Belgravia (37 page)

“Mr. Turton,” Ellis hissed as she came down the basement stairs. “I need to have a word.”

Turton did not enjoy being bossed around in his own household by a woman, but there was something about Ellis’s expression that forced him to comply. The fact was, he and this woman were both in the pay of John Bellasis, and she could put him in prison if she wished. He beckoned her into his pantry and shut the door.

“Jane Croft has written to the mistress and now she’s coming here.”

“Who is Jane Croft?”

“She was lady’s maid to their daughter in the old days. She left after Miss Sophia died.”

Turton looked rather impatient. “I don’t understand what all this has to do with me.”

“I’ve always kept in touch with Jane, and the other day I mentioned Mr. Pope in a letter to her.”

Now the butler seemed quite shocked. “Why ever would you do that?”

Ellis shook her head. “There was nothing to it. I just wrote about Mr. Trenchard having a new favorite. But it was enough to make Jane write to the mistress, and that was enough for the mistress to summon Jane up to London.”

Turton absorbed this. Of course he knew more than Ellis about Charles Pope’s connection to the family. That letter he’d stolen for Mr. Bellasis had made it clear young Mr. Pope was Mr. Trenchard’s son, but even he could not see what place the ex-maid of a dead daughter had to play.

The maid interrupted his reveries. “We should tell Mr. Bellasis.”

He nodded. “Yes,” he said. But he did not know what Mr. Bellasis would make of it. Still, it might be a way for Turton to worm his way back into Mr. Bellasis’s good graces. He knew he had not
been forgiven for the double charge on the letter from Charles Pope’s adopted father. “You’re right. I’ll go.”

“No, I’ll go,” said Ellis. If there was a tip coming, she wanted to be there in person to receive it. “I’m the one to tell him what the mistress said, since she said it to me. You’ll have to think of an excuse if she rings for me while I’m gone.”

Turton nodded. “Tell him I told you to go.”

Ellis nodded. If she had suspected before that things were not entirely well between the butler and their joint employer, she knew it now.

Maria Grey was reading on a bench in Belgrave Square when she looked up to see her mother walking toward her. They did not live in the square, but since Chesham Street was so near, they had contrived to be given a key to the gardens, and it was a privilege they valued. Ryan, her maid, was sitting a little way off, knitting. The girl was so used to feeling like a prisoner under guard, she hardly noticed it any more. Lady Templemore paused for a moment to enjoy the sight of her daughter. Maria was dressed in a dark red dress with a tight waist and long sleeves. She looked like a medieval princess waiting for her lover to return from the Crusades. She was very pretty. There could be no question about it, and everything could still be well if only she, Corinne Templemore, could control her for just a little while longer.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading.” Maria held the book up for her mother to see.

“Not a novel, I hope.” But she was smiling as she said it.

“Poetry. Shelley’s “Adonais: An Elegy on the Death of John Keats.”

“How impressive.” Lady Templemore sat down next to the young woman. She was conscious of a need to hold her nerve, not to shout, not to criticize, just to hold her nerve until the situation had been managed. “I have some good news.”

“What’s that?”

“Louisa has written to ask you to Northumberland.”

“Northumberland?”

Lady Templemore nodded eagerly. “I envy you. Belford will be wonderful at this time of year.”

Maria looked at her mother. “What would I do in Northumberland?”

“What do you do here? Walk, ride, read—which you always enjoy.” She chattered on, as if the proposed trip were a marvelous bonus, one to be envied. “I long to get away from London, with all the dirt and fog. Just think. You’ll be walking along the cliffs, looking out to sea…” She trailed off, as if almost overcome by the power of this seductive image.

Of course her daughter knew what was going on. “But I don’t really want to leave London, Mama. Not at the moment.”

“Of course you do.”

“No.” Maria shook her head firmly. “I don’t.”

“My dear.” Corinne reached over and took hold of her daughter’s hand. “Won’t you allow me to know what is best? Just this once?” Her words were accompanied by a sweet and poignant smile. “I’ll have everything ready for you when you get back. How jealous the other girls will be.”

