“I thought it was you who was taking yours out on me,” he argued more quietly. “What are you intending to do with that knife? Do you wish to plunge it into my bosom?”
“What?” She looked down at her hand and saw how it clasped the knife, how, indeed, it had risen from the table and held the instrument ready to thrust into his chest. “I am sure I do not know where it would go,” she added, beginning to laugh hysterically, “for you have no flesh; it would clatter against your bones.”
“You could try my throat,” he suggested, tugging at his cravat and exposing the hollow between his collar bones in which she had watched the pulse beating earlier. She saw it still, as tender and soft as a little animal and felt her withers wrung.
“Oh, I am sorry,” she exclaimed, dropping the knife and putting her hands in her lap where no one would be able to see that they were still formed into fists. “I have never been so insulted in my life,” she added on a lower note.
“I am sorry too,” he said at once, his tone so contrite that she almost began to weep. “I did take my choler out on you although I feel I must point out that it was not I who suggested you walk the streets. I thought you would like to be married. I did not know that the very suggestion would drive you into something approaching a frenzy. And,” he added, with a glance at his mother’s horrified face, “It is not my place to dismiss you. I daresay my mother would rather dismiss me. Pray forgive me.” He leaned across the table and held out his hand.
“But you are right that she does not need me now,” she said, ignoring the hand.
“I do not wish you to go,” Lady Armitage managed into the silence which fell around the table.
“No,” Agnes agreed, “and I do not wish to leave you, my lady, but, not only do you not need me now, but there is no room for me here in any event. I will speak to Louisa tomorrow. I think, if you do not mind, I would rather wait until then; I can walk up in the morning.”
“She is expecting you for dinner tonight,” Mr Armitage reminded her.
“I am sure she will understand if I decide to stay here tonight.”
“Stay in the same house as the most odious man on earth?” Sir John asked. “I should not imagine she will understand that at all.”
Agnes laughed. “She did not make such a large claim; she said only that you were the most odious she had met.”
“Would you like me to stay too?” Charles asked.
“To protect poor Miss Helman from me?” Sir John asked sarcastically.
“Yes.”
“I don’t think I can do much but I daresay she will be pleased to know you are here,” the Baronet said with an edge of sarcasm.
“Pray do not be absurd, either of you,” Agnes said. “Sir John will not hurt me in any way other than with words and, if I am so poor-spirited that I allow those to wound me, I expect I deserve it. Of course you must go back this evening, as planned, but I would like to stay here with my lady – if that is what you would like, ma’am?”
“And me? Or should I retire to my room again to be out of the way?” Sir John asked.
“I should think you must be exhausted,” his mother said in the tone a parent is inclined to adopt when sending a child to its room. “Of course I would like you to stay with me but I do not wish to stand in your way, dearest Agnes.”
“Oh, I daresay the hearts of her suitors will grow fonder in her absence,” Sir John said. “I had thought that I would like to sit in the garden this afternoon; if you are not too angry with me, Miss Helman, I would value your company while my brother goes in search of clothes. He can take my mother too if she wants to go.”
“No,” she said. “I am not too angry. I am persuaded that what you said needed to be said. Your mother does not require my company – and, in the circumstances in which your family finds itself, can ill afford me – although I am not expensive.”
“Touché,” he responded with a small twisted smile.
“Indeed,” she went on, making an effort to restore a modicum of humour to the company, “you can no doubt put me in the way of knowing something about the various gentlemen assembled so that I will be in a good position to choose the best of them.”
Chapter 23
Mr Armitage assisted his brother into the garden as soon as nuncheon was finished and settled him in a chair with a rug over his legs.
While this was being accomplished, Agnes steered Lady Armitage upstairs, her ladyship having turned down the suggestion of assisting her younger son on his shopping expedition and decided instead to retire to her bed for the afternoon.
“I am sorry for John’s behaviour,” she said in a tight voice.
“It is only words,” Agnes said gently. “I daresay he is in pain and then, in addition, being obliged to hobble into the room on his brother’s arm, looking as he did, must have been disagreeable. I expect that may have been what sharpened his tongue.”
“How did he look?” the mother asked, fixing upon the only part of Agnes’s explanation which contained a criticism of her son and taking exception to it.
“Unwell, weak – not at all how one expects a man who is less than thirty years of age to look. He resembled, not to put too fine a point upon it, an old man.”
“Oh!” the older lady cried on a long note of pain. “What has happened to him? He was used to be so handsome!”
“Yes, I know – and he still is – or at least one can see that he was – and that he will be again in time no doubt. Pray do not let his appearance, which I am persuaded is only temporary, distress you.”
“Unfortunately,” Lady Armitage said, rallying, “the deterioration in his looks appears to have been accompanied by a marked decline in his temperament and character as well. I do not mean to say that he was an upstanding man before but he was never, at least not in my presence, uncivil.”
