Clarissa and the Poor Relations

by Alicia Cameron

  Peterkin ran after him, talking all the time. ‘This is most ill-conceived, you must agree sir, but indeed it it’s true. Your sister had departed to Hertfordshire, as her cook, Jane, as just informed me. There is no use in looking for the knocker, sir. It has been removed. I had myself to go around to the kitchens to get an answer. Jane is merely waiting for the agent to arrive this day, sir.’

  ‘Hertfordshire.’ declared Thorne, ‘Can she have gone to Ashcroft alone?’

  ‘As to that, sir, I believe all the ladies have gone. But I do think they should have informed me. I, of all people, have a right to know.’

  Petersham looked at the balding curate with his face purple from the exertion of following his long strides with outraged bewilderment, ‘You, sir. You have the right to know my sister’s business. How is this so?’

  The curate was aware of having been betrayed by his anxiety into saying too much. ‘Well sir…that is… I have had the honour of asking your sister to be my wife. Left alone in the world as she was, I felt it my duty to…’ He came to a halt under the affronted gaze of Mr Thorne

  ‘My sister, sir, is not alone in the world,’ he said in frigid accents, ‘and even if she was, I doubt that she would have accepted an offer from one as distant to her as you.’ His raking glance seemed to take in the frayed shirt cuff that Peterkin was hiding up his sleeve and the grease spot that Molly had been unable to remove from his hat. He shrank, uttering a protest about a clergyman’s position being as high as any in the land but hardly loud enough for the stiff young man to hear him before he had marched past and enjoined his coachman to take him to the nearest inn.

  ‘I would advise you sir, not to speak of my sister’s business abroad, for it can be no concern of yours.’ Then he bethought himself of another matter.

  ‘What did you mean all the ladies?’

  Mr Peterkin recovered and in a failing voice told him who had accompanied his sister.

  As Thorne drove away he was both incensed and relieved at this news. It was just like Clarissa to take on a parcel of poor relations but at least she was sensible enough not to damage her reputation by racketing about the countryside unattended. Though he could ill afford the extra expense, he was tempted to post onwards to Ashcroft and call a halt to whatever foolish and ungrateful scheme Clarissa was hatching. Over a warm nuncheon at a cosy inn, he considered further

  Upon reflection, he thought that the papers in his pocket were unlikely to be signed by a young lady at outs with her brother. He did not doubt his will over hers in the long-term, but he wished to expedite matters.

  The state of Ashcroft, the neglect of the house and grounds, and the general disorder of the estate would not be the home that Clarissa and her four companions might hope for. Even he did not have the expertise needed to revive such a big estate, so he almost laughed when he thought of what Clarissa’s feelings might be. His man of business had advised him that making the estate profitable would cost a great deal of time and money; and when he had visited it he had believed him. Much better to sell it to one of the newly rich merchants, with a penchant for an historic house in the country and with the wealth to do something with it or to Lord Staines from a neighbouring estate who had declared a flattering interest when he had been in Hertfordshire.

  He would drive home and hope that by allowing Clarissa a month in that miserable place she would see what she was up against and return home with her brother a chastened young lady, ready to sign the papers. He trusted that the ladies would find, on their travels, that they were very unwise to have set out without a man to guide them.

  Had he but known it, the posting inn at which they had stopped for the night had offered them a small adventure - one that might not occurred if he had accompanied them.

  It’s taproom had been occupied by a crowd of young gentlemen who had no doubt come to witness some sporting event in the area but now had nothing better to do than drink the landlord’s excellent brandy and gin. Miss Micklethwaite took in the situation at a glance and made sure to stand guard at the door whist the rest of the party were ushered upstairs by the landlady. She was perceived to be to be an honest countrywoman who appeared honoured by the ladies’ visit and bobbed so many curtsies to them that Clarissa laughed under her breath and whispered to Miss Petersham, ‘See what attentions a sable muff will bring you.’

