Intrigue (Daughters of Mannerling 2) Read Free Page B

ambitions, the more her sisters appeared to admire her.
    She was taking one of her solitary, restless walks around the garden one evening when she was joined by Lizzie. Like her sisters, Jessica never liked to dwell too deeply on Lizzie’s attempted suicide, putting it down to the temporary madness of a delicate nature. As other girls might find excuses for the monstrous behaviour of a drunken father, so did Jessica shy away from the truth that an obsession with Mannerling had nearly killed Lizzie.
    But Lizzie with her fey features seemed quite cheerful and relaxed as she smiled up at her sister, but then she, thought Jessica with another stab of worry, was not obliged to save the family fortunes.
    ‘It is all very exciting, is it not?’ ventured Lizzie. ‘Of course you will be successful, Jessica. You always are.’
    ‘At what?’ asked Jessica with a sudden stab of cynicism. ‘I have been hitherto put to no great test apart from deciding which gown to wear.’
    ‘But you are so strong!’ said Lizzie, her green eyes alight with admiration, that admiration which was so essential to the bolstering of Jessica’s flagging spirits.
    ‘Lizzie,’ protested Jessica, ‘you are surely the only one who will not be disappointed if I fail. As you said, it is only a building.’
    ‘That was before the invitations came,’ said Lizzie. ‘I could not help remembering how upset and miserable Isabella was when she thought she had to marry Mr Judd. But you will not be like that, Jessica. Nothing worries you. I envy you.’
    ‘What worries me,’ said Jessica slowly, ‘is that if I fail, you might try to do something stupid again, Lizzie.’
    ‘No, no,’ said Lizzie quickly. ‘I am so ashamed of that. I would never try to take my own life again, no matter what happened. I . . . I love you, Jessica, and I am most proud of you.’
    Jessica’s eyes filled suddenly with tears, and she turned her head away, glad of the increasing darkness of the summer’s evening. She wished suddenly for someone to lean on, someone in whom she could confide her weakness.
    ‘Come in, girls. You are out in that damp night air, are you not?’ came Lady Beverley’s voice from the parlour window.
    Lizzie turned and scampered back towards the house. With lagging steps, Jessica followed her.

TWO
    Ha! Ha! Family Pride, how do you like that, my buck?
    W. S. GILBERT
    On the day of the ball, Brookfield House was filled with the smells of lotions, pomades, washes, and hot hair from the frequent use of curling tongs.
    To the sisters’ surprise, Miss Trumble insisted on helping with the preparations and proved to be an excellent hairdresser. She also knew how to drape a shawl to perfection and how to make head-dresses of real flowers.
    Jessica felt the day was flying past at a great rate. She had hoped it would go more slowly so that she could dream, could savour the moment when she would be back at Mannerling again.
    But all too soon the great moment arrived when they climbed into the rented carriage with Barry up on the box in a second-hand livery and white wig and cocked hat. It was a tight squeeze inside the carriage, and the sisters squabbled about crushed gowns. But as they turned in at the great gates of Mannerling, an almost religious silence fell on them.
    Miss Trumble found herself becoming nervous. In their silence, the Beverley sisters seemed fragile and vulnerable.
    Then the carriage stopped. Miss Trumble followed them out and stood for a moment looking up at the house. It was large and graceful, with two wings springing out from a central block and a porticoed entrance, but she could not see that it was anything out of the common way.
    In silence they entered the hall. It was imposing. A double staircase rose from the hall to the chain of saloons on the first floor where the ball was being held. White marble statues of Roman gods and goddesses stood on the white-and-black-tiled floor. Huge arrangements of hothouse flowers scented the air.