by Dunn
Amaryllis stared blindly at the paper, disappointment, sympathy, and relief warring within her. Before she could analyse her feelings, a whisper caught her attention.
“Psst, Isabel! How do you spell ‘dungeon'?"
She smiled to herself. Louise was probably inventing marvellous stories about the unfortunate prisoners in the oubliette.
She turned to her preparations for the next lesson.
That evening, she wished she could share with Bertram his niece's version of history. King John was a Bad Man, even though he fought the French, which was a good thing to do. He took the castle from the Earl of Oxford and threw the earl's retainers in the ‘dungyon'—apparently Isabel's spelling was not to be relied upon—and they were never seen again. When the earl recaptured his castle he threw King John's retainers in the dungyon, and they were never seen again. Later on, King Henry threw some of the earl's retainers in the dungyon because he had too many, but since it was the earl's dungyon he rescued them with a ladder and gave King Henry all his money instead. Somehow, Louise had managed to connect to the dungyon even Queen Matilda's death at the castle and Queen Elizabeth's visit, four hundred years later.
Isabel's essay, on the other hand, demonstrated a clear abhorrence of violence and sympathy for the underdog. Amaryllis wondered whether she had acquired her ideas from her father, or whether they arose from an instinctive revulsion against his harshness, though it never turned against her.
How little Amaryllis knew of the man!
On Sunday she had the opportunity to learn more about him, even before she saw him. His carriage, drawn by two dapple-grey and two sorrel horses, arrived at the school promptly at nine when she was scarce returned from church.
“I am sorry you should have been called so early from your bed on the sabbath,” she exclaimed to the coachman as Isabel's chosen guests climbed into the vehicle.
“Nay, miss,” responded the thickset, middle-aged man, his eyes twinkling under bushy brows as he saluted her in a military manner, “though I'd a bin happy to for Miss Isabel. The master sent me over last night to put up at the inn, for he bain't one to overwork man nor beast. He sent both pair o’ cattle to shorten the journey for the young ladies, so I'll be staying again this night to rest ‘em."
Having safely bestowed her friends, Isabel came up. “Thank you for coming to fetch me, Grayson,” she said, craning her neck to look up at his perch.
He beamed and saluted again. “Any time, Miss Isabel."
They joined the others inside. The carriage was comfortable and commodious, though decidedly crowded since Isabel had invited as many friends as she thought could be squeezed in. Miss Hartwell sat with three girls facing the horses, and five more had piled themselves, giggling, onto the opposite seat. Skirts were crushed and bonnets knocked awry, but in view of the occasion everyone was good-humoured.
The grey, mild weather had continued, but that morning a wind had arisen. By the time they reached the halfway point, at Finchingfield, the clouds were gone and the sun shone in a pale blue sky.
Unexpectedly the carriage stopped, and Grayson called down, “I brung some bread, miss."
“Oh please, Miss Hartwell, may we feed the ducks?” cried Isabel hopefully.
On receiving a surprised affirmative, the girls scrambled out. Amaryllis descended in a more dignified manner, accepting Grayson's proffered arm. A charming scene awaited her. Before her spread a village green, with a large pond of clear brown water, sparking in the sun, where floated a multitude of ducks. Beyond, the cottages of Finchingfield straggled up the hill to the half-timbered Guildhall and the square Norman tower of the church at the top.
Grayson passed out three loaves of stale bread, and the young ladies advanced on the pond. As if repelling an attack, the ducks swam frantically for the shore, quacking loudly, struggled out of the water, and flocked towards the invaders. White domestic ducks with yellow bills, handsome brown mallards with glossy green heads and white-ringed necks, a solitary grey goose, they all squawked with joy as they recognised in eight young ladies a source of free food.
“Lots o’ folks feeds ‘em,” Grayson explained to Miss Hartweil. “They reckernise a loaf a mile off, I reckon."
“What a delightful place,” she said. “And to think I have lived so close for six years without ever seeing it."
