The American Heiress Read online

  She told the dogs to stay on the steps of the chapel. They did not mind her as they minded Ivo, so she went into the chapel quickly, shutting the door behind her so they would not follow her in. At first she could not see anything, but then a shaft of light broke through the windows in the cupola and fell directly on the altar and lit up the painting. The Madonna, who was wearing an orange robe, was clutching the infant Jesus to her with one arm and looking at an illuminated book that rested in the other. They were in a bower of pale pink roses, and the book that Mary was looking at lay on an intricately patterned Persian carpet. Cora was struck by the picture’s tenderness, the way that Jesus, blond and naked as a cherub, was resting his head so trustingly on his mother’s breast. She could not help noticing that the Madonna had hair of the same chestnut hue as her own.

  A voice behind her said, ‘They say that Rubens used his wife and baby son as models for this picture. I think that gives the picture its intimacy.’

  Cora turned to see a small dark man in a very white collar, smiling at her.

  ‘Ambrose Fox, Your Grace. Mr Duveen asked me to come down with the painting to make sure you were happy with it.’

  Cora held out her hand and after a moment’s hesitation the man shook it.

  ‘Tell him it is perfect. I think it looks very well here in the chapel, don’t you, Mr Fox?’

  ‘Yes indeed, Your Grace. It looks quite settled.’

  ‘I am so relieved. You see it is a surprise for the Duke. There was another Rubens here before, but it was sold and I wanted to replace it. The other one was of St Cecilia but I think the Madonna and Child is just as good, perhaps even more appropriate. I wonder, have you seen the other picture? I never did but if you have you could tell me whether this one is as good.’

  Cora knew she was talking too much to someone whose status was not clear – was he someone you invited for lunch or sent to the housekeeper? But she felt overwhelmed by the painting. She had not known when she had agreed to buy it how apt it was. She had never had much to do with children, but there was something about the way that the baby’s hand was spread out so possessively on his mother’s breast that made her realise, for the first time since her suspicions began, where she was heading. Would her baby lean on her like that, claiming her for his own?

  ‘The St Cecilia is generally regarded as one of Ruben’s finest works but I would have thought it a little imposing for a chapel of this size. I think that this work is of the right scale and, dare I say it, the right mood for this place.’

  Cora looked at him sharply. Was he suggesting anything? But Mr Fox gazed back at her unblinkingly. His confidence impressed her, she would ask him for lunch. There were, after all, plenty of other pictures that needed replacing.

  The dogs were waiting for her outside, and they began to bark when they saw the stranger with her.

  ‘Please don’t mind them, Mr Fox, they will calm down once they realise you are with me.’

  ‘These are the famous Lulworth lurchers I suppose, I recognise them from the Van Dyck portrait of the first Duke. Splendid creatures.’ But in spite of his confident words, Cora couldn’t help noticing that Mr Fox looked extremely nervous. She batted the dogs away with her hand and motioned for him to follow her back to the house.

  Ivo looked surprised when Cora suggested they visit the chapel after dinner.

  ‘Of course, if you want to go, but wouldn’t you rather go in daylight? There is no gaslight in the chapel.’

  ‘Oh, but there are candles, it will look much prettier.’ Cora had already asked Bugler to have the candles lit.

  She rushed through dinner, twitching impatiently as Ivo cleared his plate. At last he put his napkin down and she stood up.

  ‘Shall we go now? Up to the chapel?’

  ‘Can’t it wait until I have had a cigarette?’

  ‘I really don’t think so, Ivo. Please, darling.’

  With exaggerated slowness, Ivo got up and started to move towards the door. Cora was by now in a frenzy of impatience. She took him by the arm and pulled him through the door.

  ‘You American girls are such hoydens,’ he said, laughing at her vehemence, but he took her arm and they walked up the path. He teased her all the way about being an American bully until they turned the corner and he saw that the chapel was lit up inside. Cora felt his hand tense around her arm.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’

  ‘No, it’s just that I haven’t seen the chapel lit up at night for a while. The last time was when Guy was laid out here.’

  Another evening Cora would have shuddered at her thoughtlessness. But tonight she was too full of the revelations to come to pay complete attention to his mood. As they reached the chapel doors she stopped.

  ‘I have something to show you, but I want it to be a surprise, so close your eyes.’

  ‘Do you have the Holy Father in there, or the Holy Grail? Really, Cora, we will make a Catholic of you yet.’

  ‘Ssh, stop talking, just shut your eyes and come with me.’

  At last Ivo closed his eyes and she guided him into the chapel.

  The Madonna and Child glowed in the candlelight. Cora felt she would burst with her own cleverness; she was making Lulworth magnificent again.

  ‘You can open your eyes now.’ She turned away from the painting to look at Ivo’s face.

  He opened his eyes and looked around him puzzled, and then he saw the Rubens and went very still, gazing at the painting with an expression that Cora could not read. She waited for his set face to crack open with surprise and pleasure. When he did nothing but stare, she thought perhaps he did not know what it was.

  ‘It’s a Rubens, you know, like the one you had before.’

