The Paradise Will

by Elizabeth Hanbury

  ‘What the deuce are you going to some stuffy old building for?’ asked Piers.

  ‘Out of interest, and to gain a flavour of local history. Will you accompany us, Cousin? Your education might be improved.’

  ‘Not this time – I can spare myself the tedium of hearing how many of Monmouth’s supporters the judge sent to the gallows. I’ll accompany you as far as the lodgings then take my leave.’

  They made their way down the High Street to the timber-framed frontage where the infamous judge had stayed and were about to enter when a shrill, unmistakable voice from behind Alyssa cried, ‘Miss Paradise! Miss Ravenhill! How fortunate – we were on our way to call upon you.’

  Alyssa turned to see Mrs Nash and her daughter; Mrs Nash was all flustered excitement while Caroline evinced her usual haughty demeanour.

  Alyssa smiled sweetly. ‘Oh, we would have been sorry to miss you. Have you been introduced to my cousin?’

  The introductions were made with Piers regarding the twittering matron and her daughter with a diffident eye.

  ‘Delighted!’ said Mrs Nash, impressed by this pink of the ton. She hurried on in a bright voice, ‘You are staying with the Westwoods, I believe? Indeed, we had already heard. Such a noble family! There have been Westwoods in the area since the Conquest, and any friend of theirs is welcome in our select circle. One cannot be too careful – so many people these days have the whiff of trade – and certain standards must be maintained, even in the country. Caroline is most particular about these things, aren’t you, my dear?’

  ‘There can be no excuse for lowering one’s principles,’ agreed her daughter.

  Piers’s exclamation of disgust, whispered under his breath, was loud enough only for Alyssa to hear. ‘Good God!’ he muttered, ‘Far too high in the instep for my liking!’

  ‘Mr Kilworth, did you receive your invitation to our little summer gathering?’ asked Mrs Nash.

  ‘Lord, I wouldn’t know if I have,’ replied Piers, affecting a bored nonchalance that once again impressed his audience. ‘All the cards I receive look the same.’

  She stared. ‘But you must recall ours. It is distinctive and bears the address of Frampton Manor in large gold lettering.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Now I remember.’ He exchanged meaningful glances with Alyssa and Letty before raising his quizzing glass to observe Mrs Nash. ‘My dear lady,’ he drawled, ‘was that your card? I am surprised!’

  ‘Surprised? Is there a problem with the invitation?’ snapped Caroline, looking down her patrician nose.

  ‘Not with the invitation itself, but the card …. oh dear!’ Piers sighed. ‘Such cards are no longer the fashion – they are quite out. I thought ladies of your obvious good taste would know this.’

  ‘No longer fashionable,’ exclaimed Mrs Nash, horrified. ‘Why not, pray?’

  ‘Too ostentatious; the haut ton prefers a less showy affair. No self-respecting hostess in Town would be seen with such an’ – he made a moue of distaste – ‘extravagant card on her mantelpiece. Unassuming and tasteful is the aim if you want your invitations considered all the crack.’

  ‘This is Louisa Bailey’s fault!’ protested Mrs Nash to her daughter. ‘It was she who told me that style was favoured in London. I knew I should not have listened to her.’

  ‘You have been grievously misled,’ said Piers, shaking his head sadly. ‘It pains me to disagree with your friend, but, having left town recently, I assure you Lady Jersey’s invitations are beautifully discreet.’

  Mrs Nash drew in a breath. ‘You know Lady Jersey?’

  ‘I count myself among her acquaintances,’ he said, giving a slight bow.

  ‘Then you move in exalted circles, Mr Kilworth!’ trilled Mrs Nash. ‘Oh, please never mention my little faux pas with the invitations to Lady Jersey! I would be mortified if she heard of it.’

  ‘My lips are sealed, dear lady,’ said Piers, the corner of his mouth quivering as he suppressed a smile.

  ‘Thank you! You are too good.’

  Piers bowed again with flawless grace, ‘Merely happy to be of service.’

  ‘Will you be attending our party, sir?’ said Caroline.

  ‘E’gad, having met you two delightful ladies, I would not miss it,’ drawled Piers. ‘I shall clear my diary of every other engagement and send off my acceptance as soon as I return to the Westwoods.’

  ‘A distinguished London gentleman will be an asset to our little gathering,’ said Mrs Nash.

