The Rebellious Twin

by Shirley Kennedy

  His friend’s indifference caused Robert to fume inside. Lucius simply didn’t understand. “In the first place, the girl did nothing wrong.”

  “What about that business with Cranmer in the library? Are you sure she’s innocent? Cranmer’s an impudent dog, but he has a way with women.” Lucius thought a moment. “‘Tis more than likely she allowed him — “

  “Silence!” Robert bellowed.

  A heavy silence followed. Finally Lucius, much subdued, ventured, “Have they sold the horse yet?”

  “How do I know?” asked Robert, also subdued. “Sorry I yelled. Why did you ask such a question?”

  “Apology accepted.” Undaunted, Lucius continued, Why don’t you find out if the horse is sold, and if it’s not, buy it yourself? Then you could keep it here and let your little chit ride it.”

  The idea jolted Robert. Why hadn’t he thought of it himself? With caution, he ventured, “I suppose it’s a possibility.”

  “Just an idea, Robert, but on second thought, not very practical. For one thing, aren’t you going to sell Hollyridge?”

  “I was planning to.”

  Lucius brightened. “I have it! Disrepair or not, Hollyridge Manor is twice the estate Oakley House is. Did you ever consider not selling Hollyridge? Why not move here? You’d be getting a beautiful river at your doorstep, let alone there’d be much more room for your horses. Then you could keep Donegal here. Clarinda could still ride her horse, or at least take comfort from the knowledge her gelding was close by and well cared for.”

  “That wouldn’t work,” said Robert, shaking his head. “They are selling the horse to punish the girl Like as not, they would not want her horse within a hundred miles of here.”

  “But on the other hand,” Lucius persisted, “from what I hear, Lord Capelle is strapped for cash right now. He might consider your offer regardless, provided you sweeten the pot a little.”

  Robert looked puzzled. “What do you mean? Capelle’s a wealthy man.”

  “Indeed he is,” Lucius replied. “His holdings in the West Indies alone are worth a fortune, but not a ready fortune. Lady Capelle’s the problem. From what I hear, her gambling losses have put them deep in the hole. Capelle may well accept your offer, provided it’s an exceptionally generous one.

  Robert lapsed into deep thought until Lucius impatiently inquired, “So what will you do?”

  Robert brought his hand to his chin and mused aloud. “Money aside, that Irish Hunter is a beautiful piece of horseflesh I would buy in a minute, whether or not he belonged to Clarinda.”

  “Then you may as well purchase the animal. If you don’t, someone else will.”

  *

  Lucius’s remarks had set off a new, wild train of thought in Robert’s head. The rest of the morning and part of the afternoon he mulled over various plans, all the while asking himself why he was going to such lengths for a chit of a girl. By late afternoon his plans were set.

  “Jennings, tell the groom to saddle Sham,” he ordered the butler. “I shall be visiting Lord Capelle.”

  Lucius overheard. “What are you planning?”

  When Robert told him, Lucius burst into uproarious laughter. “Are you out of your mind? They will never accept an offer as insane as that.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Robert said confidently, although inwardly, he was not at all sure himself.

  In the oak paneled library at Graystone Hall, Robert sat across from Lord Capelle, each with a brandy snifter in his hand. Capelle wasn’t a bad fellow, Robert mused as they chatted. In fact, he had greatly enjoyed discussing horses with his tall, pleasant-faced neighbor at last night’s ball. But that wife of his! Such a cold woman. He had seen her occasionally in London, usually playing whist at the home of Lady Archer or Lady Buckinghamshire. And losing plenty, as he recalled. She was no dilettante, though. She took her whist seriously — a bonafide, hard-nosed gambler. Hard to believe she was the mother of a girl as warm and charming as Clarinda.

  Although Capelle was a gracious host, Robert noticed a certain tenseness in his neighbor’s face, and that he kept up a nervous drumming of his fingers on the arm of his Roman giltwood armchair. Finally Capelle asked, “Well, Stormont? You said you came for business.”

  “I understand you have a gelding for sale.”

  Capelle was instantly alert. “Indeed I do, sir. An Irish Hunter, sixteen hands, three years old. Great strength in his jumping quarters, as I’m sure you know. No finer specimen — “

  “I want to buy her,” Robert said.

