High Spirits at Harroweby

by Comstock, Mary Chase

  “Oh! Lady Sybil Harroweby!” Lucy breathed in ecstasy. “Why, I knew of course you must be some sort of relation of ours, you look so much like Selinda, but I’d no idea you were Lady Sybil!”

  “You have heard of me then?” Lady Sybil inquired with a mixture of confusion and ghostly pride.

  “Why, of course! After all, you are the only one in the family who was ever—” Lucy stopped short, suddenly remembering her manners. “Oh, I am truly sorry! I did not mean to be indelicate, but I own I quite forgot that my favorite bedtime stories are your life! That is, were your life... That is ... Oh, dear!”

  “Oh, do go on, child!” the ghost pursued, “I was the only one who was ever what?”

  “Why . . . murdered! I really am most sorry, Lady Sybil,” Lucy apologized. “I should never have opened my mouth. Indeed, it must have been a dreadful, dreadful blow to find that your own husband—”

  “My husband!” Lady Sybil exclaimed, astonished. “Whatever do you mean, child? What on earth could my husband have had to do with the silly business?”

  “Well,” Lucy continued guardedly, as she wondered about the advisability of launching into an explanation, “it was never proved, of course, but when you were found poisoned and Lord Harroweby suddenly sailed for parts unknown in the company of Viscountess Linfield—”

  “Sally Linfield!” the ghost cried out in anguished tones. “Why that false—! That unfaithful—! My dearest friend! Oh, Sally!”

  Lucy watched fascinated as the ghost floated back and forth, doing her ethereal best to pace. After decades of having fabricated her anger toward her supposed murderers, it was a new experience for Lady Sybil to feel out and out rage. Sally Linfield had been her bosom friend, or so she had naively thought: so gracious and accommodating, even taking special pains to see that Geoffrey was sufficiently diverted so that Lady Sybil could maintain her own dalliances without fear of discovery and embarrassing scenes. What utter betrayal for Sally to have used those little deceptions for her own disloyal ends! Was there ever an equal to it?

  “Lady Sybil?” Lucy interrupted contritely after a time. “I am so very sorry to have brought up such an unpleasant subject. I really do forget myself too often. Even Selinda says so.” Lady Sybil had, for a moment, forgotten the child’s presence. With a concerted effort of will, she set about calming her rattled vibrations and momentarily turned her attention from this most upsetting revelation.

  “So, child,” she continued with forced equanimity, “tell me the rest of it. What about my son? Little Roderick, was it not?”

  As Lady Sybil uttered her son’s name, she felt a momentary twinge of guilt. She had dutifully produced an heir, but he had occupied very little of her time after his birth, the wet nurse being an accommodating soul who had taken the infant to her bosom in more ways than one. Her Ladyship, of course, had visited the nursery on occasion. Why, she could almost swear she had a distinct memory of it. But then again, life had been so very hectic, had it not, and her time so much taken up with social obligations! In any case, the baby had been an exceedingly dull little person who had done nothing but cry, burp, and wet himself. What on earth did people find so attractive about that sort of behavior?

  “Well,” Lucy shrugged and recited a bit more from the history which had been her personal study ever since she could read the family Bible, “As I recall, Roderick was raised by your cousin, Lord Rookesleigh, and inherited the Harroweby title when he reached his majority. That’s all I really know about him except he married my great-grandmother, Miss Marjory Winsdale.”

  Lady Sybil sighed heavily. Time had certainly flown. Little Roderick! All grown up—and quite likely dead by this time as well! So Roderick was this little creature’s great-grandfather! She looked at Lucy with renewed interest. If ever there was a time to find out more about the odd situation, which seemed to surround the two sisters, it was now.

  “You, too,” the ghost began delicately, “would appear to find yourself in odd circumstances. I have been watching you and your sister. Tell me a little about your, er, situation.”

  At this, Lucy produced a mournful sigh. “Well, madam, I hope you have an interest in sad tales, for ours is certainly one for the novels.”