  Oriana was reminded that she had left her muff in the carriage and broke away from the others to retrieve it. As she came back, one of the young bucks that had just left the taproom set eyes on her and exclaimed, ‘Miss Petersham.’ The gentleman in the shadows behind him raised his head quickly, as did the redoubtable Miss Micklethwaite.

  Oriana was so startled that she dropped her reticule. Her voice had its icy cool, however when she replied, ‘Mr Booth. How strange to encounter you,’ as she recognized a young admirer from her London season.

  Mr Booth was about twenty-four years old and his eyes were red and glittering from the spirits that he had imbibed, ‘How strange, ma’am, for me to encounter an angel.’ he countered, with a distinct slur in his voice. He proceeded to remove his hat and sweep a magnificent bow before her, quite barring her way from entering the inn. It seemed that the other, older gentleman must have moved forward but before he did, Miss Micklethwaite swept forward knocking the young man’s hat into the mud (perhaps accidentally) and desiring him to stop making a cake of himself. ‘Goodnight to you, sir.’ She said, drawing Oriana forward, ‘and if you were a gentleman you would know better than to go about addressing young ladies in common inn-yards.’

  ‘But ... I am acquainted with this young lady…’ Protested Mr Booth in vain, for the ladies had entered the inn.

  ‘Alas, Charles, you should not address young ladies - even if acquainted with them - when you are three parts drunk.’

  Mr Booth turned to look at the gentleman who had thus addressed him. He was a man in his early thirties, his height of over six foot enough to draw attention as did the elegance of his attire, even in his topboots and buckskins, making it evident he was both wealthy and fashionable. His face was not handsome, but dark and saturnine, giving him a dangerous look that both thrilled and terrified many ladies of his acquaintance.

  ‘Grandiston. Did you see who that was? Miss Petersham. I thought her brother had said she was abroad with some relatives after the scandal when she cried off from old Charteris’

  ‘No doubt he did. If her brother is not given to dissembling we must assume that she has but lately returned. But I fear for his immortal soul.’ he said smoothly, returning Mr Booth’s hat to him. His tone was light and honeyed, but always there was a hint of menace in his tone when he spoke like this.

  ‘Why do you say so?’ said Booth, and turned to re-enter the taproom.

  ‘In a moment, my boy, in a moment.’ he strode off abruptly and had a brief conversation with a post-boy in the yard. Booth saw coin change hands as the Earl of Grandiston returned with a satisfied smile on his face. ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘look what chance flings my way.’ He put her arms on the young man’s shoulder and drew him into the taproom. ‘But you wished to know why I doubt her brother-- merely knowledge of his character. It may have been true but it may not. As a young cub he was wont to say whatever would best serve him. Most unlike his father or sister whose bluntness, as I have cause to know, was not always in accordance with modern manners…’ Grandiston paused and smiled as though at some wicked reminiscence, ‘…but refreshing all the same.’

  ‘You were a friend of Petersham’s, were you not, before you went off to the Peninsular?’

  ‘I was, my young sot, but have another drink and strive not to start another conversation about my military career - you know I find it a dead bore.’

  As his young friend did as he bade him, Grandiston lounged on the wooden settle of the taproom playing negligently with his quizzing-glass looking very much the sporting gentleman.

  He was aware that his one-time intended bride was preparing to retire in the bedroom ab
ove him but he doubted that she knew of her father’s plans. When his dearest friend, Sir Ralph Petersham had confided his desire to betroth his daughter to him, he had looked at the sixteen-year-old beauty with astonishment.

  As he observed her progress in the next two years as she tumbled off of her high spirited hunters, her imperious manner to all who would thwart her will, her gentle manner to her servants or social inferiors and her love of the estate and all its tenants, he felt that she was just the wife that he had always dreamed of.

  They had fought and laughed together as they rode the farmlands together but only once had anything more than a sisterly feeling shown in her. It was when the rumour reached her, from a friend who had had her come-out in London the season before Oriana’s, of his flirtation, and supposed intentions towards a certain Miss Hazlehurst.

  Oriana had tried to draw him out on the matter and when he had chosen to quiz her for her interest, she had flown at him angrily, saying she could not imagine any lady willing to marry a man as ugly as the devil himself. With others, Miss Petersham was the ice queen, but with him a raging virago.

