Clarissa and the Poor Relations (7 page)

Oriana blushed at the compliment. ‘It is only that my father made a great deal of money by doing the same at my home. It improved the yields he said. We shall have to find a way to further reward Muggins.’

Mr Elfoy’s face took on a soft look. ‘He can be a difficult man, but Miss Thorne totally won him over. She is a remarkable young lady, do you not think?’

‘I have always thought so,’ said Miss Micklethwaite dampeningly. It would not do to encourage him. Mr Elfoy was aware of betraying himself and looked studiously at the carpet.

At this point Clarissa entered the room, still wearing her muslin dress, her eyes suspiciously pink. She wore a resolute expression, however and she said in an even tone, ‘Mr Elfoy, will you marry me?’

There was a stunned silence then Miss Micklethwaite let out a sharp ‘Clarissa.’ in a tone that Clarissa had not heard since she had spilled ink carelessly in the schoolroom. Her heart had been beating fast since she had opened her mouth. It had seemed simple and easy to explain her thoughts to Mr Elfoy who had come to be her friend. She had kept her eyes on his face with a semblance of calm however and saw how stupidly she had been mistaken. His face flushed with humiliation, he looked like a man who had been offered an insult of the most grievous kind. Waity’s voice brought her to her senses—whatever her troubles, how could she expect this excellent young man to give up all hope of domestic happiness for financial gain? Her composure crumpled, ‘I -I’m so sorry.’ she cried as she ran from the room.

Mr Elfoy took up his hat from the side table, stiff as any marionette. ‘Excuse me ladies,’ he said punctiliously, ‘I must be going.’

Oriana grabbed at his arm ‘Please, dear Mr Elfoy. Let us explain. Clarissa is overset. It is all the fault of a letter we received this morning.’

‘Indeed sir,’ Miss Micklethwaite added, ‘You must hear us out.’

And so Mr Elfoy let himself be coaxed to sit down and recovered himself as the ladies explained about Thorne’s orders and Clarissa’s fear of being ousted from Ashcroft. He listened and felt his humiliation recede as his understanding grew- he began to feel pity for the ladies’ plight.

Presently he went and found Clarissa pulling leaves from a rosebush in a distracted way. She was in a little arbour near the house that had been rediscovered as the men had pulled apart the neglected brush around it. She looked at once so miserable and so beautiful that Mr Elfoy had to check the instincts of a man in love and take her into his arms. For such he was, as Clarissa’s question had shown him. He had hidden his true feelings even from himself until that moment when he was offered what he could never have hoped for and at the same second realized that he could not take it. Now Clarissa sat, pulling at the silly leaves, her large eyes liquid with tears her head drooped disconsolately.

‘Miss Thorne.’ he said gently joining her on the arbour seat. Clarissa started and turned her face so that he might not see that she had been crying. She dashed away a tear from her cheek and said with her usual impulsiveness, ‘Oh, Mr Elfoy, I never meant to ... to ...’

‘Miss Petersham explained ...’

‘I am so sorry, Mr Elfoy, it is my stupid tongue that gets me into these awful scrapes. It is just that my only hope seems to be to marry - and we have become such good friends ... It is not that I wish to marry, though I have never met a gentleman I would rather…But I did not give thought to your feelings, except it would make you master of Ashcroft and I know how you love it and maybe you wouldn’t so much mind being married for that, but I should have known…’

With one hand Mr Elfoy took both of Clarissa’s (which were engaged in pulling apart a rose leaf as she had made her embarrassed speech) and with the other he turned her face towards his.  Her eyes lowered but suddenly joined his clear good green eyes when he tilted her chin.

‘If I could help you by…’ Clarissa put up her hand to hush him, overcome with embarrassment, ‘…but I could not. I wish ... that is…it is not possible…’

The tears spilled over Clarissa’s eyes as she looked into his grave eyes, too spellbound to look away.

‘But it won’t do Clarissa,’ he said, unconsciously using her name, ‘Marriage to such as me is exactly the thing your brother would despise and just such a marriage as he could dissolve. You have done me the great honour to say you have not met another gentleman whom you would rather marry…’ he said gently while she blushed and uttered an inarticulate sound ‘…but your acquaintance is not large. Soon you will meet many gentlemen and you will find one to love who can offer you that equality of position that I cannot. We will speak no more of this.  It would not serve for either of us.’

‘Yes, it was appalling of me. Please let us forget it,’ murmured Clarissa, with a semblance of calm returning. She raised her hand to his in a gesture of farewell and as he held it and stooped over it, she looked shyly at his face, trying for her old good humour. But her hand trembled at his touch; he flushed and moved away swiftly.