  Caroline, turning to address Alyssa, said in a biting tone, ‘Of course, we maintain standards of evening dress.’

  ‘I expected nothing less, Miss Nash. Letty and I are therefore obtaining our gowns from the finest modiste.’

  ‘Oh? Madame Fauchon of Bruton Street, perhaps?’

  Letty gave a short laugh. ‘Madam Fauchon! Gracious, no! We have not patronized her for some time. We use an exclusive mantua maker now – expensive but original designs.’

  ‘Very original!’ agreed Alyssa.

  ‘Your dresses are being sent down from London, I suppose,’ said Mrs Nash, gloomily. ‘Did I not distinctly say you should order a new gown from there, Caroline? Why does no one ever pay the least regard to my opinion? For shame if you are outdone by Miss Paradise and Miss Ravenhill at our evening party! What will Sir Giles think? Well, we shall have to make the best of it and prevail upon your father to supply funds for those new evening slippers. Ah, perhaps a quantity of lace to trim your jonquil. Yes, that will be just the thing.’

  Piers squeezed Letty’s elbow in an unseen signal and exchanged another amused glance with his cousin. ‘I expect, my dear ma’am, you will wear ostrich feathers,’ he said.

  ‘Feathers!’ shrieked Mrs Nash in astonishment. ‘Fie! Whatever do you mean, sir? Feathers are worn at Court on debutantes’ headdresses – not by a matron of my age!’

  He shook his head. ‘If you wish to be bang up to the knocker, there is only one thing to wear – ostrich plumes. Seen it m’self in London only last month when the most dashing dowager of my acquaintance was wearing them. Absolutely the latest thing! Three is acceptable – no less, mind you – but no more than eight large ostrich feathers, mounted upright on a tiara, jewelled aigrette or even on a silk turban. You will look magnificent.’

  ‘B-but the inconvenience of wearing them,’ wailed Mrs Nash.

  ‘What, pray, is minor inconvenience when set against being a leader of fashion?’ he observed, airily. ‘Upon my word, you will create a stir among the Frampton ladies, ma’am.’

  ‘Do you think so? I should like that very much,’ said she, eagerly. ‘I will endeavour to obtain some ostrich plumes although where they are to be found at short notice, I have no notion—’

  ‘Mama, we can discuss this at home,’ interjected Caroline. ‘I understand Sir Giles has visited Hawkscote regularly, Miss Paradise?’

  ‘Yes – he agreed to look over the accounts.’

  ‘In great detail, obviously: we have hardly seen him these past three weeks. Is his frequent assistance necessary?’

  ‘He kindly offered his opinion on a matter regarding the labourers,’ said Alyssa, bristling. ‘I would not waste his time with an idle task.’

  ‘I understand why a person of your inexperience might avail themselves of his knowledge. However, he can be generous to a fault. Sir Giles’s own estate is extremely profitable and cannot be allowed to suffer as a consequence of him offering you advice – advice which, it seems to me, falls outside the remit of your uncle’s will.’

  Alyssa stifled her growing anger with difficulty. ‘Surely what help he gives is his decision? In any event, I would not dream of abusing his generosity.’

  In the distance, the church clock chimed three. ‘It is getting late,’ declared Letty, hurriedly. ‘We should go inside if we hope to return in good time for dinner.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Alyssa, relieved to bring the conversation to a close. ‘Good day to you, ladies.’

  ‘Miss Nash, I count myself fortunate to ha
ve met you,’ murmured Piers. ‘Adieu, or rather au revoir, my dear Mrs Nash – and do not forget about the plumes.’

  ‘I shall do my best, Mr Kilworth,’ she vowed.

  They walked away and Piers, still staring at their retreating figures, uttered a long, low groan. ‘Dear God! Why didn’t you warn me they were vulgar, pretentious tabbies!’

  Alyssa looked at her cousin’s profile. ‘Piers – you – you devil!’ she faltered, in a choked voice. ‘Ostrich plumes! Now Mrs Nash will be scouring Dorset for ostrich feathers, and it was all nonsense! I never realized until this moment how alike we are.’

