Ginnie Come Lately

by Carola Dunn

  They spent a long time at the draper’s. Ginnie always found it difficult to decide between economy and quality. There was no sense buying muslin at five shillings a yard if it fell apart at the first washing. Yet every time she spent a penny more of the earl’s money than was absolutely necessary, she felt a twinge of guilt.

  Colin was growing apace, and he had been too large for years to inherit Gilbert’s clothes. Though the twins inherited from both their elder brothers, they were incredibly destructive. Fortunately, Nathaniel did not mind the patched, darned garments handed down to him.

  However, Ginnie and Lydia had stopped growing, so there were no more outgrown gowns to pass on to Judith. Judith seemed to have shot up an inch or more since they’d moved to Wooburn, but because she had taken to doctoring animals, her gowns were scarce fit to be made over for Priscilla.

  Priscilla was delighted. For once she was to have a brand-new gown. She took her time choosing.

  When her primrose muslin was added to Ginnie’s purchases, the heap was alarmingly large. The new assistant who had helped them looked at her askance when she ordered the bill sent to Lord Wooburn, but the proprietor knew her by now. If she chose to dress in as old-fashioned a manner as a Quaker, that was her affair. Straight skirts without trimmings used less cloth than the new modes, but the size of her family guaranteed good profits. He promised to have the stuffs wrapped and delivered to the Saracen’s Head.

  The matching of buttons and ribbons at the haberdasher’s was also a lengthy business. Priscilla whined for an expensive silk rose for her bonnet, one Ginnie would have liked for herself had it not cost a whole half-crown. At last she finished and, her basket crammed full of odds and ends, they returned along the hot, dusty street to the inn.

  As they entered the inn yard, Ginnie saw a familiar figure coming out of the Receiving Office. Lord Amis must have ridden into town to post his invitations. Of course he had the right to invite guests, but no gentleman could possibly realize how much extra work it meant. Hot and tired as she was, if she met him face to face she’d likely tell him. She pulled Priscilla aside into a shadowed comer, and he passed without seeing them.

  “I want to go home now,” said Priscilla as Ginnie unloaded her basket into the gig’s boot.

  “I have to collect Steppapa’s books.”

  “If you had not hidden from Lord Amis, you could have asked him to fetch them.”

  “We are not on such terms with Lord Amis that I should ever ask a favour of him. Come on, it will only take us a few minutes.”

  “I’m tired. I’ll wait here for you.”

  Ginnie looked around at the confusion of horses, carriages, ostlers, coachmen, and travellers. “I cannot let you wait here alone.”

  Priscilla pouted. “Lord Amis would have waited with me if you had not hidden from him.”

  “Damn Lord Amis! I mean, bother Lord Amis. Anyway, he is so disagreeable, I dare say he would not have. Don’t let him make us quarrel.” She felt her purse. “Stop grumbling and I’ll buy you a penny bun.”

  “With icing and currants?”

  “With icing and currants.” Taking her sister’s hand in a firm grip, Ginnie made for the street.

  A momentary lull in the stream of vehicles allowed them to cross to the bookshop without difficulty. Lord Wooburn had ordered two works, but one had five volumes and the other six. Ginnie examined them carefully. All were present and correct. The bookseller wrapped them in two brown-paper parcels tied with string. When he put them in her basket, they felt as heavy as a millstone.

  She needed both hands to carry the basket. “Hold on tight to my skirt while we cross the road,” she ordered Priscilla.

  “But there’s a pastry-cook’s just two doors down.”

  All she wanted to do was rid herself of the millstone. “There’s another right by the inn,” she said.

  “They might not have—”

  “Come on!”

  The bustle in the street had increased again. Dodging a hay wagon, a stagecoach, and a speeding whiskey, Ginnie made it to the other side. She glanced down to point out the bow-windowed confectioner’s shop to her sister. Priscilla was not there.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  Aghast, Ginnie whirled round and scanned the street, dreading to see a small crumpled body under hoof or wheel.

  Traffic moved on smoothly in both directions. Her heart’s pounding quieted a little as she realized there was no commotion indicating an accident. The dratted child was probably gawking at the confectioner’s display.

