A Capital Investment
Part
I
Goldfarb
and Sons was a
well-known bank in the City of London. It had been established in the late
seventeenth century, had survived the South Sea Bubble and other crises, and
had been passed on from one generation of Goldfarbs to the next. Only the
present Mr. Goldfarb, being so absorbed in his business that he had forgotten
to marry and produce an heir, had broken with his family tradition. When he had
realised that his energy was not what it had been in his younger days, he decided
to retire while he still had the chance to enjoy his vast fortune, and set
about finding a junior partner who would steer Goldfarb and Sons into a
new era. He found that junior partner in the person of Mr. Peter Trenchard - a
young, ambitious insurance underwriter who was keen to get his fingers into as
many pies as possible. Mr. Trenchard was ambitious, zealous, and had an
instinct for profitable investments. In short, Peter Trenchard was the ideal
candidate.
After
having worked with Mr. Goldfarb for several years, Mr. Trenchard was able to
buy Goldfarb's shares in the bank, and took over the ancient family business.
Nothing changed for the bank's noble clientele. Mr. Trenchard was aware that
the members of the nobility were well-known for their sense of tradition and
that changes of any kind were repugnant to them. Therefore, everything remained
the same - even the name of the firm - and Mr. Trenchard suspected that few of
his clients knew who was in charge of Goldfarb and Sons now. Not that many of them
would have cared, he thought. To most of them, one Cit was as good - or bad -
as any other, and names were only a minor detail when there was no title
attached to them. One could not expect the aristocracy to remember the names of
the likes of him, Mr. Trenchard thought cynically. Especially not if one owed
them money. No one relished being reminded that there were people who were
richer than the average earl - and had earned all that money with their own
hands' work. The whole idea of earning money was probably alien to their
way of thinking.
A
young sprig of nobility had just entered Mr. Trenchard's office along with his
solicitor, and Mr. Trenchard was sure that young Viscount Scarsdale would not
forget the encounter in a hurry, try as he might. Henry Maitland had inherited
his father's heavily encumbered estates and, though he had made a push to pay
his father's most pressing debts, he was ruined. He had not enough money left
to pay off a loan his father had taken in one of his attacks of conscience -
one that had been as short-lived as futile. The loan was due to be repaid in a
month, and Lord Scarsdale had come to negotiate.
His lordship's man of business did most of the talking, for which Mr. Trenchard
was glad. He abhorred discussing business matters with people who had no clue,
and it was obvious that his lordship had no clue whatsoever.
"You
know very well, sir, that the late Lord Scarsdale has left things in a pitiable
state," Mr. Morris, the solicitor said.
Mr.
Trenchard agreed. He was well acquainted with the Maitland family's financial
situation - they had had their account with Goldfarb and Sons for decades, an
account that had always hovered on the brink of being overdrawn, if not worse.
"But
his heir intends to bring his family about," Mr. Morris continued.
"Most
laudable," Mr. Trenchard said. He was curious by what means Lord Scarsdale
would achieve his goal.
"His
lordship knows that loan is due next month," Mr. Morris said. "But,
to be frank, sir, he is temporarily short of money."
"Temporarily?"
Mr. Trenchard asked, raising an eyebrow. "I was not aware that there was
an end to his lordship's predicament in sight." Mr. Trenchard liked plain
speaking, and he was not going to make an exception to spare Lord Scarsdale's
feelings.
"Well,
I have managed to pay off my father's most pressing debts," his lordship
defended himself. "But that loan, I am afraid, is going to break my back.
Is there no way to defer it for a year or two, until I have got back on my
feet?"
Mr.
Trenchard opened the file that lay on the desk before him and studied it
thoroughly. He deliberately took his time, giving his visitors the impression
that he was thinking about a solution when, in fact, his decision had already
been made.
"Since
it was you who suggested being frank, Mr. Morris, I know you will not
take it amiss if I am frank, too," he finally said. "When, do you
think, will his lordship be able to repay the loan?"
Dead
silence filled the room and was, in itself, an answer to Mr. Trenchard's
question. He had not expected any other. Lord Scarsdale was, more or less,
bankrupt. He had been obliged to sell almost every part of his inheritance that
had not been entailed to pay his father's gaming debts. The estate was in a
pitiable condition after having been exploited for years, and not a penny had
been spent on keeping things in order. It would not yield any profits for
years. Mr. Trenchard pitied young Lord Scarsdale - he had to face the
consequences of his father's spendthrift ways. But there was nothing he could
do. A bank was not a charity institution.
"Is
there any way for you to raise the sum?" he asked, in a kinder tone than
one was used to hearing from him.
"Fifteen
thousand?" Lord Scarsdale shook his head. "No one can spare that kind
of money."
"Then,
I am afraid, there is nothing I can do," Mr. Trenchard said. "If the
money was mine to do what I please with - but it isn't. It belongs to the bank,
to my clients. I cannot rob them of what is theirs."
"Still,
you are going to turn us out of our home!" Lord Scarsdale said scathingly.
"For
all I care, sir, you may stay," Mr. Trenchard said with a cold smile. He
understood Lord Scarsdale's anger, but he refused to be made responsible for
the late Viscount's mistakes. "You have still got the house, and as for
the land - you could become the new owner's tenant." He knew that
suggestion would infuriate Lord Scarsdale. Anyone in his position would
consider it an insult of the worst sort.
"I
was told you held the Ton in contempt," his lordship said. "I did not
know you would go so far as to insult me in such a manner, though. What have I
ever done to you?" One had to give his lordship credit for his self
control, Mr. Trenchard thought. A lesser man would have assaulted him.
"Let
me assure you that I regard you - like the other members of your class - not
with contempt but with indifference, sir. There is nothing personal in my
claim. You, as your father's heir, owe my bank - my clients, that is - fifteen
thousand pounds. What do you want me to do? Burn the promissory note and forget
all about it?"
Lord
Scarsdale sighed. "I wish my father had died twenty years ago," he
said despondently.
"It
would have been very prudent of him," Mr. Trenchard agreed. "But take
heart, my lord - there's still a month left. Plenty of time for you to win the
heart of a lady whose generous portion will relieve you of your burden. I can
think of no one more deserving." Or in need, Mr. Trenchard added silently.
"Thank
you very much," his lordship spat out. "Good day to you, Mr. Trenchard."
Then he left, and Mr. Trenchard did not blame him for his bad temper. Not for
all the money in the world would he have swapped places with Lord Scarsdale.
Despite
his large fortune, Mr. Trenchard was unmarried and lived the life of a bachelor
in reduced circumstances. He had lodgings on the outskirts of Mayfair, the less
fashionable part of Town, and he was the only tenant in the lodging-house who
derived his income "from trade". The others were mostly young
gentlemen whose income did not match their ambitions - and who greatly resented
being obliged to share their address with a Cit, however wealthy he might be.
Their dislike was fully reciprocated. Mr. Trenchard did not like them any more
than they liked him - he despised their attitude, and the less he saw of his
neighbours, the better it was.
He was
therefore greatly surprised when his valet announced a visitor, a Mr. Maitland.
"I
did not invite anyone," Mr. Trenchard said ungraciously. He was not in a
very sociable mood, for it had been a hard day at the bank.
"The
young gentleman says it is important, sir," Crowley insisted. He was good
at showing his disapproval without losing his respectful demeanour.
Mr.
Trenchard sighed. "Very well," he said. "But you'll remind me of
an appointment in ten minutes."
"You
do not have an appointment, sir," Crowley said.
"I
want you to remind me of one nevertheless," Mr. Trenchard said. "Now
go and show my visitor in, will you?"
Crowley
went, and came back with a young boy, no older than sixteen, still dressed in
his overcoat and wearing his hat.
"Mr.
Maitland," he announced and, at a wave of his master's hand, left them
alone. Mr. Trenchard, remembering his manners, bowed.
"To
what do I owe the honour?" he asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his
voice.
"I
am sorry to disturb you at this hour, and I will not stay long," the youth
said hurriedly. "But I need to speak to you - urgently." The tremor
in the boy's voice betrayed his tension. Mr. Trenchard offered his guest a seat
and a glass of Cognac to soothe his nerves. Mr. Maitland accepted the former,
but declined the latter, for reasons of not being accustomed to strong drink.
"My
brother was at your office today," he began hesitantly while Mr. Trenchard
helped himself to a glass of wine and settled into a chair facing his
visitor's.
"Your
brother?" Mr. Trenchard asked.
"Lord
Scarsdale."
"Oh!
Yes, he was there." Mr. Trenchard wondered what the boy was getting at.
What did he want?
"Is
there really no chance for us to stay in our home?" The youth gave him an
entreating look and, for a moment, looked almost like a girl.
"Unless
your brother finds a way to pay his debts, I am afraid there is none," Mr.
Trenchard said. It was a cruel answer, but raising false hopes would have been
worse. He had always been in favour of putting one's cards on the table and
playing fair.
"It
was not Henry's fault." The boy sounded utterly convinced of his brother's
integrity.
"I
know. But it is not mine either, if that is what you mean to imply," Mr.
Trenchard said. He wondered whether Lord Scarsdale had sent his brother to
plead his cause.
"I
know that," the boy said. "But you could help him if you wanted to,
and you don't. You are the only person I know who could easily spare fifteen
thousand."
Mr.
Trenchard laughed at the boy's naiveté. "That does not make me inclined to
spend it on Lord Scarsdale's debts," he said. "Nor do I see why I
should."
"It
would be a capital investment."
"Hardly.
Investments are supposed to be profitable. I'd make better profits by simply
throwing the fifteen thousand into the Thames. - Tell me, does Lord Scarsdale
know his brother is meddling with his business?"
"I
am not his brother," the boy said and finally took off his hat. Soft curls
surrounded a face that, though not exactly pretty, was certainly feminine. Mr.
Trenchard wondered at himself for not having realised this before.
"I
am his sister," the girl continued. "I only dressed up as a boy to be
able to visit you. I needed to see you -- to talk to you!"
"I
think this is the point where our conversation ought to stop," Mr.
Trenchard said. "You cannot be
aware of what you are doing! If anyone found you here, in my lodgings, at this
time of night - it does not bear thinking of! Let me - let my man get a hackney
for you to go home. I've no use for a scandal, Miss Maitland, and neither have
you."
"I
know what I am doing is wrong," she said timidly. "I am surprised at
myself for performing such a rash and improper act! But this is the only way I
could think of to help my brother, so I had to take the risk. Listen to me, Mr.
Trenchard - it will only take a minute or two, and then you will be rid of
me!"
"You
seem to have taken the odd notion into your head that I am going to use my
hard-earned blunt to help your brother," Mr. Trenchard said. "Why on
earth should I do that? What would I gain?"
