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‘Lucie! I don’t stand much chance of that, you know. And anyway, I have everything I need. The house and land I love, enough of a settlement to live and manage the estate and care for our tenants and servants. I have you and I have James. Tell me, what is to be gained by giving up what I have to accept a husband’s authority, to have my property controlled by a man?’ Sybella snapped her book shut with a determined look in her eyes.
But her sister was undeterred. ‘If marriage to your Captain was such a love match, don’t you miss that?’
Sybella did not answer and opened up her book again. After a while, she met Lucie’s eyes. ‘I don’t want to betray my love for him,’ she said simply and gazed out of the window with a faraway look in her eyes. Then she added with a smile, ‘Anyway, a widow in society is only attractive to the kind of man who is relieved to know he cannot sully her virtue by offering a carte-blanche rather than marriage. Men about Town have to be much more circumspect, you know, in their dealings with innocent young women.’
‘Bella!’ Lucie was startled. ‘We’re not meant to know about such things, let alone talk about them.’
‘Oh, come now, Lucie, there are lots of things well-brought-up young women are not meant to know about, but we do. Just look at the success of these two novels. It’s mostly women like us reading them. Society just demands we pretend we’re still schoolroom misses, innocent of any desires at all.’ Her smile turned mischievous. ‘Or rather you have to pretend. I’ve been married and have a child, it’s allowed that I know something.’ She laughed. ‘Perhaps the only amatory career open to me is as a rake’s mistress!’
‘Don’t say that, Bella. I couldn’t bear to see you ill-used.’
‘Don’t worry, dearest Sis. I have no intention of altering my status. I’m perfectly content as I am.’
They both looked out of the window, deep in thought. Slowly the coach began the approach to Hounslow Heath. The cultivated landscape of fields and gardens had given way to what looked like a wasteland of furze bushes, swampy gravel pits and hillocks of tall coarse grass. It teemed with natural fauna, frogs, newts and toads in the gravel pits and adders and grass snakes in the sandy grasslands, with the call of peewit, lark and snipe accompanying the hours of daylight. But by night, the Heath was swarming with a different, more dangerous kind of wildlife; everyone from common footpads who preyed on unwary or befuddled pedestrians to rum-padders, the gentleman highwaymen with their speedy black steeds, fine woven coats and well-fitting top boots. The most blackguardly of desperados, the bully-ruffians as likely to shoot a traveller in the face to steal a measly purse of brass coin, hung around the highway too, waiting for their chance.
Sybella pointed out the flat, forbidding vista over which these outlaws roamed. She was thoughtful. ‘It’s notable, perhaps, that gentleman highwaymen also catch the romantic imagination. Is it their wildness and rebellion, do you think? Is there a highwayman in your novel?’
‘Not yet. But I’d like it if there was. You know all those stirring tales of the handsome courteous Claude Du Vall, who stole men’s gilt and women’s hearts?’
‘Yes, and went to the gibbet singing, no doubt!’ Sybella commented drily.
‘Look at that huge building!’ Lucie pointed out a large edifice on the left-hand side of the road, its vast demesne extending towards the edge of the Heath.
‘Ah, that must be Hounslow Barracks and training grounds. James was trained there. The officers slept above their horses: proximity to their animals was the only source of warmth. It was a hard schooling.’
As the coach trundled on closer to London, the land on either side of the Bath Road once again became more fertile. Orchards and small market gardens lined the route. It was still winter, and the intense activity of spring had yet to begin, but there were a few solitary figures digging root vegetables to supply fresh produce for the growing city to the east. The sisters returned to their books and two hours sped by until the travel-stained coaches rolled into Green Street in Mayfair. They had been amazed and quite dismayed by the noise and the ceaseless bustle and dirt of a great city, but finding Lady Godley’s house lay so close to Hyde Park lifted their hearts.
After being hemmed in by so many buildings, their senses assaulted by every kind of smell, sight and sound, what a welcome sight was this great expanse of trees and grass. At heart, they were countrywomen who loved to ride and walk in the open air, and here was a green simulacrum of home.
The sisters clambered down from the coach and Sybella collected James from Nurse to make their introductions to Lady Godley. Gem rapped on the knocker and stepped back. The large black door swung open to reveal a tall, lean man of indeterminate age, dressed immaculately in black with a sombre face that would not look out of place at a funeral. He seemed to be expecting this small weary party of travellers and loftily indicated they should enter. Sybella mentioned their names: Lady Godley’s butler bowed and relieved them of their travelling cloaks.
‘M’lady is in the drawing room,’ he said grandly as he led the way up the stairs to the first floor.
‘Mrs Lovatt, Miss Carey and Master Lovatt,’ he announced in sonorous tones before disappearing downstairs to help direct the luggage that Gem, Nurse and Alice were depositing in the hall.
‘Thank you, Samson,’ an unseen voice acknowledged him. Sybella stood on the threshold of a high-ceilinged room, its three full-length windows filtering the day’s fading light onto an eclectic collection of furniture from the last century; the gothic tracery of Mr Chippendale’s famous chairs contrasted with two sofas and a pair of pier tables, enlivened by the sparkling reflections from two oval looking-glasses above. In conversational groups were clustered more decorative French gilt chairs, covered with Aubusson tapestry. A fruitwood piano-forte stood in prime position in the middle of the room. Almost indistinguishable in all this splendour, a small bird-like woman rose from the sofa. She was so light on her feet, it seemed she danced towards them.
‘My goddaughter, Lucie! Let me see you.’ She took her hands and led her towards the window. Her lively elfin face twinkled up at her. ‘Hmmm! Fortunate you’re a beauty. It makes things much easier, you know. C’est tout ce qui compte!’ She reached up and patted her cheek with fluttering fingers, the middle one sporting an enormous emerald ring.
‘Thank you so much, Godmama, for having us to stay.’
‘Tush, child! I’m a very selfish old woman and I only please myself. This is going to be diverting, I promise you.’ She stood on tiptoe to kiss Lucie’s cheek. Then she took Sybella’s hand. ‘You’re so like your dear mama. Very handsome. She too had fine dark hair and a splendid figure, I did envy her that.’ Peering more closely into Sybella’s face, she added, ‘But your eyes are really green, not brown.’
‘I feel honoured to be compared with her. Thank you, Lady Godley.’
‘Poof! Call me Augusta. I’m impatient with trifling proprieties.’ Her bright critical gaze transferred to James, who was eyeing her with curiosity. Lady Godley put out her hand to shake his. ‘Well, mon petit lapin?’
His brow wrinkled. ‘I’m not pretty, I’m Jim,’ he responded firmly.
‘Lady Godley was speaking French, dearest, she said petit, it means little.’ Sybella bent to take his other hand.
‘Not little any more.’ He was emphatic.
‘You’re certainly not.’ Lady Godley was reassuring. ‘But I suspect you’re hungry. Shall we have something to eat once your mama and Lucie have been shown their rooms and can change out of their travelling clothes?’
The Carey sisters and James were ushered upstairs by the housekeeper, and discovered an exuberant Alice unpacking their clothes in their adjoining rooms. These were at the back of the house and James peered through the window that overlooked the mews. Alice pointed, saying excitedly, ‘Look, Master James, the horses are stabled here!’
Sybella joined them. ‘And there are the carriages, and rooms above for the grooms and postilions.’
