The Tudor Signet

by Carola Dunn

  “I shall stick my feet under Mariette’s covers.” Emily bounced onto the bed. “Mariette, I have had a simply famous idea. Mama was saying only a little while before you came that it is time I learned to dance. And lo and behold, here we are stuck in the house with two gentlemen for partners, even if they are rather elderly. What could be luckier?”

  “It would be fun to learn,” Mariette agreed, smiling at her enthusiasm, “though I don’t expect ever to have the opportunity to dance. But remember that one of our gentlemen has only one arm. He might find it embarrassing or impossible.”

  “Oh yes.” Emily’s face fell. “I should hate to embarrass Captain Aldrich. I like him, do not you? He never makes me feel as if I scarcely existed, as Lord Wareham does.”

  “Only think how horrid it would be if Lord Wareham had been snow-bound here!” Both girls giggled as they recalled the routing of the abominable baron. “You know, Emmie, it is best if you don’t ask Captain Aldrich to dance with us, but I daresay your uncle would know how to ask him without making him uncomfortable.”

  Emily flung her arms around Mariette and kissed her cheek. “You are a perfect lady,” she declared, “whatever Cousin Tabitha may say, for you always consider other people’s feelings and Mama says that is the most important thing. I shall ask Uncle Malcolm to speak to the captain.”

  “Lord Malcolm may not wish to teach us to dance,” Mariette warned. “He is used to the London ballrooms and beautiful partners who know all the steps and perform them with grace and elegance.”

  “Whereas I daresay you and I may even step on his toes. Yes, Uncle Malcolm is all the crack and vastly dashing, but he is never the least bit starchy or toplofty--and don’t repeat any of those words, nor tell Mama I said them! He has always been prodigious kind to me.”

  “And to me,” she said wistfully. Last night when Lord Malcolm finally came to the drawing room, he had been more charming and attentive than ever. Yet she was a widgeon ever to have imagined his conduct towards her sprang from something more than kindness.

  “I shall get dressed,” said Emily, “and go down at once to ask him. Shall you come down to breakfast today? Cousin Tabitha always breakfasts in bed.”

  “No doubt there is an etiquette of the breakfast table I ought to learn, so yes.”

  “Good. If you ask Uncle Malcolm to teach us to dance, he is bound to agree!” On this blithe note, Emily hopped out of bed and scampered from the room, without the slippers Jenny had left for her.

  The abigail returned just as Mariette pushed back the covers. “Miss Emily said you’ll be going down to breakfast, miss,” she said. “I’ll give you a hand dressing.”

  “Thank you, Jenny, I believe I’m well enough to manage for myself. Do you think the snow will last long?”

  “There’s no knowing, is there, miss? It don’t often snow this much hereabouts, ‘cepting up on the moor, though I’ve heard tell they get more in London. Could be it’ll rain this afternoon and melt it all away. Could be it’ll sit a few days, I reckon.”

  “If I have to stay a few days longer, I have a favour to ask of you.”

  “Ask away, miss, do.”

  “Your alterations made my gowns fit so much better. Would you show me how you did it?”

  “Course, miss, no trouble at all. You made ‘em yourself, didn’t you? Ever so neatly stitched, but fitting’s an art needs learning. You just send for me when you’ve a while to spare. Now I’d best go help Miss Emily if you don’t need me.”

  Pulling off her nightgown with a shiver, Mariette felt her days were filling up very nicely. She would have little time to brood over the significance of Lord Malcolm’s every word and deed.

  Emily came to fetch her and together they went down to the breakfast parlour. Even with snow still drifting down outside the window, the sunshine-yellow wall hangings, marigold-patterned curtains, and a blazing fire made the room cheerful and cosy. To add to the sense of comfort, the smells of bacon, coffee, and fresh-baked bread wafted through the air.

  Lord Malcolm was already there, working on a thick slice of ham with fried potatoes. Smiling, he stood up, as the girls entered, and wished them good morning.

  “Pray be seated, Uncle,” said Emily graciously, “or your breakfast will grow cold. We shall serve ourselves.” She led Mariette to a laden sideboard.