"Acceptance,"
Miss Maitland said. "I know this is what you want."
"Acceptance?
By whom?"
"The
Ton," she said. "Yes, you act as if you hated the lot of us, but in
truth it irks you that the gentry does not count you as one of them."
"And
my giving your brother fifteen thousand would change that? Hardly," Mr.
Trenchard said cynically. The girl had to be touched in her upper works, he
decided.
"Perhaps
not that," the girl admitted. "But your marrying me would."
"Out,"
Mr. Trenchard said, suddenly furious. He opened the door and told Crowley to
find a hackney for "Mr. Maitland".
"Why?
What have I done?" Miss Maitland protested, looking at him with an
innocence that was, without doubt, the opposite of her true nature. Mr.
Trenchard wondered when the irate brother would arrive, demanding compensation
for his sister's ruined reputation, for this was most likely the plan they had
hatched between the two of them.
"Just
think about it, ma'am," he said coldly. "Perhaps even you will
realise that what you said was not only improper but also grossly insulting.
Tell your brother his scheme has failed. Good night, Mr. Maitland."
Miss
Maitland could not have been aware of how much she had upset Mr. Trenchard. His
father had been a steward, a hard-working, respectable man, who had been ruined
through no fault of his own, simply because his employer had been unable to
admit a mistake.
He had
managed an earl's estate in the North, but when money had disappeared from his
lordship's coffers, Mr. Trenchard Senior had been blamed and dismissed for
dishonesty. Even though Mr. Trenchard had been able to prove his innocence, he
had not been able to retrieve either his position or his good name. For it had
been his lordship's own son and heir who had committed the felony, and one
could hardly expect My Lord to incriminate his own offspring. So Mr. Trenchard
had had to leave his native county and, in order to support his family, seek
employment which under normal circumstances would have been beneath him. Mr.
Trenchard Senior had never forgiven his lordship for this - sacrificing his
steward's honour to keep his family honour intact - and neither had his son.
And now another member of that despicable race was trying to take advantage of
a Trenchard - but it would not be. This lordship would pay for trying to
fleece him.
After
a night of unquiet sleep, Mr. Trenchard went back to work. There was a meeting
with some shareholders scheduled for ten o'clock, and he needed to prepare for
the meeting and re-read some papers before it started. First, as always, he
wanted to read his correspondence and answer his business letters. Then he
would settle down with a cup of coffee (provided by the coffee house across the
street) and would take notes for his meeting. His plans were destined to fail,
however. He had hardly opened the first of his letters when there was a knock
at the door and one of the junior clerks hurried in, looking frightened. It was
well known among Mr. Trenchard's employees that he did not relish being
disturbed during the perusal of his letters.
"I
beg your pardon, sir, but there is a young lady wishful to see you," he
said nervously.
"Make
an appointment for some time next week and tell her to go away," Mr. Trenchard
said curtly.
"She
wishes to see you as soon as possible, sir," the clerk said.
"As
soon as possible will be some time next week," Mr. Trenchard insisted.
"Tell the lady so. If she is in a hurry and wants to discuss a matter of
business, she can well do so with one of the other gentlemen, can't she? If she
insists on seeing me, she'll have to wait until I've got the time to see
her. I'm a busy man."
Knowing
when opposition was useless, the clerk went to deliver the bad news to the
unknown visitor. Five minutes later, there was a knock on the door again, and
the same clerk returned to Mr. Trenchard's office.
"Now
what?" Mr. Trenchard demanded testily, looking up from a tricky business
letter he was composing. "Can't a man get some work done without being
interrupted every two seconds?"
"The
lady, sir," the clerk said nervously. "She refuses to go away. I
asked her to leave, and she said she would not leave before she had had a word
with you."
"Get
some of the younger fellows and remove her then," Mr. Trenchard said, not
quite in earnest. Couldn't the fellow deal with this without bothering him?
"Sir!"
the clerk exclaimed in horror. "Think of the scandal, should the lady make
a scene! I can readily believe her to be capable of that, sir."
With a
heavy sigh, frustrated with both his clerk's lack of humour and the visitor's
obstinacy, Mr. Trenchard said, "Fine. Show her in. But tell her to be
brief. Five minutes, and not a moment more."
Relieved,
the clerk left the office only to return to it a moment later. "Miss
Maitland," he announced. Mr. Trenchard looked up. Whomever he had
expected, he had not thought that she would have the nerve to show her
face anywhere near him again. He rose from his chair, and greeted the young
lady in a tone not calculated to make her feel welcome. She looked different
from yesterday evening, he thought. For one, she was wearing a dress. Neat, but
not very expensive, he was pleased to note. He did not mind if a woman wore
expensive clothes, but Miss Maitland's brother could not afford a costly
wardrobe for his sister. The modesty of her attire gave him a clue as to her
character. Perhaps she was not quite as bad as he had thought.
Her
hair looked different too. Undoubtedly she had made an effort to appear boyish
the evening before, while today she had seemingly done her utmost to appear to
advantage. Not without success either, Mr. Trenchard thought. Miss Maitland,
though not exactly a beauty, was easy on the eyes nevertheless. Her face was
nothing out of the ordinary, but her hair was of a beautiful, golden-brown
colour, and her figure was light and pleasing.
Mr.
Trenchard waited until the clerk had left his office, and then he said,
"Well? Why are you here, Miss Maitland? Do you want to finish yesterday's
work? I see you have again dispensed with the necessity of taking a
chaperon with you."
"Not
at all," Miss Maitland said smilingly. "At this moment, my chaperon
is in Hookham's Library, safe in the knowledge that I have gone to call on my
friend, Miss Fortescue."
"Does
Miss Fortescue know you are calling on her?" Mr. Trenchard asked, amused
in spite of himself.
"Oh,
I will call on her as soon as I have finished my business here, so my chaperon
will never know where I was." Miss Maitland said lightly. "When I got
home yesterday evening, I told my brother what I had done, and he was rather
shocked."
"Not
shocked enough to keep you from repeating your act of folly, apparently,"
Mr. Trenchard said dryly.
"Mr.
Trenchard, he had no idea I had gone to visit you," Miss Maitland said.
"You must believe me -- Henry had nothing to do with this! Please do not
hold him responsible! You may blame me as much as you like, sir, but be assured
that Henry, had he known what I was about, would have locked me into the
coal-cellar rather than let me make such a cake of myself. He intends to come
to see you today, to beg pardon for what I have done, but I am not a child! I
am fully aware that I have made a dreadful mistake, and if anyone has to
apologise, it is me. This is why I am here. I wanted to tell you how sorry I
was."
"For
what, Miss Maitland? For your most obliging offer?" Mr. Trenchard said
coldly.
"No,
but for the things I indicated when I said you could gain acceptance by
marrying me. As if you were not able to gain it by any other means. I did not
mean that, you know."
"The
fact is that I could not even gain it by marrying you. I'd still be an
encroaching mushroom, a Cit. Rather than accept me, the Ton would pity you,"
Mr. Trenchard said. "I am very well off where I am, thank you very much,
and I mean to keep my contact to the members of the Ton to a tolerable
minimum."
"You
do not think very well of us, do you?" Miss Maitland asked, looking
mortified.
"Define
us, Miss Maitland."
"The
Ton."
"I
have no reason to think well of them," Mr. Trenchard said. "To be
fair, I daresay there are some excellent people to be found among the
aristocracy, but I have yet to meet them."
"You
know," Miss Maitland said quietly, "in a way you sound as snobbish as
my Aunt Clarissa. You will not mix with the likes of THEM, she used to
say, THEM being people who she thought were beneath her notice. You are just
the same -- only them has a different meaning to you. Well, I have to
leave. No doubt you have a great deal to do, and I do not want to keep you from
your business. I am very sorry for what happened yesterday evening, and I hope
you will believe me when I tell you that I did not mean to trick you in any
way, as you seemed to believe. Good bye, sir."
Without waiting for a reply from him, she curtsied and left the room, leaving Mr. Trenchard dumbstruck. No one had ever called him a snob -- in fact, he had always prided himself on not being arrogant. But Miss Maitland had been right. He was just as high in the instep as any member of the Ton, though for different reasons. He would have to call on her and apologise for his behaviour. Without doubt she believed him to be an ill-mannered brute, and that piqued him, though he had no idea why it should.
Part II
Lord
Scarsdale did indeed call on him in the afternoon, apologising profoundly for
his sister's misbehaviour. His surprise was great when Mr. Trenchard assured
him that he did not resent Miss Maitland's visit and admitted that he, too, had
not been behaving as he ought.
"I
believe I was very uncivil to Miss Maitland," he said with an apologetic
smile. "Once I found out who she was, my only object was to get her out of
my lodgings and back to her home without anyone being the wiser."
"In
other words, you acted like a true gentleman," Lord Scarsdale said.
"Had my sister been discovered in your home ... God knows what a scandal
that would have been. I told her as much when she confided in me, and it seems
the thought had not even occurred to her. She is still young, Mr. Trenchard,
and such an innocent ... I am glad this foolish start of hers will never be
known."
"I
would still like to apologise," Mr. Trenchard said. "In person, if
possible."
Something
in him wanted to see Miss Maitland again -- badly.
"Why?"
Lord Scarsdale asked. "You may be certain that my sister bears you no
grudge. I have explained her mistake to her, and she has quite understood why
you did not react the way she had expected you to. Believe me, there is no need
for you to apologise."
Mr.
Trenchard had no wish to disclose to Lord Scarsdale that Miss Maitland had
called on him again. Maybe Miss Maitland did not resent his behaviour of
the previous evening, but what about this morning's encounter? On both
occasions, she had seen him at his worst -- ill-tempered, rude, overbearing. He
did not want her to have the impression that this was him. She should
realise that he could be completely different, though coming to think of it,
what difference did it make? They were not likely to ever meet again, so her
opinion of him did not matter at all.
"Perhaps
if I called on you on some pretext or other ... could you arrange a
meeting?" Mr. Trenchard finally asked. "No matter what you seem to
believe sir, I really feel apologies are necessary."
"If
you insist," Lord Scarsdale said. "I shall be at home tomorrow
morning, and I will try to get my sister to stay at home too."
"Thank
you," Mr. Trenchard said. "You have relieved my mind of no
inconsiderable burden."
That
evening, Mr. Trenchard was to dine with Mr. Goldfarb, who in spite of his
retirement took a lively interest in his former junior partner's career and the
proceedings at Goldfarb and Sons. When Mr. Trenchard arrived at Mr.
Goldfarb's house in Queen Square, he found his former employer in a melancholy
mood. This was not surprising -- Mr. Goldfarb had never had any interests apart
from his trade, and now that he had withdrawn from business he found he had too
much time on his hands and nothing of importance to do. Sometimes Mr. Trenchard
suspected that if he offered Mr. Goldfarb an opportunity to come back, he'd be
only too happy to grab it.