  Lady Sybil raised her eyebrows and nodded her encouragement. Lucy sat down on the carpet, crossed her knees, and began. “Selinda and I were born and raised at the country estate—Darrowdean. You must remember it?” The ghost nodded and leaned forward. “Well, we were perfectly happy, Selinda and I, until about two years ago. Mama and Papa were in London that summer and both of them contracted the typhus. It happened so quickly, it was all over before we could even receive the first letter that told of the illness. Of course, it was shocking news, but Selinda and I were well provided for, of course, by the will. We had never been a great deal with our parents, so I am sorry to own it was difficult to miss them much. We were doing quite well, though, when, out of the blue, those three vile toads turned up on the doorstep! It was only six months ago, but I vow it seems like six centuries!

  “We had never heard of any living relations,” Lucy went on, “and we were just as content to have the estate held in trust until Selinda came of age, but advertisements had been placed in the major newspapers anyway. There wasn’t any response, though, until the day Aunt Prudence, Rupert, and that snake Snypish appeared with letters to prove a relationship. Before you know it, Selinda and I had a guardian. What is more,” she added in a confiding whisper, “I do not believe that tribe is related to us any more than Guy Fawkes!”

  “What about your man of business?” Lady Sybil inquired. “What was his opinion?”

  “That is the worst of it,” Lucy frowned meditatively. “I have no evidence, but I believe in my heart he is a part of it. It is bad enough that we have no allowance now, we are watched day and night, and I am threatened with boarding school, but we have not a soul we can turn to. And I am much afraid that Selinda will be forced to marry that putrid Rupert. Had we not each been guaranteed a Season in clear legal terms ...” Just then a look of anxiety flooded across Lucy’s small face.

  “They’re back from services,” she whispered, heading at once for the staircase. “I fear I must go now, but we must meet again soon! There is so much to tell you about and so much to ask!”

  “Oh dear, child!” the ghost exclaimed, suddenly remembering the conversation she had overheard the night of the ball. “There are several things I must tell you as well! Things concerning Selinda!”

  “Promise you will come to our chamber tonight,” Lucy whispered hurriedly, “but not while Selinda is there. I am always sent up quite early. Oh dear, I must go before I am missed. Goodbye, Lady Sybil.”

  As she turned to go, the child suddenly stopped and a look of consternation suffused her features. “Oh dear! I do beg pardon!” she stammered. “I suppose after all I really should call you Great-great-grandmama!’’

  Left by herself, the ghost suppressed a shudder. So, she had been murdered by her husband and was a great-great-grandmother besides. Indeed, Lady Sybil reflected, she could not remember having been quite so depressed either in life or death!

  Chapter Seven

  Somehow, Selinda was able to survive the remainder of the service in spite of the amused attention she could feel focused on her from all directions. Kneeling, rising, sitting, making responses, she followed Miss Snypish’s lead fastidiously, an unreadable expression fixed firmly on her face. Beneath this inscrutable exterior, however, her concentration was divided between two pressing problems: first, how to exit the church without having to face the curiosity of the congregation, and second, how to retrieve her prayer book from Lord Waverly without drawing the attention of Miss Snypish.

  It was a very good thing for Selinda’s already battered nerves that she did not possess her sister’s psychic abilities, for her other difficulties would have been eclipsed by the knowledge that, immediately behind her Lord Waverly was now occupied in the perusal of the little novel secreted within the
innocent covers of her prayer book. The more his Lordship read of fair Rosamonde’s adventures, the more clearly he recalled Selinda’s earlier concentration on the book’s contents, and the more light-hearted he became. By the end of the first chapter, Waverly was well on the way to falling quite seriously in love with Selinda. By the middle of the second, he had good-naturedly done so. Now, he told himself optimistically, all there was to do was engage the heart of the lady, marry her, and set about refurbishing the nursery. At least, if there were any justice in the universe, it ought to be that simple. Lord Waverly frowned as he remembered Lady Selinda’s odd circumstances. He would have to conduct some sort of investigation first.

  When the service finally ended, Miss Snypish turned to Selinda and hissed, “On your knees, girl. We shall stay here until the crowd has dispersed. I have no desire to be goggled at on your account.”

