14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

“ I t’s all for show. She doesn’t care about the children. She doesn’t care about anyone but herself,” Isobel said, raising her eyebrows, as Ernest looked up from the letter he was holding.

It was from Caroline, informing Ernest she would be calling on him at Leamington Grange later that morning to discuss a proposition. There had been no invitation on Ernest’s part. Caroline had decreed her visit, and that was that. It was how she always behaved, and Ernest had grown used to it.

“I don’t know. I suppose she’s got something to say,” Ernest said, folding up the letter and tossing it to one side.

He had risen early that morning, intending to see to his correspondence before breakfast. Plans for the opening of the school were gathering apace, but it now seemed there was a far greater need in the locality than just the provision for blind children. The sight of the queues at the soup kitchen had stirred Ernest’s heart, and under Alicia’s influence, he had come to see the necessity of a far more reaching charitable endeavor. The school would be just one part of what he intended to do, and Ernest was keen to have Alicia’s help, for she seemed possessed of a natural ability to get things done, and there was no doubting the high esteem in which she was held.

“She’s always got something to say, Ernest. You saw the way she behaved the other day. She wanted everyone to think it was she, and she alone, who was responsible for feeding the poor. She’s probably coming here to tell you about another of Alicia’s ideas she’s stolen,” his sister said, tutting and shaking her head.

They were sitting at the breakfast table, and Ernest had just finished dissecting a plate of kippers. He pushed his plate aside and sighed, knowing Isobel favored his ridding himself of Caroline, even as he knew he could not do so. The project – all the projects – depended on her goodwill, and that of her father. She held the whole thing in her power, and she made that power abundantly clear…

“Well…we’ll see what she has to say for herself this morning,” Ernest replied, rising from the table, and nodding to his sister as he left the dining room.

Busying himself in his study for the early part of the morning, Ernest was absorbed in his correspondence when Caroline’s arrival was announced. She swept into his study, wearing a yellow dress and matching shawl, greeting him in delighted tones, and exclaiming as to how busy she had been in the days following the success of the soup kitchen.

“It’s been quite astonishing – I’ve received so many letters. There’re just so many people we need to help, Ernest,” she exclaimed, placing her hand theatrically on her forehead.

It seemed she had chosen to forget the cross words they had exchanged in the company of the mayor, preferring, instead, to continue to take the credit for Alicia’s success – despite the opposite being obvious.

“Yes…one thing at a time, Caroline,” Ernest said, and Caroline looked at him and tutted.

“Now isn’t the time for complacency, Ernest. You saw the queues of people waiting for their soup. But we’ve had another idea – clothing. We need to clothe the children. Every fashionable woman in the county has an old dress she doesn’t want – or a dozen. If we collect them all together, we can unstitch them, and use the material to make dresses for the less fortunate children, either at the school, or in the locale,” she said.

Ernest had just opened a letter from Alicia detailing such a plan and offering to explain the rudiments of it to him when they next met. It seemed Caroline had stolen another of Alicia’s ideas and made it her own, even as she continued to extol the virtues of what such a scheme could mean to those in need. She was brazen in her appropriations, even as Ernest knew he could not contradict her for fear of causing offense.

“Yes…it’s an excellent idea,” Ernest replied, for there was no doubting it was, even as it had not been Caroline’s own…

“I thought so, too. And so simple. I’m always receiving letters from those in need of a new dress or Sunday best. This way, we can help so many others,” she said, turning to Ernest with a faux look of charitable hope on her face.

She was standing in the window, and the position of her head against the morning sun gave her the look of a haloed saint from a renaissance painting. It was no doubt the intention, even as she could not see it for herself, and Ernest could not help but smile, thinking of the scripture regarding charity and the right and left hand. Unlike Alicia, Caroline did nothing she would not be recognized for and applauded.

“And Alicia intends to help with this?” he asked, and Caroline nodded.

“Oh…yes, she will do, I’m sure,” she said, as Ernest glanced at the folded letter from Alicia on his desk.

