By dinnertime the entrance hall was piled high with trunks and boxes and bundles. Richard had always kept only a skeleton staff at the house in Cavendish Square, as his mother had not ventured to London since his father’s death. Besides Monsieur Pierre, two abigails, a valet, a maid, a footman and two grooms would precede or accompany the party, not to mention Old Ned, the coachman. The huge old traveling carriage, once the height of elegance, had been reupholstered and polished till it shone.
“It is. quite out of date,” stated Lucy disparagingly. “I shall be ashamed to ride in such an old-fashioned contraption. I should think it would need six horses to pull it.”
“It was good enough to take you to Arnden, and it will get you to London,” said her brother without sympathy. “Unless you had rather postpone your journey until I can order a new vehicle from the coach-builder?”
“It is not very comfortable, nor fast,” Lady Annabel agreed with Lucy. “Perhaps when we reach Town we might look at some of the newer carriages, Richard?”
“As you please, mama. Had you suggested it several months ago, we might have had one by now.”
“Oh, a London carriage would be far more elegant, I am sure,” cried Lucy. “In Leeds they only know how to build hideous things like this. Let us find a new one at once in London, and then Richard may fetch Clara in it.”
“I hope you will find my town carriages unexceptionable, Lucy, or you will be so busy at the coach-maker you will have no time for the dressmaker.”
The evening seemed endless to Lucy who was full of impatience to be off. Richard also found it passing with excruciating slowness. He had been ordered to take a hand at piquet with his aunt, who had no reticence about criticizing his play in acid tones.
Miss Fell watched them both with amusement, which was shared by Lord Denham.
“I do not know how Lucy will survive till bedtime,” he whispered to her, as Lucy jumped up and wandered restlessly around the room. “And as for Richard, he is generally considered an excellent player at piquet.”
“It is strange, is it not, how Miss Carstairs sets him all at sixes and sevens? To me she has been perfectly amiable.”
“She is not your aunt, Miss Fell. I have just such an aunt myself. She would put the fear of death into the devil himself.”
“Lucy, you had better go and play the pianoforte if you cannot sit still,” said Lady Annabel crossly. “Tomorrow will come no sooner for your jumping up and down.”
“I should like to hear you play,” Miss Fell said. “Lord Denham, perhaps you would help me to the music room. No, do not carry me, I must try to walk. It is not far”
Richard watched anxiously as she moved shakily into the next room, leaning heavily on Lord Denham’s arm. His inattention to his cards drew a biting rebuke from Miss Carstairs.
When Miss Fell was guided to a couch and settled on it, she seemed none the worse for her effort, though she could feel her heart beating rapidly. She thanked Lord Denham, who said, “You must excuse me, if you please. I am no musician, as Miss Lucy knows, so I shall go and sit with Lady Annabel.”
Lucy pouted a little, but she was not vain about her performance and did not protest. She played several lively tunes with great vigor and considerable charm and then started on a pavane. The slow, stately dance emerged mangled from her fingers. Miss Fell winced. In the next room, Richard and his mother exchanged despairing glances, and Miss Carstairs looked up in outrage.
“Annabel, if your daughter can play only gavottes and gigs, she should not offend our ears with such distressing incompetence. Let her cultivate a light style and leave pieces requiring sensitivity to those who are sensitive!”
“Indeed, Florence, I constantly remind her to play only lively pieces in company. There, it is nearly over.”
Lord Denham, though unable to comprehend their horror, went over to the piano and said tactfully, “Let us have a jolly tune, Miss Lucy. Such solemn stuff does not suit your sparkling eyes.”
“Fie, Lord Denham,” she replied, looking up at him archly through her lashes. “You said yourself you are no connoisseur of music.”
“But I am a connoisseur of young ladies’ eyes, and yours make me think of waltzes, not dirges. Come, will you promise me your first waltz at Almack’s?”
“La, sir, I daresay the lady patronesses will not permit me to waltz.”
“What, with every gentleman in the room begging for an introduction?”
Lucy blushed. The evident admiration in Lord Denham’s face was very flattering, but used only to the clumsy compliments of provincial beaux, she was unsure how to answer.
Lord Denham, amused, accepted the blush as sufficient reply. “I shall haunt Almack’s so as not to miss the fateful moment.” He lifted her hand and kissed it lightly. “Now play me a waltz that I may dream we are dancing already.”
