High Spirits at Harroweby

by Comstock, Mary Chase

  “Strange child,” Selinda murmured as she tucked her sister into bed and drew an extra shawl up over her chin. “You always sound so sure of yourself. Have you had another of your dreams?”

  “Yes, and it was a grand one!” Lucy exclaimed, sitting up in bed again. “Aunt Prudence frothed with a ferocious fit, Rupert ended head down in a mucky ditch, and you—this is the very best part of ill—you married a mysterious, handsome, kind gentleman! All because of a lovely lady who looks after us. I wonder who she is?”

  “I do not know, Lucy, but I pray you are right. In any case, it sounds like a marvelous dream.” Selinda smoothed her sister’s black braids on the pillow and kissed her on the forehead. Lucy, she knew, was a very special child. Not only was she exceedingly bright for her age, but, from the time she was a toddler, Lucy had had a curious way of predicting the future and guessing one’s thoughts. Selinda had come to accept it; however, knowing that others might find the talent unnerving, she had made the child promise to keep it to herself. “Now, shall I read to you for a bit from our book?”

  “Oh, yes, Selinda! I have been waiting all day. We had just got to an exciting part when that devil Snypish burst in on us last night!”

  “Well, I’ve taken precautions tonight, my love. Look—I’ve fit our little novel into my prayer-book cover. Our self-righteous custodians can surely have no objections if we read a few psalms before bedtime.”

  “Why, Selinda,” Lucy giggled as she nestled against her sister, “aren’t you a sly one!”

  “I have need to be, goose! Now where were we? Ah, yes! Here we are.

  “Chapter Eighteen. ‘In the moonlight, fair Rosamonde leaned from her bower, breathing in the rich perfume of the warm summer’s eve. Her ringlets fell about her ivory shoulders in a golden cascade, tumbling over the edge of the balcony and delicately plaiting themselves into the winding red roses that grew beneath. Alas! All this beauty was insufficient to distract the poor maiden from her perilous plight. Rosamonde shut her teary eyes for a moment against the bright moonbeams, praying for strength.

  “‘Ah me!” she sighed heavily, raising one eloquent hand to her brow. “Is there no help for me? Is there no hope? Is there no champion who can free me from this monstrous tangle of evil intent?”

  “‘You have but to ask, fair maid!” came a voice alarmingly close to her ear.

  “‘Rosamonde in an instant opened her eyes and beheld a masked stranger who had boldly invaded the privacy of her meditations. Pierced to the heart at such forwardness (yet intrigued at the same time by his apparent nobility and charm), she could neither flee nor cry out, but immediately sank in a swoon, one arm still bent back against her alabaster brow and the other draped modestly across her creamy bosom.

  “‘The bandit, for so he seemed, bent forward and kissed her gently on the lips, saying, “My love, oft have I seen from afar the wickedness, the perfidy that even now threatens you and I shall take you far from here where none can ever presume such evil upon your fair person again.” And lifting her up as if she were but merest thistledown, he stepped onto the ledge and dropped lightly on the waiting steed beneath...’”

  “Selinda?” Lucy interrupted, her brows knit. “Why must the ladies always swoon at the best part? I vow I shouldn’t!”

  “Why you forward thing,” Selinda laughed. “Well, I don’t imagine I should either, truth to tell. But it’s a lovely story, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t believe it is a story,” Lucy protested, “all except the swooning part. You shall see when you have your adventure!”

  “Well, there is little likelihood of that, unfortunately. But I vow I shall escape this trap if I possibly can, and take you with me. I am grateful our affairs were left orderly enough when Mama and Papa died our Seasons were assured we turned eighteen. At least we have a chance. And, even if it is just the Little Season, Aunt Prudence will not be able to ruin it altogether, however much she’s tampered with other things. What’s more, I promise you, Lucy,” her voice dropping to a whisper as she crossed her heart, “I shall take the first offer that’s made me.”

  “Oh, don’t think of doing that, Selinda!” Lucy protested, sitting up. “Please don’t!”

  “I begin to fear I must, Lucy. There really is no other choice. Anyone is better than Rupert! Now, you must close your eyes and go to sleep, and I must set this room to rights.”

