Madeleine Robins

by The Heiress Companion

  “For shame, Mr. Bradwell, just when I was prepared to accept that as a compliment, however ill phrased!”

  “Come now, Miss Cherwood. You took charge with the air of a sergeant-major in the kitchen and a very good thing, as the rest of us loobies were completely unable to move.” He poured a glass of sherry from a decanter at his elbow and offered it to her. “You do seem a trifle young to have developed that air of authority.”

  “Years of following the drum gave me an excellent training. But I think I assume my sergeant-majority only when it seems that’s all that’s left to do. Certainly, what I wanted to do in the kitchen was sit down on the floor and cry, or scream as Eliza Ambercot was doing. Which would have been very little to the purpose. And after all, it was my notion to mess about in the kitchen.” Again, remorse growled in Miss Cherwood’s lowered voice. “My cousin and Jane Ambercot lying upstairs, all for the sake of ginger nuts for tea!” She spilled a drop of sherry on her dress. “Damn!” she said and gave assiduous attention to rubbing at the spot. Bradwell tactfully ignored both the slip of her tongue and the tremor in her voice.

  “Poor Miss Cherwood,” he drawled at last. “You’ve been so busy handling everyone else’s hysterics you’ve had no time for your own.”

  “Nonsense,” Rowena countered a little more briskly. “I verily thrive on adversity, Mr. Bradwell.”

  Before Lyn Bradwell had a chance to dispute Rowena’s statement, the door opened barely a hair’s width and Lord Bradwell was peering around the door. “Are they gone?”

  “Lully and Eliza? Yes, certainly my lord. Come in and take a glass of sherry for your nerves,” Rowena offered kindly.

  “Thank you.” He breathed definitely. “It — O damme, I might as well be blunt. Miss Ambercot, Miss Jane, that is. Is she going to be all right? She don’t give a fig for me, but I — I used to be, well, rather fond of her. Like a brother, you know. Still am. She’ll recover?” However unremarkable this speech might have sounded to an inexperienced ear, both Mr. Bradwell and Miss Cherwood were aware that coming from Lord Bradwell it was practically a declaration. His face turned a fiery red, while his brother’s mouth twitched wildly and Miss Cherwood fought a smile which threatened to enlarge into quite unbecoming laughter.

  “Certainly she will, my lord,” she reassured him. “But — ?’

  “But?” he prompted.

  “Well, when she awakens, we must all of us strive to keep her, and my cousin, well amused. It’s very important to the healing process, you know. If you and Jane shared some common interests — horses perhaps? — it would be a kindness in you to chat with her now and again to keep her spirits up. As a brother might.”

  “O, yes, well,” Lord Bradwell stammered blankly. Then, after a moment’s consideration, “Why, yes, I s’pose I could do something of the sort. Good idea, Miss Rowena. Very good idea.”

  “I’m glad you find it so, my lord. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have promised your mamma that I would lie down for a while myself. I trust I shall see you at dinner.”

  Miss Cherwood sailed from the room, her spirits a little lightened. She did not see Mr. Lyndon Bradwell raise his glass to her departing form with an appreciative smile on his lips.

  o0o

  To say that Ulysses Ambercot became a frequent visitor at Broak is to do him an injustice. From the morning following the accident Mr. Ambercot became so frequent a visitor that once, meeting him in the hall, Lord Bradwell was heard to observe that they had as well set up a cot in the pantry if Ambercot meant to keep cheering the sickroom party this way. In fact, Ulysses’ visits to his sister, while most dutiful, were also remarkably brief. While he was determined to stay and amuse her, Jane was likely to cast him out after half an hour, saying that his fidgeting would drive her to distraction. He then would remove to Margaret Cherwood’s room. Meggy was in considerable pain still, and relied greatly upon the doctor’s laudanum draught to ease her discomfort. Still, she smiled sweetly on Mr. Ambercot no matter when he appeared, and told him when he left that he had made her forget her woes for a while. She did not seem to find his fidgeting unbearable, and with such encouragement it is hardly extraordinary that Mr. Ambercot would find greater and greater pleasure in her company. Often Rowena would chase him out with ridiculous threats, to Margaret’s amusement. Ulysses was unaware that Miss Cherwood would be sternly upbraided by her young cousin for treating the visitor in such a fashion once he was out of earshot.

