by Dorothy Mack
Having convinced herself that Mr. Massingham’s leaving was a blessing in disguise, Vicky departed her sanctuary and hurried upstairs to change. The first opportunity to demonstrate her contentment with her lot came at tea. This chore was rendered much simpler by Drucilla, whose spirits were in alt after her chat with Vicky in the garden. As diligently as Vicky was trying to conceal her soreness of heart was Drucilla endeavouring to restrain her vaulting optimism, but her contagious effervescence affected the others and enlivened the daily ritual.
Vicky was unprepared therefore to undergo a session of gentle interrogation when Lady Honoria requested her niece’s presence in her boudoir to give an opinion on the merits of a sage-green walking dress that represented a departure from her ladyship’s custom of wearing only neutral colours. When the effect of the dress held against its owner’s form had been duly admired and her qualms about its suitability dismissed, Lady Honoria motioned Vicky to a chair and seated herself on an elaborately carved chaise longue.
“You haven’t been yourself for the last fortnight or so, my love,” she began without preamble. “Oh, you have been quite convincing in your perpetual performance as a girl without a care in the world, but I know better. What is troubling you lately?”
Swift alarm had leaped into Vicky’s eyes at her relative’s first words, but she was smiling coolly by the end.
“I apologise, Aunt, if I have seemed a trifle distrait recently. Actually, I have been greatly enjoying having Drucilla and Gregory here but have been so busy with the horses that I have felt guilty about neglecting them at times.”
Lady Honoria was shaking her head before her niece completed her glib explanation. “That’s not the truth, at least not the whole truth. To me, you appear less distrait than dispirited. Have you had second thoughts about throwing Drucilla at Ellerby’s head? If so, I fear you are too late to undo your work in that direction — he’s clearly épris with her.”
“Of course I’m not sorry! That affaire is proceeding just as I had hoped.” There was an infinitesimal pause before Vicky added carelessly, “For a while lately, I feared that she might succumb to Andrew Massingham’s dubious charms, but she told me today that she had definitely refused him.”
Lady Honoria inspected her niece’s unrevealing features, her own expression thoughtful. “I was persuaded she would refuse him and am most relieved. She is far too young for Andrew and not at all the sort of girl to make him a good wife. She will do very well for Ellerby.”
“I thought in your opinion Gregory deserved the very best — in other words, your favourite niece.”
“I cannot abide sarcasm in a female,” said Lady Honoria mildly. “Gregory Ellerby is a delightful young man and a very eligible parti, but I acknowledge that he wouldn’t do for you — he’s too conventional. He will cherish Drucilla and take great care of her. That will be enough for her, but it wouldn’t do for you.”
“Well, at least you now realise that Andrew Massingham wouldn’t make Drucilla a good husband.”
“I never thought he would. Andrew is like his father. He will demand more from his wife than a pretty widget like Drucilla is capable of giving. He was in honour bound to repeat his offer, of course, and I don’t mind telling you that I was on tenterhooks lest she might accept him, thinking Ellerby irrevocably pledged to you. It cost me something to remain on the sidelines, but I promised myself that I wouldn’t meddle.”
“You sound as if all your concern were for Andrew Massingham, who is no better than a fortune hunter when all is said,” accused Vicky.
“Are you still harping on that theme?” asked Lady Honoria disgustedly. “I would have credited you with greater perception. Andrew came home from years of fighting abroad in dismal conditions to find his mother dead and his estate leased. His great-uncle greeted him with the news that he would be required to marry a girl he had disliked all his life if he wished to retain the allowance he had grown used to as the heir. What would you expect him to do — submit meekly to this blatant attempt to dictate his life? He did what nine out of ten young men would have done in such circumstances — he rebelled. He tried to forget that his life no longer had a clear purpose by indulging in gambling and sporting activities with a set of similarly circumstanced young men. He dallied with the West End comets, overspent, and found himself under the hatches in short order. Since this isn’t his essential nature, he welcomed the appearance of Drucilla Hedgeley in his life. She is devastatingly pretty, good-natured, respectable, and exceedingly well-dowered. Given the circumstances, it was inevitable that he should have convinced himself that he had found the right girl. He is most fortunate that she has allowed him to escape the snare he built for himself.”
Silence followed this impassioned speech. Vicky had become very thoughtful, and Lady Honoria’s silence was the expectant kind. At last Vicky remarked evenly, “Drucilla told me that Drew plans to leave for London almost immediately.”
“I was afraid of this.” Tears stood in the old woman’s eyes, but she blinked them resolutely away.
Vicky looked at her in wonder. “You have grown amazingly fond of him in such a short time.”
“Andrew is the son I never had, just as you are the daughter I always wished for.”
“I am surprised that you haven’t tried your hand at matchmaking between us.” The words were out before Vicky could prevent them.
Lady Honoria snorted. “I trust I know when to hold my fire. You and Andrew both want to dominate. You two would lead a cat-and-dog existence.”
