Chapter 18: Outmatched

New Year's Eve, 1865

The New Year's reception at High Matcham was the highlight of the social year for most of the Northern Berkshire gentry, and Priscilla Marsden-Smith was very careful in her preparations. The appropriate dress was always a concern, but even more so in recent years as the income from her husband's possessions had dwindled away. This was only in part due to bad harvests. As she was also woefully aware, her husband Lucius spent more and more of their income on Laudanum; to alleviate his pains as he claimed.

Priscilla had decided to add a little modification to an older dress, one of good quality, and she believed she could get away with it. She had never born a child and that had helped her retain a trim and youthful figure. this allowed her to wear dresses from her younger years and thus cut down on expenses.

She sighed. This was not how she had dreamt her life to be when she was a young woman. When Lucius Marsden-Smith had courted her and wooed her away from Jim Tremayne, one weak consolation had been the Marsden-Smiths' wealth.

Lucius' ill-fated duel had been a big blow. His failure to refute Jim Tremayne's insulting accusations had forced Lucius to resign his patent with the 13th Light Dragoons and to accept a far lesser posting in India. Priscilla had tried then to get out of the engagement, but the older Marsden-Smith threatened to ruin her father and held her to her promises. They were married, and she had to accompany her husband to Bombay.

In a rare show of consideration, Lucius had agreed to her staying back in Bombay while he would set up a household in the city of Lucknow where his native regiment was stationed. This turned out to be a stroke of good luck for her for when the native soldiers rebelled, Lucknow was besieged for months under heavy loss of human life. Lucius was less lucky, and once the siege was lifted months later, he was transported back to Bombay with a back wound that had left him paralysed from the hips down. At first he was treated as a wounded hero, but then the rumours spread that he had received his injury by falling off his horse in a state of drunkenness.

As soon as practicable, the Marsden-Smiths relocated back to England where Lucius was once more able to pose as a wounded hero. That lasted for a year or until another survivor of the siege of Lucknow returned to Berkshire. Then the truth came out. The Marsden-Smiths lost almost all their standing and Lucius' father literally died of a broken heart.

Now, six years later, Lucius had squandered almost his entire inherited fortune and Priscilla Marsden-Smith counted herself lucky to receive an invitation to High Matcham at all. She was doing her best to present herself as worthy of the distinction.

As Lucius had sunk deeper and deeper into a physical dependency on Laudanum, Priscilla had to take up the reins and run the family possessions. They could not afford a caretaker anymore and less and less servants remained them. Priscilla had to deal with the tenants and with merchants, a task that she was ill-prepared to fulfill. She was also unable to curtail Lucius' consumption of the accursed opium concoction and this seemed to foil all her efforts to reduce their costs of living.

It was four o'clock now, and Priscilla walked downstairs, satisfied with her appearance. Lucius was already in the hall, sitting in his wheelchair, and for once he had shown the consideration to reduce his Laudanum intake to the point where he was clear in his head. Their remaining man-servant and coachman wheeled his master to their converted coach. It opened in the back and Lucius could be pulled in over a ramp by using a pulley system. Priscilla sat with her back to the driver as usual, and then the coach lurched forward.

The ride to High Matcham took almost an hour and that hour was spent in silence. The Marsden-Smiths had long ago run out of topics. Most conversations eventually ended in verbal sparring anyway and thus they wisely refrained from speaking at all.

The sight of High Matcham woke pleasant memories in Priscilla. Here she had debuted in society fifteen years ago. Here she had met her first fiancé, Captain James Tremayne, who was now lost in the Americas. She could still remember old Admiral Carter, Lord Lambert's father: tall, erect, with a commanding presence and with an overt dislike of Lucius. Lord Lambert was a more conciliatory and gracious host as became evident when Lucius and Priscilla entered the hall.

"Ah, Marsden-Smith, how good of you to come," his Lordship greeted them. "Mrs. Marsden-Smith, always a pleasure to see you!"

"Hello, my dear," came the greeting of Lady Lambert who pointedly ignored Lucius, something she had done for the last ten years.

A man-servant showed up to be of service to Lucius, pushing him about and freeing Priscilla from the necessity to stay with him all the time. Priscilla knew the man from the past years. He would see to it that Lucius would disappear in a side room if he over-imbibed.

Next, they were greeted by Sir Anthony Carter, Lord Lambert's only son, and his new wife. Priscilla could not help but feel superior for a brief moment. Lady Carter had been Sarah Turner, the illicit daughter of a London merchant's son and a chambermaid. The maidservant ended up as wet nurse for the infant Anthony Carter, and when she died in India, Esra Turner, the father of Sarah, adopted his illegitimate daughter. In effect, Sir Anthony had married the daughter of his wet nurse. Here was a mésalliance if ever there was one, even if the Carters were considered mere upstarts themselves.

Fortunately, Lucius saw an acquaintance and Priscilla was able to escape. She wandered through the hall greeting the people she knew when she suddenly stopped cold. Her heart began to hammer and her ears felt like they were burning. There, in a throng of people stood her former fiancé James Tremayne: tall, still trim of figure, and dressed to perfection in a black swallowtail suit. He sported a bushy moustache and side whiskers as was the current fashion, and he exuded wealth and dignity. His face looked slightly weather-beaten, with traces of a deep tan much like a Navy officer, but there was no denying that he was easily one of the most attractive men present.

