The Chaperon (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  “The… the something more is always enjoyable, although tempered with… conscience, perhaps. It is, after all, expressly forbidden in the Bible. Even so, I regarded it as an important part of my education. But the rest of it… the flirting, the dancing around each other, the secret messages conveyed, the little touches or glances when no one else is observing… all of this I enjoyed greatly. It brought a little pleasure to both parties, so where was the harm?”

  “They were all older than you? Then I imagine they enjoyed having a handsome young man paying attention to them again, just like before they were married. You made them feel young again, and pretty, and popular.”

  She thought him handsome — that was something, at least. He had a sudden thought. “Is that why you like older men? You make them feel young again?”

  “Partly, but also because they are safe. There is no need to mind one’s words or be quite so careful how one behaves around them. One may have a comfortable coze and enjoy oneself, knowing there is nothing more implied. They will not suddenly become amorous. Although Sir Giles— Well, never mind that. Is that the same for you? You enjoyed your older women because they were safe, and could not inveigle you into an unwanted marriage?”

  “Perhaps. But mostly it was the kisses. Kissing is…” He sighed. “…quite delightful, that is the truth of the matter.”

  She thought about that, considering it with exactly the same seriousness she would apply to the question of beans or the ribbons for a hat or whether it would rain. “Is it so very agreeable, kissing? I have never been kissed, you see, not properly, so I do not know whether I would like it. But everyone says it is agreeable, so it must be.”

  She had never been kissed. Or anything more, presumably. Her husband had been no more than a companion. Poor Lucy, who had never even had the joy of a long, passionate kiss. Or any other joy with a man. He could hardly breathe.

  “It is very agreeable indeed.” His voice was thick with longing.

  “Oh! I should very much like to try it, to find out for myself.” She raised huge, guileless eyes to his. “Mr Audley, I wonder if you would be so obliging…?”

  There was, perhaps, a fleeting thought passing through Leo’s mind that this was a request that deserved more careful consideration, that it might even be a bad idea. His mind, however, was not in charge. At that moment, his heart was overwhelmed with love and joy and desire, and he could not have refused her anything she asked of him, and especially not this, for he wanted it so much himself. He slid along the seat towards her, wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her towards him. Then, without the slightest hesitation, he lowered his head and gently laid his lips on hers.

  At first, she was rigid in his arms. Then, gloriously, she yielded, melting into his embrace as if she belonged there, as if she had always been destined to nestle there, soft and warm and pliant. One small hand rose to slide around his neck, while the other crept round his back. He pulled her a little closer, his hand so firm against her back that he could feel the laces of her stays beneath her silk gown. One strand of her hair fell softly against his cheek, the lightest feather touch yet it thrilled him to his core. He was lost, lost in love, drowning in the rapture of her sweet lips.

  It was the screaming that drew him back to reality. Two shrill voices, screaming fit to burst.

  Then, “Papa! Papa! Look at Lucy with Uncle Leo!”

  Leo was almost too dazed to understand. Lucy pulled away from him, laughing, and jumped to her feet.

  “Lucy, what are you doing?” Winifred squealed.

  “Did you see, Papa?” Deirdre said. “Did you see what they were doing?”

  “Indeed I did. Audley, what is the meaning of this? Are you betrothed to Mrs Price?”

  “We are not betrothed,” Lucy said, before Leo could gather his wits.

  “Then what the devil do you think you are about, sir, playing your wicked tricks on Mrs Price?”

  “You must not blame Mr Audley, sir,” Lucy said composedly. “I asked him to kiss me, and he very obligingly did so. I wanted to know if it were as agreeable as everyone says, and indeed, it is quite true.”

  “You asked him—! Agreeable—!” Kingsley went so red in the face that he would surely explode. “Mrs Price, you have been corrupted by this incorrigible young man.”

  “Oh, no! Mr Audley has been very helpful, and… and educational, but the idea was mine. Any blame in the matter rests entirely with me.”

  “Then you are not a fit person to be in charge of my innocent daughters, madam,” he said in strident tones. “You will leave this house immediately.”