Clarissa sat, radiant and alive where she had sat so dejectedly before. He too had trembled and in a different way to that of a shy young man. She hardly dared to think why or the reason for her own beating heart. No doubt proximity to a young gentleman like Mr Elfoy was enough to overcome any young lady so untutored in the ways of the world as she. But the power of knowing that she had affected him.

‘For someone whose offer of marriage has just been refused, Clarissa, your spirits are bearing up well.’ she said to herself. Then she laughed a pure clear laugh that brought Miss Appleby running towards her.

‘I have just been trying to find you child. Why, whatever is so funny.’

‘Nothing Appleby, only, I’ve just had an offer of marriage refused.’ and she was led away by her concerned friend, unable to stop herself from smiling and quite unable to explain why.

Meanwhile, Tristram Elfoy was riding away in a turmoil of emotions, a state of affairs unusual for him. He was the only son of a devoted mother who had been brought up to esteem his noble heritage (his uncle was a baronet) and understand the realities of his position in the world. He had accompanied his cousin on a trip to Europe (sadly truncated due the troubles on the continent) and felt himself to be fortunate in his relatives, without the least bit of resentment at his lack of funds. He had taken the job of estate manager with the intention of supporting his mother more comfortably. Indeed, his annual wage provided a variety of comforts to his respectable cottage home. He was a good son, a hard worker and of temperate habits. He enjoyed his life and had henceforth dealt with the challenges of his life with cheerfulness, resolution and acuity; but though he liked himself well enough he knew that he had no right to dream of the mistress of Ashcroft. His heart was repelled by so uneven a match, for he would seek to take care of his wife not to be her pensioner. Yet here he was with the vision of Clarissa’s mouth burned into his soul and the fire of his love coursing around his veins in a way that his head was seeking to throttle unto death.

What is it about her that has me spellbound, he asked himself. Her face and manner, so impish and impulsive, so different from his own placidity; her gentle goodness in all her dealings, especially with those beneath her, her swift intelligence that met his equally, all these things had made her haunt his dreams.

‘Oh, Clarissa.’ he cried to the wind as he rode through Ashcroft park. He felt himself to be in the grip of a passion that burned with all the fire of his heart and that must as swiftly be quenched. ‘I must not think of her.’

Thus it was that he was unaware of the carriage coming through the gate of the park until he was hailed, ‘Mr Elfoy, well met.’ called The Honourable Charles Booth, ‘Hold up.’

Tristram pulled in his horse and touched his hand to his hat respectfully. ‘Gentlemen, can I be of assistance?’ He hoped that his flushed countenance and his beating heart were not apparent to Mr Booth and his noble companion, Lord Grandiston.

‘You said there will be stabling enough for the carriage horses and the hacks—give directions to my man will you?’

‘Certainly, sir. I've had the house made ready for you. I believe your valet took charge, My Lord, he arrived last night.’

Grandiston brushed his sleeve with a languid hand and said, ‘Yes, I know. I had to dress myself this morning. I wonder whether I dare meet his fastidious eye?’

Mr Elfoy found himself grinning appreciatively as his eye ran over Grandiston’s immaculate person, ‘I think you’re safe, sir.’

‘I should say so,’ said his companion, ‘Elegant as Bond Street Beau.’

‘Do you think so, Charles?’ said Lord Grandiston hopefully, ‘The height of my ambition. I’m sure we must all bow to your judgement. And yet….’ And he raised his quizzing glass to look balefully at Booth’s waistcoat. At his friend’s inarticulate objections, Grandiston turned his singularly sweet smile on Mr Elfoy; ‘You must ignore my young friend, sir. He is given to sartorial delusions of grandeur. We’ll see you in the park no doubt.’

Mr Elfoy directed the groom and then rode on, chuckling at the new Dower House residents. Mr Booth he thought of as a likeable young cub (although he was but a few years his junior.) but Grandiston was more difficult. He affected boredom and lethargy, but Elfoy saw the steel and energy behind the pose. Not a man to cross, his lordship, but he had warm, humorous eyes that showed no height of manner. A man born to command - but one who led with light reins.

‘An excellent fellow, Elfoy, don’t you think Hugo? I only wish my father’s agent were as efficient. He’s a doddery old fool; been around since doomsday, so we can’t fob him off.’

‘Isn’t it time you set about running Fenway yourself.’

