An Improper Companion

by April Kihlstrom

  And then, my heart beating wildly, my pen slid across the page as Leslie said, “Good morning, madam.”

  Chapter 15

  I forced myself to turn slowly to face Leslie. But no force of will could lift me to my feet. “Good morning, Leslie,” I said. “May I ask how you found me?”

  “Mademoiselle Suzette sent for me,” he replied curtly.

  “I see.”

  So, my only ally had betrayed me. I waited for Leslie to speak, for I could not. “Philip and Mary are well,” he said, at last. “Though greatly distressed by your disappearance.”

  “I left letters.”

  “So you did, madam,” he said contemptuously. “Should that lessen the offense?” He was angry now. “We’ve had two sleepless nights, the servants and I. And we gave out that you’d gone to London early, though I doubt it will silence the tattle-boxes.”

  I retorted. “Ah, yes, the god you worship ... respectability ... might have been disturbed! And nothing else matters, does it?”

  “Be quiet, madam!”

  “No, I will not. I left you so that you might annul our marriage. You should find your respectability easier to maintain without me!”

  “Do you think so?” he asked bitterly. “I had not understood you to be so concerned for my welfare! And in any case, your departure would not aid me. Everyone would think you a second Jane and all the evil suspicions would be confirmed.”

  I was aghast at this notion which had not before occurred to me. “Leslie, I...”

  “Spare me your protests, madam. Indeed, spare me further speech. We leave for my town house in half an hour. Prepare yourself.”

  And then he was gone. I still sat, frozen, staring at the door, when Mademoiselle Suzette entered. I regarded her angrily. She stood, hands on hips, and said, “Tiens! But he is a fool! So you have had words. And you are angry with me.”

  “He is concerned only for his reputation!” I spat out.

  “Ma foi! You are as stupid as he is!” she said bluntly. “He speaks so because he does not know how else to deal with such a woman.”

  “I should have gone to Lady Mary,” I said bitterly. “Though his sister, she would not have betrayed me.”

  “That one!” Mademoiselle tossed her head. “She would not be eager to see this marriage. She thinks her son Philippe his heir. I would see you happy.”

  “Happy? With Sir Leslie? I will not go!”

  “You will,” she said grimly, “if he must to carry you screaming.”

  Stiffly I rose and packed my few things. Then I turned to her and said, “I am ready.”

  She sighed, “Tiens, mon enfant, do not be so stiff with him. You are not made of stone!”

  “I shall write to you from France,” was all I said.

  Leslie was waiting and silently handed me into his barouche. As we began to move, Leslie began to lecture, “You came to London early to have a dress fitted by Mademoiselle Suzette. I followed. Will you give me your word, madam, not to run away again?”

  “No!”

  He was silent, and I smiled to myself. No doubt he would be vigilant, but I would yet escape. “Heather,” he said quietly, “can we not call a truce?”

  “Very well,” I said, hiding the ache I felt, “a truce until I escape?”

  He swore and we rode on in silence. The servants were lined up just inside the house. It seemed Leslie had remembered the proprieties, this time, and he introduced me. I fear my greeting was not altogether coherent, but no one seemed to mind and soon I was going upstairs. One of the maids accompanied me. “You seem tired, my lady,” she said. “Shall I draw a bath?”

  “Please,” I said. “I should like that.”

  The arrangement of my room, and Leslie’s was much the same as in the castle. Both were large and airy, with two connecting doors. Surreptitiously, I checked for a bolt on my side, and to my relief, I found it. Quietly I closed the door. The bath was in a corner of the room partitioned off with a large screen. As soon as the servants had filled the tub and departed, I undressed and stepped into it. The warm water was soothing and I allowed myself to relax. Once, someone (the maid, I assumed) came into the room briefly, but I did not care. At last, satisfied, I stepped from my bath and dried myself. The maid had thoughtfully placed a dressing gown near the tub and I put that on until I could dress properly. Combing my hair, I walked into the main portion of my room. The maid had removed my clothes. For cleaning, I supposed, and I looked about for my bag. It was not there, and a rapid inspection informed me that my clothes were not in the wardrobe. Puzzled, I rang for the maid, trying to remember her name. When she arrived, I asked mildly, “Meg, where are my things?”