  “Certainly, sir.” She curtsied demurely, head lowered, then, with a final glance at Leo, her eyes filled with pure mischief, she set off for the house.

  ~~~~~

  Lucy ran into the house, trying not to laugh, to send word to Janet to pack and to order the carriage brought round. Then she went back outside to make her farewells.

  She could not suppress a wide smile. It reminded her of the first time she had tried champagne, and had drunk two glasses far too quickly, ending up light-headed and giggly and thoroughly silly. Her first proper kiss! Walter had kissed her occasionally, but not like that, nothing like that. She had never experienced anything like it. Of course, Mr Audley was very experienced in the ways of kissing, and knew exactly how to make the occasion pleasurable, but she had not expected it to be so intoxicating.

  Augusta’s complaints were audible as soon as Lucy emerged from the house again.

  “By why, Peter? I cannot manage without her, and nor can the girls. It is too bad.”

  Then Mr Kingsley’s deep rumble, the words indistinct.

  Then Augusta again. “But what am I to do? It is too bad! There you are, Lucy! You cannot mean to leave, not truly. It is all a misunderstanding, I am sure.”

  Lucy knelt beside Augusta’s chaise longue.

  “It must be so, dear Augusta. Mr Kingsley is quite right. I quite forgot myself, and should not have charge of Deirdre and Winifred, not at such a sensitive stage in their lives.”

  “But there is no need to leave, surely.”

  “Indeed there is. It is better so.”

  “But where will you go? Not to an inn? Tell me you will not be obliged to stay at an inn!”

  “I shall go to Uncle Arthur.”

  “Tilford will no more want you under his roof than I do,” Mr Kingsley said.

  “Nevertheless, he is my uncle and is obliged to make provision for me if I have no other recourse,” Lucy said, trying not to laugh. “If he dislikes it, he may make arrangements for me to go to my brother-in-law. It is all the same to me, but Augusta, you must make sure someone writes to tell me of your safe delivery, for I shall worry about you every moment.”

  She wailed at this, and began to cry in good earnest, and it was some time before Lucy was able to make her escape. Of Mr Audley, however, there was no sign.

  ~~~~~

  West End House was somnolent under the summer afternoon sun, the neglected gardens deserted and no sign of life anywhere. Even the chimneys were free of smoke, and for an instant Lucy wondered if perhaps the family had gone away without telling anyone, and closed up the house. But no, for the knocker was still on the door and the shutters were open, and when the carriage drew up before the steps, the front door was thrown open, and the butler and footman appeared to attend to her.

  When she said, “Bring my boxes inside,” they stared at her uncomprehendingly. It took the Priory coachman beginning to unfasten the straps to stir them into action and summon another footman to help carry the boxes into the hall. There Lucy waited with Janet and the pile of boxes, while the butler went off to fetch Aunt Laurel or Uncle Arthur. Lucy decided to keep her bonnet on for the moment, just in case Uncle Arthur did the unthinkable, and dispatched her to stay at an inn. Was there an hotel in Market Clunbury? She rather thought there was. Or there were several friends she might call upon, in a crisis.

  It was Aunt Laurel who came bustling out
to meet her, anxiety written all over her face.

  “Why, Lucy! Whatever has happened? Is it Augusta? Is something wrong?”

  “No, no, nothing of the sort. No one is ill, or dead. Mr Kingsley found me kissing Mr Audley, that is all, and took exception, so he has asked me to leave the Priory. I must throw myself on your mercy, dear aunt, and beg for a place to stay, at least until I may find another position somewhere.”

  Aunt Laurel’s mouth dropped open, and she stared wordlessly at Lucy, her eyes goggling, for so long that Lucy wondered if she might be suffering a seizure.

  “Aunt Laurel?” She could hardly suppress her laughter at the horror on her aunt’s face.

  “Kissing Leo?”

  “That is so.” With a bubble of pure merriment, she added, “It was most agreeable.”

  “Agreeable?” Again she goggled, speechless.

  “So, have you room for me? I am sure in this great house there must be a corner where a guest may be squeezed in. It astonishes me that Uncle Arthur claimed the house to be quite full up.” She knew perfectly well that there was at least one guest room, since Mr Audley had stayed there, but she could not resist teasing Aunt Laurel.

