Mama showed me the new drapery material, a pretty royal blue sateen, that would enliven the blue guest room. We tried to cheer ourselves by imagining Andrew's future visit, but our hearts were not in it.
Chapter Seventeen
Lord Weylin did not call that evening. I had a note from Mrs. Chawton informing me that the first meeting of the Book Society would take place at her house at eight. I had been looking forward to it with keen pleasure, but wrote putting it off in expectation of seeing Weylin. When I went in search of a servant to deliver my message, Steptoe made a hissing sound from the hallway, and beckoned me to him.
"I am not a snake, Steptoe. If you wish to speak to me, pray use the King's English. What do you want?” I demanded.
He handed me a note. “From his lordship,” he said with a leer. “His footman left this billy doo, with instructions to give it to you on the sly, miss.” He put his finger to his lips and said, “Mum's the word."
"This is not a billet-doux, but an ordinary note,” I said, and snatched it from his fingers. My heart was racing, but whether it was from annoyance with Steptoe or anticipation of my billet-doux, I could not determine.
"I wager it's an invitation to tea, miss.” Steptoe smirked. “I wonder why his lordship wanted secrecy."
The note was sealed with wax. I examined it to see Steptoe had not read it before me. The seal did not appear to have been tampered with. I gave him the note for Mrs. Chawton and told Mama I was going up to my studio, as I wanted privacy to read my note.
Was it a billet-doux? That would explain Weylin's efforts to discredit Borsini, if he feared I was romantically interested in the count. I did not go to the studio, but to my bedroom. My fingers were trembling as I broke the wax seal. The letter was long enough to require two sheets of paper.
I read:
Zoie. I am sending this to you privately. It is for you to decide how much to tell your mama. I did not find Andrew Jones in London, but I spoke to his lawyer. There is documented evidence that Jones is the illegitimate son of my aunt-and your uncle. My aunt did not make any other will than the one read at Parham. She arranged to hand over her worldly goods to her son before dying. Naturally I shall not interfere in the arrangement. It seems reasonable to assume that your uncle's missing money was also given to Jones.
I have heard from Mrs. Riddle, Lady Margaret's companion. She confirmed that my aunt gave birth to a male child six months after her marriage, and the family set about the story that it was a legitimate miscarriage. Apparently Mr. Macintosh was aware of Margaret's condition when he married her. He made the stipulation that the child be put out for adoption, and arranged the matter himself. My aunt was not told where the baby went, and promised not to try to find him. One can feel some sympathy with her. She must have been at her wits’ end when McShane shabbed off, leaving her with child. I can forgive her; whether you can forgive your uncle is another matter. I own I find it difficult.
That is no reason to punish Mr. Jones, however. I am making queries to find him, to see if he needs any further assistance. As we agreed at Tunbridge, this matter will be kept entre nous. If you have any questions, you can find me here. I shall be at Parham for the next while. Please let me know whether you are telling your mama or not, so that I shall know what to say-and what not to say-when I meet her.
On a happier note, Mama likes your Count Borsini amazingly. She (and Bubbums) are to sit for him. He has agreed to begin her portrait tomorrow afternoon, canceling all lessons for the present, and has asked that I make his apologies to you. He will not be able to keep his appointment. I felt sure you would not object, as this will do his career good. We might get the prince to sit for him yet!
I hope the news regarding your uncle does not distress you overly much. There may have been extenuating circumstances. I have not told Mama any of this yet, so if you are speaking to her, please bear it in mind.
Your servant, Weylin.
I read the note twice, then read it again to see if there was anything that should be kept from Mama. As she already knew, or believed, that Barry was deeply involved, there seemed no harm in showing her the letter. Despite Steptoe's leers and smirks, there was no air of romance about it. Weylin did not even say he would call. I would find him (by which he meant a note) at Parham if I had any questions. That indicated that, while he was willing to forgive my uncle, he had no wish to strengthen the acquaintance with the family.
It seemed hard that he should steal Borsini away as well. I disliked, too, the offhand way he did it, without even consulting me first. Of course, a portrait of the countess might indeed do Borsini's reputation a world of good, so I tried to be happy for him. I took the letter down to Mama. When she had digested it, we had a long talk. It was not Borsini or Weylin's high-handedness that interested her.
"So Weylin has found out the truth,” she said, with a little sigh of relief. “He is not so out-of-reason cross as I feared. When he finds my nephew, we shall invite Andrew here for a visit. What would do the lad more good is if Weylin would take an interest in him. He could make him an MP, or get him a position with the government. You must talk Weylin into it."
"I doubt Weylin will put himself out for an illegitimate cousin,” I said.
"At least he does not plan to hound Andrew for the money. I believe Weylin is right in thinking there were extenuating circumstances. Perhaps Barry did not know Lady Margaret was enceinte when he went to India. He was never that bad."
"He certainly knew they were not married when he seduced her, Mama! That is bad enough."
"So he did, but so did she know it. It is for the lady to maintain proper conduct. This is not all Barry's fault."
Brodagan brought the tea tray, and by the time we had taken tea, Mama was waxing quite cheerful. She spoke as though it were all settled that Andrew would be a part of both families, yet we hadn't the least notion what sort of a man he was. I hoped she would not be too disappointed.
The evening seemed endless. Until the clock chimed ten times, I was on pins and needles, listening for the sound of a carriage approaching, or a knock at the door. At ten I knew it was too late to hear from Weylin, and went up to bed.
The morning brought new hope. It was a fine, sunny day. Soft balls of cloud looked like whipped cream against the blue sky. I made a careful toilette, and sat in ladylike idleness all the morning long in the saloon, listening once more for the sound of the door knocker. Mama busied herself preparing the guest room for her nephew, whom she was rapidly turning into the son she never had.
Over lunch the talk was all of Andrew. Would my mount suit him, she wondered, or should she look about for a larger one? A gentleman would require a mount. But perhaps he already had one. She would wait until he came, and if he wanted one, he could choose it himself. She would have him ride over that west pasture, and see if it needed tilling. Papa used to speak of it. Perhaps Andrew would want the double-pedestal desk from the study in his bedroom. The desk presently there was only a token. She would have Brodagan arrange it that very day.
"For goodness’ sake, Mama, it is not even certain he is coming. Before you give him Papa's desk and my mount, let us see if he wants to visit us-and whether he is the sort of man we want in the house. God only knows how he was raised. He may be a Captain Sharp or a heathen, for all we know."
"I am sure he was raised a gentleman,” Mama said.
"What makes you so sure? It was Macintosh who arranged his adoption. He would hardly look fondly on his wife's by-blow."
"He was teaching school, Zoie, so he must be educated."
"He was not teaching at Eton or Harrow. It was a poor boys’ school, probably for orphans. He was living in one room. Barry was astonished at his low circumstances."