Читать книгу A Poor Relation - Joanna Maitland - Страница 8

While society ladies were sleeping away the exertions of their late night, Lord Amburley was much occupied. He had never lost the soldier’s habit of rising early, though nowadays he used the time to exercise his horses rather than to inspect his troops. He revelled in the solitary beauty of the park and the freedom he enjoyed there in the early morning. Later in the day, there were always too many prying eyes for his comfort—the rigid etiquette of the ton sat very uneasily on the shoulders of the man of action that he had been.

It was a beautiful, late spring morning, but Amburley barely noticed the birdsong or the budding trees. The huge grey he rode seemed to be itching to gallop across the fresh, dewy grass but was held to a sedate walk by an iron hand. The horse tossed his head in protest.

Lord Amburley was still in Sir Thomas’s drawingroom, listening to a heart-stoppingly beautiful voice—and worrying at the riddle of the woman behind it. He had observed her closely while she sang. She was remarkably handsome—her glorious golden hair and her glowing complexion were a revelation to him. Only those unforgettable grey-green eyes confirmed her double identity—and her duplicity. She had been totally in control, too, until she caught sight of him. From then on, her agitation—and Miss Sophia’s—had been apparent, though she had masked it well in the supper room. A good actress, he supposed.

But what—in truth—was she? On the road, he had met a poor relation with a sharp tongue and more concern for poor Jonah than for polite behaviour. Now, she was transformed into a lady of the ton. One guise must be false, of course—and, remembering her guilty reactions of the previous evening, he knew which it must be.

None the less, he found he could not help admiring her. She had more than beauty—she had spirit. No shrinking violet she, in spite of what she was. And yet, her inexcusable behaviour must surely be condemned by any right-thinking man?

The grey shook his head again, more forcefully. ‘All right, old fellow. You’ve made your point. You think I’m good for nothing this morning, don’t you? Well, we’ll see about that.’ He let the horse have his head. The grey needed to shake the fidgets out of his legs. If only Amburley’s own concerns could be so simply resolved.

Around ten o’clock, while Lord Amburley was partaking of a light breakfast in his rented house in Jermyn Street, Mr Lewiston was announced. ‘Good God, George, you are up betimes,’ exclaimed his lordship, waving his friend to a chair. ‘I have not known you to emerge before noon, unless there was a prize-fight to attend. What brings you here at this hour?’

‘I have some news,’ replied Lewiston. ‘I must tell you that I encountered Miss Winstanley yesterday, quite by chance. You recall the young lady we rescued on the North Road? Well, it was she. And I have discovered her direction in London. Quite wonderful luck! I mean to call on her today. Will you accompany me?’

Lord Amburley did not immediately reply. ‘Did you, indeed? And was she still in looks?’

‘Indeed she was. She looked quite lovely. And so animated, more so than before, I fancy. I think that that dowdy companion we met up north had a malign influence on her. Miss Winstanley seemed in much brighter spirits without her louring presence.’

‘Miss Winstanley was alone?’ asked Lord Amburley sharply.

‘Of course not,’ snapped Mr Lewiston. ‘She was accompanied by a distant relation—a Miss Isabella Winstanley. She is much older than Miss Sophia and a perfectly proper chaperon. Though I should perhaps warn you that she is a most elegant female herself, not beautiful exactly, but certainly striking.’

Lord Amburley raised an eyebrow. Isabella Winstanley was much more than striking, surely? But that was not a subject for discussion with Lewiston. ‘And what has become of the poor companion? “Winny”, was it not?’

‘I have not the least notion. In any case, what has she to say to anything? You are not about to have another attack of philanthropy, are you, Leigh?’

‘No. Merely curious.’ Lord Amburley busied himself with the coffee-pot as he spoke. ‘Tell me about your encounter, including the distant cousin.’

‘There is little more to tell. Miss Winstanley— Miss Sophia Winstanley, I mean—almost collided with me outside Florette’s. We exchanged a few words. Miss Sophia introduced me to her companion, and then she told me she was staying with Lady Wycham in Hill Street. Lady Wycham is her godmother, you know.’

‘Well, no—in fact, I don’t know her ladyship, I’m afraid,’ responded his lordship flippantly.

‘Sometimes, Leigh, you are quite exasperating. I did not expect you to know Lady Wycham, dammit; I was simply explaining how things are. If you’d just let me finish…’

‘Oh. Is there more?’ His lordship sat back, calmly drinking his coffee.