  Selinda gratefully sank onto the kneeler beside her companion, bowed her head, and offered a very thankful prayer indeed, not only for Miss Snypish’s decision, but for the privacy afforded by the deep brim of her bonnet. The congregation did take their time leaving, and many stood for an inordinate amount of time chatting with the vicar, but when it became clear that the show was over for the day, they reluctantly turned toward their homes. When the church was finally empty and silent, the pair rose and, turning, were quite surprised to see Lord Waverly, still seated with elegant nonchalance in the pew behind them. He stood immediately and smiled.

  “Would you do me the honor of accepting my escort, ladies?” he asked civilly. Selinda’s heart fluttered at the sight of him, in spite of the ruinous results her earlier meditations on him had occasioned. Moreover, she heaved an inward sigh of relief. Perhaps retrieving her wayward prayer book would not prove so difficult after all. This relief was to be short-lived, however, for Selinda was astounded to see Miss Snypish twist her face into a girlish simper and quite forwardly attach herself to Lord Waverly’s extended arm. How in heaven’s name would she get her troublesome book back now, she wondered?

  Oblivious to the splendid fall day, Selinda’s thoughts and emotions ranged between chagrin and confusion, irritation and dismay; these became even further disarranged as mysterious snatches of the conversation between Miss Snypish and Lord Waverly drifted back.

  “I feel most fortunate, my dear Miss Snypish, to have this opportunity for some private words with you,” Waverly began. “I own, this had been my aim today, but I had no reason to hope I might accomplish it.”

  Miss Snypish’s withered heart began to beat erratically. She had always dreamed that the very obvious good sense which shone from her face would someday attract a man in need of that sterling quality, but she had begun of late to lose hope. She was now chagrined to find that her usually quick tongue seemed to have deserted her, for she could think of nothing whatsoever to say. Fortunately, Waverly took her silence for the invitation it was and plunged forward into verbal improvisation.

  “You surely cannot have been insensible to the degree of interest your presence at last night’s ball inspired,” he lied blithely. “You must have been aware of so many longing glances cast in your direction.”

  Miss Snypish’s jaw dropped almost to her chest, but still she could not reply. She only hoped that his Lordship would construe her stunned silence as eloquent rather than asinine.

  Waverly, floundering about in a morass of half-formed ideas, went on desperately, “I know my conduct must seem precipitate, but I hope you do not think me overly bold to speak to you in this manner.”

  “Oh, no,” she finally managed to sputter. “Indeed, I think no such thing. Pray continue, your Lordship.”

  “I do not speak for myself, you understand,” Waverly put in quickly, his sense of self-preservation forcing its way through the tangle of invention. With it came a sudden and brilliant inspiration. “It is my cousin, the Marquess of Bastion. He is a timid fellow, you see. Painfully so. He gazed at you from afar last night and was struck with your classic profile, your glance of keen intelligence. Alas, he could find neither the courage nor the opportunity to approach you. He begged me to find a way of making himself known to you. Can you take pity on the poor wretch?”

  Miss Snypish was momentarily disappointed: Lord Waverly was the sort of fellow who looked like he needed a firm hand and her pulse had indeed fluttered at the prospect. Nevertheless, it took only a heartbeat for her interest to transfer from the nobleman by her side to his unsuspecting cousin. “Your cousin,” she responded meditatively. “A marquess, you say?”

  “Pray do not hold it against him, Miss Snypish. It is, after all, just a title. Say you will meet him.” In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Waverly wondered if he hadn’t poured it on a bit too thick.

  Finally, Miss Snypish answered. “There may be some difficulty, my lord. My position as companion to Lady Selinda’s aunt is quite arduous. Moreover, my duties often extend to playing duenna as well. As you can tell from today’s little performance, those duties are not to be sneezed at either. However, I have no doubt that something may be contrived. Could you send a footman tomorrow to carry a message?”

