by Dunn
His lordship looked as offended as his good-natured face allowed, but said quietly, “Let us not quarrel, if you please. This is our dance."
“I am tired, Bertram, and I'll wager Tizzy and Aunt Eugenia are equally so. We are not used to burning the candle at both ends, remember. I hope you will not mind if we go home now."
“I shall order my carriage at once,” he said, disgruntled but obliging to the last.
He could hardly argue with her. The company had thinned out since supper. Mrs. Vaux was visibly nodding in her chair, while Miss Tisdale had lost her anchor some time since, as Mr. Raeburn had to be up for early service on the morrow.
With punctilious courtesy Lord Pomeroy walked the ladies down to the carriage and handed them in. The air was icily refreshing, and Amaryllis was touched to find that he had ordered hot bricks for their brief journey down the hill.
She was glad when, as he bowed over her hand, he murmured, “I shall call in the morning before I leave."
They rumbled down the hill and through the quiet village. Here and there lights shone in windows where those who had served at the party were expected home. A lantern glowed on their own front porch, and in the vestibule stood three candles and a lighted lamp. The house was silent.
Mrs. Vaux yawned a delicate yawn as she lit the candles. “I don't know when I have enjoyed myself more,” she declared. “Pray let me not be wakened in the morning."
They started up the stairs. Miss Tisdale's mouth was curved in a secret smile, and her usually shrewd eyes were dreamy. “'He giveth his beloved sleep.’ Psalm one hundred and twenty-seven,” she said vaguely when they parted on the top landing. “Goodnight."
“Goodnight,” echoed Amaryllis and went to her chamber to indulge in a fit of the dismals before falling asleep.
After retiring in the small hours of the morning, she was not surprised to see the sun high in the sky when she woke. She dressed quickly, suddenly remembering that not only was Bertram coming to see her, but Lord Daniel was to pick up the girls. She hurried downstairs. The house was so quiet that she heard Daisy humming to herself in the dining room. The maid turned with a smile as she entered.
“Musta been a grand ball, miss, and all of you sleeping in so late. Shall I fetch you some breakfast?"
“Some tea and toast will do very well, Daisy. Where is everyone?"
“The young ladies is all gone, miss. There's a couple o’ letters for you in the common-room. I'll bring ‘em down."
She bustled out, and Amaryllis sat down at the table. She was facing a window that looked out on the front garden, and suddenly she noticed that the fiowerbeds appeared to have burst into bloom overnight. Curious, she went to the window. Around the brown stubs of the pruned rosebushes spread a riot of colour. Purple and orange and peacock blue, scarlet, peach, primrose, and lavender, two score curly ostrich feathers nodded their heads in the breeze.
“Louise!” exclaimed Miss Hartwell, not for a moment at a loss to know who to blame.
“Isn't it downright pretty?” said Daisy, coming back with a tray. “That there sourpuss Ned wanted to pull ‘em all up, but me and Cook assuaded him to leave ‘em till you seen em."
“Very pretty,” agreed her mistress, “but we shall be the laughing stock of the village if it gets about that we grow feathers in our garden!"
“Let ‘em be till the miss and the madam's seen ‘em,” begged the maid. “'Sides, ‘tis market day and all the world'll know by now."
The accuracy of her prediction became obvious as a group of small boys ran up to peer over and through the fence, laughing and pointing. With a sigh and a shake of the head, Amaryllis turned to her breakfast.
There were two folded notes beside her plate, each carefully inscribed “To Miss Hartwell.” She opened the one in Isabel's writing first.
“Dearest Miss Hartwell,” it said, “Thank you for letting Louise come to my house. I hope you have a happy Christmas. I shall miss you. Love, Isabel."
Louise's was longer, though her writing was more laborious. “Dear ma'am, Please forgive me I skipped Scripcher last week to go to the market to buy the Osterch Fethers. Mr. Raybern is to good to scold or tell tails. I hope you think they are pretty. I do. They will remind you of Me and you may scold when I return. Your obed't servant, Louise Carfax. PS They are Artifishul so did not cost to much."
Amaryllis was still laughing when Bertram strolled into the dining room.
