The Virtuous Cyprian

‘Very well, Miss Kellaway! Perhaps matters will settle down once the village is over the initial shock of Miss Susanna’s arrival.’ She sounded as unpersuaded as Lucille herself. She sighed again. ‘It is easier in London, where such matters are commonplace. The society in which your sister lives operates in much the same way as the beau monde. But here the community is insular and judgmental, and I do not doubt Miss Susanna would detest it!’

‘Seagrave said he made no judgments on the way in which Susanna chooses to make a living,’ Lucille said slowly, ‘yet he would not simply allow her to reside here quietly without interference!’

Mrs Appleton gave a wry smile. ‘My dear Miss Kellaway, you will find that most gentlemen have no difficulty in preserving a dual attitude towards ladies such as your sister! They…enjoy their company but they would never marry them, nor even consider them fit company for their sisters! By the same token, I suspect Seagrave believes a Cyprian should stay in London and not cause a stir in his sleepy dovecote!’

Lucille frowned, remembering something else Seagrave had said. ‘Does my sister know the Earl?’ she asked, carefully. ‘He made some reference to her causing trouble for his family before this…’

Mrs Appleton looked disapproving, though whether of Susanna’s exploits or Lucille’s enquiry was hard to judge. She fidgeted with the edge of her apron before looking up to meet Lucille’s gaze. ‘I collect he must be referring to Miranda Lethbridge,’ she said with constraint. ‘I believe she is some connection of the Seagraves. Last winter your sister…’ she hesitated, seeing Lucille’s innocent blue eyes fixed on her ‘…well, no point in prevaricating! Miss Susanna took it into her head to seduce Miranda Lethbridge’s betrothed, who was also a war comrade of the Earl of Seagrave.

‘She did it solely because he was rich, and she was bored! It was a shocking thing, and believe me, Miss Kellaway, I thought myself unshockable! After one night Mr Tatton—Justin Tatton was his name—realised that he had made a mistake and tried to disengage, and Miss Susanna was furious. She spread the rumour that they had been having a lengthy and passionate affair, and she made sure that Miss Lethbridge heard all about it. The poor girl was completely distraught and broke off the engagement immediately.’

Mrs Appleton shook her head. ‘I do not condone the behaviour of men such as Mr Tatton, but he had made a mistake and did not deserve to be punished so cruelly. But I fear Miss Susanna detests rejection.’

‘I hear very little of Susanna’s exploits, tucked away as I am in Oakham,’ Lucille said a little hesitantly, ‘but I do remember hearing of a young man, the son of a duke, who was ruined—’

‘You mean Adrian Crosby, I collect,’ Mrs Appleton said expressionlessly. ‘He was just one of many! He was infatuated with Miss Susanna and bought her costly gifts by the barrow load. Worse, she took him to dens—’ she saw Lucille’s puzzled frown ‘—gaming dens, Miss Kellaway, where he played deep and lost a fortune to the House who, of course, gave Miss Susanna her share of the pickings! The affair only ended when the boy’s father realised the extent of his debt and sent him off to the country to rusticate!’

Mrs Appleton looked unhappy. ‘I am in no position to criticise your sister, Miss Kellaway, for she pays my wages! But in my book, men such as Seagrave are fair game for a woman like Miss Susanna, for they know the rules of engagement! But Adrian Crosby was barely more than a boy…And Miranda Lethbridge did not deserve—’

She broke off. ‘Forgive me, Miss Kellaway. I am not normally one to gossip, but I thought it only fair that you should know what kind of woman you are impersonating—and why the Earl of Seagrave dislikes your sister so much!’

Lucille’s heart felt like lead. Although naive in the ways of the world, she had common sense enough to have realised a long time before that she knew nothing of her sister’s way of life, nor did she want to know. She had already learned too much in the inn at Felixstowe. Any lover was good enough, it seemed, as long as he was rich enough to pay Susanna’s price. No wonder Seagrave held her in such contempt! Lucille had no time for the double standards of men who kept mistresses and then denounced the very women they would have in keeping, but she had some sympathy with Seagrave’s point of view over Miranda Lethbridge. The prospect of being obliged to meet him again, knowing what she did now, made her feel vaguely sick.

Mrs Appleton was watching her sympathetically. ‘I thought it best to tell you, Miss Kellaway,’ she said apologetically. ‘Should you meet Seagrave again—’

‘I cannot bear to meet him again!’ Lucille said, in anguish. ‘Mrs Appleton, forgive my curiosity, but however did you come to work for Susanna? I cannot imagine—’ She broke off, aware that her comments could offend. But the housekeeper was smiling, albeit a little sadly.

