Brave New Earl

by Jane Ashford

  “Yes, but… No, you mustn’t distract me. I want to talk about Geoffrey.”

  On the other side of the room, curled up on the cushion of an armchair and hidden by its tall back, a small figure came alert.

  “What about him?” asked Benjamin.

  “I want to be a good parent to him. Good parents.”

  “As I haven’t been?”

  Jean brushed this aside. “I’m not talking about that. The future is the important thing. I will not be an oppressor. Geoffrey must be allowed to be free.”

  In the armchair, Geoffrey listened hard.

  “Certainly. Every boy ought to run wild a bit. But he must also learn responsibility. We want him to be a man of character.”

  “Encouraged to be,” replied Jean. “Shown by your example—”

  “Mine?”

  “Of course.” Her tone suggested this was obvious.

  “Thank you.” Benjamin was more touched than he would have predicted.

  “Geoffrey must have scope and opportunities to shine.”

  “Along with love,” said Benjamin.

  “Yes, of course love! By which I mean action and sacrifice, not just an empty phrase repeated with nothing done to demonstrate it.”

  A tear welled up and ran down Geoffrey’s cheek, though he did not make a sound.

  “We must constantly be on the lookout,” Jean added. “I won’t be like my mother, or Mrs. Wandrell.”

  “You never could be,” Benjamin answered. “You’re not the least vindictive.”

  “I hope I’m not. It’s a terrible trait.”

  “Of which you haven’t the least trace. Astonishing, really. You might be justified in wishing for a touch of revenge.”

  Jean shuddered. “No. I’ve seen what that sort of attitude can do. I only hope that Mrs. Wandrell doesn’t—”

  “There’s nothing she can do to us now.”

  Geoffrey’s small fists closed, and he looked fierce.

  Eighteen

  “Let’s go this way,” said Geoffrey when he and Tom set out on their ride the following day.

  “We don’t want to go down there,” the older lad replied. “That neighbor lady, the one you said has mean eyes, always drives along that lane in her carriage.”

  Geoffrey merely urged Fergus in his chosen direction.

  “Wait for Bob,” called Tom. “He went to fetch a new bridle.”

  Geoffrey didn’t. He rode faster. Tom was forced to follow without the groom who usually accompanied them. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked when he caught up.

  “What’s ‘vin-dic-tive’?” Geoffrey asked.

  “Eh, where’d you hear that?”

  “What does it mean?”

  Tom considered. “I think it’s somebody who don’t let things go,” he said finally. “Who holds a grudge, like. Looks for ways to make other people sorry, if they think they’ve been done wrong.”

  “Tries to hurt them?” asked Geoffrey.

  “Yes, but not like a fistfight. Sneaky stuff.”

  “Like when Sam put the beetle in Bob’s cider?”

  Tom snorted a laugh. “Worse than that. That was a joke, and Bob didn’t care. He just pulled it out and drank up.”

  “What then?”

  “Vindictive is a person who waits and schemes. Then when you’ve forgot all about whatever it was that’s bothering them, they do something bad to make you sorry.”

  “Worse than a beetle.”

  Tom nodded. “Lots worse than that.”

  They came out of a stand of trees into a cleared area above the road. Geoffrey stopped on a low rise and watched as a carriage came around a curve and approached them. Tom pulled up beside him, puzzled.

  The carriage came nearer. It slowed, then stopped. Mrs. Wandrell leaned out the window and beckoned. Geoffrey went at once. Surprised, Tom scrambled to catch up with him.

  “So it seems you’re going to have a stepmother, child,” said Mrs. Wandrell when the little boy was close.

  Geoffrey gazed at her.

  “When your father marries again, his new wife is your stepmother. You’ve heard of those, I’m sure, in fairy tales? The wicked stepmother. They always seem to be wicked, don’t they?”

  Tom arrived in time to hear this. “Here now,” he said.

  “They favor their own children over the old ones, don’t they?” Mrs. Wandrell continued. “In the stories, stepmothers are always looking for ways to be rid of the first wife’s offspring, even kill them.”

  “Hey, there’s no call for that kind of talk,” said Tom.