Lewiston continued doggedly. ‘Kenley has told me all about the Misses Winstanley. Your man Peveridge was right about her being an heiress. Apparently Lady Wycham is very well-to-do, and Miss Winstanley is her nearest relative. She is expected to inherit everything. I dare say she will be the catch of the Season—beauty, breeding and a fortune into the bargain.’

‘With Kenley involved, she will certainly become the centre of attraction—he is a gossip-monger of the first order. I have never understood why he spoils his own chances of winning heiresses by spreading the news all over London. After all, everyone knows he’s mortgaged to the hilt. But you mean to be first in line yourself, I collect?’

Lewiston glowered in response. ‘I have no need of her fortune, as you know perfectly well. I mean only to further my acquaintance with her and, perhaps, to warn her about some of those who may have mercenary motives.’

This was serious, Amburley realised. And there was an edge in Lewiston’s tone that suggested… ‘I trust you do not include me in that category, do you, George?’

Lewiston laughed. ‘Why, no, of course not. I know you are not hanging out after an heiress for a wife…or indeed any wife at all, as far as I can see. And even if you were, I doubt you would choose someone of Miss Winstanley’s tender years. The cousin, now, might be more to your liking. I’d say she is past five-and-twenty, but she is very well-looking, none the less. I gather she is a poor relation of some kind, though, and totally dependent on Lady Wycham’s generosity, so you couldn’t really afford to—’ Lewiston broke off at Amburley’s dark frown. ‘What is the matter, Leigh?’

‘I will thank you not to interfere in my private affairs, George. I know you mean well… However, what is important at present is that I prevent you from making a complete ass of yourself in this case.’ Lewiston gave an audible gasp. ‘As I said, an ass,’ repeated his lordship. ‘You clearly did not look closely at Miss Isabella Winstanley. If you had, you would have recognised the “malign” companion of our earlier encounter.’ Lewiston now looked as if he had received a blow in the solar plexus.

‘I chanced to meet both ladies at Lady Bridge’s soirée last night,’ continued Lord Amburley evenly. ‘Miss “Winny” is attempting to pass herself off as a lady of fortune, no doubt in the hope of catching a husband. Your Miss Sophia, probably abetted by Lady Wycham, has clearly put quite some investment into her companion’s appearance, for she appeared as a very fine lady indeed. Miss “Winny’s” manners are irreproachable, of course, but then that is often the last resort of the impoverished. It’s a pity she is indulging in such a shameful masquerade. She would have been better to take honest employment as a governess. She is certainly well qualified for that. She plays and sings delightfully.’

Lewiston put his cup down with a clatter. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he gasped.

‘What other explanation can you offer?’ countered his lordship grimly. ‘We both met Miss “Winny”. There can be no doubt of her lowly station in life. Unless I am mistaken in my identification of her as Miss Isabella—and I assure you I am not—there can be no other explanation. Your Miss Sophia is not only rich, frivolous and spoilt, she is also prepared to perpetrate a disreputable fraud upon you and other unsuspecting gentlemen of the ton. I have to say I am not surprised. Heiresses tend to have little regard for morality.’

He rose from the table and strode to the window, frowning out on to the busy street. ‘I see that you doubt me. It is understandable, perhaps, that you think my judgement has been swayed by my own experience of society ladies. However, once you have paid your respects in Hill Street and looked upon Miss Isabella Winstanley with new eyes, you will doubt no longer, I promise you.’

‘I am sure you are wrong, Amburley,’ said Lewiston coldly, making to rise from his chair, ‘and I shall take pleasure in telling you so, as soon as I may. Such a delightful and well-bred girl as Miss Sophia would never be party to so base a deception. It is not possible.’

‘As you wish,’ replied Amburley calmly. ‘But since my opinion cannot be put to the test for some hours yet, let us turn to happier pursuits. I was intending to take a turn in the ring at Jackson’s parlour this morning. Will you join me? It might improve your temper to plant me a facer.’

‘No doubt it would, if I could do it,’ admitted Lewiston, forced into unwilling laughter, ‘but I know very well that I cannot. You are much too skilled for me, and I prefer not to suffer your left again, thank you. I will gladly accompany you, though.’

Good humour temporarily restored, they left for Gentleman Jackson’s boxing parlour.

Although Mr Lewiston’s dress was the height of fashion and his coat owed its immaculate fit to the artistry of Weston, he nevertheless looked nothing out of the common way by comparison with the tall and imposing figure of Lord Amburley at his side. Mr Lewiston kept fingering his cravat—a mathematical that he had laboured over for nearly two hours. It felt too tight. ‘I think, perhaps, we should not go in, Leigh,’ he suggested, tugging at it yet again.

