“Oh? If that is so, I should be interested to hear it.”
“The nurse and nursery maids engaged for each baby have long since been dismissed and scattered about various houses, but I have discovered that Gussie engaged a monthly nurse for herself, the same one on each occasion. She still lives in Market Clunbury. I thought we might visit her and see if she recalls any untoward events around the time each baby died. Having no care for the baby, only for the mother, her testimony will be free from any restraint, one must suppose. What do you say?”
The suggestion took her breath away. “We?” was all she could find to say.
He smiled. “Naturally I will accompany you. You cannot walk unattended through the shabbier parts of town where this woman must live. I need not come into the house with you, if you dislike it. I thought perhaps if Deirdre and Winifred have another meeting with friends in the near future, I could take you all into the town, and we might visit this monthly nurse. Or you alone, if you prefer it. You need not be alone in the carriage with me, but I may escort you to the house without impropriety, I believe.”
“Thank you, sir, you are all goodness,” she said, and smiled at him with genuine warmth.
8: A Morning Call
The following day was Mrs Kingsley’s morning at home, when a great many of her acquaintance would be calling. Since this event required the presence of Deirdre and Winifred, Lucy asked if she might walk into town.
“It is time I returned my uncle’s call,” she told Augusta at breakfast, “and I can enquire at Mrs Miller’s as to whether the buttons Deirdre wanted have arrived yet.”
“I want buttons, too,” Winifred said petulantly. “Did you forget that, Lucy? Why do you remember only what Deirdre wanted?”
“Because Mrs Miller said she could not get your buttons,” Deirdre said before Lucy could speak. “They are a very odd type that cannot be got easily. I do not know why you wanted them. I thought they were horrid.”
“Now, now, girls, do not quarrel,” Mrs Kingsley said tiredly. “There are plenty of buttons in the world, so there is no need to fall out over them, I am sure. Mrs Miller’s shop is full of buttons, so I do not know why you want something she does not have.”
“Why, ma’am, is it not always the way,” Lucy said with a smile, “that the prettiest button in the world is the one of which only three samples remain at the back of the drawer? The ones available by the score are never half so charming. And so one waits for fresh supplies, and by the time they arrive, one has quite forgotten about them, and has made up the gown in some other way entirely. At least, I forget about them. But I shall enquire about both types of button, and I shall ask at the circulating library for that book you wanted, Winifred, and if there is a book you would like, Deirdre, I shall enquire about that, too.”
“But how unlucky!” Augusta said. “Mr Kingsley has taken the carriage today.”
“I mean to walk,” Lucy said at once. “It is no more than a mile by the shortcut through the woods, and the weather is settled for a change.”
“Oh, you must not go through the woods!” Augusta cried. “The Romanies camp there, you know, and you would not wish to encounter them.”
“I rather like the Romanies,” Lucy said, trying not to laugh. “However, it shall be as you wish, ma’am, and I will keep to the lane.”
“The lane is very dirty,” Mr Audley said. “Let me order my carriage for you, Mrs Price.”
“Thank you, sir, but I have very stout boots and am quite accustomed to mud,” Lucy said with a smile. “I look forward to the walk, I assure you.”
“But to pay a morning call after walking all that way!” Mrs Kingsley said. “It is not to be thought of.”
“If it were just a morning call, perhaps, but I could not possibly keep the horses standing about at the inn while I stroll around the town at my leisure, like a dowager duchess,” Lucy said.
“Well then, let the carriage convey you to your uncle’s and return at once,” Mr Audley said. “You may then do your shopping in your own time, and wade through the mud to your heart’s content on your way home.”
Lucy laughed and agreed to it, although she felt it was rather a fuss to put the horses to just for her. Still, it would be agreeable to be driven into town and arrive without a single spot of mud on her boots or pelisse.
“Do give my regards to Mrs Tilford,” Augusta said. “Pray ask her for her cook’s receipt for the apricot jam, and tell her also that I hope she will come to call again soon.”
