Clarissa and the Poor Relations (14 page)

Mr Thorne’s wineglass continued to his mouth.

‘Not necessarily.’ said Mr Elfoy clearly. His third glass of wine was making him a little reckless, he felt, but he enjoyed Thorne’s face losing that self-satisfied look. He watched, with satisfaction, as it changed colour now. Then he turned to the lady whom Mr Thorne had hardly acknowledged this evening, ‘Mama?’

The sweet lady beside him raised her serene head and said, ‘Of course.’ As the company, bar Dr and Mrs Chancellor, looked astonished she smiled deprecatingly. ‘It is just that my sister, Lady Carmichael, is a Lady-in -Waiting to dear Queen Charlotte.’ Grandiston’s brows raised and Thorne’s jawed dropped, ‘I am very sure she could procure an invitation to the presentation for dear Miss Thorne. And present her, of course.’ She smiled warmly across the table at Clarissa, who looked dumbfounded.

‘You are too kind, my dear Mrs Elfoy. I must admit that I am astonished that I have such a very varied acquaintance.’

Grandiston’s brows knit, ‘Ah, you are a Darlington then, a fine Staffordshire family. I knew your brother well and his son a little. Do you travel to town much?’

Mrs Elfoy looked a little conscious. ‘When my health permits: short visits only to the family. When I married Tristram’s father, I chose the quiet country life and I have never regretted it.’

John Thorne looked dumbfounded, ‘But a court presentation...’ he spluttered, ‘... surely it is not possible…’

Mrs Elfoy looked at him and for a second Clarissa could see a hint of some distaste cross her face but her tone was gentle as she said, ‘Nothing could be simpler, I assure you.’

Miss Appleby, who had been a little quiet, this evening, became enlivened at this news.

‘Oh, dear Mrs Elfoy - how wonderful. A presentation at court for my dear Miss Thorne - just as her mamma should have wished. Well… that is to say…’ she coloured a little, and came to a halt.

‘What Miss Appleby means, Mrs Elfoy, was that my mother might have wished it if she had given a thought to anything but books.’ said Clarissa with humour.

‘Clarissa.’ said her brother sharply, but the conversation had overtaken him.

‘Scholarship is a very laudable activity,’ said Mr Chancellor, ‘and there have been throughout history many examples of women scholars…’

‘Yes.’ Clarissa, ‘mamma referred to them often.’ She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully, ‘But I do think that though a pattern of womanhood in many ways, it would have been more
practical
if Mama had remembered to arrange things like my coming out, or a court presentation.’

Anyone choosing to look at Mr Elfoy at this precise moment (as it happened Juliana was) could not help but see the look of glowing admiration he cast at the unaware Clarissa. Tonight, in blue with blue beads dripping from her naked shoulders she was even more beautiful than before. Miss Sowersby was pretty, Miss Petersham a cool beauty, but neither had the animation and vivacity that Clarissa exuded. And today she had called him friend. Then he grinned. She was so impulsive and honest in a way young ladies had been taught not to be. Even his mother smiled behind her napkin at her latest speech, whilst her brother was once again enraged.

Mr Thorne cleared his outraged throat to reprimand such outspokenness, when Juliana surprised herself for the second time by drawing his fire.

‘It was at her coming out in Harrogate that you first met dear Mrs Thorne, was it not?’ she said a little more loudly than was her want.

Mr Elfoy gave her a look of real admiration and Clarissa gave her one of real gratitude.

Thorne was diverted and smiled on her in a fawning way and proceeded to tell her the very dull tale (excepting to him, and possibly Miss Appleby, the queen of all romantics) of the first meeting between himself and his dear Cornelia. This naturally led on to her imminent arrival and thus it was fully the sweet course before he stopped talking.

The ladies withdrew to the front drawing room in due course, Clarissa shyly admitting to Mrs Elfoy that she had no real plans to go to London.

‘I fear it was the uncustomary mischievousness of my son in bating your brother, I can only apologize.’ She whispered back, as they entered the green room. ‘Should you change your mind, only a line to me and I shall write to my sister.’ She pulled Clarissa a little aside to say with a hesitant smile, ‘I fear my son has a deal more pride in his lineage than means.’

Clarissa laid a hand on her arm and replied quietly, but in the most natural way possible, ‘I must admit that that is my position, too. Proud of all this - but not so much of the debts.’ They exchanged confiding grins and walked forward to the fire, arm in arm.

‘Well’ thought Miss Micklethwaite observing this, ‘If only a courtship was possible, this would be going very well.’

