Belgravia (44 page)

So saying, he wrenched the door open and left James alone in the flickering light from the grate.

Susan was unusually quiet as Speer dressed her hair before dinner. The maid had some inkling that things had not been smooth between her mistress and Mr. Bellasis, but of course she could only guess what had gone wrong. Naturally, she knew that Mrs. Oliver was pregnant—something no one can hide from a lady’s maid—and she was equally sure Mr. Bellasis was the father, since eleven years with Mr. Oliver had not produced even a miscarriage. But if Mr. Bellasis and her mistress had been discussing the matter that afternoon, and if Mrs. Oliver had dreams for the future that included Mr. Bellasis, they had obviously been dashed.

“Are you ready to dress, ma’am?” asked the maid.

“A little later. I have something I want to do first. And can you find me a piece of paper and a ribbon?” Susan waited patiently until the maid returned, carrying what she had been asked for. Then her mistress took out a bundle of papers from her reticule, rolled them in the sheet of white paper, tied the ribbon, and sealed it with some wax from her writing desk in the corner. She turned to Speer. “I need you to write on this. Just write James Trenchard, Esquire.”

“But why, ma’am?”

“Never mind why. Mr. Trenchard does not know your handwriting. He does know mine. I won’t ask for your secrecy. You already know enough to hang me.”

The maid was not entirely reassured, but she sat at the desk and did as she was told. Susan thanked her, took up the bundle, and left the room.

James was almost dressed when he heard the knock on his dressing room door. “Who is it?”

“Me, Father.”

He could not remember Susan ever visiting his dressing room before. But he was decent and needed only his topcoat to complete his toilet, so he opened the door and asked her in, dismissing his valet as he did so.

“How can I help?” he said.

“This bundle was handed to me outside on the street, as I came toward our front door.” She held out the packet and he took it.

Her manner was subdued, which was quite unlike her, and for a moment James wondered if there was more to this than she was saying. He stared at the packet she had placed in his hands. “Handed to you by whom?”

“I don’t know. A boy. He ran off.”

“How odd.” But he had opened the packet and now he started to look through its contents. The blood seemed to drain from his face as he read through page after page. At last he looked back at Susan. “This boy, was he a servant? A page?”

“I don’t know. He was just a boy.”

James stood quite still for another long moment. “I must go and see Mrs. Trenchard.”

“Before you do, there is something else I want you to know.” Susan summoned up her courage. She was placing everything she had on the next roll of the dice. She’d assumed a modest, almost blushing manner, which seemed appropriate, but she had to gauge it just right. She took a deep breath. This was the moment. “I’m going to have a child,” she said.

And suddenly James’s happiness was doubled, trebled, quadrupled. In one flash, his daughter’s name was rescued from shame, his grandson would inherit a great position, and his son, the next Trenchard in the line, would also have an heir. For a second, he thought he would literally explode with joy. In the two or three minutes since his daughter-in-law had joined him in the room, his life had entirely changed. “Oh, my dear. Are you certain?”

“Quite. But now you must go to Mother.”

“May I tell her?”

“Of course.”

On the whole, Susan was relieved when she returned to her bedroom to find Speer laying out her clothes for the evening. She had ensured the ruin of John Bellasis, which had been her principal purpose. If the Trenchards had not known the truth before tonight, they would know it now. That done, she had embarked on
a plan to save her own reputation, and while the outcome of her gamble was uncertain, she was still glad that the end was in sight.

John Bellasis was cursing himself for not having burned the proof of Bouverie’s appointment to the ministry. Why had he kept it? What good was it to him? And if he’d destroyed it, then Susan would only have had papers to show them that were copies of the ones already in Anne Trenchard’s possession. Who knows how long the Trenchards would have continued in their belief that the marriage was a sham? But now, thanks to his stupidity, he was lost, and everything was beyond his control, thanks to that ridiculous woman. If he could have strangled her then and there he would have done it.

