Reckless Griselda

by Harriet Smart

  “More than friends, perhaps,” said Griselda, responding to the warmth of her cousin’s manner. “Like sisters, even.”

  “Yes, indeed. But it is not to late to repair the matter, I trust?”

  “No, I think not.”

  “Good,” said Caroline getting up. “I hope you like this room. It is rather small, I’m afraid, but I am just next door,” she said, opening the door.

  Griselda followed her into the room, which was large and very elegantly fitted out, with a great deal of blue satin, fringes and tassels.

  “Mamma and I have been very amused by this house,” Caroline said. “It is fitted up just like something from an upholsterer’s pattern book. It is so fashionable as to be almost vulgar. And it is the last thing one would have expected in a place like Cromer. But our landlord is apparently a very rich man of business from Norwich who had done it out for his new wife, but she found fault with it, and will not use it, so he lets it to us instead and is very glad to have a Vicountess as a tenant. So glad that he charges an exorbitant rent. Look, do you see these muslin puffs on the bolster cushions? Are they not absurd? Very pretty for a sleeve but absurd on a cushion.”

  “It is the room for a heroine in a novel,” declared Griselda.

  “Then I had better give it up to you,” said Caroline. “For you are far more likely to be a heroine than I.”

  “What makes you say that?” said Griselda, slightly alarmed.

  “Only because my existence is a very predictable one, and I know nothing of yours except that you have lived all your life in the very romantic circumstances of a highland estate and you have had the misfortune to lose your luggage. Those two facts alone qualify you.”

  Laughing, Griselda walked to the window and looked out at the beach. The day was glittering and bright but still windy and considerable waves were lashing up the sides of the bathing machines as they stood in the water.

  “Do ladies ever bathe here?” she asked.

  “One or two, I believe,” said Caroline.

  “I think it would be rather pleasant,” said Griselda.

  “Too cold, surely,” said Caroline with a shudder. “Now,” she went on, turning to the press. “What is your pleasure in the matter of a dress? I have sent Hill to air some body linen for you and we must make a decision directly as Mamma likes to drive out and take the air at this time, and will be disappointed if you are not to join us.”

  Griselda let herself be guided by her cousin’s good taste and found herself fitted out in a white muslin round gown and an elegant, dark green velvet spencer with military style froggings. Caroline declared she must keep the spencer as it looked far better on Griselda than it had ever done on her. The outfit was completed by a simple but very smart chip straw bonnet, tied with matching velvet ribbon, and Griselda was able to take her place in her Aunt’s landau feeling that she did not disgrace the coat of arms on the door.

  “The chief attraction of Cromer,” Lady Amberleigh explained as they drove off, “is that there are so many charming drives in the neighbourhood.”

  “And walks,” added Caroline. “I hope you love to walk, cousin. No, I am sure you do. I am a great walker, you see.”

  “Yes, it will be pleasant for you to have someone to walk with, Caro, for I do not care for the exercise myself,” said Lady Amberleigh. “But then it will not be long before you may walk with your husband.”

  Griselda glanced at Caroline, who smiled.

  “It is not quite settled yet,” Lady Amberleigh went on. “But we have expectations of it being so shortly.” She took Caroline’s hand and said, “I own I was a little harsh with him last night. It was for your sake, my dear. I felt I had to test his mettle.”

  “And I do not think he disappointed you,” said Caroline. “He did not disappoint me.”

  “No, no, I must say he did not. He is an excellent young man,” said Lady Amberleigh and added with a smile. “We must see if we cannot find one such for you, Griselda.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that I should care…” Griselda began.

  “Nonsense,” said Lady Amberleigh. “It is about time you began to think of your future – you are one and twenty now, after all. My brother will want you well settled.”

  “Yes,” admitted Griselda.

  “There cannot be anyone suitable in the neighbourhood of Glenmorval, of course. We were always a little pressed for good society when I was a girl, which was why my father sent me to his cousin in London. I dare say my brother should have sent you to us long ago,” Lady Amberleigh said. “Still, we shall remedy that and try to expand your acquaintance a little.”

  The carriage turned out of Cromer now and Griselda realised that she was travelling through the same country she had made her way the day before on foot, in such different circumstances.

  “Who is the gentleman?” Griselda ventured to enquire.

  “Sir Thomas Thorpe,” said Lady Amberleigh. “He is quite a catch, if I say so myself – although, of course, I do not approve of mercenary marriages.”

  “You do not, ma’am?” said Griselda.

  “No, a man must stand on his merits as a man, as well as being possessed of fortune and position. And he must have a sincere regard for his future wife, uninfluenced by worldly considerations.”

  “I could not agree with you more,” said Griselda, surprised to find her aunt so pleasantly idealistic.

  “Then you must let me help you find a husband,” said Lady Amberleigh. “I assure you I shall not thrust you at any man. That sort of behaviour is unforgivable.”

