“Do you? But you would not have me meddle in your affairs,” Kate responded unhappily.
“I would not have you pity me,” Charity retorted cryptically, and changed the subject.
Chapter 9
The Earl of Winterton bore with equanimity his neighbor’s stay at Winter Manor. He was pleasant to Mrs. Montgomery and Susan when they called, and he even went so far as to take his dinner in the West Room with Ralph, conversing easily on matters of farming and breeding which might interest his guest. When Benjamin Karst called in the evening at a rather unorthodox hour, explaining that it had taken him the whole of the day to soothe and placate his family, the Earl merely smiled reminiscently and showed him to the invalid’s room.
Ralph was impatient to be back at the Hall and departed eagerly if painfully with his father in the well-sprung carriage at ten the next morning. The Montgomerys’ various expressions of thanks were casually accepted, and the Earl himself stood at the door until the carriage was out of sight.
“Making sure he’s gone, sir?”
The Earl turned around lazily toward his secretary, who was doing his best to smother a smile. “That is precisely what I was doing, Thomas. How acute of you. I presume you wish to drag me off to your office to discuss the price of chickens or the latest destruction of a tenant’s roof.”
“Something of that nature, sir, if you have a moment.”
“Not above half an hour, Thomas. I have been housebound for quite long enough, I assure you. I was expected in Bristol last night, and I shall have a bit of work of it to explain my absence and cajole the young lady into a pleasant frame of mind.”
“You could have sent a message, sir.”
“Yes, Thomas, I could have, but I did not feel like it,” Winterton remarked as he swung his quizzing glass absently back and forth.
“As you say, sir. Is my half-hour ticking away?” he asked with an impudent grin.
“It is.”
“Then with all due respect let me usher you to my office.”
Winterton did not manage to leave the Manor for over an hour. Thomas Single was grateful for this, since it meant that he was able to deal with several matters which had arisen suddenly and urgently. Winterton, on the other hand, felt slightly oppressed and could not put a finger on his restlessness. A pair of high-spirited chestnuts awaited his pleasure, and he gathered the reins in his hands, jumped into the curricle, and ordered, “Let ‘em go, Peters.”
The freshness of the horses demanded all his attention for a while, and he was not quite in the proper mood to notice that the late-February sun was likely to foretell the first of spring. There was a persistent dripping is the countryside about him as the thaw began in the frozen land. The brooks and streams would soon swell to bursting as the ice and snow reluctantly disappeared for another year. The hunting season would end now, and his restlessness would not be assuaged by the pseudo-French lady in Bristol.
Celeste had soon lost her attraction for him, and he would do well perhaps to head for London for the more sophisticated women to be found there who would welcome his patronage. At least one could find a little wit and humor amongst the demimonde there, rather than the petulant, insistent demands of Celeste in Bristol.
Responsibility had never weighed upon Winterton regarding his duty to marry and beget an heir for Winter Manor. There were cousins enough to fill that role if need be; not that he ever made the least push to make the acquaintance of the half of them. The heir apparent was an unprepossessing elderly man, and Lord Norris himself was not so very far away in the succession, considering the age of those in line ahead of him.
Winterton drove his chestnuts, the edge now off them, into the crowded inn yard just as the Bath & Bristol Express Coach arrived. He was not forgotten in the ensuing bustle, as he was a well-known figure there. An ostler took charge of the curricle and was informed, in the most off-hand manner, that his lordship had no idea when he would return for it. Winterton strode out of the inn yard at his usual brisk pace and was soon at the gabled cottage in Small Street where his mistress was housed. His imperative rap at the door brought a seedy-looking servant to the door without visible haste.
“Tell Celeste that Lord Winterton is here,” he ordered, setting his gloves and cane on a side table which needed to be dusted and had seen better days. He did not know this servant and wondered idly if Celeste had dismissed the suitably discreet employee he had provided for her.