  “Arthur,” her aunt said faintly, one bony, beringed hand to her throat. Then, more strongly, “Yes, Arthur must be found. Wyman, fetch Mr Tilford.” She looked Lucy up and down distastefully, as if she were something the cat had dragged in. “Really, Lucy! I had supposed you to have better sense than to get involved with Leo. I regret to say it of my own brother, but he is not a respectable young man.”

  “But so charming,” Lucy said mischievously, lowering her eyes in what she hoped was a convincingly demure fashion.

  Aunt Laurel tutted but said no more, and they waited in silence, the two footmen standing as still as gateposts, until Uncle Arthur could be found and persuaded out of his male fastness.

  “Now, now, what’s all this, Lucy?” he said, twisting his hands together. “You can’t stay here, you know.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Well now… it’s not… well, you see… the thing is…”

  “If it is inconvenient, then I am sure Mrs Banstead will offer me sanctuary when she hears that you cannot find room for your niece.”

  Aunt Laurel squeaked in alarm. “Oh no, dear! She would have the news all over town in a trice.”

  “Oh, I shall swear her to secrecy,” Lucy said innocently.

  “If Mrs Banstead ever manages to keep a secret, I shall eat my hat,” Uncle Arthur said. Then, crossly, “Naturally we shall not turn you away, not if you have nowhere else to go. Wyman, see that Mrs Price’s boxes are taken up to that room at the back of the house, the one with the red flowers on the wallpaper. And tell Mrs Combermere there will be one extra for dinner.”

  “Thank you, uncle!” Lucy said. “I knew I could depend upon your kindness. And I shall make myself useful while I am here. I can help with the children.”

  “No!” her aunt and uncle said in unison.

  “Oh. Then perhaps I may be of some assistance to Mrs Combermere.”

  “No!” They spoke more forcefully this time.

  “No need for you to exert yourself, Lucy,” Uncle Arthur said in genial tones. “We have servants enough. You may occupy yourself in the drawing room, like the lady you are. Laurel, show Lucy to her room.”

  Lucy followed her aunt up the stairs, smiling inwardly. It was, she discovered, very amusing to provoke them, but it was curious, all the same. Why was she so unwelcome? Why must she stay away from the children, and from Mrs Combermere? Why was there so little in the way of social dealing between the Tilfords and the Kingsleys, given that Aunt Laurel and Augusta were sisters? And then there was the deeper mystery of what had happened to Aunt Laurel’s three sisters, Maria, Caroline and Martha.

  Mr Audley had not managed to uncover the secret while he was at West End House, but he had never gone beyond asking a few pointed questions. Lucy was not so scrupulous, and she was good at uncovering secrets, even well-buried ones. She was quite happy to sneak about and talk to the servants and listen and watch, and perhaps she would be lucky.

  The answer was in that house somewhere.

  21: A Morning Walk

  Dinner was a curiously fraught affair. Mr Partridge, the banker, and his young wife were there, and two portly gentlemen, one an apothecary and the other an ironmonger. The banker was perfectly polite, but the other two gentlemen leered in a most unpleasant way at Lucy and Mrs Partridge, although Mrs Partridge did not seem to mind it as much as Lucy did.

  “Where are those girls of yours, Tilford?” the ironmonger said, looking round the drawing room in surprise. “Not joining us tonight?”

  Lucy’s ears pricked.

  “Oh… um… not tonight, no,” Uncle Arthur said. “Tell me, how did the parish meeting go yesterday?”

  As luck would have it, Lucy found herself seated next to the ironmonger at dinner. When the rest of the table were deep into a noisy discussion, she turned to him and asked innocently, “Do my cousins usually join my uncle and aunt for dinner?”

  “Oh certainly. The four eldest, at least — Amelia, Anne, Beatrice and Lawrence. Very lively company! Anne is a particular favourite of mine, but I’m fond of all of them, and I am Godfather to Beatrice. It’s disappointing that they won’t be entertaining us this evening. Amelia has some skill on the pianoforte, and they all sing quite charmingly, don’t you agree?”

