BRIGHTON BEAUTY

by Clay, Marilyn

  "Well, what are you gawking at, gel?"

  Whirling about, Chelsea caught sight of an ancient canopied bed dripping with hangings which at one time may have been lovely, but were now soiled and squalid. Propped up in a sea of pillows was a very old lady. Strewn about her on the coverlet and on the floor were piles and piles of yellowed newspapers and books . . . books! Chelsea blanched as heightened terror washed over her. Alayna had said her aunt was practically blind!

  "Come here so I can get a close look at you, gel!"

  Too afraid to move, Chelsea barely managed, "H-how do you do, Aunt Millicent?"

  "Aunt Millicent! As I recall, you used to call me Aunt Millie." Squinting at Chelsea, Lady Rathbone reached to steady her spectacles. "You appear to be quaking, gel. Sit by the fire if you feel a chill. I'll have Jared bring us a pot of tea. Jared!"

  Chelsea jumped again, but upon hearing a muffled noise coming from outside the closed bedchamber door, her round brown eyes cut that direction.

  The door opened and the same stone-faced gentleman stepped inside. "You bellowed, madam?"

  Chelsea thought she heard a chortle coming from the old lady on the bed, but she couldn't be sure. It might have been a cough.

  "Tea, Jared! Bring it up. And don't spare the butter on the toast." She directed another squinty-eyed gaze at Chelsea, who, as commanded, was edging toward the crackling fire. "I assume you brought a maid with ye, gel?"

  Chelsea nodded tightly. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Put the girl in the west wing with the other maids, Jared, and see that she's properly fed. Have my niece's trunks taken to the green suite in the east tower. But, bring our tea before you attend to the other duties. Miss Marchmont seems to have caught a chill."

  When Jared had backed away and had, as quietly as possible . . . considering the squeaky hinges . . . closed the bedchamber door, Chelsea turned a terrified gaze on the thundercloud still reclining on the bed. It went without saying that Aunt Millicent was not the least as she'd expected.

  "Well, I still haven't got a proper look at you," Lady Rathbone grumbled, flinging back the coverlet and snatching up a cane which had been leaning against the commode beside her bed. Then, with less effort than Chelsea would have expected from someone purported to be bedridden, the old woman rather agilely limped across the room, headed for a faded brocade sofa positioned near the fire.

  Taking no thought for her actions, Chelsea hurried to fluff the cushions at the old woman's back and help settle a warm woolen shawl about her frail shoulders.

  Appearing somewhat astonished by her niece's thoughtful gesture, Lady Rathbone twisted to look up at her. "I daresay you've changed considerably, Alayna. I seem to recall you being an especially selfish child. Not given to thinking of anyone but yourself." Her lips pressed tightly together as she reached to steady her spectacles.

  Chelsea hastened to seek out a chair situated a bit apart from Lady Rathbone and slipped nervously into it. Then, during the brief moment of silence that followed, her anxiety grew as she felt the old woman's eyes boring holes through her.

  At length Lady Rathbone said, "You've become a passing fair young lady, Alayna. Rutherford will be pleased to see it."

  Chelsea blinked. "Rutherford? But, I . . . I shan't be seeing him, shall I, madam; I mean, Aunt Millicent?"

  Lady Rathbone squinted narrowly. "Well, of course you shall see him, peagoose. Husbands and wives generally do meet up, on occasion."

  Chelsea felt her insides begin to tremble once again. The interview was not going at all well. Valiantly, she tried to recall Alayna's sentiments regarding her forthcoming marriage, and summon the proper tone to voice them. Elevating her chin a notch, she managed to announce evenly, "Well, if you must know, Aunt Millicent, I have no intention of spending any length of time with Rutherford."

  To Chelsea's surprise, Lady Rathbone threw her gray head back and laughed aloud. "Can't say as I blame ye, gel! I doubt my son's temperament has improved with age. A more demanding young man I never saw." She fussed with her shawl. "Just like his late father in that regard, though I believe Ford is a jot more principled. As a prospective husband, I mean. You could do worse, gel."

  "Hmm." Chelsea wracked her brain for something additional to say on the subject, but could think of nothing plausible, so elected to remain silent for the moment. After a pause, she said, "I wonder when you last heard from my cousin?"