The servant shambled off without a word and shambled back some ten minutes later to inform his lordship in a grunt that he would be admitted. “I know the way,” he informed the lackey, momentarily considering the wisdom of leaving his gold-headed cane and tan leather driving gloves in the keeping of such a shifty-eyed fellow. But he had other matters on his mind and could not be bothered with such a trifle. As he had expected, he found Celeste in her boudoir scantily clothed in a flimsy gauze grown of sea green.
Popping a bonbon into her pouting red mouth, she said accusingly, “I expected you last night.”
“I was unable to come.”
“You said you would,” she pressed.
“But I didn’t. I hope your waiting for me did not cause you any inconvenience,” he returned softly.
“Well, it was a great bore, I assure you.”
“I am here now and you need no longer be bored,” he suggested, “though you certainly still appear to be so.”
Celeste did not miss the snap in his voice and the angry flicker in his eyes. She elegantly unwrapped herself from the luxurious fourposter and approached him seductively. “Shall I ring for wine?” she purred.
“If you think that shifty-eyed beggar can manage it.”
She gave a tinkling laugh as she tugged at the bell pull. “He’s right quick with the wine, as it gives him a chance to sample it.”
Winterton grimaced with disgust and pulled her onto his lap as he seated himself on the bed. He began to caress her carelessly, and she took the opportunity to suggest that she needed a new gown. It had become a ritual to make demands of her lover in the early stages of each encounter, since his invariable response was “Perhaps, if you please me.” There was a scratch on the door, and the servant entered when bidden, averting his eyes, and set a tray with decanter and glass on the draped dressing table. He vanished immediately, and Celeste rose to pour out a glass for Winterton.
“You don’t join me?”
“Not today, Andrew.”
She rejoined him on the bed, and he continued to fondle her as he sipped at his wine, moodily staring off into space. Celeste was pricked by this indifference, but it had become not an unusual feature of their lovemaking. She smiled secretly and decided that her course of action had been perfectly justified. He was tired of her, and what was a working girl to do but make the best of a bad situation?
When Winterton finished the wine, he set the glass carefully on the old-fashioned night commode and turned his attention to his companion. His interest was increasing, but now his head began to feel muddled and his actions started to take on a nightmarish slow-motion quality. He fought to shake off the sluggishness, but he felt confused and powerless. Perhaps if he just lay still for a moment he would be better. There was an angry flash of understanding just before he lost consciousness.
When Winterton awoke, his head felt like a balloon and his eyes took some time to function properly. He was aware of the gray light outside and could not at first remember where he was. He lay on a fourposter bed, he observed, and nearby was a night commode with a short flight of steps. Certainly he was not at Winter Manor. Turning his head was an agony, but he proceeded to take in the mahogany tallboy, the dainty writing bureau, the draped dressing table and the swing looking-glass. The two chairs, he determined judiciously, were ugly. His eyes returned to the ormolu clock on the chest of drawers. Six-twenty. Morning or evening? It hurt to even think about it.
After he had raised himself gingerly on an elbow to look out the window he felt a bit better and thought he mig
ht possibly be able to stand. This proved to be an over-optimistic judgment, and he groaned and lay down again for a while. When the clock had reached six-fifty he made another valiant effort to rise and was this time successful. It had until this moment escaped his blurred attention that he was unclothed and his garments were nowhere to be seen. He wove a path to the tallboy, his face now grimly set. This piece of furniture was entirely empty but for a scrap of lemon-colored ribbon at the bottom.
Face it, Andrew, he urged himself sourly, not only are your clothes not here, but Celeste’s are not, either. The baggage! Adding insult to injury. A splash of water from the hand basin helped to revive him somewhat, and he began an exhaustive search of the small house. There was not a single personal item left in the place. It was furnished, at least to the best of his recollection, in the manner in which it had been when let. Perhaps he should be grateful that Celeste had not made off with Mrs. Harrow’s old but genteel furnishings.