  Lord Waverly bowed in response. As the two fell into the respective silence of their own meditations, Selinda’s spirits drooped lower and lower. She had not overheard all, by any means; however, it was enough to realize that Lord Waverly’s attention was not focused on her but on the offensive Miss Snypish. Her good sense told her that Lord Waverly was generously deflecting the companion’s wrath, but life had been so odd lately, one wondered. Could a penchant for older, unattractive women be the basis for the remarks she had heard last night about his Lordship’s eccentricities? She sincerely hoped not. The idyllic moment beneath the pew was one she would always cherish, but she hardly dared to hope for more. Indeed, the gentleman had not so much as looked at her since leaving the church. Now, as she regarded Miss Snypish’s angular form beside Lord Waverly’s elegant one, she could not help but think the world had gone quite mad and nothing would ever be as it ought again.

  When his Lordship left the ladies at the doorstep. Miss Snypish looked decidedly flushed, and Selinda steeled herself for the repercussions from which she felt certain Waverly’s presence had shielded her. Immediately on their entry, however, Miss Snypish, her eyes darting back and forth in a most underhanded manner, pulled Selinda aside and whispered, “That Lord Waverly seems to be quite a gentlemanly sort and I would not for anything encourage your aunt’s prying in this matter. I believe we shall keep the story of this morning’s commotion to ourselves.”

  “As you wish, Miss Snypish,” Selinda returned, mightily relieved, but her curiosity piqued.

  “One more thing,” Miss Snypish went on hurriedly after some slight hesitation. “I have a notion this old gray sarcenet gown does not become me as well as it might. What would you say to something a little gayer . . . chartreuse, for example?”

  Selinda’s eyebrows rose just a fraction at the thought of this noxious prospect. It seemed altogether unlikely, but the puritanical Miss Snypish must have formed a sudden tendre for Lord Waverly as well. What else would explain this severe person’s sudden interest in apparel, heretofore condemned as foolish frippery?

  “Why, I should have to see you in it, Miss Snypish,” she ventured cautiously, “but I daresay a little change might be to your advantage.” Thinking quickly, Selinda pursued this sudden but odd alliance a bit further, “Indeed, if we could but find a way to drive out tomorrow afternoon, we might visit my late mother’s modiste and try some swatches of color against your complexion.”

  Miss Snypish had nodded slowly. “That might be managed. Pray then, be sure to tell your aunt how pale she looks when next you see her and depend on me to contrive the rest.” With that, she turned abruptly and left Selinda to ponder the morning’s bizarre twists and turns.

  When she finally achieved the refuge of her chamber, Selinda discovered Lucy sitting at the desk, busily employed in making up a list. Had her own thoughts and emotions not
been so tousled, she would have noted that her ordinarily staid little sister looked very much like the cat who swallowed the canary.

  “Good morning, Selinda,” Lucy greeted with a gay smile. “How was the service? I must say you do not look terribly pious for all the time you have no doubt spent at the church pew.”

  At that remark, Selinda’s thoughts suddenly returned to the time spent under the church pew. Recollections of that encounter, both idyllic and idiotic, caused a small worry line to form between her eyebrows. What on earth must Lord Waverly have thought of her, not only accepting his kiss but returning it with such embarrassing vigor? And what was he doing kissing her if he meant to pay such marked attentions to Miss Snypish? Perhaps what was said about men was true: anything in a skirt! And yet, she mused, her cheeks warming at the memory, the kiss really had been very nice, hadn’t it?

  Enough of that, she told herself sternly after several moments of self-indulgent reminiscence. Such notions! She really ought to have fainted from the effrontery of his bold action. Certainly, she should not have returned the salute. Oh it was all the fault of that senseless novel, she raged inwardly. If only she had not been envisioning Lord Waverly as the hero of that particular tale she surely would have maintained her self-control!

  Lord Waverly was, of course, the handsomest man whose acquaintance she’d made on the previous night. It was more than that, though; he was also the only gentleman present who’d spoken to her with directness and interest. The other conversations, however polite, had been mere strings of transparent flattery and none-too-subtle angling for information as to the size of her fortune. Lord Waverly had seemed so different from the rest. Little wonder he’d found a place in her overactive imagination. Selinda sighed heavily. Yes, the book had begun it and her fanciful nature had jumped on board, but she had to admit it was her dratted romantic heart that settled the matter. She only prayed his Lordship could keep his own counsel!