Hiding from Love (4 page)

“Excellent,” he muttered.  “Because I wasn't about to invite any of them here in return!”

Leonora was baffled.

Then she frowned as she remembered Finny saying that Mr. Schilling had actually
boasted
of his acquaintance with members of the gentry.  Why then should he wish to avoid the company of their daughters?

“Can't stand the chatter of young girls round me,” he mumbled, as if reading her thoughts.

Wiping the used toothpick on his napkin, he leaned across the table.

“There's one contact that I
do
want you to cultivate, however, and that is your great-aunt.  Lady – what is it – Carstairs?  You've visited her estate before, I daresay?”

Leonora's voice was quiet.

“My Papa took me there when I was very small, but it was only once.”

Mama cleared her throat bravely.

“I've told you, my dearest. L-lady Carstairs didn't dare entertain Mr. Cressy and me.  The family was so very against our marriage, you see.”

“And anyway,” added Leonora, “I'm not at all sure I want – ”

Mr. Schilling cut her off abruptly.

“What
you
want is of no consequence.  It's what
I
want!  And I want you to visit her this summer.”

“She g-goes away to the Continent every summer,” whispered Mama.

Mr. Schilling brought his palm down on the table.

“In the autumn, then.  Leonora will write and get herself, and us, invited.  Have you no idea, Mrs. Schilling, of the useful contacts that can be forged at these places?”

Leonora felt a nauseous wave of disgust engulf her at this admission of his objectives, but she said nothing.

That night, alone in bed, she found herself vowing never, never to make the kind of mistake her mother had made in choosing Mr. Schilling as a husband.

‘Are there many men like him?' she wondered.

Her Papa had been so kind, so strong and so handsome.  
He
had never made Mama unhappy.

She snuggled herself down under the quilt.

‘What kind of a husband would a man like Señor de Guarda make,' she mused sleepily.

He had charm, for sure, and good looks, though not what she was used to and he was considerate for knowing that she was thirsty, he had sent her out a glass of ale.

Remembering the ale, Leonora's mouth seemed to flood again with its bitter taste.

Accompanying that came an image that exuded its own bitter flavour – that mysterious gentleman with the silver cane, who had not deigned to approach her himself to apologise for his coachman's erratic driving!

He might have been an Earl or a Lord, but he was not worth a hair of her late father's head!

Yet she found herself dwelling on the image of his long elegant frame as he had stood outside the carriage in conversation with his maid.  As she and Finny approached in the trap, he had turned.  Might he have raised his hat to her if she had not looked away so quickly?  What kind of face might she have glimpsed?

Arrogant doubtless, haughty in all probability, but distinguished surely, for even at a distance he had betrayed an air of authority.

The crest, a silver cane, an Earl or a Lord – these images repeated themselves in her mind until she fell into a deep if rather troubled sleep and then dreamed not of Señor de Guarda or the mystery gentleman, but Mr. Schilling!

*

It was a great relief to Leonora the next morning to discover that Mr. Schilling seemed as happy to avoid her company, as she was to avoid his.

He was invariably away for days at a time, staying overnight in Bristol, from where he apparently conducted all his business.

Although Mama was vague as to the nature of this business, she did reveal that before each of his departures, he withdrew a wad of money from his wooden chest.

Leonora did not really care what Mr. Schilling did as long she was undisturbed in enjoying Mama's company.

They could relax from the moment the door closed behind Mr. Schilling, whether he was gone for just one day or three.

Gradually their old camaraderie returned, yet Mama would never complain about her husband and Leonora just supposed that Mama was reluctant to burden her daughter with her disappointments.

*

One afternoon the Rector of the local Parish called and over tea he explained the purpose of his visit.

Lady Broughton had decided to host a masked ball at Broughton Hall in just a week's time and tickets would be issued with the proceeds going to charity.

Mama, anticipating an invitation from the Rector to buy a ticket for Leonora, commented that if Mr. Schilling would not pay, then she would find the money herself.

