by Carola Dunn
"But I wore it last night. I cannot possibly wear it again so soon.
"Well, what else did you bring?” Penny started to dig through the contents of one of the portmanteaux.
"I brought my wedding dress. Should you like to see it?"
"Heavens, you had a wedding dress made up? No, no, don't unpack it. I am not half so good at packing as Cora. Describe it to me.” She found the pink with blond lace which Henrietta had rejected the first night on the road, and shook out the worst creases while Henrietta was distracted. The only mirror in the room was small and awkwardly placed, so she hoped the lack of perfect smoothness might pass unnoticed.
"It's white lace over a white satin slip, embroidered with seed pearls in true lovers’ knots, and white satin slippers, of course, and the veil is embroidered, too."
Penny had a sudden vision of Henrietta, all in white, being married over the anvil amid soot and smoke and flying sparks in the blacksmith's forge at Gretna. Her sense of the ridiculous overcame her despondency and she collapsed on the bed in a fit of helpless laughter.
"What is so funny?” asked Henrietta, injured. “It is excessively pretty, I vow."
"I'm sure it is, my dear. I was laughing at myself, because I have nothing but this dull brown dress to be married in."
"You must wear your evening gown.” Henrietta surveyed the green sarcenet doubtfully. “I shall lend you my pearls."
"You are a dear.” Penny hugged her, then turned businesslike and hurried her through her toilette.
When they were both ready to go down, Henrietta lingered behind for a moment. Penny went ahead down the stairs and into the tiny private parlour where the gentlemen were waiting. Despite the time of year, the small fire burning in the grate gave a welcome warmth, though Penny had rejected one in their chamber.
"Never say you have failed to bring her up to the mark tonight, Miss Penny,” said Jason.
"Of course I have not; she is right behind me. Oh, Jason, did you know she has brought a wedding gown with her, all white lace and seed pearls?"
He looked stunned.
"'Tis only natural for a young lassie to wish to be wed in white,” Angus observed. “I'm sorry ‘tis not possible for you, Penelope."
"No, I could hardly have climbed out of my window with a trunk, could I? Yours is a very well-organized elopement, Jason."
"I assure you, the wedding dress was none of my idea! Good Lord, she didn't pack a bride-cake, did she?"
"Not to my knowledge. No, she was bemoaning the lack of a bride-cake yesterday. Don't worry, Angus, I don't mind not having one, and this gown will do very well."
He patted her arm, then went to speak to the landlord, who wanted to know whether they were ready to dine.
"I thought when I first saw it how well that gown becomes you,” Jason said, his tone more teasing than complimentary. “But are you not growing a trifle tired of it?"
"I suppose you had rather I had dropped a trunk from my window?” she challenged him.
"Heaven forbid. It would doubtless have killed me. And if you'd brought half as much luggage as Henrietta we'd never have fitted it on the carriage. You are eminently practical, Penny."
"Well, I am growing a trifle tired of my two gowns,” she confessed, “but I don't mean to repine."
He looked at her seriously. “No, I don't believe—” he began, but Henrietta came in at that moment and he never completed the sentence.
Dinner was a difficult meal. Henrietta took an instant dislike to Yorkshire pudding, stigmatized rabbit pie as “country fare,” and rejected liver and onions with every appearance of horror. In the end, Jason patiently suggested an omelette, and with this she was satisfied at last.
Penny would have enjoyed the Yorkshire pudding had it not reminded her of her cousin's delight in local dishes. As it was, she preferred the fried lamb's liver, smothered with golden, savoury-smelling slices of onion. She did her best to compensate for Henrietta's rudeness by asking the waiter to convey her compliments to the cook.
Angus ate his way steadily through a hearty portion of every dish on the table. “Excellent,” he said at last, folding his napkin. “I have already ordered breakfast. Mine host tells me that several Scots gentlemen have pronounced their approval of his wife's porridge."
It was Penny's turn to be difficult. “I believe I should like a pair of kippers for a change,” she announced.
He stared at her in surprise. “But I have already ordered your usual breakfast, Penelope."
"I suppose it can be changed."