  She stood on tiptoe, trying to see over six huge shire-horses pulling a heavy dray. At last it passed. Wearily she hefted her laden basket, ready to cross again, when she saw Priscilla skipping towards her, holding the hand of a youngish gentleman.

  On the short side, and plump, he wore a sky-blue coat with padded shoulders, dazzling yellow inexpressibles, curly brimmed beaver, and glossy, gold-tasselled topboots. His neckcloth and shirt points were of such a height he was forced to tilt his head back and look down his nose to see straight ahead. Ginnie wondered how he had ever managed to notice her little sister.

  “Ginnie, this is Sir William,” Priscilla called as they approached. “He asked me if I was with you, and then he helped me to cross.”

  “Always happy to oblige a lovely lady, ma’am,” said Sir William, bowing as far as his neckcloth permitted.

  The admiring gleam in his eye told Ginnie he was referring to her, not her sister. He must have seen them together before he offered his assistance. Amused and a little flattered, she thanked him.

  “Allow me to carry your basket, ma’am,” he offered gallantly.

  “Thank you, sir, but we are going only as far as The Saracen’s Head.”

  “And the pastry-cook’s,” Priscilla reminded her.

  “Any distance is too far.” He took the basket. Ginnie’s arms were tired, so she made no further protest, but took Priscilla’s hand and proceeded towards the shop. At her side, Sir William continued, “I must and will be permitted to treat you both to a dish of tea.”

  Tea sounded like heaven, but Ginnie politely declined. No respectable female would accept an invitation from a stranger. In the shop, she would not even let him pay for Priscilla’s penny bun. Though he looked a little sulky, he refused to hand over the basket when she tried to take it back. Rather than indulge in an undignified scuffle, she let him carry it towards the inn.

  “Do you live in Beaconsfield, ma’am?” he asked as they reached the archway to the yard.

  “A little distance outside, sir.”

  “I’m just passing through, driving up to Town. I’ll tell you what, I don’t mind if I stop here for the night if you’ll join me.”

  Outraged, she glared at him and seized the basket. “I must have misheard!” she exclaimed.

  “For dinner, ma’am, for dinner,” he said hastily. He then proceeded to give this disclaimer the lie when he seized her by the shoulders and attempted to plant a kiss on her lips.

  That he missed was due as much to the basket and his cravat as to her instant reaction in turning her head. She felt the brim of her straw bonnet scrape across his face and hoped it had scratched him thoroughly.

  “Grawkh-kh-kh!” he uttered.

  For a moment she assumed with satisfaction that his neckcloth was strangling him, until she looked back and saw that Lord Amis had him by the collar, shaking him till his teeth rattled.

  Whether Sir William’s face was redder than her own, she’d not have cared to wager.

  Lord Amis dropped the unfortunate fellow, dismissed him with a jerk of the head, and turned his grim gaze on Ginnie. The neat propriety of his dress made the other appear a foppish demi-beau. On the whole, she thought she had best thank him for his intervention, though she had been perfectly capable of sending Sir William to the rightabout.

  That popinjay was slinking away, muttering apologies. At the same moment, Ginnie realized that Priscilla was clinging to her in fright and Lord Amis r
ealized that several interested spectators had gathered. His cold, haughty glance sent them scurrying about their business. She shifted the basket to one arm and put the other comfortingly about her sister’s shoulders.

  “You must expect to be accosted by scoundrels, Miss Webster, if you choose to walk about the streets without your maid.” His voice was no less disdainful for being soft.

  She raised her chin. “I have no maid. Lord Amis.” He looked taken aback, but quickly rallied. “A footman, then.”

  “I defy you to have fitted one more person in the gig.”

  “At least the groom!”

  “The earl advised me to have Duffy drive us, and he had business of his own in Beaconsfield. I could not ask him to attend my every step. I was managing perfectly well on my own, I assure you.”

  His smile was contemptuous. “Ah yes, I should have guessed you welcomed that coxcomb’s attentions. I saw you coming out of the confectioner’s with him. No respectable female allows a stranger to treat her.”

  “He wasn’t a stranger,” Priscilla piped up indignantly. “He was a nice man. He helped me cross the street.”

