I watched Violet, hoping that she was enjoying the show. It was her birthday, after all, but she had a faraway look in her eyes, and she didn’t seem to be paying attention. Albert Trevarron sat with his hand proprietorially on her thigh, and his other hand on his wife’s. Lady Hermione also looked on absently; every now and again, when Albert looked at her or said something to her, she would laugh and nod, or respond. But, otherwise, she sat like a lifeless doll.
I thought about what Nancy Willcock had said about Lord Albert being too free with his fists. About the fact that sometimes, Lady Hermione wouldn’t come down from her rooms for days at a time. I felt a rush of sympathy for the poor woman.
By contrast, Lord Albert Trevarron sang along with every song, occasionally clapping his hands or tapping them on the thighs of his wife and daughter as if they were drums.
By the third song, the crowd were cheering us, and by the end of our performance, we had them in the palm of our hands.
When we had finished playing, William wiped a light sheen of sweat from his brow and grinned at me. I grinned back.
‘Very good, very good!’ Lord Albert approached us, his hands clasped before him in a prayer gesture. ‘Bravo, maestro! Bravo!’
‘Thank you, sir,’ I said, curtseying. William bowed. ‘We are glad you enjoyed the show.’
‘Oh, I haven’t enjoyed a singsong like that for many a year! Bravo!’ Lord Albert repeated. He spoke in a loud voice born of a lifetime of privilege and assuming that whatever he said was witty and interesting. William’s brother, Charles, had been just like this.
‘We are very pleased to be of service,’ I replied. ‘Did yourdaughter enjoy the songs? Your housekeeper says that she enjoys music.’
‘Oh, she did. She did,’ he brayed, though it was telling that Lady Hermione and Violet stayed sitting on their chairs. Albert hadn’t brought them over to us. ‘A very musical child. Why, she stays in her room all day, singing to herself.’
That didn’t sound very healthy to me, but I said nothing. I thought of the gravestone out in the rose garden, next to the pets.Mary Elizabeth Favisham Trevarron. 1852-1865. Blessed child.What other child had there been in this family, and what had become of her? I shivered at the apparent coldness that they could bury a child with so little care. As if she, too, was an animal.
‘And you, sir. A fine voice.’ Lord Albert turned to William. ‘You know, I was looking at you when you arrived, and when you danced with your young lady, here. You have such a look about you.’ He measured William’s face with his eyes, a curiosity in his expression. But there was also a tinge of suspicion in his words. ‘If I didn’t know better, I would say that you had the Trevarron look.’
‘How strange, my lord.’ I laughed prettily, as if what Albert Trevarron had just said was the most completely impossible thing I’d ever heard. ‘Why, we are just a normal couple, from Penzance. Visiting my cousin in St Nantes.’
‘Hm. Penzance. Really.’ Albert hadn’t stopped staring at William. William, because he had been raised as a lord, been boxing champion in the Navy and never backed down from a fight in his life, was returning the stare in what might have been interpreted as an aggressive manner. I willed him to look away meekly, but meek wasn’t in William’s DNA.
‘Yes. Do you know it?’ I interjected, trying to distract Albert.
‘I do. I am there from time to time. I should like to hear you both sing again. Perhaps I will look for you in the taverns when I am next visiting.’ He continued to stare at William. ‘You know, you really do have the Trevarron look. My grandfather had the same nose. The dark hair and eyes. Even the bone structure. It’s remarkable.’He held his hand up towards William’s face, as if he was going to touch it. William looked faintly murderous.
Then, as suddenly as he had become fascinated, Albert looked away.
‘Fascinating.’ His tone had changed. ‘Very possibly you are the result of some whoring of my father’s.’ He shrugged. ‘Some of my ancestors were renowned for their bastards. One was a murderer, even. On the Trevarron side, of course – this is going back in time now, many years before you or I were born, my good fellow. The Favishams were more refined stock. I hear they were some real brutes, once upon a time, the Trevarrons.’ He laughed merrily, as if he hadn’t just insulted William and his parentage. ‘Did you know your father? Your mother was likely some kind of local strumpet, I imagine. So common in the lower classes,’ he added.
‘Oh, I’d heard it was very much the reverse,’ I said, seeing rage flare in William’s dark eyes. I gripped his wrist and dug my fingernails into his skin, to warn him to stay silent, despite the obvious provocation. Albert was asserting the superiority he believed was his because of his lordship; he didn’t care if he offended us. We were nothing to him.
I knew that if I didn’t step in, William would lose his temper, and that couldn’t happen. I knew how difficult it must be for William to stand there and listen to that absolute rubbish: especially when the murderer that Lord Albert was talking about was probably himself. William wasn’t a murderer or a brute: far from it. Lord Albert, on the other hand, was apparently famed far and wide for his ready fists.
‘What’s that, my dear?’ Lord Albert frowned and leaned in, smiling beneficently.
‘Oh, I was just saying that I’d heard it was the Favishams who were brutes, not the Trevarrons?’ I replied, smiling innocently. ‘Of course, both families are your ancestors. How fortunate that you are so thoughtful and kind a lord as to throw this lovely party for your daughter,’ I added.
‘Indeed.’ Albert regarded me with a surprised look. ‘It is a pleasure. It behoves a lord to recognise his community.’
‘My lord – I wanted to know; I wonder if you could tell me?’ I plunged on, before Albert could take in the fact that I’d just contradicted him, and borderline insulted his family, too. ‘My husband and I were taking a walk in your beautiful rose garden just before the party, and we noticed the gravestone of a young girl. Mary Elizabeth Favisham Trevarron. I was wondering who that was?’ I kept the innocent look on my face and turned my eyes up to him in supplication. The benefit of being thought stupid because of my gender and class – or at least, what Albert Trevarron thought I was – meant that I could get away with asking apparently innocent questions.
‘That was my other daughter, Violet’s sister,’ he answered, flatly. ‘She died two years ago.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that, milord.’ I bowed my head respectfully. ‘How did she die?’ I wanted to know. There was something very odd about burying your own daughter among the animals.
‘What an impertinent question,’ Lord Albert replied, steely now. ‘I can see that you must indeed be simple country folk to think it appropriate to ask such a thing. Mary Elizabeth was… a special child.’ He paused, looking as if he was going to say more, then stopped himself. ‘I expect Mrs Feathers will give you some food and lodging for the night. I will bid you both a good evening.’ He turned away, but I could tell that I had hit a nerve.
‘What a…’ William swore, choosing some particularly crude Navy terms for our host as soon as he was out of earshot. ‘What did he say? That I am a by-blow of some local whore? How dare he besmirch my family name!’
‘He’s a horrible little man. Don’t pay him any attention,’ I said. ‘Remember, the only reason we’re here is so we can sneak off to the rose garden. Which I think we can do now, if we are subtle about it.’ I looked around but didn’t see Mrs Feathers anywhere. ‘Come on.’
‘Hmph.’ William glowered. ‘I hate knowing what an intolerablearse-wipe my family has produced. He would be Edith’s progeny, then?’ William followed me through the crowd. ‘With Favisham. That unholy brute. It’s no wonder that this Albert Trevarron has turned out so badly.’