  “Your opinion is not wanted,” said the woman in freezing accents.

  “Well, you got it anyway. And it ain’t favorable.”

  Mrs. Wandrell glared at him. “I won’t be spoken to in such a way by a loutish servant.”

  “I may be loutish, but I ain’t stupid. And I know rubbish when I hear it.”

  “How dare you?”

  “It’s the circumstances, I expect,” replied Tom.

  “I shall tell your master that you insulted me and have you dismissed.”

  “Don’t have a master.” The lad eyed her sourly. “Nor a stepmother either.”

  The two locked gazes for a long moment, fuming resentment against solid rejection. Mrs. Wandrell gave up first. “Drive on,” she commanded through clenched teeth. The carriage started moving again. The young riders watched it go.

  “Talking of fairy tales, she’s a right witch, she is,” said Tom.

  “A wicked witch,” Geoffrey replied. “Vin-dic-tive.”

  “I expect she is. But we don’t have to care about her. Or any nonsense she spouts. Which that talk was, Geoffrey. Nonsense, pure and simple. And I hope you know it.”

  The boy nodded. “We should forget about her. Not tell anyone.”

  Tom examined him, familiar by now with Geoffrey’s devious ways. “Why not?”

  “She was mean about stepmothers. Miss Saunders would feel bad.”

  “I expect she would.” Tom considered, then shrugged. “Right. I’ll keep mum. Unless that lady goes blabbing to his lordship about me.”

  Geoffrey frowned. “Do you think she will?”

  “No. She won’t want me to tell how spiteful she was.”

  “Spite-ful.”

  “It’s like ‘vindictive.’” Tom turned his pony. “Now let’s go find Bob before he sends out a search party.”

  Wordlessly, Geoffrey followed him. Riding ahead, Tom didn’t notice the hard glitter in the boy’s angelic blue eyes.

  • • •

  “That’s strange,” said Jean, coming into the library with a shawl she’d gone to fetch on this chilly afternoon.

  “What is?” replied Benjamin. At the fireside, with Jean sitting opposite and her chaperone off writing letters, he felt positively steeped in contentment.

  “Mrs. McGinnis said a servant came by to inquire about Mrs. Wandrell.”

  “Here? Why ask our housekeeper? Did they think Mrs. Wandrell had called to berate me about our engagement?”

  Jean gave him a half smile, but shook her head. “Apparently she’s missing, and they’re asking all around the neighborhood.”

  “Missing?” Benjamin sat up straighter. “Surely she’s just out for a drive or some such thing? Though it’s hardly the weather for it.” He looked out at the sodden landscape.

  “It seems not. Her carriage is accounted for, and all her things. Mrs. McGinnis said it’s been several hours, and they’re rather worried. They’re organizing a search.”

  He rose. “I should go to see if I can help.”

  She nodded.

  When Benjamin returned several hours later, he paused in the parlor where Jean and Mrs. Thorpe were sitting and told them that he’d joined a group of men riding about the
area calling for Mrs. Wandrell, without success. “I only came back to change horses,” he said. “Wandrell’s putting together a wider search. I must join in.”

  “Of course you must,” said Jean.

  “Poor woman,” said Mrs. Thorpe. “It’s beginning to rain again. If she’s lost in this, she’s likely to fall ill.”

  Benjamin agreed. “Her family says she does go walking alone, which I would not have predicted. She’s quite fanatical about tramping through the countryside, in fact.”

  “But not on such a day surely?” asked Mrs. Thorpe.

  “It certainly doesn’t seem likely.”

  “I could come with you,” said Jean. “Help look.”

  “No need. We have a large group, all familiar with the neighborhood as you are not. Uncle is joining in, too.”

  The two men departed soon after. Jean sat on with Mrs. Thorpe in the cozy room, the antithesis of the damp and chill outside. “It’s difficult to think of anything but that poor woman lost,” said the latter.

  “Yes. I wish there was something we could do.”

  The older woman nodded. “We can offer up our prayers that she is soon found, safe and well.”

  Simultaneously, Jean realized that this was not the sort of remark she expected from an acclaimed London actress, and that her assumption was insulting. “Yes indeed,” she replied, too heartily.