“What will be ready?”

“Why, your marriage. We’ll take you for a fitting before you go. Then, when the dress is made up in calico, someone can travel to Belford and try it on you there. And we can have a final fitting when you get back. There’ll be a day or two to make sure everything is just right.”

Maria closed her book carefully. “Have you settled on a date?”

Lady Templemore was chuckling inside. Her daughter seemed to be accepting it. She had been poised for tears and a struggle, but quite the opposite was happening. “We have. I’ve exchanged letters with the Reverend Mr. Bellasis, and we’ve settled on a Wednesday in early December. That way, you can spend the autumn in the north, and come back relaxed and happy and ready to take on a new adventure.”

“And John Bellasis is my new adventure?”

“Marriage for a young girl is always an adventure.”

Maria nodded solemnly. “And where is the adventure to begin?”

“They wanted it to be at Lymington, but unless you object I’m inclined to ask for Brockenhurst House instead. We really can’t traipse over to Ireland, and there’s no other place on our side with a stronger case. But I enjoy London weddings, and they are so much less trouble for everyone else. A nice Belgravia marriage. I like the sound of it.” She glanced through the trees to the line of windows on the first floor of the house as she spoke. There was the ballroom that would soon be the scene of the wedding that would ensure both their futures.

“That’s very kind of Lord Brockenhurst,” said Maria.

Lady Templemore nodded dreamily. “Apparently he is content to host it at either house. He’s pleased with John’s choice, they tell me, and he is more than glad to welcome you into the family.” The tone of this conversation was so normal that Corinne was beginning to allow herself to think that everything would be resolved satisfactorily, after all.

“What about Lady Brockenhurst? What does she say on the subject?”

Corinne glanced at the girl but she was looking straight ahead, without any signs of temper or stress. It was just a question. There was nothing more to it than that.

“I’m sure she’ll be delighted.”

“But you haven’t spoken about it yet?”

“Not yet, no.” She sighed with happiness at the prospect before her. “I’ll send a note and we can go for a fitting tomorrow morning. We might as well get the business
en train
.”

Maria was numb with dread as she followed her mother back across the road on their way to Chesham Street. She might be used to living under surveillance, but she was not used to the feeling of terror that gripped her now. The noise of children playing in the square, the birds, the wind, and the chatter of passersby faded into the background, until all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and forced her nails into her fingertips. She had to think, and think quickly. She could not marry that man. She would
rather die. It had seemed like some distant, nebulous idea until this moment, a mad scheme of her mother’s that would never come to pass. But now it was on the brink of becoming a reality. She just couldn’t bear to think about it. But she must. Because one thing she knew absolutely: She must act before it was too late.

John Bellasis knew what Jane Croft’s secret must be. Ellis had hardly begun to sketch out the incidents of that morning before he realized that he had come upon the final missing piece of the puzzle. Jane Croft was the mother of Charles Pope. It had to be. While they were in Brussels, twenty-five years before, she and James Trenchard…

“Was she good-looking, this Jane Croft?” he said, catching Ellis by surprise. “When she was young?”

“Good-looking enough, I suppose. Yes. Why?” Ellis had lost her own train of thought. What could Mr. Bellasis be talking about?

From knowing who Jane was, John quickly moved to a clear and vivid understanding of why she was coming to London. She wants to see her son, he thought. She wants to see her son before she goes to America. She won’t be back and she knows it. She wants to see him, as a grown man, before she leaves England forever.

He turned to the waiting maid. “And before Miss Sophia died, this Jane Croft was kept on board wages for weeks, doing no work, waiting out her time? Is that right?”

“She did no work because the young mistress was away in the north.”

John nodded, the thoughts whirling through his brain. They kept her on, feeding her, letting her rest, until her time was almost come, and then she was sent somewhere for the baby to be born. James Trenchard arranged the whole thing, but he must have had his wife’s compliance. She must have known. Was she enraged? Or forgiving? Maybe the latter, if Croft wanted to see her old mistress now, twenty-five years after she had betrayed her. But these thoughts were unspoken and, for Ellis, his silence was becoming oppressive.