The
dinner was excellent, as usual, and they passed their time pleasantly,
conversing on business topics and mutual acquaintances. Mr. Goldfarb, for want
of a more useful occupation, was still very much in the know when it came to
the businessmen in the City of London and their activities and plans, and he
was eager to share this knowledge with Mr. Trenchard -- even more so because the
bank still bore Goldfarb's name and he wished it to do well. But despite their
easy conversation, Mr. Trenchard saw that Goldfarb seemed depressed, and when
the covers had been removed and port had been served, he asked Goldfarb how he
was.
"Fine,
thank you," Mr. Goldfarb said, looking faintly surprised. "What makes
you ask such a question, I wonder? Last time I shaved the reflection in my
mirror did not look so ill that my acquaintances should worry about my
health."
Mr.
Trenchard laughed. "I was not talking about your health, sir. I simply got
the impression you are not ... very happy."
Goldfarb
sighed. "If I told you I was it would be a lie," he said. "I am
beginning to realise that there is a great deal I have missed out on during my
life, and it's too late to start these things now. All I ever thought about was
business -- and money. Now I've got more money than I could possibly spend, but
what else have I got?"
"Excellent
health," Mr. Trenchard said. "That surely must count for something,
sir."
"It
does," Mr. Goldfarb admitted. "But the point is I have no one to look
after me, should my good health fail me. Do not talk to me about servants and
hired nurses -- I'd rather die than be left at their mercy. I should have
thought of this when I was younger -- that I'd be lonely in old age, with no one
to care for me and no one to care for either."
"You
have many friends who are very fond of you, sir."
"I
daresay I have many friends," Mr. Goldfarb said. "How many of them
are truly fond of me I dare not guess, though. How many could I depend on, I
wonder? No, I should have married when I was younger, I should have found
myself a proper wife, and I should have had children. I'd be a grandfather by
now, and that would give me something to do - if only avenging my children's
misbehaviour by spoiling their brats."
The
mental image of the distinguished Mr. Goldfarb playing with his grandchildren
and feeding them sweetmeats until they were sick greatly amused Mr. Trenchard.
To him, it seemed more likely that Mr. Goldfarb's grandchildren, if he had any,
would be afraid of him. He did not say so, however.
"You
could still marry," he merely pointed out. "Is there no lady of
suitable age and character among your acquaintance?"
Mr.
Goldfarb laughed. "No, there isn't, and even if there was I do not think
I'd marry. My time for marriage is over; I am far too old to embark on such an
adventure. I am grateful for your concern, Trenchard, you are almost like a son
to me. Which gives me the right to advise you, I hope. I do not want you to
make the same mistake I made. How old are you now?"
"Thirty-two,"
Mr. Trenchard said.
"The
perfect age for marrying and setting up one's nursery," Mr. Goldfarb said.
"You should do so, Trenchard. Look at me and see what will become of you
if you don't."
Mr.
Trenchard could not stop thinking of Mr. Goldfarb's words that night. Goldfarb
had been right -- he was on the way to becoming the same lonely old man Goldfarb
was, and he had no taste for that. Besides, he needed an heir, for he wanted
another Trenchard in charge of his bank once old age had rendered him unable to
manage his business. He had never wasted a single thought on marriage so far --
probably, he thought, because he had never met a woman who had made him think
of it. On the other hand, he had never sought to meet any such woman. His work
had been his chief interest, and when his work had been done he had been happy
to retire to his home and enjoy the peace and quiet there.
His
pastimes were not of the sort to get him into company either. He was fond of
reading, and no companionship was required for that. He had friends and
business partners with whom he spent the occasional convivial evening, but he
had no taste for noisier activities such as balls or masquerades. He kept a
couple of horses, for sentimental rather than practical reasons -- he had grown
up on a country estate, and had always been fond of them. Mr. Trenchard enjoyed
a riding excursion into London's surrounding country as well as any gentleman,
but he did not find the time for such an outing very often. He did like to go
to the theatre now and then, but unlike others he could name he went there to
see the play, and not to see and be seen -- or to flirt.
Mr.
Trenchard's name was well-known and respected among the bankers and tradesmen
in the City, and he supposed that any of their sisters or daughters would
consider themselves very fortunate if he made them an offer of marriage. But
among those he knew, there was none who interested him enough to tempt him.
There
was one easy solution to that dilemma, Mr. Trenchard thought. It would cost him
fifteen thousand pounds, but that would prove to be an excellent investment
into his future. Miss Maitland was very young still, but that was not
important. The younger the better, perhaps, for he could instruct her and model
her into the kind of wife he wanted. She was intelligent, though a bit naive
due to her lack of experience with the world and its evils, but that fault
would be remedied before long. Her manners left nothing to be desired, and her
looks were tolerable, too. Most of all, no great deal of wooing was expected of
him. She had already made it clear to him that she was willing to marry him,
should he agree to help her brother out of his financial straits. Having no
time to look about him for a wife, let alone court her once he had found a candidate,
Mr. Trenchard decided that he would make Miss Maitland an offer when he saw her
the next day. If she had, in the meantime, thought the better of her idea, fair
enough, he would not repine. Still, the idea of spending the rest of his life
with her was not an entirely unpleasant one.
Mr.
Trenchard was not going to do anything behind Lord Scarsdale's back. Therefore
he informed his lordship of his intentions when he called on him the next
morning. Lord Scarsdale left him in no doubt as to his opinion of the idea.
"I
am not going to sell my sister into marriage," he said indignantly.
"I
am not asking you to," Mr. Trenchard explained. "If the match is
repugnant to your sister, she is free to tell me so."
"And
what will happen if she refuses your offer?" Lord Scarsdale asked.
"Nothing,"
Mr. Trenchard said, not pretending to have misunderstood Scarsdale's meaning.
"I hope I know better than to mix up private and business matters,
sir."
"Still
you are prepared to give me fifteen thousand pounds in return for my sister's
hand in marriage," Lord Scarsdale said.
"But
I am not going to put Miss Maitland under pressure. The decision is hers, not
mine -- or yours, for that matter."
"I
know Sarah will do anything to help me out of this scrape," Lord Scarsdale
said. "So you must be aware that even though you do not mean to put
any pressure on her, my situation will leave her no choice but to accept you,
whatever her opinion may be. And this makes me uneasy, I confess."
"Certainly
you will be able to convince your sister that she need not sacrifice herself
for your sake, sir," Mr. Trenchard said.
"I
still do not like the idea," Lord Scarsdale admitted, after a minute or
two of silent reflection.
"Would
you like it any better if I were a titled gentleman?" Mr. Trenchard asked
sharply. "If I were a baronet or a viscount like yourself, or even a duke
-- what would you say then? You'd expect your brother-in-law to assist you,
certainly, so where do those scruples of yours come from, sir?"
Lord
Scarsdale did not answer the question, but said, with a sigh, "Very well.
You may speak to my sister, sir, and I will accept her decision, whatever it
may be. But you must give me your word that you will not make the marriage
appear like some kind of ... bargain."
"I
will try not to," Mr. Trenchard promised.
Five
minutes later, he found himself alone with Miss Maitland. She was not surprised
to see him - without doubt her brother had informed her that Mr. Trenchard
wanted to call on her.
"Do
sit down, Mr. Trenchard," she said, sitting down on the sofa opposite him.
"My brother told me you had something to say to me."
"Quite
so," Trenchard said. Her gaze rested on him, and he found it a bit
disconcerting. Bashfulness was certainly not one of her faults. "I meant
to apologise for the way I behaved yesterday morning -- and the evening before.
You have seen me at my worst, Miss Maitland, for which I have been sorry ever
since."
She
smiled. It was a calm smile, and a very friendly one. Mr. Trenchard found it
greatly encouraging.
"There
is much truth in the things you said," he admitted with a shy smile.
"Is
there?" Miss Maitland asked.
"Indeed
there is," he said. "One thing struck me most -- you pointed out that
I was, in my way, just as snobbish as those people whose arrogance I have
always despised."
"I
did not mean to offend you, sir."
"I
know that, Miss Maitland. I have found out that you never meant to offend me,
and that I completely misunderstood your intentions when you called on me the
day before yesterday. I have done you an injustice -- please forgive me."
"You
are already forgiven, sir," she said with a charming smile. Why had he not
noticed the loveliness of her smiles before, he wondered. Maybe because she had
not had any reason to smile in his presence so far?
"There
is ... one more thing," he said. "I have been thinking about the offer
you made me. Mind you, I am not striving for acceptance among London's Haut
Ton, but..." His self-assurance suddenly vanished. "I'd consider myself
most fortunate if you were to become my wife, Miss Maitland," he finally
said, having mustered all his courage for these words. For a few moments, she
was silent, earnestly studying his face.
"Why
this change of heart, sir?" she finally asked. "Considering your
reaction to my offer, I must own this proposal comes as a bit of a
surprise."
"Your
visit brought one thing to my mind," Mr. Trenchard said. "That I
needed a wife -- and that you are just the kind of wife I need."
"This
sounds very much like a marriage of convenience," Miss Maitland said.
"Did
you have anything different in mind when you called on me?" Mr. Trenchard
asked. "I did not suppose you had fallen in love with me at first sight. I
may be snobbish now and then, but I am not conceited enough to believe such a
thing."
Miss
Maitland blushed -- most becomingly, Mr. Trenchard thought. "True, this is
what I had in mind," she murmured. "But when you were so indignant, I
thought you had different ideas about marriage."
"I
have never had any ideas about marriage," Mr. Trenchard said with a smile.
"Which makes it much easier for me to adjust to yours, should you accept
my offer."
"Are
you going to help my brother?" she asked, after a short pause.
"Miss
Maitland, I promised your brother not to mention anything about financial
transactions to you. He told me it should not influence your decision, and I
quite agree with him. If you'd rather not marry me, tell me so and I will never
bother you again. Your brother will not be any worse off for your refusal than
he is now. I may not be a gentleman, but my word does count for something.
-- I can assure you that I will do my best to make you happy -- or
content, at any rate -- should you consent to this marriage."
"This
means you will help him," Miss Maitland said.
"You
have given me the impression that you cannot be content, let alone happy, as
long as your brother is in trouble," Mr. Trenchard said. "Does this
answer your question?"
"I
think it does," Miss Maitland said with a radiant smile. "Very well,
sir -- I am going to marry you."
"I
am honoured," Mr. Trenchard said, taking her hand and kissing it. "I
need to talk to your brother once more to acquaint him with the outcome of our
meeting. If you should be at home tomorrow, I'd like to call on you again to
give you an engagement present."
"Is
this it?" she asked, slightly taken aback when he bowed and walked to the
door. "Aren't you going to kiss me?"