Juliana and Oriana exchanged speaking glances.

The young Misses Challoner’s whispered conversations were in admiration of the Earl of Grandiston, but their secret glances had been for Mr Elfoy. Clarissa had seen him joust good-naturedly with Charlotte - just seventeen - and talk in a different tone with her sister Annabel whose eyes sought him throughout dinner.

It was evident to the occupants of Ashcroft that Mr Elfoy was the most sought after young man in the neighbourhood. Juliana thought it inevitable, since not even in the metropolis had she seen a finer specimen. He could be both sensible and light-hearted, his manners were excellent and yet he contained that hint of strength well-leashed that females could not fail to find irresistible, though Juliana found a little alarming. It now transpired that his birth was even better than had been supposed and had it not been for the lack of fortune his passion for Clarissa (which had been discussed by all the other Ashcroft ladies) might be the best thing for all. As it was, if Mr Thorne were to get a hint, he’d pack his sister off, Earl or no Earl.

Clarissa saw Mr Elfoy only briefly in the next few days and never alone. Her brother had not liked something in the tone of Elfoy’s dealings with Clarissa and had gone so far as to give her a warning on the matter. This had been met with such blank incomprehension by his sister that Thorne thought he had better leave such delicate matters to his darling wife. His close attention to Clarissa’s movements had a benefit - he was not abroad enough to wonder at the increased activity at the back of the house. She whispered as much to Elfoy over the teacup she was pouring, and he managed to grin, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve instructed the men to play gormless yokels if asked what they are up to.’

Clarissa gave a gurgle of laughter, which she translated into a cough, for the benefit of her brother. Her fingers touched Elfoy’s as she passed him his cup and she had the silliest wish to leave them there. She blushed a little and lowered her eyes from his suddenly hot gaze.

It is quite, quite impossible, he reminded himself and he moved away with a face of stone. Miss Micklethwaite, observing, felt the need to jab at her stitching with new ferocity.

John had made it plain to Clarissa that he thought the presence of Mr Elfoy could be disposed of at tea, but it seemed that he delivered estate messages in the afternoon. He either contrived to arrive with the Earl or was begged by one of the other ladies to join them. John was still frowning at him when Sullivan entered and announced his wife.

‘Cornelia.’ he exclaimed delightedly.

Cornelia was taking off her gloves and wearing an expression designed to be pleasing. She took in the room’s occupants at a glance and moved to give her husband her small hand. She was dressed in a stylish green carriage dress that had cost her devoted husband a substantial sum. However, one look at the London elegance of Misses Sowersby and Petersham and at Clarissa’s astonishing new look (Oriana’s discarded figured muslin with Brussels lace trim plus a new twist to her Grecian hairstyle achieved by Becky’s astonishing budding talent) made her feel slightly sick. She was not much better dressed than those ridiculous companions, she thought, casting a look at Micklethwaite’s simple but well-cut cambric and Miss Appleby’s sprigged muslin (the fabric discovered in a cache upstairs). Her smile did not waver for a second though, as she was greeted by the ladies. ‘Dearest sister,’ she said tenderly to Clarissa and then, turning to her neighbour, ‘Miss Sowersby, may I call you Juliana?’ This increase in intimacy, not to be attempted in the presence of Juliana’s parents, was not easily denied.

The Earl, sipping tea by the fire watched her carefully. An encroaching mushroom, he thought, such as he knew how to keep at a distance. She showed her lack of breeding in her slighting of Mr Elfoy, who fell back with a contemptuous curl to his lip. It would be a new experience for Grandiston to allow her to encroach. Not too easily, though, he thought as he went forward to be introduced. He gave her a cool smile and a look that seemed to find her pretty plump person somewhat lacking. He bowed graciously enough however and murmured, ‘Charmed.’

Juliana marvelled yet again at the easy adoption of his London manners and thought that Mr Booth would have enjoyed how his friend’s behaviour increased Mrs Thorne’s awe of his titled personage. The earl and Mr Elfoy left swiftly, being delayed by invitations from Mr and Mrs Thorne to come again. ‘How kind of you, ma’am,’ said Elfoy affecting to misunderstand, ‘I will.’ He was rewarded by seeing Clarissa’s face, strained since Cornelia’s entrance, lighten to a grin. Oriana’s stately countenance dropped to gurgle into her handkerchief.

‘It is so nice of you, my Lord, to be so kind to my dear, sweet sister.’ intoned Cornelia, smiling fondly at Clarissa in a way that made that sister wish to box her ears. Oriana squeezed her arm warningly.