"Oh Penny, pray don't eat kippers. They smell so horridly. Indeed, I cannot abide the smell."
"I, too, am partial to kippers,” said Jason firmly. “Most certainly the order can be changed, so far in advance. Perhaps you will prefer to take your breakfast in your chamber, Henrietta?"
For a moment she was disconcerted, and then the familiar pout appeared.
Penny was thrown into confusion by his championing her against both Angus and Henrietta. She wished she had never thought of rebelling against muffins and bacon. Furthermore her rebellion went for nothing, for the innkeeper regretfully informed them that there was not a kipper in the house. Since he promised that his son would go out at dawn and catch a couple of moorland trout, Jason was well satisfied.
"There's nothing like trout straight from the stream,” he assured Penny, and changed her order and his own, to Angus's scarce-concealed displeasure.
It was still quite early when they finished dinner. No one was ready to retire. Settling by the fire, Angus pulled his spectacles and his book from his pocket, and Penny went upstairs to fetch hers. The chamber door was ajar; the latch was stiff and no doubt Henrietta had failed to close it properly. When she went down again, Penny made sure it clicked into place.
The sound reminded her of last night's dream. The click of a latch—an odd thing to dream of!—had preceded the most vivid part of the dream, half-remembered, the part where ... Blushing, she pushed the memory from her consciousness.
Tomorrow he would wed Henrietta, and she would be irrevocably tied to Angus.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In the parlour, Jason and Henrietta were at the table playing a game of dominoes. Penny went to sit opposite Angus, on a rather uncomfortable wooden chair with an ornately carved back. Angus looked up and smiled at her. Either she was forgiven or his pique was forgotten. She was glad that he was not one to hold a grudge.
She smiled back at him and opened her book. The place marked was in the middle of a review of a book on landscape gardening, by the celebrated landscaper Repton. Penny wondered what it would be like to own a country estate, to be surrounded by spacious gardens and parkland, to be able to walk and ride where one willed. Which would she prefer, what Repton described as “the quiet, calm and beautiful scenery of a tame country", or a “wild and romantic” landscape with “rocks and dashing mountain streams"?
Her thoughts were interrupted by an exclamation of annoyance from Henrietta, who had lost the game. Penny was surprised that Jason hadn't let her win, as she doubtless expected. Perhaps he was growing weary of constantly indulging her. Or perhaps Henrietta had played so badly it was impossible to lose to her! Whatever the reason, she was displeased.
Jumping up, she flounced over to the fireplace and said to Penny, “What are you reading? Is it a novel?"
She tilted it to read the spine, “The Quarterly Review. Such dry stuff! I wonder that you choose to read it."
"It describes books I might want to read—novels, among others."
"I love horrid Gothic novels, do not you? I do not know why they are always written so long, though. I never manage to read beyond the first volume."
"I have never managed to read beyond the first page of a Gothic novel,” Penny admitted, “but I read a great many other books. I have a great deal of time for reading."
"You poor thing,” Henrietta commiserated. “How horrid to be a bluestocking."
Jason had strolled over to join them. “Hav
e you by any chance come across a review of a treatise on sheep-rearing?” he enquired. “I should be glad to know of a good one."
"But why?” asked Henrietta. “Sheep are monstrous dull."
Jason looked exasperated. Penny said quickly, “Not when they are little lambs, skipping and hopping and shaking their tails."
"Oh, yes, I should like to have a little lamb, white as Lily, with a black face."
"All too soon it would grow up to be a dull sheep,” Jason pointed out. “What are you reading, Knox?” Angus held up his book and Jason read out, “An Epitome of Juridical and Forensic Medicine, containing the Tests and Antidotes of Poisons...” He paused, with a glance at Henrietta. “Now that is dry stuff indeed, to any but a medical man."
Angus continued reading aloud the long-winded title: “...With Observations on Hanging, Drowning, Lunacy, Child-Murder..."
Henrietta shrieked and backed away, her blue eyes wide with horror. “Murder! How can you read such a dreadful book!"
Angus glared at her over his spectacles. “'Tis nae—” he began.