Leonora noticed the Rector's embarrassment.

He coughed and murmured that he had not come to encourage Leonora to attend the ball, but to ask her if she would help at a lemonade stall outside the grand ballroom.

Leonora felt crushed that she was thus considered in the light of a volunteer worker and not a participant.

However, conceding to herself that it was all in a good cause, she swallowed her disappointment and agreed.

Mama knew her daughter too well to be unaware of what this acceptance cost her and after the Rector departed, she tried to commiserate with her.

“It pains me not to be able to tell these people that you yourself are the granddaughter of a Squire and as good as any of them!”

Leonora, however, laughed it all off brightly.

“Just consider it, Mama.  I can be a part of the fun without going to the expense of a new ball gown!”

In this Mr. Schilling, when he returned from Bristol later that week, seemed for once to be in accord with his stepdaughter.

“That's capital!  She'll be seen by all the eligible bachelors of the County and it won't cost me a penny!”

Mama sighed.

“Eligible bachelors will be looking for – ladies with more eligible pockets!”

“Nonsense!” chortled Mr. Schilling.  “She's a damn good-looker and,” he added a little mysteriously, “she has her own prospects.”

Mama was too grateful at his good spirits to try to discover what just he meant by ‘prospects'.

*

The good spirits, alas, were quickly dispersed.

The following morning, a letter was brought in for Mama over breakfast.

Its creamy paper was bordered in black ink and she picked it up with a trembling hand –

The letter came from Aunt Doris's Solicitor, who wished to inform Mrs. Schilling that the old lady had died.  Since she had made no provision for Leonora in her will the fees for Fenfold would no longer be forthcoming.

“Let me see it!” cried Mr. Schilling, snatching the letter from his wife's hand.

Leonora stared down at her plate.  

It was a serious blow for her, but she considered herself lucky to have had such a good education thus far, but she felt saddened by the loss of her dear aunt.

“Poor Aunt Doris,” she murmured.

“
Poor
?  
Poor
?”

Features contorted with fury, Mr. Schilling looked up from reading the letter.

“It's
you
who are poor, miss.  Forever!”

He crushed the letter and flung it into the grate.

“Not a penny from the old witch.  Not a penny.”

“Mr. Schilling!”

Mama was shocked, but he then rounded on her.

“D'you think I married you out of
charity
, woman?  I thought that old cow favoured your daughter!  And then –nothing!  A curse on you both!  This is what comes of not – cultivating your relatives!”

Understanding her husband's allusions to Leonora's ‘prospects', Mama felt a chill gathering at her heart.

Leonora meanwhile listened in horror.

She had disliked him from the first moment she laid eyes on him, but she had at least supposed he did harbour some genuine affection for her mother.

Now she strongly suspected that he had married the widowed Mrs. Cressy for reasons other than affection and had expected his stepdaughter to come into an inheritance with the death of her wealthy aunt.

He had clearly believed that, although Aunt Doris had a nephew she had long ago named as heir, she would nevertheless leave a part of her fortune to the niece whose education she had paid for all these years.

Leonora was left in no doubt that Mr. Schilling had intended for that fortune to end up in his own pocket.

She flinched as he leapt angrily to his feet.

“Ugly old miser!” he cried, kicking his chair with as much violence as if it was Aunt Doris herself.

Mama put her face into her hands as Leonora rose, knocking back her own chair.

“Mr. Schilling, you are upsetting my mother,” she exclaimed, barely able to control the loathing in her voice.

Her tone proved a check.  Mr. Schilling paused in his rant and his eyes seemed to burn in their sockets as he stared at his stepdaughter.

“Upsetting her, am I?” he muttered at last.

“Well, let her reflect on this.  If that withered old crone of an aunt of yours couldn't be troubled to secure your futures, then why should
I
?”

With that he turned on his heels and slammed the door hard behind him.