Very soon the ducks were squabbling over the last crusts and everyone climbed reluctantly into the carriage. They set off up the hill.
“The goose bit me,” said Louise in great indignation, waving her ungloved hand. “There was a duck eating out of my hand, and then the goose came up and chased it off and bit me."
Two of her fingers had red marks on them, but there was no real damage. Amaryllis could only wonder why the goose had chosen Louise to bite. She seemed to attract trouble as much as she sought it out.
They drove on for some time by way of country lanes and small villages. Just when the journey grew tedious, Isabel announced that the land to the left of the road belonged to her father. She sat forward on her seat to point out landmarks, and Amaryllis looked about with interest.
The gentle slopes of the low, rounded hills were mostly covered with wheat stubble, already being plowed under in places. Well-kept hedges divided the wide fields from each other, and here and there spinneys provided further protection against the wind, though this was not wooded country. Huge solitary oaks, beginning to lose their yellow-brown leaves, lent variety to the landscape. Amaryllis noted that the hedgerows, alive with fluttering, chirping birds, were weighed down with hips and haws and hazel nuts. According to country lore, such a bountiful harvest predicted a cold winter.
They rolled through the hamlet of Radwinter, and half a mile beyond turned left between gateposts of weathered brick. There were no gates and no gatehouse. “We're home,” crowed Isabel. To either side stretched more harvested fields rather than the parkland to be expected of a gentleman's residence, but the drive was gravelled and in good repair. It wound round the side of a hill, where, sheltered from the north winds, stood a rambling manor house built of oaken beams and richly red local brick. The tile roof sprouted a profusion of ornate Tudor chimney stacks. They lent the place an air of extravagant gaiety vastly at odds with what Amaryllis had discovered of its owner's disposition.
The carriage rounded a circular sweep and pulled up before the front door. A pair of golden Sussex spaniels, snoozing on the brick steps, raised their heads and gazed at the carriage with liquid, expectant eyes.
“Juno! Jupiter!” called Isabel, struggling to open the carriage door in her hurry to get out. The dogs pricked up their floppy ears. “Juno, it's me!"
They gambolled up, stubby tails switching madly, as she half fell out. She flung an arm round each silky neck and submitted to having her face washed by two loving tongues.
Amaryllis blinked tears away as the sight revived a painful memory. She had to leave her dogs behind when she removed from Hart Hall to London. Lord Hartwell had given her a lapdog but it was not the same, and she had soon made a present of it to an admiring friend.
She followed girls and dogs up the steps. The front door had opened by now, and a flustered, untidy elderly woman stood there.
“Heavens above, Miss Isabel, how many have you brought with you?” she cried.
“My father said I might bring as many as I pleased, Prosser,” the child answered with dignity.
“Well, it's not my place to complain,” complained the housekeeper, “but if his lordship expected more than two or three it's more than I bargained for, I must say. However, least said, soonest mended. You'll be wanting to tidy yourselves, I'll be bound, so if you'll be pleased to follow me, miss and young ladies, I'll show you the way."
About to step over the threshold, Amaryllis was struck by a sudden, inexplicable agitation. Had she been wrong to come? Trying to regain her composure, she turned and gazed around. The circle of lawn surrounded by the drive was neatly mowed but barren of the flowerbeds she would have planted there
. Beyond stood an orchard with rosy apples peeking through the yellowing leaves and horses grazing beneath the boughs. The carriage was disappearing round the east wing of the house, where doubtless the stables were located.
A little hand slipped confidingly into hers. “Do you like it, ma'am?” asked Isabel anxiously.
She smiled down at three hopeful faces. “It is very pleasant,” she told the child, and scratched the dogs behind the ears.
“Won't you come in? The others have gone above-stairs but I must go and see Papa first. He is in the library."
They stepped into the centre of a long, high-ceilinged hall with a fireplace at one end and a carved wooden staircase, age-darkened, rising at the other.
“I had best go and tidy myself as your housekeeper suggested,” said Amaryllis, taking off her gloves.