Miss Fell had followed the conversation with interest. She wondered if Lord Denham had serious intentions. They would make a charming couple, she thought, but she had been acquainted with Lucy long enough to know that she needed a strong hand on the reins to check her liveliness at times. She suspected Lord Denham was far too lazy to curb her high spirits, and sooner or later that might lead to trouble. However, it was not her problem, though she must take an interest in the fate of one who was becoming as dear to her as Lucy undoubtedly was.
Richard, his game over to his vast relief, watched the
tête-à-tête
with very different feelings. Lord Denham would be an extremely eligible husband for his sister, and how delightful to have his best friend become his brother-in-law. He had always stood as much in the position of father to Lucy as a brother, and though her vivacity sometimes led her into mischief or beyond the line of what was pleasing, he had always been able to quell her with a word. He made his way into the music room now with unalloyed pleasure in the hope of her marrying the heir of a marquis and such a good fellow.
“Do you waltz, Miss Fell?” he inquired, sitting down beside her. “Oh, I beg your pardon, I suppose you do not know.”
“I have no memory of waltzing, Mr. Carstairs,” she answered, “but my toes have been twitching and I rather think they have a better memory than my head.” She did not mention the fact that all the time Lucy had been playing, her fingers had seemed to want to join in. She resolved to attempt to play as soon as she was able and no one was by to hear.
Lady Annabel rang for the tea tray, and she and Miss Carstairs joined the young people in the other room.
“We must rise betimes if we are to reach Doncaster tomorrow night,” she said, apologizing for the early hour. “It is only sixty miles, but there are always so many things to be done at the last moment and the days are short. Besides, until we reach the post road at York, it is very slow going.”
Richard would not permit Miss Fell to attempt to walk up the stairs. As he carried her up, she said shyly, “The house will seem very empty when you are all gone.”
He heard the forlorn note in her voice and looked down at her. For a timeless moment he lost himself in the sea green eyes raised appealingly to his, then he caught his breath.
“I will come for you soon,” he promised with a catch in his throat that made speaking difficult.
To both of them the words seemed pregnant with meaning, and each fought the impression. As Mary helped her prepare for bed, Miss Fell forced herself to realize that Mr. Carstairs was referring only to her journey to London.
Making his way to his room in the other wing, Richard assured himself that he was merely full of pity for her. Her situation was most unenviable, and she needed his protection. But how did she come to be in that situation? What was she doing alone on the moors? No one knew what sort of person she really was. Did she really deserve his sympathy? He had taken her into his house; his mother, a Carstairs, had personally nursed her. Whoever she was, she could not complain of her treatment.
By the time he reached his chamber, he had managed to make himself angry with her. Reproachful green eyes haunted his dreams.
Chapter 5
Morning came, as mornings do. It was a foul day. Icy rain blew in sheets from the east, soaking the servants as they struggled to load the vehicles. Lady Annabel was almost persuaded that they should postpone their departure. One look at Lucy’s anxious face changed her mind. She sighed, and went to bid farewell to Miss Carstairs and Miss Fell.
Lucy had already taken leave of her dear Clara. Bubbling with excitement, she had bounced in and flung her arms around her, drawing a protest from Mary.
“Now give over, Miss Lucy. Tha’s near upset Miss Fell’s chocolate. And lookee, tha’s got marmalade on thy gown!”
“Oh, Mary, stop fussing. You’re as bad as Nurse. You make sure you take good care of Miss Fell when we are gone. She must be quite recovered when my brother comes for her.”
Mary bobbed a curtsy, and Lucy, looking at her, did not see the quick. faint blush that covered her friend’s face and then ebbed as quickly.
I must not be so sensitive to those words,
Miss Fell scolded herself. They mean nothing. Yet she felt hurt when Richard did not come to say good-bye. She started every time she heard footsteps in the passage, but, except for Lord Denham, and then Lady Annabel, they always went on by. Though once she thought they hesitated outside her door, they continued in spite of her wishing. At length she heard the jingle of harnesses and the rumble of wheels, and gave up hope.