‘Do you tell me you do not care to catch Miss Sophia in her outrageous behaviour, George?’

‘What? Oh, heavens, no! This cravat of mine. It’s not, I fear, quite what I should like. Perhaps I should—’ At that moment, the great door swung open to reveal the uncompromising stare of Lady Wycham’s butler. Retreat became impossible.

Lady Wycham greeted them amicably from her place on the sofa in the blue drawing-room. ‘Sophia has told me all about your gallant rescue, Mr Lewiston. Believe me, we are most grateful to you both.’

‘It was nothing out of the ordinary, ma’am, I assure you.’ Mr Lewiston blushed. ‘I was glad to be of service,’ he added with a smile for Sophia, sitting beside Lady Wycham.

The elder Miss Winstanley was seated on the other side of the room, entertaining another guest. Mr Lewiston could hear her voice fairly clearly, but was unable to study her face without turning round. Surely this voice was different—lighter, younger?

After a few minutes, Lady Wycham asked Sophia to present Mr Lewiston to those other callers with whom he was unacquainted. ‘Forgive me if I do not rise to make the introductions myself, sir. I am afraid I am no longer as spry as I once was.’ While Lord Amburley, looking faintly amused, remained in conversation with Lady Wycham, Mr Lewiston accompanied Sophia to the window where Sophia performed the introductions, first to Miss Isabella Winstanley, with the reminder that they were ‘distant cousins, you will recall’, and then to the Earl of Gradely, who bowed and left.

Mr Lewiston appraised Miss Winstanley with some care. She was the same height, pretty much, he admitted, but ‘Winny’ had been thin, while this lady, though slim, was elegantly formed. No. Amburley must be wrong.

‘Is this your first visit to London, Mr Lewiston?’ enquired Isabella, looking into his face and determined to maintain the bright, youthful character that had successfully deceived him so far.

He did not immediately reply. For a moment, Isabella fancied his mind was elsewhere. She hastened to fill the silence. ‘Have you visited Westminster Abbey since you arrived in London, sir?’ she said quickly. ‘I assure you it is a magnificent edifice and repays a journey. Sophia and I attended divine service there on Sunday last. It was truly moving. The music in particular was most beautiful.’

Mr Lewiston looked suddenly nonplussed. He stammered a little as he made to answer Isabella. Then he paused for a moment, as if trying to collect his wits, before finally responding to Isabella’s inconsequential conversation in much the same vein. When Lord Amburley strolled over to join them, some minutes later, the conversation was still centred on such delights of London as might properly be discussed before ladies.

Mr Lewiston tried to bring his friend into the discussion. ‘You must have seen all the sights, of course, Leigh?’

‘Too many years ago,’ agreed Lord Amburley, making no attempt to include Isabella in his remarks. ‘I am more familiar now with the great churches of Madrid than of London, I fear. I shall be forced to reacquaint myself with them, now the war is finally over.’

Isabella was incensed. She determined that she would no longer be ignored by this arrogant man. She would force him to acknowledge her. ‘Were you many years in the Peninsula, my lord?’ she asked innocently.

‘I joined Wellesley in eighteen ten, ma’am,’ he replied tersely, directing a stern gaze at Isabella.

She swallowed, refusing to be intimidated. ‘And your family was content for you to go? I fancied it was more usual for the heir to kick his heels at home, and that only younger sons joined the colours. I collect your parents did not share the received opinion?’

‘No, ma’am, you are mistaken,’ he rejoined sharply. ‘The heir did indeed remain at home. I was the younger son merely, and required to make my own way in life. I inherited the title only in eighteen twelve, on the death of my elder brother.’

Isabella paled with anger at his condescending manner. How dare he? He had purposely made her simple question sound impertinent. ‘Did you leave the army then, sir?’ she continued calmly, refusing to be daunted by his hard eyes.

‘No, ma’am. I remained until Boney was sent to Elba.’

‘Even then, he was afire to be off again when Boney escaped,’ interposed Mr Lewiston, ingenuously, ‘and would have gone, had it not been for Lady Amburley’s entreaties.’

‘You allow yourself too much latitude in interpreting my motives, George,’ returned his lordship, with a generous smile that softened his features markedly. In that moment, he seemed to Isabella to reveal a character totally different from the hard, taciturn man she had judged him to be. ‘My mother’s wishes happened to coincide with my duty. I was not in a position to quit the estates again, however much I might have been tempted.’