  ‘Have you pitched the gammon to them before then, Coz?’ he asked, raising his brows. ‘I don’t blame you if you have. They deserve it: the mother is a birdwitted snob, and the daughter is a vixen. I don’t feel contrite! If Mrs Nash were not so busy cultivating her superior manner, she might be less gullible. Perhaps I should have suggested panniers or an enormous hoop to accompany the plumes.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ admitted Letty, chuckling. ‘I found it hard enough to hide my smiles.’

  ‘What on earth is Maxton doing, making an offer for that hard-faced creature?’ queried Piers. ‘From what I understand of it, he’s no need of money. Lord, he’d better cry off before it’s too late.’

  Neither Alyssa nor Letty could think of a suitable reply to this and, with a smile and a brief bow, Piers left them.

  During the remainder of the week, Alyssa and Letty began to work on their gowns, altering the designs to suit their particular tastes. Saturday brought the now familiar sense of anticipation for Alyssa in spite of the headache and sore throat which had troubled her since waking that morning. Ensconced once more in the candlelit diningroom, Alyssa engaged in conversation with Sir Giles but ate very little; she did not feel hungry.

  And not only had she lost her appetite; by the time the covers were removed, her headache had worsened considerably. Still, she wanted his thoughts on the labourers, so she asked, ‘Have you reached any conclusions about the wages yet?’

  He nodded. ‘I have, and would like to you study some figures I prepared.’ Sir Giles cleared away the wine glasses and laid out two sheets of paper, which he turned slightly to allow Alyssa to view them more easily. ‘These,’ he said, tapping the first sheet, ‘are the calculations you made on the current expenses and wages – nine shillings per week expenses for a family against the seven shillings they receive in wages – and these,’ he indicated the second, ‘are my costing of what the estate can afford to offer as an increase. As you will see, I have underlined my recommendation at the bottom of the page.’

  Alyssa quickly scanned the sheet covered with his bold, even handwriting. The writing blurred in and out of focus as a sudden wave of nausea assailed her. She frowned, trying to ignore it and focus on the page. ‘I see. So, one shilling and sixpence is your recommendation. I had hoped to give more.’

  ‘That is not possible unless you want to put the estate into considerable difficulty. You need to set aside capital to purchase some of the new machinery. If the harvest is good, a little further upward movement may be possible but only a few pennies at most.’

  ‘Your calculations are extremely detailed and I can find no fault with them,’ said Alyssa, studying the figures. She had no inclination to cavil on any point this evening and felt a curious detachment because of the pain now pulsating in her temples. With a heavy sigh, she said, ‘I suppose I must take your advice.’

  He smiled. ‘Difficult as that may be, it would be the sensible course.’

  ‘But to offer so little!’ she cried. ‘I feel their plight deeply; how awful it must be to struggle to feed your family.’

  ‘Your conscience does you credit, but do not let it blind you to the wider view – your responsibility is to the estate as a whole. Costs are rising and wages must stay in proportion. The gap between prices and the wages the workers receive has grown too large, and you do right to address it – but only so far. Difficult times are ahead in farming and more uncomfortable decisions may follow, but these problems must be faced if Hawkscote is to survive.’

  ‘If I cannot offer more in wages perhaps I can arrange some basic education for the children. To grow up in ignorance is very sad, and offers no future.’

  He looked at her in admiration. ‘You intend to act as a benefactor in that way too?’

  ‘Yes, I hope to set up a school in Frampton or Dorchester using estate funds. I helped with a similar institution in Oxfordshire and Letty and I taught the children sometimes.’

  ‘I see. You continue to surprise me, Miss Paradise.’

  She blushed under his warm gaze and busied herself collecting the papers to cover her confusion. ‘Th-Thank you for all your work – I’ll give instructions to Ennis. I-I’m sorry to have taken up your time with this.’

  ‘Not at all – in fact, I am reviewing my own workers’ wages as a result. I would be happy to continue with our afternoon meetings and believe I can offer further advice, if you will allow me.

  ‘I have no objection, but Miss Nash might.’

  He frowned. ‘Caroline? What has she to say in the matter?’

  ‘She thinks you are spending too much time at Hawkscote and neglecting your own affairs,’ said Alyssa, rubbing her forehead with a hand that trembled slightly; the intense pain was making her light-headed.