‘You are right in thinking that it was not what I might have chosen, Miss Kellaway, given different circumstances! After I was widowed I had very little money, you see, and no means of keeping myself, so I applied for a post as cook/housekeeper with Miss Susanna. I knew what sort of an establishment it was, of course, but without references I could not hope for a position elsewhere…’

She paused. ‘As I said earlier, I am fairly unshockable after ten years on campaign, and am in no way missish! And indeed I have very little to do with Miss Susanna’s business, for she has a maid to attend to her.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘That is not to say that I haven’t had my moments! A gentleman was once overly amorous to me, but I was able to dissuade him from his attentions with a saucepan! And believe me, Miss Kellaway, I could have done a great deal worse than work for Miss Susanna!’

Lucille was left shaking her head in disbelief. She knew that she was both missish and easily shocked, and yet she was the one who had so foolishly agreed to impersonate Susanna. She had not known the half of it—and now she was trapped by her own folly. Thinking of this led her thoughts inevitably back to the Earl of Seagrave.

‘Apparently Susanna’s arrival at Dillingham has caused Seagrave’s betrothed to cry off,’ she told Mrs Appleton solemnly, ‘so he has another reason to dislike her now!’ Despite her feelings, she could not suppress a smile. ‘He seemed remarkably annoyed by the fact!’

‘I doubt his emotions are involved, only his pride,’ Mrs Appleton said calmly. ‘Seagrave is notorious for having no feelings at all! No more than a month ago he got engaged to Louise Elliott, a hen-witted girl of absolutely no distinction other than in her lineage. If she has thrown him over he may one day come to thank your sister! They say girls become very like their mothers and Lady Elliott is an arrogant, overbearing woman! But enough of this gossiping!’ She got to her feet. ‘I must make shift to find us some dinner!’ She cast a look at Lucille’s unhappy face. ‘Never fear, Miss Kellaway,’ she said bracingly, ‘I have found sustenance under far more adverse conditions than this! As for Seagrave, well, we will just have to keep you out of his way in future!’

Chapter Three

Lucille felt that the whole atmosphere of Cookes had changed after that one meeting with the Earl of Seagrave and her illuminating chat with Mrs Appleton. Instead of enjoying the tranquil silence, she began to feel oppressed and lonely. It was the greatest irony that when she had been in ignorance of the villagers’ attitude towards her she had not felt the need to leave the house and grounds—now she knew of their hostility, she longed to go out but did not dare. No longer could she lose herself in the pages of a book, or concentrate on her father’s esoteric research into eastern civilisations.

Fully awakened, her conscience nagged her and gave her no peace, calling her a stupid little fool for her thoughtless agreement to so damaging a plan as Susanna had suggested. Better by far to have stayed within the safe confines of Miss Pym’s school than to perpetrate such a deception.

Then there was the unfortunate effect that the Earl himself appeared to have on her. It seemed that the confusion he had thrown her into that day in Oakham was nothing compared to encountering him at close quarters. Lucille had led a sheltered existence, but none of the fathers or brothers of her pupils had ever made her pulse race in the disconcerting way Seagrave had affected her. His face had a disquieting tendency of imposing itself between her and the written page; the cadences of that mellow voice haunted her thoughts.

None of her reading could help her to understand this peculiar chemistry between them. She even caught herself daydreaming, an indulgence which both puzzled and horrified her. But none of her dreams of him could be in any way encouraging. He thought she was Susanna, after all, and even if he had met her under her own identity she did not flatter herself that he would have any time for a frumpish bluestocking. As for what he would think of her if he discovered her impersonation…She refused to allow herself to even consider that.

Fortunately for Lucille’s equilibrium, Seagrave did not appear again at Cookes, although his agent, Mr Josselyn, called with some long and convoluted legal papers for Lucille to sign. She perused these with intense concentration and made a list of points on which she required clarification. She then stopped dead, realising that it was not her place to query the lease, but Susanna’s. That inevitably made her recall the masquerade and she found herself out of sorts again. Normally she would have walked off her low spirits, but now she felt she could not even venture outside the gate of Cookes.

On the second day of enforced inactivity, Lucille threw her book aside in despair. It was Sunday evening and the church bells had been calling across the green. The shadows were falling now and all was still in the dusk. It was such a beautiful evening that Lucille was suddenly determined to go out. She put on her bonnet and coat, and slipped out of the front door.

The green was deserted and it was indeed pleasant to be outside now that the heat of the day had gone and the air was full of birdsong. Lucille left the shelter of Cookes’s gates and crossed to the duck pond, holding her breath lest anyone see her. But all was quiet. It felt astonishingly liberating to be in the open air. For a while she just stood and enjoyed the neat prettiness of the cottages about the green, their gardens bursting with verdant summer flowers, their white-painted walls reflecting the last rays of the sun. Then she walked slowly across to the ancient stone church, and paused with her hand on the iron gate, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to go inside.

The church, like the village, was deserted now that the evening service was over and the congregation dispersed. Lucille let herself into the green darkness of the interior, and sat in a worn wooden back pew, breathing in the mixture of flower scent and ancient dust. It was so evocative of her childhood with the Markhams that her breath caught in her throat. The familiarity was soothing in an existence that had become so unexpectedly difficult. She said a few heartfelt prayers before letting herself out of the door into the churchyard, which had become full of deep shadows.

