A Change of Fortune Page 8

  Leonie was about to put the piece of paper down again when she caught sight of the figures mentioned in it. Her eyes widened incredulously and she looked accusingly at the headmistress. “But I know I can’t possibly owe you that much!”

  “Oh, but you do, missy, you do.” Miss Hart’s hard eyes did not waver.

  “It isn’t true!”

  “Argue about it and you’ll be thrown out.”

  Leonie stared at her.

  Miss Hart rose to her feet. “Sign the document, Miss Conyngham. I wish to be done with this disagreeable interview. Be thankful for the charity which is being extended to you, and think of the dreadful alternative should that charity be withdrawn.”

  Leonie towered her glance to the document. She didn’t owe as much as the headmistress was making out, but why would Miss Hart inflate the sums so much? Resignedly she sat down and took up the quill. What point was there in resisting when the alternative to acceptance was indeed so very dreadful? She dipped the quill in the ink and signed her name.

  Miss Hart immediately took the agreement away, placing it carefully in a drawer and locking it. She turned back to face Leonie, who immediately rose to her feet once more. “I have already issued instructions that you are to be moved to Miss Mathers’ room. All your previous privileges will cease henceforth, and that includes the matter of meals. When the new term begins you will take your meals on the top table in the dining room with the rest of the teaching staff, the exception to this rule being breakfast, which you will take in my private parlor. It is at breakfast that matters concerning the school are discussed. Until the new term, however, since you are not strictly speaking on the staff until then, you will take all your meals in the kitchens with the servants. Do you have any questions?”

  “No, Miss Hart.”

  “You may go now. Oh, and, Miss Conyngham….”

  “Yes, Miss Hart?”

  “Pray remember that from now on you are an employee. Do not give yourself airs and graces to which you are no longer entitled, and do not, on any account, draw unwelcome attention to the seminary because of the scandal attaching to your father.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Your father was a villainous thief, missy, and I will not be best pleased by any misguided attempts on your behalf to clear his name. You are here only because the countess at present wishes it. If it were left to me, you would leave these premises immediately. I trust you understand me now.”

  Leonie looked at her with dislike. “I understand perfectly, Miss Hart.”

  The headmistress turned away.

  Leonie withdrew from the room, but outside in the passage she paused for a long moment. She felt unutterably cold and numb, and she wished that it was all a nightmare from which she would soon awaken. But it wasn’t a dream, it was all horribly true. Her father was dead and his name was about to be dreadfully maligned. He wouldn’t have stolen any money, he was too honest, nor would he have gambled away his own fortune. She’d never believe such ill of him; she loved and respected him too much for that.

  She stared blindly ahead as she walked toward the vestibule. She wanted to weep for him, and for herself, but she couldn’t. It was as if she was a hollow shell.

  * * *

  That Christmas Eve was the saddest and most desolate she had ever endured. Her new room at the top of the house was cold and sparsely furnished compared with her previous one. There was a hard, narrow bed, a small chest of drawers, a cracked mirror, and a plain wardrobe which would not close properly. The fireplace was small and barely adequate, and the coal provided was damp and of poor quality, smoking and hissing a great deal and not giving off much heat.

  Darkness had fallen when she looked from the little window for the first time, gazing down over Park Lane and the park. It was the same view as before, but it seemed very different now without the elegant wrought-iron balcony. She opened the window and leaned out a little. The cold snatched her breath and she could feel the damp touch of the fog against her skin. There were carol singers in the street below, their lanterns glowing. Little bunches of holly were tied to their staves and their breath hung in silver clouds as they sang. But the doors of the seminary remained firmly closed: Miss Hart’s seasonal goodwill was nonexistent when there were no young ladies present to be impressed.

  Closing the window again, Leonie went to sit on the bed. Katy had tried to persuade her to go down to the warmth of the kitchens, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to face them all just yet. She needed time to compose herself and to absorb the bleak facts of her new, severely reduced circumstances. There would be no happy reunion with her father now, no great houses, no Season, and no dazzling future. It had all been whisked cruelly away by a bitter stroke of fate. Tomorrow she would emerge from this room and embark upon her new life, but tonight she would hide away, alone with her sorrow. She stared at the curving grayness of the smoking fire, the emptiness within her as melancholy and painful as ever, and still she hadn’t shed a single tear.