  Mrs. Thorpe’s eyes glinted as if she understood Jean’s thoughts all too well.

  “She can hardly be lost,” said Jean after a while. “She lives here, and if she’s so dedicated to walking, she must know the countryside well.”

  “One can trip and fall in the most familiar surroundings,” replied Mrs. Thorpe.

  “That’s true.” Jean half rose. “They might not see her if she’s on the ground.”

  “I’m sure the searchers have thought of that.”

  “Yes.” Jean sat back, but she couldn’t settle. “I’m going up to the nursery to check on the preparations for Miss Warren’s arrival.”

  Mrs. Thorpe nodded, clearly aware that Jean just wanted to be moving.

  Upstairs, Jean found Lily and Tom in the nursery. Tom’s coat was damp with rain, and when Jean asked him about it, he said, “I been looking for Geoffrey. I gave him a scold because he took Fergus out early this morning. On his own. He knows he ain’t s’posed to do that. I expect he’s having a good old sulk someplace or other. But he’s not in any of his usual spots. I’ve looked high and low, inside and out.”

  Jean immediately thought of the hideaway in the garden thicket. “I might know where he is.”

  Tom came to attention as if waiting to be dispatched. Tab blinked at Jean from his new cushion beside the hearth.

  She couldn’t reveal Geoffrey’s secret place without his permission, Jean thought. Even more, she was glad to have some action she could take. Sitting and waiting for others to effect a rescue galled. “I’ll go and see if he’s there.”

  “I’m happy to do it, miss,” said Tom.

  “Never mind. I’ll go.” Jean went down to her room for a sturdy cloak and shoes, then let herself out into the gray afternoon. It wasn’t raining now, but the air was filled with mist. Jean could practically feel her hair trying to escape its pins and curl around her face. She put her hood up as she walked swiftly along the path to the spot where the branches concealed the entrance to Geoffrey’s hideaway.

  Of course, there was no sign of him near the large, flat rock. That was the point of the place, Jean thought. Its entrance was invisible. She thought of calling, but if he was sulking, he probably wouldn’t answer. She pushed aside a branch and stepped past, trying to avoid the spray of droplets it loosed. The hem of her cloak was soon sodden, however.

  In the dimness, she followed the faint traces of feet and her memory of the way. She feared she’d gone wrong for a while, but then she saw the outline of the low roof ahead. She moved faster, receiving a face full of wet leaves for her pains, and reached the structure in the next moment.

  The ground inside the half hut was dry. Geoffrey sat there, wrapped in a blanket that looked as if it had come from the stables. “I heard you coming all the way,” he said. “You can’t sneak through the woods like a red Indian.”

  “No,” said Jean. Ignoring the fate of her cloak, she sat down cross-legged, facing him. The place felt even more enclosed on this cloudy day. She pushed aside her nervousness. The cocoon of branches was not closing in on her. “Are you warm enough?”

  “It’s the same kind of blanket Fergus wears.”

  “I expect it’s good then. But wouldn’t you like to go inside?”

  Geoffrey looked rebellious. “Tom ripped at me,” he replied. “But I had to go out.”

  “You know you’re not allowed to go riding alone.”

  “I had to,” the boy insisted.

  He sounded so vehement, as if this was more than simple disobedience. “Why?” she asked.

  “Papa said, ‘An honorable gentleman makes things right,’” Geoffrey replied.

  As far as Jean knew, it was the first time he’d ever called Benjamin Papa. Her throat tightened at the sound of the word in his high, little voice. “Indeed, that’s a good rule.”

  “That’s why I had to.”

  “You had to go out this morning to make something right?”

  Geoffrey nodded, seeming pleased that she’d understood at last.

  “What thing was it?”

  He looked away, not a good sign.

  “Was it something you’d done?” Jean asked.

  “No! I wouldn’t ever be vin-dic-tive.”

  The words he picked up were a constant amazement, Jean thought. She couldn’t imagine where he’d heard this one. And then she remembered a recent conversation and came wholly alert. “Vindictive,” she repeated. “People shouldn’t be vindictive.”

