CH 24 Miss Stanhope Explains
"Very well," Miss Stanhope said. "Since you insist…
"I first met Miss Damerel some six years ago, at a time when my father was not yet a wealthy man and we did not yet go by the name of Stanhope. On the occasion of my first — and only — visit to Undershaw, I was simply Janey Throckmorton, fourteen years old and the daughter of no more noteworthy a personage than a moderately prosperous London barrister. Ours was a comfortable rather than luxurious life, but we lacked for nothing, at least in material terms.
"We ought to've been happy but, from my earliest recollection, it was as though a pall hung over our house. For many years I thought it was on account of the anxiety provoked by my mother's poor health. She had periods when she was strong and vibrant and then, suddenly, she would fall ill and take to her bed for weeks. These bouts of sickness, as I thought them, would plunge the whole household into the sort of melancholy I'd come to associate with mourning, and indeed, as I was to learn from an artless chambermaid, each episode did in fact mark a sad loss as, time and again, my mother failed to carry a child to term.
"Given my tender years, my parents and the older servants had taken the greatest care to keep the real nature of my mother's troubles from me and so, as you may imagine, the truth came as a terrible shock and caused me to see my childhood in a new and disturbing light. With a child's self-absorption, I had never felt that our family was incomplete. It had never occurred to me to long for a sibling or to envy the neighborhood children who could boast of one or several. I was content, but, in the wake of that revelation, it was borne in on me most forcefully that my parents were not. They wanted other children, and, given their continued striving in the face of multiple failures, it was plain they wanted them very badly. What was I, at eleven years old, to make of that desperation other than that I was a disappointment to them, deficient in some fundamental way?
"I don't tell you all this to gain your sympathy but only to explain my state of mind at that time. As to my deficiency, it was real and before long I'd puzzled out wherein it lay: I was a daughter, which was all well and good, but what was wanted was a son, someone to carry on the family name and heritage. It was Father's dearest wish and, as Mother desired nothing more than to please him, she persevered in trying to bear him a son, until, in the end, she very nearly died in the attempt.
"I am not exaggerating for effect. With her last miscarriage, she lost such a quantity of blood, the doctor despaired of her life. She survived the ordeal somehow, but she was a very long time in recovering. There was a physical toll, of course; she was all but an invalid for many weeks after. But, perhaps more importantly, there was the emotional cost of having failed yet again and — because the doctor strongly cautioned Father against any further pregnancies — for the final time. She sank into a depression so black, it was as though she withdrew from the world. She allowed herself to be bathed and fed, but that was the extent of her response to those of us about her.
"It was a testament to Father's despair over Mother's condition that he overcame his long-standing objection to having her mother and sister to stay and wrote to Aunt Charlotte, asking her to come and see what good sisterly comfort might achieve. She was on our doorstep within days, this aunt about whom I knew very little and had never before seen in the flesh. There had been a falling-out, you see, between my father and grandmother shortly after my birth and, though letters passed between Mother and Aunt Charlotte, there had been no other contact between our families in the years since. My maternal relations were as strangers to me.
"Aunt Charlotte proved to be a good, well-meaning creature but she was far too afflicted by Mother's sorry state to be of any practical use in the sickroom. Mother did not respond as hoped to the novelty of having her sister by her, and so the doctor advised that Mother be left in peace and quiet to convalesce at her own pace and in her own good time. She was to be undisturbed and relieved of all domestic responsibility so she might focus solely on recovering her health and spirits.
"Aunt Charlotte was disappointed to have been of so little use but, in the doctor's recommendation, she perceived a second chance to be of help and seized upon it. She proposed taking me back with her to Yorkshire and having me remain at Undershaw through the summer. This, she argued, presented the advantage of providing Mother with the tranquil surroundings she required without saddling me with the sad responsibility of moving noiselessly about the house for many weeks. I would be free, instead, to enjoy a holiday in the fresh air and open spaces of the country. Father was, at first, reluctant to consent — he could not like my consorting with Grandmother Scorrier — but when my aunt pleaded her great wish to know me better and for me, in turn, to become acquainted with my uncle and cousins, he could not find it in his heart to refuse her, and so I accompanied her north.
