Lady Elizabeth's Comet

by Sheila Simonson

  Featherstonehaugh choked.

  "Of course, the obvious cure is to give the rioters a bit of land and a cottage. It's surprising how owning windows undercuts one's impulse to throw brickbats." There was an edge to his tone that I had not heard him employ even against Willoughby. The others shifted uncomfortably.

  Featherstonehaugh, ever the politician, waffled and took the conversation off in another direction. He had imagined himself Clanross's political mentor. I daresay Clanross may even have deferred to him in the past over the practical details of dispensing my father's patronage. Why Clanross had chosen this evening to air opinions he must know would draw my relations' fury on himself I could not at first imagine.

  We left the gentlemen to their libations, and I entered the withdrawing room with dread. I was too unnerved to fight off Aunt and Anne. To my astonishment they did not immediately set upon me. Instead, they began at once to speculate about Clanross's Jacobin leanings with a horrified relish that showed me where their hearts really lay.

  Anne's interest in politics is unfeigned. Indeed, she is a distinguished political hostess, as Aunt Whitby had been in her day. Clanross's challenge was to them as the trumpet to the war-horse. They charged to the fray uttering cries of delighted anguish. What if he were to air his appalling sentiments in the Lords? Oh, my dears.

  I listened with amusement to their eager stratagems for showing Clanross the Error of his Ways, then excused myself, saying I wished to go to bed with a draught of hartshorn. They honoured my departure with no more than two or three shafts that fell wide of the mark. I was relieved to escape so easily.

  * * * *

  I slept heavily. Sometime in the middle of the night I woke and sat bolt upright.

  I had had a dream, a very strange one. I grasped for it but it was gone. I could not even remember what I had been dreaming of--something of childhood? No. It was lost. I gave it up and let my mind drift.

  I thought about the Dower House and my sisters, wondering, as I leaned back against the pillows and started to drowse again, if Tom-the-dog had eaten anything vital in the past few days. From there my thoughts strayed to Jean's calf love for Clanross and whether absence had made the heart fonder. It must have been trying to him to have her blushing and adoring him like a spaniel, but he dealt gently with her. Tactfully. Tact. Good God.

  My eyes opened. Of course. I remembered how gravely Clanross had regarded me at dinner. He had taken one long look at my miserable face and decided I needed a rescue--just as he had known my need in Hyde Park. He had turned their wrath from me to himself. Tact and kindness. I did not suppose he cared sufficiently for their good opinion for his gesture to represent a great sacrifice. Nevertheless, it had been kind in him--and clever, too. Even Aunt Whitby had been thrown off the scent.

  I lay back, smiling. What a long day. I felt the smile die. Bevis. I thought about Bevis for a long time--with regret. I hoped his heart was not broken and was rather surprised to find mine wasn't.

  I began to go in circles again. The headache nibbled at my temples and sleep weighted my eyelids. If only Bevis could have taken me as I was, telescope, crotchets, and all. No, I didn't really wish to be Bevis's wife. What I wanted, I thought drowsily, was to marry Clanross, to live comfortably with him at Brecon, to tell him about my comet and my sisters, and to play chess with him and watch his grave grey eyes light as they did when something interested or amused him. Good God. I sat up again, wide awake.

  Clanross? Impossible. Ridiculous. Surely my wishes and Aunt Whitby's could not be in such exact accord.

  It was true, however. I was possessed of complete certainty for the first time in my life. I was also very happy. I hugged my happiness to me and did not even feel the chill air.

  Clanross. Tom-the-earl, not Tom-the-dog. My patient, my kinsman, my chess master. The victim, all too often, of my incautious tongue. Bevis's best friend. There are times when an analytical mind is an absolute curse.

  How came I to feel so strongly? I had not loved Clanross when I poured laudanum down his throat. My feeling for Clanross was not an overnight flower. It had been growing for some time. When was it planted?

  It happened, I reflected, after he started walking the grounds and bathing in the lake and began to feel better and look less wan and sleepless. It is a dreadful thing for a woman of intellect to admit so physical a criterion for love. I wanted to evade the fact but there it was. I was a mere animal after all, drawn by a bright eye and a healthy complexion. Alas. I knew that I had persuaded myself to love Bevis the better because he was beautiful. Clanross was not, but he was now far from being an antidote, and he had very fine eyes. And excellent shoulders and well-shaped, long-fingered hands, and a pleasant voice, too.

