Summers, True

by Poppy

  Poppy shook her red-gold head and put her hand to the back of her neck. She was indulging in stupid day-dreams about bars of gold in France, but she was in London and her head was aching because she could not think of a single practical thing to do about her future. When no decent woman would have her in her house-hold as a maid or a governess, what else was there for a young woman to do? Still, she knew there must be hundreds of possibilities if she could just think of them.

  Let the French keep their Lottery. England had its Great Exhibition, and she was going there tomorrow. She could think about that, and her headache would go away.

  Two weeks ago she had been in the Machinery Court looking for Andy to tell him Daisy had said to meet her at the west entrance when she heard the gentlemen talking. They were some of those scientific gentlemen, standing with their noses in the air, looking up at the great spaces above, and they were talking about stresses and all the weight not being on the foundation. She had watched the Palace spring up almost overnight, but she could not believe that.

  She burst out, "That's nonsense. Every building rests on its foundations."

  The gentlemen smiled at her and then at each other. One of them said softly, "I don't think we should argue with the young lady about how beautiful the proper stresses and proportions can be. She is a lovely example of our Creator's perfect knowledge of all such things."

  When Poppy realized what he meant, she felt herself go as red as Daisy's overcurtains. But the gentlemen only tipped their hats politely and turned away. Except for Rupert, Rupert Manning, he introduced himself, who turned back and touched her hand and asked very properly if she had lost her chaperon. Andy had come racing up just then, but Poppy found time to mention she often rested by the fountain late of an afternoon.

  When they did meet there the next week, they had. hardly begun to talk when somebody saw the Duke of Wellington, and as always, the crowd all started at once for the dear old man. As always, the bobbies surrounded him and got him safely away. Poppy's skirt was torn, and she felt so pushed about she simply gasped that she would meet Rupert there at the same time next week and ran off. She had been silly, because he was a lovely young gentleman, a university man probably. Still they would have time to get acquainted tomorrow. He did look almost too serious, but better that than a young gentleman who ruined himself at the races or chased after every ballet girl.

  Her headache was gone because she realized she did have opportunities. Even if Rupert was only after a flirt, and he did not seem the kind for that, something was bound to happen soon. She was living in this wonderful modem world, all of it exploding with possibilities. She did not have to settle for just anything and make the best of it as Daisy had.

  Chapter Six

  POPPY hesitated in front of her wardrobe for half if an hour. Her new costume was ruined, and she had so planned on wearing it because it set off her hair to perfection. She now had a choice between the blue dress that made her look like a schoolgirlish miss or the green-and-white stripe. It was late in the season for the green and white, but it was devastatingly becoming, and she could borrow Daisy's green rep mantelet.

  When she had set the green bonnet with its white satin ribbons on her flaming curls, carefully arranged in long ringlets on each side of her face, Poppy made sure the skirt showed just the faintest hint of fine lace edging her outer petticoat and felt satisfied. If Rupert Manning could resist all this, she was not Daisy's daughter. She did not know exactly what she expected, but any young man with his wits about him should be able to invent some way to explain they had met quite properly. And then? She would see what he suggested. Daisy would not question the details closely if his demeanor and behavior impressed her.

  Her spirits soared as she showed her pass and hurried to the Crystal Fountain. Just to be in the Palace made her feel like dancing. She adored everything about it, the throngs of people with their faces lifted to stare up at the sunlight streaming through the roof, the mingled sounds from all the organs, the scent of flowers. The carpets were showing wear, and some of the exhibits had vacant spaces, but it was still the most marvelous place in the world.

  Rupert Manning was waiting, gloved hands nervously clasping and unclasping around his cane and a small book. He was not too fashionably dressed, not too good-looking with his neatly trimmed brown hair and short mustache, not too much at ease, not too much anything. He was simply an intelligent and prosperous-looking young gentleman, a thoroughly reliable type. No woman would ever come to harm with him. She was glad she had relied only on her own lavender-scented soap and not used any of Daisy's toilet water.

  "Mr. Manning," she breathed close to his elbow.

  He started and almost dropped first his cane and then the book. "Dear Miss Smith." He looked alarmed at his temerity. "Miss Smith. How kind of you to meet me."

  Poppy allowed her long eyelashes to fan modestly against her pink cheeks. "I have looked forward to it."

  "And I. And I." He thrust the book into her hands. ''Have you read the last version of dear Mr. Words-worth's Growth of a Pods Mind?"

  Poppy looked at it doubtfully, but she knew the correct thing to say. "His death was such a loss," she sighed.

  "Indeed, yes," said a hatefully familiar deep voice. The book was plucked from her hand and opened. "Ah, yes, I recall this part. 'Mine was it in the fields both day and night, And by the waters, all the summer long.' "

  "No, I don't believe that's there," Poppy shrieked and grabbed the book. The words were there, plain in black print.