‘Nonsense, it is I who am in Miss Thorne’s debt,’ retorted the Earl smiling at Clarissa in such a flirtatious way as to make her drop her eyes in a maidenly fashion to disguise a giggle, ‘She has entertained my friend Booth and I royally.’

Cornelia’s breast swelled in hope. This looked most promising. The Earl definitely was interested, unbelievably, in John’s pert little sister. She could almost see certain individuals in Sowersby who had treated her curtly unbend when they heard that she was related to the Earl of Grandiston. The money coming to her household from the sale of this estate might be restricted to the length of Clarissa’s engagement, but wouldn’t the Earl make a much more handsome settlement upon her family? And the social opportunities of being the sister-in–law of a Countess were enough to make her head swim.

Much of this she conveyed to her husband in the comfortable coze they had as they dressed for dinner. They must foster the Earl’s interest in their dear sister, she felt, for Clarissa’s own good.

‘Yes, my dear, but what about the house sale?’ said her husband worriedly.

‘You will secure that at once my love, even if the actual purchase is delayed by a month or so. That should be easily done, for you said the Lord Staines was anxious to complete.’

‘But … my dear, I must tell you that Clarissa is become a little turned by all this admiration … she may not sign the deed.’ He looked shamefaced and worried and Cornelia patted his hand reassuringly.

‘You may leave her to me, my dear,’ she said confidently, with a little icy spark in her eye, ‘I know just how to deal with Clarissa.’

Mr Thorne rested in the balm of the stronger character, just glad that his dear wife had arrived.

Arrive she had. The next day, it seemed to the ladies that Cornelia was everywhere. At breakfast she announced her intention of touring the house. Clarissa bit back her annoyance and professed herself pleased to accompany her.

‘Oh no my dear, I shouldn’t dream of disturbing you. I shall just get the housekeeper to accompany me.’

Clarissa opened her mouth to object, but found her toe under Miss Appleby’s such that she almost yelped. So the aging housekeeper, Mrs Smith, rescued from retirement on the estate by Sullivan, was suffered to walk up and down stairs as Cornelia poked and prodded her way around a grander house than she had ever known. Her manner to her inferiors was haughty in the extreme (giving away her lack of breeding in Mrs Smith’s opinion) and she asked probing questions about the house and the contents and the inhabitants in a manner that elicited monosyllabic answers from the old retainer.

Very soon she prised the keys from the keys from the housekeepers hands, a thing Mrs Smith reported she would not have permitted if the stair walking had not given her palpitations. ‘I’m sure I travel the reaches of this house every week, Mr Sullivan, in performance of my dooties, but I’m too old to be doing that in an hour.’

And so it was that Cornelia pried her way into every room in the wing. She unlocked linen cupboards and priced the linens and laces to within a penny, she noted the silver and the paintings and furniture and hangings. No legal inventory could have been as complete. Finally, without any compunction, she inspected each of the ladies’ rooms.

In Miss Micklethwaite’s she found little to interest her: just simple round gowns for the most part and a couple of sensible woollen shawls. At a small desk that that lady had caused to be brought in, she found some letters. She read these with no reserve and made the disturbing discovery that the Micklethwaite woman was sister to a solicitor. Very possibly a low sort of man, but perhaps the letter could be construed dangerously. He made mention of a visit ‘... to discuss this complicated business in person’, could this be something to do with her sister-in–law? Possibly not; but as well to be on guard.

In Miss Appleby’s chamber she found as many as six elegant dresses and twelve lace handkerchiefs. A schoolteacher, she thought bitterly. How could she ever deserve this finery?

She was interrupted in her perusal of the handkerchief drawer by an exclamation at the door. Miss Appleby stood, quite pink on the doorstep, staring with shocked eyes at Mrs Thorne.

‘Ah, Miss Appleby - is this
your
room?’ said Cornelia sweetly.

‘Why, yes. Can I help you Mrs Thorne?

Her shocked tone made Cornelia colour just a little, but she replied in an even sweeter voice, ‘I am surprised. I should have thought it the late Duchess’ boudoir, so many treasures does it hold.’ She held up a lace handkerchief, cobweb fine and raised an enquiring eyebrow.

‘Those were bequeathed to me by my dear Mrs Thorne …’ Appleby stammered apologetically. ‘I believe they belonged to her mother, the previous Duchess …’ She looked quite distracted and her voice tailed away.