  Chapter 13

  The next morning there was no tray of coffee, and no one came to kindle the fire. She was awakened by Katy’s hurried tapping at the door and a whispered warning that if she didn’t get up quickly she’d forfeit breakfast before everyone went to morning service at the Grosvenor Chapel. But she wasn’t hungry, and so she dressed in her newly purchased cloak, bonnet, and ankle boots and waited until she heard everyone assembling in the vestibule. Then, taking a deep breath to raise her courage, she went down to join them.

  Miss Hart, Miss Ross, and Mlle. Clary waited by the front door, the rest of the servants assembled close to the foot of the stairs. The two teachers had swiftly followed Miss Hart’s lead, for they gave Leonie cool glances and did not greet her beyond giving abrupt nods. The servants, however, showed compassion for her. She saw tears glistening in Katy’s soft eyes, and kindness and understanding in the glances of both Joseph and little Mrs. Durham, the cook. The other maids and the kitchen boy looked sadly at her.

  When Leonie had arrived, Miss Hart nodded at Joseph, who hastened to open the door. The headmistress sailed regally out into the bitter cold, her best mantle fluttering around her plump ankles, her new bonnet trembling with soft little pink feathers. Miss Ross and Mlle. Clary followed her, leaving Leonie to walk alone behind them. After Leonie came the servants, walking two by two.

  The sedate little party walked north up Park Lane toward nearby Aldford Street. Christmas-morning bells pealed joyfully through the brittle air, and it seemed as if the sun might come out soon. The fog had retreated, but still clung stubbornly beneath the trees in the park, keeping their branches white with frost. Leonie noticed nothing as she walked along; it was as if she wasn’t really there at all.

  The Grosvenor Chapel, built originally for the family of that name, was in South Audley Street, facing straight down Aldford Street toward the park. It was an elegant yellow brick building, with tall round-headed windows and a plain pillared portico. As fashionable in its way as St. George’s, Hanover Square, it was the place of worship for a great many of the haut ton, and many carriages were arriving as Miss Hart and her party approached.

  Something made Leonie look at one carriage in particular as it drove past. It was a fine vehicle, with dark green panels and gleaming lamps, and it was drawn by four magnificent grays. As she watched, it drew up outside the church and a footman jumped down to lower the steps and open the door. There were three passengers inside: Imogen; her brother Edward; and Guy de Lacey. Leonie stared at them with both surprise and dismay, for they did not usually worship here; they attended St. George’s. She wondered why they had chosen to attend this church instead, and her instinct told her that it had been entirely Imogen’s idea, for it would amuse that lady to see Leonie Conyngham in such severely reduced circumstances.

  Edward alighted first. He looked elegant to the point of dandyism in a tight-waisted, full-skirted overcoat which reached to his ankles. It was burnt orange in color and was adorned with milit
ary epaulets and frogging. His top hat was worn at a very precise angle on his dark red hair, and his cane swung idly in his gloved hand in a way which strongly reminded her of the Duke of Thornbury.

  Guy climbed down next, and after the flamboyance of his future brother-in-law, he looked almost reserved in a plain charcoal-colored greatcoat, his top hat resting casually on his rather unruly dark hair. He didn’t notice Leonie as he turned to assist Imogen down from the carriage, but Imogen noticed her straightaway. A cold little smile touched the perfect lips, but beyond that there was no sign of acknowledgment as she shook out the skirts of her apricot pelisse in order to fluff up the heavy white fur trimming. She looked very beautiful indeed, thought Leonie, but it was a beauty which was marred forever by the coldness which came from within.

