomas. 'The Prince is a great trial to him.'

'He is young yet,' replied Maria. 'Doubtless he will grow wiser as he grows older.'

'But when the heir to the throne lives openly with an actress it is certain to cause distress to all good subjects of the King who, I have heard, spends many a sleepless night worrying about what the Prince is doing.'