“Then I’m pleased to hear it. I’m sure it’ll be an admirable addition to your ambitions for the soup kitchen,” Ernest replied.

Caroline looked at him and smiled.

“I’ve got some further news, too. My father has a friend – an investor of sorts. He’s made a lot of money in…plantations. He’s willing to contribute a substantial amount to the school,” she said.

Ernest’s eyes grew wide with horror. An investment in a plantation meant only one thing. It sickened him to his very core.

“No…Caroline, not slavery. I won’t hear of it,” he exclaimed, but Caroline waved her hand dismissively.

“You need the money for the school, Ernest. How does it matter how it’s procured? Besides, it’s not like we’ll use them to build it, is it? It’s the sugar that makes the money when it’s brought back to Bristol. I’m sure your conscience won’t allow you to see the children suffer. Not when the money’s there. Come along, we can talk about it on our walk,” she said.

Ernest shook his head. He hated the idea of slavery. It was a wicked practice – deplorable in the eyes of any God-fearing man, and yet here was Caroline speaking of it as though it were a means to an end.

“I can’t take that money, Caroline. I won’t. Your father’s been unfailingly kind, but…it’s not right. Really, it isn’t,” he said, and Caroline rolled her eyes.

“What matters more, Ernest? A distant plantation or the plight of children outside your own window? How do you know how they treat the slaves they use? I’m sure they’re well looked after. But if you insist, I’ll refuse the money. My father won’t be pleased, but…” she said, her words trailing off, as Ernest sighed.

“I’ve got a lot to do, Caroline,” he said, horrified at the thought of what they were discussing.

“You’re not too busy for a walk. It’s a beautiful day, come along,” she said, and Ernest had no choice but to agree.

He resented the power she held over him. The threat of her father’s anger, the possibility of his withdrawing his investment. It was all designed to entrap him, and Ernest feared it would not be long before the question of marriage was posed. The mention of an investment from a plantation owner had been a test – Ernest felt certain of it. Caroline would report back to her father, and he would make a judgment as to how far he could pursue further questionable investments in relation to the schools. There was calculation in her every move, and as they walked together through the parkland, Ernest knew the viscount’s daughter had a plan in mind…

“The clothes you intend to make…how will they be distributed?” Ernest asked, having changed the subject from the plantations.

“We’ll do what we did at the soup kitchen. It’ll be simple enough. Those in need can line up after they’ve eaten. We’ll measure them and have piles of different sizes sorted in readiness to distribute. It’ll all be very easy, I’m sure. But think of the children who’ll benefit…” Caroline said, once again adopting a faux look of concern and sympathy.

She was an excellent actor – not only capable of sorrow, but joy, too. Caroline wore many masks, and it was rare for any of them to slip…

“And you’ll be sure to involve Alicia, won’t you?” Ernest asked.

Caroline paused, turning to Ernest, and shaking her head.

“Really, Ernest, you seem to think Alicia and I don’t get on. We’re the closest of friends, we really are. Now. You mustn’t worry. I’ll do all I can to involve Alicia. But if she doesn’t want to be involved, I can’t force her,” she replied, taking Ernest’s arm, as the two of them continued their walk through the parkland.

They were walking by the river, taking the path leading towards the center of Lancaster. It was a pleasant route, passing a stretch of weeping willows, whose boughs trailed in the gently meandering waters, and where others, too, were promenading on that bright, sunny morning.

“Good day to you, my Lord, good day too, Lady Caroline,” one woman said, passing the couple with her husband, who tipped his hat and nodded.

“Good day, Lady Lucas, good day Sir Alan” Caroline replied, still with her arm through Ernest’s, as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

Ernest felt uncomfortable. He knew what she was doing. This was yet another attempt to appear as a courting couple – and for others to take them as such. Sir Alan Bradbury was an industrialist, the owner of a factory in Blackburn, and his wife had made considerable inroads in society since her husband’s knighthood had elevated them to more prestigious circles. She would not be able to resist commenting on the fact of having seen Ernest and Caroline together, and Ernest knew this was just the reason Caroline had made it so.

