A Country Gentleman

by Ann Barker

  ‘What terror must have been felt by those who were escorted to this place,’ she murmured, looking round and shuddering artistically. ‘Just imagine how they might have despaired as the light disappeared and they were left in complete darkness! What horror!’

  ‘Yes indeed, it is dreadful to contemplate,’ Ames agreed.

  His mind was not upon this present visit, but was busily recollecting what had occurred when he and Caroline Tasker had explored the dungeon before they had eaten their meal. Alone in the darkness, they had swayed together and he had dropped his candle to the floor where it had immediately gone out. Then he had pulled her into his arms and their lips had met in a long, passionate kiss. He had felt her capable hands stroke the curls at the back of his neck, and with a groan, he had pulled her closer, daringly allowing one hand to stray a little below her waist.

  ‘Timothy,’ she had whispered. ‘This is very improper!’

  ‘Not half as improper as some of the things that I would like to do with you,’ he had admitted frankly. ‘Dearest, I do not know how I am ever to wait until we are married.’

  ‘You will have to do so, I’m afraid,’ she had answered, softening her words by reaching up to kiss him again.

  ‘Perhaps I shall be led into temptation,’ he had suggested. ‘Miss Macclesfield would be all too pleased to do so, I suspect.’

  ‘Miss Macclesfield may do as she likes, just so long as you do not give her any encouragement.’

  ‘Why should I ever want to encourage her when I have you?’

  They had exchanged a few more passionate kisses before returning to the daylight to join the others. Nobody would have guessed from the composed appearance that they had presented, what had passed in the dungeon between the schoolmistress and the vicar.

  Thus it was that he was quite unmoved by Isobel’s preening and posturing. She would have been utterly astonished had she realized that the slightest turn of the head of plain little Miss Tasker inflamed him far more than her most calculatedly seductive gesture.

  ‘Shall we return to the comforting sunlight?’ he asked Isobel. ‘It is very cold down here.’

  ‘Yes it is,’ she agreed. ‘Does it make you nervous, Mr Ames?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he replied, with more haste than truth as he scented danger.

  ‘Suppose you were to drop the candle,’ she suggested.

  ‘I must take care not to do so. Come, Miss Macclesfield.’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ she pouted. She looked sideways at him as they ascended into the warm sunlight. Quite clearly he was interested in her. He could not fail to be when she had made herself look so stunning. He was obviously exercising considerable restraint. His evident agitation told her that. She would have to work out how to make him discard it and behave towards her as she was convinced he wished to do. A hint of a rival ought to provoke his interest. It had worked before with other men.

  Upon reaching the sunlight, therefore, Isobel immediately waved to Mr Hawkfield and Mr Laver, who were returning from looking at the moat. Her intention had been to stroll about with them under Mr Ames’s nose. At that very moment, however, she caught sight of Benjamin Twizzle signalling to her and her heart plummeted. In the excitement of the day, she had forgotten that he had said he would meet her here.

  Unwelcome though the man was, however, it would do no harm to make use of him. ‘Oh, good gracious!’ she exclaimed, feigning surprise at seeing him. ‘As if I did not have enough of men following me around in London, only to experience it here as well.’

  ‘Would you like me to send the fellow about his business?’ Ames asked, straightening his cuffs. He knew Twizzle by reputation, and what he knew he did not like.

  ‘No, there is no need,’ Isobel answered airily, misreading this chivalrous suggestion as a sign of personal interest in her. ‘I shall go and speak to him myself.’ Seeing him still looking doubtful, she added, ‘I shall scream if I need rescuing and you can then come gallantly to my aid.’

  Mr Ames might have protested further, but seeing his betrothed sitting with Miss Wheatman, he made no further objection.

  ‘Well?’ said Twizzle, as soon as they were alone together in one of the ruined chambers of the castle. ‘Have you brought the money?’

  ‘This is not very gallant, sir,’ replied Isobel, dimpling at him, and twirling her parasol. ‘You have not even asked me how I do, or commented on my gown.’