Jason interrupted, taking Henrietta's arm in a firm grip. “You cannot wish to stay in the same room with such a book, my dear. I suggest you retire to your chamber. I shall call a chambermaid to assist you.” He propelled her towards the door.
Astonished at his sudden sternness, Penny closed her book and rose from the chair. “I'll go with her,” she offered.
"There's no need for you to disturb yourself, ma'am. She will manage very well with a servant."
Opening the door, he revealed a semicircle of gaping figures: the innkeeper, a waiter, two maids, and an ostler.
"My lord,” stammered the innkeeper, “we heard ... that is, t'young lady ... summun screamed out..."
"'Murder,'” said Jason calmly. Urging the reluctant Henrietta ahead, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Penny sank back, caught between mirth and dismay.
"Miss Henrietta is sometimes an excessively silly lassie,” Angus observed, and returned to his book.
Penny could not concentrate on the advantages of separating a house from its park with gardens. She listened, but heard only a murmur of voices.
Jason was behaving as if he didn't care whether he offended his future wife, whether he lost his heiress. Yet at the castle he had looked very much like a man in love. All her doubts and confusion returned. Perhaps Mr. White had not franked the journey, after all, and had given his approval to the marriage for the simple reason that Jason was perfectly respectable and beforehand with the world. Which brought her back to the fact that he must have fallen in love with Henrietta.
Was he falling out of love?
He came back into the parlour, his face forbidding, and sat down at the table. A moment later the landlord entered with a punch-bowl, a bottle of rum, a lemon, a nutmeg and a nutmeg grater. He was followed by a waiter with a tea-tray, including a steaming kettle.
"You won't mind, ma'am,” Jason said to Penny, “if I take a little of your hot water and some sugar for the punch. Knox, you'll join me in a nightcap?"
Angus looked up, just as the waiter was followed in to the room by Henrietta. Alarmed by the anguish in the girl's face, Penny jumped up. Henrietta stopped dramatically just inside the doorway.
"Jason,” she cried, “Lily has disappeared!"
Overwhelmed with relief—she had half expected a scathing denunciation of Jason—Penny sighed and asked, “How did she get out of her basket?"
"I let her out,” Henrietta confessed guiltily. “Before I came down to dinner. But the chamber door was shut."
"You didn't latch it properly. It was open when I went up. She could be anywhere."
"Who be this Lily, my lord?” the innkeeper demanded. Penny didn't blame him for sounding suspicious after the earlier screech of “murder!"
Jason's head was sunk in his hands, whether in despair or to hide his amusement she couldn't tell, but he appeared to be incapable of answering. “A kitten,” she said. “A small white kitten. Pray have your staff search the house for her."
"Well, I dunno, miss..."
Jason raised his head. “Do as Miss Bryant instructs,” he said coldly.
"Yes, my lord, at once.” The man bowed, rubbing his hands nervously and scurried out, the waiter at his heels.
"Come, Henrietta,” said Penny, “we must go and ascertain that she's not hiding under the bed.” With her arm about the girl's shoulders, she led her out.
The landlord was already mustering his troops as the young ladies passed through the narrow hall. His summoning of the tapster had brought several customers to join the search, a couple of burly farm-hands and a wizened shepherd somewhat the worse for drink. Hurrying Henrietta past them, Penny cast an anxious glance back at the parlour door. Angus was an abstemious man; she hoped Jason would not dispose of the entire bottle of rum by himself.
Their bedchamber struck chilly after the warmth of the fire below. Penny closed the door firmly and looked about. The doors and drawers of the clothes press were all shut, and it sat square on the floor, with no space beneath for a hiding kitten. The window was shut, thank heaven. The bed was the only—
"Henrietta, your candle!” Swooping, she just managed to save the bed-curtains from going up in flames as Henrietta leant down to look under the bed. Penny set the candle on the floor and went down on her knees. Henrietta knelt beside her.
"Lily! Lily, come here, you naughty puss,” Henrietta called hopefully.
A very faint miaow answered her.
"Lily! Here, kitty. Oh, where is she?"
They both peered into the dusty gloom.
"Miaow."