‘Really?’ said Cornelia, ‘My dear step-mamma in law left me nothing quite so fine …’

Miss Appleby looked miserable. ‘Perhaps you would like to take … as a memento …’

‘Not at all, my dear lady,’ she said and dropped the handkerchief on the bureau. ‘And did my mother-in law make you a gift of all your handsome dresses?’ she asked, smiling her sticky-sweet smile.

‘Well, no. Dear Miss Thorne made over some of her mother’s gowns …I hope you do not think that I have imposed on her generosity …’ Miss Appleby sank her head into her hands.

Cornelia bustled forward and took Miss Appleby’s hands in hers. ‘My dear lady, of course not. I have no doubt you wish to be great help to my sister - but I am here now. If you have behaved
thoughtlessly
in accepting gifts that Clarissa simply cannot afford, I absolve you of any blame in the matter. I know how forceful the young can be. However, it really
won’t do
, will it? And staying in this house whilst being of little use to Clarissa … well, I shall leave you to think about it. There now ….’ And with a final pat of the miserable Appleby’s hands, she left to enter Clarissa’s room.

She was full of rage as she explored the cupboards and presses of the most magnificent bedchamber she had ever seen. The morning fire that Becky thought only due to Clarissa’s dignity was glowing still in the grate and the silver brushes, combs and perfume bottles glittered on the elegant French dressing table. The dresses were like a slap in the face to her. Finer muslins and silks met her eyes than she herself possessed. That at least four of them were gifts from Oriana and Juliana she neither knew nor cared. They represented the way in which Clarissa had been catapulted above her in status and wealth, the way in which she had exerted her independence over her brother, who would certainly not have let her fritter her money away on such finery.

With tumultuous jealousy she moved onto the next bedroom, which turned out to be Oriana’s. The sheer luxury and quantity of Oriana’s possessions caused the acid in her stomach to rise. How could this be? On the only previous occasion that she had met Oriana, she had been in that dreadful little school, working, and now she was lording it in fine clothes that outdid Juliana’s, the wealthiest young lady of Cornelia’s acquaintance. As she stooped over to examine more closely a silk shawl, very likely worth thirty pounds and more she heard a rustle at the door. She stood up before turning towards the door slowly, appearing to be quite mistress of the situation. ‘I am afraid I got rather lost in the corridors my dear, such a large house. I thought this was my sweet sister Clarissa’s room, but I fear I am wrong.’ She gave a false laugh, ‘So sorry.’

Oriana inclined her head, her anger at the intrusion hidden behind a mask-like stare that began to put Cornelia a little out of countenance. She looked down and found her fingers still held the shawl, ‘What a pretty treasure, I’m sure I do not know what such a pretty thing might cost.’

Oriana let her eyes rest on Cornelia’s unexciting shawl and curled her lip, ‘How should you, to be sure?’ Cornelia blushed at the slight.

‘At any rate, it must be beyond a school-teacher’s yearly salary.’ she said challengingly.

Oriana raised her eyelids a little, ‘Do you wish to borrow it?’ she asked with chilling civility, ‘I believe I have another two or three that might better suit your gown.’

Cornelia was enraged. ‘Do you mean to tell me that my sister has made you a present of
four
such shawls? She cannot have squandered such an amount….’

‘Mrs Thorne, I do not mean to tell you anything at all as I can see no earthly reason why it is any of your business. You’d better hurry to get dressed, ma’am. Luncheon will be served shortly.’ And she held the door open regally for the defeated one to leave.

Cornelia’s rage sought relief and she took it when she saw the door of Miss Appleby’s room ajar, she looked in and saw the poor lady weeping into one of the handkerchiefs that had excited her jealousy.

‘My dear lady, please do not distress yourself so,’ she cooed, ‘Much better to write to your brother – Farnham, is it not - to apprise him of your arrival.’

Miss Appleby wiped her eyes distractedly, ‘Yes, oh yes. That is just what I should do. Th-thank you, Mrs Thorne.’

Cornelia swept downstairs, her self-satisfaction reborn.

Miss Appleby sat down to write a letter to her relatives and found herself instead dashing off a note to Sir Montague. She felt it would be so impolite of her to leave the county without informing him of her regret at not seeing him again. Once she had finished this missive she was, for some strange reason, wholly overset and she found herself unable to write the dreaded letter to Farnham. Resolving to do it later, she went downstairs and laid her note on the hall table for Sullivan to deal with, being drawn to raise it to her lips fleetingly before she put it down.