Carola Dunn (15 page)

“I am sorry I did not meet them,” said Nerissa, disappointed.

“So am I,” her cousin Euphemia said with unexpected fervour.

Nerissa excused herself and started up the stairs, very conscious of their eyes on her besmirched back. With an effort she held herself straight, hoping the mud did not show too badly against the brown cloth. On the landing she turned and started up the second flight. A wave of fatigue hit her and she stopped to gather her strength to complete the ascent.

From below came Great-Aunt Jane’s complaining voice. “How can you say, Effie, that you are sorry she did not meet the Pettigrews? We do not want her to become acquainted with the neighbours, and besides, I vow I should have died of shame to present such a hoydenish creature as Neville’s niece.”

“Exactly,” said Raymond. “She...”

“You are a ninnyhammer, Jane,” Euphemia interrupted. “What could suit our purpose better than having the Pettigrews meet her when she is in such a disgraceful state?”

“Exactly,” said Raymond, annoyed, “as I was about to observe.”

“I’m sure you need not worry,” Jane said crossly. “Sooner or later the common creature is bound to commit some dreadful, ill-bred gaucherie that will put us all to shame.”

So much for professed friendship. Even Mattie had only helped Nerissa for the horse’s sake. Though she had mistrusted their overtures, she was disheartened.

And Aunt Jane was all too probably right. Her confidence had grown as she learned to deal with the household, but in that process there had been room for mistakes. In meeting strangers one faux pas could ruin her chance of acceptance, and the etiquette of morning calls was not something Mama had ever felt it necessary to teach her.

* * * *

“And remember, dear,” said Miss Sophie, “though in Town you will offer refreshments only to particular friends, in the country visitors have come several miles to see you. It is only polite to offer tea to the ladies and a glass of wine to the gentlemen.”

“That will be easy to remember.” Nerissa sighed. “As for all the rest, I can only hope I shall not forget when the moment comes.”

“As to that, dear Miles and I decided you ought to have a little practice as well as instruction.” She bounced up in a shower of hairpins and pattered over to the door. “He is waiting in the breakfast-room next door, with Ben, who will play butler. I shall fetch them.”

While she waited, Nerissa picked up hair-pins and glanced around the morning room to see that all was neat. To receive guests in an untidy apartment, according to Miss Sophie, showed a shocking lack of respect.

The morning room was one of Nerissa’s favourite rooms. Though not at its best on a dull afternoon it was therefore little frequented, which was why they had chosen it for her lesson. Still, the poppy and cornflower chintz was cheerful, and the vase of pearly-white honesty seedcases looked very well against the peach-coloured wall.

Depositing the hairpins in a small Chinese porcelain bowl on the mantelpiece, she sat down and smoothed her apple-green skirts. She was ready for her callers.

The door opened and Ben stepped in. The young footman appeared about to burst with suppressed mirth. Playing Snodgrass’s part amused him, Nerissa supposed.

“Miss Datchett to see you, miss,” he announced with a snigger and moved aside.

Miss Sophie bustled in. She had put on a hat--crookedly--and gloves. Her eyes twinkled with merriment. As Nerissa rose and advanced to meet her, the correct words of welcome on her lips, a second visitor swept into the room.

The intruder, in a huge, old-fashioned, all-concealing Oldenburg bonnet and a voluminous purple pelisse, struck Nerissa with consternation. She was not ready for a real caller, especially a lady of such imposing presence.

Ben opened his mouth to announce the stranger. All that came out was a cackle and he turned away, clapping his hand to his mouth.

A pair of bright blue eyes peered at Nerissa from the depths of the bonnet. She looked down and saw that the pelisse ended a foot above the floor. Below the hem protruded a pair of ankles clad in buff morning trousers.

“Miles!” She giggled. “Oh, Miles, you nearly gave me a spasm, you wretch. Do be yourself, pray, for I shall have to entertain gentlemen as well as ladies.”

“Believe me, I cannot wait to get rid of this torturous contrivance.” He undid the bonnet’s ribbons, wrenched it from his head, and presented it to Ben. “Here, take the dratted thing away. How you ladies can bear to wear such monsters is beyond me.”

“Fashion,” said Miss Sophie profoundly. “Be careful as you take off the pelisse, Miles. Effie will truly have a spasm if you damage it. Or if she finds out you borrowed it, come to that.”

