Though she was indeed exhausted, it was not this which determined her to obey her brother on this occasion. With a quick smile of thanks to Clarissa, and an instruction for her brother to come to her later, after his port, she meekly let herself out of the dining parlor, (almost) closing the door carefully behind her. She would be able to see Miss Driscoll, but not her brother from her vantage point outside the room. She would, however, be able to hear both of them, as she clearly did now.
“How could you say that in front of my sister?” the earl demanded, real feeling in his voice. “She's hardly of an age to hear such disclosures."
“Such disclosures?” Clarissa repeated, incredulous. “Just what do you think I was saying, Lord Kinsford?"
“I am referring to your dancing with your cousin, of course. Alone, unchaperoned, a man and a woman in each other's arms. Hardly the type of behavior one would expect from a person of your birth."
Clarissa pushed aside her second, half-full glass of wine. “Tell me, Kinsford, exactly what you expected me to say when you asked if Lorelia Snolgrass had taught me the dances. You knew Lorelia didn't exist..."
Though Miss Driscoll continued, Aria lost track of the conversation for a moment. Lorelia Snolgrass did not exist? But how extraordinary! And how very clever of Miss Driscoll. Really, Aria had had no idea how decidedly enterprising her instructress was. Certainly Miss Driscoll would not cavil at a little playacting on her own part.
Kinsford's thundering voice brought Aria's attention back to the scene in the dining parlor. “I expected you to say something in keeping with your Snolgrass story. To play along with the deception, because we are both aware of it now. God knows I didn't expect you to confess to improper behavior in front of a fifteen-year-old!"
“Lady Aria was perfectly satisfied with the truth of the situation,” Clarissa retorted. Aria could see her shoulders shrug helplessly. “Why, to one of her age, a second cousin is quite as unremarkable as a brother, and certainly she learns her dances with Master William all the time."
Aria felt sure this was another argument which would calm the earl's excitement, but no. “He might as well be a stranger for all the propriety your dancing with him has,” Kinsford insisted. “No young woman of your age could possibly believe it is acceptable behavior to do any such thing."
“There you are quite out. I most certainly do believe that I have done nothing the least bit wrong, and I will not have you judge me by some ludicrous standard of appearances. This is my cottage, and my village and I dance with my cousin. For God's sake, Kinsford, he's married."
“And you are a spinster!” Kinsford flung his napkin away from him in disgust. “What would happen if one of the villagers happened by your window when you and your cousin were dancing about, locked in an embrace? Surely you can see the damage that would do!"
Clarissa rose from her chair and stood with arms folded across her chest, glaring down at him. “Yes, indeed, I can see it. And do you know, I do not care a whit! And you have yourself to thank for that, Kinsford. It was your example which determined me early on to pay no heed to the gossips and grumblers. What possible difference could it make if they suspected the worst? Do I have a reputation to lose? Would their shunning me be any more difficult than my losing my place in county society?"
Aria wanted to run to her and put her arms around her and protect her. Miss Driscoll, though her stance was fierce, seemed uncommonly vulnerable. Surely Kinsford would see that.
“You would know the difference soon enough,” he retorted, rising now to stand and face her across the table, eyes narrowed. “You would know when they cut you direct, when the good women of the village refused to speak to you. And you would certainly not have the children of the gentry pouring into your cottage for lessons."
At length, in a flat voice, Clarissa said, “Well, it hasn't happened. If anyone has seen me dancing with my cousin they must have written it off to my eccentricity and not my immorality, as you have. I presume they find me far too old and uninteresting to elicit such thoughts."
“Old!” he scoffed. “Don't be foolish, Clarissa. You are not nearly old enough or plain enough to be free from such talk. You are merely lucky that you have so far avoided it.” He suddenly reached across the table and touched the white cap perched on her hair. “This won't protect you. Promise me you won't let Traling visit you unchaperoned."
Clarissa reached up and tugged off the offending cap. “I cannot promise you any such thing. You don't seem to understand, Kinsford. My life is very circumscribed. I cannot and will not allow it to become any more so."