She managed to get to the window and watched as the three loaded carriages rounded the corner of the house. It had stopped raining, and a hand emerged from the foremost vehicle and waved to her. Lucy’s hand. She did not know how much effort it cost Richard, now cantering past the procession, to stop himself from turning back and rushing up to her room for a last word. Determined to consider her as a mere dependent, he would not show her any particular attention, and in his resolution he lost sight of the fact that to say good-bye was common courtesy.
Miss Fell returned to her bed, wondering sadly what she had done to offend him. She rang her bell, and when Mary came in she said, “I shall dress this morning. If I do not make an effort, I shall never grow stronger.”
“Yes, miss. What’ud tha like to wear, miss?”
That gave her pause. She knew she had been brought here in a riding dress, which was not at all suitable.
“I believe Lady Annabel’s abigail altered a gown to fit me, Mary. Was it finished?”
“Oh yes, miss. Me an’ Miss Vane an’ Miss Lucy’s maid, Molly, we did ever so many gowns. They mun be in t’sewing room yet. I’ll fetch ‘ee one on ‘em.”
She ran off and soon returned with a morning gown of fine warm merino, dove grey, and an armful of petticoats.
“This were my lady’s visiting dress last winter, miss. It’s a right treat to touch it, so soft it is. I sewed this one. Will it be a’right for now?”
“Yes, indeed. What a fine needlewoman you are, Mary.”
“Thank’ee, miss, but let’s see if it fits proper.”
The gown fitted perfectly. Miss Fell sat gazing at herself in the mirror while Mary brushed her hair vigorously and tied it back in a loose knot. She had not looked at herself since her arrival at Toblethorpe and she felt strange. Her face was familiar to her, yet she did not precisely remember it. Had she been asked a few minutes earlier, she would not have known the color of her eyes. She studied herself. Forehead too high, she thought disparagingly. Mouth too wide, and that great masculine chin. What a fright! No wonder Richard—Mr. Carstairs—was not interested. Then her hair was finished and she could see her whole face at once. Well, she mused, perhaps not so bad. Not exactly pretty, but I don’t think I am quite an antidote.
“I think I had better wear a cap,” she said to Mary.
“Oh no, miss! Tha’s pretty as a picture. Caps is for old ladies and servants.”
“You are an excellent abigail, Mary. Thank you.”
“Does ‘ee think so, miss? Ee, I’d like to be a lady’s maid, but Mrs. Bedford says I don’t talk right.”
“That can be remedied. Would you like me to teach you? If you are free after lunch, we could start then.”
“Ee, miss, I’d be that grateful. I’ll have to ask Mrs. Bedford though.”
“Of course. I shall just sit here and rest for the present. I find I am a little tired after dressing.”
With much solicitude, Mary settled her in a chair by the fire with a pile of books and went out.
Not ten minutes later there was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Bedford appeared. As jealous of the Carstairs’ pride as they could possibly be, she had resented Miss Fell from the first, and was most suspicious of her right to be treated as a member of the family. Ready and willing to take affront and consider herself put upon by a nobody, she advanced on her victim, glaring like a turkey cock.
“What’s this I hear about Mary learning to be an abigail?” she demanded. “The lower servants are in my charge, and I’ll thank you not to meddle miss.”
“Lady Annabel instructed Mary to wait upon me,” said Miss Fell coldly, hiding her dismay. “If you have work for her when I do not need her, of course she will do it. I am sure you must be very busy with half the staff gone.”
“Well, it’s not so much trouble looking after just you and Miss Carstairs, miss, but I’m sure I don’t know what to do about meals. That Gladys says she don’t know how to go on without the Frenchie to hold her hand. I’m at my wits end, and I can’t be running off after the maids all the time.” Mrs. Bedford ran the gamut from condescension through complaint to belligerence in one short speech.
“Indeed, you cannot,” said Miss Fell soothingly. “I shall speak to Gladys. I do not think Miss Carstairs should be bothered. And Mary shall come straight to you whenever I am finished with her, so you see you need not chase her. Surely you’d not deny her a chance to better herself?” she added cajolingly.
“She’s a good girl,” pronounced the housekeeper grudgingly. “If you’re sure she won’t be a bother, Miss Fell? She’s my own sister’s child; I’d like to see her rise above housemaid.”
“So you are a Yorkshirewoman also, Mrs. Bedford? I would not have guessed it from the way you speak.”