"Do
you want me to?" Mr. Trenchard asked. He had not meant to take any
liberties with her, especially considering the circumstances of their engagement.
She hardly knew him, and he had not been sure whether she'd welcome any kisses
from him. But the idea was an appealing one.
"I
think it is customary," Miss Maitland said. "Betrothed couples kiss,
don't they?"
Hesitantly,
he went back to her and took her into his arms. "If you want me to kiss
you, I shall," he said. It felt good to hold her, he thought, and the
thought of kissing her was more than pleasant. It was ... thrilling. Still, he
was unsure how to go on. He did not want to move too fast, he wanted her to get
accustomed to the thought of having him around -- and the thought of kissing
him. There was no use in disgusting her by wanting too much too soon.
"Please
do," she said, looking up at him and smiling. Her smile was irresistible,
and his qualms disappeared. He kissed her, gently at first, but when she
responded to his kiss he became bolder. It seemed to him that he had so far
underrated the effect a simple kiss could have on a man. It quite took his
breath away, and only with great reluctance he let her go.
"I'd
better be going," Mr. Trenchard said once he trusted himself to speak in
his normal voice again. It would not do to stay any longer.
"I
suppose so," she said softly. "But before you go, I'd like to know
your name."
"You
do know my name," he protested. Really, what was she thinking?
"Not
your given name," she pointed out. "I'd like to know my future
husband's Christian name, if you please."
He
laughed. "I quite forgot," he said. "Peter. Not an extraordinary
name, but then I'm not an extraordinary man either so I daresay it suits
me."
"I
do think you are extraordinary," she said quietly. "To me you
are. - My name is Sarah, by the way."
"I
know. Your brother told me. -- I will come back with your present tomorrow,
Sarah."
"Until
tomorrow then," she said, sounding somewhat disappointed. She did not
appear to be happy with the prospect. Didn't she want him to come back? Or
didn't she want him to leave? He hoped it was the latter.
"Until tomorrow." He kissed her hand and left her, feeling confused. He could not possibly be in love with Sarah Maitland -- he had met her only two days before, and knew virtually nothing about her. Still, that kiss - there had been something between them. There was a strong attraction, which was not bad, he thought. But it was not a thing one could call love just yet, he decided. He was not in love with his bride -- but that did not mean that he might not be, one day. If this happened, he did not want to be the only one in their marriage to be in love, he thought. No good could come of such a thing. Perhaps some courting would not hurt after all.
Part III
Mr.
Trenchard spent the rest of the day in his office, trying to get as much work
done as possible to be able to spend some more time with his fiancée the next
day. But somehow his thoughts always seemed to stray from the tasks at hand --
they were with Sarah most of the time, and Trenchard found himself rather
inefficient, an affliction that was new to him. Everything was fine while he
was with someone -- during meetings with his employees he was his usual curt and
businesslike self. Still, whenever he was alone, his face assumed a dreamy
expression and his mind was miles away from business matters.
There
were many things to consider. First of all, he needed to apprise his parents of
his upcoming nuptials. He wondered what they would think about the entire
affair. His father would object, Mr. Trenchard thought. Ever since his
experience with his former employer, Mr. Trenchard Senior had been extremely
distrustful towards anyone belonging to "Quality", as he termed it,
and the prospect of having a daughter-in-law who had been born an aristocrat
would not meet with his wholehearted approval. His mother would probably stand
by her son, whatever he decided to do. If anything, she would be proud that her
son had managed to marry into such exalted circles -- a certain sign that the
Trenchards were somebody, despite the scandal attached to their name in
their native county. A carefully worded letter to his parents was soon
dispatched, and Mr. Trenchard turned his attention to the next task -- finding a
present for Sarah. So far, he had only bought presents for his mother, who had
been delightfully uncritical and had never found fault with any of the gifts
she had received from him. Sarah, he felt, would be different. This was his
first chance to prove himself, and it would be a bad start if the engagement
present was not to her taste.
Luckily,
the task turned out to be not quite as difficult as Trenchard had imagined it
to be -- at the jeweller's, the proprietor of the establishment recognised him
and, upon hearing that Mr. Trenchard was looking for a present for his future
wife, took the matter into his capable hands. Fully aware that once Mr.
Trenchard was wed he might well become a valuable customer, the man spent
almost an hour showing him the most exquisite pieces in his collection. After
some deliberation, Mr. Trenchard chose a set consisting of a brooch, a necklace
and a matching bracelet, and the jeweller, though disappointed that he had not
chosen one of the most expensive sets that had been on offer, commended his
good taste.
When
Mr. Trenchard finally returned to his home that evening, he realised that there
was one more problem he had to tackle -- he had to find a house for them to live
in. His lodgings were sufficient for a single gentleman, but once he was
married they would not do. He decided to take Sarah house-hunting with him. It
was going to be her home as well as his, so she should have her say in this matter
as well. Besides, house-hunting was a good opportunity for spending some time
with Sarah and getting to know her better, even though he was aware that she
would have a chaperon with her.
When
he arrived at Lord Scarsdale's town residence the next morning, he found not
only Sarah but also the Dowager Viscountess Scarsdale and a Miss Holroyd, who
served both as Lady Scarsdale's companion and Sarah's more than inefficient
chaperon.
Lady Scarsdale's welcome was anything but warm -- but Mr. Trenchard had not
expected her to jump for joy when confronted with her daughter's intention of
marrying a Cit, and so he did not resent her coolness. She was polite and
seemed to have resigned herself to the inevitable, which was all he could
reasonably hope for. Miss Holroyd kept herself in the background during his
entire visit, but she did not seem too happy to make his acquaintance either.
Only Sarah was evidently pleased to see him, and when she saw the present he
had bought for her, her delight knew no bounds.
"No
one has ever given me anything nearly as beautiful," she exclaimed, and
excused herself for a moment to put on her new jewellery. "I cannot wait
to see how it suits me," she announced. While she was gone, Lady Scarsdale
subjected Mr. Trenchard to a great deal of questions regarding his family, his
upbringing, his schooling, his career and, as if that had not been her main
object from the beginning, his fortune.
"Are
your parents still alive, sir?" she asked.
"Yes,
ma'am, they both are. They are living in Surrey -- they own a small estate
there." He could have added that he had bought the estate for them once
he'd been able to afford it, but decided that it was none of Lady Scarsdale's
business. Besides, a landowner made a better father-in-law for a peer's daughter
than a former steward did -- in the gentry's opinion, at any rate.
"Such
a beautiful place, Surrey," Miss Holroyd said blandly.
"My
mother is very fond of it," Mr. Trenchard said, deciding to go along with
the small-talk for as long as the ladies wished to keep it up.
"Do
you have any brothers or sisters, sir?" Lady Scarsdale wanted to know.
"No,
I grew up quite on my own." He smiled, but Lady Scarsdale pretended not to
notice. Apparently she was not inclined to be on friendly terms with her future
son-in-law.
"In
Surrey?"
"No.
We used to live in the North -- near Durham -- when I was little, but my parents
moved to the South when I was nine years old." They had had to
move, he thought bitterly, but he was not going to tell Lady Scarsdale any particulars
about that.
"How
so?" Lady Scarsdale asked.
"My
father was looking for employment," Trenchard said curtly. "Besides
it was my mother's opinion that the southern schools were better than the
northern ones."
"Which
school did you attend, then?" Lady Scarsdale sounded faintly surprised --
she had evidently not expected him to have attended anything but a village
school.
"Neither
Harrow nor Eton," Mr. Trenchard said dryly. "But I can read
and write, and am rather good at calculating, which comes in handy in my
profession." Miss Holroyd giggled, but stopped immediately when she
encountered a reproachful look from Lady Scarsdale. Realising that his future
mother-in-law had been born without a sense of humour, Mr. Trenchard continued,
"It was a small school in Kent, belonging to a Mr. Jeffreys. I doubt you
have ever heard of it, ma'am, but Mr. Jeffreys was an excellent tutor."
Lady
Scarsdale continued her cross-examination without a comment regarding his
previous answer. Perhaps it had not pleased her to hear that the Cit had had a
proper education.
"Did
you attend university?" she asked.
Mr.
Trenchard laughed. "No, I did not. Once I had finished school, a friend of
my father's -- an underwriter -- took me in as a clerk, and I have worked my way
up from there."
"I
am told you are quite successful in your ... business." She spat out the
word business as if it were something indecent. He had not inherited
his fortune, but had worked for it -- no doubt an unpardonable sin in Lady
Scarsdale's eyes. In that respect, she appeared to share the common opinion of
her class.
"I
am," Mr. Trenchard said, without false modesty. He was proud of the things
he had achieved, and no one was going to spoil this for him. "I had to
work hard in order to become what I am now." Surely that gave Lady
Scarsdale something to digest, he thought grimly, hoping for her to say
something derogatory so he could give her a piece of his mind right there and
then. She did not, however. Sarah chose that moment to return to the
drawing-room, wearing her new trinkets and glowing with happiness.
"Only
look, Mama!" she said, holding out her hand to Lady Scarsdale to show her
the bracelet. "Is this not absolutely wonderful?"
Lady
Scarsdale admitted that her new jewellery suited Sarah very well, and Miss
Holroyd observed that the present was just the thing for a young lady.
Sarah turned to Mr. Trenchard.
"Thank
you so much for giving this to me," she said. "I cannot remember
getting such a wonderful present ever before. You're spoiling me, sir!"
After a moment's hesitation, she took his hands and kissed his cheek, which
made him wish her mother and Miss Holroyd were not present so he could kiss her
properly. Or perhaps he should kiss her despite their presence, to convince
them of his vulgarity? It was probably what they had expected him to do, he
thought with some amusement.
"I
am glad you like your present," he said.
"Like
it? I am delighted with it," she exclaimed. "Mama, may I wear this at
my engagement ball?"
"A
ball?" Trenchard asked, alarmed. No one had ever mentioned a ball to him.
Certainly there must be a mistake, he thought, and became uncomfortably aware
of the fact that he had never bothered with learning to dance. If there was to
be a ball in honour of his engagement, he strongly suspected that he was
supposed to dance. Was there no means of averting that disaster?
"Oh
yes, Mama said there is going to be a ball in my honour," Sarah said.
Trenchard was, for one moment, tempted to ask whether the Maitlands had enough
money to afford such an event but decided against it. One did not make friends
with such questions, he felt, and instead resolved to offer Scarsdale some
financial aid in addition to the fifteen thousand he needed for paying off his
debts. A wedding was an expensive pastime, it seemed, though in Mr. Trenchard's
opinion all it required was a bride and bridegroom, a church, and a parson. He
had been wrong, apparently.
"We
were wondering whether the ball should be held here or in your house, Mr.