‘But you have yielded to temptation now, my lord, have you not, in coming to London?’ Without pause for thought, Isabella had decided that, if he would condemn her for impertinence, she would give him cause. She fixed an innocent smile on her lips.

Lord Amburley turned back to Isabella and surveyed her slowly. It was exactly the same calculating look he had given to ‘Winny’ on their encounter at the Bell inn. Then suddenly, he laughed. ‘Touché, ma’am. I have indeed yielded to the delights of the London Season. Though, before you reproach me further—’ Isabella lowered her eyes, suddenly conscious of the impropriety of her outburst ‘—I should reassure you that my estates are now in good enough order to be able to survive without my ministrations for a month or two.’

Isabella raised her gaze again to discover that he was now laughing at her. Infamous! Her earlier embarrassment was replaced by righteous anger. She must—and would—find the means of repaying him in his own coin…and soon.

The door had hardly shut behind the two men, when Lewiston launched into a slightly incoherent recital of the stages of his enlightenment. ‘What the devil do they mean by entertaining Gradely? He’s the worst sort of fortune-hunter. Puts me in mind of some ravening beast, waiting to prey on the innocent and helpless. If he should make her an offer…’

Amburley waited patiently for the tirade to end before gently steering his friend back to the question of Isabella’s identity.

‘I would not have believed that they were one and the same, but for her eyes. They are a most unusual colour. I noticed that at the inn. But she did not guess that I had rumbled her, I’d swear to that,’ Lewiston added, with obvious self-satisfaction, ‘so we still hold all the cards.’ He paused. ‘It’s a devilish tricky situation, though, Leigh,’ he added uncertainly. ‘You are quite justified in saying they have practised a disreputable deception on us, yet I cannot readily believe Miss Sophia is truly guilty. She is such an innocent… In the circumstances,’ he continued, after a moment, ‘I thought it best to say nothing, at least for the present. To be honest, I wanted time to think.’

‘Very wise, George,’ agreed Amburley. ‘Revenge is a dish best eaten cold.’

‘What the devil do you mean, “revenge”?’ exclaimed Lewiston. ‘What need have I, or you for that matter, to wreak vengeance on that poor girl?’

‘Easy, George. Remember that they set out, quite deliberately, to dupe us. Let us consider the situation dispassionately, before we pronounce upon the appropriate retribution. The facts are simple. Miss Sophia Winstanley, the heiress, has a distant cousin, Isabella, also called “Winny”. Said cousin is only a poor companion, but has now been dressed to the nines in order to appear as an equal. We do not know why, nor who is responsible for this disreputable scheme, though I must say that it is much more likely to have originated with the rich Miss Winstanley than with the poor relation.’ He cut short his companion’s attempted defence of Sophia. ‘However, I attach the largest part of the blame to the elder Miss Winstanley. A lady of her years and experience should never have consented to such a bird-witted escapade, however tempting the bait. It was always bound to fail.

‘By the way, George,’ he added, ‘I think you owe me an apology, for doubting my ability to detect a fraud.’

Lewiston’s jaw dropped momentarily.

‘Do not bother to beg my pardon, old fellow,’ Amburley said, with a sardonic smile. ‘I understand that you are much more concerned about Miss Sophia’s feelings than mine.’

‘Leigh, you are quite outrageous,’ returned his friend. ‘Yes, of course you were right. But what are we to do?’

‘For the moment, I think, we shall simply wait and observe developments. We could easily spread the tale now, of course. Nothing simpler. But I think—not yet. I confess to being intrigued by this potentially disastrous make-believe of theirs. I should like very much to know what occasioned it. Indeed, I intend to find out. Then I shall decide what is best to be done.’ He paused. ‘I beg your pardon. You, of course, will take whatever action you think is right. It is not my place to make decisions on your behalf.’

Lewiston shook his head. ‘I have no present intention of betraying them, Leigh. Indeed, I rather think we should not unmask them at all, unless it is clear that mischief is afoot. To be honest with you, I cannot believe it is more than a silly prank.’

‘Ladies of Miss “Winny’s” age and background should not become involved in pranks,’ declared Lord Amburley flatly. ‘I may yet bring her to rue it, I dare say. However, I agree that, for the present at least, we should simply watch and wait.’

They turned the corner and approached his lordship’s door. ‘Are you bidden to the Duchess of Newcombe’s ball tomorrow, George?’ Lewiston nodded. ‘Doubtless both the Misses Winstanley will be there. We shall have ample opportunity for spectator sport. It promises to be better than a prize-fight.’