“Is your gardener run mad?” he demanded.
She handed him Louise's letter and, while he was reading it, pocketed Isabel's.
“I might have guessed,” he groaned. “That child will be the death of me."
“I doubt it. Her pranks are never harmful or malicious. I suspect she saw this one in the light of a farewell gift, for she hopes that I may find the feathers pretty."
“You are very forgiving, my dear.” He sat down beside her. “May I hope that you will forgive me for my carping last night? I had no excuse to find fault. I must confess that I was jealous."
“How can I not forgive when it arose from such a flattering cause?” She avoided telling him he had no reason for jealousy. “But I must ask your pardon too, for I ought not to have responded with such heat, and it was excessively rude of me to leave before the last dance."
“You were tired, I could see it. And I gather Mrs. Vaux and Miss Tisdale are still abed? When we are married I shall dance every dance with you."
“Now that will in truth create a scandal,” said Amaryllis with a smile.
He took her hand. “I wish I might stay,” he said, “but I am expected at Tatenhill tomorrow and must not delay. I shall be back in January. You will have an answer for me then?"
“I shall,” she promised.
Chapter 16
Having missed the morning services, the three ladies all went to Evensong at St. Nicholas's. Mrs. Vaux had a lifelong habit of regular churchgoing. Amaryllis felt it necessary to counteract the frivolous impression her behaviour of the previous evening must have produced on the local populace, and Miss Tisdale needed no reason beyond the stars in her eyes.
Mr. Raeburn insisted on escorting them back along the dark street. Amaryllis and her aunt dawdled a little exclaiming loudly over the brilliance of the stars. They caught up with the others at the gate, in time to overhear the vicar bemoaning the fact that the school holiday would deprive him of his usual Monday visit.
“It is dreadfully lowering to sit down only three to dinner when one is used to a crowd,” said Amaryllis mendaciously. “Perhaps you and Miss Raeburn would dine with us tomorrow?"
The vicar brightened. “That will be delightful,” he assured her. “At least, I must enquire whether Augusta has any prior engagement, but I believe we are free."
“Then we shall expect you unless we hear from you. Do not stand about out here too long, Tizzy, or you will catch a chill,” added Amaryllis in governess-like tones as she and Mrs. Vaux went on into the house.
Having taken off her pelisse, Mrs. Vaux hovered at the window, peeking between the curtains. “He is holding her hand,” she reported. “Oh, he has kissed her cheek! Amaryllis, I do believe they have come to an understanding at last."
“Come away from the window, do, Aunt Eugenia. They will see you. Come and tell me how to seat five people, four of them female, about a table intended for thirty."
Distracted by this question of polite usage, Mrs. Vaux followed her upstairs to the drawing room.
“I have known great houses,” she said, “where ceremony prevailed to the extent that one or two people might have the whole of one side of a lengthy table to themselves while host and hostess sat at either end. I consider it a shocking want of propriety, for naturally conversation is impossible and surely one's duty to entertain one's guests should come first. I believe I shall ask dear Mr. Raeburn to take the head. I shall sit on his left, with Augusta beside me, and dear Miss Tisdale shall sit on his right, with you next to her. Yes, that will be most satisfactory. If Augusta decides to
be difficult, she will not find it easy to be rude crosswise across the table. Perhaps Ned might find some tall flowers to set between them?"
“In December, in this weather? I hardly think so. Do you expect Miss Raeburn to cause trouble?"
“She has been very good recently,” said Mrs. Vaux, looking worried. “I had quite cowed her with my chatter of the Fashionable World, as I told you, but last night she was excessively shocked to see her brother on such intimate terms with Miss Tisdale. I had some ado to stop her making a spectacle of herself."
“You seem very well able to control her, dear Aunt."
“Yes indeed,” said the widow with pardonable complacence. “One must be sympathetic to her fears but not allow oneself to be ruled by her vapours. Of course, it is a great help that she is so much in awe of the Haut Ton. I believe that if she knew my brother to be a viscount, she would eat out of my hand."