“I will, ma’am,” Lucy said, and went away to make herself ready for her outing.
Mr Audley was there to hand her into the carriage. “Enjoy your visit and shopping, Mrs Price,” he said, bowing, before he closed the door. “West End House, Rawston.”
Lucy had formed no preconceived idea of where her uncle and aunt lived, but, if pressed, she would have imagined a town house, perhaps even a large, well-appointed one. She was unprepared for the mansion that was West End House. There were three stories, and two lower wings jutting out to either side. Why, then, had he claimed that his house was quite filled and had no room for one of his nieces? It was a puzzle. The house was not elegant or fashionable, but it was surprisingly grand for a former attorney, although a little neglected. On the roof, small shrubs protruded from the gutters, and one window boasted a broken pane of glass, the hole filled with rags. The grounds were filled with overgrown shrubs, without much sign of the attentions of gardeners, and the house was surrounded on three sides by dense woodland. Nestling amongst the trees to one side, a smaller house sat, its chimneys smoking gently in the still air. A dower house, perhaps. However could Uncle Arthur afford such a place? Then she remembered the large dowry that Aunt Laurel had brought with her. She supposed that twenty five thousand pounds must be enough to keep a family in some style.
A butler and footman emerged to usher her into the house, and the carriage crunched away down the drive. The interior of the house was as unprepossessing as the exterior. The hall was large and draughty, with worn wooden floors and peeling wallpaper. The drawing room she was shown into was so cold she was glad she had on a thick pelisse. The fire was laid, but not lit and the footman fumbled about with the tinderbox for several minutes before any warmth could be felt from the flames.
Several minutes later, Aunt Laurel bustled into the room. This time, she wore a more fashionable gown which revealed quite clearly the evidence of another baby. She had a shawl draped about her, and when she saw the direction of Lucy’s gaze, she wrapped the shawl more closely about her, as if to conceal her state. Lucy wondered why she was so shy about something that was clearly a regular occurrence.
Lucy made her curtsy, and Aunt Laurel came straight to her and kissed her cheek. “My dear! How lovely to see you. What a pity that Arthur is out today. He will be so sorry to have missed you. Wyman, some Madeira and cake. Do sit down, dear. How are you?”
In these simple greetings, she had already spoken more words than in the whole of her visit to Longmere Priory. Lucy responded to such friendliness as anyone would, with a ready smile, and expressions of pleasure at the sight of her aunt.
They sat either side of the fire, and rather close to it to derive some benefit from the flames, and chatted as easily as any aunt and niece could do. The Madeira was poured, several varieties of cake and fruit arrived, and Lucy felt well rewarded for her duty visit.
“This cherry cake is wonderful,” she said, licking her fingers to enjoy the last crumbs. “You have an excellent cook. I should like to make her acquaintance and learn all her secrets.”
But instead of laughing at this little jest, Aunt Laurel went scarlet and muttered something inaudible.
Puzzled, but politely changing the subject, Lucy said, “Are your children all at home? Or do some of them attend a school?”
“The younger children are still in the nursery, of course,” she said, recovering her composure a little. “Lawrence — the eldest boy — is to start at the Grammar School in Shrew
sbury in the autumn. I teach the three oldest girls myself.”
“You did not wish to employ a governess for them?” Lucy said. “What about your own governess? She might be available to—”
“She was an ogre,” Aunt Laurel said firmly. “I want no one so… so inflexible in charge of my little ones.”
Lucy said hastily, “They will learn better from you, I am sure. I know I was much happier when Mama taught us.”
“But she was your own mama, and not a step-mama,” Aunt Laurel said, with surprising firmness. “Step-mamas and governesses are strangers, are they not? They do not care, the way a real mama would.”
Was she thinking of Augusta, her own sister, when she talked so disparagingly of step-mothers? And as for governesses, Lucy thought of the unthreatening and friendly Miss Hardcastle, trying and failing to see any sign of the ogre about her. She cast about in her mind for some other topic of conversation, but could only remember the apricot jam. “Mrs Kingsley sends her regards and hopes you will call again soon and might she have your receipt for apricot jam,” Lucy said, all in a rush. “Or was it damson jam? Oh dear!”