  "Not since he wrote saying he'd agreed to the match. Of course, I haven't seen my son since he became a man. Suffice to say, I shouldn't recognize Rutherford today if I met him in the corridor." A gnarled finger touched her spectacles again. "Have only had these less than a twelvemonth. Not that they'd help matters any."

  "Hmm," Chelsea repeated herself, then cast an anxious glance about . . . and saw another stack of books piled near Lady Rathbone's feet! "It . . . appears you do a good deal of reading, ma'am, uh, Aunt Millie."

  A sharp gaze on Chelsea, Lady Rathbone nodded assent. "Been trying to catch myself up. Still find reading difficult, however, in spite of being spectacled."

  "I should be happy to read to you, ma'am," Chelsea blurted out, then caught herself. Alayna would never have offered to read to her aunt.

  "Read to me, eh? Well, that would be quite lovely."

  Chelsea stewed. She simply must keep her wits about her! Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, her eyes flitted nervously over the room. Again, she felt Lady Rathbone studying her the entire time.

  "I detect a marked difference about you, gel," the woman remarked.

  Chelsea held her breath. Was Lady Rathbone about to question why Alayna's sky blue eyes had suddenly turned midnight brown?

  "Can't quite name it, though," the old lady muttered thoughtfully, "however, I expect it will come to me soon enough."

  Chelsea tried to still her rapidly pounding heart. She was making a shambles of pretending to be Alayna. There must be something she could say, or do, that would reassure Lady Rathbone that she was, indeed, her niece. Suddenly, she sprang from her chair and flounced across the room. "Whatever do you suppose is keeping Jared?" she exclaimed with a huff. "I declare I am simply parched. I have been three days shut up in a stuffy carriage and I am sick to death of just sitting about!"

  "Anxious to get to the stables, are you?"

  Chelsea froze. "The stables?"

  "Riding. Lettie tells me you dash to the stables the minute you arrive in Bath. Why, I recall even as a child, your riding skills put Rutherford's to shame."

  Chelsea winced. She hated horses. Had been frightened to pieces of them ever since her parents' unfortunate accident that involved a huge stallion and a run-away team. "Uh," she hedged, "well, if you must know, Aunt Millie, I rarely ride these days. It isn't necessary in Town, you know."

  A gray brow shot up.

  "Though, I admit," Chelsea added airily, "I should like to go into Chester." She began to prance mindlessly about the room, pausing to examine the ancient tapestry, then flitting to a table upon which rested an old leather-bound volume whose title she couldn't quite make out.

  Twisting about on the sofa to watch her niece, Lady Rathbone said, "Would hardly expect the Rows to interest you, young lady."

  "You are quite right, Aunt Millie. I expect the shops in Chester look much the same as they did the last time I visited." Truth to tell, Chelsea had never seen the famous Rows, and would like nothing better than to browse through the multitude of shops there; however, she was quite certain Alayna would find such an excursion dull beyond words. Chelsea exhaled an exaggerated sigh. "I should simply like to purchase a few things," she said. "A sketchbook, perhaps. I must find something useful to do with my time these coming weeks."

  "Useful!" Lady Rathbone exclaimed, pursing her lips. "You are considerably altered, indeed, Alayna. For the better, I might add," she muttered beneath her breath.

  Chelsea grimaced. She was botching things frightfully! She could only wonder why Lady Rathbone hadn't already confronted her and demanded to know the truth. For the mo
ment however she was spared further conversation when the chamber door creaked open and Jared reappeared with the tea things. Chelsea gratefully returned to her chair and didn't mind a bit when Lady Rathbone asked her to serve. It was something to do.

  "Well, I see your years at Miss Farringdon's Academy were not wasted," the older woman remarked after Chelsea had handed her a perfectly poured cup of tea and a small chipped plate piled with buttered toast and two greasy tarts of some sort. "Your aunts have no doubt put your talents to good use these last years, I expect. A young lady with exemplary social skills is sure to be an asset in Town."

  Sipping her tea, Chelsea murmured a nervous agreement to that sentiment, then managed to evasively answer additional questions regarding Alayna's aunts, Lettie and Hermione, both of whom Alayna had remembered to tell Chelsea were spending the spring and summer months in Brighton.