  “Really?” asked Capelle, faintly surprised at Robert’s unquestioning resolve. “By gad, I don’t see why you couldn’t buy her, except … hmm.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “I am afraid so.” Lord Capelle’s normally friendly, open face clouded with concern. “There is a certain delicate matter to be considered here.”

  Robert deftly asked, “I understand the horse belongs to Lady Clarinda?”

  “Yes, Donegal is Clarinda’s. You must understand, certain, er, events have occurred which have compelled me to make this decision to sell the animal.” Capelle stopped and cleared his throat, obviously reluctant to proceed. “Donegal must go. You’re obviously a good judge of cattle, Stormont, so I don’t have to tell you what a fine piece of horseflesh you’d be getting. Paid two hundred guineas for him, and a like amount for Dublin, Rissa’s horse. Might I ask — ?”

  “Four hundred guineas for Donegal,” answered Robert, “however, there is a condition.”

  Capelle could not suppress a gasp. “That is more than generous, sir!” A satisfied smile lit his face, but quickly faded. “Uh-oh. I have just thought of an obstacle.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Not even knowing your condition, under ordinary circumstances, I would accept your fine offer immediately. However, circumstances compel me to … ahem!..consult with her ladyship.”

  “What obstacle is that, sir?” Robert asked.

  “Er … ‘tis a family matter.”

  Robert set down his brandy glass. “May I be honest?” Capelle nodded. “I mean brutally honest, and if you will permit me, with great reluctance, I am compelled to refer to that delicate family matter.”

  “Go ahead,” said Capelle, also setting down his glass. He sat back, steepled his fingers, and waited for his guest to proceed.

  Robert continued, “I take it you are selling Lady Clarinda’s horse as a punishment. Am I correct?”

  Capelle nodded affirmatively. “Not only that, we are seriously considering sending the girl to her grandfather’s castle in North Wales.”

  No. Robert felt a jolt in his stomach. “I had not realized. But you say you are only considering such a move?”

  Capelle sighed. A melancholy frown flitted across his features. “If ‘twere up to me, I would consider the selling of her horse punishment enough. Actually too much, between you and me, but” — he rolled his eyes upward, doubtless toward the current whereabouts of her ladyship on the third floor — “mine is not the only opinion involved here.” He smiled wryly. “They say a man is master of his household, but in some matters…” He gave a helpless shrug, then took another healthy sip of his brandy.

  So, thought Robert, that shrew of a wife ruled the household, just as he suspected. Judging from Capelle’s pleasant, easy-going nature, he was not surprised. He decided to go a step further. Risky, breaking all sorts of society’s silly rules, but he could always back down. “Forgive me for intruding on private matters, but I take it this punishment had something to do with the incident that occurred last night involving Lord Cranmer.” To Robert’s relief, Capelle did not become incensed at such a rude intrusion of the family’s privacy, but rather, nodded glumly. Robert inquired, “Could there have been a misunderstanding?”

  Capelle sadly shook his head. “She claims she is innocent, but, alas, the facts speak for themselves.”

  Facts can easily be twisted, Robert thought, but now was not the time to argue. “I had planned to sell Hollyridge immediately, but
as fate would have it, my plans have changed. I shall keep the estate, and, in fact, have made preliminary plans for moving there.”

  “I am simply delighted,” exclaimed Capelle. “Couldn’t ask for a finer neighbor.”

  “Thank you, sir. Which leads me back to the condition I mentioned.”

  “And what might that be?” Capelle asked. He was still resting easy in his chair, but his shrewd eyes were alight with interest.

  “That Clarinda be permitted to come to Hollyridge and ride Donegal whenever she wishes. Actually, she would be doing me a favor because the horse would be in need of exercise.” Robert chuckled to himself. No need to mention the more than adequate number of stable boys he planned to employ.

  “And for how long would this arrangement last?” asked Capelle.

  The shrug Robert gave was as casual as he could make it. “Until she marries, I should think. You know how these young girls are. Soon her mind will be occupied with things domestic, and maternal. Meantime, I shall have a fine piece of horseflesh for myself.”