  To my surprise, she bobbed a curtsy and said, “Please, my lady, you must ask Sir Leslie.”

  “Sir Leslie?”

  “Yes, my lady. Sir Leslie,” she said firmly.

  “Please tell Sir Leslie that I wish to speak with him,” I said as patiently as I could.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  As I waited for Leslie I paced back and forth. I had an uneasy suspicion as to what he would say. And for the moment, I was helpless. Leslie soon arrived, entering my room with a careless air. “I trust your bath was satisfactory?” he asked in a friendly fashion.

  “Where are my clothes?” I demanded.

  He said nothing and I repeated the question. He smiled as though pleased with himself. “Do you not wish to rest, madam?”

  “I wish to have my clothes!” I said, losing my temper.

  He grew serious. “You may have your clothes, Heather, when you have given me your word you will not run away again.”

  “Never!”

  “As you choose.” He shrugged. “But I cannot think you will be much pleased to spend your life in a dressing gown.”

  “I won’t!”

  He shrugged again. “Perhaps not. The choice is yours. Oh, you need not expect help of the servants. They are quite loyal to me and understand I act for your welfare.”

  “Oh? And what will other people say, do you think?” I demanded.

  He smiled insolently. “They will say it is such a pity my lovely young wife is ill and cannot even have visitors.”

  “I swear I’ll find my clothes and escape!” I retorted.

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve hidden them where you would not look.”

  I regarded him silently, unsure of what he meant. Where would I not look? Gradually a suspicion grew and became certainly as he added, “You might think to look there, I suppose. But as a gentlewoman, you would not.”

  I hid my satisfaction well. So he thought I would not? “Please leave me,” I said with dignity. “I wish to rest.”

  He gave a mock bow and withdrew. Then I permitted myself to smile. I would wait for my opportunity. Knowing I should need my strength later, I slept.

  Meg woke me, sometime later. “My lady, ’tis time for luncheon. I’ve brought your tray.”

  I sat up quickly, for I found I was quite hungry. Meg placed the tray on the table beside my bed. It held only a bowl of broth. “Meg,” I asked evenly, “where is my meal?”

  “Here, my lady.”

  “Meg, I see only a bowl of broth.”

  “Yes, my lady. Just as Sir Leslie ordered, my lady.”

  “Meg, take away the broth and bring me some food.”

  “No, my lady.”

  “Meg. Do as I have said, or fetch Sir Leslie. Else I shall not be responsible for what I do.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  She hurried away to fetch Leslie, and I clenched and unclenched my fists. Leslie arrived, alone, and closed the door behind him. Then he folded his arms across his chest and, leaning against the door, regarded me calmly. “What is this?” I demanded, pointing to the tray.

  “Broth, I believe.”

  “Well, I don’t want it! I want an ordinary tray!” I said hotly.

  “I know,” he said sympathetically. “However, you’ll have broth until you recover from your ... illness.”

 
“You wouldn’t dare!” I whispered.

  “Try me!” His voice was hard. Then, more quietly, “You need only give me your word, Heather. I shall not ill-treat you. And you must realise I mean it for the best.”

  “No!”

  He shrugged and opened the door. “Bon appetite,” he said, and was gone.

  I confess I wanted to throw the tray, with its broth, after him. But I knew that if I did I should have nothing to eat. And so I consumed the broth, suppressing my dislike for it. When Meg returned for the tray, I asked about Leslie. “Oh, I believe he has gone out, my lady,” she replied, somewhat timidly.

  “Very well, that will be all,” I said.

  As soon as she had departed, I was out of bed. I would search his room at once. And if I found my clothes, I vowed I should soon be gone! Quietly I opened the doors between our rooms and soundlessly entered his. It was arranged much the same as mine, and I quickly moved to the drawers which I knew must hold his nether garments. I was sure this was where my things had been hidden. Why else say I would not dare search where they were hidden? I had scarcely begun my search when I heard a noise. I froze. The footsteps, for that was the sound I heard, came closer. I forced myself to turn. It was, as I knew it would be, Leslie. He regarded me a moment, then said quietly and with amusement, “Well, Heather, I didn’t know such things interested you.”