  “If you can complain at the way I treat Lully Ambercot, you must be mending,” was all Rowena would say to the matter.

  “But Renna, he is your friend,” Margaret insisted.

  “And your admirer, goose. But Meg, love, if you expect to heal in time to catch him, you must rest sometime. And you don’t want Lully to become too ennuyé with your company, do you?”

  Margaret protested weakly, but her heart was plainly not in the denial. “Do you mind, Rowena? I mean, he is your friend.”

  “He was my playmate ten years ago, Meg. And if he was to offer for you and you accept him, I would wish you both very happy, and that’s the end to it. Had you been imagining some unrequited romance between the two of us? Faugh. Aside from which, think how delighted you will make me if Aunt Dorothea reacts the way I expect her to, should you betroth yourself without her explicit consent.”

  “I couldn’t do that!” Margaret said in tones of shock.

  “If Lully applied to Uncle Cherwood and he gave his consent?” Rowena suggested. “Only what then would your mamma do with her precious Lord Slyppe?”

  Margaret giggled. “Wait until Susannah is old enough to offer him!” she replied, cheerfully sacrificing her younger sister. Rowena, watching the younger woman laugh a little painfully, thought that Ulysses Ambercot’s presence and this same laughter were probably doing as much as Mrs. Teggetbury’s salve and Dr. Cribbatt’s sedatives to speed her cousin’s recovery.

  The person Rowena found herself wondering about was Lyn Bradwell. His interest in Margaret had been quite open on his arrival, and he was a dependable visitor to both the sickrooms, telling Margaret and Jane stories so outrageous that one or the other was bound to protest that he was bamming them shamefully. After the first week in the sickroom, Jane fell into the habit of spending the days with Margaret, so a visit to one became a visit to both. Mr. Bradwell’s manner to both Margaret and Jane was friendly and courteous, albeit a trifle amused. Rowena entertained the notion that perhaps he had simply given up hopes of Margaret in the face of Lully Ambercot’s persistence, or he was hiding a hurt beneath his facade of good humor and good manners.

  “All of which is nothing to me, in any case,” she told herself sternly, and went to consult Mrs. Coffee about the orders for tallow and wax candles.

  Eliza Ambercot and her mother were frequent visitors too, often driving over with Ulysses to spend an afternoon. Anne Ambercot would usually stay a while in the invalid’s room, visiting with her daughter and the girl she began to hope to have as daughter-in-law. Margaret, blissfully unaware that she was being passed upon, exerted herself to be pleasant to Ulysses’ mother (insofar as she could exert herself, flat upon her back and still swathed in bandages) and found herself liking the lady extremely. But after an hour spent in the sickroom, Mrs. Ambercot was happy to refresh herself in the company of Lady Bradwell, stating that she was tired of forever stepping on her son, not to mention over Jack Bradwell. The two older ladies sat and gossiped leisurely over biscuits and chocolate; if having two invalids in the house to care for had returned much of her former energy to Lady Bradwell, having an old friend immediately to hand to talk and plot with very nearly completed her cure.

  Miss Eliza, on the other hand, never seemed to be satisfied no matter where she was. If she visited Jane it was only for a few minutes, for Jane would tire of her flutterings and airs, and ultimately would dismiss her. Then she would flutter over to Margaret, where the good-humored Meg would listen to her for an hour rather than send Ulysses’ sister away. Usually, it w
as Lully himself who sent Eliza off, recommending that she pick flowers and stay out of trouble, which recommendation did not endear him to the heart of his younger sister. Again Eliza would visit Jane, in hopes that Mr. Bradwell might be there. After all, she reasoned, if that odious Margaret was taken up with Ulysses, perhaps Lord Bradwell or his brother would be found in Jane’s circle.

  Jack Bradwell very often was, as a matter of fact. Both Jane and Lord Bradwell, if asked, would have insisted that all they talked of was the stables, and indeed, as Eliza and Rowena could vouch for, most of their conversation did seem to center about depth of chest, good hocks, and a showy coat. If Jane ever tired of the subject she did not say so, and if Rowena, Lyn Bradwell, Ulysses, or Mrs. Ambercot thought the conversation in Jane’s corner of the sickroom remarkably limited when Lord Bradwell was a visitor, they were too well-mannered to mention it. Eliza Ambercot most adamantly thought that the conversation was a bore, but knew better than to admit it. After all, Lord Bradwell was Lord Bradwell, as well as being Mr. Bradwell’s brother, and a wise young lady took care of what she allowed the gentlemen to hear. Mrs. Ambercot, in fact, sometimes wondered why Eliza seemed to be somewhat more restrained in her manner of late; the answer would not have pleased her.