"I was deeply torn about leaving home. On the one hand, I had this morbid fear that, in my absence, Mother's condition would continue to worsen and I should never see her alive again. I would have gladly committed to keeping silent as a ghost if it meant I might stay and have daily word of her, but Father assured me that her life was in no danger and that it was truly best for all concerned that I stay with my aunt for a time. And then, I admit, the visit was not without appeal. Except for some short trips to the seaside, I had never travelled out of London and the route north held all the fascination of new and unexplored territory. At the end, too, there was the thrill of residing at a nobleman's great estate! I was somewhat intimidated by the prospect of meeting so grand a person as a baronet — and my high-born cousins as well — but Aunt Charlotte assured me I should receive a warm welcome and be treated as one of the family.
"It was a long journey, and Aunt Charlotte sought to relieve the tedium by describing the many fine people and delightful activities awaiting me in Yorkshire. Closest to her heart, of course, were her husband and sons, and of them, she could not say enough. My uncle she portrayed as a paragon of all the manly virtues: strong and wise, commanding and brave. Roland, one year my junior, bid fair to be as tall, handsome and powerfully-built as his father, and was already a bruising rider and excellent shot. Francis, by contract, did not enjoy his brother's robust health, and was often confined to his bed by one illness or another, but he maintained a cheerful disposition throughout and was a sensitive, highly intelligent boy. Of my grandmother, she would only repeat how great her joy would be, finally, to have the chance to know me, her long-lost and long-regretted granddaughter.
"By journey's end, I was well-versed in all who resided and worked at Undershaw as well as which were the families of note in the neighborhood. These numbered three: the Dennys, the Yardleys and, needless to say, the Damerels. The Lanyons were on amicable terms with all their neighbors, but, as the Damerel property marched with theirs and there was a family connection besides, the tie with the Damerels was especially strong. After her own children, Aunt Charlotte liked nothing better than to talk about her nieces, and so I came to know them, first, as seen through her doting eyes: Helena, breathtakingly lovely and responsible; Penelope, astoundingly bright and perceptive; Cassandra, headstrong and adventurous; Iris, a natural artist and Daphne, a sunny-natured little sprite. Absorbed as she was in relating all their various charms and talents, she entirely failed to appreciate how bitter this happy family portrait was for me. Had my mother's constitution been as strong as Lady Damerel's, I, too, might have had four lively younger siblings, but instead I had none. And then, if that were not bitterness enough, I learned that, some six months previous, in a last, unlooked for pregnancy, Lady Damerel had borne her lord a son. Mother's last child, had he lived, would have been a boy, too. The contrast was so striking as to be cruel, the unfairness of it like a blow. Why should Fortune lavish such blessings on the Damerels and withhold them from my parents? Were they, somehow, less deserving? There seemed no justice in it.
"Now, you will say I had no cause to begrudge the Damerels their good luck, and, from a rational point of view, you would be right: they were favored by Fortune in a random manner while my parents were not; end of story. We are creatures of emotion, though, and there's no arguing with feelings. Having just come from a household steeped in loss, the Damerels' charmed existence could not help but rankle and I resented their happiness most acutely. I was, in this way, already somewhat set against them before I ever set foot at Undershaw.
"Aunt Charlotte had every confidence that the Misses Damerel and I would shortly become great friends and that I would be absorbed for the length of my stay into their congenial company. In this, as in so many of her rosy expectations, she was to prove overly-optimistic for no sooner did we arrive at Undershaw than we found the household in a state of turmoil. In the ten days she'd been absent, Sir Conway had managed to quarrel with Lord Damerel, and so rancorous had been the fallout, at least on Sir Conway's side, that all communication with the Priory had been broken off. Until such time as tempers cooled and a reconciliation might be effected, there was to be none of the usual calling at the Priory and neither were the Damerels to be received at Undershaw. They were all of them — sister, nieces and nephew included — to be denied.
"On first acquaintance, then, my uncle was so bad-tempered that he in no way resembled the gentleman of my aunt's description. I soon learned that her other portraits, likewise, bore only a tenuous link with reality. Roland was, indeed, large for his years and remarkably fit, but, in spirit, he was twisted and mean. His great size and strength had bred in him a sense of his natural superiority and a contempt for others physically weaker than himself. He delighted in tormenting his brother in small ways, cuffing him with a mite too much 'affection' or delivering what he styled as 'love taps' to his head. My coming afforded him the scope of a new victim to torture and he lost no time in testing how much hair-pulling, pinching and shoving I'd endure. When, once, he knocked into me on the stairs so that I nearly lost my balance, I did complain, only to be assured that Roland had meant me no harm, it was only boyish exuberance, clumsy, to be sure, but in no way malicious. I took care, after that, to give him as wide a berth as possible.
