“Yes,” Alice said, moving the stick in a small upright circle. “We had been walking in the home wood, nearly two years past now, and I came across a fallen limb and this was one of the smaller branches. I particularly loved its shape, going off first in one direction and then another but always returning to form a straightly line. Mr. Quarley fashioned it into a proper stick, stained it, then rubbed it thoroughly with beeswax.”
Hetty said, “Lucy, do you recall Miss Gunville?”
“Yes, of course. How do you do?”
Miss Gunville, a very thin woman perhaps somewhere betwixt forty and fifty in years, dropped a slight curtsy. Her peppered brown hair was smoothed into a tight knot on top of her head. “Very well, I thank you,” she responded in a crisp manner.
“I see the children are prospering beneath your wing.”
She nodded in acknowledgement at this compliment but said nothing more.
Eugenia drew close. “We were taking a tour about the western reaches of Aldershaw before nuncheon. Will you come with us?”
“I should like nothing better.”
For the next half hour, Lucy traveled with the educational group, which received instruction from Miss Gunville about the trees and shrubs. Alice told anecdotes about how their father, for all his jollity, knew the names of all the plants on his estate.
“We know, we know,” Anne groaned. “Alice, must you be so tedious?”
A sharp glance from Miss Gunville silenced Anne. Until the twins’ birthday in late August, they were still beneath her strict tutelage as well.
In the short half hour, as the party began the last leg of the journey which brought them near to the edge of the home wood and northwest of the maze, Lucy had begun to see how disparate the twins were in interest and temperament. Anne, even on a walk in nature, was constantly patting her blond hair and smoothing the skirts of her pink muslin gown. Though twigs collected at the hem of Alice’s gown, she scarcely seemed to notice. She was quite a scholarly young lady and bore little resemblance to her sister.
The large party walked the small footpath next to the stream that had its origin in a spring on the estate. William, having removed his shoes and stockings, plunged happily along his way in the very middle of the stream.
“So tell me, Hetty,” Lucy said. “Is there anyone else living at Aldershaw at present?”
Hetty laughed. “No, you have spoken with all of us now.”
“Look!” Hyacinth called out.
The stream had rounded a small bend, and where the deep, thick woodland of beech, bluebells, and ferns met the stream a colorful caravan was planted in a clearing of green grass. An old man was bent over a black pot. Smoke rose from a fire beneath. Robert was standing over him. He was conversing with the man but at such a distance neither could be understood.
Lucy drew close to Hetty. “Who is this? A Gypsy, though I must say he does not have the look of one. I thought you said I had met everyone.”
Hetty shook her head. “I have never seen him before. I wonder if Robert is acquainted with him.”
“We shall soon know.”
The party drew close and Lucy began to feel uneasy. Recalling her last brief encounter with Robert, she felt embarrassed by her pricklish conduct. When he met her gaze, he did not smile, not in the least. He introduced the party to the old gentleman, who proved to be Mr. Jeremy Frome, an itinerant woodcarver by trade. The grass at his feet was littered with wood shavings.
“I have given him permission to remain on my lands for the summer,” he said.
Violet slipped her hand in Lucy’s as she watched the gentleman carefully. Lucy knew that the child was nervous at meeting the stranger, but she sensed there was nothing to fear in Mr. Frome. He was quite old, his hands gnarled but active in expression, his pate completely bare, though a silver rim of hair, cropped short, encircled his head like a laurel wreath. His eyes were gray and in them so wise an expression that she found herself completely intrigued.
“My brother owns this land,” William said, speaking in a forthright manner. Apparently he felt it necessary to make Robert’s circumstances clear to the old man.
“No one owns the land,” Mr. Frome said affably, giving his head a shake and clucking his tongue. “Though many like to think they do. No, the land belongs to all that were here before and all that will come after and, to my way of thinking, any who work and even walk on it. Only think who might have been here two thousand years ago.”
“You are mistaken,” William argued. “My brother does own this land. He is a baronet.”
Robert moved to place a hand on William’s shoulder. “That will do,” he said gently. “Particularly since I tend to agree with Mr. Frome. In many ways I am but a steward of what has been given to me.”
William frowned up at his eldest brother. Lucy could see that he did not understand but to his credit remained politely silent.
Mr. Frome cast his gaze about the group. “This is a very merry party. Do you often ramble about these exquisite grounds?”
“You call them exquisite?” Anne cried, snickering.
“Why, yes, I do, for I am able to see them as they very soon will be.”
Lucy wondered what he meant by speaking in such a mysterious manner.
“I can as well,” Alice cried, shifting her tall walking stick to her other hand. “Why, if a few weeds were pulled here and there—” she paused dramatically.
Mr. Frome continued with a smile, “A few dead branches chopped to bits—”
Alice added, “A few plants replaced—”
“The lawn watered—”
“Flowers encouraged to bloom—”
“And a garden you have.”
“Indeed,” Alice stated with a firm nod of her head.
Anne glanced at her eldest brother. “Nothing could be simpler, Robert, do you not think so? And there is our ball to consider. Could not something be done with our gardens before our come-out ball?”