  The choice was bewildering. Half a dozen dishes with silver covers steamed over little blue-flamed spirit lamps, as did pots of chocolate and coffee. A nest of napkins in a basket unfolded to reveal rolls still warm from the oven. A bowl of bottled plums swimming in purple juice flanked another heaped high with apples, a few bright oranges glowing among them.

  Oranges! Mariette had not eaten an orange since her childhood.

  As she piled her plate with eggs, bacon, sausages, rolls, and one of the precious oranges, Blount came in to ask if she would like tea. She was about to say, not if it meant extra trouble, but she decided even the most considerate of ladies would expect her large staff to provide freshly made tea for breakfast.

  “Yes, please, Blount,” she said, and was glad to see the elderly butler did not look at all put out.

  She turned to the table. Lord Malcolm rose again and pulled out the chair next to him, so she sat there, opposite Emily.

  “Ask him,” Emily said.

  “You ask him. He is your uncle.”

  “But he is more likely to say yes if you ask him.”

  Lord Malcolm and Mariette glanced at each other, both a trifle pink-cheeked. “What am I more likely to say yes to, Emmie?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Nothing dreadful! We wondered whether you would mind helping us learn to dance.”

  “Dancing lessons!” He groaned and grimaced, his eyes bright with laughter. Mariette had never known eyes could laugh until she met Lord Malcolm. “Think of my poor, tender toes.”

  “Wear riding boots. We shan’t mind, shall we, Mariette?”

  “Unless he steps on our toes.”

  “Madam, you insult my reputation as a Pink of the Ton. I am much sought after as a dancing partner, I’d have you know.”

  Emily sighed. “Mariette said you are probably too accustomed to dance with the most proficient and beautiful ladies to wish to stand up with us.”

  “I’m teasing, goose. Besides, I could not ask for more beautiful partners. Of course I shall help, and I wager Des will, too.”

  Mariette explained their qualms about inviting the captain to dance. Lord Malcolm covered her hand with his and said softly, “How like you to be concerned for his feelings. I shall put it to him privately. Would you like me also to explain to him about Lilian teaching you?”

  “Will you? Then I shall not have to worry about making mistakes in front of him. He must have been shocked last night, when....”

  He grinned as her voice trailed off. “Good gad, no! Sailors are not so easily shocked.”

  “Practically shock-proof,” agreed Captain Aldrich, coming into the room. “Good morning, ladies. Morning, Malcolm. Thanks for the loan of the togs.” He wore morning dress, the blue coat strained across his shoulders though rather loose below, with his own modest snuff-coloured waistcoat.

  Malcolm eyed him critically. “Lackluster. Are you sure you won’t borrow a waistcoat?” This morning he had on his burgundy coat and cherry-striped waistcoat.

  “Not me! Now that would be a shock, seeing myself in the looking-glass in one of your garish creations.”

  Emily was disconcerted by their badinage, but it emboldened Mariette to do her own explaining.

  “We are outclassed, Captain,” she observed with a smile. “You will never match Lord Malcolm’s sartorial splendour, and I shall never match Lilian’s or Emily’s polite polish. I was not brought up to it, you see, but I mean to try. Lilian has offered to assist me.”

  “Good for her, Miss Bertrand, and good for you. I confess, though, I’ve no desire to match Malcolm’s frippery foppery.”

  Mariette shook her head. “Let us agree to disagree t
hen, sir, for I am a great admirer of his waistcoats.”

  “If that is all you admire in me, Miss Bertrand,” said Lord Malcolm mournfully, “then I am undone. Des, you will be undone by hunger if you don’t go and serve yourself.” He waved at the sideboard.

  “Good gracious!” cried Emily, jumping up, “you must not copy me, Mariette, for I am not doing my duty as hostess. Come and see what you would like, sir.”

  “‘Good gracious,’“ Mariette mused. “Yes, I have heard Lilian say that. What other exclamations are unexceptionable?”

  “Good heavens,” Emily suggested, lifting lids for the captain.

  “Or under extreme provocation,” Lord Malcolm proposed, “you might even venture upon ‘gracious heavens!’“

  Lilian came in and smiled to see them all laughing.

  “Good morning, all,” she said. “It looks as if you will be staying with us a while longer, Mariette, and you, Captain.”

