A Shadow's Bliss (21 page)

“Ah, then, and what about hisself, that's what I want to know? Why your dear papa should have kept a reliable man like Oliver Coachman at the castle, and left us to the mercies of—of that looby, is what I cannot come at!”

“If you feel that my father's trust is misplaced,” said Jennifer, irritated, “by all means take it up with him when we return.”

Tilly gave a tight smile. “As if I'd ever do such a thing, when I hope I know me place. Sir Vinson's been took in,” she added darkly. “Like some others.”

Jennifer turned her head and stared at her. “In what way?”

Usually quick to sense the moods of her young mistress, Tilly was too preoccupied with the sense of her own ill-usage to notice the rare hauteur in Jennifer's tone. “Proper sly, he is, for a crazy man,” she declared. “Mr. Crane says he wasn't too crazy to have got round Mr. Fleming, so now he don't hardly never work in the stables, where he's needed. Same thing with Cook,” she went on, warming to her theme. “A stern woman she's allus been, you knows that, miss. Never been one to carry treats out to them as has worked at the castle all their lives. Not she! But along comes Crazy Jack with his slippery smiles and fancy ways, and she's giving him pieces of pie and biscuits and—and I dunno what, to take home! Crazy? Huh! Artful, I calls it. If not worse…”

“And exactly what do you mean by that, pray?”

Surely, now Tilly should have noted the dangerous sparkle in Jennifer's eyes, the heightened flush in her cheeks. But Tilly's natural kindliness did not extend to strangers, especially “strange” strangers, and she went on grinding her axe, oblivious of the pit that yawned before her. Lowering her voice, she declared dramatically, “Been seen with creatures of darkness he has, Miss Jennifer! A evil man with a great black beard and funny shaped eyes what glow like black coals in his head! Jack puts on to be a looby, but he's got
Powers,
mark my words! Only look how he drug Lord Green up the cliff! He ain't a brawny fella. How'd he do it, lest he had Powers? Him and the Widow Newlyn's cut from the same cloth. Likely he wove a spell round Mr. Fleming, to get outta doing his fair share of the work. He's wove another round Sir Vinson, so as to—”

“That—will—do!”

Tilly gave a gasp, her frightened eyes at last taking note of the wrath in Jennifer's face.

“You wicked, vindictive creature!” cried Jennifer. “To fabricate and repeat such tales of another human being, only because he has a faulty memory and a different way of speech! No, I do not wish to hear a spate of excuses! You have been walking out with Oliver Crane. Oh yes, I know of it! I fancy you both were prodigious put out when my father sent Jack with us, rather than Crane, so you have whipped up this ridiculous mumbo jumbo 'gainst him!”

“How—how can you talk to me so-so unkind?” wailed Tilly, beginning to cry again. “After all the—the years I looked after, and ch-cherished, and—”

“And hid this ugly side of your nature from me! A little gossip is one thing, but you must know that the accusations you have made go far beyond gossip and could cause real mischief! I am most disappointed in you.”

“Oh, miss … Oh … miss!” sobbed Tilly, really terrified that she would lose her situation and might well have ruined her admired Oliver Crane into the bargain. “I didn't mean no—no harm! Not for the world would I … speak 'gainst no one as you think—think well of!”

“You may not have meant harm. But to say such things 'gainst anyone—
ever
is sinful. I will not tolerate rumour-mongering in anyone who works for me. Do you understand?”

Tilly nodded, and declared in broken accents and with floods of tears that she did understand, that she would ask forgiveness at evening prayers, and that so long as she lived, she would never do such a thing again.

For the rest of the journey there was no more talk in the carriage.

Inevitably, Jennifer's loving thoughts were on Jonathan.

Tilly's thoughts also dwelt upon Jonathan. But not with love.

C
HAPTER
IX

Breton Ridge was not situated, as one might suppose, upon a prominence, but rather, below one. At this point of the coast the land rose gradually from the cliff edge to level out about half a mile inland, where it fell away abruptly, for all the world as though some giant hoe had cut it down. The mansion had been erected at the foot of this long plateau, perhaps with an eye to shutting out the Atlantic gales. It was a large and imposing three-storied residence, built of pale native stone in the Gothic style, with high roofs and thin unornamented chimneys; clusters of tall narrow small-paned windows topped by brick arches; and many interesting gables. Despite the lack of formal gardens, the grounds were relieved from monotony by the rolling terrain, and by the very large lake that sparkled at the foot of the slope, some two hundred yards from the house.