  Of course I had liked him for a long time--since he had organised the dinner for the Chactons and put Willoughby's nose out of joint. Clanross was a generous, civilised man with a lively sense of humour and a sharp mind. I liked him enormously.

  But he thinks of you as a combination of Galileo and his nanny, I told myself, suppressing a strong wish to howl, and he is consulting Aunt Whitby about suitable brides.

  With a stab I recalled making up my mind to find him a wife. "Not Cecilia." Of all the wrongheaded, arrogant, blind, feebleminded nitwits. Oh, wretched, wretched woman. Complete ninnyhammer. Goat. I abused myself roundly. At least Cecilia knew her own feelings.

  As I lay staring up at the blonde satin bedhangings it crossed my mind that I might as well be at the bottom of the ornamental lake at Brecon. It is a curious fact that if one weeps while lying on one's back the tears eventually trickle into one's ears.

  There was no doubt that I loved Clanross. Like, love, lust--I was deep in all three with very little idea how I had come to such a predicament. I believed Clanross liked me, at least sufficiently to enjoy our exchanges and chess games. Try as I might, however, I could not push the evidence beyond that.

  As Bevis's friend he had shown no dismay at our betrothal--no blenchings or sighs or speaking looks. He had fallen cheerfully into Aunt Whitby's scheme to find him a wife. Clearly, he was not languishing after me.

  I wondered if I could make him love me. I even wondered, I blush to confess, whether I might not seduce him, but the idea was too humiliating. Let alone I had never seduced anyone in my life and hadn't the least notion of how to go about it, Clanross was Bevis's friend. He would not poach on Bevis's territory even if he wanted to. No, I'd have to endure my madness and hope that in time it would fade. I did not think it would.

  My sentiments in December had been correct and cousinly. I had felt compassion for his suffering. No, that was not quite right. Pity and fright and exasperation. Grudging admiration for his stoicism. Relief that, after all, he would make a presentable earl. And fear. I had feared Clanross.

  I was not a green girl. I loved Thomas Conway with my whole being, body and mind. Every fragment of love of every kind that my experience had gained me focussed on him. An emotion that powerful was indeed something to fear. I prized my liberty, but my heart had betrayed me into a kind of enslavement, for there is surely nothing less like freedom than a fruitless passion.

  My heart had betrayed Bevis, too. The attachment I had felt--indeed, still felt--for Bevis was tame and safe. I had turned to it to avoid a present danger. I had used Bevis. I cringed against the pillows. He did not deserve such dealing. How came I to be so heartless? No, not heartless, alas. So dishonest.

  Chapter 20

  I escaped the next day, towing Alice ruthlessly north in the carriage toward home and refuge.

  I spent the summer fathoms deep in misery. If Jean's calf love had been awkward for everyone, my grown-up variety must have been much worse.

  I tried to put on a civil, if not a brave, front, but my melancholy communicated itself. Everyone tiptoed about my sensibilities. Alice attributed my state to regret over Bevis--or possibly to guilt. The girls believed I had taken leave of my senses, as all adults were wont to do periodically. What Miss Bluestone thought wa
s not clear.

  Clanross did not return to Brecon at all. He escorted Aunt to Briarlea and met Charles there for a last-minute discussion of the plans for the infirmary. Then he rode north with Sims. The infirmary was now building, and Charles was cock-a-hoop over that and over his coming nuptials. He told me that Clanross had promised to attend the wedding, so I had something to live for.

  I was not alone in missing Clanross. The girls moped, the Brecon servants drifted among the holland covers like ghosts, and even Alice occasionally remarked over some trifle that she was sure would have diverted his lordship. Miss Bluestone watched and held her peace.

  The girls at least had letters. They wrote Clanross faithfully every week and he never failed to respond--with descriptions of the Scots countryside, with comic stories of people he met, with neat sketches of unusual flora for Miss Bluestone. And, of course, the spelling lists. The girls took them very seriously.