Charles flushed but recovered his insouciance, ‘M’father thinks it inappropriate to accept the help of Bond Street wasters such as m’self, old fellow, so I keep well clear, except when my mama and sisters are at home.’

His lordship laid a delicate arm on the younger man’s shoulders, ‘Your father says a great deal more than he means, Charles. A libertine, yes - but not yet a waster.’

Mr Booth gave a crack of laughter, ‘Well, if you’re going to give me the name of libertine then I’d best get started. I hope the cellar is decent in this place.’

The coach had arrived at its destination. McIntosh, his lordship’s valet was awaiting the gentlemen on the steps. His eye travelled Grandiston’s person, but he did not shudder, a sign that bode well.

‘Mr Booth is inquiring about the claret, McIntosh. Is it tolerable?’ he drawled as he languidly mounted the stairs.

‘Unfortunately sir, the lady who was in residence here for many years was of an abstemious nature. She had everything but ratafia removed from the cellars, sir.’

The Honourable Charles stopped dead, ‘Ratafia. Good God, Grandiston. Why did you bring me to this god-forsaken place?’ he exclaimed in horror.

Macintosh’s dour Caledonian features lightened slightly, ‘I anticipated some discrepancies in the cellar, my lord, and brought an extra coach for the wine. I trust you have no objection to the extra expense, sir?’ he inquired of his master.

Charles cut in, ‘No, no, McIntosh. ‘He said expansively, ‘Think nothing of it.’

The ladies were in the morning room after breakfast. Clarissa had slept like a baby and felt herself to be repressing a burst of happiness such as she had seldom known. All rational reflection of the difficulties that now confronted her could not extinguish the hope that lay beyond sense. Everything was possible, everything. None of the representations of logic that her more serious side put forward could cloud the joy of one thing. Mr Elfoy had trembled.

There had been no reference made to Clarissa’s absurd behaviour of last night – highly-strung nerves, thought Miss Appleby. The dearest girl had been through so much. She looked doubtfully at her this morning. Her hair was dressed in the new way that she had adopted, she wore the dove coloured muslin with an air, trimmed as it was with the fine white gauze fichu tucked into the low cut bodice and held with her mama’s round pearl circlet. Her eyes sparkled and her curls shone in a way that transformed the colour from mouse to dazzling melee of hues in blonde and chestnut. Why, if she had not been aware of the facts she would have thought Clarissa looked quite, well, happy. She could not forbear exclaiming, ‘Why Clarissa my dear, you look quite radiant today. I thought that the letter from your brother might bring you down.’

Clarissa looked serious for a moment but then her sunny smile returned, ‘I cannot think at the moment, but I am sure that I shall think of some way of rebuffing him. It’s not today in any event, and we still have a great deal to do. I think we should continue as normal until we get advice from Mr Micklethwaite. It may not be so bad after all.’

Miss Micklethwaite exchanged glances with Oriana, both of whom had some notion of the reasons for Clarissa’s sudden optimism. They would need to keep harder heads about the impending disaster, but they silently assented by looks to keep their inevitable reflections to themselves for the present.

‘Well,’ she said rising, ‘then I had better get along to the kitchens. The stillroom is in need of reordering.’

Clarissa’s voice stopped them, ‘No, Waity, don’t go. I quite forgot to tell you at breakfast but Sullivan delivered a note from Mr Elfoy. It’s the Dower House tenants. He’s bringing them over this morning to be introduced.’

The ladies exclaimed and asked for details but whilst Clarissa was replying the morning room door flew open and Sullivan announced, ‘His Lordship, the Earl of Grandiston; The Honourable Mr Charles Booth and Mr Elfoy, Miss.’

The gentlemen were on the threshold; Miss Petersham turned sharply; she gave a little cry, then, ‘Grandiston.’ and she flew across the room, her arms extended to catch both of his in hers, ‘Oh, Grandiston.’

Grandiston caught her hands and looked down into her eyes, shining with a warmth that he had seldom seen in her except when she had looked at her father. She looked so beautiful, even with her hair in that constricted style. She looked like an angel and caught off-guard, Grandiston returned her look and for a moment his suavity slipped and the real man showed his face. The ladies therefore saw him at his very best; the harsh looking face softened, the eyes humorous and warm, bending down to Oriana from his considerable height.

‘Oh Grandiston,’ she said again ‘you cannot think how I have longed to see you. You are the nearest thing to my father that I have left.’

Miss Micklethwaite, interestedly watching this encounter with the rest of the room’s occupants, thought she saw the giant retreat a little at this. He bowed over her hands and kissed them however and said, ‘Miss Petersham, Oriana, how do you come to be here?’