  "I find the book full of edifying sentiments," Rupert Manning said. "I thought Miss Smith might find it similarly elevating."

  "I do not believe I have met this gentleman, Poppy."

  "Rupert Manning. Dexter Roack."

  Dexter held out his hand. "Of course. I should have seen the family resemblance. I know your father. I had the privilege of being able to help him in a small matter only last spring."

  "Oh, yes." Rupert looked both enlightened and relieved. "That Dexter Roack. My father was most grateful. The matter might have dragged on for years without the assistance of your, er, enlightened information. And the money was needed."

  "The roof, I believe."

  "Yes."

  Dex turned to Poppy. "Are you ready to leave?"

  "No." That at least she understood. "Andy is in the Machinery Court."

  "We'll pick him up before I take you home," Dex said as if it had been arranged. "A pleasure, Mr. Manning, and my regards to your father. Come, Poppy. We mustn't keep Daisy waiting today."

  Dexter Roack was no gentleman. She would ignore the emphasized tone in which he said today, meant to remind her of yesterday, and stroll off with Rupert as she had planned. She turned to him, but he was lifting his hat and bowing and turning away quite as if this were all he had expected. Poppy's expectant smile faded in fury. He was a coward, and Dex was beyond all words. She glared at him.

  He laughed down into her angry face. "Young Mr. Manning is much too proper to stay and admit he was bent on escorting a lady he had not met formally. As I'm sure he hadn't. Tch, tch, my dear, after all. The Dean's son."

  "Dean?"

  "A high cleric," he teased, but did not specify which dean. "A grateful lady left a sum for the relief of the cathedral roof, but her heirs were somewhat less pious. Fortunately I was able to point out some peculiarities in their christening records, and the dispute resolved happily for everyone." He laughed again. "Oh, Poppy, Poppy. What an escape you've had. You may thank me that you never had to meet the Dean. I do not wonder his son found you a refreshing breeze in his sanctified enclosure. But really, Mr. Wordsworth's poems. Oh, no, Poppy, you would never have suited each other."

  Poppy clasped the book to her breast. "I'll always cherish this."

  "You might even try reading it, though I can't believe you have any trouble sleeping. Shall we find Andrew and go home? My carriage is waiting outside."

  "How did you know?"

  "I have a gift for being in
the right place at the right time to find the person I want," he said lightly, and then relented. "I called to leave a message for Daisy, and Mrs. Peters happened to notice your season tickets were missing from the vase on the mantel. Come."

  Poppy swore she would not say another word to him. As soon as she got home, she would go upstairs in dignity and silence and shut herself in her room. But nobody noticed her silence. Andy was full of new information he had acquired that day, about the zinc statue and the differences between cast iron and wrought iron. Dex seemed to know an amazing amount about all the sciences. He knew the book to answer some of Andy's questions, and said he would send it to him the next day. That kept Andy pouring out more questions until the carriage stopped at the cottage door.

  Daisy must have been uneasy after yesterday, for she had returned early from her drive and was waiting, seated tensely stiff on the red velvet chair by the fire. When Mrs. Peters opened the door for the three of them, she jumped up, and her face brightened.

  "You found them?"

  "And brought them home," Dex agreed, then handed his hat and stick to Mrs. Peters. "If you would be so kind as to offer me that glass of wine now, I have a matter I would like to put before you."

  "Of course. Immediately, please, Mrs. Peters. Children, go upstairs and wash off that grime. Poppy, you know you are not to borrow my mantelet."

  Poppy took as much time as she could, washing thoroughly and taking out the ringlets and putting her hair up in an elaborate style that required all her tortoiseshell combs. Then Andy clamored that Daisy had called them twice and that he had more questions to ask. Poppy could do nothing but gather up her skirt and, head high, sweep downstairs and into the parlor. One look told her that Dex and Daisy had had a long heart-to-heart talk and were in perfect harmony.

  "Such a wonderful opportunity," Daisy cried.

  Poppy was certain she was not going to like this." What?"

  "Not a new school, away to a regular school?" Andy cried in alarm.

  Daisy looked disconcerted. "Actually this will mean no school for a short time."

  "Yes," Andy said instantly.

  "You can make it up later," Dex said with a grin. "For the moment, the important thing is to remove you from the temptation to jump to the defense of your sister quite so hotly. And to keep her from providing the temptation."

  Poppy clamped her lips tight.

  Dex said, "You had the right idea in rusticating them, Daisy. Your failure was in not burying them deeply enough."

  The freckles stood out on Andy's face. ''What do you mean?"

  "Simply to send you to a quieter, more remote spot. Poppy, you'll find horses to ride, but I believe the sea of Cornwall is too rough for swimming, especially at this season."

  "Cornwall?"