Trenchard," Lady Scarsdale said cautiously.
"I
have no house in London yet," Mr. Trenchard said. "So far, I have
been staying in lodgings -- a single man who spends most of his time in his
office anyway does not need much in terms of accommodation. I am going to find
a house now, of course. In fact, I wanted to suggest that Miss Maitland should
accompany me when I go house-hunting."
"That
will be delightful!" Sarah exclaimed. "Mama, may I?"
"I
see no reason why you should not," Lady Scarsdale said. "I find it
very generous of Mr. Trenchard to consider your taste when making such a
decision."
"Do
you, Lady Scarsdale? I do not think I am generous at all. But I do think the
future Mrs. Trenchard should have a say in such matters as where our home is
going to be, since it is her business as much as it is mine. Perhaps you would
like to accompany us, madam? Your daughter might wish for your advice."
Lady
Scarsdale graciously accepted his invitation, and an appointment was made for
the next day. Since this was also the day when the announcement of his
betrothal appeared in the Gazette, Mr. Trenchard was not surprised to find Lady
Scarsdale's drawing-room crammed with visitors when he arrived in her house the
next morning. There were many curious looks directed at him, but not many
people actually bothered to talk to him. He was a Cit, after all, and though
wealthy enough to be permitted to marry a young lady of Quality whose family
was in straitened circumstances, he was not the sort of person one wanted to
mix with. It was just as Trenchard had expected, and he found it did not upset
him overly much. It did upset Sarah, though. By the time they were in Lady
Scarsdale's carriage which was to take them to the first house they wanted to
look at, she said indignantly, "I do not know what has got into some
friends of mine. They completely ignored you -- I am sorry. I cannot understand
why they were so uncivil!"
"I
am not surprised at their behaviour," Mr. Trenchard said soothingly.
"I told you how it would be -- it is just what I expected, and I am not
upset."
"But
I am," Sarah said. "I never knew I was associating with such a
pack of snobs!"
"Sarah!"
her mother protested.
"Why,
it is true Mama! They congratulated me on my engagement and yet they
failed to acknowledge my fiancé's presence! Surely they should have offered him
their felicitations as well? Or do you believe that there is no reason for them
to felicitate Mr. Trenchard?"
"I
believe there is more than enough reason for that," Trenchard said,
smiling. She blushed.
"I
was not fishing for compliments," she said quietly.
"I
did not think you were. But I beg you not to let your friends' supposed
coldness towards me upset you. We come from different spheres, and it will take
our friends some time to get used to the idea of our marriage."
"Do
you think there will be some of your friends who condemn our
marriage?"
"Condemnation
is too strong a word, perhaps," Mr. Trenchard said. "But I am sure
not all of my friends will approve of it. Most of them strongly believe we
should keep ourselves to ourselves and should not try to rise above our station
-- neither by marriage nor by any other means."
"In
other words, I might be received among your friends just as frostily as you
have been received among mine?"
"I
hope not, but I cannot deny that there may be some coldness, perhaps."
"It
is only fair there should be," Sarah said determinedly. "After the
welcome my friends and family have accorded you, I'd be rather uncomfortable if
your friends and relations received me cordially."
"Their
reasons for reserve may be different, though. Your friends probably think I am
coarse and ill-mannered, and incapable of polite conversation."
"Not
too long ago, I would have been tempted to agree with them," she said
dryly.
Trenchard
laughed. "Touché," he said. "Whereas my friends will believe you
are too sophisticated to wish to associate with them."
"Sophisticated
in the sense of haughty?"
"I
am afraid so."
"Do
you think they will come to realise their error?"
"No
doubt they will before long."
"Then
I have nothing to fear." Sarah smiled. "I am going to do my best to
become acquainted with them. I am not at all high in the instep, you must
know."
"This
is one of the many things I like about you," Mr. Trenchard admitted. Sarah
blushed. The compliment seemed to please her. Unfortunately, they arrived at
their destination at that moment and the discussion of the things Trenchard
liked about Sarah had to be postponed. Instead, they were discussing the house
and its possibilities and finally came to the conclusion that it was not what
they were looking for, though for different reasons. Mr. Trenchard thought the
house was cold and draughty and a great deal of repairs would be necessary to
make it habitable. Sarah thought the rooms were small and gloomy, while Lady Scarsdale
believed the location was not fashionable enough for her daughter.
They
fared better with the second house. Its situation left nothing to be desired,
and the rooms were light and airy enough for Sarah's taste. Besides, it had a
ballroom, which charmed both ladies though it filled Mr. Trenchard with a sense
of foreboding. A ballroom meant balls hosted at his house, after all, and he
was not sure he was going to like that. But the house was in tolerable order
and would not require many repairs and changes before one could move in. So
they decided that the house was a very likely option, but wanted to have a look
at the third possibility anyway. The third building failed to please them as
much as the other one had, though, and so Mr. Trenchard took the ladies home
and then went to see his man of business to give him instructions regarding the
purchase of the house they had liked best. As he handed Sarah out of the
carriage, she gave him a smile and said, "I have enjoyed myself very much
today. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but ... it was a very pleasant day. Do you
have any plans for the fourteenth of May already?"
"None
that I know of," Mr. Trenchard said with a smile. "Why?"
"Mama
thought it would be a good day for our engagement party," she said.
"If it is convenient for you."
Mr.
Trenchard did some quick arithmetic. He had two weeks to learn to dance. Was
that enough? He was not sure, but he would have to tackle this somehow.
"It
will be difficult, but I believe I'll manage," he said.
"Difficult?
Why will it be difficult? I thought ... I thought you said you did not have any
appointments on the fourteenth?" She gave him a puzzled look.
"I
do not have any appointments on that day. It is only..." He broke off,
unsure whether he should tell her. The very last thing he wanted was for her to
laugh at him. On the other hand, he'd better warn her that he was not a
proficient dancer -- that way she could prepare herself for the mortification of
having to stand up with him.
"It
is only what?" she asked, looking up at him, giving him an expectant
smile. "What is the problem, Peter?"
He
noted with some satisfaction that she had used his given name. "It is not
a problem really," he said and finally admitted, "It is only that I
need to learn to dance."
"You
cannot dance?" She looked surprised, but did not laugh at him, which made
him feel at ease.
"It
never seemed necessary to me, so I never learned it," he confessed.
"Oh,
but that can be remedied," she assured him. "I will teach you."
"I
was thinking of hiring a dancing master," Trenchard said. "You'll
have enough to do as it is."
"I
will not hear of it," Sarah said determinedly. "I'll teach you to
dance. It is for selfish reasons, really," she added.
"Indeed?
Why?"
"If
I am the one to teach you, you won't feel comfortable dancing with other
ladies," she said with a playful smile. "Which means you will dance
with me often."
"I
see," he laughed. "Fine, have it your way then. But I warn you, I am
afraid I am not a very talented pupil."
"I
like a challenge," she said. "When shall we start?"
"Considering
I have only two weeks to learn, the sooner the better I'd say." The
prospect of dancing lessons with Sarah was a very agreeable one, he had to
admit. More than agreeable. It gave him something to look forward to every day.
"Tomorrow then." She smiled, and gave him her hand. He kissed it, wishing he could kiss her lips instead. Hopefully Miss Holroyd would forget about her duties as a chaperon when he came to Sarah for his dancing lessons. Their betrothal kiss had left him wishing for more.
Mr. Trenchard was disappointed
when he came to Lord Scarsdale's residence the next morning. Miss Holroyd had
not forgotten her duties as a chaperon but was waiting in the music room with
Sarah. He had to muster all his self-control not to show the direction his
thoughts were taking when he greeted her. It was not Miss Holroyd's fault that
he considered her de trop.
"Are you ready for your
first dancing lesson?" Sarah asked. She looked particularly pretty that
day, he noted. It was her dress, probably, that brought out the best in her.
"I admit I am a bit
nervous," Mr. Trenchard said. "It is not often that I find myself in
the position of a pupil, and I am not sure if I am going to like it."
"You will," Sarah said
reassuringly. "I love dancing, and I am certain you will love it, too.
Jane will play for us, won't you Jane?"
She turned to Miss Holroyd, who
immediately sat down at the pianoforte without a comment. She kept her eyes on
Mr. Trenchard and Sarah, though, watching closely as Sarah introduced her
fiancé to the steps of some country dances. As long as he did not have to
follow the pace of the music, he was fine, but once Sarah pronounced him good
enough to try his hand at "real" dancing, he had trouble remembering the
correct steps and often collided with his partner. These mishaps amused rather
than bothered Sarah, but her laughs were good-natured and free of mockery. So
Trenchard assumed that she was enjoying herself in spite of his clumsiness, and
realised that she was none of those superior society belles who would ridicule
a man as soon as look at him. He felt comfortable with her, and found the
amiability in her manner and her inclination to laugh with him entrancing. It
did not look as if she disliked his company, which boded well for their
marriage. But it was early days yet, Mr. Trenchard thought. There was still a
long way to go.
After an hour of practising his
steps and dancing with Sarah, he had to take his leave. He was sorry to do so,
but there was plenty of work waiting to be done at the bank.
"I had better turn back to
the things I am good at," he said. "I am afraid I'll never be a good
dancer -- or even a tolerable one."
"I do not see why you
should not," she countered. "My impression is that you are able to
achieve anything if you think it is worth your while to make an effort."
This was a rather accurate
description of his character, Trenchard thought, and for some reason it
gratified him that she appeared to see through him. "I will do my best not
to make a complete fool of myself at the ball, I promise," he said, with a
laugh. "Thank you for taking the time to teach me and putting up with my
ineptness. No doubt you have suffered a great deal."
"Thank you for
trying to learn," she said and quickly gave him a kiss on his cheek when
Miss Holroyd was not looking. "But I am not finished yet. Shall I see you
again tomorrow? You need to learn the waltz."
"What is so special about
the waltz?" Trenchard asked, braving Miss Holroyd's disapproval, taking Sarah
into his arms and caressing her cheek. "Why is it necessary for me to
learn it?"
"You will see when I teach
you," Sarah laughed, disengaging herself from his embrace. "And I am
certain you will want to learn once you know what it is like, for you won't
relish it if I waltz with someone else. Gentlemen tend to be possessive about
their wives, I have been told."
By the end of their second
dancing lesson, Trenchard knew what Sarah had talked about, and was inclined to
agree with her -- he did certainly not want her to waltz with anyone else but
him. He refused to admit to jealousy, but the feeling he had when he thought of
Sarah in another man's arms came quite close. Still, he was in not love with
his bride, so he could not possibly be jealous. It would be unwise to fall in
love with Sarah Maitland before she loved him. He did not want to end up as a
laughing stock, a besotted husband whom his wife manipulated at every turn.