  “There’s nowhere I had rather be,” vowed Captain Aldrich as Lilian moved across to the sideboard.

  “Nowhere?” She looked up at him through her lashes, a trace of a smile lingering on her lips.

  “Say rather, anywhere suits me. It’s not the ‘where’ that matters, it’s the company.”

  “We are a very small company. I should have foreseen the snow and gathered a house-party to entertain you.”

  “Then you would be occupied in entertaining the crowd, with no time to spare for any particular guest.”

  “One can always make time for those with whom one particularly wishes to spend time.”

  Mariette exchanged a significant glance with Emily, who had returned to her muffin with strawberry jam when her mother joined Captain Aldrich at the sideboard. Now that is flirting! their glances agreed. Mariette resolved to watch Lilian more closely than ever. She doubted lessons in coquetry would be included deliberately in her syllabus and she wanted to learn.

  She missed the captain’s response as Lord Malcolm at that moment said to her, “Let me peel your orange for you, Miss Bertrand. I consider myself something of an expert.”

  “Please do,” she said. She had been wondering how to tackle the messy fruit. After taking it she had remembered the mess but not the technique. “I have not had an orange since I came to Devon,” she confided. “I did not know one could buy them here.”

  “I’m sure they must be available in Plymouth, but these come from Lilian’s orangery. I’ll take you to see it one of these days.” Stripping off the last piece of peel, he divided the orange into segments and popped one into his mouth before putting the rest on her plate. “My reward,” he said as he wiped his fingers on his napkin.

  “Do have another slice.”

  “I believe I shall have a whole one to myself.”

  “Then let me peel it for you. I watched how you did it.”

  “I suppose you will insist on taking a slice as a reward?”

  “Of course,” she said, laughing.

  He went to the sideboard, where Lilian and Captain Aldrich were still talking, food forgotten. His arrival returned their minds to breakfast and they followed him back to the table with their plates.

  “What shall I do with the pips?” Mariette hissed at him.

  “You could see how far you can spit them,” he suggested consideringly, “or...”

  “Malcolm! I mean, Lord Malcolm!”

  He grinned. “Make a fist, like this, and discreetly deposit them in the hollow on top--you see? Then transfer them to your plate. In more formal situations oranges are seeded in the kitchen before they are brought to table.”

  Thankfully Mariette disposed of the pips. She took his orange and prepared it as she had seen him do, only she cut a trifle too deeply and made considerably more mess. “There!” she said with satisfaction, eating her piece and giving him the rest.

  “Not bad. You need practice. I prescribe an orange a day as long as the supply holds out. Lilian, have you many oranges this year?”

  “Yes, an excellent crop.” She had one on her plate, along with a modest half a buttered muffin, and she started to peel it as she spoke. “I like to eat an orange for breakfast every day, Captain, but a whole one is rather more than I really want. Will you share this with me?”

  “I shall be more than happy to share anything you choose to share with me, Lady Lilian.”

  “Anything, sir?” Lilian glanced up at him, her lips pursed in thought, her eyes sparkling. “Let me see. There are meals to be planned and I simply must deal with my accounts this morning. Then Mrs. Wittering mentioned checking all the tablecloths to see which may be mended and which should be thrown out.”

  The captain rose nobly to the occasion. “Madam, I am yours to command.”

  “Gallantly spoken, Captain Aldrich. I shall keep you busy, I vow.”

  Mariette realized she had missed an opportunity to flirt with Lord Malcolm over their shared orange. Who would have guessed so simple a thing could lead to such a delightful exchange? Perhaps, with the right person at the right moment, any opening might serve.

  She looked sideways at Lord Malcolm, who was regarding his sister and his friend with amusement. No, she thought, she’d not try to flirt with him until she had a better idea how to go about it. Failure would be too utterly dispiriting.

  * * * *

  Both Captain Aldrich and Lilian agreed to the dancing lessons. The carpet in the drawing room was rolled back and Mariette and Emily started to learn the basic country dance steps.

  Mariette was stiff and tired quickly, so the first lesson was short, but she enjoyed it. Though at first it was a trifle disconcerting to reach for the captain’s arm to turn or promenade and find it not there, both she and Emily quickly adjusted. As she said to Emily later, “When you go to balls you are bound to meet with partners who don’t know the steps properly. This will give you confidence to carry on as if everything is quite all right.”