  Lady Sybil watched indignantly as Selinda picked up her own gown and slippers and put them tidily away. Clearly the poor child was not even allowed a lady’s maid! As she looked more closely about the room, it was evident that the girls were forced to make do with the barest and poorest of furnishings. Well, this would never do. Something would simply have to be done!

  Chapter Four

  Selinda arose the next morning at the first sound of the awakening birds that thrived in the trees outside her window. She did not, however, immediately address herself to her toilette, but instead sat for several moments in the window seat, watching the environs busily awake to a new day. How different from Darrowdean and its seclusion! Selinda and Lucy had rarely been away from the country estate in all their growing-up years, and living in the city with all its noises was one more reminder of how their lives had changed.

  During those early years, their parents had but rarely been at home. Their mother, an invalid of some renown, divided her time between spas and watering spots, while their father took what pleasure might be found in hunting and riding in the surrounding area. They returned to Darrowdean once or twice a year, expressed surprise that their children were growing up so rapidly, and departed almost as quickly. Granted, during their stay, they lavished gifts on the girls and dressed them like a pair of dolls, but these visits were always somehow unreal.

  The girls had, of course, been committed to the care of an army of servants and tutors, but among that group there had been none for whom they felt any particular ties. The staff had been efficient, but distant. Selinda and Lucy had depended upon each other for companionship and solace. They had fussed over each other, planned and dreamed together. They each felt a little guilty for not feeling their parents’ loss more keenly, but, truthfully, until the arrival of their unsavory guardians, little in their lives had changed.

  Selinda pulled herself abruptly from these absent musings and performed her simple toilette listening to the complexity of the starlings’ chirping chorus. As she did so, she wondered how such ugly, speckled birds could contrive to produce such sweet music. As she spied one trilling away on a narrow branch, she shook her head. Its beady little eyes, scrawny form, and unremarkable plumage reminded her all too forcibly of the rattleboned Miss Snypish. Well, she thought, hurrying herself, she was not about to give that offensive person the satisfaction (and pleasure, she deduced) of finding her unready.

  In spite of the fortune to which she was heiress, Lady Selinda’s wardrobe was not an extensive one. In the name of repressing vanity. Aunt Prudence had given away (or sold, as Lucy suspected) most of Selinda’s wardrobe when she arrived to assume her nieces’ guardianship. Little deliberation was necessary, therefore, in order for Selinda to select a simple dress of deep indigo.

  The dress was something of a secret triumph for Selinda, chiefly because she knew Aunt Prudence had chosen the style and somber color in order to set her at odds with fashion and custom. Although it had been cut along what Aunt Prudence deemed to be modest lines, high-necked and long-sleeved, it could not have been more flattering. The row of stiff ruffles at the neck made her face seem almost heart-shaped, and the color, far too deep a shade for a girl embarking on her first season, reflected in her green eyes and produced a startling aquamarine hue. The absence of any suspicion of puffs or superfluous draping failed in its attempt at severity and served merely to accentuate her trim figure.

  The first time Aunt Prudence had seen Selinda in the dress, her face had puckered in an unmerciful frown. It was all Selinda could do to suppress the laughter that momentarily threatened to bubble to the sur
face as she sensed her aunt’s inner debate:

  Should the dress be discarded as too flattering or kept to avert further expenditure? Frugality had won the day.

  Selinda had just secured her last button when Miss Snypish burst unceremoniously into the chamber. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of Selinda, clearly betimes in her preparation.

  “Oh,” the companion managed to mutter disconsolately. The disappointment at having missed the chance to rouse a comfortable sleeper was clearly reflected in the deepening lines, which decorated that lady’s already distressing countenance. Selinda would have been much surprised had she known that Miss Letitia Snypish was not a contemporary of Aunt Prudence; however, her grim expression, austere deportment, and conservative attitudes made her seem far older than her mere seven and twenty years of age. “I see you’ve managed to stir yourself after all,” was the woman’s ungracious comment.

