Scandal At Greystone Manor. Mary Nichols
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the birds, always stronger in spring; the cooing of pigeons; the rustling of small animals in the last of the dead leaves; the sighing of the wind in the tree tops; the distant barking of a dog; her own, almost silent, footsteps. And there were other things to see and note: the buds on the chestnut trees; the unfurling of pale, new bracken stems; bluebells with their gently nodding heads; the odd browned leaf hanging on the bare branch of an oak, not yet in new leaf; a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis and drying its wings in a patch of sunlight filtering through the branches. Spring was a time of new beginnings, of hope. Where was her life going from here? Would she go on as she had been doing for the last ten years, or would it take a different direction? How could she best help her father?
She emerged on to the lane, crossed the narrow road and went through a gate which led to the back of the house. She stood a moment to look at it. It was old, but not as old as Broadacres, having been built just before the Civil War, when it was sequestered by the Parliamentarians and given to her father’s ancestors for their service to the cause. They seemed not to have suffered for their allegiance because in the subsequent restoration of the monarchy, they had been allowed to keep the prize. It had all happened a hundred and fifty years before and Sir Edward rarely spoke of it. Jane had deduced he was perhaps a little disappointed that his forebears had not been granted a peerage, which would have set him above the common people. He made up for it with aspirations for his daughters, which was why he had been so against any connection between Jane and Andrew Ashton. Jane, who adored her father and always obeyed him, had sent her suitor away.
It would be untrue to say she had mourned his going ever since. She grieved for a year or so and then pulled herself together to settle into her role as the unmarried daughter and everyone’s hopes had turned on Isabel. A marriage between Mark and Isabel had been talked of for years, but he had not formally proposed until he came back from the war. Ever since then everyone’s attention had been concentrated on the wedding. But now, it seemed, that was destined to be overshadowed by financial problems. Her father had asked her to think of ways of retrenchment and she had so far done nothing about it. She would do so that very afternoon and draw up a list.
Pulling herself up, she quickened her pace and was soon indoors. Having shed her shawl and bonnet in her room, she went downstairs to the small parlour where she found her mother and Isabel scrutinising the guest list for the wedding. Most of their close friends and neighbours knew about it already, but there were others further afield that Lady Cavenhurst felt ought to be invited. In that they were at loggerheads with Sir Edward.
‘Papa says we do not need to invite so many,’ Isabel complained when Jane took a seat beside them. ‘He says it is all getting out of hand and we must limit the number to fifty, when I had been planning on a hundred and fifty, at least.’
‘Do we really know that many people?’ Jane asked mildly.
‘Of course we do. Papa is being unreasonable.’
‘No doubt he has his reasons. Let me look at the list.’
Isabel handed it to her. ‘But there is everyone here you have ever spoken half-a-dozen words to, Issie,’ she said, scanning it quickly. ‘They would only come to stuff themselves at the banquet and not to wish you well. Would it not be better for it to be a little more intimate, with only close relations and friends who would be happy for you? Mark, I notice, has not asked for a great number to be invited and you do not want his guests to be overwhelmed by yours, do you? It would look like a slight, an effort to diminish him.’
‘Would it? I hadn’t thought of that. Now you have put a doubt in my mind. Mama, shall we cross some of them off?’
‘Perhaps we should take another look at it,’ her ladyship said. ‘But we really cannot limit our guests to fifty—that would be parsimonious.’
It was evident to Jane that her mother either did not know or was shutting her eyes to the extent of their financial problems and her father had lacked the courage to tell her. Unless she had badly misjudged the situation he would have to do so soon
‘There is one that will not be coming, I have discovered. I met Mark in the village and he told me Jonathan Smythe has been called away to a relation’s death bed and he has appointed a new groomsman. No doubt he will tell you when he sees you.’
‘Which will be tomorrow evening,’ Lady Cavenhurst said. ‘We are all invited to Broadacres for supper.’
‘All of us?’ Jane queried, her heart sinking.
‘Yes, of course. Lady Wyndham would not leave anyone out, would she? Did Mark say who his new groomsman is to be?’
‘Yes. Mr Andrew Ashton. He was with Mark when I met him.’
‘Ashton!’ exclaimed her mother. ‘Why on earth did he choose him?’
‘He is an old friend of Mark’s, Mama, so why not?’
‘Andrew Ashton,’ Isabel murmured. ‘Didn’t he come and stay at Broadacres years ago?’
‘I believe he did.’ Jane said. ‘He is much changed, having come back from India after making his fortune there.’
‘India! Mark has said we may go there for our wedding trip. I shall enjoy asking Mr Ashton all about it. Mama, what shall we wear for this supper party? Is it to be formal?’
‘No, dear, Lady Wyndham says informal on her invitation and there is to be music and cards.’
‘Then we must contrive to keep Teddy away from the card table,’ Jane said, a remark upon which they all agreed.
* * *
The interior of Broadacres was as imposing as the exterior. It had a grand entrance hall where the cantilevered staircase of the outside was repeated with the addition of a wrought-iron balustrade. There was a long gallery lined on one side with paintings, not only of the family, but of landscapes and seascapes, horses, dogs and cattle. There were long windows on the other side, which looked out over the sweep of the carriage drive. Chairs and sofas were placed at intervals and a long Turkish carpet laid down the centre covered the stone flags. Off this gallery were several beautifully furnished reception rooms, a book room, a formal dining room and at the far end, occupying the whole of the ground floor of one wing, a magnificent ball room. Upstairs the bedchambers were equally spacious and well equipped.
‘To think this will be your home,’ Jane whispered to Isabel as they were conducted down the gallery and along a corridor to the family withdrawing room. Ahead of them marched Sir Edward and Lady Cavenhurst and an unusually subdued Teddy. ‘You will one day be mistress of it.’
‘Oh, don’t say that. It terrifies me. I wish we could have our own place, something smaller and less grand, but Mark will not hear of it. He says it is so big we need never come across his parents if we do not wish to.’
‘I am sure you will manage very well.’
The footman who was conducting them opened the door of the withdrawing room and announced them one by one as they entered. As Lady Wyndham came forward to greet Sir Edward and his wife, Jane looked about her. Although it was a grand room, it had a comfortable feel about it, as if real people lived in it and used it, unlike the public rooms at the front of the building which seemed cold and impersonal.
She came out of her reverie when she heard Lady Wyndham introducing Drew to her father and mother and Sir Edward’s response. ‘I believe we have met, sir.’
‘Indeed, you have,’ Mark put in. ‘Mr Ashton stayed with us for a few weeks when we left Cambridge. That was... How long ago, Drew?’
‘I do believe it was all of ten years,’ Drew responded. ‘So long that I am not at all surprised that Sir Edward has forgot me. I was but a stripling with pockets to let.’
‘Now he is a nabob.’ Mark laughed. ‘As rich as Golden Ball and certainly no stripling.’
‘That much is evident,’ Sir Edward said. Jane knew he was remembering and wondering if he had come to renew his suit. She had wondered about that herself, but dismissed the idea. Too much water