  I followed his eyes to my hands, where I still held two of his garments. Hastily I thrust them away and turned back to face him. He regarded me as steadily as ever. “Now, Heather, may I have my room to myself? Unless you prefer to watch as I undress?”

  I fled. Tears in my eyes, I fled to my room, slamming and bolting the door behind me. There I threw myself on my bed and cried with frustration. No doubt Leslie was well content! When I could cry no more, I paced. And when that palled, I determined to defy him some way. As a beginning, he should not know I cared that I was a prisoner. I would keep myself well amused with books and letters. Only ... where to begin? How to post my letters? Leslie had surely given orders not to carry them for me. Well, still I could read, and in time discover a way to send my letters. Only ... there were no books in my chamber. It took a moment for realisation to reach me. There were no books in my chamber! Resolutely, I strode to the door. I would go to the library myself and choose some books! I halted. A footman stood outside my door. I drew my dressing gown closer about me as he asked, respectfully, “Yes, my lady?”

  “I wish some books ... from the library.”

  “A moment, my lady. I will fetch Sir Leslie.”

  “There is no need. I shall fetch the books myself,” I said lightly.

  “Please, my lady,” he said respectfully but firmly, “I will fetch Sir Leslie.”

  I retreated to my room, afraid to test the notion that this servant had orders to restrain me forcibly if I attempted to leave my room. A moment later, Leslie entered. “I am very sorry, Heather,” he said in a sympathetic tone, one I was beginning to hate, “the doctor feels you should not tire your eyes by reading.”

  “Or writing?” I demanded.

  He bowed. “Or writing.”

  “What doctor?”

  “Doctor Kinwell, of course.” His voice grew hard, “You have but to give your word, madam...”

  I stared at him with murderous intent. He bowed mockingly and left. And I threw a candlestick at the closing door. Was he mad? I wondered. Much as I had hated him, I had never deemed him capable of such behaviour. I could not doubt the seriousness of his intent, nor his determination to keep me so until I gave my word. I truly wondered if he were sane, this man who was now such a stranger. For the first time, I began to be afraid.

  In this manner, broodingly, the afternoon passed. I was not surprised to find that for me, tea consisted of just tea and plain toast. All in form of course. As I sipped my tea I tried to reason out why Leslie should be so determined to keep me. And I could only conclude that he viewed me as a possession he would not give up, no matter how flawed it might be, no matter how he loathed it. Leslie spoke of “appearances” and of Jane and of becoming an outcast. But I could not believe he would care so much for that. Could he be less happy than he was with me? Ah, then I had it. Perhaps he felt my absence would interfere with acquiring a mistress, as my presence would not. Perhaps he had already determined on the woman and waited only until our marriage should be sufficiently old not to arouse censure. But if that were so, why did he not fear I should speak of this outrage? Or did he feel that I should fear to, having given my word to remain in his power? Would I? I began to feel caught in a nightmare I could not wake from. And when Meg came to take away the tea tray, she found me strangely silent.

  I did not see Leslie again that day. He had patience enough, it seemed. My evening meal was, of course, another bowl of broth, and I ate it with resignation. I retired early. Surely, tomorrow, I should come about.

  Morning came soon, and with it, tea and plain toast to break my fast. I was tired of this nonsense and determined to tell Leslie so when he came. But he did not come that morning. At noon, Meg brought my bowl of broth, and my patience was at an end. “Please inform Sir Leslie that I wish to speak with him,” I told her.

  Meg bobbed a curtsy and tried to hide a smile. “I am sorry, my lady, but he said to inform you he should not come so long as there were broth in the bowl. That he did not wish to find it on his clothes.”