What he needed was a plan, Mr. Trenchard decided -- a strategy to make his bride
fall in love with him.
The next morning Mr. Trenchard
was in his office, humming to himself while working on his business
correspondence. He was very pleased with himself -- he had just sent a bouquet
to Sarah, and imagined her delight at receiving it. He had never met a female
who had been able to express her joy as delightfully as Sarah did, and he
regretted not to be able to be with her when she got those flowers. No doubt
she would tell him how much his gift had pleased her the next time they met,
and Trenchard derived some pleasure from envisioning the event.
One of the junior clerks came
in, interrupting his musings and announcing a gentleman. Before Trenchard could
say anything in reply to the clerk's announcement, the clerk was pushed aside
and his father came in, looking thunderous.
"You're not going to deny
me access to your office, are you?" he asked indignantly.
"Certainly not, sir. I did
not expect you, and Willis does not know you, that's all." He sent the
clerk about his business and turned to his visitor.
"Since when are you in
London, father?"
"We arrived
yesterday," his father replied. "We started the journey immediately
when we got your letter."
"Mama is here, too?"
"You don't think she would
have let me leave her behind, do you?" his father countered.
Trenchard laughed. "No, I
suppose she wouldn't," he said. "Where are you staying?"
"The Red Lion, as
always."
"You should move to
Grillon's Hotel," Trenchard said. "Mama will be much more comfortable
there."
His father snorted. "I don't
think so," he said. "She'd feel out of place among all those society
dowagers. Do you want us to move because that bride of yours is too fine a lady
to visit us in a common inn? It's a perfectly respectable place, and I prefer
it to any hotel, I can tell you, so if she doesn't want to come to see us there
she'll just have to give it a miss."
"Father, this has nothing
to do with Sarah," Mr. Trenchard said. "I really thought you'd be
more comfortable at Grillon's, but if you prefer to stay where you are, you're
welcome to do so."
"So your bride won't have
to call on us," his father said grimly.
"Father, I must ask you not
to speak ill of Sarah. You don't even know her. Give her a chance!"
"I need not see her to know
what kind of woman she is," his father said stubbornly. "And now that
you are going to have such grand relations, you seem to be ashamed of us."
"That's not true," Mr.
Trenchard exclaimed angrily. "Why should I be?"
"I don't know, but perhaps
your new family will tell you," his father said.
"My new family, as
you call them, mean nothing to me," Mr. Trenchard said. "I do not
want to lose you, father, not even for ten new families."
"Then why did you insist on
marrying a gentlewoman when you finally chose a wife? Answer me that question,
if you please."
"It was not a question of
choice, father. It just ... It just happened," Trenchard said. It would be
difficult to explain to his father just why he had picked Sarah
Maitland, of all the available females in London.
For a moment, his father was
speechless. "You do love her then?" he finally asked. His voice had
undergone a change from one moment to another. Had his tone been accusatory
before, there was now a softness to it Mr. Trenchard had not heard very often,
a softness he found encouraging.
"I do," he said,
realising that this was nothing but the truth. He was in love with
Sarah, and had probably been for some time. The realisation came as a bit of a
shock, and it took Mr. Trenchard some time to recover.
With a heavy sigh, his father
said, "I hope she deserves you."
"I hope I deserve her,"
Mr. Trenchard said simply. "Wait until you meet her -- she is wonderful. I
know you will like her."
"Is there any way for us to
see her?" his father demanded. "We're not likely to move in the same
circles as she usually does, Peter."
"There certainly is a
way," Mr. Trenchard said. "If you wish, I can arrange for us to go to
the theatre together tomorrow."
His father gave a bitter laugh.
"The steward John Trenchard in the same box with His Lordship's family!
What a sight we'll be! Do you think they'll come?"
"Don't judge them until you
have met them, father. They are people like you and me, not monsters."
Smiling faintly, his father
said, "I will try for your sake. And your mother will, too. Though I have
to say she is very happy with the idea of your marriage. In her eyes you can do
no wrong."
"Sensible woman," Mr.
Trenchard laughed.
That evening, Peter Trenchard
visited his parents at the Red Lion Inn. Like his father had said, it was a
respectable hostelry and probably more suitable for a middle-aged couple from
the country than Grillon's. The landlord and landlady were the sort of people
he knew his parents felt comfortable with, the rooms were clean and the bill of
fare was said to be good. His parents did not need to buy new clothes in order
to dine without being stared at, and if his father preferred to drink a pint of
ale with his dinner instead of wine, no one objected.
Upon his arrival, the landlady
took him to his parents' room where his mother was waiting for him.
"Peter! I am so glad to see
you!" she said, embracing him and looking up at his face. "You look
thin," she said after having surveyed him critically. "You're not
eating."
"I am eating,
Mama," Trenchard said laughingly.
"Not enough, at any rate.
About time you're getting married. Tell me about Miss Maitland! What kind of
girl is she?"
"She is simply wonderful,
Mama. You'll love her."
"Will she be able to look
after you?" Mrs. Trenchard asked doubtingly.
Trenchard laughed, thinking of
their dancing lessons. "Yes, I think she knows how to handle me," he
said.
"Good. Just the kind of
woman you need then," she said. "You are quite a handful, dear
son."
"Am I?"
"Always were, and I don't
think that has changed," Mrs. Trenchard said decidedly. "I am glad
you are getting married at last. You know I always wanted you to."
"In fact, I don't. Did you?
You never said so!"
"Of course I never said so.
I'm your mother, but you wouldn't like me to meddle in your affairs, so I kept
quiet. You're old enough to know what you want, and I did not want to push you.
I'm not that kind of mother. But I can't wait to meet the girl who
finally made you think of marriage. I owe her eternal gratitude."
His father entered the room just
as Mr. Trenchard told his mother that he had arranged a meeting for the next
day -- he had invited Sarah and her family to the theatre, and wanted his
parents to come along.
"Tomorrow!" Mrs.
Trenchard exclaimed. "That means I don't have much time to buy a decent
dress."
"You've a dozen decent
dresses, my dear," Mr. Trenchard Senior remarked. "I don't see why
you should need another one."
"Of course not." Mrs.
Trenchard sighed. "Men! Thank God I'll soon have a daughter who can
commiserate. I want to look my best for my first meeting with my future
daughter-in-law, John. Don't look so indignant, it won't hurt you either to
dress up a bit."
Mr. Trenchard heard his father
mutter some protest, but did not understand what he was saying. His mother did.
"John!" she said
sharply, raising one of her eyebrows at her husband. With a sigh, he gave in
and promised to buy a new suit for the occasion.
The impending meeting at the
theatre caused Mr. Trenchard a great deal of anxiety -- it was to be the first
meeting between his parents, Sarah and Sarah's family, and he knew very well
that the meeting could end in a disaster. He knew what his father could be like
if he found himself in company he did not want, and he also knew that Lady
Scarsdale's stiff, aloof manner might well provoke his father. He counted on
his mother's calming influence, and on Sarah's ability to make friends easily.
His mother had kept her word,
and had bought herself an evening dress that was stylish and yet becoming a
lady of her age and station. She had never been in favour of buying hideous
dresses just because they were expensive and she could afford them. His father,
too, was dressed neatly, and though his attire could not be compared to Lord
Scarsdale's (who was, as always, dressed in the first style of fashion), there
was no need to be ashamed to be seen with him.
Lord and Lady Scarsdale, Miss
Holroyd and Sarah were already in the box when the Trenchards arrived. When Mr.
Trenchard made the introductions, Lord and Lady Scarsdale were reserved but not
unfriendly, as were his parents. Miss Holroyd's greeting was lukewarm at best,
but Sarah made Mr. Trenchard's qualms disappear. She greeted his parents with a
dazzling smile, and Mr. Trenchard could see that she was taking his mother's
heart by storm, even though his father seemed a bit reluctant to like her.
With a curtsey, Sarah held out
her hand and said, "Mr. and Mrs. Trenchard, I have so been looking forward
to meeting you!"
"And I wanted to see you
ever since I had Peter's letter," Mrs. Trenchard said, taking Sarah's
hand. "She is lovely," she said, turning to her son.
"I have not promised you
too much then." Mr. Trenchard smiled at Sarah, and she blushed. His father
greeted Sarah stiffly, but his tone of voice betrayed no aversion to her, which
was a good sign. Mr. Trenchard was glad the first meeting seemed to go well.
Until the play started, they
whiled away the time with some small-talk, and Trenchard was pleased to note
that not only Sarah but also her brother and mother were doing their best to be
accommodating. Then the play began, and they all took their places and watched
the proceedings on the stage. It was a comedy, but unlike his usual practice
Trenchard did not pay much attention to the play. Sarah, who was sitting next
to him, was a much more interesting object to watch. He loved how she
concentrated on the play, how she seemed to sympathise with the characters, how
she smiled and laughed at the right places, and how she sighed almost
imperceptibly when there was a touching scene among the entertaining ones.
At one point, she realised that
his eyes were on her, and she turned to him with a smile.
"Aren't you enjoying
yourself?" she whispered.
"I'm enjoying myself very
much," he replied.
"So you like the
play?"
"I am not talking about the
play," he said, and took her hand. She did not draw it away from him, but
gave him a smile and turned back to the play. He kept holding her hand almost
until the end of the first act, and she did not make an objection.
During the intermission between
the first and second act, the door to their box opened and admitted an
unexpected visitor -- Lord Copley, the man who had been responsible for Mr.
Trenchard Senior's ruin, the man who had stolen money from his father and had
managed to lay the blame on the steward. Mr. Trenchard and his father
recognised him at once, but if Lord Copley did recognise them as well, he gave
no sign of it.
"I did not dare trust my
eyes," he said, strolling towards Lady Scarsdale. "My cousins here in
London!"
Mr. Trenchard noticed how his
father stiffened upon hearing the word cousins. This was an unpleasant
piece of news, he had to admit -- he had not known Sarah was related to Copley.
His lordship kissed Lady
Scarsdale and Sarah's hands and bowed to Lord Scarsdale, but ignored the rest
of the company assembled in the box. Sarah, perceiving that he had not
acknowledged their presence, went over to Mr. Trenchard and took his hand.
"Cousin Charles, may I
present my fiancé? Mr. Peter Trenchard."
Lord Copley favoured Trenchard
with a slight nod. "I read the announcement of course," he said.
"How do you do, Mr. Trenchard?"
"How do you do?" Mr.
Trenchard had a hard time hiding his disgust at meeting the man who had brought
so much misfortune on his family's heads.
"You are ... in trade, I
understand," Lord Copley said.
"Quite so."
"Why, you almost look like
a gentleman," Copley said with a hint of surprise. The insult was obvious.
"So do you, my lord,"
Mr. Trenchard countered.