"Francis was another matter. I do not know what passes for 'cheerful' in my aunt's estimation, but a stoic little sufferer he was not. He was fretful and demanding, incessantly whining for something — an extra blanket, a hot posset, a cooling cloth for his brow. He had his mother and several servants dancing attendance on him and it shortly became apparent he meant for me to join their ranks. He seemed genuinely to believe I'd been invited to Undershaw for no other purpose than to entertain him and was forever after me to read aloud to him or play spillikins or draughts for hours. He would have monopolized every hour of my day had my grandmother not been intent on the same.
"I had no experience of grandparents, my father's parents having died when I was quite young and Grandfather Scorrier before my birth. I was, consequently, curious about my grandmother, and, in this at least Aunt Charlotte spoke true, she was avid to know me as well. She was, in her way, as jealous of my company as Francis was, and found ways to keep me by her side for much of every day. I did not mind this at first as she seemed sincerely interested in filling in the blanks of my younger years and, homesick as I was, it was a balm to speak of my family. I thought my recollections of growing up in comfort and security, proud daughter of a well-respected man and estimable mother, would bring her pleasure and ease whatever anxieties which, living at a distance, she might have suffered about our welfare but, strangely, she showed no signs of satisfaction or relief and even, on occasion, eyed me with a narrow look as if she suspected me of being less than truthful.
"When, finally, I'd exhausted my fund of anecdotes to share, I thought I might at last be free to pursue some of the activities my aunt had promised I'd enjoy, but my grandmother had other plans for me, plans that did not included my learning to ride, or taking lessons on the piano, or patronizing the shops and emporia of Thirsk. She could not spare me, she claimed, and, while my aunt protested, she could not stand against her mother and always gave way. And so, I found myself, day after day, sitting by my grandmother, threading needles for her, or untangling the snarl of her embroidery silks, while she treated me to a bitter recitation of the indignities and dissatisfactions that were her lot in life.
"She was, I discovered, in the unenviable position of having not a single friend, not one soul, either in the house or out of it, to lend her a sympathetic ear and unfailing take her part. She was lonely, and frustrated, too, because she felt she had so much to offer, but her well-intentioned advice went unheeded and dismissed. She complained a good deal of Sir Conway, whose stubborn refusal to follow her sound recommendations as to the running of the estate had resulted in a steady decline in prosperity and a corresponding drop in revenue. Their income was no longer adequate to the needs of a prominent family, and they found themselves having to practice strict economies: making do with the previous year's fashions, putting off the acquisition of a new carriage, and, as for her plans for redecorating the main drawing room, they were not even to be thought of! The restrictions were intolerable.
"In one regard, she did applaud Sir Conway, and that was in his — finally! — confronting Lord Damerel about the share of his mother's estate which, if not his by legal right, was owed him as a matter of precedent and fairness. The estate ought to have been shared out equally among the three Lanyon siblings and doubtless would have been had Venetia Lanyon, as she was then, not shamelessly curried favor with her mother so as to cut her brothers out. For all her considerable animosity toward Sir Conway, Grandmother reserved her greatest animus for his sister who, she was convinced, had so poisoned their neighbors' minds against her that she was everywhere received without warmth or true cordiality. Miss Lanyon had, from the outset and quite without justification, taken her in extreme dislike and all because she had, very properly, insisted on its being Charlotte's right and duty as the new Lady Lanyon to assume control of Undershaw immediately upon arrival. Miss Lanyon had been loathe to surrender the reins she'd held for so long and had deeply resented Grandmother's insistence on her relinquishing them. For this entirely defensible act on her child's behalf, she had earned Miss Lanyon's lasting enmity, and had been made to suffer for it in small ways and large ever since.