  "And Eudora? Is she still in London?"

  Chelsea paused. She did not recall Alayna mentioning Aunt Eudora. Yet, Eudora must have been in London, else who had Alayna been staying with in Portman Square?

  "I asked about Eudora, gel!" Lady Rathbone fairly shouted, then waited as Chelsea carefully set aside her teacup. "Good God, gel, you just came from London, is Eudora well, or isn't she?"

  "Umm . . . she is well enough, I expect. Aunt Millicent, but . . . suddenly, I am feeling quite out of curl." It was not a lie. "I should like to retire to my chamber now, if you please."

  Behind her spectacles, Lady Rathbone's gray eyes narrowed. "Oh, go on with you then." She waved Chelsea away with her cane. "We've a month of Sundays to talk of the relatives, I expect. Never mind that I haven't had a visitor this age," she grumbled. "I should think the least you could do is catch me up on the family." She set aside her own teacup, then struggled to rise to her feet.

  Chelsea couldn't bear to watch the feeble old lady struggle so. Springing to her feet, she reached to help. "Allow me to assist you, Aunt Millicent," she said gently.

  Lady Rathbone's eyes cut round, but she said nothing further. After Chelsea had helped her into bed and tucked the cover pane about her, she excused herself and left the room.

  She found Dulcie awaiting her in the corridor. "Thought you might need help finding your way to your suite, miss," she said, her voice lowered in case Jared, or someone else, might be lurking about and overhear her.

  Chelsea exhaled a relieved sigh. "Thank you ever so, Dulcie. I admit I quite forgot to scatter breadcrumbs on my way here."

  * * * *

  Alone in her bedchamber that evening, Chelsea mentally reviewed the disastrous interview she'd endured with Lady Rathbone. Though she knew she had made a muddle of it, she couldn't help feeling sorry for the old lady. With only her books and a stone-faced butler for company, it was more than obvious that the old woman was lonely. But what could Chelsea do about it? Alayna would never lift a finger to help.

  Though she spent the next few days learning her way around the centuries-old castle, Chelsea continued to stew over Lady Rathbone's situation, making a point of visiting the formidable old woman at least once each day, generally at tea time. On the second day, she made good on her word to read to the woman and was pleased when they laughed together over an amusing article in an outdated copy of The London Times. As the days passed, Lady Rathbone ceased asking questions that Chelsea felt hard put to answer, and instead seemed merely glad for the company.

  Chelsea took her meals in her own quarters, a large suite of rooms located in an interesting round tower in the east wing. Clearly evident to her was the fact that the rooms had not been in service for a while . . . the heavy wine draperies were a haven for dust mites, as was the faded carpet that covered the smooth stone floor of her bedchamber.

  It took a bit of doing, but Chelsea finally pressed four of the housemaids into removing the draperies and rug and carting them outside for a much-needed cleaning. The bulk of Lady Rathbone's servants, Chelsea had discovered, were an uninspired lot, given to slothful habits and in the absence of their employer, blatantly shirking their duties.

  Even Dulcie . . . who after the second night, took to sleeping on a cot in the dressing room next to Chelsea's bedchamber, telling Chelsea that she wasn't accustomed to sharing a bed, even if the bedfellow was her own half-sister . . . commented on the lackadaisical attitude of the castle servants.

  "Ain't a one of them does a half-day’s work!" she exclaimed hotly. "Miss Marchmont would sack 'em in a minute, she would."

  Chelsea knew that was true. Alayna wouldn't stand for the laziness or half-completed tasks. Thinking further on it, Chelsea reckoned there were at least twenty-five or thirty people who lived in relative ease inside the castle, and counting the outside stable-hands and the groundskeepers that number would likely swell to fifty. Still Chelsea couldn't bear to see a single one of them lose their positions. So, after some thought, she decided to handle the matter not as Alayna might, but in her own singular fashion.

  Jared, she had observed, had few duties other than to loiter about the corridor outside Lady Rathbone's chamber, in order to be on hand when the woman bellowed. It had not taken Chelsea long to ascertain the reason for her unorthodox habit of shouting when she wished Jared to appear. Not a single one of the bell-pulls in the castle worked.