  I ought to have been amused. In fact, I was eat up with envy and would have given almost anything but my telescope for one spelling list, if it had been addressed to me. All I received was empty courtesy. "Pray convey my respects to your sister Elizabeth." A ritual afterthought. If Clanross had once written "Convey my respects to Elizabeth and tell her I miss our chess games" or even "Tell her I thought of her when I visited Lady Kinnaird," I would have written him myself. Alas, he did not and I did not. There was no commerce between us.

  At least Clanross had not gone to Brighton bride-hunting. Bevis had. Or so Anne informed me, with malice that flew wide of the mark. I wished Bevis might find someone to appreciate his quality.

  Thanks to the twins' letters, I knew exactly where Clanross was from one week to the next. I hope my eagerness to read them was not as obvious as my sisters'. He was making a leisurely tour of Scotland. Kitty wrote me crossly she had been prepared to show him every courtesy and had even scoured the country for eligible ladies to parade before him, but he paid her one call, a second, longer one on my small sisters, and she never saw him more.

  Like Kitty I had supposed Clanross meant to visit his properties, but as the weeks passed it became clear that he was more intent on bathing in the lochs and fishing and rambling about the mountains with Sims than on looking to his accounts.

  Kitty picked up on that, of course, and wrote spitefully that she supposed we must expect a domestic Childe Harold from his lordship's pen. I wished I could share her observation with Clanross, who resembled Lord Byron neither in looks nor in character. The only fruit of his pen was the twins' letters.

  July turned clear and hot. I worked at my telescope nearly every night. I watched my comet depart on its journey to the black depths of vacancy. My meteor showers commenced. A year before such activities would have left me merry as a grig. Now I tasted ashes. It was not that my work appealed to me less but that I wished to tell Clanross of it.

  * * * *

  Toward the end of the month a sandy-haired, wide-eyed young Scot clutching a large box and a letter appeared in the guise of Cupid's Messenger. The letter read,

  My dear Elizabeth, The bearer of your sisters' box of rocks is James Sholto. He is the son of one of your father's Lothian tenants whom you may remember and a budding land agent. I mean him to work under Moore for the present, and as Moore will probably see a rival in him I'd take it very kindly if you'd smooth the boy's path. I hope this finds you all in good health and spirits. I can't see your comet. Am I too far north? Your obt. servt. Clanross.

  P.S. It's young Sholto's first venture south of the Tweed. I fancy he was homesick before he left.

  Not a love letter nor yet a sonnet. A great deal could be made of the salutation, as "my dear, Elizabeth" or "Elizabeth, my dear" or "my Elizabeth" or just "dear." I was desperate. Despite its business-like content, I kept this scrawl among my most cherished mementoes. I answered it at once, though I had an appalling time keeping my reply brief and cousinly.

  I plied Mr. Sholto with a very high tea and introduced him to the wary Moore with every iota of tact at my command. I think I did ease the boy's way, for I saw him following Mr. Moore attentively on his rounds, and it was clear that Moore was enjoying the role of mentor.

  As for the box of rocks, it was just that--neatly tagged bits of pebble and stone from the places Clanross had visited, with accompanying sketches and a suggestion that the girls amass a similar assortment for him to inspect in August. He had gone to a great deal of trouble for them. There was also a hideous cairngorm broach for Alice. To my stupefaction she loved it and wore it to dinner for a week.

  The pièce de résistance, however, was Miss Bluestone's fossil. This stone bore the imprint of an ancient fern, and Clanross had chipped it out of a rockface himself. He had wrapped it tenderly in one of his linen handkerchiefs, and it arrived in mint condition. Miss Bluestone was so delighted she nearly wept. So did I.

  There was nothing in the box for me, not so much as a pebble.

  Jean and Maggie began at once to scour the grounds for suitable specimens and had to be restrained from dragging in boulders. They bribed my groom several times to escort them beyond the walls and would probably have ranged as far as Yorkshire if Miss Bluestone had not put a stop to their escapades.

  How much of this they wrote Clanross I do not know, for they were old enough to be writing without their elders approving the content of their letters. They must have said something, however, for they both received separate stern lectures on their want of consideration. They were cast into the glooms. I'm sure they had expected amused approval. They moped and left off collecting. Even the dogs did not cheer them.