"What rankled her most was that, despite Lady Damerel's many transgressions against convention and propriety — transgressions that ought to have rendered her an outcast — she enjoyed, instead, the highest social standing in the neighborhood and was universally liked and respected. As a young, unmarried woman, Miss Lanyon had flaunted her lack of delicacy by openly consorting with her mother, an adulteress of such low moral character and immodesty as to be practically a harlot, and then she'd further disgraced herself by allying herself with a notorious bounder and degenerate. Such conduct should have seen her shunned by all right-minded people, and yet she'd profited by it, accruing ever increasing riches and prominence while those who, like Grandmother, comported themselves with dignity and integrity saw their own standing and fortunes diminish. The injustice of it all so galled her that she was forever dwelling on Lord Damerel's sordid past, or on Lady Steeple's checkered history, or on Lady Damerel's self-interested hospitality to her rich, old libertine of a stepfather.
"If Aunt Charlotte were present for these rants, she would object rather strongly to these characterizations of her in-laws, but Grandmother only replied that, sweet and guileless as she was, Charlotte only ever saw the best in people and was blind to their true ugliness and flaws. I'd had plenty of evidence, myself, as to my aunt's delusional tendencies, and so was rather inclined to credit my grandmother's assessment of the Damerels over hers. I also had some bitter experience with the fickleness of Fortune and sympathized with her rancor at the Damerels' being favored without meriting it in the least.
"Forbidden as we were to call at the Priory, I had no occasion to judge the Damerels for myself but as we made the social rounds, I could see the truth of my grandmother's being received with a cool reserve that, while never less than polite, lacked any real friendliness. The only house in which she was truly welcomed was the Yardleys' and then only when the elder Mrs. Yardley was at home alone. On those occasions, the two old ladies would engage in the mutually satisfying practice of venting their spleen against the Damerels and tearing Lady Damerel's character, in particular, to shreds.
"I had been nearly a month at Undershaw when the frosty relations between the Lanyons and Damerels at last began to thaw. An olive branch in the form of an invitation to a birthday party was extended by the Priory and, over Grandmother's strenuous opposition, Aunt Charlotte declared her firm intention to attend. I had been included in the invitation, and, as the celebration had come over the last few summers to be something of a gala event, Aunt Charlotte was keen to insure I was suitably turned out. Now, I had come away from home on short notice and without the summer wardrobe I should have had had my mother been well enough to see to my needs. The dresses I had were all too short and tight, but my aunt was rather more thrilled at this than daunted. She assured Father she would supply me with a complete wardrobe — she could think of nothing more enjoyable that pouring over patterns with me, deliberating over fabrics and trimmings, and selecting bonnets and gloves to match! Father wanted to cover the cost, but my aunt would not hear of it. It was to be a gift, she insisted, one to make up for all the birthdays and Christmases she'd been forced to miss over the years.
"The difficulty, of course, was that Aunt Charlotte hadn't taken the estate's shaky finances into account, and Uncle Conway, upon learning that he was not only to house and feed me for several months but to outfit me as well, was, let us say, not best pleased. He resigned himself to the necessity, though, and found the funds somewhere. It was not a liberal sum, however, and we were obliged to budget carefully so as to make it stretch as far as possible. There was a hitch, as well, when the local seamstress refused to undertake any further commissions from my aunt until her and grandmother's outstanding bills had been settled. This is all to say that, at my first meeting with the Misses Damerel, I was still awaiting delivery of my new clothes and was wearing one of my old, ill-fitting dresses.
"That morning, my grandmother and Francis' being otherwise occupied, my aunt urged me to take advantage of the fine weather to stroll about the grounds and to take with me, as a favor to herself, her pet terrier, Rusty. I was happy to do so, for, despite being spoiled and grossly overweight, Rusty was a funny little thing and agreeable company. I gave no thought to my appearance, as I had no intention of leaving the property and no expectation of meeting anyone. We had the gardens and shrubberies to ourselves and, while I'd have liked a brisk walk, I kept a slow, even pace so that Rusty could waddle beside me and not run completely out of breath. We'd covered a good deal of ground and were in sight of the small wood that marks the boundary of the estate when I decided to turn back. Just then, though, Rusty stiffened beside me, hair rising all along his spine, and, to my very great astonishment, he raced off at a speed I could hardly credit toward the wood. Gazing after him, I caught a bounding motion and a russet flash and realized he must have seen or scented a fox and was giving chase.
