“That will not be necessary, thank you.” Penny set out, walking past him along the path. “I think I should enjoy a stroll through the . . . are those rosebushes?” Nearing the shrubbery, Penny could see they were unkempt, heavy with rose hips, and in need of a good pruning.
The bad condition must have been apparent to even David, for he said, “Gran used to care for these herself. They were once a great source of pride to her. I expect those days are gone now.” The despondency in his voice foretold what they both understood to be the imminent outcome of his dear, beloved relative’s fate.
“Perhaps you should have the gardener tidy these up. Your grandmother would not wish them to go to hips.”
“No, I don’t expect she would.” He stared at the bushes that were nearly so full as to create a solid hedge.
Penny did not, could not, stand with him, remaining idle. “If you will excuse me, I shall continue.” She stepped away and strolled along the path, and David soon followed.
The trees and other surrounding shrubberies, mostly holly and yews, appeared to be well maintained. Only the rosebushes, Penny supposed, were tended by Mrs. Cavanaugh and showed signs of neglect. The gardener, it appeared, was under strict orders not to touch them, and he obeyed even though his mistress was unable to care for her cherished plants.
Penny, with David still bringing up the rear, walked in silence for some minutes. Rounding a corner, she saw the expansive terrace garden stretch the width of the residence. Movement caught her eye, a gold-and-green-liveried footman jogging toward them. David closed the distance between them, coming up to her in a few short strides.
“Do you think something is amiss? Has Gran taken a turn for the worse?” He sounded worried. Penny did not wish to turn toward him and stare when he stood so close. “Or have we caught him trying to spy on us?”
“It may be time to go in for tea, that’s all.” Penny tried to illustrate that not all was bad news. It had occurred to her that he may not wish to be reassured. Perhaps he wished to wallow in his pool of paranoia to distract him from the misery of losing his grandmother.
“What is it?” David’s authoritative tone was so very different than the casual, gentle voice he had always used addressing her. She also noted his stance had changed. He had tilted his chin upward and thrown out his chest, standing very straight as if ready to take on an attack.
“Mrs. Sutton begs you to return to the main parlor. Your tea tray is ready, sir,” the young footman recited rather meekly.
“Very well.” David’s chest deflated just a bit, and his shoulders relaxed only perceptibly. “Be so good as to tell her we are on our way.”
“Very good, sir.” With a nod of his head, the footman returned to the house.
So much for the staff plotting and spying. Penny could not help but smile. It might have been her imagination, but she thought Mr. Cavanaugh looked more disappointed than relieved.
Chapter Five
Had it really mattered that Mrs. Parker was correct in that the footman arrived only to call them to tea? David thought not.
“I can see you are not pleased, Master David.” Mrs. Sutton waited in the green parlor, standing to one side of the door.
“Pleased? I have every reason to be anything but pleased with the current situation, Mrs. Sutton. My beloved grandmother lies on her deathbed. How am I supposed to react?” David strode past Mrs. Parker, who had taken the chair near the hearth, and gazed into the fire.
“I had written you weeks before Mr. Randolph finally took the initiative, informing you of Mrs. Cavanaugh’s decline,” Mrs. Sutton told him with a quaver in her voice. “You ignored my letters.”
“You’re forever writing to me that she is suffering from one ailment or another,” he said in exasperation. David had no patience with this back and forth nonsense now.
“That is true, but you must remember she is not young. It is expected she might suffer from poor health every now and again.” The companion pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve. David steeled himself for the show of tears that must be forthcoming. “Surely when Mr. Randolph wrote you ought to have known her condition was dire.”
“Yes, of course, but I never expected her to be this bad off.” David stopped, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead. No, he hadn’t truly believed the solicitor; it took Woodsworth the butler’s missive to make David really notice. “This is . . . the worst I have seen her yet.”
“Yes, I know, and it is too sad,” Mrs. Sutton said softly and glanced down at the handkerchief she folded and refolded nervously in her hands. “I do not know what to say, sir. Madam has not at all been . . .” Then she dissolved into tears.