Robert cleared his throat and replaced his hat on his head. “Mr. Quarley, I fear, has only sufficient time to keep the drive in order. I am sorry, Anne. But your come-out ball will be held exclusively in the ballroom, so you need not worry that any of our guests will be offended by the sight of our gardens.”
Lucy watched Anne’s shoulders droop. Alice in turn patted her shoulder. When silence fell, Miss Gunville spoke. “I fear I must return the children to their lessons now.” Addressing her brood, she said, “Pray, bid Mr. Frome ‘good day.’ ”
Eugenia, Hyacinth, William, and Violet all politely took their leave, offering young curtsies and one proper bow before racing away to the stream. Anne and Alice followed. Hetty appeared to desire to comfort Anne as well, for she hurried to catch up with her and, having done so, slipped her arm about her waist.
Lucy felt the strongest desire to remain with Mr. Frome, though she could not say precisely why. He seemed to be a very interesting sort of man with intriguing ideas, but Robert turned to her rather abruptly and offered his arm. “May I escort you back to the house?”
Though she wished to refuse him she felt it would be unwise to do, since she had come the crab with him at their last encounter. At the very least, it was her turn to offer an apology. “Yes, of course,” she murmured, taking his arm. She could not resist, however, glancing back at Mr. Frome. He held her gaze for a long moment. There was something very odd yet very pleasing about him. She felt as though she had met him before yet she had no recollection of him. His smile broadened. She could not help it. For reasons she was loath to explain, she liked Jeremy Frome. She liked him very much. She offered him an answering smile, waved with her free hand, and turned back to walk with Robert to the stream.
“I trust you will leave him in peace,” Robert said, once they were out of range of Mr. Frome’s hearing.
“I do not take your meaning,” she stated, not liking the tone of his voice.
“Only that I believe I know you quite well.”
“Who is he?” she asked, ignoring
his disapprobation. “Do you know him?”
“Not in the least.”
“He is a stranger then and you have permitted him to remain on your lands? Why? I wonder.”
He seemed uncomfortable and even cleared his throat. “There can be no harm in it.”
“What a hypocrite you are, Robert! You pretend such indifference but the goodness of your heart shows at every turn.”
He cast her a scathing glance. “Much you know of the matter. I cannot comprehend in the least why you think you understand everyone so perfectly, what is best for them, and how each of us should go on.”
Lucy wanted to reply that she had always had just such a gift, especially since in saying so she would instantly set up his back, but the angry look in his eye quelled her tongue. Instead, she responded, “You are attempting to shift the subject, but I shan’t permit you to. I think it an excellent thing that you have extended your charity to Mr. Frome and I mean to know him better.”
At that he stopped. They had reached the edge of the stream where several steppingstones had been carefully placed to allow even the feeblest person to cross safely. “I am most serious,” he began quite firmly. “I will not have you interfering in the business here at Aldershaw. You will only make matters worse.”
What matters? she wanted to ask. “Yes, Robert,” she responded flatly.
He narrowed his eyes. “Lucy,” he stated, cocking his head. “You will leave well enough alone, including Mr. Frome.”
“Yes, Robert.”
“The deuce take it, stop saying that! I know very well you are mocking me.”
“Yes, Robert,” she said breezily. But turning from him quickly, she picked up her skirts and crossed the stones on several light leaps. Once on the other side, she walked briskly in pursuit of the others.
Robert caught up with her. “You are angry that I kissed you and now you mean to punish me.”
This time she stopped and whirled on him. “How could I ever be angry that you kissed me?” she cried. She blinked at him and realized she should not have said such a thing. She continued, “I will say only this. I do not understand you, that much is quite true, for I will never comprehend how you have allowed things at Aldershaw to come to such a pass as they have when so much can be done and that without a great deal of effort!”
“I wish you had never come here!” he cried. “I knew how it would be, but indeed, you do not know with what fire you are playing and you do not have the wisdom to manage things. You are still such a child in that regard, a ridiculous, vulgar, interfering child! Why, you are not even wearing your bonnet and your hair is hanging almost to your knees!”
With that, he moved quickly away from her.
Lucy stared after him. How his words stung, becoming a whirlwind in her mind, ridiculous, vulgar, interfering. He wanted her anywhere but at Aldershaw and in this moment she wished she could leave as well. After all, she was hardly here by choice. An outdated requirement in her father’s will had brought her to Robert’s home.
She did not follow him. Indeed, she was far too overset to put her feet in motion. She felt as though the wind had suddenly left her full, billowing, happy sails.
“Come, child.”
Lucy turned abruptly to find that Mr. Frome had stolen upon her, and so quietly that her heart began to pound. “Mr. Frome!” she cried. “You have given me such a fright.”
“I never meant to do so,” he said in his gentle way.
He extended his hand to her. She looked at it, realizing that he meant for her to accompany him to his camp. Without needing to ponder the situation overly much, she put her hand in his. Together they walked as old companions back to his caravan.
As she drew near his camp she smelled the delicate aroma of a very fine coffee. A smaller pot with a lip for pouring was hanging over his fire. He must have prepared the coffee while she and Robert were brangling. “Would you care for a cup?” he asked, directing her to take up a seat on a stool he set out for her.