The first intimation Lucille had that she was not alone came with the pattering of paws along the path, and then a magnificent chocolate-coloured retriever was before her, sniffing inquisitively at her skirts and pressing its damp nose into the palm of her hand. Lucille laughed at this shameless bid for attention, bent down, and fondled the creature’s silky ears.

‘What a beauty you are, aren’t you! I wonder what your name is…?’

The dog snuffled softly, rubbing its head against her hand, before turning, suddenly alert, its ears pricking up.

‘Her name is Sal, Miss Kellaway, short for Salamanca.’

The Earl of Seagrave had stepped out from the shadows of an ancient yew tree and was viewing Lucille with thoughtful interest. ‘She is not usually so friendly to strangers.’

Lucille watched Sal return submissively to her master’s heel, and smiled at the look of adoration in those limpid dark eyes. No doubt that was the type of gaze she should be perfecting in the interests of her impersonation. However, there was something about the clear evening, scented with herbs and yew, which made her rebel against the idea of acting a part. She looked up from the dog to see that Seagrave was still watching her.

‘Were you at Salamanca, my lord?’

‘I was.’ He straightened, coming towards her down the path, the dog now close at his heels. ‘It was my last battle, Miss Kellaway. I had been in the Peninsula for four years, first serving under General Sir John Moore and then under Wellington—Sir Arthur Wellesley, as he was to begin with. It was July when we came up against the French just south of Salamanca; July, just as it is now. I remember it well.’

Seagrave took a deep breath of cool, scented air. ‘It was hot, with the kind of oppressive, airless heat you can get in Spain in the summer. The land around was arid, dry as dust. The dust was everywhere…in our mouths, in our noses, in our clothes…We sat on the flat top of our hill and watched the French lines to the south of us, on the higher ground.’

His voice had taken on a still, reflective quality. ‘You may have read that the battle was a great triumph for Wellington. So it was. The French were cut to pieces with at least fourteen thousand casualties. It was carnage. I was wounded advancing across the valley between the two hills. We were in the range of the cannon and I fell with shrapnel in the chest and shoulder. So I was invalided out, and shortly after that I inherited the title and thought to stay at home.’

He stirred slightly and gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘My apologies, Miss Kellaway! It is unforgivable to speak of such matters to a lady. You must forgive me.’

Lucille shook her head slightly. She had become caught up in the tale, could almost feel the heat of the Spanish sun and taste the dust. War was an experience so far removed from the lives of most people that it was almost impossible to begin to imagine it. Many did not want to try, finding the contrast with their own easy existence too uncomfortable to contemplate.

‘I am sorry,’ she began, unsure what she was really apologising for, but aware that the undercurrent of bitterness which had touched his voice briefly was present in that still, shadowed face. ‘It must have been very difficult to adapt to civilian life after such experiences.’

Seagrave gave another harsh laugh. ‘Indeed it was, Miss Kellaway! After the immediacies of life and death, the delights of the ton, whilst entertaining, seem damnably shallow! But it is hardly fashionable to speak so! No doubt you think me most singular!’

‘No, sir.’ Lucille caught herself just as she was about to express her own preferences for reading and studying over routs and parties. The shock of realising that she had almost betrayed herself caused her to fall silent, her mind suddenly blank. It was impossible to be forever remembering that she was supposed to be Susanna.

‘I am glad to see you have overcome your aversion to dogs,’ Seagrave observed suddenly, watching as Sal lay down with her head at Lucille’s feet. ‘I thought you once said that you hated them.’

Lucille froze. Did Susanna hate dogs? She had no idea. Seagrave was looking quite bland, but she suddenly had an unnerving feeling that he was deliberately testing her. She shrugged lightly.

‘I do not recall…’

‘When you were driving in the Park one day last summer…or was it two summers ago?’ Seagrave mused. ‘Harriette Wilson’s dog bit your arm and I am sure I remember you saying you thought they were hateful creatures and should all be destroyed. You were quite vehement on the subject!’

Lucille mentally added another item to the list of things about Susanna which she found unattractive. The list was getting rather long and she was learning far more about her sister than she had known from the first seventeen years of their lives together. As for Harriette Wilson, Lucille knew her to be a legendary Cyprian in the same mould as Susanna, but her choice in pets was beyond her. ‘Oh, well…’ she managed to sound quite vague ‘…that dreadful little, yapping creature—’

‘Miss Wilson has a wolfhound, as I recall,’ Seagrave commented, with mild irony. ‘Scarcely a small creature, and one which left a scar on your arm.’

Lucille glanced down instinctively, although she was wearing a jacket whose sleeves covered her arms from shoulder to wrist. Which arm would Susanna have injured? How could she tell? This was getting ridiculous. She cast about hastily for a change of topic.