  Her own confidence grew by leaps and bounds as the day passed. Following Lilian’s example as much as her advice, she made fewer and fewer mistakes, “and never the same one twice,” as Lilian pointed out approvingly. Whenever she found herself at a loss, Lilian or Emily or Lord Malcolm was there to help.

  Miss Thorne continued to turn up her nose. This failed to daunt Mariette, since the shrewish companion found fault with everyone, even Lilian. In fact, she seemed still more disgruntled by Captain Aldrich’s presence at Corycombe than by Mariette’s. Mariette overheard her remonstrating with Lilian about her undue familiarity with a mere sea captain.

  Lilian continued to smile a great deal and to dress up her grey gowns with colourful shawls and ribbons.

  Snow fell on and off all day. In the night the clouds cleared and in the morning the pristine white hills and valley sparkled brilliantly under a frosty sun. Servants swept the terrace to the south of the house to permit the ladies and gentlemen to take the air.

  Lord Malcolm was very dubious about allowing Mariette to go out in the icy cold after her illness.

  “But I did not take an inflammation of the lungs after lying out on the moor,” she pointed out, “so a stroll on the terrace is not at all likely to harm me.”

  Nonetheless, he insisted on bundling her up in a hooded duffel cloak borrowed from one of the maids and a vast woolly muffler from the coachman. Mariette was quite glad when she recalled that the only outdoor clothes she had here were Ralph’s outgrown greatcoat and the antique chapeau-bras she had worn as a highwayman.

  Emily found the heaps of swept snow at either end of the terrace irresistible. In no time she had her uncle helping her to build a snowman. Copying Lilian, Mariette wistfully refrained from joining in--after all, Emily was still in the schoolroom.

  However, once a hat had been provided for the snowman’s head and Captain Aldrich had thrown the first snowball in an attempt to knock it off, Lilian herself threw the second. After that, Mariette had no qualms about taking the third shot. The snowman was subject to a veritable bombardment which the captain decl
ared worthy of a forty-gun frigate.

  In the end it was one of Mariette’s snowballs which knocked off the hat. “Only because you were not really trying,” she accused Lord Malcolm as they all returned pink-cheeked and merry to the house. “Your shots could not possibly have gone so wild if you had aimed properly.”

  “My dear,” said Lilian, “I fear you will frequently discover in gentlemen an odious propensity to allow ladies to win.”

  “I think it is splendid,” Emily said stoutly.

  “No, Emmie, your mama is right, it is odious,” Mariette averred. “It indicates their belief that we cannot win on our own merits. Besides, if it is all a cheat, where is the pleasure of victory?”

  “Well, in this case,” said Lord Malcolm, “yours was a good throw and my failure did not necessarily lead to your success. As a matter of fact, I didn’t want to spend all my time putting the dashed hat back on his head.”

  “Such modesty!” exclaimed the captain.

  “Oh, I’m a modest fellow.” Lord Malcolm grinned. “But I shall remember your words, Miss Bertrand. Beware when I challenge you to a game. I shall give no quarter.”

  Mariette laughed. “Then I had best issue the challenge. Since we are not discussing a duel, that will give me the choice of weapons. Do you play backgammon?”

  “Yes, but you had best rest awhile before we play, and recruit your strength, for I mean to give you a strenuous time of it.”

  The bombardment of the snowman had wearied Mariette a little. She decided to lie down with a book for half an hour. Having finished Cecilia, she asked Blount the way to the library.

  In this, at least, Corycombe was no match for Bell-Tor Manor. Before taking up sculpture, Uncle George had been something of a bibliophile with a particular interest in history. His books and those of his predecessors filled ceiling-high shelves on four walls of a large room, overflowing into dusty stacks on chairs and tables.

  In Mariette’s eyes, the library at Corycombe scarce merited even the name of book-room. The four matching cabinets were elegant pieces of furniture but each had no more than five or six glass-fronted bookshelves above closed cupboards. Among a preponderance of poetry and novels, there was something for every taste, something to occupy the idle moments of occasional guests, both ladies and gentlemen.