“I should think not knowing him would be reason enough, myself. Good gracious, child, he could be a rake or a scoundrel. Even your father don’t know him, and only arranged the thing because he was exasperated with you. Also, the lad is a viscount, and it suited St. Merryn to be connected with his old friend’s nephew. I daresay he knew Penthorpe’s father, too.”
“Yes, because they were all at Harrow together. It is the one fault he can find in Penthorpe that from some cause or other the poor man had the misfortune to go to Eton.”
“Well, your father would have gone to Eton, too, in the old days and not have thought it any misfortune,” Lady Ophelia said tartly. “Had it not been for the falling-out between his papa and Lord Thomas Deverill, he would never have gone to Harrow, nor would he have sent your brother Charles there. All foolishness, that feud. I never had any patience with it. When Jervaulx lost his elder son in that tragic riding accident just days before Waterloo, your father would say only that he’s got another son somewhere and that he ought to get on back to Jervaulx Abbey instead of lingering in Cornwall, pretending a concern for all the miners out of work, when he is neither needed nor wanted and really desires only to keep up the price of Gloucestershire corn. However, that is all by the way. I meant only to explain that Eton was always the Tarrant men’s school before that idiotish feud, and your father certainly did not let Seacourt’s having gone to Eton dissuade him from giving your sister to the man.”
“I do not pretend to care which school any man attended, ma’am. They all seem much of a muchness to me. I know Charles hated Harrow while he was there quite as much as any man I know who went to Eton hated it there. All of them are harsh places, are they not? I have observed that it is only after men leave their schools that they seem to acquire a love for them.”
The morning-room door banged back against the wall just then, and a damsel who looked a good deal like Daintry, with the same rosy complexion, dark curls, and twinkling eyes, burst into the room, her white muslin dress rucked up under its blue satin sash, and her right stocking crumpled around her ankle. A second child, ethereally fair and slender, followed gracefully and silently in her wake, her light gray eyes wide and watchful.
“Charlotte,” Lady Ophelia exclaimed, “what have you been about? Pull up your stocking at once, and try to remember that a lady enters a room with dignity, not like some whirling dervish.”
Seeing Charley bend swiftly to do as she was told, Daintry smiled at the second child, patted the place beside her on the sofa, and said, “Come, sit by me, Melissa, and tell us what you two have been doing to occupy yourselves this dreary morning.”
Melissa looked guiltily at Charley but moved obediently to sit beside Daintry, giving no response to her question.
Nor was it necessary for her to do so. Tugging at her second stocking, Charley looked up with a laughing face, her eyes twinkling mischievously as her gaze darted from her aunt to Lady Ophelia and back again. She said, “We’ve done away with Cousin Ethelinda. We decided to amuse ourselves without her today.”
Stifling laughter, Daintry looked at Lady Ophelia, but although the old lady disliked untidiness, she was as immune to being shocked by Charley’s declarations as Daintry was. “And just how have you accomplished that feat,” she inquired placidly. “Did you murder the poor woman?”
Charley chuckled appreciatively and straightened up to deal with her sash, saying, “No, though it is frequently a temptation, ma’am. She is such a wet-goose, you know, and says such dreary things to us. She doesn’t know anything at all.”
Lady Ophelia said, “I cannot argue against that fact, but it is scarcely a proper sentiment to hear from the lips of a gel no more than ten years of age.”
“Really, Aunt Ophelia, it is the latter end of September, as you must know since we celebrated your birthday more than six weeks ago, so my eleventh birthday is less than half a year off, and Melissa will be ten, two whole months before that. We are growing quite old. Soon we shall be turning down our hems and putting up our hair, and we do not like stitching samplers, which is all that Cousin Ethelinda can think of for us to do.”
Daintry glanced at Melissa, sitting quietly with her hands folded in her lap. “Surely, our cousin also teaches you to play the pianoforte, and to work with globes and read improving works. I know she possesses many worthwhile accomplishments, and my governesses taught all those things, as well as trying to teach me the sort of things Aunt Ophelia was determined I should know.”