  I found it difficult to suppress a smile myself, for he had read my intentions rightly. I sighed. “Very well, Meg. When you return for the tray you may inform Sir Leslie I wish to speak with him.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  I was oddly cheered by this bit of news, for it made Leslie seem familiar again. Surely he was not as mad as he had seemed the day before. I should speak with him and we would reach an understanding. But when he came, his manner was as cold as ever. “I trust you are almost well, madam?” he said.

  I waited until Meg had left the room. “Oh, Leslie, stop this nonsense! Can we not discuss the matter calmly?”

  “There is nothing to discuss, Heather,” he replied quietly. “I will settle for nothing short of your word not to run away again.”

  “Well, you shall not have it,” I said petulantly.

  He shrugged. “As you wish. It is no trouble to me to have you an invalid.”

  “Leslie...”

  “Your word, Heather.”

  “No!”

  “Good day.”

  He was gone. I stared at the closed door in disbelief. And I threw another candlestick. A moment later, the footman timidly opened the door. “You wish something, my lady?” “Get out!” I shouted, and he hastily withdrew.

  I determined to again search for my clothes. But this time, the door to Leslie’s chamber was bolted from his side. I was truly a prisoner now, for I knew the footman still guarded my door. I began to pace, determined to hit upon a scheme for my escape. But none occurred to me that I did not soon dismiss as foolish or impossible. At tea, I sounded Meg as to the possibility of her aid. I was soon stripped of my illusions: her loyalty, and indeed that of all the servants, lay with Leslie. For some reason (what it might be, I could not conceive) the servants had a high regard for him. Without question, they would follow his orders, and it signified nothing if the orders were bizarre. So, I must act alone. But I could think of no plan. Leslie had come to know me well, and taken all precautions, it seemed. Broth arrived at the usual hour. I grew more and more discouraged, trying the door and, each time, finding the footman still outside. And finding, each time I tried it, Leslie’s door was bolted. That night, sleep would not come.

  I arose, sleepless, at my usual hour. My head ached and I felt close to tears of frustration. Had Leslie appeared, I should have screamed at him and thrown all that I could find. But he did not appear. And would not, Meg informed me, until I felt “better.” She brought my broth early that day. When I said it lacked the proper hour, Meg explained, “I know, my lady. But I thought I might bring it early for ’tis a busy day
in the kitchen. Sir Leslie has commanded a large noon meal.”

  And in that moment, I recognised what had disturbed me ... the smells of the kitchen. I looked at the tray with my broth and suddenly wondered what was the point of my futile resistance? “Take away the broth, Meg,” I said quietly. “And please inform Sir Leslie I am feeling quite well.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  When she had gone, I privately resolved to give Leslie my word, but not to keep it if he did not change his manner toward me. For he had offered an exchange: my freedom for my word. If he failed to keep his side of the bargain, I should not keep mine. And then he was there. He closed the door and regarded me with his piercing eyes. “Meg said you felt recovered?”

  “Yes,” I said wearily, “I give you my word, I shall not run away again.”

  He advanced and placed a hand on my shoulder. “You shall not regret it, Heather,” he said quietly. Then he grinned. “I’ll send Meg with your clothes, for I suspect you would prefer to dine at table.”

  I did not answer and he left. So. I was bound here, and what the future held I could not guess. When Meg arrived, I dressed quickly, and after checking my bag to be sure the journal still lay there untouched, I went downstairs, arriving before the table had even been set. As we sat down to dine it seemed Leslie gazed at me oddly. But I dismissed the notion impatiently. I was hungry and I ate as one who had not dined for many days. We had started the final course when there was a noise in the hall. Leslie and I rose as one to investigate. And I stood frozen as I watched Peter and Ellen enter with a mass of luggage. I looked at Leslie, and catching my eye, he flushed. Truly I felt ill, for in that moment, I understood. Had I but been firm two hours more, I should have won. Leslie could not have kept me prisoner with Ellen here to aid me. And even Peter, I was certain, should have protested. Slowly I turned and went back to the table. I forced myself to eat to cover my confusion. He had won by such a short margin! Had I but understood him better ... But I understood him, it seemed, not at all. Leslie returned to the table, and as we completed the meal, I said, “And what should you have done this afternoon?”