"I could scarcely return to the house without him, and so I ran after him, calling for him to stop and come; to no avail. He vanished without a trace into the undergrowth of the little wood, and I had no choice but to venture among the trees, repeatedly calling and trying to spot him. There was a well-worn path that wended through the wood and I followed it a ways, moving ever further from the wood's edge and growing increasingly afraid of losing my bearings. Finally, I decided to try holding my position and letting Rusty come to me, and it was then, as I looked about me for a rock or fallen log that I might rest upon, that I happened to see a few starry white flowers peaking out from under a pine branch.
"I moved closer to investigate and discovered a drift of low-growing plants not only heavy with bloom but with dangling clusters of red berries as well. These had the shape and color of strawberries, but were a great deal smaller than those I was familiar with, the largest being no bigger than my thumbnail. At the risk of making myself ill, I decided to try a few, and — oh! — for all they were tiny, they were the sweetest, most flavorful berries I had ever tasted! I plucked and popped berry after berry into my mouth, reveling in each exquisite burst of sweetness and celebrating my good luck in stumbling upon them.
"So intent was I in searching out the berries, I did not hear the patter of footfalls on the path and it was only when I caught a sharp intake of breath that I looked up to see a little blond-haired girl staring at me with mouth agape and eyes round with dismay. I had just a moment to take her in the quality of her clothes and the small, metal bucket dangling from one hand when, eyes flitting from the berries cupped in my palm to the red stains upon my lips, she burst out in a wail. There was a rush of footfalls then, and two older girls came hurrying into view, the elder stooping to clasp the little girl about the shoulders and crying, "Daffy, darling, what is it? Are you hurt?" For all answer, Daffy, still sobbing, pointed an accusing finger in my direction.
"I surmised, then, that I had three of the five Damerel daughters before me, and deduced from what I guessed to be their ages that they were Helena, Penelope and Daphne. Helena straightened and gathered Daphne protectively to her side, but, to my surprise, it was not she but Penelope who spoke first. 'Who are you?' she said, in a hard voice, and then, without waiting for an answer, 'You ought not to be here. You are trespassing on private land.'
"I knew this to be true, and, flustered, I explained in garbled fashion about chasing after a runaway dog, but Penelope only cocked a skeptical brow and asked, 'And you broke off your search to feast on our strawberries?'
"I stammered something about not meaning any harm, which Helena cut short with, 'This so-called dog of yours, does he have a name? Call him and let us see if he comes.'
"I did as she asked and saw at once that they recognized the name. 'Lady Lanyon's dog?' Helena asked, and at my eager 'yes,' they all appeared to relax. Helena looked me up and down, gave a nod of understanding and said, 'You'll be from Undershaw, then.' I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking she'd divined my identity, but she continued, 'The new girl they've taken into service. What are you called?'
"I was so taken aback, I goggled at her, and, by the time I choked out 'Jane,' she didn't wait to hear more. 'Very well, then, Jane,' she said. 'We'll help you flush old Rusty out, and you can be on about your duties.'
"The three of them all began calling, and, within seconds, there was a rustling in the undergrowth and that perfidious dog came scampering out, making straight for the sisters. They made a great fuss over him, petting and praising him as 'a good boy' while Rusty, beside himself with excitement, twisted and turned in a frenzied attempt to lick each of them in turn. At last, the love fest over, Helena scooped the dog up and, beckoning me closer, held him out for me to take. She advised me to keep hold of him 'til I was out of the wood and not to stray from the path which, if followed to its end, would lead me back to Undershaw. She stood back from the path, then, in the clear expectation that I should be off, and I, too confounded in that moment to correct their mistake, hastened past her and her sisters and, propelled by humiliation, did not slacken my pace until I was well clear of the trees.
"On my return, my aunt exclaimed to see me red-faced and disheveled, but I put it down only to having had to chase after Rusty and made no mention, then or after, of my run-in with her nieces. My embarrassment was too great. I had been taken for a servant and, what was worse, had lacked the self-possession to defend myself. I stewed over the encounter for days, thinking, as you do when you've been mortified, of all I might have said to disabuse them of their error and so retain my dignity; too late, of course. There was the birthday fête upcoming, though — a chance, as I saw it, to rub their mistake in the sisters' faces — and so I was no less determined than my aunt to be beautifully and, above all, richly turned out for the occasion. Lack of funds proved, once again, to present a challenge, but Father had provided me with some pin money and I parted with it willingly to make up any shortfall.