On this hot late morning several people were in a rowing boat making its way from one of the three small islands in the lake, and others wandered about the lawns enjoying the sunshine. At the appearance of the Britewell carriage, a young lady in a great-hooped primrose muslin gown detached herself from her companions, and ran to meet the coach, holding up her skirts to reveal layers of lace-trimmed petticoats, and calling eager greetings. Unpowdered auburn ringlets bounced about her heart-shaped face. A pair of bright hazel eyes flashed to Jonathan as he pulled the team to a halt at the foot of the steps, then footmen had hurried from the house to swing open the carriage door, and Jennifer was handed down.

“I fear I am very late, dearest,” she said, holding out both hands to her friend. “My humble apologies.”

Miss Caroline Morris hugged her. “I thought you would never get here! I am only glad that you could come!”

Returning the embrace wholeheartedly, Jennifer was none the less aware that one of the footmen had directed Jonathan to the side entrance, and he was driving off with Tilly and the luggage. She was drawn into the cool interior of the mansion amid a rapid-fire series of questions, mostly having to do with “dear Howland” and culminating in, “Wherever did you find your new coachman? My, such a fine creature!”

“Caroline, Caroline! I wish you will learn to control your exuberance! I saw you
running!
” Lady Georgina Morris was a small, bird-like woman with the same bright eyes and pointed chin as her daughter. In a studiedly serene fashion she drifted across the gold and white hall to receive Jennifer's curtsy and present her thin cheek to be kissed. “You will think her a proper hurly-burly, my dear,” she said, with just a shade of sympathy in the glance she rested upon this unfortunate young woman. “But she is sincerely glad you are come, I need not tell you.”

There could be no doubt of this, because Jennifer's attempt to thank Lady Morris for her kind invitation was cut short by her impatient friend. Dimpling mischievously at her indignant but doting parent, Caroline whisked Jennifer across the hall and up the winding staircase.

“You are in the family wing,” she announced, her panniers swinging as she danced around a corner. “I persuaded Mrs. Drebbins to give you my sister Lucille's bedchamber. She won't be coming to the party, for she is in—” She paused, her eyes on the footman who followed, carrying Jennifer's dressing case and hat boxes. “Increasing,” she whispered, then revealed that confidence by saying merrily, “So I shall be an aunt once more! Isn't that jolly?”

The amused footman hurried past to swing open the door to a charming and very feminine bedchamber at the south side of the house.

When the man had taken himself off, the two girls embraced again, and Caroline said, “Now let me look at you.” She drew back, scanning her friend critically. “I vow you are lovelier than ever! And yet you look … different, somehow.” Her gaze sharpened. “Why do you blush? I declare, if I didn't know better, I'd think—”

Interrupted as the door opened again, she said, “Oh, hello, Tilly. I was just telling your mistress she is prettier each time I see her. I vow she fairly glows today! Do you not … er…”

Her words trailed off as Tilly bobbed a curtsy and applied a sodden handkerchief to her red nose. “Oh—my,” said Caroline uneasily. “Were you overcome by the heat again, poor creature?”

“I w-was, Miss,” gulped Tilly. “By that and … other things…”

Caroline met Jennifer's meaningful glance and said, “Well, you will be wanting us out of your way while you unpack, I am sure.” Turning, she made a wry face and took Jennifer to her own apartments. “Whatever is amiss?” she demanded, when they were seated in her spacious pink and white private parlour. “What did she mean—'other things'?”

Jennifer decided to try and forestall possible complications. “Oh, you know how Tilly loves to enlarge upon gossip. She has taken my coachman in dislike.”

“She is mad,” declared Caroline unequivocally.

Jennifer laughed. “The thing is, he was injured some time ago, as a result of which his memory is impaired. People tend to mock him. Tilly said some very cruel things and I had to scold her.”