  Capelle sat straight. “I must confess, I am mystified. Considering you have hardly met Clarinda, your offer is beyond magnanimous. Might I ask why you’re doing this?”

  Why? Because he was an idiot. But he had best find a more suitable answer. “I met Clarinda on the riding path yesterday. ‘Twas easy to perceive her devotion to her horse. Perhaps I, also a lover of horses, feel a certain … affinity.” Damme, this was hard. How could he explain his actions when he hardly understood them himself?

  “I understand, sir,” Capelle answered, “and may I say I am overwhelmed by your beneficence?” He rolled his eyes upward again. “I, personally, would accept your more than generous proposition, but there’s Lady Capelle’s feelings in the matter to consider. Alas, I suspect she will not take kindly to your offer. She feels Clarinda should be punished, and you must admit, it would not be much of a punishment if — “

  “Shall we ask her?”

  “Er … ahem … well…”

  Robert grinned with confidence. “I shall win her over, sir. You can count on it.”

  “But you just don’t know — “

  “Let me handle it,” Robert interrupted with an assurance he did not feel. You’re in for it now, he informed himself. The worst part was, this uncomfortable situation was of his own doing, all caused by a saucy chit who could ride like the wind, who would not remove herself from his thoughts, who now had goaded him to the point where he was about to go out on a limb and quite possibly make a fool of himself.

  Shortly after, having been summoned to the library, Lady Capelle swept in, looking her usual severe self in an unadorned morning dress of Devonshire brown and plain white cap. After she was seated, Robert repeated his offer.

  “Let her keep riding Donegal? Absolutely not!” Lady Capelle set her lips in a thin, obdurate line. “Clarinda must be punished and that’s that.”

  Lord Capelle argued, “But Lord Stormont is willing to pay a most handsome sum.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Lord Capelle cast a helpless look at Robert. “I am afraid we cannot accept your offer.”

  Capelle needed the money. Robert could see that he did from that disappointed look in his eye. Of course, persuading Lady Capelle to change her mind would not be easy, yet remembering her ladyship’s love of money, it was worth another try. “Lord Capelle, would you be so kind as to have your butler summon my coachman? Tell him, bring the bag.”

  Soon, the coachman arrived carrying a large bag, obviously heavy. Robert took the bag, murmuring “Thank you, Thomas, you may go now.” He pulled the tie at the top of the bag, and in a swift, fell swoop, let the contents spill out with a loud clink, clank, and clatter upon the small table next to Lady Capelle. “My stars!” she exclaimed, her hand to her heart as she gazed at the gleaming mound of golden guineas that now covered the table.

  “I shall need to count them,” Robert remarked casually. By twos he started shoving the coins into a separate pile. “Two, four, six — there’s way more than four hundred here, wouldn’t you say? Ten, twelve fourteen…”

  By the time he reached four hundred, Lady Capelle was staring, near hypnotized. Robert saw her hand edge out slightly, then draw back. With great deliberation, he kept on. “Four hundred two, four hundred four — a marvelous Irish Hunter, I must have him — four hundred six, four hundred eight — ah, madam, you would be doing me a great favor if you would but take the entire amount — around five hundred guineas in all, I do believe.”

  Lady Capelle had not taken her eyes off the growing pile of golden guineas. “The girl is extremely vexing,” she grumbled.

  “I do understand,” said Robert, all sympathy.

  “She has tried my patience since the day she was born.”

  “You must have had the patience of a saint.”

  “Indeed I did.”

  Was she weakening? Robert wondered. He watched as, frowning, she cast a glance at her husband. “Were we not going to send her off to North Wales?”

  “That’s entirely up to you, m’dear, but…” Capelle tugged at his lip, apparently in deep thought. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give the girl one more chance.”

  “Well, I suppose…”

  Out shot her ladyship’s hand, and this time — aha! — she scooped up a handful of coins saying, “All right, Clarinda may continue riding Donegal. But only with your express permission, Lord Stormont. I want it made crystal clear the horse does not belong to her anymore.”

  Robert bowed low, careful to hide his glee. “You are more than kind.”