  Although Benjamin Twizzle’s very upright father would have said that his weaknesses were manifold, the young man himself would have admitted to two: the need to cut a dash, and a liking for beautiful women. Isobel’s undoubted beauty had attracted him from the first. Had he been challenged with being a blackmailer, he would vigorously have denied such an assertion. He was merely making the most of every opportunity. Life was to be enjoyed; and the purpose of those he met was to enable him to enjoy it, in every possible way. Flirtation was nothing if not enjoyable. This opportunity to extract money from the young lady with whom he was flirting merely added spice to the connection.

  ‘It’s dashed pretty,’ he replied admiringly. ‘Not nearly as pretty as the wearer, of course.’

  ‘Oh Mr Twizzle,’ answered Isobel, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief, for this was the kind of conversation that she understood.

  ‘You flatter me, I fear.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he responded, lolling against one of the rugged walls, then spoiling the negligent effect by straightening and carefully brushing the dust off his sleeve. There was more than a hint of the dandy about him, dressed as he was in tight yellow pantaloons, jockey boots with tassels, and a blue coat with shiny metal buttons. None of these items had yet been paid for, a fact which made the acquisition of a sum of money all the more urgent.

  ‘What a splendid place this is,’ said Isobel, smiling at him, and half turning away. ‘Full of secluded corners for … private conversations.’

  ‘Exactly so,’ he responded eagerly, taking two steps towards her and laying his hands on her shoulders.

  Isobel was not unused to desperate flirtations in dark corners with flirtatious young men. Mr Twizzle, as Lavinia had observed on the coach, was exactly the kind of young man who often appealed to her. Since this was what she had been angling for from the first, it was rather strange, therefore, that she found herself thinking that she really did not want Benjamin to kiss her. ‘Mr Twizzle! You are too hasty,’ she exclaimed. She was surprised to hear a note in her own voice that sounded very like panic.

  ‘Hasty?’ he echoed.

  ‘Why yes,’ she responded, recovering herself. ‘How many a good thing is spoiled through rushing.’

  ‘True enough,’ he agreed. ‘You’ll meet me again, then?’

  ‘Why not?’ she replied, smiling. ‘I must return before I am missed.’ She turned to go.

  ‘Before you do so,’ said Twizzle, who was not quite as besotted as Isobel would have liked, ‘Perhaps you could let me have my money.’

  Quickly swallowing a cry of vexation, Isobel said, ‘Mr Twizzle! Is not my company enough for you?’

  ‘Your company is enchanting, but my purse is still empty,’ he replied.

  ‘Well … ten pounds, then,’ she said, opening her reticule. ‘Ten,’ she repeated when he seemed about to protest, ‘or not another meeting will I grant you.’

  ‘Very well; ten,’ he agreed. ‘But meet me again in three days’ time.’

  ‘In a week,’ she replied, pouting. ‘Three days is too soon.’

  ‘Three days in the wilderness garden at Thurlby Hall, or I shall come up to the house to see the earl.’

  ‘Cruel,’ answered Isobel pouting. ‘Three days, then.’

  ‘And bring the rest of the money.’

  She hurried off laughing, but in truth she was beginning to feel quite frightened.

  Lord Thurlby and Lavinia never did manage to get down into the dungeons. After they had come back down from the tower, they saw Miss Wheatman waving to them, and on drawing closer, they found Mr Ames
crouching beside a distressed-looking Miss Tasker.

  ‘The silliest thing,’ she was saying, trying unsuccessfully to sound as if she was not in pain. ‘I had gone all the way down into the dungeons without the slightest mishap. Then we were just sitting here quietly when a great bumble bee came and landed on my aunt’s skirt.’

  ‘And I cannot bear them, you know,’ Miss Wheatman added. ‘So foolish of me!’

  ‘So I got up to chase it away, and before I had taken more than two or three steps, I caught my ankle in a hole.’

  ‘Allow me to examine it,’ said Lord Thurlby, bending down. ‘I have a little experience in these matters.’

  ‘It really isn’t important,’ said Miss Tasker weakly.

  ‘Yes it is,’ her fiancé retorted. ‘You nearly fainted.’

  ‘By your leave,’ said the earl, speaking as much to Mr Ames as to Miss Tasker.