Aria felt a thrill of excitement at both of their exchanges. Something, some subtle current, was at work here but she could not precisely say what it was. Kinsford had called her Clarissa; Miss Driscoll had removed her cap. And shaken out her hair, almost as a challenge, Aria thought. And then she heard Kinsford say, in his stiffest voice, “Very well. I'd best say good night to Aria.” Whereupon she dashed on tiptoe for the stairs.
Chapter Fourteen
While Lady Aria slept late the next morning, Clarissa found it difficult to stay in bed until dawn. She had been shaken by the interview with Kinsford, in several ways. Though she knew he had the weight of standard wisdom on his side, she could not see changing her habits and patterns just for the sake of appearances. On the one hand, she could lose her livelihood; on the other, her self-respect. One had to take a few risks in life to make it mean more than drudgery. And Steven. Surely he needed her support now more than ever.
Clarissa was not able to look directly at those last few moments with Lord Kinsford, when he had called her by her name. When they were young he had called her Clarissa. When he had kissed her, her name had whispered on his lips. Surely there was nothing to be made of his backhanded compliment about her age and attractiveness. Still, there had been a moment when he had seemed open to her, when he had seemed to want to reestablish that less formal relationship they'd had when they were young. He had asked her to do something for him, and she had wanted to please him. Only what he asked was too much.
Unsettled, Clarissa urged Max from his cozy spot beside the sleeping Lady Aria. A walk would do them both good. The minute she opened the front door he started barking with delirious excitement. “That's enough,” she said firmly, tightening the lead so he had to walk near her. He trotted along then with the plume of his little tail waving back and forth, quite content. Clarissa let her mind drift away from the present as they traversed the lane and then the path across the fields.
She had learned, years before, how to achieve a measure of tranquility when her situation was in fact rather distressing. When her father had gambled, when he had died, when she had found herself alone and frightened, she had learned to let her mind wander to a safe place, where it was always spring and she was happy. The difference between me and Lady Kinsford, she thought ruefully, is that she tries to inhabit such a place all the time and I acknowledge that it is only a brief escape. And it was easier for her to find this escape when she was outside, walking briskly around the countryside.
The blackthorn of the hedgerow was a mass of white blossoms and the delicate pink flowers of dog-rose pushed their way along side of it. On the other side of the path, at the edge of the pasture, were bright yellow celandine and purplish lady's smock. A pink-breasted linnet sang atop a bright green bush.
Clarissa drank in the smell of new grass and the scent of the spring flowers. The tightness in her chest and shoulders eased as she swung along, humming softly to herself. It was a glorious day, spring was well under way, and she could believe that Lady Aria would be all right.
Max barked vigorously at a hedgehog unwise enough to show its nose at the side of the dirt path.
Instantly the prickly little animal wrapped itself into a ball and Max alternately charged and retreated, puzzled and frustrated by the alarming spines he encountered. Clarissa laughed and dragged him away. “Leave the poor creature alone, you silly animal. He's not doing you a bit of
harm."
Max reluctantly allowed himself to be drawn away, with many a backward glance and yap. But he was easily distracted, and soon trotted along again sniffing at each fascinating rock and tree along the way. Clarissa covered ground rather quickly, but the dog had no difficulty keeping up with her, and was usually a little ahead. They were about to pass a rider coming toward them, and Clarissa was relieved to see that it was no one she knew, when the rider drew in his horse, frowned and said, “That's my dog."
“I beg your pardon?” Clarissa replied. She'd never seen the fellow before. He looked a rather meek sort of person, and rode with no distinction whatsoever. And yet his eyes were keen enough and he spoke quite decidedly.
“That's my dog,” he repeated.
“I can't think how it could be,” she answered, and yet given a moment, perhaps she could. “Cairn terriers look very similar, you know."
“Where did you get it? You haven't had him long, have you?"