The companion’s reaction sent Mrs. Parker to retrieve a handkerchief from her reticule and press it to her nose. The tears filling her eyes had not escaped his notice. Before this time, David had no idea that crying was contagious among the fairer sex.
His gaze returned to Mrs. Sutton, then again to Mrs. Parker. Lawks. There was nothing he abhorred more than weeping females. What was to be done between his own unruly fear surging at the impending loss of Gran and the care and maintenance of the women around him?
“There now, Mrs. Sutton.” He led her to the sofa and motioned for her to be seated. Passing by Mrs. Parker, David reached out and paused, unsure if he should give her a pat in what he thought might be an expected gesture of comfort. He allowed his hand to hover over her shoulder while he decided if that would indeed be the proper thing to do. The timely arrival of a kitchen maid saved him. He withdrew his hand and stepped away from both ladies.
The maid set the tea tray on the low table before the sofa.
“Thank you.” David turned from the kitchen maid, who arranged the china cups and saucers, to Mrs. Sutton. He wondered if the maid had been in collusion as well. It wasn’t a matter of trust. What he questioned was the staff’s loyalty, and he did not wish the servant to remain. “Mrs. Sutton, can you manage to serve tea?”
“Yes, sir.” She sniffed into her handkerchief and dried her eyes. With a wave of her hand she dismissed the kitchen maid. “I beg you, give me a few moments.”
“Of course.” David strode across the room, allowing her some privacy. He had to divert the woman’s attention and put an end to her tears. “Do you think you could ask the gardener to tidy the bushes on the gravel walk?”
Mrs. Sutton stowed her handkerchief, moved to the tea tray, and made preparations to pour. “Your grandmother’s favorite rosebushes?” She stilled with the teapot in hand and appeared grossly shocked, as if he had asked her to participate in some sacrilegious act.
“Yes, they’ve quite gone to hips, you know,” he pointed out, repeating Mrs. Parker’s earlier grievance. David stared toward the back of the house as if he could see the offending shrubbery through the many walls that stood between them.
“I cannot say she would approve, sir.” She had not exactly refused, but he sensed enormous hesitation from the companion.
Under normal circumstances Mrs. Sutton would have been correct, but the situation, she must realize, was far from ordinary. “Gran cannot want her prize blooms to appear any less than their optimum, especially when guests are about.” After the first teacup had been filled, she moved on to the second.
“No, of course, you are correct.”
It was about time she saw the good sense in his words.
Then she added thoughtfully, “Would you mind if I sent the rose hips to our neighbor Sir Benjamin? I daresay, he would care to have them above all things.”
“Why on earth would he want those?” David could not fathom.
“He blends them in teas and finds them useful for some medicinal tonics. Your grandmother has been the recipient of such remedies upon occasion.” The companion concentrated on the task before her.
“By all means, he is most welcome to them!” David now felt confident the previous show of w
aterworks had safely ebbed and returned to the topic of his grandmother. “I believe Gran was happy to see me—us, rather.” He glanced at Mrs. Parker, who remained quiet, seated in the chair near the hearth. “Did it not seem that way to you, Mrs. Sutton?”
“I know she is always pleased to have your company, sir. With Mrs. Cavanaugh also in attendance, I cannot imagine anything more she would want . . . with the exception of seeing your children, I expect.”
“They will be here before the day is out.” David estimated another three or so hours before the arrival of the remainder of his party.
“You cannot think to bring them to her bedside?” Mrs. Sutton’s reluctance was evident. “To expose such young children to one in her current state would be most unseemly, do you not think?”
“No, I suppose it would not be the thing.” He knew to see them was the dearest wish of Gran’s heart. There had to be some way he could bring her face-to-face with Lucy and Davy.
“Mr. Cavanaugh, your tea.” Mrs. Sutton handed him a cup and saucer when he settled on the opposite end of the sofa.
“What are your thoughts on the matter—” A momentary stab of alarm came over David when he thought Mrs. Parker may not answer. “Caroline—my dear?”