  Lavinia watched as Lord Thurlby crouched down and gently examined the schoolmistress’s ankle. How strong and capable his hands were, she thought. They were not the kind of beautiful hands that would be chosen by a sculptor for him to model; they were perhaps too strong and square for that; but they were deft and assured in their movements. They were just the kind of hands that she would choose to help her in an emergency, Lavinia decided. Or to carry her if she were hurt, or even if she were not …

  ‘I don’t think it’s broken,’ he said, breaking into her reverie. ‘A cold compress would help. Do we have any water?’

  There was still some water left over from the picnic, and Lavinia damped a napkin with it, whilst Miss Wheatman gently held it to Miss Tasker’s swollen ankle.

  ‘We must get you home as soon as possible, I think,’ said Miss Wheatman, in between making soothing noises.

  ‘Home?’ echoed the vicar. ‘That will not do at all. She will be alone in the schoolhouse!’

  ‘You are very right,’ Thurlby agreed. ‘She must come and stay at the Hall until she is better.’

  ‘But I could not possibly impose,’ Caroline protested.

  ‘It would be no imposition,’ the earl answered. ‘Ames is right. You cannot go home to look after yourself when you are unable to put a foot to the ground. However would you manage to make yourself a cup of tea, for instance?’

  ‘But—’ she began.

  ‘No more buts,’ interrupted the earl. ‘You may go home as soon as your ankle is strong enough. Believe me; it will get strong more quickly if you have proper care. Neglect it and it could be a trouble to you for months.’

  Miss Tasker sighed. ‘Very well, my lord,’ she said eventually. ‘I agree, but only because I know that you are right.’

  ‘Sensible woman,’ smiled Thurlby. ‘I will go and ask the servants to prepare to leave.’ He turned to Ames. ‘Will you find the rest of our party and apprise them of the situation? We shall have to think how best to convey Miss Tasker home without jolting her ankle.’

  In the event, Lord Thurlby opted to ride on the box of the barouche, leaving extra space so that Miss Tasker could sit across the seat with her feet cradled by Miss Wheatman, after she had been carried tenderly to the vehicle by Mr Ames.

  Isobel allowed herself a small secret smile. The presence of Caroline Tasker in the house would mean that Timothy Ames would be honour bound to come and visit. But after he had paid his obligatory visit to his dull, plain little fiancé, she, Isobel would entice him to walk in the garden with her. Then, if she did not manage to get a kiss or two out of him, she was not the woman that she took herself to be!

  Lord Thurlby sent one of the servants on ahead in order for arrangements to be made for Miss Tasker’s accommodation. As a consequence, when they arrived at Thurlby Hall, a room had been prepared by Mrs Bell, the housekeeper. Mr Ames lifted his fiancée down, and, following Mrs Bell, carried her upstairs. Caroline smiled bravely and made no complaint, but it was quite apparent to anyone who knew her that she was in some pain.

  ‘I will send for the doctor,’ said Thurlby to Miss Wheatman, ‘if you will help her to get into bed.’

  ‘I do not need the doctor,’ the sufferer protested. ‘You said yourself that it was only a bad sprain.’

  ‘I am not an expert,’ Thurlby replied. ‘I would prefer the doctor to look at you.’

  ‘I agree,’ added Ames.

  ‘Am I to have no say in the matter?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘No,’ the two men responded in unison.

  In the meantime, Isobel and Lavinia were entertaining Hawkfield and Laver in the drawing room. ‘What a lot of fuss about nothing,’ Isobel was saying. ‘The young woman only turned her ankle. I’m sure she could walk if she tried.’

  ‘Tricky things, ankles,’ remarked Laver, then paused.

  The rest of the company waited for him to say something more. When nothing else was forthcoming, Lavinia said, ‘How true. I am sure that it is better to be safe than sorry.’ Then the conversation turned to something else.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mr Hawkfield came to see them the following day, ostensibly with the purpose of enquiring after Miss Tasker, but actually with some very surprising news. ‘I have received a letter from a schoolfriend who tells me something quite extraordinary,’ he said. The day being fine and warm, Lavinia and Isobel were sitting outside on a wooden seat under a tree, when Lord Thurlby’s butler conducted their visitor to pay his respects.