  Still Ivo was silent. She put a hand on his arm, but he did not move. He was gazing at the painting, his face completely motionless. The muscles of his arm were hard under her hand. Part of her knew to be silent but another piece of her wanted to scream. This was her surprise and he was not playing his part.

  She willed herself to wait, watching a rivulet of wax run down the side of one of the candles. Finally when its warmth had gone and the drop had stiffened, she spoke again.

  ‘I did try to get the other Rubens, the one that was here before, the one of St Cecilia, but the man who bought it was American—’

  ‘And he didn’t need the money.’ Ivo’s voice was flat, this was a statement not a question. Could it be that he was angry because she had not been able to buy the original painting?

  ‘Of course I haven’t seen the painting of St Cecilia but Mr Fox, who brought the painting down from Duveen’s, has, and he thought that the Madonna was actually better suited to this position.’

  ‘It is a fine picture.’ Ivo’s voice was still colourless.

  ‘Rubens used his wife and baby as his models.’ She moved closer to the painting. Every time she looked at it she saw more in it. There was a basket of fruit in the lower right-hand corner, with grapes and plums. Some of the grapes had been eaten. Behind the Virgin’s right shoulder there were trees opening on to a rural landscape that looked green and cool. Underneath her orange robe the Virgin was wearing a sleeve of damask pink. She wondered if she might have a dress made up in those very colours when she had her baby.

  ‘Look at the baby’s hand, Ivo. See how tightly he is holding on to his mother.’ She reached out her own hand to him, willing him to come forward.

  But Ivo did not move. ‘I know the painting.’

  Cora was astonished. ‘Really? But how? Duveen’s said it had never been on the market before.’

  ‘No, it hasn’t.’

  ‘So how did you…’ Cora trailed off when she realised where Ivo must have seen the picture.

  ‘It was in the Kinsale family for two hundred years. It used to hang in their chapel.’ Ivo’s voice was expressionless.

  ‘I didn’t realise you knew the owners.’ Cora began to feel cold. She persisted. ‘But does it matter, Ivo? They needed the money. I gave them a good price a
nd now you have a Rubens over the altar again.’

  Ivo raised his arms. For a moment Cora thought he was going to embrace her, but then he dropped them and was once more still.

  ‘Ivo, what’s wrong? I only did this because I thought it would make you happy. You minded about the other picture, I know you did.’ Cora ground her shoe into the stone floor in frustration.

  ‘Of course I minded! But Cora, you can’t make everything better just by buying a new picture. The Lulworth Rubens had been here since the Fourth Duke. When I came into the chapel I used to think of all my ancestors who had knelt in front of the same painting saying the same words. Now St Cecilia is in California and we have a lovely new Rubens courtesy of my very rich wife.’ He looked at her face and shook his head. ‘You don’t understand what I’m saying, do you? And why should you? My scruples must seem absurd to you.’

  ‘Not absurd, just puzzling. I thought you wanted my money for what it could do here.’ She peered at him, trying to read his face.

  ‘No Cora, I needed it. There’s a difference, but I see you don’t understand.’

  It was true she didn’t understand. She had bought the picture to show him how she would make Lulworth great again, but instead of pleasing him she had offended him instead. How could she have misjudged him so badly? She realised that she really knew very little about the man she had married.

  At last he walked over to her and looked down at her. She put her arms on his shoulders and after a pause he reciprocated by putting his arms round her waist.

  ‘Oh Cora, can you believe that there are some things in life that can’t be bought?’

  She looked up at his dark face and noticed the light creases that ran between his nose and chin and the flicker in his eyelid. She was relieved that whatever had made him so sombre was passing. She had felt for a moment, there, that he was a stranger.

  ‘Of course I know that. Would you like to hear about one of them?’ She smiled, having won the conversation back on to her territory.

  He looked at her closely and his glance moved down her body. ‘Do you mean that you are…’

  ‘Yes I do – well, I’m almost certain. I was sick this morning, and my corsets won’t lace properly.’ She put her hands to her still tiny waist.

  He took a step away from her as if he had been pushed backwards by the force of her news, put a hand on one of the pews to steady himself, but missed it and almost lost his balance. Cora looked at him bemused, it was unlike Ivo to be clumsy, but then he straightened up and his face re-formed into a smile.

  ‘I am glad. It was too melancholy being the last of the Maltravers. Have you seen a doctor?’

  ‘Not yet, I wanted to tell you first, although some of the servants seem to have guessed.’

  ‘They always know everything first. Do you have any idea when it will…’

  ‘May. Well, at least I think so. I can’t be sure until I have seen the doctor.’

  ‘My clever girl.’ He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead.

  ‘So you see, I had my reasons for buying a Madonna and Child,’ she said a little reproachfully.

  Ivo hung his head in mock supplication. ‘Of course you did. Everything you do is perfectly reasonable. I have been churlish, Cora, and you must forgive me. We do things differently, that’s all.’