  “You will never know how I’ve suffered with that girl.” After a moment, Lady Capelle’s expression softened and she gazed meaningfully at her guest. “She is so unlike her twin, whom you danced with last night. You do remember Rissa?” She sighed, and to Robert’s discomfort, rattled on. “Please understand my chagrin, m’lord. Clarinda has been a rebel since the day she was born, whereas Rissa has been my sweet angel, so even-tempered, so amiable, so kind. You should see her embroidery — positively exquisite! You should hear her play the piano. ‘Tis music straight from heaven, simply divine.”

  How could he answer such nonsense? “Er … I am sure of it, madam.”

  Although as unenthused as he could make it, his answer spurred the woman on to new heights. She smiled, fluttered her eyelids, and inquired, “Might you not stay for dinner tonight, Lord Stormont? I am sure dear Rissa would adore seeing you again. Bring along Lord Wentridge if you like.”

  Robert thought fast. “I am deeply honored by your kind invitation. Unfortunately I have made other plans.”

  “Then next week? We are having a dinner party next Friday night.”

  Caught. He forced a smile. “We should be delighted.” At least the evening would not be entirely wasted if Clarinda would be at dinner, too.

  When Stormont departed, Lord Capelle walked him out. “I shall have the papers drawn immediately,” he said. “Also, I shall tell Clarinda to ride Donegal over to Hollyridge first thing in the morning, if that will be satisfactory.”

  They reached Graystone Hall’s grand hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, Robert saw someone coming down the stairs. Clarinda! To his chagrin, his heart quickened its beat. Smoothly he bowed and said pleasantly, “Good afternoon, Lady Clarinda.” He saw she was pale and unsmiling.

  “So you recognize me again, sir,” she said in a voice devoid of enthusiasm.

  “Uncanny!” Lord Capelle interjected. “My word, Stormont, you can tell my twins apart better than I. He addressed Clarinda. “I have sold Donegal, my dear, to — “

  “Word travels fast, Papa. I have already heard.” Clarinda gazed at Robert, stony anger in her eyes. “Do not think for a moment, sir, that I am grateful. If you bought Donegal, fine, but if you expect I shall come and ride him, or even see him, you are much mistaken, because I never shall.”

  “Clarinda!” barked her father, “that is most rude and unkind.”

  “Quite all r
ight, sir,” Robert assured Lord Capelle. He regarded Clarinda with appraising eyes. “Never is a long time. Perhaps you’ll change your mind. If you do, the invitation is open. You may come and ride Donegal any time.”

  Her eyes flashed with anger. “I think not, sir. In fact, I would rather die. Now if you will excuse me — “

  Clarinda turned and retreated up the stairway, shoulders back, head held high.

  “I must apologize — ” Capelle began, but Robert raised his hand.

  “Let her go. It’s all right. Your daughter has lost the possession she loved most in all this world — family excepted, of course. I, too, would be distraught under the circumstances. I shall send my groom to fetch Donegal this afternoon, if that is satisfactory.”

  Soon after, as she expected, Clarinda was called to the library to face her parents. “We were appalled at your behavior toward Lord Stormont,” Mama said.

  Papa declared, “Stormont did you a favor. Why were you so rude?”

  “Because … because…” Clarinda hardly knew herself. “I don’t care if he did me a favor. I only know I shall hate having to ask permission every time I want to ride my own horse.”

  “He is not your own horse anymore,” Mama pointed out.

  Papa observed her quietly for a moment. “I suspect you would feel the same toward anyone who bought Donegal, am I not right, my dear?”

  “Does it matter how I feel?” Clarinda cried.

  “I have had enough of this,” Mama exclaimed. “Listen carefully, daughter, I am going to tell you what your life will be from now on. Thanks to your father’s and my kindness, you shall not be sent to Grandfather Montagu’s, at least not for now. Instead, while Rissa has her London Season, you shall stay home, watch over Alexander, and tend to your embroidery. You shall never have another Season again, as far as I am concerned. Should you decide to marry Sufton, we will allow it. Otherwise, no men will be allowed to come courting, nor will you be allowed out to balls or any other social events. Have I made myself clear?

  “I believe you have made yourself clear, Mama,” Clarinda replied, smiling to cover her nearly broken heart.