“Well, I am persuaded that too can be explained by his feeling so unwell, my lady. Bodily discomfort can play havoc with the most sanguine temperament,” Agnes reminded her.
“I had hoped there might have been some improvement, but, alas, that was clearly a vain expectation. You said your friend consdered him the most odious man she had met – and I am afraid that is true, although, as I say, his selfishness had, before, always been well concealed. No doubt that is why nobody has accepted his addresses. What am I to do?”
“I do not think there is anything you can do, my lady. He is a grown man and must do what he thinks best; if he wishes to marry he must, I suppose, do something to resolve the faults in his character although it is possible that, if he should one day bestow his affections upon somebody, this will in any event follow. In the meantime, I gather from what he said at nuncheon that he intends to remain with you and I am sure this will bring joy and comfort to you both – in time.”
She added the last two words because she was conscious that little joy was anticipated by either party in the near or distant future. It seemed to Agnes that her ladyship blamed her elder son for all the ills that had befallen her, an attitude which she, Agnes, knew was not in fact entirely the case but, as she did not consider that arguing the matter would be of any benefit, she held her tongue.
“Do you think when he is better that he will find an heiress who will be prepared to accept him?” the older woman asked, allowing herself to be tucked into her bed and lavender water applied with a gentle hand to her forehead.
“Oh, I am persuaded there will be someone willing to take him on who is such an antidote that she has despaired of ever finding a husband,” she said, smiling.
“Is it as bad as that?” her ladyship asked, clasping her companion’s hand.
“I should not think so! I was funning. Pray do not refine upon it.”
“What will you do?”
“Throw myself upon Louisa’s mercy in the first instance; then I suppose I shall be obliged to look for another position. I am persuaded there is no hurry although of course, if Louisa does marry as a result of this house party, I may have to move out sooner tha
n I would like.”
“The Marquess of Danehill? Will she marry him?”
“I do not know; I hope not for I do not like him.”
“And is there a gentleman in the party for whom you might develop an attachment, do you think?”
“I consider it unlikely, but you never know, do you?”
On this note, Agnes withdrew her hand from the feverish grasp of her employer, drew the curtains against the afternoon sun and left the room.
Downstairs, she found Mr Armitage about to go out. He had instructed Paul to harness the horses and bring the carriage to the door.
“I will return in time to leave any packages I have purchased before I go back up to the big house to change for dinner,” he explained. “Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Helman?”
“Oh, no, thank you. I will begin to pack in the hope that Louisa, when I speak to her tomorrow, will indeed invite me up to the big house.”
“Very well. I am sorry your employment has come to an end so abruptly,” Mr Armitage said awkwardly, clasping her hand.
But, when he had left and she had watched the carriage move off up the road, she did not go upstairs to pack but went directly into the garden to find Sir John.
He did not look happy; there was a light breeze which stirred his hair and caused the lock, which she had observed across his forehead that morning, to fall across his face again. He pushed it back impatiently and sighed heavily.
“It is not at present so very warm out here, is it?” she observed.
He started. Evidently he had not heard her approach. “No. Have you come to continue our quarrel?”
“If that is what would give you pleasure,” she responded, smiling. “Would you prefer to come inside now that a cloud is obscuring the sun?”
“Are you offering to give me your arm? What a brave girl you are or have you forgotten the last time you tried to help me?”
“No; I still have the bruises but I think you can walk better now.” She picked up his stick and held it out.
“Where is my mother?” he asked, ignoring the stick.
“She has lain down upon her bed and your brother has gone out so, apart from Cook and Jess, we are quite alone.”
“Then I had best make the most of it,” he said, “since it appears that I have dismissed you. I have done so for your own good, you know; for my part, I would infinitely prefer you to stay, at least until I am firmly upon my feet.”
“What are your plans?” she asked, sitting down on the bench. “Do you intend to give the tenants notice and repossess your house?”
“I believe I shall have to if I am to continue to live with my mama. This house is too small for us to be comfortable together and there are not enough servants. What has happened to the others?”
“I believe they have been taken on by the tenants.”
“And how and to whom is the rent being paid?”
“Why, to you, I presume for it is your house, is it not?”
“Yes, but I have not signed any papers giving permission for it to be let. How long have you been here?”
“Only a few weeks. I am afraid I do not know the answer to your question. Does not your mother have any income of her own?”
“I have no idea. I would have thought so but my father took no one – certainly not me – into his confidence about his financial affairs. I have not, for example, seen a copy of his will and have no idea of the state of the property or its land. What was your impression when you were there? You were, were you not, while Mama packed up? And what, by the way, did she do with any clothes of mine which were still in the house? I did not live there – I had rooms in London – but I would have thought that some of my belongings must have been somewhere in that great mausoleum of a house.”