“Well, at least the things Aunt Ophelia teaches one are interesting,” Charley said, giving a final twitch to her skirt before turning and flinging herself down upon a cushion near Lady Ophelia’s feet. “I do not intend to become a weeping willow like Cousin Ethelinda. She is not a proper governess, in any case, but is merely attempting to oblige so as not to seem so much of a barnacle upon Grandmama as she otherwise must appear to be.”
“Charley, you simply must not speak in such an ill-bred manner,” Daintry said, exchanging another look with her great-aunt. “It does not become a little girl to speak disparagingly of her elders.”
“But it is true,” Charley protested. “Even Melissa knows the only reason we have got stuck with Cousin Ethelinda is that Grandpapa said it is not his business but Papa’s to choose a proper governess for me now that Miss Pettibone has gone. Melissa has her own at home, of course, and has only been sharing Miss Pettibone, but since both our papas are still in Brighton, of course Cousin Ethelinda insisted upon looking after us, because she feels obliged to make her way here, and if she is not hovering over Grandmama, she is making us do stupid samplers. We want to ride, Aunt Daintry, if you please.” The last statement was made with a melting look cast at her aunt.
Daintry, trying to maintain a stern demeanor, could not do so in the face of that look, but she shook her head and said, “You cannot ride until the roads dry, darling. This drizzle is enough to soak you through in minutes. It is no use begging me, either. Indeed, it would be as well for you if your grandpapa does not discover that you have escaped from Cousin Ethelinda.”
Melissa got up at once, but Charley waved her back to her seat. “Grandpapa never comes back to this room once he has gone down to his library, and it’s warmer here than in the schoolroom. Tell us a story about when you were young, Aunt Ophelia.”
“Oh, yes, please,” Melissa said softly, breaking her customary silence at last.
Lady Ophelia was no more resistant than Daintry was to such pleading, and if the story she told was not quite one about her own youth, it was nonetheless interesting, for she told them about Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobite rebellion, and if the tale was not precisely the version that would find greatest favor with the little girls’ parents, it was no doubt closer to the truth of the matter than was the generally accepted English version, or the accepted Scottish version for that matter, since she did not glorify the prince but described his many faults.
Daintry had heard the tale many times and sat back to watch the little girls, seeing in their eyes the same fascination she remembered feeling the first time she had heard it. Lady Ophelia had a knack for making history sound like a fairy tale, and it was only years afterward that one realized how much one had learned from her. Daintry found herself listening again and was as annoyed as the two children were when they were interrupted.
“Oh, here you are, you naughty girls,” Lady Susan Seacourt exclaimed, hurrying into the room, her pale-blue muslin skirts swirling around her slim ankles. She was taller than Daintry, fair and slender like her daughter, and her general demeanor was gentle, but at the moment she was clearly displeased. “Cousin Ethelinda has been searching the entire house for you,” she said, “and we were just about to send a footman to the stables to look for you there. Here they are, Mama,” she called over her shoulder, “safe and sound with Daintry and Aunt Ophelia.”
“Oh, thank heaven,” Lady St. Merryn said weakly, entering in Susan’s wake, clasping her many shawls closer about her thin body as th
ough she felt a chill. Leaning on the arm of a harried-looking plump woman with faded blond hair, she tottered toward the sofa nearest the hearth.
Charley got to her feet at once, saying, “Goodness, Grandmama and Aunt Susan, did you think we’d got lost? I always take very good care of Melissa, you know. I’d never lose her.”
“No, darling,” Lady Susan said, “I know you would not lose her, but you must know that proper young ladies do not run off and do as they please, especially since Cousin Ethelinda has so kindly undertaken to look after you both until we return to Seacourt Head. Of course, if your papa and mama were at home, Charley, they would see at once to hiring a new governess for you, but until they can do so, you must obey Cousin Ethelinda.” She turned to her daughter, adding gently, “I am surprised that you would allow your cousin to lead you to be naughty, dear.”
Melissa, who had also stood up politely when the others entered, said nothing, but her eyes filled with tears at the mild reproof, and Susan fell silent, looking helplessly at Daintry.