Despite her carefree manner, Caroline had a shrewd streak. She pursed her lips and advised, “She will hate him forever. You'd as well turn her off, dearest. Better yet, turn them both off. It might be wise, you know, if he is wits to let.”

“He is not!” Caroline's eyes opened wide, and regretting her vehemence Jennifer added hurriedly, “He most gallantly saved the life of one of my father's guests. I can scarce reward him with dismissal.”

“Especially since he is prodigious good to look at, eh?”

Jennifer met those roguish eyes, hesitated, then said with a smile, “Caro, if you are not a sad romp! Here I have but now stepped across your threshold after a hot and tiresome journey, and instead of allowing me to wash and—”

“Well, I would have.” Caroline ran into her adjoining bedchamber and returned with a wet face cloth and a towel. “Only Tilly seemed so in the boughs I thought it best to leave her alone for a moment. One has to humour them, you know.” She sat beside Jennifer on the small sofa and watched her dab the cold cloth at her face. “Now I want to know all about you and your family. It has been so long since last I saw you, and I've a strong suspicion that lots of deliciousnesses have happened, and—”

“How can you harbour such notions?” Jennifer set aside the towels and tidied her hair. “My life is dull compared with your own, and you are the one with stories to tell. Are you pleased with your Kentish cousin?”

Caroline nodded, setting her ringlets bobbing. “Yes indeed. He is young—much younger than I had supposed. And so droll, and quite nice looking besides.
But
”—her eyes sparkled with mischief—“he has brought a friend with him. Oh la, la! Wait till you see
him!
So handsome 'tis criminal! But very haughty, for all he's a half-caste of some kind. And a tongue? Faith, 'tis an asp! I wonder my poor cousin can endure him.”

“He does not sound very pleasant,” said Jennifer cautiously. “Do you like him, Caro?”

“If you mean am I going to fall into a decline when he leaves? No. But he is wickedly exciting to flirt with—or try to. He can administer a crushing set-down, but all the ladies are in alt just to watch him.”

“And—the gentlemen?”

“Oh, they despise him, of course. But very quietly, for he is said to be deadly dangerous and has killed dozens and dozens of good men in duels.”

Jennifer laughed at this, and Caroline acknowledged gaily that she may have exaggerated “just a trifle,” but swept on, “Papa does not like him at all, and was vexed with James, my cousin, for having brought him. I heard Papa say”—she drew herself up, imitating her father's high-pitched voice and solemn manner—“he is not the thing, you know. And not received anywhere that
is
anywhere.”

Amused, Jennifer said that it was as well Caroline's heart was already given. “Dare I ask—is Lord Kenneth to make an interesting announcement during this party?”

Caroline stared at her. “About me, do you mean?”

“Why, yes. You writ that you were hopelessly in love with Edmund Sturtevant, and I think 'twill be a wonderful match, for he is such … a nice … Oh, Lud! Have I spoke out of turn? I made sure he meant to offer.”

“Well, he did, of course, but— Dearest Jennifer, what a ninny you are! As if I would
marry
him! Mama and I have settled that I will accept Pettigrew.”

“
Sherwin Pettigrew?
But—but, Caro—I never
dreamed
—I didn't even think you liked him! And—forgive, but he is so … foolish!”

“Oh, yes. I shall likely end up strangling him! But much as I adore my Edmund, his family is
nouveau riche
at best, and his mama—for all she is sweetly natured—is sometimes rather gauche, whereas Sherwin's lineage is impeccable, and his parents are the most starched-up and proud creatures. Poor Edmund is quite heartbroken, which is prodigious affecting. Still, it does not do, Mama says, to marry beneath one. Now why do you look at me like that? One has to choose sensibly, after all. I suppose 'tis different with you, poor thing, but if you
could
choose, dearest, whom would you pick?”

‘One has to choose sensibly, after all…' Jennifer smiled faintly. “I should choose the man I would love above all others, and whom I could honour and respect, even though all the world rejected him.”

“It sounds very romantical,” said Caroline dubiously. “But he would have to be of good prospects, for it would be dreadful if you were poor and had to live among the unwashed.” Her nose wrinkled. “Commoners so often … smell!”

Her friend surprised her by uttering a merry peal of laughter.

“What is it?” asked Caroline. “Have I said something clever?”