  The church was crowded, almost all of its twelve hundred places occupied by the Christmas-morning congregation. Organ music drifted mellowly above the whispering and general shuffling as Miss Hart’s party took their places, Leonie sitting at the very edge of the aisle. The tall windows allowed the pale winter sunlight in to illuminate the golden vessels on the altar, and the pristine white walls seemed almost dazzling. Above the altar there was a domed ceiling of brilliant blue and gold, and these colors seemed to draw Leonie’s gaze as she sat back after kneeling to pray. She hadn’t been able to pray; her mind had been a blank. She stared at the blue and gold ceiling, wondering why she couldn’t pray, couldn’t even cry. It was as if all feeling had frozen and she was as much made of ice as the icicles suspended from the eaves.

  She was careful to keep her eyes lowered as the service commenced, for she swiftly became aware that she was the center of much whispering and general interest. Imogen had begun it, leaning her head close to a neighbor and pointing Leonie out. The whisper had spread, hands had been raised to conceal mouths, and quizzing glasses had been turned in her direction. The Conyngham scandal had already begun to circulate.

  It was almost the end of the service when Leonie at last turned her head to look across the aisle toward the Longhurst pew. It was with something of a shock that she found herself looking directly into Guy de Lacey’s dark eyes. He didn’t look away but held her gaze for a long, long moment, and she couldn’t turn from him. Even in the midst of all her sorrow and wretchedness, and in spite of the acrimony of their previous encounter, she knew that she was still very drawn to him. There was something about him which made her heart almost stop, something which reminded her that she still had a heart and wasn’t hollow inside. A flush began to steal into her cheeks and at last she managed to look away again.

  The service ended at last, and as the congregation began to file out, she heard her name being whispered. She avoided all eyes as she made her way to the doors, but her ordeal wasn’t quite at an end yet, for as they emerged into the cold daylight, Miss Hart was extremely gratified to receive a nod of acknowledgment from Imogen, who was standing by her carriage with her brother and Guy. The headmistress, never one to miss an opportunity to be seen mixing with the aristocracy, immediately halted to wish them all a very happy Christmas.

  Miss Ross and Mlle. Clary, knowing their places only too well, prudently walked on, and Leonie followed them. As she passed Guy, however, she couldn’t help looking at him again. He had been watching her, and their eyes met once more. He removed his hat immediately and bowed. “Miss Conyngham.”

  She hesitated, unsure of what to do, but then she saw the flash of anger in Imogen’s eyes and the displeasure on Miss Hart’s face, and she quickly hurried on without speaking.

  On her return to the seminary, she at last went down to the kitchens, but if she feared there would be an unfriendly atmosphere there, she was very wrong. Her kindness toward them all in the past stood her in very good stead now, and they wanted to put her at her ease. She tried to join in the merriment, but it was very difficult, for she felt she should not laugh or even smile when news of her father’s death was so fresh.

  Four o’clock in the afternoon, the time Christmas dinner was served, arrived at last. The delicious smell of roast goose and all the trimmings filled the warm room. She enjoyed the happiness of the others as they teased a rather flushed Mrs. Durham that she hadn’t seasoned the chestnut stuffing enough, and she clapped with them as the cannonball plum pudding was borne aloft to the table, its sprig of holly perched precariously amid the flames. Afterward they sat around the fire with some mulled wine, singing carols. Joseph often sang for them, for he had a deep, rich voice, and they all sat very quietly, clapping loudly when he finished. Mrs. Durham dragged in a sack of chestnuts and scattered some around the edge of the fire, where they began to blacken at once. Enjoying the roast chestnuts and singing more carols, they whiled away an hour or so before someone suggested some games.

  Leonie didn’t participate in the games, and no one pressed her. The long day began to draw to an end, and Leonie knew that soon she would have to go up to the chill room on the third floor. She didn’t want to go, she wanted to stay with the others.

  Joseph seemed to sense her thoughts, for suddenly he leaned across to put his great dark hand over hers. “I’ve something to ask of you, Miz Leonie.”

  “Ask me?”

  “Maybe it’s a little impertinent.”

  She smiled a little. “I’m sure it can’t be.”