  "I was conferring with Lord Westmoreland again this morning, and he was saying he had prepared his Cornwall property for his youngest son to manage. He hoped to train him to take over the larger holdings, since the boy has always been fond of that seaside location. But of course, the young man is missing. The household is staffed, with nothing to do. Lord Westmoreland would be happy to have it occupied. It is not wise to leave a place so remote, especially in Cornwall, with only a staff in charge. Even young people, if they are known to have the ear of the owner, have a salutary effect by being in residence."

  "No school," Andy smiled.

  "But a large library. I'll send you a selection of scientific writings."

  "About castings? And furnaces? And chemicals?"

  "All of those. You'll have plenty of time to study them. This place is on a point of land quite remote from any of the villages. Separated by some rather treacherous moors, I believe."

  "Meant for the youngest son, you say," Daisy mused, and her eyes widened as she looked from Dex to Poppy and back again. "His favorite place? You think he might go there? And a pretty girl to draw him? I said, yes, I did say, you would find a carrot to draw him."

  "A carrot?"

  "Something to tease him into revealing himself. Is that what you have in mind?"

  Dex threw back his dark head and laughed. "Oh, Daisy, what a conniving mind you have. The boy has been at sea for close to ten years, and I believe it's longer than that since His Lordship was in residence. I doubt if most of the staff, though I believe the housekeeper has been there for some time, know the boy, and besides it's remote. Now use your wits and tell me how our young heir is to hear of our Poppy?"

  Daisy giggled. "Her father said she was red as a beet, but I won't call her a carrot. I only had the thought."

  "A clever one if it would work," Dex said cordially and stood up. "I'll have a word with Westmoreland that you've agreed. You should have a note from him tomorrow morning giving you the arrangements. I regret I cannot attend you myself, but I'm off for France tonight."

  "So that's where the young heir is? I should have guessed. Those French demimondaines." Daisy shook her head. "I suppose Westmoreland told you to pay his debts and bring him home."

  "My instructions are a little more difficult. I'm to convince him he wants to come home."

  Poppy sat silent, quietly seething. Even this spring, the prospect of horses and a wild seacoast to explore ,would have sent her dancing with delight. She had been much younger and more trusting then. In Cornwall , she knew, they would be even more strictly imprisoned than at Gramps's. She glanced at Andy. He was deftly easing the last piece of cake from the plate. He was still a child and no help in this. The promise of books he wanted and no studies would have sent him happily to the Arctic.

  He stuffed the cake in his mouth, swallowed, and gulped. "If there are horses, there has to be a smithy. I almost made a horseshoe all by myself just before we came home."

  "You are adept at convincing people to your benefit, Mr. Roack," Poppy said bitterly. "Gullible boys, at least. You bribe cunningly. But I am neither a carrot nor a donkey to chase after one. What have I done? I spoke to a most proper young man in an entirely respectable place, and he offered me an eminently suitable book."

  "What is this?" Daisy shrieked. "What happened?"

  Dex shook his head, his strange cat's eyes laughing. "I didn't tell. You did."

  That only made her more furious. ''You advise me to marry and then propose to exile me to a place where I will see no men except stable boys and gardeners. Or do you consider them suitable for me?"

  He shook his head. "Poppy, the pinch with you is that you are at once too young and too old. Too young to think before you act. Too old for the consequences of your acts to be childish. In short, you are an enfant terrible."

  "Suitable for stable boys and gardeners?" Poppy repeated, nostrils flaring.

  "You have too good taste for that," Dex said with a slight bored lift of one shoulder. "I have assured Daisy I will remain alert for some young man who will suit,"

  Poppy had pictures in her mind that haunted her, pictures straight out of the illustrations for Mr. Dickens's books. "I won't marry a cringing clerk! Or some shopkeeper!" she stormed.

  "I wouldn't inflict you on such a man," Dex laughed. "You'd eat him alive in a week. A few months of rusticating, Poppy, and we'll see if I can't come up with someone promising."

  Months, he had said, months, not weeks. "And if I don't choose to be promised?"

  "We'll climb that hill when we reach it. Which brings me a thought." He dropped on his knees before her and took her nearest foot in his hand, lifted it, looked at the dainty slipper and shook his head. He pulled it off and put it aside, considering the high-arched foot held in his strong hand, then flipped her skirt and petticoats up into her lap and surveyed her slender leg in its fine lisle stocking. Deliberately he drew his other hand down from knee to ankle. Poppy gasped as if his fingers were a fire and tried to jerk away, but he only cupped her foot more firmly in one hand while he removed the other shoe. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pencil and a packet of papers which he spread on the floor. "Stand on these, please, both feet."

&n
bsp; Poppy found her voice. "Daisy, did you see what he did?"

  "You have very pretty ankles," Daisy said comfortably.

  "Nice knees, too, and that's rare," Dex said briskly, still kneeling before the papers. "On your feet, please, Poppy."

  "I won't. You can't. Why?"

  "Those Cornish rocks and moors are rough. Does she have proper country walking shoes, Daisy?"