Miss Ethelinda Davies, who was helping Lady St. Merryn arrange herself on the sofa, glanced up and said quickly, “Oh, pray do not scold her, Cousin, for I am certain it was no doing of hers, and indeed, one cannot wonder at it if the children do not heed me.” She laughed behind her hand, adding, “I fear I am not the sort of tyrant who knows how to enforce obedience. ’Tis a grave fault in me, as I know you would say, were you not too kind to do so. Now, Cousin Letitia, let me find you a cushion, for I know that the stairs must have tired you. Oh, thank you,” she said when Charley offered the cushion she had been sitting on. Stuffing it behind Lady St. Merryn, Miss Davies added kindly, “There now. Your salts bottle is ready to hand, and I shall ring for a footman to fetch your very own fire screen from the drawing room, for I know you do not like the one in here. We do not like to see your cheeks grow too red, do we?”
Lady St. Merryn fluttered a limp hand in response, and Lady Ophelia, who had been watching the whole procedure with patent displeasure, said tartly, “Cease your prattling, Ethelinda, for goodness’ sake. Letty cannot have been worn out by climbing one flight of stairs, nor will she or her precious rouge melt from this paltry fire. Moreover, a good brisk walk in the fresh air would do her a great deal more good than those nasty salts, but if you are going to ring for a footman, pray tell him to bring more logs. I cannot think why no one has filled the basket. In another quarter hour there will be only ashes on that hearth.”
Lady Susan said, “You girls, go with Cousin Ethelinda now, and do your lessons. Perhaps if you are very good, Aunt Daintry will take you riding when the weather clears.”
“Yes, I will,” Daintry said. “It will be clear soon, just as it has been every afternoon this week, and we can ride toward the sea if you like.”
“May we go down onto the shingle?” Charley asked. “Melissa says she will not be frightened to do so if we are with her, and she wants to ride right into the biggest smugglers’ cave.”
Daintry looked at the smaller girl. “Is that right, darling? You were quite frightened when we rode down before.”
“The waves were too loud then,” Melissa murmured. “My mare didn’t like them, and her fidgets made me nervous, but Charley has promised she will not let her bolt with me.”
“Tender Lady?” Charley’s eyes lit with affectionate laughter. “I could stop any horse in Grandpapa’s stable from bolting with you, as you must know by now, but that old cow wouldn’t bolt if we put nettles under her saddle.”
Susan said, “What a dreadful thing to suggest!”
“Well, it is not as if I would do it,” Charley replied indignantly. “I meant only that Tender Lady is a complete slug.”
Lady St. Merryn said feebly, “Oh, do go away, child. Take her away, Ethelinda. I do not know why you allow her to speak so loudly. I tell you, she makes my head ache quite dreadfully.”
Daintry shot a quelling look at Charley, who looked mutinous but shut her mouth obediently and motioned to Melissa. The two little girls followed Miss Davies from the room.
“I do wish,” Lady St. Merryn said plaintively, “that Charles and Davina would come home and take that child in hand.”
Susan said lightly, “There are two children, Mama.”
Lady Ophelia said, “And do you pretend not to know which one your mother wants taken in hand? It is fortunate that neither Charles nor Davina is so foolish as to believe Charlotte’s spirit ought to be stifled or her curiosity bridled, for in all candor, I find her much easier to deal with than Melissa. Too quiet by half, that child of yours is, Susan.”
“Melissa is admirably well-behaved,” Lady St. Merryn said, reaching for her salts again, “but because she acts as she should, you find fault with her, Aunt. You are very hard.”
“If you ask me,” Susan said stiffly, “neither Charles nor Davina takes enough interest in Charley. They are far too busy being members of the beau monde, flitting off to London for the Season and to Brighton for the Regent’s birthday. Next there will be shooting parties and house parties, then hunting in the shires after Christmas. Then London again. If they pause long enough to hire a new governess, I shall own myself amazed.”
“Pooh,” Lady Ophelia said, “you enjoy London yourself, my dear, certainly more than I do and more than you would if you had the trouble I have trying to sleep there! Moreover, you’d have gone on to Brighton in a twinkling if you hadn’t been laid low by a feverish cold. I will say, though, that I do not suppose anyone could ever accuse you of neglecting your child. Your deep feelings for Melissa are clear to anyone who knows you.”