Clarissa hesitated. But there was nothing for it except to admit the truth. “I was given him, only two days ago, by William Kinsford."
“Precisely!” the fellow ejaculated. “I might have known! They kidnapped him."
It was Clarissa's turn to frown. “If you would introduce yourself, sir, perhaps we could straighten out this matter,” she suggested, drawing the dog close to her. Max was paying absolutely no attention to the rider, though the rider's horse seemed to intrigue him.
“I, madam, am Gerald Franklin, master at Oak Knoll, where William attends school. I am, in fact, on my way at this moment to Kinsford Hall to confront him with the stealing of my dog, Harding."
Even at this name Max did not look up at the man. Clarissa, however, had no difficulty believing that he belonged to Mr. Franklin, given his further explanation.
“A companion of William's has admitted that he was responsible for removing Harding from the school grounds and bringing him to William. I hold both boys responsible for the theft and intend to prosecute them to the fullest extent of the law."
Lord, that's just what we need now, Clarissa thought. It seemed likely to her that the master was more intent on inducing Lord Kinsford to part with some money, but that was the earl's problem. She would only further irritate him, and rightly so, if she interfered in the matter.
She looked down at Max/Harding and sighed. Well, she hadn't really wanted a dog to begin with, she reminded herself. “Shall I hand him up to you?” she asked.
The master glowered. It was obvious he hadn't considered the possibility that he would have to cart the little dog around. “I suppose you'd best,” he replied. “Lord Kinsford just might not believe me if I don't have the evidence. What's your name, madam?"
“Clarissa Driscoll.” She reached down and lifted the curious dog, who licked her face. When she handed him up to the rider, Max cocked his head and barked. Without thanking her, Mr. Franklin rode off, awkwardly shifting the little dog on his lap, where Max squirmed and growled.
“Be still!” she heard the man say as he cuffed the little dog smartly. Clarissa shook her head, feeling all the beauty, safety and comfort of her walk disintegrate around her. Slowly, missing all the signs of spring now, she retraced her steps home.
* * * *
Lord Kinsford did not return to Kinsford Hall until an hour after Mr. Franklin arrived. The school master had been shown into a waiting area off the main hall, a small room with a modicum of comforts which was not intended to inspire long waits or overly long conversations. Since Mr. Franklin had not vouchsafed to the staff what his purpose was in seeking out Lord Kinsford, other than to say that he was from William's school, no one had thought it necessary to track down the earl, as he was due back in a short while.
Kinsford returned from a strenuous ride on Longbridge (occasioned by his extreme agitation concerning Miss Driscoll), only to be greeted with the news that someone awaited him. As he had ridden past the house, he'd remarked the stranger standing in the tall window where petitioners were placed against his return. There was nothing Kinsford wanted less than to see someone with a demand upon his time and good nature just then. Nor did he like the looks of the fellow, dressed almost entirely in black, a morbid vision at best.
So it was in less than the best temper that he presented himself in the waiting area, not bothering to change from his riding clothes. The first thing that struck him as strange was the presence of the dog.
And that it was a cairn terrier. Mr. Franklin wore a stern, unrelenting grimace, and an old-fashioned set of knee breeches and jacket so reminiscent of a clergyman that Kinsford had to remind himself that this man was from Oak Knoll, not a parish church.
Oak Knoll was a family tradition, a school chosen more for its proximity than its status. None of the Barringtons for the last few generations had been particularly academically inclined, and father to son there had been an understanding that the rigors of Eton were not to be borne by them, with its hazing and stifling regulation. Oak Knoll drew from the gentry in the western portion of Britain, and had nothing to apologize for in the education it handed down, but it was a little more lenient than some of the more prestigious schools. Which was an important factor, since most of the Barrington males had been of a wild and rambunctious nature.
Kinsford introduced himself and shook hands with the master, waving him to a straight-backed chair and taking another for himself. “I understand you're from Oak Knoll,” he said, ignoring the dog, since he felt sure the master would get around to the terrier in his own good time.