  Her jealousy had raised his passions -- but the war intervened. He could not look at events in Europe and do nothing. He could not speak to Miss Petersham while his future was uncertain. He accepted a commission and had spent the past two years in the mud of Portugal with the valiant forces of Wellington. Unfortunately, he found himself so frequently digging balls out of his body that Wellington himself sent him home. ‘For God’s sake man, a man’s system can only take so much. You’ve done your bit for war. I only wish I had.’

  Oriana had never known his intentions but when he heard of her father’s death and her engagement to Charteris he felt that she had somehow betrayed him and herself by taking a rich husband. He was in England again before he knew of the scandal of the broken engagement and when he had applied at her home to find her he had met with the squirming equivocations of her brother. He had seen at a glance that young Petersham had behaved in some scoundrel-y fashion to his sister and it was only his breeding that had prevented him wringing out of him Oriana’s direction. Not whilst a guest in his house, but Grandiston had not yet finished with Fitzroy Petersham. Now barely two weeks later, Oriana Petersham lay upstairs in her bed, more beautiful and desirable than ever. He knew where she was bound, and like the General that his friends in the Regiment had called him, he slowly considered his strategy in this next campaign.

  Chapter 4

  The Word Spreads

  Sir Fitzroy Petersham received his sister’s letter with annoyance. He had tried to forget her existence in the year since her dreadful disobedience and the short-lived scandal of the broken engagement. That there would never have been a scandal had he not put the announcement of the marriage into the Morning Post without first consulting the prospective bride, he did not consider at all. As usual his sister, favourite of his late father and mother, had humiliated him. Oriana’s dashed popularity in her London season had meant that much of her acquaintance had continued to inquire after her and he had been obliged to prevaricate as to her whereabouts, passing it off as a visit to friends abroad. He could not well say that his sister would rather teach in a girl’s school than live with him and he worried that the daughter of one of his friends might one day be taught by his sister. However, most members of the ton had ignored the school which promised to educate young ladies in Latin and Greek and other subjects unnecessary, indeed, undesirable, for fashionable young ladies. He had suffered the visit from Grandiston and now he had to worry what next she would do. Would his friends accept a story of Oriana lending her companionship to a friend? Perhaps this might actually take the pressure off him; he could furnish her friends with her new direction.

  He was a handsome young man of athletic build like his father, but without any strength of character on his dark good looks. He had been pleased to accede to his father’s dignities at the age of twenty- three, but apart from spending a great deal of money he had changed very little. He had taken to ordering the servants with all of his father’s imperiousness, but without his fairness, and knew himself to be despised by them. He fancied himself to be a sporting gentleman, but he was too craven in the saddle to attempt the heroics of his father or sister. His mother had indulged his sulks and he missed her greatly. He had many acquaintances, but no close friends, and he would have welcomed Oriana’s presence in his great empty house, if only so that he could bully her and allow her to run the estate as she always had. He was tired of his agent asking him to make decisions about his dashed tenants. Her contempt, however, he could not have borne. The servants, at least, could not display theirs’.

  He had determined to go to London, but hoped to avoid another uncomfortable conversation with Grandiston. What concern of his was Oriana’s welfare? He behaved as though she had been consigned to his care. It was for her brother to decide upon her future. Yet again, Oriana had pre-empted his control of her and he did not like it but he could not well decide upon the right course of action.

  As chance would have it, he was accosted in Albemarle Street by the Honourable Charles Booth, nattily attired in blue long-tailed coat and a yellow waistcoat.

  ‘Ah, Petersham.’

  ‘Booth. I thought you would be out of town at this season.’ Petersham had not given it any thought at all, for Booth was not one of his intimates and he was a trifle surprised to be hailed by him.

  ‘Visiting my mother. She’s been kept in town by an outbreak of measles in the younger sprogs. Met your sister on the road, the other day. She was looking in great beauty.’ said Booth easily. He was obliged to suppress a wider grin as he saw Petersham stiffen. Grandiston was always right. He’d said that the baronet would squirm at the mention of his sister. What mystery lay here?