“So long as you did not reveal that he is also an ironmonger. Well, you may tell her if you will, for I daresay I shall soon be married to Bertram, and no one will care then that the village schoolmistress can lay claim to an Honourable before her name."
“You know, she is quite sensible and good-natured if she is not permitted to dwell upon her megrims,” Mrs. Vaux said thoughtfully. “I wonder whether..."
At that moment Miss Tisdale came in, her cheeks pink with excitement, nose red with cold.
“Matthew has proposed,” she announced, trying to be solemn as befitted one about to embark upon the holy sacrament of matrimony, but unable to suppress a smile of diffident joy.
“And of course you have accepted.” Amaryllis jumped up and ran to hug her. “Dearest Tizzy, I am so happy for you."
“I had to tell you, but it is not to be generally known until Matthew can make provision for Miss Raeburn. And, of course, we shall not be married until the end of the school year. Matthew understands that I cannot desert you."
“That is more than Bertram does,” exclaimed Amaryllis. “But you are frozen. Come to the fire."
Mrs. Vaux embraced her more decorously, and wished her happy. “Does the vicar mean to tell Augusta at once?” she enquired. “I shall willingly take it upon myself to do so, if you wish."
“Matthew is afraid she will be displeased,” said Tizzy, looking worried.
“And he is positively hen-hearted where she is concerned. She is bound to cut up stiff, but never fear, I can turn her up sweet,” said Mrs. Vaux confidently.
“Aunt, such unladylike language!” Amaryllis laughed.
“Augusta suffers from such an excess of underbred gentility that it makes me quite long to shock her, and I find all the dreadful things Henry used to say returning to me,” she retorted. “Just leave her to me, dear Miss Tisdale."
“'A faithful friend is a strong defence: and he that hath found such an one hath found a treasure.’ Ecclesiasticus I, verse 14.” Tizzy sounded unwontedly emotional, but she soon regained her usual dry manner. “Now I must write to my brother. I hope his delight that I am to marry a fellow student of Magdalene will overcome his astonishment that I am to marry at all!"
* * * *
The dinner party on Monday night began inauspiciously.
Miss Raeburn, a sharp-faced female of middle years, studiously ignored Miss Tisdale and confined her remarks to her next-door neighbour, Mrs. Vaux. In a larger company this would have been correct, but with only five at the table conversation might have been expected to become general.
The vicar, nervous but valiant, attempted to entertain his betrothed and Miss Hartwell with a description of his youthful travels in Scotland, which neither lady had visited. He was also enthusiastic in his praise of the food, and indeed Cook had outdone herself. A fricassee of veal and mutton-and-oyster hot-pot were accompanied by Brussels sprouts in a Bechamel sauce and carrots with lemon butter. The second course consisted of a galantine of chicken, an almond pudding, treacle tart, and poached pears with custard. Amaryllis suspected that somehow the servants knew of the betrothal, even if Miss Raeburn did not.
After dinner they all went up to the drawing room. The vicar's sister glanced about it and pronounced it a tolerable good sort of sitting-room, though not so fine as the one at the vicarage. She then cornered Amaryllis and proceeded to interrogate her about her acquaintance with Lord Pomeroy.
“I was greatly shocked to see you stand up with him a second time,” she said condescendingly. “It looked most particular."
Amaryllis threw a harassed look at her aunt. “Lord Pomeroy is a particular friend of mine,” she retorted. “I have known him forever. I believe he was introduced to me by my father, the Viscount Hartwell, who never objected to us standing up together more than once at Almack's."
Miss Raeburn was momentarily startled, but made a quick recovery. “I am sure manners are different in Town. In the country, you know, my dear Miss Hartwell, we are sadly Old-Fashioned. Lord Hartwell is your father? I wonder Eugenia never mentioned it.” She sounded suspicious.
Amaryllis put her hand to her mouth in feigned alarm.
“Oh dear,” she exclaimed, “I have let it out. Papa has emigrated to America, on account of his democratic principles, and he does not wish anyone there to know that he is a peer."
“I assure you not a word of this shall pass my lips.” Miss Raeburn was drinking it in, apparently not wondering how the revelation might flow from her lips to the population of America. “I do not quite follow ... That is, I expect it is your Democratic Principles that have caused you to open this school?"