Lord Copley laughed. "Your
name sounds familiar ... Trenchard. Have I heard it before?"
"You may have," Mr.
Trenchard said.
Lord Copley gave him a close
look, and then shook his head. "You do not look at all familiar to
me," he said, and turned to Mr. Trenchard's father. "I do believe I
have seen you somewhere, sir," he said.
"Quite possible," Mr.
Trenchard Senior said coldly.
By that time, the second act was
about to begin and Lord Copley took his leave and left the box. While everyone
settled down on their seats again, Mr. Trenchard felt his father's hand on his
shoulder.
"I need to talk to you,
son," he whispered. "Now."
Compliantly, Mr. Trenchard
followed his father to the entrance of the box.
"She is his
cousin," his father whispered. "Did you know that?"
"No, I didn't," Mr.
Trenchard replied.
"Under these circumstances,
you cannot marry her," his father said determinedly.
"Father, we are engaged and
I'm not going to go back on my word," Mr. Trenchard said.
"Ten to one she won't have
you, once her cousin has told her about us," his father said. Although he
was whispering, Trenchard could detect the fierceness in his father's voice.
"In that case, you have
nothing to fear, father," Trenchard said. "If she won't have me, I
won't be able to marry her."
But the mere thought that Sarah might cry off upset him. He could not allow this to happen.
Mr. Trenchard found himself unable to enjoy the remainder of the evening. He kept thinking about what Sarah would say if he told her about his connection with her cousin, and whether she would still want to become his wife if she knew. Still, he had to tell her -- before Copley did. Mr. Trenchard thought him still capable of making mischief, and he would try to separate Sarah and him -- Trenchard was not fooled by Copley's apparent forgetfulness. Lord Copley would not allow a relation of his to marry his former steward's son, and would try to prevent their wedding at all cost. It would be better to forestall him.
Part V
Before they parted company that
evening, Trenchard arranged for a meeting with Sarah the next morning. He was
going to ride to Hyde Park with her, and hoped to get an opportunity to talk to
her without an interested audience to watch them.
Sarah was eagerly waiting,
already dressed in her riding habit when Trenchard came to her home to pick her
up.
"I did not know you were a
horseman," she said smilingly.
"There are many things you
do not know about me," Trenchard said.
"Are all of them such
pleasant surprises as this?" Sarah wanted to know.
"I doubt it,"
Trenchard said, trying to think of a way to introduce the topic of her cousin
into their conversation. Sarah noticed Trenchard's silence as they rode to the
park and, once the opportunity presented itself, asked him whether anything was
wrong.
"Have I offended you?"
she wanted to know.
"Not at all,"
Trenchard said and, after ascertaining that the groom was far behind them and
unlikely to overhear them, continued, "I only need to tell you something
and do not know how to begin."
"I suspected there was
something not quite right ever since Cousin Charles arrived in our box
yesterday," she said. "He insulted you, I know, but please do not
heed him. We do not see much of him, thank God."
"You do not like Lord
Copley?" If Copley was not on the best terms with his cousins, there was
still a chance that he would not speak up -- though Trenchard would not place a
bet on that chance, even if he were fond of gambling.
"No, I don't. He is
shifty," Sarah said. The tone of her voice made Trenchard laugh in spite
of himself.
"You do not know him,"
Sarah said indignantly, taking offence at his laugh. "He is not to be
trusted. The less I see of him, the better - you need not fear having to see
him often when we are married."
"I do know him,
Sarah." Trenchard said. He had decided that the sooner he got this matter
behind him, the better it was.
"You...you do?" Sarah
looked at him incredulously. "Does he know you, too?"
"I suppose he does."
"Then why did he act as if
he did not?" Sarah asked indignantly.
"For reasons best known to
himself, but he must know me. My father was his father's steward,"
Trenchard said, not quite successful in keeping the bitterness out of his
voice. Sarah was quick to notice it.
"I did not know Lord
Copley's father, even though he was my mother's uncle. What kind of man was
he?"
"I do not remember him
well. I believed he was kind enough, but then he dismissed my father and that
naturally changed my opinion of him."
"Why did he do that?"
Sarah asked, startled.
"This is a long
story," Trenchard said. "It may sound unbelievable, especially to
someone related to Copley. But it is true nevertheless - I can prove it."
"Tell me then," Sarah
said, looking at him expectantly. Slowly, Trenchard began to recount his tale.
"My father was the late
Lord Copley's steward for fifteen years. Lord Copley greatly respected him, and
since he did not interest himself in the management of his estate my father was
free to act for him in every way he saw fit. Everything went well until,
suddenly, large sums of money were withdrawn from his lordship's accounts, and
it appeared that my father had done so. Lord Copley came to the estate to
demand an explanation - which my father was unable to give. He had never drawn
any money from Lord Copley's account without his lordship's express permission
and was naturally upset by his lordship's subsequent behaviour. Lord Copley
told us to leave the place immediately and not to show our faces there ever
again."
"How terrible!" Sarah
exclaimed. "How could he not believe your father? After fifteen years of
faithful service one might think he'd at least listen to what your father had
to say in his defence!"
"Lord Copley did not want
to hear anything my father had to say. His decision was made and whether it was
right or wrong did not bother him. It is my opinion that my father only served
as a scapegoat - my Lord Copley needed to cover up the truth."
"What is the
truth?"
"My father had friends in
some unexpected places. They provided him with evidence - the papers he was
supposed to have signed. The signature bore some resemblance to his, but in
comparison to his real signature one could spot the difference. The rest of the
papers was written in young Copley's hand - he had forged my father's signature
to get the money. My father wrote to Lord Copley, demanding to be able to prove
his innocence in a trial, but Copley refused, saying he did not want to ruin my
father and that it would be better to hush the matter up. There case has never
been taken to court - for obvious reasons, if you ask me. My father's
reputation was damaged beyond repair - he had to move south to get employment,
and even there he had to accept positions that were decidedly beneath him. To
my knowledge, nothing ever happened to young Copley."
"I knew he was
shifty!" Sarah cried. "What an infamous thing to do!"
"And now I am afraid Copley
will use this story to separate us," Trenchard continued. "Your
brother will not consent to our marriage once Copley has poured this tale into
his ears. I doubt he will disclose his share in my father's ruin."
"He will never be able to
separate us!" Sarah said determinedly. "You said you could prove it
was a lie!" The thought that their engagement would be at an end once Lord
Scarsdale heard his cousin's story clearly upset her, but she seemed willing to
fight.
"So I said, but I know
enough about the aristocracy to know that your brother will not want to see my
evidence if it is a matter of a gentleman's word opposed to mine." It
would be the very first time anyone did, Trenchard thought. So-called gentlemen
got away with many things because no one doubted their word.
"I will make him if he does
not," Sarah said fiercely. "I am not going to let Cousin Charles ruin
our happiness."
"Our happiness?"
Trenchard asked, smiling. Sarah believed marriage with him would make her happy
- that thought warmed his heart, and hardened his resolve to do what was within
his power to get even with Copley.
Sarah flushed, and said, "I
will marry you, Peter - if you can bear to be married to Lord Copley's
cousin."
"What he did to us has nothing
to do with you," Trenchard said. "I do not see you as his cousin - to
me you are my intended wife, and that's all that matters."
Sarah stopped her horse, and Mr.
Trenchard followed suit.
"I would not blame you if
you cried off," she said quietly. "Well, not very much," she
added, blushing.
"I have no intention of
doing so," Trenchard said. "I only wanted you to know the truth about
your cousin and me. Your brother will not hear about this unless I am forced to
tell him, but it may well be he will not see me once Lord Copley has set him
against me by telling his version of the story."
"He will heed me,
Peter. I will talk to Henry, and he'll believe me because I have never lied to
him. He is not too fond of Cousin Charles, so I daresay he'll be inclined to
listen. I will not let you down, Peter. You can count on me."
Trenchard took Sarah's hand and
kissed it. "I know, Sarah," he said, keeping her hand in his for a
moment longer than necessary. "Thank you for having faith in me."
Even though Sarah's reaction to
his disclosure had been heartening, Mr. Trenchard did not believe their problem
could be solved too easily. He neither doubted that Lord Copley would try his
utmost to prevent his cousin's marriage to his ex-steward's son, nor did he
believe Lord Scarsdale would credit his account rather than Copley's. People
who had been bred to believe in the integrity and superiority of their own
class would not overcome their prejudices easily. Even though he knew Sarah
would plead on his behalf, Trenchard was uncertain what the outcome would be.
Lord Scarsdale might assume his sister had been deceived, and might not take
her defence of Trenchard's character seriously.
Lord Scarsdale's visit that
afternoon did, therefore, not surprise Mr. Trenchard. What did surprise him was
his lordship's unwillingness to hear his explanation of his connection to Lord
Copley's family - he would have supposed he'd get the chance to do this before
being condemned. But it was obvious to Mr. Trenchard that Lord Scarsdale saw this
as a welcome opportunity to get rid of his sister's unsuitable betrothed, and
that he was determined not to let go of it.
"I must ask you to break
off the engagement," Scarsdale demanded, after having made his point clear
to him.
"There is no chance of my
doing so." Trenchard replied. "If Sarah wants to end our engagement,
she is most welcome to, but I refuse to put myself in the wrong by jilting a
respectable girl for no reason at all."
"No reason?" Lord
Scarsdale cried. "A man of your reputation, your history cannot expect a
respectable woman to marry him."
"Once again, my lord - if
Sarah wants to cancel the wedding, I won't stop her, but I won't do it. As to
my reputation - and my history - if you took the trouble to inquire into it
you'd find out it is spotless, but I daresay that does not really interest you.
The blemish on my father's character is too convenient to be disregarded."
Mr. Trenchard had been in
business for long enough to be able to conceal his emotions, but during this
interview he had to make some effort to keep up his cold, unapproachable
façade.
"If your reputation is as
spotless as you say, sir, why is your bank still called Goldfarb & Sons?
Why not Trenchard's or something like that? Are you ashamed of your
name?"
"To explain this to you
would take up too much of my valuable time," Trenchard said coldly.
"It has nothing to do with the scandal attached to my father's name.
Besides, I am certain Sarah told you..."
"She is Miss Maitland
to you, sir." Lord Scarsdale said spitefully. "And you will not see
her again."
"Is this your last
word?" Trenchard asked.
"It certainly is."
Lord Scarsdale said coldly. "My sister will not marry such a man. She may
not find anyone as wealthy as you, but I am sure she need not look far for a more
respectable man."
"Fine," Trenchard
said, seething with anger but outwardly cool. "We will meet again, surely
- either when you pay your debts or at the auction if you cannot pay
them."
If Scarsdale could be spiteful,
so could he.
"I am not looking forward
to it, either way," Lord Scarsdale said, and left without favouring Mr.