  With her mistress more likely to be up and doing, Rowena found her position in the house somewhat changed. She still oversaw a good deal of the householding from necessity, since Lady Bradwell was not, despite her disclaimers, healthy enough yet to tramp up and down stairs with Mrs. Coffee, discussing the condition of the green hall hangings, or the plaster in the maids’ quarters. But frequently Miss Cherwood was left with unaccustomed free time. She would not haunt the sickroom, feeling that Ulysses and Lord Bradwell should have some time for their unadmitted courtships. So, when Lady Bradwell had no use for her and nothing in the house required her attention, she was likely to take her paints and easel out of doors for a few hours’ sketching. It was as she amused herself one afternoon that she was accosted by Mr. Greavesey: Mr. John Greavesey, doctor’s assistant.

  At their first meeting some months before, while he was delivering Lady Bradwell’s drops, Mr. Greavesey had evaluated Miss Cherwood pretty closely, deciding finally that she was an attractive woman of none-too extensive means. Nothing else, he was sure, could account for her tenure as a lady’s companion, or for her unmarried state at the great age of seven and twenty. She was always elegantly turned out, but this Mr. Greavesey attributed to a saving disposition and a gift for improvisation, no mean thing in a woman. She was, of course, a trifle high-spirited, but that, he felt sure, could be dealt with over the course of time. In short, Mr. Greavesey had quite some time ago intended Miss Rowena Cherwood for his wife.

  He had not yet, of course, apprised the lady of the honor due her.

  Mr. Greavesey was not a vain man, and realized that he might, perhaps, be said to lack certain points in the way of dress, perhaps even of etiquette. He readily acknowledged, when challenged, that his chin was too long, his nose too pointy, and his countenance too lugubrious to stir a beat in the female bosom. He would even admit to a slight odor of quinine and asafetida which clung to his person at all times. Still, he flattered himself there were certain advantages to his suit which would certainly weigh with a woman so reduced in her own circumstances that she had no alternative to paid slavery as a lady’s companion.

  Coming upon Rowena at her painting was, it seemed to him, the ideal time for him to practice the charm of address which he felt he had in abundance.

  “Miss Cherwood!” he announced with originality.

  Rowena regarded him with irritation. The man was standing directly in her line of view, smiling his particularly cadaverous smile.

  “Good day, Mr. Greavesey,” she returned with as little enthusiasm as she could decently exhibit.

  “Well, well, the artist at work, eh? What a pleasure it is for me to see the very hand of the artist at — at — at —” he floundered, at a loss for a word.

  “At work?” Rowena suggested.

  “Exactly!” Greavesey returned, undaunted. “Might I not see the painting?”

  Reluctantly, but feeling a bit sorry for her brusque tone, Rowena motioned for Greavesey to approach the easel. She had a certain feeling of relief that at least it was not one of her better sketches. And satisfaction, since the doctor’s assistant obviously could not tell a good from bad piece of work, and was ahhing ecstatically.

  “A charming piece, Miss Cherwood. Charming!” he announced at last. “But then, I am sure you do everything in the most charming fashion. I am come with her Ladyship’s drops, and the sleeping draught for Miss Cherwood.” He patted his leather bag contentedly. “And the doctor suggested that I might look in on both the young ladies to see how they went on. Might I hope that you will accompany me?”

  There were very few things Rowena would have liked less to do. But common courtesy, and a feeling that she ought not to leave Margaret and Jane to deal with Greavesey’s presence undiluted, made her put away the block of paper and wipe briskly at her brushes with an old rag.

  “You are all goodness, Miss Cherwood.”

  “Nothing of the sort. The light is failing,” Rowena lied ungraciously. “I had as lief go inside now as later.” It was a particularly graceless speech, which she regretted the moment she made it. Greavesey appeared quite unaware of her hostility, and chattered on impressively about his great responsibility to Dr. Cribbatt, and his hopes for his future in the profession.