“No one else’s would go around me. You won’t peach on me, will you, Miss Sophie?”

“What do you take me for, you naughty boy? Now go back to the door and come in again, so Nerissa can show what she has learned.”

Trained to the theatre, and with no audience but Miss Sophie and Miles, Nerissa had no great difficulty playing the part of hostess. She found being a guest still easier, when they reversed the rôles and Miss Sophie was hostess. Her tutors pronounced her fit to meet the world.

“I’m sure it is Jane’s duty to introduce you to the neighbours,” said Miss Sophie apprehensively, “but since she has made no effort to do so, I shall take you on a round of calls. You, too, Miles, for Neville will not help you, I fear, nor Aubrey nor Raymond. Effie will be angry, I daresay, but I do not care for that. I only hope people will recall who I am.”

Nerissa hugged her. “Dear Cousin Sophie, how could anyone possibly forget you? I had far rather make my bows under your auspices than Aunt Jane’s.”

Privately she was less positive. In company, Miss Sophie must always have been overshadowed by her sister. Great-Aunt Jane, though not much more assertive, was now the wife of a baronet and thus a person of some consequence among the local gentry.

When Miss Sophie went off to sneak Effie’s pelisse back into her clothes-press, Nerissa voiced her doubts to Miles.

“You and I are also of some consequence,” he reminded her. “We are heirs to Addlescombe. I’m sure everyone is agog to meet us.”

“Then why have only the Pettigrews called?”

“Hibby told me Sir Barnabas discouraged casual callers once he gave up hope of disposing of his niece and nephews in marriage. He was not the most sociable of men. People lost the habit of dropping in, particularly as Addlescombe is somewhat out of the way. No doubt they are waiting to see whether we are more sociable than your grandfather.”

“I wish I had been in when the Pettigrews came.”

“Ah, but according to Hibby the Pettigrews are more interested in meeting me than you.” Miles smiled sardonically. “It seems there are two daughters of marriageable age, and I am now a highly eligible landowner.”

Unaccountably cast down, Nerissa summoned up an answering smile. “If they think so, it seems to indicate that Aunt Jane has thus far succeeded in stopping the others spreading word of the conditions in Sir Barnabas’s Will.”

“And his condemnations of the two of us. We shall be welcomed everywhere, so don’t fret, my dear girl. I’ll go and make sure we have the use of the landau tomorrow.”

However, another storm blew in overnight and the morning dawned with rain pelting down as if it would never stop. On the second day, the groom who rode to Riddlebourne for the post reported that the lanes were a quagmire. On the third day he could not get through--the Riddle was in flood. Nerissa began to think Fate was against her meeting the terms of her grandfather’s Will.

She said as much to Miles, to Sir Barnabas’s delight. It was time he intervened again. If the wench was giving up hope of winning, she’d be the readier to abandon the fight against her baser urges. All he had to do was entice her into Miles’s arms at a suitable time and place.

The best time and place were obvious. Even his half-witted relatives had worked out that a watch kept upon their chambers at night was more likely to be productive than any amount of following them about the countryside. At the end of the short side-passage where the two chambers lay was a window in an alcove. The curtain drew across the alcove rather than the window and behind it was a large early-Jacobean chest with a carved lid. Here they took it in turns to keep a vigil, well provided with cushions to protect against the ridges and bosses of the carving.

Sir Barnabas had spent many a long night hovering nearby, waiting to catch Nerissa sneaking into Miles’s room, or vice versa. He didn’t care which.

So far he and his fellow-watchers had waited in vain. Now he decided to take an active part.

He’d wait until midnight, when the rest of the household was settled and Miles and Nerissa would believe themselves safe from observation. They’d both be in night attire, with a choice of warm beds awaiting them. What could be more natural than that, lured out into the chilly passage, they should both repair to the same bed?

The first night after he devised his scheme, the watcher was Euphemia. He had no intention of letting Effie claim the credit for catching Miles and Nerissa
in flagrante
. The second night Sophie was on duty, and he didn’t want to frighten her. The third night was Raymond’s; the possibility of the parson attempting an exorcism made Sir Barnabas shudder.

