Читать книгу A Penniless Prospect - Joanna Maitland - Страница 7

‘It’s Cinderella, all over again. Who says fairy tales don’t come true? The only difference is, I’m a mite short of fairy godmothers.’ With a heartfelt sigh, Jessamyne sank into a hard, straight-backed chair, the only one in her spartan bedroom.

‘Oh, miss, you mustn’t take on so. If my lady should hear you—’

‘The wicked stepmother? Come now, Biddy dear, she knows precisely what I think of her, as you are well aware. But she also knows there is nothing I can do about it, since she has my father’s ear as well as control of the purse-strings. Papa will not help me. And without money, I cannot help myself. Now, if you were but a fairy godmother, Biddy…’

‘Oh, give over, Miss Jamie, do. Them things only happen in fairy stories. There ain’t no Prince Charmings in the real world. P’raps if you was to make more of an effort to please her ladyship—’

‘I’ve tried that, Biddy. You know I have. It doesn’t work. She simply walks all over me. But if I stand up to her, she has to acknowledge I exist, however little good it may do me.’ She glanced at the empty grate and the layer of crazed ice on the inside of the window pane. Drawing her threadbare shawl more closely round her shoulders, she smiled bravely at her old nurse. ‘At least she doesn’t make me scrub floors and sweep cinders.’

‘No,’ agreed Biddy, ‘but it would make little difference if she did. Your hands are little better than a scullery maid’s, with all that gardening you do. In the depths of winter, too! If only you would—’

She was interrupted by a scratching at the door— a maid with a message summoning Miss Jessamyne to her stepmother’s dressing-room.

Jamie swallowed hard. Such a summons always boded ill. Sometimes she would simply be berated, belittled for her looks or her behaviour. Sometimes she would hear of punishments to come, for real or imagined transgressions. And sometimes both. Never, in all Lady Calderwood’s time in the house, had she spoken a single kind or loving word to her stepdaughter. There was no reason to suppose that this summons would be any different.

Although Jamie entered those stern precincts with head held high, she could not wholly conceal the uncertainty she felt. Lady Calderwood was seated at her dressing table while her abigail put the finishing touches to her hair. Jamie was left standing by the door, unacknowledged, for several minutes. Her uncertainty was soon replaced by indignation. How dared that woman treat her so?

At length, her ladyship was satisfied, and her woman was dismissed. She turned slowly to look at her stepdaughter, scrutinising her from head to toe with ill-concealed dislike. Her lip curled slightly. ‘Well, Jessamyne, you may guess why I have sent for you.’

‘No, ma’am,’ replied Jamie evenly, ‘I have not the least idea.’ She noted, without surprise, that she was not invited to sit. She was deliberately being left to stand like a disobedient child awaiting punishment. Well, she would not help her stepmother to play her little games. Jamie lifted her chin a fraction. She would not say anything more.

After a moment, Lady Calderwood continued grimly, ‘Very well, I shall tell you, since you do not wish to venture an opinion.’ She gave a very nasty smile at which Jamie shivered a little, in spite of all her efforts at self-control. She felt so helpless when she was in the power of this woman.

Her ladyship’s smile broadened. ‘You are past twenty already, Jessamyne. It is high time you were married and ceased to be such a charge on your poor papa.’

Jamie bit her lip in frustration. She was precious little charge on ‘poor papa’, considering how little was spent on her. She could not remember when she had last had a new gown or anything becoming to wear, even at second hand. But marriage—did that mean a season in London, at last? And perhaps even a few new gowns? For if they did not garb her becomingly, who would be found to offer for her?

‘Of course, there can be no question of a season for you,’ announced her ladyship sharply, watching her stepdaughter’s face fall. ‘Your papa could not countenance the expense. And it would be a waste of money, for who would choose to offer for a girl like you? No looks and no portion? No. Even I could not fire you off successfully.’

Jamie could feel the colour draining from her face. She clamped her lips tightly together in an effort to control their trembling. No doubt her ladyship was pleased with the effect.

‘I see you have grasped my meaning. There is only one solution for a girl like you. And you should be grateful to your papa for all the trouble he has taken to find you a husband who is prepared to have you, in spite of all your shortcomings. What have you to say to that, my girl?’

She smiles like a snake, thought Jamie, a snake who is about to swallow me up. Oh, God! What am I to do? She is waiting for me to ask who has been found to take me off their hands.

She compressed her lips even more tightly and stared brazenly at her stepmother, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. She was pleased to see her stepmother’s frown. Jamie’s defiance had turned self-satisfaction to anger. Good—even if it did turn on her.

‘You think to defy me, girl? But not for long, I assure you, not for long.’ Lady Calderwood paused to rearrange the generous folds of her amber silk gown. ‘You will be married within the month. And I shall warn your husband about the need to curb your rebellious nature, be sure of that. He will see that you abide by your vows of obedience.’

Jamie remained motionless, but her brain was churning. Who was this man who had agreed to marry her, a plain girl with no dowry? And why? She shivered again, but then she forced herself to straighten her back and stiffen her wobbly knees. Clearly her stepmother was determined not to give her a name until she asked for it. So be it. There would be a battle of wills.