  ‘Oh really,’ said Isobel, fanning herself with deliberate casualness. ‘Has he found his Latin primer?’

  Hawkfield had taken the letter out of his pocket. Now he put it back again. ‘Oh well, you obviously have no interest in it, so I will not trouble you. Did I tell you that Laver is planning to buy a new horse?’

  ‘No, you did not,’ replied Isobel. ‘Pray, tell me, what is your extraordinary news?’

  ‘Nothing worth troubling you with,’ he replied, ‘although I would never have thought such a thing of Riseholm. In fact, I would have said that he was the last man to … But there we are, it is of no interest to you. I always think that people who can do nothing but talk about their relations are intolerably tedious. Would you like to come and view Laver’s prospective purchase?’

  ‘Oh, who cares about Laver’s stupid horse?’ said Isobel angrily. ‘Of course I want to hear your news. What about Riseholm?’

  ‘Only that it seems as though he is about to become engaged.’

  ‘Engaged? Engaged to be married?’ said Lavinia hurriedly, seeing that Isobel had lost a little colour.

  ‘Is there any other kind?’ asked Hawkfield whimsically.

  ‘But to whom?’ put in Isobel. ‘He said nothing of this in his—’

  ‘Been writing to him, have you?’ Hawkfield asked. She held his gaze with a defiant stare. He relented and looked down at his paper. ‘To a Miss Egan, I think.’ He scanned the page. ‘Yes, Miss Hermione Egan. Now tell me that my news is not exciting.’ He eyed Isobel a little maliciously.

  ‘Hermione Egan,’ Isobel repeated. ‘But she will bore him silly in approximately five minutes. Has it been announced?’

  ‘Not as yet,’ he conceded. ‘But he has been paying her very particular attention, apparently. All of London is waiting for the announcement. There has even been betting on it in the clubs.’

  ‘It is amazing to me the things that gentlemen will bet on,’ said Lavinia severely, seeing another means of drawing Hawkfield’s attention away from Isobel, who had gone strangely still.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Hawkfield agreed. ‘Or so I’m told. Do you recall Miss Egan, Miss Muir?’

  ‘There is precious little to recall,’ Isobel put in bluntly, before Lavinia had time to say anything. ‘Young, silly and stupid would sum her up, I think.’

  ‘And exceedingly pretty,’ put in Hawkfield.

  ‘Oh yes, of course she’s pretty,’ said Isobel sarcastically. ‘Riseholm would hardly look her way if she were not. Excuse me, will you? I have a hem that needs stitching, and this conversation has suddenly become very dull.’

  She strolle
d back towards the house. Lavinia fully expected Hawkfield to make some remark about her reaction to the news, but instead, he went back to talking about Laver’s plans for acquiring a new horse.

  She nodded politely at everything that he was saying, but in reality, her mind was elsewhere. It was the first time that she had ever known Isobel excuse herself from a conversation with a young man in order to set a stitch in anything. In fact, if Isobel had so much as taken up her needle since their schooldays, she would be very much surprised. What was more, she had seen her friend’s face at the very moment when Lord Riseholm’s engagement had been mentioned. The girl had looked positively stricken.

  If Hawkfield had hoped to see Isobel again, he was to be disappointed, for she did not come back downstairs and after the correct half an hour, he took his leave. ‘Doubtless half the hem had come down,’ he remarked with a little gentle malice. Lavinia could not think of a response to this, so simply bade him ‘good day’.

  Having drifted languidly away from her companions, Isobel went up to her bedchamber, forcing herself to walk in a leisurely fashion, even though every instinct was telling her to pick up her skirts and run. Eventually, she gained the sanctuary that she desired, and once in the room with the door shut, to her astonishment, found herself crying. What is the matter with me, she asked herself? Lord Riseholm is a rake, a flirt, an amusing dinner companion, but nothing more, surely?

  Her mind went back over some of the occasions when they had met in London. Usually, this had been at some kind of society event, attended by members of the ton. At these functions, he had conducted himself towards her with his usual careless grace. When unobserved, however, there had been times when he had been more daring in his behaviour.