Impulsively, John took a cab to Eaton Square, but when he got out of the vehicle, he hesitated. If he rang the doorbell, what would happen? He would be shown in and eventually someone—probably not Susan but someone—would see him, and then what would he say? After a few more minutes, he decided not to wait and be spotted by a member of the family or a servant as he lounged against the railing protecting the gardens of the square. Instead, he went round the corner to the Horse and Groom, where he always met Turton. If the butler were there, he might prevail on him to… what? Steal back the papers? What good would that do? He assumed Susan would have shown the documents to the family, and by now they would know Bouverie was genuine. They could easily find more proof to back up the claim. Very well. He would just have a drink to calm himself down and then he might walk back to Albany. Perhaps twenty minutes outside in the cool of the evening would dampen his fury. He pushed the door open and looked around.

But it was not Turton leaning against the long, scarred, and stained wooden bar that ran almost the length of the low and smoky room. It was Oliver Trenchard, nursing a glass of what looked like whisky. And, as he saw him, John Bellasis had an idea. It was a desperate one, maybe, but desperate times breed desperate measures. He knew from Susan that Oliver hated Charles Pope,
that he blamed his own estrangement from his father on the newcomer, and that he would do anything to be rid of him. He knew, too, from his erstwhile mistress that Pope was aware he’d caused Oliver and his father to quarrel, and Pope was sorry for it. Oliver had told his wife that the man hadn’t denied the charges he’d brought against him, but that James had never believed they were true. Susan had more than enough cleverness in her to solve this puzzle, as she’d confided in John. Obviously, Charles Pope was uncomfortable that he had pushed father and son apart and was trying not to make things worse. John frowned. Couldn’t he use the quarrel? Wouldn’t Pope do anything he could to patch it up? Couldn’t he, John, make Oliver his instrument?

The plan continued to form in his mind. Oliver wanted Pope out of the way; he’d made no secret of it. He had denounced Pope in front of many people, including his own wife. If anything happened to Charles Pope, wouldn’t Oliver Trenchard be the first suspect? And if they could find proof that Oliver and Pope had arranged to meet…

Oliver looked up. He saw the figure of John watching him and almost blinked in case it was an illusion. “Mr. Bellasis? Is that you? What on earth are you doing in this stinking hole?”

“I was going to have a drink to calm myself.” It was an odd answer.

“Do you need calming?” asked Oliver.

John moved closer, casually leaning against the bar alongside the other man. “You know who I mean by Charles Pope?” He smiled, but inwardly, as he saw Oliver’s face flush with rage.

“If I hear that name one more time—”

John signaled to the barman for two more glasses of whisky. “I should like to teach him a lesson he’ll never forget,” he said.

Oliver nodded. “And I’d like to help you.”

“Would you?” said John, taking hold of his glass and downing the contents in one. “Because you could help me, if you’ve a mind to.”

The owner looked along the bar at the two men, heads bent, muttering into each other’s ear. He wondered what it could be
about, this urgent conference. He’d seen them both in here before, but never together.

James walked into his wife’s bedroom while Ellis was still tidying her hair. “May I see you alone for a moment?” said James.

Anne thanked the maid. “Come back in ten minutes,” she said. Then, when the door was closed, she turned to her husband. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Look at these.” He placed the papers in front of her.

She looked through the first two or three. “Where did you get them?”

“Some boy pushed them into Susan’s hands as she was walking into the house. What do you make of them? They’re copies, of course.”

“I know they are copies,” said Anne, standing. “I have the originals.” She bent to unlock the cupboard and retrieved the papers that Jane Croft had given her. She said nothing as she handed them to him.

She could see at once that James was hurt. “Why didn’t you say anything to me about them?” he said.

She wouldn’t give him the real reason—that she’d wanted to keep a part of Sophia for herself. It was only for a little while, she’d told herself. She had planned to show them to him eventually. Whether she would have kept to this, Anne would never now know. “They’re Sophia’s false marriage papers. She told her maid to burn them when we were in Brussels, but the woman never did. Croft came here to put them into my keeping when she was on her way to America. They change nothing.” James looked at his wife for a moment before he spoke. The enormity of what he had to say silenced him. Anne was puzzled. “If I’m missing something, please tell me what it is.” She sat, waiting patiently.