Having completed this tour of inspection Winterton next surveyed the scene in Small Street and decided that it must be morning rather than evening. He returned to the fourposter and hauled off a sheet which he draped rather artistically about himself. After attempting for some time to summon a street urchin to carry a message for him to the inn he was less amused by the situation than he had been previously. There was not a ha’penny to be found in the entire dwelling, and no self-respecting urchin was willing to take the chance of future reward from the unshaven, queerly dressed man at the window in Small Street.
Winterton wandered disconsolately into the kitchen and found a stale piece of bread to break his fast. He considered the possibilities of emerging into the streets dressed in a sheet and realized at last that Celeste had had her revenge par excellence. She had known that he was tiring of her company, that the house was let for only a three-month period, which was drawing to a close. He never let a house for a mistress for a longer period, of course, as he was well aware of his own boredom after even shorter periods of time than that.
Thomas had hinted to him, he now recalled, that it might not be wise to be so specific in his arrangements with his mistresses, but Winterton’s pride dictated that he have everything understood perfectly. It was the way he indicated he was in charge, he thought with a sigh. So now Celeste was off with his clothes, his purse (it could not have contained less than a hundred and fifty pounds) and all of her own belongings. He shrugged mentally; perhaps the loss of the money was less distressing than the scene Celeste might have made had he informed her that their liaison was finished.
There was no profit in these thoughts, and Winterton returned to the front window, which would have been better for a cleaning and some new curtains. He renewed his attempts to find a messenger boy, but they were unsuccessful. Eventually someone would come along who knew him and he would be rescued. Patience was not his long suit, but he settled down in a chair by the window, arranged his sheet about him, and watched the passersby.
* * * *
Ralph had mixed emotions on arriving at the Hall after his stay with Winterton. He felt desolated at his rejection by Charity, and yet he wanted to see her. He feared she would be embarrassed to be in the same house with him after his unwanted offer. Perhaps Kate could persuade her to stay so that he might at least be near her for a while longer.
Charity was on hand, as was the rest of the family, when Mr. Montgomery drove up with his son. Ralph limped slightly as he entered the house, waving off Susan, who attempted to fling herself on him. He gruffly informed them that he was feeling “quite all right.”
“I thought you might like to go to the back parlor,” Kate suggested kindly. Her mother exclaimed immediately that he should be in bed.
Ralph tucked Kate’s hand under his uninjured arm and said gratefully, “The back parlor will be perfect.” He smiled tentatively at Charity, who responded with the tiniest of smiles which did not reach her sad eyes.
“I have brought all manner of books, games, and cards here so they will be within reach,” Kate assured him, as Susan solicitously draped a blanket over her brother’s knees. “It is only for you to decide whether to expel us or have us entertain you.”
Ralph made an effort to keep his eyes from the red-gold hair and the downturned face of his beloved, but he could not choose to send them away. “Let’s play whist for penny points, or even for nothing,” he offered generously.
“Now this is a change indeed, dear brother,” Kate laughed. “Have you lost your taste for gambling?”
“Let it be for imaginary stakes,” Charity surprised them by suggesting. “I have always wanted to win a vast sum of money at whist.”
Ralph smiled fondly at her and said, “Pound points it is, then. But who is to say you shall win?”
“You’ll see,” Charity retorted. And they did. She was a remarkably fine player with an excellent memory, putting them all to shame.
The interlude helped put Ralph and Charity at ease with one another, as did the arrival of Benjamin Karst after luncheon. The young people spent an enjoyable afternoon playing cards, talking, and listening to Kate play “Greensleeves” on the dulcimer. While Ralph and Benjamin discussed the farm they now owned, Kate gave Charity an impromptu lesson on the ancient instrument in a far corner of the room. Even as Ralph spoke with his friend, he was constantly aware of the late winter sunlight playing over Charity’s hair and features, aware of her gentle voice and the occasional melody of her laugh.