  “I have not yet had the pleasure of hearing my cousins sing.”

  “Oh? But then you’ve only just arrived, haven’t you? I believe Tilford mentioned that you’re from Brinshire. Was your journey tolerable, Mrs Price?”

  “Oh, very, for I am only come from Longmere Priory today. I have been there since January, but I have only seen my uncle and aunt a few times since then. I am so glad to have this opportunity to stay with them, and get to know my cousins.”

  The servants began to remove the first course dishes at this point, so Lucy allowed the subject to drop but she spent the rest of the meal wondering just why her uncle and aunt were so keen to keep her away from the children. It was quite all right, apparently, for them to be brought out to entertain the locals, but not Lucy. It was fortunate that she had this mystery to occupy her thoughts, for this conversation was the most interesting part of the evening.

  When the ladies withdrew, Aunt Laurel and Mrs Partridge settled down to gossip over their tapestry on a sofa only large enough for two. Lucy, thus excluded, sat as close as she dared, pretending to read a journal and hoping to be forgotten so that they would reveal some secrets, but nothing but trivial local news passed their lips. If Lucy had cared for the scurrilous goings on of the town, and the liaisons between supposedly virtuous husbands and wives, she might have been provided with much of interest. However, not a word was spoken of the children of the house or Mrs Combermere or the mysterious sisters.

  When the gentlemen came through, they immediately got up a four for whist, playing for such high stakes as to quite astonish Lucy. But there was nothing at all to amuse her, so she made her excuses and went early to her bed, there to fall asleep with some very agreeable remembrances in her mind.

  She slept surprisingly well, waking long before Janet came in with her washing water. A shower of rain in the night brought sweet smells of damp grass and summer flowers drifting through the open window. Lucy could see a rather weedy gravel path leading across the lawn and disappearing into the woods that surrounded the house. Instantly intrigued, she threw on some clothes at random, and her stoutest boots against the damp ground, and crept downstairs.

  The front door was still locked and bolted, but after some wandering she found the garden door standing wide open. Outside, a maid was beating a rug, and from an open window not far away came the sounds of pots clattering, and a voice raised in song, as the kitchen came to life. Smiling, Lucy set off across the lawn, inhaling the sweet morning air and listening to the birdsong emanating from the trees. She soon found the gravel drive she
had seen, for the garden was small and consisted of no more than a few flowerbeds around the house and a ring of lawn. Following the path, she was soon plunged into the cool gloom of the woods.

  No more than twenty or thirty paces further on, the path led to a small rotunda, no more than four pillars with a domed roof and a stone bench beneath it. Here the path ended, but there was a narrow, overgrown trail beyond it that led deeper into the woods, and Lucy walked on, curious to see if there might be another building further on. Disappointingly, there was none, but she came across a wider, well-used trail crossing the narrow one and here she paused, considering. Left or right?

  Just a little way down the path to the left, a shaft of sunlight lit up a small clearing, and Lucy could see another bench, this one merely a fallen tree trunk with a portion of the top planed to smoothness. It looked a pleasant place to rest. She would walk that way first, she decided, to sit in the sunshine for a while, before deciding which way to go.

  She wished Mr Audley were with her, for she was sure he would enjoy the expedition. Or was it that she would enjoy his company? He was very agreeable company, without a doubt. And this line of thinking gave way to even more agreeable thoughts. When would she see him again? And could he be persuaded to kiss her again? He had not seemed at all reluctant and—

  She stopped dead. The little clearing was bright after the darkness under the trees, and her eyes were momentarily dazzled, but she could not mistake what she saw. Grave markers, a little line of wooden markers on the far side of the clearing. Five of them, the earth before each free from weeds, and one had fresh flowers set before it, a small bunch of pink flowers tied with ribbon. She went closer, but if anything had ever been written on the wood, it was not discernible now.

  Lucy sat on the seat, clearly designed for whoever grieved to sit and contemplate the loss of— what? Pets, most likely, judging by the size of each grave, although there were other, more sinister, possibilities.