“This is what you’re missing.” James removed one paper from the others. “It is not a copy, and you will not have seen it.” Anne took the sheet from his hand. “Someone has looked into the man who faked the marriage. Richard Bouverie, or the Honorable and Reverend Richard Bouverie, to be precise. Because it seems he was
a clergyman before he rejoined the army and was therefore fully qualified to perform the marriage service. In other words, the wedding was not a sham. Sophia
was
Lady Bellasis when she died, and Charles is legitimate.”

“And Edmund was an honorable man.” Anne’s eyes filled with tears as she thought of how they had traduced and turned against this brave young man who may have been impetuous and even foolish, but who had truly loved their daughter and wanted only the best for her. She would go to church the next day and have prayers said in his name.

“How like you to think of that.” But James, too, was happy that his judgment of his daughter’s suitor had not been so wide of the mark. He’d spent the last quarter of a century blaming himself for Sophia’s ruin, but now he wondered why he’d allowed himself to be so easily convinced and not looked further into it at the time. Why had they all simply accepted Sophia’s horrified verdict, when she saw Bouverie outside the Richmonds’ house, that the man was a charlatan? But then, how easy it is to do things better with the benefit of hindsight.

Anne was still staring at the papers laid out before her on her dressing table. “How did you say Susan got them?” she asked.

“A boy pushed them into her hands in the street.”

“But I know this writing—”

Anne could not finish the thought before the door opened and Ellis reappeared. “Are you ready for me, ma’am?”

Anne nodded and James started to gather up the bundle as Ellis crossed the room to join her mistress. Then she stopped with a gasp and her hand flew to her mouth. She was quite unprepared for the sight of the papers in Anne’s hands, and she’d spoken before she could regain control of her senses. “Where did you get those?” she said, only hearing the words after she had spoken them. Then, faced by their stares, Ellis made a desperate bid to save herself. “I mean, what interesting-looking papers, ma’am.”

Anne was the next to speak. There were not too many candidates, after all, if the papers had been copied by someone whose writing was familiar to her. And it was Ellis who had welcomed
Croft when she first arrived. “Would you like to tell me about them, Ellis?” She studied the floundering maid, this woman who had helped her and served her for thirty years and yet about whom she knew so little. Could she, Anne, have betrayed her employer of thirty years if their roles had been reversed? She doubted it, but then she’d never had to endure the bitter tests of humiliation and survival that were so often the hallmarks of a servant’s life.

James was becoming impatient. “If there is anything you can tell us to diminish your guilt, now is the time to say it.”

Ellis’s mind was in turmoil. Of course she should have insisted Mr. Bellasis read the copies and then burn them in front of her eyes. But would he have obeyed her? Probably not. She was thinking fast. Her job was gone, she could not save it, but she might at least manage to stay out of prison. “It was Mr. Turton, sir. It was him what found them in Miss Croft’s bag, and he made the copies.”

“On whose orders?”

Ellis thought. She’d lied about Turton searching for the papers, but was there any point in lying further? Would it benefit her to save Mr. Bellasis? No. He wouldn’t pay her any more now. What would he have to gain by it? But then, there were her references to consider. How was she to get another job without good references? And Mrs. Trenchard wouldn’t want to give them, that was certain. Ellis started to weep. She had always been quite good at weeping when it was required. “I’m ever so sorry, ma’am. If I’d known it might hurt you, I’d never have gone near the whole business.”

“You watched Turton copy out Miss Sophia’s letters, yet you never thought it might hurt me?” Anne’s tone had become hard.

James was fidgeting. “The point is, who were they copied for?”

Ellis decided some direct talk might save time. “I know I’ve lost my place, sir. But I’m not a bad woman.”

“You’re not a good one,” said Anne with some asperity.

“I’ve been weak. I know that. But if I have no references, I’ll starve.”

“I see.” James was in command of the situation at once. He understood what they were being told sooner than his wife.
“You’re saying that if we will give you some sort of reference, you will tell us who asked for the copies to be made. Is that it?”

Of course that was exactly it, so Ellis was silent. She stood there before them, staring down at her hands.