“Perhaps we’ll turn back,” Ernest said, as they came in sight of the first houses on the outskirts of the town.

“A little further, I think. It’s such a pleasant day. Lots of people are out. Oh, look – there’s Florence,” Caroline exclaimed, calling out to her friend, Florence Digby, who was sitting with her mother and younger sisters on the banks of the river.

As they approached, the two women rose to their feet, curtseying to Ernest, who nodded.

“My Lord, we were most honored to be invited to Leamington Grange for the delightful garden party,” Florence’s mother said.

She was a pleasant woman, and her husband had given generously to the cause of the school. Ernest thanked her in return.

“It was my pleasure. I’m glad you enjoyed the occasion. We raised a good deal of money,” he said.

“It’s so nice to see the two of you together. Florence was just telling me about your plans,” Florence’s mother said.

Ernest raised his eyebrows.

“Plan, Mrs. Digby?” he asked, for he was not aware of any plans made between him and Caroline, except perhaps those she herself had invented.

“Well…one shouldn’t call such things a plan…it’s a delight to see the two of you together,” she said, and Florence nodded.

“And doesn’t your dress look pretty, Caroline? The modiste was right – yellow suits you perfectly. You’re a blossoming bloom,” she exclaimed, and Caroline laughed.

“You’re too kind, Florence. I feel like a blossoming bloom,” she said, glancing up at Ernest, who could do little else but forced a smile to his face, even as inwardly he was groaning.

He knew what Caroline was doing. It was all part of her plan. She was entrapping him – forcing the fact of a courtship on him, by telling others of their “plans.” The whole ton would soon know the son of the Duke of Crawshaw was courting the daughter of the Viscount Pickering. There would be no formal declaration, just the impression of what Caroline wished to convey… Ernest would have no choice in the matter for to resist – or deny – would be to ensure the swift withdrawal of the viscount’s financial backing, and the end of Ernest’s ambitions for the school.

“Perhaps we should walk back now. We’ve got a lot to see to,” Ernest said, and Caroline nodded.

“Yes, it’s going to be a busy few days ahead. I’m sure I can rely on you to help, Florence,” she said, turning to her friend, who nodded.

“Yes, certainly – I was very taken with the idea of donating some of my dresses. We both were, weren’t we, Mother?” Florence said, and she and Mrs. Digby nodded.

“Oh, yes, very much so. We’re always keen to help a good cause, aren’t we, Florence?” she replied.

Ernest thanked them, and Caroline promised to call on Florence the following day and take tea. She insisted on their taking a final promenade across to the point where the meadows gave way to a cobbled path winding its way into the town, and where several couples were sitting on the grass. They, too, were given the same impression as Florence and her mother, and Ernest now knew why Caroline had been so insistent on their taking a walk together.

“It’s been a delightful morning, hasn’t it, Ernest?” she said, as they made their way back to Leamington Grange.

“Yes, I’m sure it has,” Ernest said.

He feared it would not be long before Alicia heard of his outing with Caroline – and of the apparent “plans” they had made. He feared it would upset her, even as he reminded himself to be so arrogant as to assume it would. Alicia’s feelings for him remained a mystery. His own for her, too, were confused, and he wondered as to whether she was jealous of Caroline, or angry, perhaps as to the way she was being so clearly cold-shouldered.

“Why don’t you just tell her no,” Isobel said, after Ernest had recounted the events of the morning and his walk with Caroline along the riverbank.

“Because…I…I don’t know,” Ernest admitted, and in that moment, he felt weak – trapped by his past, and unable to escape the inevitability of the future Caroline was rapidly taking control of.

“I warned you, Ernest…she’s relentless. You’re at her mercy, and then there’s Alicia, too,” Isobel said, shaking her head.

But Ernest felt powerless to resist, even as he wanted nothing more than to tell Caroline Pickering how he really felt. But that was the problem – he did not know how he felt. He was not in love with the viscount’s daughter, and never would be. But as for Alicia, his feelings for her were confused – was he falling in love with her, or did she simply represent everything Caroline was not, and everything Ernest could never have?