  Selinda lowered her eyelashes primly. “Indeed, I made a special point of it. I would not think of discommoding you for all the world, Miss Snypish.”

  “I daresay,” she was answered in a sarcastic tone. Miss Snypish looked Selinda up and down as though searching for a fault. “Bareheaded?!” she demanded suddenly, her eyes gleaming with mean satisfaction.

  Selinda quickly produced a bonnet of black straw trimmed with violet ruching and tied its wide satin bow at an angle which just missed being jaunty. “Far be it from me to disregard the dictates of St. Paul,” she smiled with devout ingenuousness.

  “Prayer book?” Miss Snypish snapped with unmistakable annoyance. Selinda crossed quickly to the bedside and grabbed her prayer book from the nightstand, silently uttering a fervent prayer that the companion would not be infernally inspired to examine its unauthorized contents. As she turned back, however, she noticed the shrew bearing down on Lucy’s sleeping figure.

  “Miss Snypish!” she whispered urgently, “Pray, do not wake Lucy!” Selinda was willing enough to sacrifice her own repose for the peace of the household, but she was concerned about her little sister, whom she feared was quite delicate. It had been a late night for the child, and Selinda had sensed her fitful dreaming. She had to think quickly. “I would have aroused her myself, of course, but since my aunt did not specifically include the child in her instructions, I did not wish to take such an action upon myself. Perhaps Aunt will have need of Lucy’s companionship while we are gone this morning.”

  “Need?” Miss Snypish snorted disdainfully. “Of that baggage?”

  With a concerted effort of will, Selinda bit her tongue and fixed an expression of innocence on her face. “Of course you must know best, Miss Snypish, as always. Perhaps you would like to step down the hall, wake Aunt Prudence, and ask her ... just to make sure.”

  Glaring contemptuously at Selinda, Miss Snypish turned abruptly from the sleeping figure and made for the door. “Well, don’t dilly-dally,” she spat and exited without further ceremony. Selinda followed, her emotions teetering between relief and dread.

  * * * *

  The dampening chill of the early hour in which Selinda and Miss Snypish walked to morning services also greeted the bleary-eyed figure of Lord Waverly as he emerged from Boodle’s. He had spent the remainder of the night dividing his time between the gaming tables and an excellent bottle of brandy as his brain teased itself over the odd events of the evening. His Lordship had not yet been to bed nor was he, in spite of his fatigue, ready to repair there.

  Lord Waverly was troubled, and even Boodle’s various amusements had done little to distract him from the memory of two particularly lovely green eyes which had been on the brink of spilling over with tears when last he saw them. He sat himself down on the club’s front stoop, oblivious to the picture he presented, set his chin in his hand, and pondered the conundrum. Damme, he thought to himself, there was something exceedingly unsavory about the little family portrait he had studied last night at Harroweby House. Something did not fit and that something was Lady Selinda. The guests had been an oddly sorted crew at best, and the hosts themselves all but bristled with wretched breeding and incivility. Only Lady Selinda stood out as a paragon of beauty, gentility, grace, and humor. In Lord Waverly’s experience, such Incomparables did not spring inexplicably from such unrefined surroundings. No, his heart told him, something was amiss indeed.

  Just at this moment, he felt a soft pressure against his leg and looked down to see that a small orange kitten with an oddly wrinkled ear had joined him. He picked it up and began to pet it absently, its gratified purring providing apt music for his meditations. He turned over the information and impressions he had been able to glean thus far. None of it fit. The girl, after all, was the heiress, the one with the potential to eventually benefit those who now held the reins of power. Typically, persons whose access to wealth rested in the good graces of their wards gradually became less dictatorial and more fawning as their charges approached adulthood. That clearly was not the case here. There was no evidence in particular to which Waverly could point, but it was his decided opinion that the lovely Lady Selinda, in spite of her momentary outburst, was not only submissive to her guardians but terrified of them as well.