A few moments passed before Mrs. Parker turned toward them.
“Not having the pleasure of a previous acquaintance with Mrs. Cavanaugh, I can only make a general observation,” Mrs. Parker replied, without threat of further tears. “I thought your grandmother looked rather poorly when we entered . . . I might have been mistaken. It appeared to me she looked a bit improved when we left.”
“Improved?” Mrs. Sutton stilled at the revelation. “Do you really think so?” She finished and replaced the teapot on the tray.
Mrs. Parker glanced at David and smiled. “Did you not see the slight bit of color wash into her cheeks? It happened just as we were about to leave.”
“What is it that you’re saying? Do you truly believe Madam might rally?” Mrs. Sutton glanced about the room in a bout of nervousness and straightened her skirts. “I must see this for myself—at once. I do beg your pardon.” With a renewed smile she left the room.
“What about tea, Mrs. Sutton?” Mrs. Parker called after the companion’s retreating form.
“Have mine, my dear.” David handed her his untouched cup.
“What a considerate fellow you are,” she uttered with some mock astonishment. “I had no idea.”
“Think nothing of it, Mrs.—Cavanaugh.” David smiled, gazing upon her fondly.
They stood in an evident, but not in the least bit awkward, silence that was broken at once by the appearance of Woodsworth in the doorway.
“Mrs. Pitt and Miss Harding have arrived,” the butler announced. “Shall I show them to the parlor?”
Mr. Cavanaugh must have known better than Penny if this was proper, and she looked at him for an answer of what his intentions might be. It only made sense that she should follow his lead.
“By all means, do show them in,” was his pronouncement. With a slight incline of his head, Woodsworth moved away. David whispered to Penny, “The ladies are the sisters of Dr. Harding, Gran’s doctor.”
Of course, Mr. Cavanaugh would be familiar with the ladies.
“As I understand,” he continued, “they pay an occasional call on Gran, more so now that she has been on a decline, and report her condition to their brother.”
“I see.” His explanation came as a relief to Penny. There would be no conjecture on her part as to the sisters’ visit. “Since we can anticipate a stay of some duration, allow me to have some refreshment prepared.” She moved to the bell pull near the wall and rang.
“Mrs. Pitt and Miss Harding,” the butler announced when he had returned.
Penny stood off to one side and remained momentarily unnoticed by them. The sisters appeared to be in their twenties, one several years younger than the other, and they greatly resembled each other. The two ladies stepped forward, and it was apparent by their subsequent addresses to David that their attention was fixed firmly on him to the exclusion of everything else.
“What a surprise it is to see you, sir.” The younger one, Miss Harding, displayed the most dazzling smile as her gaze turned upon him.
“It is most unfortunate our meeting must take place under such unpleasant circumstances,” the elder of the two, Mrs. Pitt, intoned with all due decorum. Her modest attire bespoke her status as a married woman. No, not married, Penny’s experience told her, but widowed.
“Alas, I must agree,” David said, mimicking her mood. “If we could only look forward to spending more pleasant times together as in the years past.”
“If there is anything we can do for you, or your grandmother, please do not hesitate to ask.” Miss Harding laid her hand upon his forearm, which he elevated when it was apparent she meant to make the comforting gesture.
“Anything . . .” Mrs. Pitt placed her hand next to her sister’s upon his arm. “It is unthinkable you should bear the entire burden of your dear grandmother. It is so difficult to lose a loved one.”
“You are all kindness and consideration, both of you.” He looked from one sister to the other, covering both their hands, which rested upon his forearm, with his. “I cannot imagine what I am to do if . . . if . . . when . . .”
“Of course, it will be difficult,” the young widow offered with heartfelt emotions.
Miss Harding drew her hand away as if in defeat.
“Goodness, there you are!” Mrs. Sutton hurried into the room, drawing the visitors’ attention in the opposite direction from where Penny stood, thus delaying her discovery even longer. “I heard you had arrived, and I cannot be more delighted to tell you of the good news.”