  “And he offered to carry my basket,” said Ginnie. Her arm was leaden. She set down the basket with a thump. She did not precisely intend it to land on Lord Amis’s toes.

  He yelped. “What the devil have you got in there? Have you bought up the jeweller’s entire stock?” Stooping, he picked it up.

  “Your father’s books,” she said coldly, taking it from him. “Now, if you will excuse us, I shall find Duffy and go home. I am more than ready for my luncheon, since I did not allow Sir William to treat us.”

  “He didn’t even pay for my bun,” Priscilla added stoutly.

  Smiling at the viscount’s discomfiture, Ginnie turned towards the inn door. At that moment, an apprentice from the draper’s rushed up, his arms piled with bulky packages, anchored by his chin.

  “Miss, oh miss, what’ll I do wi’ your stuffs?”

  “Take them round to the yard and ask for Lord Wooburn’s gig,” she instructed him. “I shall be there in a moment.”

  From behind her came Lord Amis’s sarcastic voice. “Not the jeweller’s entire stock, but the draper’s.”

  Ignoring him, she bustled Priscilla into the inn. She asked a waiter to find Duffy in the taproom and send him to the gig. As she and Priscilla made their way out to the yard, she blinked away stinging tears. Lord Amis was determined to think the worst of her, and nothing she could say or do would change his mind.

  * * * *

  Truth to tell, Justin was a little ashamed of himself. However much he disbelieved Ginnie, Priscilla’s remark about her bun had rung true, and those devilish heavy parcels probably had contained his father’s books.

  Flexing his bruised toes, he reminded himself of the vast quantity of purchases the girls had made at the draper’s, certainly on the earl’s account. And he had found Miss Webster in a stranger’s embrace, in the public street. If she truly objected to the man’s attentions, why had she not thanked him for coming to the rescue?

  Seeing the fellow assault her had made his blood boil, he admitted gloomily as he headed for the coffee room. He had no right to condemn a man for something he himself had done not so long ago, but he had been as mad as a hornet. If the dandy had not capitulated at once, he would have knocked him down. Anyone might be excused for suspecting jealousy— though that was nonsense, of course. One could not be jealous of a female one disliked and despised.

  He sat down at a table and a waiter sped to serve him. His appetite had deserted him. He had been about to offer Miss Webster and the child refreshments when the boy had arrived with her purchases—thank heaven. He could just imagine how she’d have responded.

  “Thank you, my lord, but if one should not allow a stranger to treat one, how much less should one accept favours from. an enemy.” She would doubtless have refused with something on those lines; he could almost hear her mocking voice.

  Ordering ale, he drank it quickly and went out to retrieve Prince Rurik from the stables. As he rode cross-country homeward, he wondered again why Virginia had not yet reported his stolen kiss to his father. Then a dreadful possibility struck him: had she forgotten it? Had the moment that was branded on his memory been so unimportant to her that it had slipped from her mind? Was he so inept a lover?

  Pride rebelled. Either she was so practised a Paphian that the most expert kiss meant nothing to her, or she had laid some deep, dark plot for his destruction.

  He reached the home farm and was cantering through a cherry orchard when he heard howls of childish distress. Reining in, he glanced about. The littlest Webster boy stood under a tree, holding one wrist in the other hand. Tears rolled down his crimson face from screwed-shut eyes, and from his open mouth came the piercing, terrified wails.

  Justin sprang from the saddle, leaving Prince Rurik to wander. A few strides took him to the child and he gathered him in his arms.

  “What is wrong? What’s the matter?” Damn it, what was his name? Nathan—no, Nathaniel.

  “A waps stinged me,” Nathaniel whimpered, already soothed by the presence of a grown-up. He held out his hand, showing the red swelling on the palm. “It hurts.”

  ‘‘I know, a wasp sting hurts like the very... badly.’’ Justin took the little hand in his and examined it gravely. “If you are brave enough, I’ll take you home on my big horse. Your nurse will know how to make it better.”

  The boy gazed up at him with huge, tear-drenched blue eyes. “I want to go on your horse, please, sir, but I don’t got a nurse.”