  On the afternoon that Chelsea intended to put her plan into action, she approached Jared, as usual, to request an audience with Lady Rathbone.

  "Do come in, dear," the woman said, after Jared had announced her. It had been some days since Lady Rathbone had bellowed at Chelsea. "My, is it tea time already?"

  "No, ma'am, I have come about another matter," Chelsea replied, a warm smile on her lips.

  "And what might that be, dear?" Already, Lady Rathbone had sat up in bed and was reaching for her cane, apparently intent upon joining Chelsea at their customary place before the fire. "Do you require something?" she asked pleasantly, as Chelsea reached to assist her to a standing position.

  "No, ma'am; not for myself." Chelsea walked slowly alongside Lady Rathbone, then after adjusting a cushion at her back as she eased onto the sofa, Chelsea slipped onto a nearby chair.

  "Well, then, what is it?" Lady Rathbone asked expectantly.

  In a confident tone, Chelsea began. "I have come to ask if you would consider opening the dining hall, Aunt Millicent, so that you and I might take our meals together? And," Chelsea rushed on before the woman could object, "I should like us to take our tea in the drawing room from now on. I located a perfectly good Bath chair belowstairs, and I am certain that with Jared's help, and perhaps one of the footmen, we could wheel you about the corridors, and perhaps even venture outdoors. A breath of fresh air on occasion would bring color to your cheeks, Aunt Millie."

  A slow smile moved across Lady Rathbone's face. "Why, I think that a capital idea, Alayna. You are a positively dear girl for thinking of me. We shall begin this very evening. Jared!"

  * * * *

  Leaving the old lady's hide-away moments later, Chelsea smiled to herself. A bit of life about the castle and she felt certain the servants would once again be inspired to take pride in their work.

  Supper in the dining hall that evening proved a somewhat haphazard affair, what with the servants not being accustomed to properly serving or clearing. However, breakfast and luncheon the following day went a bit smoother; and though tea in the drawing room that afternoon came a little too soon for the draperies and carpets to have been aired, Chelsea helped dispel some of the gloom by drawing aside both the curtains and shutters and allowing some much-needed air and light in.

  Over the next days, Dulcie assisted Chelsea in transforming the gloomy castle into something that more closely resembled a home. Chelsea saw to cleaning the bed hangings and linens in Lady Rathbone's chamber, and brought in armloads of colorful wildflowers and arranged them in vases throughout the castle. She also supervised the dusting of portraits, and polishing of all the brass hinges on the great oaken doors. Though Jared's stoic countenance never varied, Chelsea began to
sense his approval of her brightening up the place.

  She also became aware of a certain respectful camaraderie that existed between that gentleman and Lady Rathbone. On one afternoon, as she was sitting with Lady Rathbone in her chamber, a particularly high wind came up. Not an uncommon occurrence in this part of England, wind seemed to whistle about the crumbling castle walls with disturbing regularity. However, on this particular afternoon, it loosened an outside shutter from its moorings and caused it to fly straightaway to the ground, where it landed smack on the head of a sleeping pig and killed it. In minutes, the entire castle was in an uproar, the few eyewitnesses to the happening being consulted by vast numbers of inside servants, eager for a detailed recounting of the bizarre occurrence.

  Jared delivered the news to Lady Rathbone. "Most disturbing, I should say, my lady," he concluded, his expression impassive, both hands clasped calmly behind his back.

  Chelsea had found the tale quite amusing and Lady Rathbone had laughed aloud. However, when Jared did not join in the levity, Lady Rathbone chided, "Come, come, Jared, I see your eyebrow twitching. I take that to mean you are as astonished as the rest of us, perhaps even shocked."

  Chelsea watched the drama unfolding before her with growing fascination.

  "Whatever you say, my lady," Jared replied without so much as a blink of an eye.

  Her lips twitching, Lady Rathbone turned to Chelsea. "I expect it has not escaped your notice, my dear, that our Jared does a perfectly splendid imitation of a statue. He thinks I suspect nothing, but I have been on to him for quite some time now. These, of course . . . " she reached to touch her spectacles " . . . have given me a decided advantage. I daresay I once saw Jared's eyebrow lift a good eighth inch. I took it to mean he was near to hysteria."