Aunt Laurel laughed, restored to her former comfortable self. “It was apricot jam. I sent some over at Christmas, and Augusta was talking about it when I called. I will ask Mrs Combermere to write out the receipt, and send it over to the Priory directly.”
“Or you could bring it yourself,” Lucy said. “Mrs Kingsley would be very happy to see you again.”
“Oh yes! I should like that. I do not see enough of my sister.” And then, for some unfathomable reason, she flushed crimson again.
Lucy took her leave soon afterwards, and set off on the walk back into the town. The house was situated on the very edge of town, the largest and most secluded of several similar establishments. As she neared the main street, she passed a little grouping of three young girls, two of about fifteen or so, one with vivid red curls framing her face and one with black hair, and one of about twelve, with paler locks. They were accompanied by an abigail and a footman carrying several parcels, and Lucy guessed at once that these must be the three oldest Tilford daughters out on a jaunt.
The opportunity was too good to miss, so she turned and called to them. “Miss Tilford? I feel sure you must be the Miss Tilfords. If so, then I am your cousin, Lucy Price.”
The two older girls stared at her, blank-faced. Then one of them said, “You are mistaken, ma’am. We have no cousin of that name.” The made a small curtsy and turned to continue on their way.
Lucy was dumbfounded and could make no reply to that. Were they not, after all, the Miss Tilfords? Yet that was not what they had said, only that they had no cousin by the name of Price. And even if they did not know her married name, they would have known of Cousin Lucy. It was very odd, and she stood for some minutes, watching the little group move on down the road and turn in at the gates of West End House, before she continued her own walk.
She carried out her various commissions still in a daze, but as she finally turned for home, rather laden down by packages, she passed a confectionery shop. Here she halted. She wanted to buy some little treat for the Miss Hardcastles, but she was very conscious that her funds were getting low. At Woodside she had had an allowance, as well as a small pension from Walter’s former employer, and she had inherited all the money Walter had possessed, a sum of a little over one hundred pounds. If she ran short, there was a snuff jar on the mantelpiece in the morning room which held a purse of coins, from which any of the sisters might borrow at will. There had never been the least need to think about money.
But now she had only her small salary as a companion, paid quarterly in arrears, and she must make the contents of her purse last until Lady Day. Of the sum she had arrived with, already more than half was gone. But still, she could not deny herself the pleasure of giving the Miss Hardcastles a small treat. How dreadful to devote one’s energies to the education of a girl who thought so little of it that she called her governess an ogre. Even though Miss Hardcastle was unaware of the insult, and could not be pained by it, Lucy was insulted on her behalf, and only a packet of bon-bons would alleviate the injury.
With this small addition to her load, she began the walk back to the Priory. She had barely left the last house behind when the distinctive sounds of a horse behind her caused her to step aside and wait for the rider to pass.
“Hello there, Mrs Price!” called a familiar voice. “Are you returning to Longmere? May I walk with you?”
She curtsied. “Mr Audley. What a coincidence to meet you here.”
He smiled at her, not at all discomfited by her obvious suspicion, and slid gracefully to the ground, giving her the opportunity to admire his well-shaped legs again. Everything he did was irritatingly graceful and accomplished. He dressed well, he danced well, he rode well, he even dismounted from his horse with style. She wondered if she could contrive a way to send him up to Yorkshire, where Fanny would be perfectly suited to admire his manly perfections.
“May I take your parcels? This fine fellow will not object to becoming a pack horse for a while, I am sure.”
She agreed to it, and then was amused to watch him struggle to tie them on, without the benefit of additional straps.
“It would be easier with saddle bags,” she said.
He laughed. “I shall remember that next time there is a possibility of encountering you after a shopping trip. You have more parcels than I would have expected.”
“I had commissions from Mrs Kingsley and both the Miss Kingsleys, as well as my own purchases.”