“Not at all.” Amaryllis spoke with great disdain. “I despise the very idea. I am dedicated to the Education of Women. I hope I do not greatly shock you, Miss Raeburn?"
“No, no,” she gasped. “Lord Hartwell ... Lord Pomeroy..."
“Pray do not mention either of those gentlemen again,” said Amaryllis firmly, tiring of the sport. She saw her victim eyeing Tizzy speculatively and considered declaring that lady to be the daughter of a duke, also devoted to the Education of Women. However, such a rapper was not to be compared with the taradiddles she had already indulged in, and it seemed likely to land her in the briars. The rest must be left to her aunt. “I believe I shall ring for the tea tray,” she said with a sigh. “Do you care to drink tea?"
After their guests left, and Tizzy had retired to her chamber, Mrs. Vaux took her niece to task. “I did not care to hear you making a May game of Augusta,” she said with gentle severity.
“It was not well done of me, perhaps, but she was being odiously condescending. She will not try to come the high and mighty over me again. I only wish I could do something about her rudeness to Tizzy."
“She is afraid of Miss Tisdale, my love, afraid of losing her brother and her home."
“Why, I believe you begin to like the woman, Aunt Eugenia."
“I sympathise with her position, which is not easy."
“Forgive me, dear Aunt. Of course it is not unlike yours, before Godmama offered you an allowance on my marriage. But you must have known I should never abandon you."
“No, dear, but I should not have liked to be a poor relation in Lord Pomeroy's house, any more than she cares to be dependent on her brother after his marriage."
“Then what are we to do? I shall not let her spoil the match."
“No, we cannot allow that. Do not worry, I have an ace up my sleeve."
“And you always abhorred cards! Very well, I shall not worry, but I hope you will have the matter settled before Bertram returns next month."
“You are going to marry him, are you not, Amaryllis?"
“Undoubtedly. He insists on an answer when he comes, so perhaps we shall have a double wedding in June."
“I am so glad he will not let you dither any longer."
“So am I,” muttered Amaryllis. She went up to bed dissatisfied with herself and the world.
The weather continued cold but fine. Every day Amaryllis went for long walks through the frosty fields, returning hungry and rosy-cheeked but still d
iscontented. On Saturday, the day before Christmas Eve, she found herself shortly after noon on the outskirts of Finchingfield. Usually she turned back before she had gone so far, and she doubted her ability to walk all the long way home before dark.
Passing the duck pond on the green, its water glinting icily, she went into an inn near the guildhall. She ordered a bowl of soup and a carriage. The landlord was happy to oblige, boasting of his wife's pea soup, a local speciality, while apologising that the only vehicle he had available was a gig.
“We've rugs a-plenty to wrap about ‘ee, miss,” he assured her, showing her to a seat near the fire in the coffee-room.
“So it gets me there, it will suffice,” she told him.
As promised, the soup was delicious. Its soothing warmth spread through her, making her reluctant to face the cold air outside. At last she could postpone her departure no longer. She went to stand in the window while the gig was brought to the front of the inn.
She was halfway to Wimbish. It would be as easy to go there as back to Castle Hedingham, she thought. If she were not a gently bred young lady, she would bid her driver go west, not east. What would Lord Daniel say? Would he scowl and demand to know her business or would he...
The sound of hooves broke in upon her musing. It was not the expected gig but a coach and four, coming up the hill from the green. With a shock, she recognised the driver. It was Grayson. Inside the carriage, through the misted windows, she saw the silhouettes of a gentleman and two small girls.
“Stop!” she whispered.
The carriage drove on past the inn, out of sight.
“The gig, miss,” announced the landlord, and she went outside to be helped up onto the seat and bundled in rugs.
“Thank you,” she said numbly. “I shall be quite warm."
The innkeeper looked at the frozen misery on her face and wondered, but he bade his ostler whip up the single horse and they clattered down the hill.
The brief winter day had faded by the time she reached home. The lights in the windows looked warm and welcoming. She paid the ostler and hurried into the house.