  “I think you may find it hard,” said Griselda. “For I have no money and no looks to recommend me.”

  “You are a Farquarson of Glenmorval,” said Lady Amberleigh. “That was enough for my Amberleigh. Fortune is not everything. And as for looks – why, you have all the benefits that youth and health can bring you. We shall have you settled before the end of the year, shall we not?”

  “Perhaps, Mamma,” said Caroline. “But I do know not where we shall find anyone to equal Sir Thomas at such short notice.”

  “I hope never, for your sake, cousin,” said Griselda. “For you, no man should ever equal him.”

  “Quite right, Griselda,” said Lady Amberleigh.

  “But for your sake I wish we could find one such,” said Caroline. “I could not wish you to have anything less.”

  “I long to meet him,” said Griselda. “He must be a most excellent man.”

  Yet privately she did not think he could ever compare with the gentleman she had met at the Abbey.

  “Yes, he is,” said Caroline. “Ah, look Mamma, here is that lovely old inn we admired so the other day! That rambler rose on the south wall is quite a marvellous thing – to still be in flower in August. What sort can it be?”

  It was the very inn of yesterday’s adventure and Griselda feared that Caroline, in her enthusiasm, would stop the carriage and send in to discover the name of the rose. She had an awful picture in her mind of having to cower in the carriage corner, her face turned away rudely while Caroline and Lady Amberleigh had a discussion with the landlady.

  Fortunately Lady Amberleigh said, “I cannot understand this passion for gardening, Caro. That is why one employs a gardener.”

  “I know you think it eccentric of me, Mamma,” said Caroline, “and you will be shocked when you hear of me at Priorscote, wearing a holland apron and taking lessons in pruning from the head gardener. Priorscote is Sir Thomas’s seat,” she explained to Griselda.

  “His principal seat,” corrected Lady Amberleigh. “There is also a place in Cambridgeshire that came from his maternal grandfather, did it not?”

  “Yes, but he does not care for it. He says the country there is too flat for his taste. Not that he neglects the place – apparently the house is twice as large, but Priorscote is his father’s house and where he grew up.”

  “Then he must prefer it,” said Griselda. “Where is it?”

  “In Rutland. Near to Stamford where th
ere are very respectable assemblies, so one will never be short of opportunities for dancing. You see, Mamma, I am already thinking of having Griselda to stay with us this winter.”

  “You should be a little more cautious,” said Lady Amberleigh. “You may get another vexing letter from Lady Thorpe.”

  “I shall not be wounded by it if I do,” said Caroline, stoutly. “I have heard his side of the story now and trust him entirely.”

  This was all very mysterious and interesting, but Griselda did not know them well enough to enquire further. Besides, they had now reached the object of their drive – a very familiar ruined abbey. Griselda found herself trembling slightly as she climbed down from the carriage. What if he was there with his sketchbook again?

  “Would it be too much for you to walk back from here?” asked Caroline. “It is scarce three miles and the day is so fine. I did not walk at all yesterday because of the storm.”

  “No, I should be glad of the exercise,” said Griselda, glancing around her, her heart pounding.

  “Mamma, will you manage without us?” Caroline asked Lady Amberleigh who remained seated in the Landau.

  “Perfectly, my dear,” said Lady Amberleigh. “You may enjoy your ruin at your leisure. I can never see what you young people see in ruins. It does not seem at all an interesting object to me. No, I am going to call on Mrs Halbourne at Synde Place where at least I can be sure of a roof.”

  “Dear Mamma,” said Caroline as the carriage drove off. “She has no sense of the picturesque. But I am sure you must love an old abbey. I shall be very disappointed if you do not.”

  Griselda, not quite trusting her voice, followed her into the chapel.

  “And we have the place to ourselves!” exclaimed Caroline. “That is how it should be.”

  Griselda, who did not know yet whether she was disappointed or relieved, nodded in agreement and turned to study the broken tracery of the east window – the window he had been so diligently sketching. Indeed she fancied she was standing on the very spot he had stood, and as she thought that, a sort of ache possessed her. She wished then she had not slipped away. Who knew what she might be doing now if she had stayed in his arms and seen him wake up? Of course, she was highly diverted by this new world she had been pitched into but it was not one of her own choosing. But she had chosen to go to that inn with him and chosen to let him make love to her and that seemed to make all the difference. She had been utterly in control and even at the moment of greatest license she felt she would have been able to stop things that she had she wanted. But she had not wanted to stop. She had made her decision and she could not regret it. All she could regret was that she would probably never have the chance to exercise such freedom again.

  “You look very melancholy,” said Caroline. “Are you thinking of horrid stories of nuns being walled up for falling in love?”

  “No, no,” said Griselda. “But that is horrid, absolutely horrid.”

  “Be glad we live in a rational age,” said Caroline.

  “Are you sure that we do?” said Griselda.