The fourth night was Aubrey’s turn. Sir Barnabas watched him settle himself in the alcove, clad in a flamboyant dressing-gown of scarlet Chinese brocade over his Cumberland corset. Drawing the heavy green velvet curtain across in front of him, he sighed deeply and the creak of his corset came to his contemptuous uncle’s ears.

The last of the household had retired to bed half an hour since. Wafting down the main passage, Sir Barnabas saw the strips of light beneath the chamber doors go out one by one. He was fairly sure he’d be able to direct his disturbance so that none of them woke.

Only the dim illumination of the night-lamp on the hall table at the junction of the passages remained. He returned to the side-passage. Miles’s light was out but Nerissa’s still shone. No doubt she was avidly perusing the sensuous fantasies of the Arabian Nights. So much the better!

At last she blew out her candle. A few minutes later came the faint, distant chime of the clock in the front hall. Midnight.

Sir Barnabas almost wished he had chains to clank. Failing that, he reached into the inmost recesses of his tenuous being and produced a series of eery moans, bloodcurdling groans, and banshee shrieks.

Undignified but effective, he thought as Miles’s and Nerissa’s doors swung open.

Chapter 11

Dearly as she loved Vinnie, Nerissa fancied the notion of a flying horse of ebony inlaid with gold and gems. Eager as she was to read the adventures of the prince who flew off on it, she simply could not keep her eyes open any longer. She snuffed her candle, tossed her shawl on the bedside chair, snuggled down, and in no time drifted into a dream.

The prince, a dashing young man with dark hair, blue eyes, and a slightly crooked nose, mounted the ebony horse. As they disappeared into the depths of an azure sky, the wicked sorcerer revealed that he had not shown the rider how to bring his magic steed back to earth. At once the king, his wife and daughters, and all the people of the city began to lament and shriek in despair. The din was enough to wake the dead.

More than enough to wake Nerissa. She sat bolt upright. The noise was coming from the corridor just outside her chamber.

Slipping out of bed, she reached for her shawl and threw it around her shoulders as she dashed to the door. She opened it a crack and peeked out, her hand on the latch ready to slam it shut if need be. By the light of the night-lamp nothing was visible but the opposite wall.

The dreadful outcry died away to a whimper and stopped. Nerissa opened the door a little wider just as Miles stepped out of his chamber into the passage. He glanced around with a puzzled frown. Though he was hardly dressed for action in his long, striped nightshirt and nightcap, she felt the safer for his presence. She tiptoed out to join him.

“What was that?” she whispered.

“It sounded like a dozen cats fighting a pitched battle on this very spot,” he said in a low voice, “but it must have been outside. On this side of the house, no one else would hear it.”

“I suppose so, though it did sound very much as if it was indoors. I don’t hear anything now. Something must have frightened them away. Let’s listen for a minute.”

A feeble, plaintive mutter faded into silence. Then a sudden loud creak made Nerissa jump and clutch Miles’s arm.

“Someone is coming!”

He shook his head, his grin reassuring. “I think not. Don’t you recognize that sound?”

She strained her ears and heard another creak, much fainter. “Not Aubrey’s corsets!”

“Hush, he’ll hear.”

“But where is he?”

“Behind the arras.”

“The arr...? Oh, the curtain. What on earth is he doing there?”

“What was Polonius doing behind the arras?”

“Spying on Hamlet and.... Aubrey is spying on us?” she asked, shocked.

“They take it in turns. They don’t want to miss catching us at our... hm, naughty business.”

Nerissa’s face burned. She was glad the light was so dim. “Naughty business!” she said in a wrathful whisper. “There is not going to be any naughty business. My feet are cold. I’m going back to bed. My bed. Alone.”

“But of course.” Miles bowed as she turned away. “Sweet dreams.”

She swung back. “His corset couldn’t possibly have made all that noise, could it?”

“No, but perhaps he fell asleep, had a nightmare—’Dead, for a ducat, dead!’--and cried out.”

“Or it might have been cats outside.” Neither explanation quite satified her but she was soon asleep again. In her own bed. Alone.

Sir Barnabas cursed his dandified, lily-livered clunch of a nephew.

* * * *

“Good heavens, you are up early, Cousin Aubrey,” said Nerissa in frank astonishment. Two days had passed since the arras incident so he had made up for lost sleep, but he was rarely seen below stairs before noon. Now here he was at the breakfast table before her.