  “Your governess, then.” Justin picked him up and carried him to where Prince Rurik cropped the grass.

  “What’s a gov’ess?”

  Good Lord, the child was as dim-witted as his mother. “The lady who teaches you and looks after you,” he said. Mounting, he reached down, caught Nathaniel under the arms, and swung him up before him. He started Prince Rurik off at a gentle amble.

  “Ginnie teaches me, but she’s my sister, not a gov’ess. I can write all my ABCs. ’Cept I sometimes get them backwards.”

  “Ginnie teaches you?” he asked, disconcerted. “Who takes care of you?”

  “Ginnie an’ Lydia an’ Gilbert an’ Colin takes turns, an’ Judif sometimes, but Judif can’t make the twins be good ’cos they’re too naughty.”

  “No nursemaid? No nursemaid,” he concluded as Nathaniel looked blank. “Who is supposed to be watching you now?”

  “Gilbert, ’cause Ginnie went to shopping. There wasn’t room for me,” he added sadly.

  “What was Gilbert about to let you wander alone so far from the house?”

  “He was teaching the twins. They’re ever so naughty, like I said. He forgetted me. So I runned away to catch a waps to put in your room to sting you. But it stinged me instead.” His mouth wobbled. “It still hurts.”

  Justin winced. “We are nearly home.” He turned into the track that led to the stables. “Why did you want the wasp to sting me? It would have hurt me, too.”

  “You said horrid things to Ginnie and you made Mama cry,” the child accused. “I didn’t ’member it hurted so bad. Ginnie said we mustn’t hurt you, just make you go back to Russia.”

  “I see.” He didn’t, quite. Lady Wooburn might believe he could be chased back to Russia, but Virginia was not so naïve.

  At least she had ruled out injuring him. Thinking back, he realized how much worse his sufferings could have been. Broken glass in his boots, a rat or an adder in his drawer, clothes ripped instead of sewn up, brambles in his bed... He grimaced. Comparatively, he had much to be thankful for.

  Then there was the matter of no governess, no nurse, no abigail, and he recalled Tebbutt speaking of just a couple of extra housemaids. Had he misjudged Virginia? More likely he had misjudged his father’s ability to prevent his new family from taking advantage of him.

  As they came in sight of the house, a flood of people poured out into the gardens. Gilbert led t
he way, followed by Lydia and the twins. Behind them came the servants, housemaids in caps and aprons, footmen in livery, Mrs. Peaskot, stout Reynolds puffing in the rear. As Judith and a pair of grooms ran from the stables, Justin scanned the house for signs of smoke or flame.

  Hanging on to Nathaniel, he stood up in the stirrups and called, “What is it? Fire?”

  Heads swung his way.

  “There he is!” screeched one of the maids.

  Gilbert, Lydia, Judith, and the housekeeper converged on Prince Rurik, who tossed his head nervously. The twins made good their escape from lessons, and Reynolds ushered the servants back into the house. Justin presumed it was not burning down.

  “Oh, Nathaniel!” Lydia sobbed, casting a reproachful glance at Justin.

  “Where did you take him?” Gilbert demanded, reaching up to lift his little brother down.

  “Far from taking him anywhere, I found him and brought him home,” said Justin, righteously indignant.

  “I got stinged by a waps,” Nathaniel, announced proudly, displaying his hand. Though the stung area was red and swollen, his tears had dried so the pain must have eased.

  “What you need is a spot of sal volatile on that, Master Nathaniel,” the housekeeper said with welcome practicality. “Bring him along to my room, Master Gilbert.”

  Gilbert picked him up, his slight frame staggering a trifle beneath the weight of the sturdy four-year-old. He followed Mrs. Peaskot, and Lydia trailed after them, wiping her eyes.

  Justin set Prince Rurik in motion. Judith walked beside him towards the stables, unafraid of the great stallion towering over her.

  “Gilbert ought to have thanked you, my lord,” she said earnestly. “He was too upset by Nathaniel disappearing to have his wits about him.”

  “No matter.”

  “But I thank you for bringing him home. And for sending the carpenter to help me. He has already started work on the cages.”

  “Good.”