"The day of the party came, and, clothed in my new finery, I was very pleased with my appearance. The dress was cut with an older girl in mind, and, as the fit was impeccable, I looked less like an overgrown child and more like a young lady. The transformation was so striking that even Uncle Conway noticed and remarked favorably upon it while Aunt Charlotte, her eyes awash with happy tears, pronounced me 'a vision of loveliness.' On the carriage drive to the Priory, I savored in advance the looks of surprise and consternation I should see on the sisters' faces when they realized the person they'd mistaken for a servant was, in fact, none other than their aunt's cherished niece and a guest at Undershaw.
"I had reckoned, however, without the true nature of the party. I had pictured it in my mind as a family gathering with, at most, the Dennys and Yardleys also in attendance but I could not have been further off the mark. When we were shown through the house and out onto the grounds, it was as if we'd stepped into a village fair. It was a chaos of color, noise and movement, with what seemed like a horde of children running from one boldly-stripped tent to another, helping themselves to cakes and sweets or trying their hand at some game. Performers circulated among them, too: clowns, jugglers, and a strolling musician who was a band unto himself. A large pavilion had been erected to accommodate the children's parents and older guests and it was from there that Lady Damerel emerged to receive us, her infant son tucked up against her shoulder.
"She welcomed Aunt Charlotte with what looked like true sisterly affection and me, when I was introduced, with warm, kindly interest. She inquired politely after my family, and as to how I was enjoying my visit, and what I had seen of Yorkshire, but as the baby grew increasingly fretful, she could only half-attend my answers. When, finally, he began to bawl in good earnest, she was obliged to excuse herself, but she had no sooner departed than the eldest Damerel girls rushed up to greet their aunt.
"I stood through their fond and animated reunion, relishing the moment I should be presented and see the smiles fade from their faces. The moment came. I lifted my chin, met their gazes defiantly, and — nothing! Not the least sign of recognition. They regarded me with open, eager curiosity, their manner all that was welcoming and affable. Helena said how glad they were to meet me at last, and even complimented me on the beauty of my dress while I, off-balance a second time, struggled for a response. They thought me tongue-tied with shyness, no doubt, and, with my aunt's blessing, carried me off between them to show me the various entertainments on offer.
"I followed their lead mutely, too rattled by my plan's falling flat to respond to their friendliness. Helena easily assumed the role of hostess, keeping up a lively stream of chat to cover over my silence as we moved among the tents and stalls. Our progress was not smooth, however, for we were interrupted every few steps, it seemed, by a child rushing up to show Helena a prize he'd won, or bringing her a favored sweet, or simply slipping a hand into hers so as to walk beside her a while. Children called out to her as we passed, exhorting her to watch them at their games or come join in their fun. There was a constant jockeying for her attention, and, much to my chagrin, there was no one more puppy-like in his devotion than Francis. Francis, whose tiresome claims on my time and attention I'd indulged for weeks, in Helena's presence took no more notice of me than if I'd been invisible! Helena attracted all the regards, and she, in turn, rewarded every bid for her attention, no matter how small, dispensing a word of praise here, a gracious thanks there, applauding in admiration or calling out an encouragement. Really, what with her embracing every distraction, it's no wonder she remembers me not at all. She was aware of me only in the most cursory way.
"Eventually, we came upon a Punch and Judy show, and when, after stopping a few moments to watch, the sisters began to move on, I feigned a great interest in staying for the rest and they, pleased to think I'd found something to engage me, left me to enjoy it. I made some pretense of watching the performance but, really, I cast glances all about me, taking in the excitement in the air, the hubbub of laughing children, the profusion of tents and booths with their games and prizes, the refreshment tables groaning with all sorts of dainties and sweets… It was an extravagant affair, one on so lavish a scale as to be eye-popping. No expense had been spared, nothing stinted to provide the guests — who, mind you, numbered among them humble village and tenant families — a day of unparalleled pleasure. The effects of this largess were easy enough to discern in the respect, admiration and even a certain reverence accorded to the Damerels, parents and children alike. They were, indisputably, held in very high esteem, the neighborhood's most prominent and prestigious family.