“No doubt you are correct, ma’am.” Vicky’s voice had flattened and she rose from her chair, making a production of shaking out her skirts. She was unaware therefore of the intensity of her relative’s regard as she added brightly, “In any event, he will be leaving the area shortly.”
“Yes, there is very little time left.”
“Time? Time for what?”
“Don’t bristle at me, my girl, and don’t pretend ignorance, either. If there is any truth in you, you will admit that your low spirits stem from the discovery that you are head over heels in love with Andrew Massingham and you don’t know what to do about it.”
Vicky’s gaze had dropped before the challenge in Lady Honoria’s, and she dropped back onto her chair, unable to trust her limbs to assist in a dignified exit. Never one to surrender abjectly, however, she countered pugnaciously, “A moment ago you said we should lead a cat-and-dog existence.”
“So you should, until you both want the other’s happiness more than supremacy.”
Too agitated in spirit to remain still in body, Vicky jumped up again. “Why are we talking about a possible marriage when nothing could be further from Drew’s mind? He isn’t interested in me at all — in fact, he dislikes me!”
“Nonsense, he’s as besotted as you are.”
The calm certainty with which Lady Honoria produced this bombshell caused large golden-brown eyes to widen as Vicky stared at her aunt, not quite daring to admit hope into her heart.
Lady Honoria rose and eliminated the distance between herself and the tense and troubled girl she had loved for so many years. She put a hand under Vicky’s chin and said softly, “Andrew loves you, Vicky, but he will not ask you to marry him. He is well aware that you consider him a fortune hunter. Neither honour nor pride will permit him to approach you while his uncle lives.”
Vicky’s lips were trembling and her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears as she whispered despairingly, “What can I do, then?”
“Do? Why, go out and get him, of course!”
CHAPTER 16
Lady Honoria’s advice, though definite in concept, was short on implementation, Vicky discovered as she pondered her aunt’s words over the next day or two. Very little time sufficed to prove it utterly impossible of accomplishment. Assuming — and it was an assumption unsupported by evidence other than her aunt’s intuition — that Andrew did love her and would wish to marry her under other circumstances, the knowledge did nothing to alter the
case. He would not offer for her, she could not propose marriage to him, and he would soon take himself out of her life. Even if she were to remove to London, there would be little likelihood of meeting him socially. Unless she could compromise him, the case was hopeless.
To her everlasting shame, Vicky did devote some time to intensive consideration of such a solution. It was not the presence of principles that would mitigate against it, but the lack of ingenuity that rendered the idea untenable. How could one compromise a man who took great care never to be left alone with one? It was a prodigious struggle just to support her spirits while anticipating the inevitable announcement that would end her all-too-brief association with the only man in eight years who had succeeded in arousing a response in her heart and her senses.
The blow fell two days after Drucilla’s revelations in the garden. The entire contingent from Meadowlands had come calling, including Lady Lanscomb, whose manner toward Vicky had grown noticeably more cordial as her son’s interest waned. Mr. Massingham made the announcement of his imminent departure as they all sat around the tea table in the blue saloon, a smallish room that opened onto the cutting garden.
Vicky had steeled herself against this news. She joined the others in expressing conventional regret at being deprived of his entertaining company. Her spirit winced and hope withered behind a disciplined composure that might have been mistaken for indifference. Her glance could not meet that of Mr. Massingham for more than a passing second, but that was no problem, for he was looking everywhere but at her, just as he had been doing for over a fortnight now. She was unable to rouse herself from a state of frozen despair to contribute anything to forward her cause at this last meeting.
Lady Honoria, taking in the scene from her position in the corner of the blue brocaded sofa, spoke up casually. “I hope you will consider delaying your departure until after the trip to Mendlesham to see the Norman church, Andrew. The girls have been hoping to arrange an excursion while the good weather holds, and it would be more pleasant for them to have three gentlemen in the party to make the numbers even.”
Vicky took no part in the lively discussion that followed, but she flung her aunt a glance of passionate gratitude as the other two girls urged Mr. Massingham to join the party. Within five minutes, a jaunt that had previously been mentioned only in passing became a firm appointment as all the young people decided this would be an appropriate ending to Mr. Massingham’s visit in Leicestershire.
In her bedchamber that night, Vicky alternated between elation at the reprieve and a disheartening conviction that one more meeting, or several, would have no effect on the outcome of her one-sided love affair. At one point, when optimism was on the ascendance, it appeared relatively simple to arrange that she and Andrew should find themselves alone at some time during their inspection of the church and its grounds. She recalled that there was a neighbouring manor house a short distance from the church that boasted a private cemetery in lovely grounds. Surely with so many attractions offering, she could manage some time to be private with Andrew. At this juncture, her plotting ceased. She had no slightest notion of what she could say to a man who might or might not be in love with her, how to ascertain his sentiments other than by direct question, which was clearly ineligible. This conclusion sent her spirits into eclipse once more.