  “In a short while I must begin to think about marriage, my dear Miss Cherwood. After all, for what does a man rise in the world if not in order to enable himself to pursue the absolute bliss of domestic happiness?”

  Good God! Rowena thought. “I have often wondered myself, Mr. Greavesey,” she said drily. “No thank you.” He had reached out to take her paints and paper from her. “I prefer to carry them myself. I am perfectly able to do, you know.”

  “Of course you are,” Greavesey agreed. “It is only one of the courtesies which any gentleman feels due to a woman of charm and breeding, no matter what her station.” He gazed upon her with a particularly fatuous expression, and Rowena strongly repressed the urge to hit him. Something of her feelings must have been expressed in her eyes or mien, for he abruptly stepped back.

  “Miss Ambercot does very well. I expect by the end of this week we shall see her leaving Broak. As for my cousin, I think she gains strength each day. Do you think that Dr. Cribbatt will be able to come out to Broak some time in the next week to see her progress?”

  “I am certain he will do so,” Greavesey assured her rapidly. “Of course, if his other duties prevent him, then it will fall to my happy lot to come to Broak. Happy Broak, where I am always afforded the chance for some delightful conversation! So condescending, so gracious! And of course, the opportunity to pursue these delightful chats with you, my dear Miss Cherwood.”

  Happily for Rowena, they were rapidly drawing up on the garden. She once again resisted the temptation to box the man’s ears. “Well, sir, I am going to go and put my paints away. I will join you in the sickroom. Yes, I believe that Drummey can show you the way.”

  By the time Rowena made her way to the sickroom, Greavesey, rather chastened, was already half way through his interrogation of Jane Ambercot, and his amour-propre did not sufficiently reassert itself for him to do more than wish Miss Ambercot and the Misses Cherwood a very good afternoon.

  Chapter Six

  Two weeks after the disastrous affair of the ginger nuts, Jane Ambercot was informed that she could prepare to return to her mother’s house. Strangely, this idea was strongly resisted by Margaret Cherwood, Ulysses Ambercot, Lord Bradwell, and even Miss Eliza Ambercot; after some consultation Jane began to feel that in truth it might be for the best were she to stay awhile longer — if only to amuse Margaret, with whom she was becoming quite close. Rowena on her part smiled obscurely when informed by Lord Bradwell that despite the advice of that damned nuisancy doctor, he felt Mis
s Ambercot still too frail to withstand the drive of three miles. She smiled, said nothing, and reported to Lady Bradwell that Miss Jane would be a guest with them yet another while.

  “At Jack’s expressed command? Rowena, you witch, I begin to think you might just pull it off!” Lady Bradwell crowed with delight.

  “My dear Lady B...” Miss Cherwood defended herself laughingly. “What on earth can you imagine?”

  “I imagine nothing, my dear,” the older woman said flatly. “You have set yourself the task of reuniting Jack with Jane, and I swear that if I see them happily wed I will consider you a wonder-worker of great dimension.”

  “You flatter me, ma’am.”

  “And you take me for a numbskull, girl. Now, how does your cousin go on today?”

  “The doctor has said that she may sit up this afternoon for a while if it is comfortable for her. She will take her tea from the sofa in her room, and we shall see how she does afterward.”

  “With Ulysses Ambercot on one arm and Lyn on the other, I make no doubt,” Lady Bradwell said with satisfaction.

  Rowena felt a small nudge of annoyance. “Probably, ma’am.”

  “Well, if she weren’t such a sweet child, I should say that she was a very sly puss.” Lady Bradwell eyed her companion surreptitiously. “Which do you think she’ll have?”

  “To be honest with you, ma’am, I believe there’s no contest. She’s been moon-mad for Lully since they met. I hope — I do hope that Mr. Bradwell has not attached too much importance to Meg, for I fear he’ll be in for a disappointment if he has.”

  “Would you tell him so?”

  “Me? Why, ma’am, I am — as he has reminded me on several occasions — your companion. Even if Meggy is my cousin, what earthly right have I to speak to him on such a subject? I’m certain he would consider it a great impertinence on my part.” Rowena busied herself in rearranging flowers by the bedside.