“You should take a footman next time, to carry everything. But how was your visit to West End House? You found your aunt and uncle well, I trust?”
“My aunt was very well. My uncle I cannot speak for, since he was out, but his absence was not greatly felt, I think. Aunt Laurel and I had the cosiest chat imaginable, for ladies always talk more freely when there are no gentlemen present, is it not so? Oh, but of course, you would not know. How could you, indeed? But so it is. There are always feminine and domestic matters of the greatest interest to discuss, which would not be of the least interest to gentlemen. I daresay gentlemen are the same — amongst their own sex there is no restraint, and they may speak of whatever they choose, without regard for the sensibilities of the ladies.”
“Domestic matters? And to think I had always supposed that when ladies are alone, they speak of the gentlemen of their acquaintance. How lowering to learn that you are only discussing the best way to make beef broth.”
“Beef broth? No, that would be a very dull subject, I fancy. As for speaking of the gentlemen, the Miss Kingsleys do so incessantly, but those of us not looking for a husband have much more absorbing topics of conversation. And do not try to bamboozle me into believing that you gentlemen sit over your port after dinner discussing the ladies, for I shall not believe it. You talk about horses and gambling and politics and all those subjects which well-bred ladies are supposed to know nothing about.”
“Oh? And which subjects are those, Mrs Price?” he said, his eyes twinkling in the most attractive manner.
For a moment she was flustered, and lowered her eyes. “Well… what a question!” She took a moment to compose herself. Rallying, she went on, “Now you want me to prove that I am no well-bred lady, Mr Audley. For shame!”
He chuckled. “How delightfully you blush, Mrs Price,” he murmured. “And you are surprisingly coy for a married woman. Still, it was not my intent to embarrass you, so let us talk of other matters. And so you found your aunt in good spirits? I am glad of it, for she always seemed a quiet little creature to me.”
Lucy stopped abruptly, so that he was obliged to stop too. The horse snickered in protest. “You puzzle me exceedingly, Mr Audley. My Aunt Laurel is also your sister, yet you speak of her as if you hardly know her.”
“She is my half-sister only,” he said, brows snapping together. “Indeed, I hardly know her. I probably know more of you than of Laurel. When she and
her sisters left Bath, she was already a married woman and I was just ten years old, and Gussie barely five. We wrote occasionally — our governess used to sit us down once a month to write a duty letter, but we never had a reply and after a while we gave it up. I never heard a word about her until… oh, two years ago, quite a while after Gussie married Kingsley and settled here. They had actually met in company, and never realised the relationship, for they did not recognise each other after so long apart, naturally. But somehow the ladies’ maiden names came out, and they realised they were half-sisters. Gussie was glad to know her, I think, but they are an odd family altogether. Tilford is not the sort of person she should be mixing with.”
“He seems harmless enough to me,” Lucy said. “A little ramshackle, perhaps, but good-hearted. He helped me find this place, after all.”
“Yes, that is true, and I know nothing bad about him except that occasionally the quarter days do not come round quite often enough to keep his purse full, but he is not alone in that.”
“No, indeed, and his expenses must be high, with a great house like that. There are twelve children, who must be expensive to raise.”
“True enough. I beg your pardon, for I meant no insult to your uncle. I am sure he is a very good sort of man. Shall we walk on?”
Immediately, they came to a wide puddle.
“Mrs Price, may I lift you to the saddle? Or may I carry you across this muddy patch?”
“Indeed, I am well prepared for this,” she said. “So long as you avert your eyes from my ankles, sir, I shall get across very well.”
“How sad that I must play the gentleman at such a moment,” he said, with such sorrow in his tone that she laughed. “But it shall be as you wish, ma’am.”
So she hoisted her skirts up a little and hopped nimbly from one dry tussock to another, and so they proceeded. The lane was indeed very muddy, but she managed perfectly well, as she had known she would, and since she went ahead of him, she had no notion whether he was averting his eyes or not.
The Chaperon (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 2) Page 8