“I have never, myself, had William as a student,” Mr. Franklin said, “though I understand he is not much of a scholar from masters who have. Oak Knoll, unfortunately, does not have the most rigorous academic standards for our students. There is a philosophy of almost indifference to such excellence, which is a great disappointment to those of us who cherish the caliber of student so popular at Eton and Harrow. Perhaps you yourself went to one of the more renowned schools.”
“I went to Oak Knoll, as my father did before me,” Kinsford replied.
''I see."
Max had had enough of his unaccustomed role as a quiet, retiring pet. The moment he sensed Franklin's distraction, he leaped down from the master's lap and jumped up into Kinsford's, barking excitedly and attempting to lick the earl's face. Kinsford, who felt this placed him in an undignified position, grasped the dog around the waist and lifted him to the floor. “Stay!” he commanded and, surprisingly, Max cocked his head at him, squatted down on his haunches, and stayed.
“It's about the dog I've come,” Mr. Franklin said, frowning at the animal but making no attempt to issue his own ultimatum. “He was stolen from me by your brother, William."
The thought that had been drifting through Kinsford's mind for the past two days finally jelled. He could remember, quite clearly, Will's story about absconding with the dog that snapped at the students as they hurried to classes. He was certain that the boys had returned the animal at the time.
“My brother was sent down two weeks ago. I don't think he could possibly have had the dog hidden here for all that time."
“William may not have actually taken the animal this time,” the master admitted, adding, “though he certainly did once before. But as you can clearly see, the animal is here and Miss Driscoll informed me that she had been given the dog by William."
“How did you know Miss Driscoll had the dog?"
“I didn't,” the master said, smirking. “I happened to see her walking the animal when I was riding here and I knew Harding at once, of course. I've had him for two years and I could tell him from a whole pack of cairn terriers, were the necessity to arise."
This was issued as something of a challenge, Kinsford suspected, and he suspected also that, were he able to round up a few other cairn terriers, the master would not have the least idea which of them was his. It was a bluff which he would have loved to have called, but he couldn't for the life of him think of another animal of the breed in the neighborhood. Pr
obably Mr. Franklin surmised something of the sort, having seen only the farm dogs and hunting breeds most common to the area on his ride through.
“Since my brother hasn't been away from the area since he was sent down, how could he have come by the animal?” Kinsford reiterated.
“I am convinced that this friend Upton brought the dog here to him. He had permission to go home overnight because of an ailing parent. Ha! These children think we're stupid. As if we couldn't figure out who had gone where, and why! He brought the dog here, of course. Miss Driscoll said she had only received the animal two days ago from William. Which proves my point!"
The man sat on his uncomfortable chair in splendid self-righteousness. Kinsford wished he could kick him out of the Hall and dismiss the matter, but of course that wasn't possible. He sighed and admitted, “I imagine you're correct in assuming that Mr. Upton brought the dog to William, and that my brother in turn gave the dog to Miss Driscoll, although it is not a certainty. Tell me, Mr. Franklin, can you think of a reason they would wish to take your dog away from you?"
The man flushed slightly, even as he waved aside the question. “It cannot possibly matter why they stole the animal. The fact is that they did, and that I am prepared to prosecute William to the fullest extent of the law. These young people cannot be allowed to steal and have the world dismiss it as a boy's prank."
“And yet, as a master at a boys’ school, I dare say you could recognize it as exactly that,” the earl mused. “The boys, dressed for chapel, wearing their long gowns, find themselves attacked by a small dog each day as they hurry by. In fact, the very same thing happened last night at Miss Driscoll's house, I understand. My sister, who has suffered a concussion and cannot be moved, was asleep at Miss Driscoll's house when the dog Max started barking and snapping at the maid in her night robe. It was a very upsetting occurrence for the four women, alone in the house with what they must have thought was a mad dog.” Kinsford nodded slowly. “Yes, I can quite see how anyone would become distressed with the small creature, and, of course, with his owner."
The Village Spinster Page 13