  “Would you teach me to read and write, Miz Leonie?”

  Mrs. Durham was cross with him. “Joseph, you great curmudgeon,” she scolded, “you mustn’t go asking Miss Leonie such a thing!”

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Durham,” said Leonie quickly, “I don’t mind at all, in fact I’d like to help him.” She smiled at Joseph. “Of course I’ll help you, I’m glad you asked me.”

  He nodded, his dark brown eyes shrewd but kindly. “We can help each other, Miz Leonie. I’ll have some learning, and you’ll have something to help keep your mind off other things.”

  “Shall we begin now?”

  “I’d like that, Miz Leonie.”

  Mrs. Durham provided a sheet of paper and a pencil, and Leonie and Joseph adjourned to a quiet table in the corner, where they were soon joined by Katy. Thus another hour or so passed by, and it was midnight before a halt was called and Leonie at last went up to her room. She was accompanied by Katy, who insisted upon attending her, saying that Miss Hart wouldn’t know and what the old toad didn’t know about wouldn’t hurt her.

  In the cold room, Leonie turned quickly to the maid. “Katy, I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry?” The maid looked at her in puzzlement. “Whatever for?”

  “I promised you so much, but now it’s all gone.”

  Katy put a gentle hand on her arm. “You mustn’t apologize, Miss Leonie, it isn’t your fault. I know you meant every word you said to me, and that’s all that matters. One day it’ll all be all right again, you see if it isn’t.”

  But as Leonie lay in the darkness a little later, she knew that nothing would ever be all right again. It had all gone. Forever.

  Chapter 14

  The year 1813 gave way to 1814, and the Christmas greenery was taken down, leaving everything looking oddly bare. The seminary made ready for the new term, and Leonie prepared to commence her new employment. She was anxious and unsure of herself, although she knew already from the lessons she was giving Katy and Joseph that she had a natural aptitude for teaching. The coldness of her colleagues, and more especially of Miss Hart herself, did little to help her through those early days of unhappiness and uncertainty, and she was especially apprehensive that she would be placed in charge of some of the older pupils, a number of whom she knew would resent and probably defy her because of her father. To her immense relief, Miss Hart decided that it would be more prudent to place her in charge of the youngest pupils, children who were new to the school and therefore did not know her at all.

  The new year brought no improvement in the weather. Snowflakes were now frequently seen drifting aimlessly through the frozen air, but as yet there hadn’t been a heavy fall. Th
ere was no relief from the fog, which occasionally withdrew a little to hint at an easing of nature’s harshness, but which each time closed bitterly in again, cloaking everything with its icy shroud. The cold meant that there was ever-increasing speculation that the Thames would freeze over, and the newspapers dwelt at length on the possibility of a frost fair on the ice. The newspapers also dwelt at length on the Conyngham scandal, and Leonie was distressed to see her father’s name much vilified, his guilt taken for granted. Her distress gave way to anger and indignation, and in spite of Miss Hart’s dire warning about drawing unwelcome attention to the seminary through attempting to clear Richard Conyngham’s name, she decided to go to the East India Company’s headquarters in Leadenhall Street to challenge their charges against him.

  At the end of the first week in January, two days before the new term commenced, she had an opportunity to slip unnoticed from the seminary. Miss Hart was much harassed by the arrival of a Russian gentleman, who informed her that he was the new history teacher, and who insisted upon a lengthy discussion of the syllabus he intended to employ during his twice-weekly lessons. He was immensely tall, with fiery eyes, a beard, and a deep, heavily accented voice, and he was quite determined to do everything his own way. Miss Hart virtually found herself being instructed what to do, and she was so nonplussed that she meekly led him to the visitors’ room and sat there while he spoke at considerable length about Russian history. It was the second time the headmistress had received a lecture on the subject, and she found it as uninteresting on this occasion as she had on the first, but because he was there on Dorothea Lieven’s instructions, she pretended to find it all most absorbing. While all this was going on, Leonie left the seminary and took a hackney coach to India House in Leadenhall Street.