Kate caught the expression on her brother’s face as he watched Charity. She had never seen that tender, adoring look on his countenance before. It made her ache for him and long to help him, but she refused to break her word to Charity. They would have to sort it out themselves, and no doubt they would do a better job of it than she could.
The whole family joined for an evening of music and conversation. Benjamin had proposed that afternoon that if Ralph was equal to it they would drive over to the farm the next day. When the family had begun to head for bed, Ralph drifted over to Kate and Charity.
“Would you like to join Benjamin and me tomorrow? Go to the farm, you know. Want to start getting everything in order,” he said awkwardly.
Kate noted that this offer upset Charity, so she replied, “Not tomorrow, Ralph. I plan to take Charity to Bristol to see the sights. We had no time on the day she arrived.”
Charity allowed a wisp of a sigh to escape her, and Ralph nodded sadly. “Another time, perhaps,” he urged.
“We’ll see,” his sister replied vaguely, and took her friend’s arm, squeezed it encouragingly, and led her off amidst mumbled “good nights.”
Chapter 10
When Kate and Charity had wandered down High Street and seen the church of St. Nicholas with its 15th-century crypt and Ste. Mary-le-Port in its picturesque street of gabled houses, they admired the tower of All Saints. They passed the comparatively new Christ Church and Kate led her friend left over Corn Street to see Mr. Wood’s Exchange where the merchant life of the city should have blossomed, except that the merchants seemed to prefer to deal in the coffee houses. Her favorite sight was the Norman house in Small Street, so they turned right again and Kate was pointing out this structure with its great Hall built in Transitional style and further added to in the Perpendicular style when she heard her name called.
Surprised, she glanced up and down the street, but saw no one she knew. Her name was called again, and this time she discerned the Earl of Winterton’s voice, but she could not see him. Charity, in mute shock, pointed a finger at a house down the road on the opposite side.
Kate followed her gesture and could see the shoulders and face of Winterton above faded blue curtains at the window of a small house. He was beckoning to her; even at this distance she could tell he was unshaven and was wearing something strange and white.
“I think, Charity, that we would be wise to ignore him,” she grinned, “for he has obviously lost his mind, if not his clothes.”
“You surely would not abandon him?”
“No, for I can see that he is in need of help,” Kate replied. “But I shall be hard-pressed to keep a straight face.” Nonetheless she left her friend and with a suitable gravity approached the small window and inquired politely if she could be of assistance to Lord Winterton.
Winterton, thoroughly exasperated with his wait and cursing his fate that the first acquaintance to stroll down Small Street should be Miss Montgomery, found himself at a loss as to what to say to her. He had expected that he would see some male acquaintance or servant to whom he was known, and was sorely tempted at the sight of Miss Montgomery and her friend to ignore this offering of chance. His first reaction had been a muttered “Oh, hell,” his second to withdraw from the window, and his third, which he was beginning to regret, to call to her.
“Yes, you could assist me if you would,” he began stiffly. “I find myself without resources and could stand the loan of a pound and some shillings.”
“I would be delighted to oblige, sir,” Kate responded quickly, dipping into her reticule. She had been considering his plight as he hesitated and noted the sheet about his shoulders with a frantic attempt to maintain her composure. He was a very proud man, excessively so, and she could repay him for all his inequities to her by simply bursting into laughter at this point. She would not allow herself to do so, for he was also a neighbor and had assisted her family.
As she handed him the money she warned, “However, if that is to send a messenger, I fear you could be out of luck. There is no saying that the urchin you gave it to would not simply scamper off with it to be seen no more.”
“I can give him some now and promise payment of the rest when his mission is complete,” he informed her coldly.
“And you might see him again. More like you would not.”
Winterton sighed and a wry grin spread across his lips. “I know you are right, Miss Montgomery, but the alternative is to send you to Thomas yourself.”
The Seventh Suitor Page 8