  There was something else, too. Thus far, he could only describe it as “the mask,” but Waverly was convinced that there was a good deal more to Lady Selinda than met the eye. The surface she presented was, of course, unobjectionable. Indeed, if ever a face cried out to be memorialized in ivory, it was hers. But beneath that lovely, seemingly serene demeanor, something else had momentarily shone through. Something had briefly sparkled and flashed until better judgment, born of who knew what jeopardy, forced it to withdraw behind a mask of false composure. Disconcerted but intrigued, Waverly breathed in the morning air and sighed. He raised the kitten up and stared into its blue eyes. “Can’t make heads nor tails of it, cat.”

  The kitten vouchsafed a small, plaintive wail, which sounded for all the world like commiseration, and planted its small, sharp claws in the superfine cloth of his Lordship’s lapels. “No more can you, eh? Well, my dear fellow, we shall just have to put our heads to it.”

  His footman, having been speedily aroused and sent round to do his master’s bidding, slowed his progress momentarily as he perceived his employer apparently engaged in an earnest discussion with a mangy kitten. Frowning inwardly at this lack of comportment, he presented himself nonetheless with an impeccable bow. “The horses are being harnessed now, your Lordship. It will be just a moment.”

  “No matter, Richard,” Waverly shrugged, waving off his attendance and handing him the kitten. “Take care of this little beast.”

  Holding the squirming animal away from his immaculate livery and pinching it at the scruff of its neck between his thumb and forefinger, Richard grimaced eloquently. “I am afraid I do not perfectly understand, my lord.”

  “Why, take the brute home, feed it, and set it in front of a mousehole,” Waverly told him with an admirably straight face. “I, on the other hand, shall walk this morning. When you’ve settled my Lord Whiskers here, go back to bed. Sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

  As the said Richard watched his master saunter off into the dim morning, he glared menacingly at the kitten. It was outside of enough to be charged with the care of this wretched creature, but it was more than that. The very idea of being apologized to by his betters brought his indignation to an even higher pitch. It went against the natural order of things, after all. If he could remember his place, certainly his Lordship ought to try to do the same. Only the outlandishly high wages he was paid kept him from being completely overborne by the outrages which accompanied employment by the eccentric Lord Waverly. Pulling his collar up against the damp and depositing the kitten in his pocket, Richard heaved a sigh of relief as he reflected that at least there had been no witnesses this time.

  * * * *

  As Waverly continued to walk, his musings on the affairs of the previous night kept pace with him. He had no clear destination in mind, only the vague notion that some
brisk exercise would clear his head sufficiently to tackle this conundrum. All around him the sounds of London awakening filled the air: the clip-clop of horses’ hooves on cobblestone, the rasp of brooms clearing away a night’s worth of dirt from doorsteps, the resolute peals of church bells calling out to the faithful. In spite of his weariness, the clear sounds and the astringent air of morning made Waverly grateful he was not among the snoring numbers of the ton; however, he reflected with a large yawn, once a month at most would be sufficient to rejuvenate his spirit.

  As he proceeded on his stroll, Waverly drew a few veiled stares from the early rising household staffs as they went about their business. They were not, of course, unaccustomed to witnessing the disheveled remnants of an evening’s debauchery making their unsteady way home, but generally these gentlemen were assisted by their long-suffering drivers and grooms, then smuggled in back doors, their hats pulled low, and their faces already reflecting the misery with which their much-abused heads and stomachs would soon repay them.

  Instead, Lord Waverly’s evening clothes, however inappropriate for the hour, were still pristine; he smiled blandly and tipped his hat to passing maids, and his gait grew jauntier with each step he took. Absolutely disgraceful, they thought to themselves as he passed by. The gentry were due their pleasures, of course, but anyone with an ounce of decency had a duty to suffer in recompense. No shame at all!

  Oblivious to this silent disapproval, Lord Waverly had unconsciously followed the summons of the church bells and soon found himself among a small procession intent on Grosvenor Chapel. He slowed his pace and drew aside to a stone bench where he sat for a time watching the people pass by. It was still far too early for any of the fashionable set to be about; these seemed for the most part to be the families of tradesmen, displaying varying degrees of prosperity. He frowned as he realized how little attention the gentry (himself included) paid to this portion of society on whom they depended for so much of their comfort and security. But as far as most of his circle was concerned, the rest of the world was invisible.