  “That is an interesting question,” said Caroline, clasping her hands behind her back. “Perhaps not entirely. But it is best to comfort oneself with the idea that it is.”

  “Might I ask something?” said Griselda. “About your engagement to Sir Thomas Thorpe. Why the uncertainty? Forgive me if this seems impertinent…”

  “No, it is not at all. I am glad to be able to talk of it to someone impartial. We met at my brother-in-law’s house in Derbyshire in July – he was a fortnight there. My sister likes a very large company and I think he was invited to meet me, so we were much thrown together and we became friends. He asked my brother whether he had any objections to his taking the matter further, which of course he did not. After that he went to Priorscote to supervise the harvest, and I continued at my sister’s until August when we came here to Cromer. He wrote to my mother asking whether he might come and see us – and he has been here two weeks. The day before yesterday he asked me to marry him and I accepted. But it seems that his mother is against it.”

  “How can she be?”

  “Because – and this is what has so upset us – she maintains he is engaged to Lady Mary Liston, Lord Wansford’s daughter – his only child, in fact.”

  “She’s an heiress, then?”

  “To a very staggering fortune, yes. And Lady Thorpe seems to have influenced Lady Mary in some way, and made her believe that Sir Thomas is attached to her and that she must consider herself engaged. She wrote to me telling me that any proposal that Sir Thomas made to me was not honourable since he was not free to act.”

  “How very frightening for you. What must you have thought?”

  “I thought everything. I was quite prepared to end our engagement there and then but he came to dinner and when I saw him, I knew he could not be guilty of such a thing. He said everything that was proper and now I am entirely reassured. Of course, he does not require his mother’s consent but we shall endeavour to get her blessing. It may not be easy.”

  “She will give it the moment she knows you,” said Griselda.

  “I do hope so,” said Caroline. “For I have decided – and you must allow me to be impetuous here – that you must be settled in a good house with a good husband, not above ten miles drive from Priorscote, for I think you will make me a very good neighbour.”

  Chapter 6

  Tom could not sleep. He could not stop thinking about her. He felt that her touch had branded him and his body was covered with painful burns from which he could get no relief.

  Despite a long late walk, he was not tired, and after hours of agonised tossing and turning, he eventually climbed out of his bed at three in the morning. He sat reading Shakespeare – Anthony and Cleopatra, a poor choice and no distraction – until tiredness overcame him around first light. He slept until ten and only woke then because Gough came in. Used to his master’s steady habits, Gough had been alarmed that he was not called for at seven as usual. By ten he could stand to wait no longer and had gone in to check that Tom was not insensible or worse.

  “Let me send for a doctor, sir,” said Gough who had worked himself into a state of serious alarm. “I am sure you caught a fever yesterday. You said you took a soaking in the storm.”

  “I have no fever, Gough,” said Tom. “And I should not consult a physician in a place like Cromer, for they are bound to be the sort to make a man take to a bath chair and emetics for the rest of his life.”

  “A purge sir, that might be just the thing,” said Gough. “Your late father used to take a mixture of…”

  “No Gough, if you please!” exclaimed Tom. “I do not need purges, I need a wife.”

  Gough looked shocked, but Tom was not over-concerned with Gough’s feelings. He was too out of temper and too miserable with desire to think of anyone but himself. “I will go and bathe.”

  “What about your breakfast, sir?”

  “I shall take it when I return.”

  “The sea looks very rough today, sir,” said Gough.

  “Then I shall take my chances,” said Tom and then seeing the distress on the old man’s face, said in a more mollifying tone, “Come now, you know I am a strong swimmer. Think how much good this will do me.”

  Gough was right – the sea was rough, but Tom was in the mood for some real exertion, and with considerable enthusiasm plunged into the water from the steps of the bathing machine. It was extremely cold but exhilarating, and he had swum out some distance from the machine in a matter of minutes. He stopped to tread water, gazing back at the shore and the strange appearance of the bathing machines which had been drawn into the water and looked like floating huts. In front of each some invalid floundered and splashed with the help of a guide, and there was only one other bather who had struck out on his own as Tom had done. He was swimming with a powerful crawl and Tom, wanting a challenge, determined to swim over to him and request a contest.

  It was no easy matter to catch him, how
ever, and Tom was impressed by an exhibition of such strength. But then the swimmer slowed suddenly and Tom realised at once he was in great danger. He pushed himself forward only to see that the man been seized with the cramp and was hanging motionless in the water, about to be swept out to sea in the next pulse of the waves. Quickly Tom wrapped his arms around him and began to bring him back towards the shore. He was a large, muscular man and made almost dead weight for Tom to drag. Tom began to fear he was already drowned, but as they approached Tom’s machine he began to cough and splutter.

  Tom struggled and got him up onto the little platform at the end of the machine. The man sprawled onto the wooden floor of the machine and vomited violently. Clearly mortified, he attempted to get to his feet, only to stumble half way through the act.