Trenchard with a greeting.
Contrary to the impression he
had given Lord Scarsdale, Trenchard was not going to give up Sarah without
fighting for her. He loved her too much to meekly accept a separation, and
flattered himself that Sarah's view of the affair coincided with his. Perhaps
she did not love him yet, but undoubtedly she was somewhat fond of him. They
had a bright future before them, if only they'd get a chance - and Trenchard
would see to it they got one.
He was in his lodgings working
on a plan to foil Copley when his valet came in and announced Miss Maitland.
Mr. Trenchard did not have to wait for long before she made her appearance -
dressed in the male attire she had worn at their first meeting. Seeing her like
this again Trenchard could not help but wonder how she could ever have been
able to fool him with her masquerade - she looked certainly feminine and,
Trenchard thought, very attractive in her get-up.
"What are you up to this
time?" he asked her and, with a wave of his hand, dismissed Crowley. The
moment his valet had left the room, Sarah threw herself into Mr. Trenchard's
arms.
"I have come to stay,"
she said.
"Sarah, you cannot be
serious," Trenchard said, letting her go and giving her a stern look.
"Do you know what you are suggesting? Do you know what will happen if you
are found here?"
"We'll be forced to
marry," Sarah said cheerfully. "Once I have spent a sufficient amount
of time here, not even my poor deluded brother will be able to stop us -- or
even want to."
So this was Sarah's plan -- she
wanted to force her brother's hand by spending the night at Trenchard's
lodgings.
Trenchard shook his head.
"No, Sarah."
"It is a perfect way of
getting what we want," she said.
"Sarah, we will get
married. There is no need to employ such drastic means as that. I cannot let
you ruin yourself. I'd be a villain if I allowed it."
"Don't you want to marry
me?" Sarah asked, clearly disappointed at his reaction to her plan.
"More than anything else,
but I won't let this happen to you. You won't live with a shadow on your
name, as my father did. I will not allow it. I'd rather give you up."
"Don't you care for me
then? Is it true that you only wanted to marry me to get even with Cousin
Charles?"
"Who said so?"
Trenchard demanded. The fury in his voice made Sarah go pale, but she answered
his question nevertheless.
"It is what Cousin Charles
said to my brother," she said. "I overheard it."
"And you believed
him?"
"I had no reason to believe
him. I think ... I think you are quite fond of me, aren't you?" She glanced
up at him.
"More than that,"
Trenchard said. "I am in love with you, Sarah, and I give you my word that
my proposal had nothing to do with your relationship to Lord Copley. I did not
even know you were related."
"You are in love
with me?" There was some wonderment in her voice, as if she did not quite
believe her luck.
"Very much, actually,"
Trenchard said, caressing her cheek. "This is why I cannot allow you to do
anything that you will regret later. Trust me to deal with Lord Copley and your
brother. There is no need for me to compromise you. We'll be respectably
married, without any scandal, I promise."
"To say the truth, I'd
prefer that, too," Sarah said quietly. "Only when my mother said I
was never to see you again I was so desperate that I thought anything would be
better than that..."
"Desperate? Why?" Mr.
Trenchard asked.
"How can you ask,
Peter? Haven't you noticed that I'm in love with you, too?"
He took her in his arms and
kissed her. "I must admit I suspected you were a bit fond of me," he
said. "But nothing more."
"How foolish of you!"
she said with a laugh. "Did you think I only wanted your money?"
"Surely when you called on
me here that was what you wanted?" he asked, with a playful grin.
"Only until I saw
you," she said, smiling back at him. "Then I thought I could be quite
happy being married to you."
"I threw you out!" Mr.
Trenchard said dryly. "Is that the way to win a woman's heart?"
"You won mine by doing
so," she laughed. "It showed me that you had principles -- I could
never love an unprincipled man. Of course it did not hurt that you were
handsome, too."
"Me? Handsome? No one ever
said I was handsome," Trenchard said. He had never thought his looks were
anything more than passable, certainly.
"Oh, but I think you
are," Sarah laughed. "Too handsome for my peace of mind. - But tell
me, what will you do to Cousin Charles?"
"I'll make him tell your
brother the truth or suffer the consequences of what he did twenty years
ago," Trenchard said grimly. "I don't think we'll cancel that wedding
yet, Sarah."
He gave her another kiss, and
then gave Crowley orders to get Miss Maitland out of the house without being
seen, and to convey her to her home. Sarah had told him she loved him -- and now
it was more imperative than ever to clear his name in her family's opinion.
Lord Copley had better take care, he thought. This time he had Peter
Trenchard to deal with.
Mr. Trenchard abhorred duplicity,
but he was not fool enough to assume Lord Copley would agree to a meeting with
him if he used fair means. He therefore employed one of his friends, a Mr.
Wallace who was one of the major shareholders of Lord Copley's bank. Mr.
Wallace informed his lordship that they needed to discuss some highly
advantageous investment, and Lord Copley was so keen to discuss anything
involving an increase of his fortune that he made an appointment for the very
next day. His surprise was as great as his indignation when he realised that he
had been tricked. Not Mr. Wallace was waiting for him, but Mr. Trenchard.
"What are you doing
here?" he demanded furiously. "Where is Wallace?"
"Mr. Wallace is
indisposed," Trenchard said. "But we shall not need him."
"Had I known you would be
here..."
"You would not have come, I
know." Trenchard smiled. "I must ask you to stay, though -- you'd
regret it if you left now. It must be rather difficult for you to face me, I
daresay, though I do not suppose the things you did to my family weigh heavily
on your conscience."
"I don't know what you are
talking about," Copley said, sitting down opposite Mr. Trenchard.
"No? Shall I refresh your
memory then?" He put one of Copley's incriminating letters on Mr.
Wallace's desk. "Care to take a look, my lord?"
Copley took the letter, read it
and grew pale. For a moment it seemed as if he was going to rip up the letter,
but when Trenchard reminded him that there were more of these papers and that
all of them were in his possession, he refrained from doing so.
"How did you get
these?" Copley asked.
"Connections,"
Trenchard said. "You know one cannot trust Cits and bankers -- they always
stick together, don't they?"
"What do you want for
them?" Copley asked.
"They are not for
sale," Trenchard said. "There are some things one cannot buy -- even I
know that." Though, he had to admit, he had only realised that fairly
recently. "Do you think I'll put incriminating evidence in your
hands? I may still need it."
"What for?" Copley
demanded.
"Considering you have
started rumours which throw a bad light on my trustworthiness, I might demand
compensation," Trenchard said coldly. "I do not know exactly how much
harm has been done yet, but it may cost you the better part of your fortune to
reimburse my losses. You see, in my position I cannot allow anyone to upset my
customers by telling them false tales. My name has its value, my lord, and you
may be called upon to pay for its restoration."
"Are you blackmailing
me?"
"Blackmail, sir? Not at
all," Trenchard said. "It was you who started the affair by telling
your cousin about my father's history -- and now it is up to you to put things
right. Tell your cousin what really happened, and no one else will hear about
this."
"Whereas if I do not?"
"If you do not, I am afraid
this case will be taken to court -- and publicly known. Do not underestimate me,
my lord -- I have nothing to lose, on the contrary."
"A gentleman would never
act in such a dishonourable way," Copley complained.
"Oh, but I am not a
gentleman, am I?" Trenchard asked, smiling derisively. "I'm only a
Cit. By this time tomorrow, I will call on Lord Scarsdale, and he will be in
the possession of the true facts. If not, my solicitor will be happy to take
over. Good bye, Lord Copley. Don't worry; you need not come to my
wedding."
Although the whole matter was
more than unsavoury, Mr. Trenchard could not deny that he had enjoyed having
Lord Copley at his mercy. For a short while he had contemplated handing the
evidence of Lord Copley's guilt over to his solicitor, and to make the matter
public, but then he had hesitated. What could he win? His parents had found a
new, comfortable home in Surrey, in a parish where they were well liked and
respected. Why pull this old, sordid history to the surface again if he did not
need to? He had a good name among his friends and business partners, and had
earned it during long years of good and reliable work. The only thing he cared
for was that Sarah's family should know the truth. If they knew, and his good
name had been re-established in their eyes, he did not care what else happened.
Copley was unlikely to spread any more tales -- he now knew Trenchard had the
means to crush him and would not hesitate to do so. Copley would keep quiet --
it was in his own interest.
Lord Copley apparently thought
it wiser not to try Mr. Trenchard's patience -- only two hours after their
meeting, Trenchard received a note from Lord Scarsdale. The note contained a
profuse apology for his injustice, and an invitation to dine with Sarah and her
family that evening. By the time the gentlemen had finished their port, they
were in perfect charity with each other and suggested to Sarah that the wedding
should not be delayed too long.
In absolute agreement with their
point of view, she suggested the wedding should take place on the fourteenth of
May. Her mother had been quick to cancel the ball in celebration of her
betrothal, Sarah said, and so the wedding would be a perfect opportunity to use
up all the foodstuffs that had been prepared for that occasion.
She turned to Mr. Trenchard.
"What do you think?"
"This sounds very prudent
to me," he said with a smile. "I had no idea you were so
thrifty."
"Surely a good trait in a
banker's wife?" she asked laughingly.
"An excellent trait in
anyone's wife," Mr. Trenchard laughed. "But I'll have you know I am
not at all closefisted."
"Aren't you sorry you need
not open the ball with me?" Sarah asked, with a grin.
"After all that practising?
It's a great pity, to be sure, but I mean to dance with you often."
Trenchard replied with a laugh. "Surely we'll get an opportunity to dance
during our honeymoon - I have heard there are plenty of balls and assemblies in
Brighton."
So it happened that, after a
sumptuous wedding breakfast, Mr. and Mrs. Peter Trenchard set out towards
Brighton on the fourteenth of May. It was a bright spring day, and the
countryside was charming, but none of them seemed to be greatly interested in
the view from their carriage windows. They spent their time talking about many
things that occupied their minds, and were not averse to interrupting their
conversation from time to time to exchange a couple of kisses.
At one moment, Mr. Trenchard was
looking at his young wife with a smile, but not saying anything. His smile made
her curious, and she demanded to know what he was thinking.
He laughed. "I was only
thinking you were right the other day," he said.
"Of course I was," she
said. "I always am."
"You do not want to know
which particular thing you were right about?" he asked, laughing at her
assumption that she was always right.
"Not if you do not want to
tell me," she said with a smile.
"You told me it would be a
capital investment if I gave your brother the money he needed and married
you," he said. "And, honestly, I cannot think of a more profitable
investment of capital than this." Mr. Trenchard pulled his wife towards
him and put his arms around her. "Can you?"
Sarah laughed and admitted that she could not.
The End
©2005 Copyright held by the
author.