"That's not where it's coming from,” said Penny, standing up and brushing at her skirts. “Call her again, and then hush."
"Lily, here, puss. Here, kitty!"
This time the mewing was accompanied by a scrabbling sound, and a shower of soot fell down the chimney. Henrietta screamed as a small black kitten dropped into the empty grate.
Lily sat down and began to wash herself.
"Oh, don't let her do that,” cried Penny, seizing the nearest piece of cloth which came to hand in an open portmanteau. “She'll be ill if she swallows all that soot.” She pounced on the kitten and swathed her in Henrietta's pink-and-green paisley shawl.
Henrietta rushed to take the squirming bundle from her. “Poor little thing. What shall we do? She will have to be washed."
"I daresay one of the kitchen servants will do it, or an ostler could hold her under the pump, if you pay enough."
"Oh no, I could not let a rough servant wash her. He might hurt her. I wish Cora were here!"
Penny had no intention of volunteering for so hazardous a task. She kept her mouth shut.
"Do you think Jason...? No, he has been horridly disagreeable this evening. I shall wash her myself,” said Henrietta with an air of conscious heroism.
A peremptory knock on the door preceded the unceremonious entry of Jason and Angus. Behind them in the passage stood a now-familiar half circle of gaping innkeeper and servants, with the addition of the drunken shepherd.
"Did you scream again, Henrietta?” Jason demanded. He caught sight of the struggling, squeaking shawl in her arms. “Good gad, what the devil?"
"Oh Jason, poor Lily was up the chimney. She is black all over!"
A grin began to form on his face.
Penny frowned at him. “If you will kindly arrange it with the landlord, Henrietta wishes to go down to the kitchen to give Lily a bath."
"She does?” he asked sceptically.
"Yes, she does."
"Then far be it from me to cast any rub in her way. Landlord, you heard?"
The innkeeper's lips quit moving in silent prayer and he opened his eyes. “Aye, my lord.” He sighed and turned to shoo away his staff, muttering, “I just hopes as t'wife don't fall into a fit."
With an equally resigned expression, Jason said, “Allow me to relieve you of the beast, Henrietta. She appears to be a
bout to escape. I daresay I had best go with you to the kitchen."
"Will you, Jason? Oh, thank you.” Henrietta's sparkling smile drew forth an answering smile from her betrothed. They departed together, Jason holding the indignant bundle in both hands, as far away from his clothes as possible.
"Miss Henrietta will lead his lordship a rare dance,” Angus prophesied. “When she's not playing the sulky child, she has a cozening way to match her pretty face."
"For all her silliness Henrietta can be very engaging at times,” Penny acknowledged. “She didn't even make a fuss about her shawl, which is certain to be ruined, and she's bound to be scratched if she actually does wash Lily. I hope you still have some tincture of iodine. It will be interesting to see whether it's Jason or Henrietta who needs it."
"Indeed. I shall fetch my bag."
They went back down to the parlour. On the table stood the unopened bottle of rum, the punch-bowl with a sliced lemon in it, and the tea-tray. Penny laid her hand against the teapot.
"Stone cold.” Suddenly she felt like crying. She blinked back hot tears.
Angus took her hands in his. “You are weary, my dear Penelope. Sit you down and I will order fresh tea."
Gratefully she obeyed. He went to the door and called for a waiter. The man came in looking nervous, piled the punch-bowl and rum bottle onto the tray and went off with it, returning shortly with a steaming pot, Angus did not disdain the feminine task of pouring the tea. They were both sipping the hot, refreshing liquid when Henrietta and Jason entered. From a white towel in Henrietta's arms a bedraggled, unhappy, but white little face peered out.
"I had to buy another towel,” Jason complained, but he seemed in good spirits none the less and he didn't mention the disappearance of the punch makings. “Ah, tea! Just what we need. Put the monster down on the hearthrug to dry, Henrietta. I wager she's too exhausted to try any more tricks."
Henrietta's pink gown was splotched with grey, and her hands were more scratched than Jason's, proving she had taken an unexpectedly active part in bathing the kitten. Penny wished she had thought to suggest that they wear gloves. Angus produced his iodine.