“Good news?” Mrs. Pitt brought her hands together and, stepping away from Mr. Cavanaugh, resumed the modest position she had when entering.
“That Mr. Cavanaugh is now in our company?” Miss Harding ventured. “We only happened upon his presence when we arrived.”
“As wonderful as it is to have him return, that is not to what I refer. Can you not guess?” Mrs. Sutton’s raised brows accompanied her cheerful smile. “Has Mrs. Cavanaugh not told you?”
“Is it Mrs. Cavanaugh? Does she improve?” The confusion was evident on Mrs. Pitt’s face.
Penny’s presence would not go unnoticed for much longer. No matter how uncomfortable she felt deceiving David’s grandmother and her household staff, the ruse would now spread outside the Willows. Now there would be no turning back.
“Well, yes. It has happened only very recently. But that is not the news to which I refer. Have you not made the acquaintance of Mr. Cavanaugh’s wife?” Mrs. Sutton turned her head just enough to stare in Penny’s direction. Not two seconds passed before both visitors mimicked the companion’s gesture and their gazes came to rest upon David’s wife as well. “I can see introductions have not been made,” Mrs. Sutton continued, sounding a bit strained, and did the honors.
Making the acquaintances of the sisters did not appear to ease the tension in the room. As Penny understood, the tale of David’s marriage and his family, relayed to his grandmother, known to the household at the Willows, for some reason had not been known to these ladies.
“Shall we remove to Madam’s bedchamber, ladies?” Mrs. Sutton suggested in the ensuing silence. “I am sure she is most anxious to see you.”
“Is she?” Miss Harding replied with a tight smile. No one moved or made another sound until the companion broke the quiet.
“And she will be expecting you to attend as well, Mrs. Cavanaugh,” Mrs. Sutton added.
“I shall not disappoint her.” Penny took this opportunity to escape the room. What surprised her was that Miss Harding followed with Mrs. Sutton only two steps behind.
“I will only be a moment,” Mrs. Pitt called after them.
Pen
ny climbed the staircase, happy to leave behind the stifling atmosphere in the parlor. She wasn’t certain what, or who, had caused it. She only knew it could not follow her to the ailing patient’s room. There, the most important concern was that of Grandmother Cavanaugh’s condition.
“You . . . have . . . a . . . wife?” Mrs. Pitt enunciated each word with a patent warble females employed to imply a topic was wholly of no interest to them.
David suspected his married state was anything but uninteresting to her.
“I had no notion.” She glared at him from under abnormally high-arched eyebrows, and her eyes opened extremely wide. “You have never mentioned it.”
“No . . . I—” Well, he hadn’t been, leg-shackled, that is. Still wasn’t, to tell the truth. The Pitt woman did not like it a bit, though.
“I thought . . . I had thought . . .” Her voice cracked, followed by a sniffle into a handkerchief that seemed to have materialized out of thin air.
“My dear Mrs. Pitt—” He extended his hand to comfort her but thought better of placing it upon her shoulder. “I beg that you do not go on so.”
“If I knew . . . if I only had some . . .” She leaned toward his touch, and her voice broke again. “I thought that . . . that you might, perhaps, care a little for me.”
“Well, of course . . .” Females were so silly. “You have been all that is kind to my family. How could I not—” Then it dawned on him her exact meaning. David fought to keep his expression from altering into one of horror. What she had meant was more tender feelings. But that wasn’t what he had meant at all. He appreciated the special care and attention she had bestowed upon Gran, and that’s all he had felt for Mrs. Pitt—just gratitude.
David was very thankful Mrs. Pitt spent so much time seeing to Gran’s condition. He rather thought it was more of a matter of the widow having tender feelings for his beloved, aged relative than the young widow looking to him for . . . for . . . That was such nonsense. He was not the type of man who attracted women like others of his acquaintance. Of course she was concerned for Gran. How could one not adore his grandmother? Apparently that was not the circumstance at all. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, if I led you to believe, in what I may have said or in any way, my behavior—”
An Elaborate Hoax (A Gentlemen of Worth Book 5) Page 5