Leonora put her arm around her mother's shoulder.  The two of them listened, as they could hear Mr. Schilling outside, yelling at Finny to saddle his horse.

They stood barely breathing until at last the sound of hooves faded on the village road and then Leonora sank back down into her chair and looked at her mother.

“Please don't say anything,” muttered Mama.  “I've made my bed and now I must lie in it – but how
bitterly
, oh, how bitterly!”

“I – wasn't going to say anything, Mama,” Leonora lied, seeing her mother's distraught features.  “Except – to ask whether you had a pen and inkwell here.  I should write a letter of condolence.”

With visible relief Mama produced the items that Leonora had requested.

“You are going to write to – er – Arthur?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Arthur was the nephew who had been made the sole heir of Aunt Doris's great fortune and as she had only ever mentioned him as ‘young Arthur, the son of my husband's sister', Mama and she did not know his full name.

“You are not too disappointed, Leonora – about not being remembered in your aunt's will?”

“I'm most grateful that she paid my school fees for as long as she did and I wish to express that gratitude to – to Arthur and to offer him our condolences.”

“I'm not sure that he knew his aunt well.  I heard he lived abroad, but you are certainly doing the right thing.”

When she finished the letter, Leonora read it aloud to Mama, who expressed satisfaction with its sentiments.

Though Leonora had accepted the fact that she was not in her Aunt Doris's will, she was nevertheless deeply saddened that she would not be able to return to Fenfold.

However Mama soon reassured her.

“Since I have remarried, I no longer need to use the income from your father's small investment.  I can sell the bond and use the money to pay your fees.”

“Oh, Mama!”

Leonora hugged her mother tightly.

Life suddenly seemed promising again.

The only shadow was the knowledge that she would be leaving her mother to the mercy of Mr. Schilling for the school terms.

*

The following day she had other matters to occupy her, as this was the date set for the ball.

Finny drove Leonora over to Broughton Hall where they were shown round to the servants' quarters.

In the cavernous kitchen she was handed a starched apron and was then led to the antechamber of the ballroom by a haughty butler, who gestured towards a trestle table overlaid with a white cloth.

Glasses and pitchers of lemonade stood ready.

“That's your post, miss,” intoned the butler.

Leonora looked around her.

Two maids stood to attention nearby and catching Leonora's glance, they bobbed a curtsy.

“We're to fetch more lemonade when it's needed, miss.  You just ring that bell there.”

Leonora noticed a little handbell on the table.

The antechamber, lit by low candlelight, was dim.  Through the open double doors opposite, however, she had an unobstructed view of the glittering ballroom with all its crystal chandeliers and its large vases of white flowers.

The orchestra was now striking up, as the guests were now arriving and Leonora admired their lavish costumes and ingenious masks.

One couple struck her as they waltzed by.

The lady in red velvet and wearing a gold-feathered mask she recognised as Lady Broughton's daughter, Maud.

The gentleman she could not place, but there was something about him that seemed vaguely familiar.  It was impossible to even guess at his identity for his black mask concealed his features completely.

Soon Leonora had no time to speculate and she lost count of how many glasses of lemonade she served or how many times she rang the handbell for fresh pitchers.

At last supper was announced and the tide of thirsty revellers began to change course for the food-laden tables in the Great Hall at the other end of the ballroom.

Leonora took the opportunity to stack up the used glasses on the trays provided and the maids hurried over to take the trays down to the pantry.

She retied her apron and began to smooth back her tousled hair.

“You must be much in need of a drop of lemonade yourself,” came a voice at close quarters.

Leonora looked up.

The lady in the gold-feathered mask was standing in the door and her imperious tone betrayed her to be exactly who Leonora had guessed – Maud Broughton.

“Thanks very much.  I've already had two glasses,” said Leonora, her eyes straying to Maud's companion, the gentleman in the black mask.

He was removing his gloves with his head bowed, but he looked up sharply at the sound of Leonora's voice.