“Papa will not mind if you are not tidy. I shall take you up to my own chamber afterwards. Please come."
Amaryllis let herself be urged towards a door to one side of the stairs. Isabel opened it, tugged her through, then abandoned her to fling herself at Lord Daniel. Just rising from his chair, he was abruptly thrust back into it as his daughter landed in his arms.
While they exchanged greetings, Amaryllis looked about the room. It was large, well lit by tall, mullioned windows, and every inch of the walls was hidden by books. There was a desk to one side and several comfortable-looking chairs, some by the windows, others near the fireplace. She moved to the nearest bookshelf to study the titles.
“An eclectic collection, Miss Hartwell,” said Lord Daniel drily. He had extricated himself and stood up, and as she turned he bowed politely. “As you will recollect, I told you that I am not a sociable man. Literature absorbs a considerable portion of my time, especially since Isabel is no longer with me."
“Your farms are in good heart, my lord. I am sure you must expend some time on them also."
“I have good tenants and a good bailiff, but you are right, I take care that everything is done properly,” he admitted with surprise. “Tell me, what does a schoolmistress know of the land?"
“I was not always a schoolmistress,” she said shortly. “Isabel, if you will show me where to go, I had as lief take off my bonnet."
He stepped forward and took her hand. A tingling shock ran up her arm, making her heart jump, and she scarcely heard his words.
“I beg your pardon, ma'am. I did not mean to offend you.” He spoke softly, and his dark eyes searched her face. “I had hoped that this would be a holiday for you as well as for Isabel's friends. Forgive me."
“Of course. I mean, there is nothing to forgive. It was a perfectly natural question.” Amaryllis heard herself babbling like the sort of featherheaded widgeon she had always despised. “Pray excuse me, sir, I really must go and see what my girls are doing."
Isabel took her upstairs to a sparsely furnished bedchamber where a ewer of rapidly cooling water awaited her.
“Do you have everything you need?” she asked. “Ring the bell if you want anything else. I shall be next door with the others."
She skipped out. Amaryllis sank down onto the bed and removed her bonnet. For several minutes she sat there, trying to understand what on earth had come over her down in the library. At last, shaking her head uncomprehendingly, she got up and washed her face in the lukewarm water. A brush and comb lay on the dressing table. She unpinned her hair, brushed it slowly, and put it up again, severely restraining the copper curls. Gazing at herself in the mirror, she wondered how she could feel so strange when she looked no different from usual.
Deliberately, she set herself to examine her surroundings. Isabel's bedchamber confirmed the vague impression she had received from what she had seen of the rest of the house. In its concentration upon the necessary and lack of the decorative, it was a thoroughly male environment. There was dust in the corners and on the mantel. The brass doorknobs needed polishing. The bed hangings were threadbare and the windowpanes grimy. Mrs. Vaux, a most particular housekeeper, would have thrown up her hands in disgust. This house was sadly in need of a mistress.
Appalled at the direction her thoughts had taken, Amaryllis jumped up. She realised that the chatter of young voices in the next room had ceased some time since. When she went out into the hallway the door was open, the chamber empty. Isabel must have taken them all somewhere. Listening in the hope of hearing their whereabouts, Amaryllis descended the stair. Lord Daniel was lounging in the doorway to the library, obviously watching for her.
“Isabel is giving her friends a Grand Tour,” he said with a smile. “They will come to no harm. I have ordered tea. Will you sit with me in the library?"
The invitation sounded much too intimate, but she could think of no way to refuse that was not churlish. Sternly she reminded herself that she was his daughter's teacher and doubtless he wished to discuss Isabel's progress. It was entirely her own fault she was feeling like a green girl meeting a personable gentleman for the first time—and that he was both personable and charming, in this mood, she could not deny.
Somehow she found herself seated in a remarkably comfortable leather armchair near a window, with his lordship opposite her. Between them stood a small table bearing a tea urn, pot, and two cups.
“Pray do the honours, Miss Hartwell. I am unhandy."