Susan blushed, and Lady St. Merryn said, “Most unfashionable is she not, to take such an interest in Melissa? Folks would have thought it most odd in me always to be fretting after my children. Not that I did, of course. St. Merryn would not have permitted it, even had my health allowed it. It simply was not the done thing. Of course, it would be better if Susan had two or three more. I cannot think why she has had only the one.”
Daintry had been watching her sister and thinking she looked much healthier than when she and Melissa had arrived at Tuscombe Park more than six weeks before. Both had had colds then, and Susan’s had been particularly severe. Now she looked her old self, if a trifle self-conscious as a result of Lady St. Merryn’s tactless remark. Knowing Susan would dwell upon Sir Geoffrey’s disappointment that she had not yet given him a son if she were not diverted, Daintry patted her hand and said, “It is just like the old days, Susan. You do everything right the first time and thus need not try again. Melissa is an angel.”
Susan smiled. “She is, isn’t she? Geoffrey says that Charlotte—for I must remember not to call her Charley; he detests such boyish nicknames—that she is a bad influence on Melissa, but I told him that dearest Melissa is much more likely to be a good influence on Charlotte. Don’t you think so?”
Daintry nearly laughed aloud, but a certain look of anxiety in Susan’s eyes gave her pause and made her respond more diplomatically, “I suppose that if anyone can influence Charley, Melissa will. But Charley is a handful for anyone.”
Lady Ophelia said, “A limb of Satan, that’s what the child is, and much the better for it, if you ask me. A female needs a great deal of spunk to get on in this world.”
Susan said gently, “Manners will take her farther than spunk, ma’am. Geoffrey says she ought to have a sterner governess, and he said that even before Miss Pettibone left. He did not know she meant to go, of course, but he said—”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Lady Ophelia snapped, “spare us from hearing every word Seacourt has said these past ten years. Do you say nothing for yourself anymore, gel? I declare, for six weeks all we have heard is what Geoffrey says, and from all I can tell he never does say anything worth listening to!”
Flushing deeply, Susan bit her lip, looking suddenly very much like her daughter. “I-I’m sorry, Aunt Ophelia, I did not mean to offend you.”
Daintry said gently, “You have not offended her, Susa
n. You know you have not. It is only that she prefers to hear what people really think, not what they think they ought to think, or what other people think they ought—Oh, dear,” she said with a comical look, “what a tangle my tongue makes of my thoughts! I shall never learn to explain them clearly, but you do understand what I mean, do you not?”
“Oh, yes,” Susan said, sighing. “Your meaning is perfectly clear. It generally is, you know, even when you think you have got it garbled. I am the one who can never seem to make people understand what I mean. Perhaps that is why I so frequently quote others instead. I think, if you will all forgive me now, that I will go upstairs. Geoffrey and the others will be home soon, I believe, and I must begin to sort out Melissa’s and my things so that Rosemary can begin our packing.” She got to her feet as she spoke and was gone from the room almost before anyone else understood that she was going.
When the door had shut behind her, Lady Ophelia said grimly, “Sorting clothes as though Rosemary were not a perfectly good maid! She will be darning stockings or fussing in the kitchen next. Susan is growing to be like you, Letty, all megrims and grievances. Thank heaven your daughters are different in their natures, or I should have become so dreadfully bored here that I must have set up my own household out of self-defense.”
Daintry laughed. “You would never have done such a thing, ma’am. Fancy how frustrating it would have been for you always to be wondering what sort of a fix we had got into without you here to put things right! And life here would have been very dull indeed,” she added with a teasing look.
The old lady smiled back at her, and Lady St. Merryn said testily, “Just you wait, Aunt Ophelia, until Daintry is finally married, and see if she don’t change like Susan did, and like I did myself, for that matter. I am persuaded I was quite a lively girl before my come-out, but marriage is a sobering business, as you might not realize yourself, never having been asked.”
Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] Page 3