  “It’s sneaky,” said Geoffrey.

  “How do you know what it means?”

  “Tom told me. They wait till you forget all about them and then do something to hurt you. Before you can even stop them. So I had to make sure she couldn’t.”

  “She?”

  The boy looked chagrined at his slip, then fierce. “I won’t let her do anything spite-ful,” he declared.

  “Who, Geoffrey?”

  He gazed up at her, his face a pale oval in the low light.

  “Do you mean Mrs. Wandrell?” Jean felt a chill that had nothing to do with the looming branches.

  “She can’t be vin-dic-tive now,” the boy added in the tone of one who’d solved a knotty problem.

  “Where is she?” Jean struggled to keep her voice even.

  “I locked her up. Like a criminal in a jail.”

  “But she’s not a criminal.”

  He looked uncertain.

  “She’s an innocent neighbor who has done nothing to hurt us.”

  “She has mean eyes.”

  “Geoffrey.” Jean waited until he met her gaze. “You can’t make things right by doing something wrong.”

  “Because I went out riding by myself?”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  Jean watched his face shift from defiance to concern. “I didn’t want her to hurt you or Papa.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” answered Jean forcefully. “We can take care of ourselves. And you, too. The whole household, in fact. You can trust us to do that. I promise. And you must let us do so.”

  He stared at her. He blinked and swallowed what looked very much like tears, though she’d never seen him cry. “What should I do?” he whispered.

  “You must take me to Mrs. Wandrell right now.”

  He nodded and stood. Jean got to her feet with a bit more difficulty, hampered by her heavy, damp cloak.

  They wove their way through wet leaves out to the ga
rden path. The day had darkened further as the afternoon waned, and the mist was thicker. Geoffrey nearly disappeared into it. She had to call him back to her side more than once.

  He led her across the garden to the back corner of the house farthest from the kitchen and stables. The landscape dipped here, putting the ground floor above their heads. The walls were overgrown with vines behind a stand of laurel.

  Geoffrey plunged into the bushes. Jean gathered her wet cloak about her and followed. When they’d penetrated the thicket, she became aware of a muffled thumping.

  She emerged into a narrow open space right beside the wall. Overarching laurel branches made it dark. In front of her was an ancient, low door closed by a heavy wooden bar. The thumping came from behind it. She looked at Geoffrey. He nodded.

  Jean stepped closer, raised the bar, and set it aside. She pulled at a broken hasp, only to have the door slam open so hard that she had to stumble back to avoid being knocked down.

  “You little demon!” A disheveled, dusty, furious Mrs. Wandrell shot out of the opening like a cork from a champagne bottle. She seized Geoffrey’s coat collar and tossed him into the dark opening. “See how you like it in there!” She grabbed the folds of Jean’s cloak and jerked her forward. “And you! You wretched, wretched woman.” Mrs. Wandrell pivoted and, with a surprising surge of strength, shoved Jean after Geoffrey.

  Jean, already off balance, staggered through the open doorway. The door banged shut behind her. The bar dropped into place with a resounding thunk. Several thumps came next, as if Mrs. Wandrell was pounding her fist on the bar. Then silence descended, leaving Jean enveloped in blackness.

  Terror washed over her in a wave. She couldn’t see. A musty smell filled her nostrils, threatening to choke her. She was shut away in a dark cupboard-like space, even worse for being unknown. Anything could be in here. She couldn’t breathe. She clenched trembling fists and fought for control.

  A scrabbling sound made her flinch. “I’m sorry,” said a small worried voice.

  Geoffrey. Geoffrey was in here with her. She was not alone.

  “I didn’t know she’d jump out like that,” the boy said. “I would’ve fought her off.”

  He must be frightened, too, Jean thought. She had to take care of him, even if she felt quite desperate. And with that thought, an iron resolve rose through the suffocating veils of Jean’s fear. She wasn’t going to be the sort of parent, the sort of mother, who took her own struggles out on a child. The past would always be with her—no help for that. But her legacy wouldn’t shadow Geoffrey. She refused, no matter how difficult that might be. She took a deep breath, and another, reaching for calm.