"I might have esteemed them, too, had their immoderate spending not contrasted so starkly with my aunt and uncle Lanyon's straightened circumstances. The prodigality of the event, when Lady Damerel's own brother and sister-in-law were having to tighten their belts, struck me as nearly indecent. How was it right that, for one sibling, money should be no object while, for the other, it was a struggle to make ends meet? Where was the justice in that, the generosity? What need was there to throw so luxurious a party when they might have spared some of those funds to ease the Lanyons' troubles? For her part, Aunt Charlotte gave no sign of being stung by the Damerels' extravagance, but I found their behavior, at best, shockingly insensitive and, at worst, uncaring and callous.
"On our leave-taking, I was pressed to come again and soon, but I never returned to the Priory. Father wrote to say Mother was well on the road to recovery and had been asking for me. I was nothing loath to cut my visit short; apart from Aunt Charlotte, I'd found my relations uncongenial and my so-called holiday cheerless and dull. I returned to London gladly, and it was not many months after that Father came all unexpectedly into a great fortune and our lives were forever transformed. We changed our name to Stanhope as required by the behest, Father quit the law so as to manage and grow his new wealth and Mother and I learned how to move in the higher reaches of society newly open to us.
"We were far too occupied in the early years trying to find our feet to have much interaction with the Lanyons. We traveled a great deal for one thing and resided for a time in Switzerland so that I might attend an elite finishing school. Nonetheless, Father was not insensible to Sir Conway's financial woes and, in recognition that it was his duty no less than Sir Conway's to provide for Grandma Scorrier, he supplied him every year — and still does today — with a very generous sum toward her maintenance. If Sir Conway's no longer punting on the River Tick, it's largely thanks to Father.
"Those dreary weeks at Undershaw eventually faded from my mind, the memories seeming, indeed, to belong not to me, Beryl Stanhope, but to the Janey Throckmorton I'd once been and was no longer. I had no occasion to think of the Damerels. Aunt Charlotte wrote to Mother off and on, and, while I might have read her letters, they held little of interest for me and I declined the privilege. As for the Damerels, if they were in Town last Season, I neither saw nor heard talk of them. It was only this past April, with Helena making her debut, that the memories came flooding back to me, as how could they not when the present so nearly repeated the past?
"All the Damerels' many blessings were again before my eyes: their flourishing family, all half-dozen children handsome and strong; their enormous wealth; the respect and approbation they enjoyed in society. And Helena! She makes her curtsey at court, and, just like at that long-ago fête, everyone falls under her spell, including the Queen! She's declared the Season's Incomparable, the eligible men all flock to her while the rest of us are cast in her shade, invisible. Her charmed life continues apace: the matrimonial prize of the year is conceded to her. Her destiny is to be raised, in time, to the rank of duchess, and her wealth and status, as well as her family's, are to rise to ever greater heights.
"That outcome was simply not to be borne. Why, I ask you, should Helena Damerel be spared the adversity, sorrows and disappointments the rest of us have had to endure? Why should she be Fortune's darling, her path smoothed every step of the way? No, there needed to be a righting of the scales, a stumbling block set in her way, and, as I had the means to thrust a spoke in her wheel, I did not hesitate to use them.
"I did not know what success my scheme might have, and, frankly, I'm astonished and not a little gratified at how well it worked. I think it's fair to assume from how readily people turned their backs that I was not alone in wishing to see her humbled. I thought it just possible I might witness her complete social ruin tonight but, alas, you've deprived me of that pleasure. No matter; if, as his absence portends, Hartshorne is withdrawing his support and will not, after all, be coming up to scratch, that is triumph enough for me, even if it happens he doesn't offer for me, either. As long as she's rejected, I'm content.
"There, now, you've had my tale, and, if it was long in the telling, you cannot say you had no warning. I see you're eager to object, to decry my motives as inadequate, but - did you not notice? - the last dance finished some little while ago, and the next is about to start. You will not wish to keep Miss Damerel waiting, and, for my part, I find I am so parched from talking, I must procure myself some punch at once." So saying, Miss Stanhope rose in a fluid, graceful motion. "Good evening to you, Lord Percy, and thank you for your charming company. It's been, as ever, a pleasure." And, with that, she walked away.