  After a few days of putting up with my sisters' despair, Miss Bluestone sought me in my room before dinner.

  "Is anything the matter, Miss Bluestone?"

  "No, my lady. I merely wished to discuss something with you privately." She was wearing her summer dinner gown, as hideous as her winter uniform but ochre instead of black.

  "By all means." I motioned to Dobbins to leave and pulled out a chair. "Please sit, Miss Bluestone. What is it?"

  "Would you object to my taking Jean and Margaret on a small expedition? They need a change of air."

  "And something cheerful to write his lordship." I sighed. "Very well, ma'am. What do you suggest?"

  "I thought perhaps we might be allowed to take the barouche for an afternoon. I should like them to see the Weeping Cave, and Jem assures me he knows the way perfectly."

  The Weeping Cave was a locally famous limestone cavern full of strange icicle-like formations. The wolden heath in which it lay had been one of the favoured picnic spots of my childhood.

  "Have they not seen the Weeping Cave? Let's go tomorrow." I rose and paced restlessly back and forth. The girls had not been away from Brecon since Christmas, except for church on Sunday. Miss Bluestone had not even had the Christmas jaunt. I was neglecting them all. I felt horribly guilty.

  "You'll join us? How splendid!" Miss Bluestone beamed her approval, and I realised she must have been thinking me indifferent to the girls. I swallowed my chagrin and nodded.

  * * * *

  I had seen the cave many times. Whilst the others entered the bowels of the earth, I sat by myself in the sun and gave my melancholy room to blossom. The heath--starred with wildflowers and touched by a light breeze--was a delightful spot in which to be lovesick. I admired the spreading wold, blue in the distance, and wondered how many miles it was to Lochalsh, which was where Clanross was bound that week.

  A twig crackled. Startled, I looked up from my brooding. Miss Bluestone, pale as linen, stood above me. I leapt up. "What is it, ma'am? Are you ill?"

  She let out her breath in a long sigh. "How foolish of me, my lady. I stood it as long as I could, but I kept thinking of all those tons of rock above me. Oh dear, I feel rather giddy."

  I took her arm and settled her on one of the cloths Jem had spread to keep the damp from our skirts. "A glass of wine?" It was a relief to know Miss Bluestone had at least one flaw, but I did not smile at her d
iscomfort.

  "Th-thank you. My word! I don't know what came over me."

  "Yours is a frequent sensation in caves, I believe. My sister Anne could never abide the place. She said it stifled her. She couldn't breathe."

  Miss Bluestone took a gulp of the wine. "That's it. I couldn't draw a breath. How very odd. The girls seemed perfectly at ease."

  "No imagination." I refilled her glass and poured one for myself. I let her sit for a time quietly.

  Soon her colour improved, and she looked over at me, smiling, "You're very kind, my lady."

  "I'm not such an ogre as to expect you to stay there."

  She began to look anxious. "The girls..."

  "They're safe with Jem and Harris, and they'll stay in the cave until the torches begin to burn low. Take your ease, Miss Bluestone, and enjoy the sunshine. We have a perfect day for an alfresco feast."

  "So we do." She relaxed her stiff pose with deliberation. "I had looked forward to this expedition, too. I meant to try for a trilobite for his lordship."

  "Good lord, what's a trilobite?"

  She explained in earnest detail.

  "I see," I said doubtfully. "I daresay Clanross would be delighted with a trilobite."

  "He would," she replied, composed. "We have talked at some length as to the age of such relics. Indeed, we almost came to cuffs, for he is convinced they must be hundreds of thousands of years old. That is nonsense, of course. All the best authorities agree the Creation occurred only four or five thousand years before Our Lord's birth. Such apparent contradictions must have been placed here merely to test our faith."

  "No doubt." I suppressed a smile at the thought of Clanross and Miss Bluestone in theological debate.

  Miss Bluestone sipped at her wine. "His lordship has a well-informed mind, but sadly secular."

  "Did he send you your fossil to test your faith?" That was unkind, but I couldn't resist. I envied her her fossil.

  "Very likely. It was good in his lordship to recollect our discussion, however, and it is a particularly handsome specimen. I writ him so."