“You have asked too many questions for me to be able to answer them all at once,” she said. “I will deal with them at random as best I may. My impression of the house – and grounds – was that it had been as well kept as such an old and un-repaired property could have been. It was more or less clean and the bricks and mortar appeared to be in their proper places. It was not, so far as I could ascertain, falling down and tenants were found quickly so that they cannot have been deterred by its condition. I did not see the grounds in any great detail but the garden near the house had been well-maintained; I think you have a loyal and hardworking set of servants there.
“As for any clothes belonging to you: I cannot say what she did with them. Perhaps she left them. She asked me to sort out your father’s apparel because she could not face it. I arranged for those things which were in reasonable repair to be given to the poor and threw the others away. I went to no closets apart from his.
“I should think you would obtain more satisfaction on all these matters from the lawyer dealing with the will and the estate; I am afraid I do not know his name but no doubt your mama can furnish you with it. We are only a day’s drive away so that it would not be impossible for you to go back to meet your estate manager.”
He nodded. “Thank you. Did you find my mother very cast down when you first met?”
“Yes; I own I did. I believe your father died suddenly – and unexpectedly; he was not, after all, particularly old.”
“No; I understand his heart gave out.”
He said nothing more so she picked up her sketchbook and pencil, which she had brought out with her, and gestured towards him. “Would you object if I essayed a likeness?”
“Of me?”
“There is no one else here at the moment. Would you like to see the preliminary sketches of your mother which I have been doing?”
“Yes.”
He held out his hand and she put the book into it and watched as he turned the pages.
“You have a rare talent for catching a person’s character and those aspects of their heart which they might prefer to remain hidden,” he said.
“Do you think so?” she asked, unable to conceal her delight.
“Undoubtedly. I see you have been miniaturising one or two of your sketches,” he continued.
“Yes; it is perhaps presumptuous of me but I had begun to hope that I could make a small income from such things. Louisa and I discussed it earlier and I thought of it again just now, when you dismissed me, because I wondered if I might try my hand when I go up to the big house; there will be plenty of people there after all.”
“But will you be able to sit quietly in a corner and draw them? Will they not, now they know how eager Danehill is to talk to you, rather wish to have you in their midst?”
“I should not imagine so. I think he was only trying to draw Louisa’s attention to himself and, if I sit quietly in a corner, as you say, no one is likely to notice me, particularly if I keep away tonight. They will very likely have forgotten me by tomorrow.”
“Do you truly expect to fade from people’s minds as quickly as that? You are too modest; I, for one, will never forget you even if I do not see you again after today. Why do you want to draw me? I cannot afford to pay you for your trouble and own I do not particularly wish to see a picture of a death’s head – or seek to know what I conceal from myself.”
“For practice. I have been engaged in drawing your mother in a somewhat desultory fashion but, if I wish to make even a few shillings, I will need to work more quickly. I thought perhaps I could try to get a likeness of you while you sit here in the garden.”
“Very well; I suppose I owe you that. By the way, has my mother given you any wages yet?”
“No, but I have not been with her long.”
“More than a month. My family seems inclined to run up debts; I own I had thought better of Mama. Do you suppose she has paid Jess and Cook – and, of course, Paul?”
“I do not know. I did not consider it my business to enquire.” Agnes had bent her head over her page, although she looked up from time to time to consider her subject.
“I suppose I will have to look into all these things,” he said with a frown and a rather su
lky twist of his lips, which she immediately committed to the page.
“Did you think I was interfering by suggesting my mother did not need you now that I am home?” he asked after a while. He was watching her with quite as much attention as she was studying him.
“No. You are head of the family, the house and estate belong to you and, if your mother truly has no income of her own, you are also the person from whom I might expect to receive my wages. It is therefore clearly up to you whom you employ – and for what purpose.”
“Could I then employ you as artist-in-residence?” he asked. “For a small contribution to the household expenses, we could set up business together; I would find you subjects and negotiate a fee and you would complete the contract.”
“I take it I would pocket whatever fee you did negotiate?” she asked.
“Oh, I think we would have to agree a percentage: say seventy per cent to you for the execution of the work and thirty to me for finding it?”
“And I would have to contribute to the household expenses?”
“No, perhaps not. You don’t eat much, do you? And, if we return home, there are plenty of rooms so that we will not be competing. Would you like that? I own I would. But I suppose, now that I have turned you out, you will go to Miss Newbolt and annex one of her suitors. That would probably be the best thing for you although I wonder if he would allow you to pursue your new career? Can I see what you have done so far?”
“No, not yet. Are you too cold?”
“Nothing to speak of. I daresay I will thaw when we go inside. I am beginning to think that we should light the fire.”
She looked up. “You are cold! We had better go in.”
“Not if you want to complete the preliminary sketch. The thing is that if one is thin one becomes excessively cold very quickly. No, I will not go in until you are happy with what you have done so far.”
Agnes Or The Art 0f Friendship Page 19