For long moments, the two women stared at each other—one young, shabbily dressed but proud, the other somewhat past her prime and indulged in every way. The older woman broke first. ‘Insolent chit!’ she hissed. ‘Go to your room. I shall deal with you later.’

Head held high, Jamie left the room and returned to her own freezing chamber, where she threw herself on to the bed and thumped her clenched fists into the pillow. ‘The old witch,’ she muttered. ‘May she rot in hell!’

Much as she tried, Jamie was not able to prevent a few tears from squeezing their way out on to her cheeks. She despised her own weakness. But the thought of marriage to some unknown man—chosen by her stepmother, so bound to be utterly hateful— was horrifying. She would be completely in his power, forced to submit to his will in everything— until the day she died.

Not for the first time, Jamie was left alone in her room for hours with neither food nor company. She had known it would be so. However frightened she might be of the fate which awaited her, she refused to yield to her stepmother’s petty tortures. Dumb insolence was her only weapon and she was quite prepared to use it, at whatever personal cost. In this case, she knew she would win eventually, for she would have to be given the name of the lucky bridegroom sooner or later, even if only on the day of her wedding.

She huddled herself into a ball on the bed, wrapping every scrap of blanket around her in an effort to stop herself from freezing. Eventually, in spite of cold and hunger, she fell into a troubled sleep.

It must have been the sound of the door which woke her. Biddy was standing in the centre of the room with a gown draped over her plump arm. She looked uncomfortable. ‘Her ladyship sent me to warn you that your betrothed is arriving later today. You are to be ready to receive him.’

Jamie sat up immediately, her eyes wide with shock. She was still freezing cold, in spite of the blankets, but at least she was not shivering. She refused to appear as a quivering wreck in front of her old nurse.

But she was not too proud to ask Biddy for the man’s name.

‘I’m sorry, miss, but I’m afraid I don’t know. Nobody does—except her ladyship, and your papa.’ Biddy moved towards the bed. ‘Her ladyship sent this gown for you to wear to dinner this evening.’ Biddy sounded more confident now, moving on to practical matters.

It was a plain white muslin gown such as might be worn by a debutante from a family of modest means. ‘White,’ breathed Jamie bitterly, ‘as becomes the virgin sacrifice. How very appropriate. With my colouring, I shall certainly look the part.’

Her irony was lost on old Biddy. ‘White is the proper colour for a young girl such as you, miss. I’ll admit you do look better in colours, being as you’re so pale-complexioned, but you have no choice tonight. You have no other decent gown to your name. It’ll have to be this white muslin.’

Jamie got up, pulling the blankets from the bed and wrapping them round her shoulders. ‘When is he due to arrive, Biddy?’

‘Nobody is sure. He may be delayed by the weather, o’ course. It’s difficult travelling at this time of year.’ Biddy seemed to be trying to avoid the subject of Jamie’s future.

Jamie was not really surprised. Old Biddy had served the family for over twenty years as, first, Jamie’s nurse, then as her half-brother’s, and now Jamie’s three half-sisters’. Biddy would not dare to risk her place with the Calderwood family by taking Jamie’s part against the formidable mistress of the house.

Jamie forced a smile. She still had her pride. ‘Thank you, Biddy. I shan’t need you this evening. Go back to your little ones. They’ll be fretting for you.’ Biddy hurried away to the nursery where it was warm and cosy.

As Jamie began to change into the thin muslin gown, she heard the sound of wheels crunching across the drive. He was here! The ice on the window blurred her view, but she could just make out a gentleman’s travelling carriage and four horses. Her betrothed travelled in style to acquire his reluctant bride, it seemed. He must be wealthy—which might explain how he could afford to marry a girl with no dowry. What else might it mean?

She felt an overpowering desire to see what this man was like. Would she recognise him? Would he be one of her father’s gambling cronies? Hastily throwing her shawl around her bare shoulders, she crept down the stairs to find a safe vantage point on the landing. Kneeling behind the balusters, she peered through to get a glimpse of her fate when he was admitted through the great doors of Calderwood Hall.

But the gentleman who stood in the entrance hall to be relieved of his travelling coat was like no man she had ever met. Although he was dressed in deep mourning, to Jamie’s untutored eye he was tall, dark and unbelievably handsome.

She drew in a sharp breath and held it, waiting for him to speak.

‘My name is Hardinge,’ he said, in a deep, well-modulated voice that sent a shiver all the way down to her toes. She was transfixed by the sound. It set her mind spinning so much that, for several moments, she could not make out a word that was being said.

She came to her senses as the gentleman stopped speaking. The butler was glancing surreptitiously at the card in his hand. ‘Certainly, my lord. If you would kindly step into the saloon.’

Jamie watched as the noble visitor was bowed into the crimson saloon. The door closed on him, but his image remained before her. How could it be that such a man—a man whose mere presence could make her skin tingle and her heart race—should arrive at Calderwood now? He could not be her betrothed.

Could he?