On the day of the outing, Vicky was in exactly the same state, her emotions seesawing from optimism to black despair. It had rained overnight and the weather had turned colder, but a weak sun was striving to burn away the cloud cover. Vicky had taken great pains with her appearance, selecting a light gabardine pelisse with smart shoulder capes and black braided buttons and trim. The rich burgundy shade flattered her bright hair and lent some needed colour to her complexion. A small neat hat of the same fabric was similarly trimmed in black braid and created a perfect frame for her smoothly swathed hairstyle. Black kid gloves and half-boots completed her attire. She looked beautiful, elegant, and serene. The beauty and elegance were authentic, but the serenity was counterfeit, for Vicky was a mass of raw nerves inside.
The gentlemen elected to ride to Mendlesham, while the ladies, in deference to Drucilla’s lack of long-distance riding, decided to take the carriage, especially since Miss Fairchild had already had an hour’s ride from Meadowlands before the party set forth. The village of Mendlesham was reached after a pleasant drive of just under two hours. It was warm enough to let the windows down so the ladies could exchange a few remarks from time to time with whichever of the gentlemen happened to be closest to the carriage.
All Saints Church was at one end of the picturesque village in a beautiful setting. The younger girls exclaimed at the size and antiquity of the surrounding trees and promptly vowed to make another visit in the spring, when they should be in full glory. The church itself, built of native stone, stood strong and massive, with the typical square tower. This one was topped by an octagonal conical roof with beautifully defined window openings within steep triangular pediments.
The small party alighted and strolled about outside for a time, admiring the rich decoration on the tower.
“It’s marvellously ornamented, isn’t it?” Vicky remarked to Sir Hugh at her side as they gazed at the rhythmic arcading on the sides of the tower above the corbel-table. The central arches framed the double windows, while the flanking ones were blank behind their graceful double columns.
“Amazing detail. I’ve never understood how they managed such workmanship under the conditions existing in those times. How old is it?”
“About 1140, I believe — the central structure, at least.”
“The Normans made absolutely certain the vanquished Saxons and Celts knew who was in charge,” said Mr. Massingham dryly in reply to Sir Hugh’s musings. “Their churches are as solid and threatening as their military structures.”
“It’s lovely, though,” Miss Fairchild put in quickly. “The ages have mellowed it perhaps, and I must confess that I have always had a partiality for those Romanesque rounded arches.”
“Then you will appreciate the interior,” said Vicky, leading the way to the entrance porch on the south side, while Lord Ellerby went to fetch the sexton to let them in.
All Saints wasn’t especially imposing in size, having always been just a parish church, but the craftsmanship was of the finest, and perfectly preserved, thanks to the successive earls of Mendleship, who controlled the living of the parish. It was a simple three-celled church with a rounded apse and a gloriously decorated chancel arch featuring varieties of chevron and beakhead designs. Carved figures of the apostles growing one out of the other up the shafts of the arch gave great vitality to the simple interior.
“My word, look at that enormous baptismal font,” said Drucilla as the sexton led them to the west end of the church.
“That is the original font and our pride and joy here at All Saints,” he declared fondly, explaining that the graceful carved design of interlaced arches around the bowl was one of the loveliest of Norman motifs, but that the way the artisan had accommodated his square font to the octagonal pillared base by slicing away at the corners was what made the font unique.
“Why is it so enormous?” asked Drucilla curiously.
The sexton reminded his audience that immersion was the custom in those days.
“Poor babies,” said Drucilla with a shudder, eyeing the stone receptacle without favour, despite its attractive carving.
“A mighty cold bath,” Mr. Massingham agreed, grinning at her.
When the sexton finished pointing out the main features of the church, he suggested that they might like to ascend to the bell tower. The gentlemen acquiesced in this plan, but the ladies decided to wander back outdoors instead.
As the girls strolled through the lych-gate into the cemetery, Vicky uttered conventional inanities while she wondered despairingly why she had ever thought it might be a simple matter to get Mr. Massingham alone. She had actually considered climbing with the men to the bell tower and pretending to
sprain her ankle on the steps, but the way her luck was running lately, it would have been one of the other men who came to her rescue and carried her down. No doubt Mr. Massingham would declare that the best way to get over a sprain was to use the injured member twice as much. She kicked at a pebble pettishly and was forced to ask Miss Fairchild to repeat the question she had asked.
“You mentioned a private cemetery in the vicinity that has lovely grounds, did you not? Is it too far from here to walk?”
“Heavens, no,” said Vicky, coming back to the present. “A matter of five or six minutes through the copse over there. Would you like to see it?”
“Oh, yes, do let’s go there!” exclaimed Drucilla, always eager for a new experience.
Elaine was slightly doubtful. “Should we perhaps wait for the men?”
Suddenly Vicky was seized by an inspiration. That sprained-ankle ploy might serve yet if she acted quickly enough. Pretending to consider Elaine’s question, she responded thoughtfully, “The men are likely to be trapped by that loquacious sexton for quite some time yet. I believe we might as well head for the manor by ourselves. I’ll just let the coachman know where we are headed so he can steer them after us when they come back down.” She turned on her heel and took a hasty step back the way they had come before crashing down onto one knee with an exclamation of pain.