  He put his arms round her neck and pulled her to him. She remembered the first time they had kissed, here in the chapel. He had been unexpected then, the speed of his proposal, the certainty of his embrace; and now, did she really know him better? Physically perhaps, when they kissed now it was a communication, not an exploration, but there was a part of him that was still opaque. But she dismissed this from her mind. Whatever he thought about the Rubens, there could be no doubt that he wanted an heir.

  It was days later before she allowed herself to think about the scene in the chapel again. She thought of his cold, still face and the way he had not looked at her but only at the picture. Afterwards it was all right, although Cora could not help noticing that now when he entered the chapel he never looked straight ahead; he would enter, dip his fingers in the stoup of holy water and walk to the altar with his head bowed. It was only when he approached the altar to take Communion that he would raise his head and look at the picture, as if it was his own particular cross to bear.

  Chapter 17

  Bridgewater House

  THE DAYS WERE BEGINNING TO DRAW IN NOW. Cora watched the lamplighter make his way down Cleveland Row to the park, adding his punctuation to the light that spilled from doorways and from behind curtains into the gathering gloom. She was tired from the journey up from Lulworth but she had felt her spirits lift when the carriage had drawn up outside the limestone pillars that flanked their London house. Bridgewater House, with its façade by Barry, had been a wedding gift from her father, although, of course, it had been chosen by her mother, who had been surprised to find that the Duke had no permanent residence in town. This house, with its enormous central hall and colonnaded gallery was, in Mrs Cash’s view, on the right scale. She had thought it entirely fitting that it had been built by the same man who had remodelled Buckingham Palace.

  There had been a Maltravers house once, in St James’s, but the Duke’s grandfather had sold it. Cora had wondered whether she should try and buy it back, but after her experience with the Rubens she was wary of offending her husband. Besides, she liked this house with its drawing room that had six long windows overlooking Green Park.

  She saw a carriage draw up outside the house and a liveried footman walk up to the front door. Who would be calling now? wondered Cora. She hoped it was Sybil. At least then they could talk about clothes. With Sybil she could forget about being a duchess and return to the serious business of sleeve width. Cora thought they could not get any wider but then she had thought that six months ago, and had been proved quite wrong.

  The footman brought in Lady Beauchamp’s card.

  Cora was surprised and pleased. The Beauchamps had left Conyers the day after Charlotte had expressed the hope that they would be friends, on account of a death in the family. Cora had been sorry not to see more of her. Cora had no female friends in England apart from Sybil, and while Sybil was charming, her awkwardness and her awful clothes meant that she was more Cora’s protégée than her equal. Charlotte was in a different class. There was something intriguing about her and she was one of the few English women who Cora regarded as a worthy sartorial rival. She wondered how wide Charlotte’s sleeves would be.

  She was not disappointed. Although Charlotte was dressed in half mourning for one of Odo’s cousins, her dress made no concessions to grief, bar the colour, and the lavender tones of her gown were a spectacular foil to her blonde sleekness. She had abandoned the full sleeve of the summer for a puffed shoulder that tapered into a tight cuff. The cuffs and hem were covered in silver braid. Around her shoulders she had a silver fox fur and she wore a hat with mauve and grey plumes. She glided towards Cora and took her hands.

  ‘I am so pleased to find you at home, Duchess,’ Charlotte’s voice was warm. ‘I was driving past on my way home from the Lauderdales’ and I saw that your shutters were down. Have you been in town long?’ She gave Cora’s hand a little squeeze.

  ‘No, we’ve only just arrived. Ivo has decided to take up his seat in the Lords.’ Cora felt proud at being able to say this. She gestured to Charlotte to sit on a gilt Louis Quinze sofa. The other woman sank into it gracefully.

  ‘Well, now you are here, we must introduce you to some amusing people. If Ivo is going to take up politics you will need some distraction. You mustn’t think that everything is as dull as Conyers. Of course, if the Double Duchess asks, you have to go, but the Marlborough House thing is so vieux jeu now. I think it all used to be tremendous fun, gambling and divorces and what have you, but now Bertie is only slightly less stuffy than his mother.’

  Cora smiled. ‘I wouldn’t say that Conyers was dull. Americans like me can’t be blasé about royalty. But it was cer
tainly exacting. So much to remember, I was so worried about saying the wrong thing. I was sorry you had to leave, I was relying on you for guidance.’

  Charlotte adjusted her sleeve. ‘Oh Duchess, I don’t think you need any help from me. You seemed to have everything in order. I hear the Prince is quite smitten.’

  Cora couldn’t disguise her pleasure. ‘I wish you would call me Cora, I am still getting used to being a duchess.’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘Very well, Cora it is, and you must call me Charlotte. I will never get used to being Lady Beauchamp.’ This last remark was thrown off with a laugh, but Cora was surprised nonetheless. Charlotte noticed Cora’s expression. ‘Oh dear, have I shocked you again? I keep forgetting that Americans marry for love.’

  Cora looked back at her steadily. ‘Well, this one did.’ She smiled self-deprecatingly. ‘But the title is quite hard to get used to. Sometimes I find it difficult to believe they are talking about me.’

  ‘Whereas every English girl has been dreaming of being called Your Grace since the schoolroom. You won’t get an ounce of sympathy from me on that score, Cora.’