“I ought to get back, sir. Or I’ll be missed.” Ellis did not move. She was hoping for the tip that she would not be sharing with Turton.

“Report back to me when she gets to London. Bring me anything you learn. Engage her in conversation. Go through her things. Find out everything she knows about Mr. Pope.” He was almost excited. Of course there was still one clue that had to be solved, and in many ways it was the most important. What was the link to Lady Brockenhurst? It wasn’t surprising to learn that she was not Charles Pope’s mother. Susan was right about that. How would she and Trenchard ever have got together? But there was still some connection that held her fast. And Jane Croft might be the key to the puzzle. It was this particular link that would yield dividends. He was ready to bet his last penny on it. “Go. Let me know the moment you have anything.” But still Ellis did not move, and they both knew why. At last he felt in his trousers and produced a guinea. She took it and moved off, past the figure who ducked into a doorway at the sight of her.

Susan Trenchard hurried toward the entrance to John’s set. He was still at the bottom of the staircase when she appeared. “That was a narrow squeak,” she said. “I just missed my mother-in-law’s maid.”

“You should have told me when you were coming.”

“I did. You’re supposed to have luncheon ready for me.”

“Don’t worry. We can send my man to fetch something.” He started up the staircase. He hated entertaining at his home. He felt these modest rooms gave no impression of who he really was. “Why are you here? What’s the urgency?”

Susan looked up at him. “Well, I’m not going to tell you on the stairs.”

But she was going to tell him when they were safely in his rooms. Heaven only knew what would happen then.

Ellis had never considered herself a lucky woman. By her reckoning, being born into service was not to be envied, and she’d generally always found that she had to fight every step of the way
through life. But just for a moment, on that day when Jane Croft arrived at Eaton Square for the meeting with Mrs. Trenchard, Ellis felt that, at long last, she had been dealt a winning card.

She’d been turning over John Bellasis’s plan in her head ever since their meeting. On the afternoon Croft was expected, Ellis was to get some time alone with her old friend to discover what Croft knew on the subject of Charles Pope, and preferably to find a chance to go through her things. She was to do all this before Croft had an opportunity to speak to Anne Trenchard. It was something of a tall order, but Mr. Bellasis had been insistent and there would be a good tip in it, that she knew for certain.

In the end, Ellis was lucky. Croft arrived only a few moments after Mrs. Trenchard had left the house to attend a charity gathering somewhere on Park Lane, and she was not expected back for at least two hours.

The passing years had been kind to Jane Croft, Ellis thought as she looked her old friend up and down. The former lady’s maid had been attractive enough to turn soldiers’ heads all those years ago in Brussels, when she and young Miss Sophia would gad about town, seemingly without a care in the world. The odd thing about war, Ellis was not alone in observing, was the way it made everyone so reckless and impetuous, as if the smell of approaching death encouraged the living to make as much of their time on earth as they could.

“You’re looking well. You hardly seem a day older,” she said.

“Thank you,” Croft replied, tidying her brown hair that had only grayed slightly at the temples. “You, too,” she lied politely.

“Mrs. Trenchard won’t be back for a few hours,” said Ellis. “Let’s ask Mrs. Babbage for some bread and cheese, and then we can have a good old chin-wag.” She signaled for her to take a seat in the corner of the servants’ hall while she went to give the order.

“Thank you. That’s kind of you,” said Croft, suspecting nothing.

So over bread and cheese and a glass of cider, they caught up on each other’s news. Croft’s life since she left the Trenchards’ service had worked out well, and it seemed she had enjoyed her time
as a housekeeper, with all the responsibility and extra money that entailed.

“Then what’s this I hear about your going to America?”

Croft smiled. It was exciting. “My brother emigrated to America years ago now, not long after we got back from Brussels, and he has prospered in the building industry.”

“What part of America has he settled in?”

“New York. There’s been a lot of development since the turn of the century, and he has risen on that wave. Now he is building a new house for himself on a street they call Fifth Avenue, and he wants me to come over and run it for him.”

“As a servant?”

“As his sister. He never married.”