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ was the reply, ‘she is bearing an …an old school friend company for some time. Viscount Ashcroft’s heiress, you know.’ Petersham was uneasily aware that he had just committed himself to accepting Oriana’s newest start in the eyes of the polite world.

  Young Booth was a sporting gentleman and now he scented fear in his quarry even though he did not understand its cause. ‘Thought your sister was educated at home. Well I know she was, for your mamma passed on the governess to my sisters.’

  ‘Of course she was,’ said Sir Fitzroy testily, ‘I only meant that she met Miss Thorne when she was at school. I have an appointment, Booth, so I’ll bid you good-day.’

  Booth doffed his hat. ‘Certainly, old boy. Misunderstanding - so sorry.’ He permitted himself a grin as he gaily bowled up the Street towards his club, twirling his cane and rehearsing and account of this meeting to recount to Grandiston who was presently ensconced there. His lively brain (when not befuddled with foul spirits) began to consider. Could they be going to Ashcroft? Surely not, for poor old Bosky (Viscount Ashcroft, to the uninitiated) had let it go to rack and ruin before his premature but unsurprising death.

  He asked this question of Grandiston ten minutes later.

  ‘Well deduced, my boy. I believe that is just where they were going,’ said his friend smoothly.

  ‘I shouldn’t have thought that it was any place fit for ladies. There’s hardly been time to put it to rights since Bosky’s death and the last time I was there…

  ‘Yes, yes Light-skirts riding the backs of young bucks in betting races, champagne in washing ewers and every kind of dissipation imaginable. I’ve heard the scandal,’ interrupted Grandiston. He cocked an eyebrow at his young companion. ‘What I didn’t know, though, was that you were a member of that set, Charles.’

  ‘I was not.’ flashed Booth, ‘Oh, you’re joking Grandiston. I might have known. I went up there to collect a hunter that Ashcroft was selling. I never saw such a rum lot in my life. They may have fancied that they were enjoying themselves but it looked ludicrous to me. The doxies that they employed were a sure way to get the pox. I take my pleasure in safer places.’

  ‘Your friends must welcome the wisdom if n
ot the morality of that last remark. It is time, my lad, that you got married and adopted a life of rectitude.’

  Booth laughed but was not diverted. ‘If her suitors knew that she was at Ashcroft, I daresay that they would be posting to Hertfordshire in droves.’

  ‘I daresay,’ drawled Grandiston at his most dry, ‘but I trust, dear Charles, that the town may not know her whereabouts for some time.’ The message was unmistakable.

  ‘Oh, certainly, my dear sir,’ said Booth blithely, ‘you can depend upon me.’

  ‘I’ll let you know, Charles, when I wish the world to know,’ said Grandiston, his dark eyes glittering, ‘Then I’ll depend on you to spread the word.’

  Booth was too much in awe of his older friend to question him too closely but he remarked. ‘I believe that Hertfordshire is pleasant at this time of year. I think Staines has a house there.’

  ‘Ahead of the pack, Charles, that’s the spirit.’ He poured another glass of wine; ‘Perhaps we should honour his Lordship with a visit.’

  Lord Ferdinand Staines became aware of the imminent arrival of the new tenant at Ashcroft from an unimpeachable source, his mother. This lady was reclining on a lilac chaise, wearing a clashing orange robe over pale green gauze nightdress and a lace cap fastened over her suspiciously blonde curls. When her son entered, she went so far as to sit up and said, ‘Do you know that that girl is coming to Ashcroft?’

  His Lordship could never see his mother’s attire without it being a shock to his superior taste, but he had learned that there was no point in giving her a hint. Just as well, he thought, that her stubbornness had been passed on to him as manly firmness. ‘Well, I suppose her brother must bring her to see for herself what a shocking state it’s in, if you mean Miss Thorne, as I presume you do. There is no need to get in a curl, mamma, I doubt that she will in the neighbourhood long enough to see her. The brother and I have it quite decided between us.’