She made the tea and poured a cup. “Milk and sugar, my lord?"
“Thank you, no."
He took the cup and saucer with his right hand. His arm jerked and for a moment it seemed the hot tea would spill in his lap, but he quickly righted it with his left hand and set it down carefully. Puzzled, Amaryllis noticed that he used only his left hand to pick up the cup thereafter. The brooding look had returned to his face. To distract him from his embarrassment, she asked him what was his favourite reading.
“Gothic novels,” he said provocatively, a glint in his eye.
“Indeed! Then may I recommend Miss Austen's Northanger Abbey? After reading it you will be quite unable to appreciate a Gothic novel ever again."
He laughed. “I have read it, ma'am, and must agree that it is a cure. No, as I told you, my tastes are eclectic. You will find in this room everything from Miss Austen's works to the classics—in translation, that is, for I am no scholar. If you care to look around, perhaps you will find something you would like to borrow."
“Thank you, you are very kind, but I have little time to indulge in reading for pleasure. Much as I enjoy history, it is tedious to read nothing else for months on end, though my pupils do their best to make it interesting.” She described Louise Carfax's version of the history of Hedingham Castle.
He laughed again and asked her a question or two about teaching history. They went on to discuss the school in general, and time passed unnoticed until the housekeeper appeared to announce that luncheon was ready.
The girls were already in the dining room, flocking like starlings about a cold collation set out on a long sideboard. Here again the masculine influence was apparent: cold roast beef, a ham, pigeon pie, with no sight of the kickshaws and sweetmeats a thoughtful hostess would have provided for her female guests’ delectation. Nonetheless, the young ladies ate heartily, and Miss Hartwell, supplied by her host with a generous plateful, surprised herself by displaying a most unladylike appetite.
Afterwards, Lord Daniel provided baskets and they all went to the orchard to pick apples, accompanied by the spaniels. The sun was still shining, though the breeze was cool. As the girls scattered between the trees, chattering as they searched out the sweetest fruit, Isabel came up to Amaryllis and took her hand.
“Please, will you come and meet Pegasus?” she asked. “Look, he has seen me."
A sturdy Welsh pony was trotting towards them. Amaryllis bent down and picked up a windfall. Holding it on her flattened hand, she offered it to Pegasus, who took it gently with a whuffle of his soft lips. She rubbed his nose.
“He likes you,” said Isabel in a satisfied voice. “Papa, may I ride?"
Lord Daniel was watch
ing Amaryllis. He started at his daughter's question.
“Ride? Why, I suppose so. At least, what do you say, ma'am? The young ladies may all take turns on Pegasus if they wish, and I have a mare who would suit you very well, I daresay, if you care to join them."
“Thank you, my lord, but we are none of us dressed for riding."
He looked at her in dismay. “No, of course not. You will think me very stupid,” he added ruefully. “I am unaccustomed to considering the dictates of female fashion."
“It is not merely a matter of fashion, but of comfort and convenience. These dresses are cut quite wrong for sitting in the saddle. However, I expect Isabel has a habit in the house and I see no reason why she should not take Pegasus out, if she promises not to fly away."
“He does not really fly. No, I shall not ride if my friends cannot ride too. I had not thought. I shall go and find Louise and pick some apples.” Retrieving her basket she disappeared among the trees.
“What a thoroughly good-natured child,” exclaimed Amaryllis.
“Unlike her father,” Lord Daniel responded with a sardonic quirk to his lips.
“I did not say so. You have been all that is complaisant— today. I wish I was able to accept your offer of a ride. It is all of ten years since I enjoyed a good gallop.” She sighed.
“Ten years! You are not half old enough to have been running a school for ten years."
“I lived in London for several years, and I am sure you are aware that to gallop in Hyde Park would put one quite beyond the pale."
“I did not know. I go to London only on business.” That explained why she had never met him in the society his birth entitled him to frequent, though not why he avoided it.
“It is so, I assure you. Indeed, the highest sticklers frown upon a modest canter."