His eyes fell on her and his eyebrows rose for a split second as if in amusement. He sauntered over, a beautiful and expensively dressed, red-haired woman at his side.

"My dear Priscilla, what a pleasant surprise," he said turning to his lady. "I mentioned Priscilla Bywater to you, didn't I?"

"I think you did, dear," the woman answered looking Priscilla up and down.

"Is it Mrs. Marsden-Smith?" Jim asked Priscilla.

She could only nod.

"Rose, this is Priscilla Marsden-Smith; Mrs. Marsden-Smith, this is my wife, Annabelle Rose Tremayne."

"Enchanté!" Mrs. Tremayne said in passable French and Priscilla answered in kind.

She looked at her erstwhile fiancé. "I had no idea that you had returned to England."

"We only arrived two months ago, but we spent most of that time in London to arrange for the transfer of my fortune. Well, it has been good seeing you again. We shall meet frequently I expect. For now I wish you a pleasant evening."

With another bow, Jim turned and left her standing with her face burning over this cavalier treatment. Margot Tinsdale, one of the worst gossipers for miles around, suddenly stood beside her.

"You didn't know that he was back? Isn't it amazing, him returning after ten years and with a huge fortune in gold? They say he's worth almost ninety thousand pounds with more to come; and he owns a gold mine in America, imagine that! One would have thought that he should have been more selective with the wife he chose, her being an American and not even from a good family, always assuming they do have good families there. They say he found her in the wilderness. You couldn't tell now with that Wilkins creation she's wearing, but I heard they shovelled dirt together looking for gold. Not a dignified occupation if you ask me."

"He found a fortune?" Priscilla asked weakly.

"Oh yes. Lord Lambert himself handles his finances, and that should tell you enough! They say he may buy Thornfield Abbey for his use, imagine that! It's been on the market for years but nobody had the means to purchase it. Old Mr. Masters tells me it'll be a blessing for the county seeing how much money will be spent when he starts to rebuild the old abbey."

Meanwhile, Priscilla's thoughts had drifted further. The fact that Jim had married some woman of dubious background should be exploited she thought. It was infuriating how he had left her standing. Even his lack of hostility had been insulting, as if he were indifferent to her and to the fact that she had left him in favour of Lucius. After a few words to Mrs. Tinsdale, Priscilla set out to corner Jim's wife. She found her with Sarah Carter of all people and with Siobhan Pryce, Lord Lambert's widowed daughter and one of Priscilla's childhood friends.

Smiling sweetly, she joined the women. "We did not have the chance to really get acquainted, Mrs. Tremayne," she started. "You may know that your husband and I were engaged once. I really liked him but I had to break up the engagement when my present husband declared for me. Jim just didn't have the prospects."

The petite woman tilted her head slightly and unashamedly put a soothing hand on Priscilla's arm. "You should not fret over that error in judgement anymore," she said with faux sympathy. "You must have been frightfully young and the young are apt to make such mistakes."

The redheaded colonist affected a cultivated speech although nobody would mistake her for being English. Her words were condescending though and Priscilla blanched. Anger fuelled her next words. "I assure you that I never regretted choosing my husband over James Tremayne."

"Really?" the person asked sweetly, the single word conveying an abyss of mocking disbelief. She shrugged and smiled beatifically. "If you say so, then I suppose it must be true."

"Well, I do and it is!" Priscilla shot back, her dander up.

Siobhan Pryce cut sharply into the sparring. "My dear Rose, you can be more than proud of your husband. Unlike others I could name, he displayed both gentlemanly conduct and bravery when he fought at my Reginald's side! Even badly wounded himself, he conveyed Reginald's last words to me. A finer man you could have never found, not here and not in the Americas."

Priscilla flinched at Siobhan's stinging words. In her anger she had forgotten that Major Reginald Pryce had fallen at Balaclava while riding the same charge that had left Jim Tremayne wounded. This had happened while Lucius had stayed with the depot troops in England and had courted her.

"I-I never meant to assail the courage and the fine soldierly conduct James displayed," she hastened to say. "Let me assure you, nevertheless, that my husband was deeply dismayed when he was ordered to stay at the regimental quarters. He would have been happy and proud to serve alongside his comrades."

"Oh, certainly," Siobhan answered with hard eyes.

Priscilla felt defensive. Siobhan had been married but for two months when her husband had to leave for the Crimea. She could not forget nor could she forgive those who had been luckier than her husband.

"I really did not mean to sound condescending," Priscilla tried to placate her former friend.

"And yet you do, Priscilla," Siobhan retorted. "How can you stand here and claim any superiority of Lucius over James Tremayne, or any man for that matter? Don't you see that people know how Lucius came by his injury? Don't you realise that your servants talk and gossip? We know how he berates you when he is under the influence of his Laudanum. We know the sorry state of your lands. We still see you as one of us though and we sympathise with you; yet you make it hard for us when you sit on your high horse."