  Alyssa was a little frightened. She had never experienced feeling unwell like this before. She studied Gil through clouded, misty vision: his firm jawline and bone structure, his hands, his muscular shoulders and chest – physical attributes which spoke of innate strength, as did his energy, efficacy, and resolution … every aspect distilled into the essence of controlled power. In her weakened state, this somehow gave her comfort. He was a man you could rely on, a man whose mere presence engendered confidence and Alyssa sighed faintly, thinking it would be very pleasant to be loved and protected from every care by Sir Giles. His voice recalled her wandering thoughts.

  ‘How do you know this?’ he asked, angrily.

  ‘We met Miss Nash in Dorchester and she mentioned it then. I would not have told you, except you offered to continue our meetings and I thought you should be aware of her comments.’

  ‘She’s no business to interfere.’

  ‘If you are to be betrothed, Sir Giles, perhaps she can express an opinion,’ said Alyssa, wearily. She felt inordinately tired, and another wave of nausea swept through her.

  ‘Betrothed?’ He looked at Alyssa in surprise. ‘Damnation! I’ve no inclination to—’ He stopped, recollecting his fierce tone, and continued in more moderate voice, ‘I will speak to Caroline. If you are agreeable, our afternoon meetings will continue.’ Looking into her face, he frowned. ‘Are you feeling well? Your cheeks look very heated.’

  ‘I-I do not feel quite the thing, to be honest.’

  ‘You are ill? You should have told me earlier!’

  ‘I had hoped to feel better, but now my head aches abominably. Perhaps I have a caught a chill. I-I think I must retire, if you will excuse me.’

  Alyssa’s head swam alarmingly as she rose to her feet. She heard his deep voice which suddenly sounded a long way off. When her legs began to shake, she rested her hands against the table to steady herself and tried to speak again, but her lips would not obey her brain. Neither would her limbs. She stumbled slightly and there was ringing in her ears as the cloak of unconsciousness began to envelop her.

  Floating on the precipice of oblivion, her last hazy memories were of the walls of the diningroom becoming strangely distorted and Sir Giles uttering a low, urgent expletive before rushing to grasp her upper arm. Turning her head towards him, his dark features wavered before her clouded vision. More words – murmured, indistinct but imperative – reached through the fog before fading away into the distance, ‘Miss Paradise! Alyssa, my darling girl! What is wrong…?’

  But Alyssa could offer no reply: the dark void overwhelmed her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

&n
bsp; Gil caught Alyssa as she swayed, feeling her body slump against his. Her head lay against his shoulder and her eyes were closed, the dark lashes sweeping down towards reddened cheeks. Fear, illogical, but stark and chilling all the same, clutched at his heart and drawing in a ragged breath, he felt down the exposed curve of her neck, exhaling in relief when he detected the rapid erratic beat. Her skin, however, felt unusually hot under his touch: it was the dry heat of fever. Dear God, for a moment he had thought the worst! Pulling her languid, unresponsive body closer, he touched his lips briefly to her brow before spurring himself to action.

  ‘Rowberry, Miss Ravenhill! Hurry!’ he cried and, lifting Alyssa into his arms, he carried her to the small chaise in the corner of the room.

  Rowberry entered and when he saw Alyssa’s inert form, his imperturbable manner was replaced by agitation and he wrung his hands.

  ‘Your mistress has been taken ill. Fetch Miss Ravenhill, at once! And bring some water or cordial.’

  ‘Very good, sir!’

  Rowberry bustled out as Letty came in.

  She glanced at Sir Giles, who knelt at Alyssa’s side, holding her fingers in one hand with his dark brows knitted together in consternation, and cried, ‘What is wrong?’

  ‘She has a fever. The doctor must be brought to her immediately.’

  Letty placed a hand on Alyssa’s forehead. ‘Oh, she is on fire! She commented on the headache which had troubled her all day but thought it might improve.’

  ‘Perhaps she is worse for sitting through dinner,’ he said, bitterly, his eyes fixed on Alyssa’s flushed features. ‘Dear God, if only I had known.’

  Letty laid a reassuring hand on his sleeve. ‘You had no way of knowing. She must have deteriorated quickly otherwise she would have told you. But whom should we send for the doctor? Only the stable lad, the elderly footman and Rowberry are here this evening. The solicitor’s clerk has already left.’

  ‘None of them: I shall go.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, staring as if astonished Letty should query his decision. ‘There must be no delay. I came in my carriage so I will collect the doctor.’