Oriana withdrew her hands and coloured a little. ‘You did not know?’

‘No, indeed,’ said Grandiston, ‘I have just come to stay with my friend who has become tenant in the Dower House. You know Mr Booth, I believe?’

Oriana looked dazedly beyond him to his companion; the handsome, merry faced young man brought back memories of her horrible London season. She did not know why her spirits had suddenly sank except that she had thought that, that - but what? That her father would come in behind him slapping his back and shouting for his breakfast after a long ride? That Grandiston could whisk her away to a time when she had been happy and secure before she had to worry about whether Fitzroy or Clarissa’s brother could rule her life? That he would keep looking at her in that teasing way of his…

‘Mr Booth. We met in London, of course,’ she said, extending her hand. He bowed over it and swept a magnificent leg much in the manner of gallants from the previous generation, ‘Your devoted slave, ma’am.’

Clarissa giggled. This had the effect of drawing the gentlemen’s gazes in her direction. Booth looking a little discomfited.

‘Oh, dear. Excuse me, if you will,’ said Clarissa, still smiling.

‘ Ladies,’ said Oriana smoothly, ‘may I introduce Lord Grandiston, an old and dear friend of my father, and his friend The Honourable Charles Booth
.
This is Miss Clarissa Thorne, our hostess, and the Misses Micklethwaite and Appleby who, like me, are bearing her company here at Ashcroft.’

His Lordship held out his hand to the young lady who hardly looked old enough to be anyone’s hostess, then bowed over the hand of the little reed of a lady who fluttered in her beribboned frock. This gallantry almost overset her and she exclaimed and tinkled her little laugh whilst she waved her lace handkerchief to fan her reddened cheek. Clarissa giggled again and caught Grandiston’s ironical eye as he observed these transports. They had only just subsided when Mr Booth had the office of touching her hand and she was off again. Lord Grandiston’s eyebrow went up and Clarissa gave herself to a helpless fit of the giggles. His Lordship had himself in hand until he turned to Miss Micklethwaite.

‘Fool.’ remarked that lady, ‘Well, that’ll teach you young men to keep it to a nod next time or we’ll all be driven to Bedlam by Louisa’s foolishness.’

Meeting Oriana’s eye this time, he felt his restraint go and soon all five of the young company were helpless with laughter, though Miss Appleby was unsure what the joke was, and Miss Micklethwaite’s face remained composed.

The arrival of refreshment brought some order but the whole company had left formality behind and so instead of quelling Mr Booth’s fulsome compliments with her usual frigidity, Oriana merely grinned or groaned, depending on his deftness. She thought of him as a silly boy and she divided herself between fending him off and chatting with the rest of the company. She could not help her gaze resting fondly on Grandiston from time to time for his presence was giving this time a kind of magic from her past, when she was the favourite daughter of a great man ruling the roost in a great house. Grandiston she saw, was mightily entertained by Clarissa - who looked, thought Oriana, so vivacious and pretty today. She was conscious of a twinge of something strange. Probably I want my old friend all to myself, she thought, at least until I have caught up with him. Mr Elfoy was asking her something; she had to ask him to repeat it.

Elfoy was enjoying the camaraderie that had been so easily established, and smiled at Booth’s outrageous attempts at flattering Miss Petersham whilst suffering agonies when he heard Clarissa laugh at one of Grandiston’s dry remarks. Of course he had expected that she would have found an admirer, just not so ridiculously soon. He saw Grandiston admire the circlet at her breast, saw her move the ringlet which had fallen over her shoulder so that he could better see, and burned.

Clarissa was enjoying herself more each moment. She did not see that she was flirting with Grandiston, for her knowledge of the ways of the world was small. Yesterday had filled her with such a wonderful confidence that her heart sang and she was at her prettiest. Her companions were the best in the world: she thought Grandiston devilishly attractive and charming and Booth the greatest of young bloods. She had never been in such male company before and she was relishing it--men who, like her father, were just as pleasant as women. But although she seldom looked at him, it was Elfoy for whom her heart sang and as he bent to listen to Miss Appleby she thought, ‘Tristram.’

Waity watched it all whilst occasionally replying to remarks made to her with her usual acerbity. When she told the Honourable Charles (upon hearing his well-turned compliments to Oriana) that if his mother did not know how to deal with that sort of behaviour, she did, he gave a bark of laughter and declared himself her slave. ‘-When you threw my hat into the mud the first time I met you my fear has held me in your sway.’