“Yes, thank you, I would.”
When the coffee was served and he was sitting on his stool as well, he addressed her. “So, tell me, Miss Stiles, what is causing you such grievous distress?”
Lucy regarded him in some astonishment. After all, she hardly knew him. “I would not wish to burden you,” she said tactfully.
He sipped his coffee. “My wife was used to tell me that I always pushed where I ought not to. I suppose she was right, but I must say you seem quite unhappy and I have always believed that talking about a matter, even if it proves insignificant, can be of great benefit.”
Lucy did not know how it was, but she said, “I am thinking that I am not wanted here.”
“I saw something very different a few minutes ago. The youngest child in particular seems to have need of you.”
“Violet is a very dear little girl,” she responded, feeling as though her heart would break. Robert’s unkind words had pierced her heart.
“I hope you will not think me officious,” he said, his voice gentle and kind, “but I believe there is much for you to do at Aldershaw.”
“A few minutes ago I would have agreed with you completely,” she said. Her heart grew heavy thinking again of Robert’s harsh words. She leaned over, settling her elbows on her knees and lifting the cup to her lips. So unladylike! Perhaps Robert was right. Perhaps she was horridly vulgar. “But there are those who would think my involvement somewhat interfering.”
“And who would think that?” he asked pointedly.
She glanced at Mr. Frome and saw nothing but a very great kindness, even understanding, in his aged gray eyes. “Sir Robert.”
“And his opinion is so important, then?”
His opinion is everything! The thought was so quick to enter her mind that she caught her breath, for it was as absurd a notion as it was wretchedly true! “I have never thought of it before, but yes, I believe his opinion is very important, indeed, perhaps too much so.”
“What sort of man is he?”
“Odious, beyond permission!” she responded heatedly, but for some reason her heart was fluttering wildly in her breast. “On that subject there can be no two opinions.”
“But he is very handsome. I can see it in your eyes.” Mr. Frome was smiling.
“Wretchedly handsome and well he knows it.” She felt irritated of a sudden. “And quite arrogant. He is a handsome, arrogant, and quite useless fellow.”
Mr. Frome nodded sagely. “A blackguard?”
“No,” she drawled, frowning. “At least not to my knowledge and I certainly hope not.”
“Good. His faults are not a matter of his deepest character, then.”
She sighed. “I do not think so, but he is horridly ill-tempered.”
“Perhaps he has a reason to be.”
His words gave her pause. Did Robert have a reason to be on his high ropes most of the time? She recalled quite swiftly to mind just how many of his family inhabited Aldershaw and she rather thought she had her answer.
“I fear his family is become a trying lot. All live beneath his roof, including his stepmama. I believe my arrival may have been the last straw.”
“He has great responsibilities, then?”
“Innumerable. However, I do not give a fig whether he should have one or a thousand! A gentleman ought to be polite regardless of his mood.”
“Indeed he should,” Mr. Frome agreed readily. He looked about him. “Whatever do you mean to do with this orchard? I have not seen anything so ill-kempt in many a year.” His camp overlooked the northern reaches of the orchard.
“You are very right.” She sipped the excellent, mild coffee again. “From nearly the moment I arrived, I had the most outrageous notion of taking the gardens in hand, but would not that be wholly impertinent? For I am merely Sir Robert’s ward. I am not even a real cousin, though they call me ‘cousin’ nonetheless. I have no right to interfere in the least.”
“Yet there is a sparkle in your eye,” he said teasingly, level
ing his cup at her.
“That is the difficulty, I suppose. I never could resist a challenge.”
“What fault is there in that?” he asked.
“I see we take a similar view of things.” She regarded him carefully. She was smiling now. What was there not to like in this old man? She glanced at his domicile, noting that the caravan was painted with an idyllic scene and quite realistic: ewes and lambs, fields enclosed by dry stone walls, the roll of the downs, a stand of trees, even a brook.
“Did you paint this yourself?” she inquired.
“Yes.”
“The sky is so real. It is almost as though I can see through your wagon. And you live here?”
“I have for forty years.”
She was quite surprised. “Since you were a young man, then? But you spoke of your wife—” She regretted her words.
“You cannot offend me by asking of her or of my dear children. Yes, I had a family once. How I loved them, but the pox took them from me.”
“I am so sorry.”
Lucy glanced about, becoming more and more intrigued by the old man. She noted his chair, the old cups, the small stone ring he used for his fires, the stones as black as ink. She could only wonder of all the places he had lived and seen.
“So, tell me of your relationship with Sir Robert.”
She sighed heavily, for the very nature of the question brought many pressing aspects of her life to the forefront of her mind. “He is my guardian.”
Mr. Frome seemed greatly surprised. “A young lady your age hardly needs a guardian.”
“I told Papa as much, but he was insistent.”
“I see,” he murmured softly. “He was a stubborn man, your father?”
“Nearly as stubborn as myself.”
“He is recently passed?”
She nodded and sipped her coffee again, for a very large and painful lump had formed in her throat. “A year ago, but it seems little more than a day.”
Valerie King Page 5