‘At the Inn. That was you. I knew then that you were a reprobate and I haven’t changed my opinion.’

She liked them, though she would never have openly declared it. Booth is after Oriana, and I could have sworn that Grandiston’s hers. Now he’s flirting outrageously with Clarissa whilst Elfoy and Oriana look, well…what? They are getting themselves into a pretty pickle. She looked at Grandiston. I could trust a man with that jaw to get me out of many straights, but matters of the heart? Well, I’ll step in if needs be, if only we can send this brother of
Clarissa’s packing. She looked at Miss Appleby fluttering her eyelashes and her handkerchief in equal time. Oh, Louisa, aware of no more than her own beating heart.

‘Why do you take the Dower House, Mr Booth?’ inquired Clarissa presently.

Grandiston achieved an interested expression, ‘Yes why
is
that Charles?’

Mr Booth ignored him, ‘An inveterate love of the country Miss Thorne.’ he said jovially but untruthfully. Since even his country buckskins and top boots bore the cut of the best town tailor, not to mention the daringly nifty yellow waistcoat that he sported today, this was a little surprising to the ladies.

‘But do I not remember that your family own a great estate in Yorkshire, sir?’ asked Oriana

‘Well, yes ma’am, that is to say, well…it is a little far from town. I can travel to London from here in a day’s ride in case business should call me.’

‘Ah,’ said Clarissa, still mystified ‘I see. Well, I hope you will be very happy here.’

There could be no doubt of that. When the gentlemen took their leave they had stayed for a full hour beyond the polite twenty minutes allotted for a morning call and they had agreed to Clarissa’s invitation for dinner that evening. When a chance remark by Miss Appleby announced the younger ladies habit of taking a walk after their light luncheon, the gentlemen elected to come back later and accompany them.

Oriana had to wait for three hours before her chance to talk to Grandiston presented itself. She dropped her shawl and he retrieved it so that they fell a little behind the others. She was a little stiff, though she had no idea why until Grandiston said gently, ‘You may have misunderstood me yesterday. When I came back from the Peninsular and heard the news of your father, I sought you out at once. Your brother would not give me your direction.’

She turned to him and her eyes shone, ‘I knew I could not have been mistaken in you.’ she said impulsively. ‘He did not want our acquaintance to know I had become a school teacher.’ She saw his eyebrows rise at this intelligence and her eyes teased him, ‘I assure you I was
very
good and patient. My humble position quelled my rebellious spirit so that in all the time I was at Clarissa’s mother’s school, I didn’t kill even
one
of our young ladies.’

‘Now that does surprise me, remembering your lamentable temper.’ he quipped back. His voice became more serious. ‘It must have been difficult to change your position so radically,’ Grandiston said gently. Almost without thought Oriana drew her arm through his as she had used to.

‘Far, far, more difficult to stay at home.’ Though she had attempted to speak jauntily, her voice cracked, and knew that she would die if she gave way.

‘Yes, I see. Your brother does not improve with acquaintance.’ He said so silkily that she was obliged to laugh and in doing so composed herself.

‘Dreadful man. It was father’s fault, I think; Fitz always knew that Papa despised him. Perhaps if he had taken more pains with him - but he was such a sulky boy that Papa couldn’t abide it. I don’t blame him now - but I cannot live with him.’

Grandiston played for a moment with his quizzing glass which hung from his waistcoat; ‘It seemed you had for a time another home in the offing. Were you not engaged to be married?’

He was looking at her keenly as he said this and her pride was hurt. Did he too believe her capable of that grotesque engagement? The anger flickered over her face to be replaced by the ice. ‘We found we did not suit.’ She said baldly. ‘Shouldn’t we quicken the pace to catch up the others?’

Grandiston wished that she would confide in him, but Oriana had always been proud and impulsive. Surely it was this spirit that made it impossible for her to live at home, or take up any of the offers of marriage she had no doubt received in her London season. Was this wilfulness selfish and careless, or was it the true pride of independence? He would not have thought her capable of the fickle act of a broken engagement, so sure had she always been of her own mind. Perhaps, though, he had not really known the spoiled daughter of an adoring father as well as he had thought. Maybe he too, like her other suitors, had been captivated by her beauty.

They joined the others and he began to regale Clarissa with tales of Oriana’s young girlhood her imperious fury with her first pony when it had thrown her, her father’s equal fury at her behaviour. Though Oriana remained a little stiff at first, eventually she laughed and threatened to tell much worse stories about him.