by Jane Ashford
She arrived in town about eleven and proceeded directly to Brown’s Hotel, which Miss Creedy had recommended as a very genteel hostelry, suitable for a young woman traveling alone. She was greeted politely by the proprietor. Though it was obvious that her clothing and equipage did not impress him, the quiet assurance of her manner soon did, and she was accorded every courtesy. There was some bustle as the postilions were paid off and her meager luggage carried in. By the time all was settled, Elisabeth found she was tired out and very glad to go straight up to her room, declining the cold supper offered her.
She woke early, dressed and breakfasted with dispatch, and set out by nine for the offices of Tilling & Bates near Temple Bar.
The clerk who opened the door to her bowed deferentially when she gave her name and ushered her in immediately. “Yes, indeed, Miss Elham,” he said. “Mr. Tilling is expecting you.” He held the door a moment longer, leaned forward to peer into the street, then shut it, looking embarrassed and puzzled.
A smile escaped Elisabeth. “I fear I have come quite alone,” she said.
The clerk blinked. “Yes, miss. Quite, quite right. If you’ll, ah, just be seated for a moment, I’ll fetch Mr. Tilling.” He turned and disappeared into a closed staircase at the back of the room.
Elisabeth sat down, still smiling, but she had not long to wait, for Tilling came down at once. He bowed as she stood up and took the hand she held out to him. “Good morning, Miss Elham,” he said cordially. “I hope you had no difficulty finding our offices. I wish you had allowed me to call at your hotel.”
Elisabeth shook her head with an easy smile. “No, indeed. How selfish you must think me. I’m persuaded that you have a great many things to occupy you, while I am not at all busy. Quite the contrary. This trip is my first holiday in years. Only imagine, I did not leave my bed until eight o’clock this morning.”
The rallying tone of this statement drew a smile from the solicitor. “A pleasant circumstance that may now be repeated as often as you like,” he told her. “If you will come upstairs, I shall explain to you exactly how that comes about.” He indicated the stairway with a slight gesture. “Your maid can wait here. Annsley will fetch some tea.” He looked about the room, then glanced inquiringly at his clerk, who shrugged deprecatingly.
Elisabeth’s eyes twinkled. “I fear I have no maid,” she replied. “I have not employed one in five years.”
Shocked, Mr. Tilling spoke before he thought. “You have never traveled up to London alone? I beg your pardon; I didn’t think. I should have sent someone to accompany you.”
The amusement in Elisabeth’s eyes deepened. “I assure you it was completely unnecessary. Miss Creedy wished to come with me, but I refused her company. I am not a schoolgirl, you know, Mr. Tilling, to be in need of a chaperone. Indeed, I have myself acted as a duenna for a number of years.”
The solicitor looked doubtful, but he had by this time recovered from his surprise, and he uttered no more criticisms. “Of course,” he said. “I’m glad you had a safe journey. Now, if you will step this way.” And he ushered her upstairs to his private office.
Mr. Tilling went over the terms of Mr. Elham’s will slowly and carefully, accustomed as he was to laymen’s misunderstanding of legal terminology. But Miss Elham seemed to grasp everything immediately, and he soon found there was no need to repeat things several times, as he did for some of his clients. When he finished, however, she was frowning.
“My uncle left me everything, then?” she asked. “The townhouse, Willowmere, and all of his money?”
Tilling nodded. “Yes. Without restriction. Excepting only the small legacies and pensions I have enumerated to you. I must tell you that the country place is in very poor repair, however. From what I can discover, nothing has been done there for years.”
“Yes, but why?” replied Elisabeth.
“Well, your uncle preferred to live in town. And in recent years, he was not really able to travel. I expect he had not set eyes on the place for ten or fifteen years at least.”
“No, no. I mean why the whole, Mr. Tilling? Why did my uncle, whom I do not believe I ever saw in my life, leave me all his property? I know that he and my father were at outs from the time they were very young.”
The solicitor shrugged. “That I do not know. Mr. Elham was not one to explain his reasons for doing as he pleased.”
Elisabeth laughed. “From what Father occasionally let drop, I imagine he was a horrid old tyrant.”
Tilling looked down. “I say nothing on that head, but if pressed to explain Mr. Elham’s will, I might venture…”
“Yes?”
He frowned. “I received the impression, though this is purely conjecture, mind, that your uncle was most impressed with the way you fended for yourself when your father died. Particularly since you did not apply to him for assistance as did your cousins in a similar situation.”
“How should I, indeed,” answered Elisabeth indignantly, “when my father always told me that his brother was the most disagreeable old clutchfist in nature and unlikely to part with a groat to save his own mother from starvation? Oh, no, I was not about to risk a humiliating setdown from him. And you see how right I was from the way he responded to my cousins’ really desperate plight.”
Tilling was looking at her with a bemused expression. “You really are an odd family, you know,” he said.
Elisabeth met his eyes. “No, are we? I have had no intimate experience with any other, of course.” She paused, frowning. “I admit that my pupils at Miss Creedy’s seemed to have quite a different attitude toward their relations than my father instilled in me. However, I daresay their families are much nicer, you know.”
Mr. Tilling was betrayed into laughter. “I daresay.”
Elisabeth smiled. “Well, did you like my uncle, Mr. Tilling?”
Sobering, the solicitor replied, “I…I cannot say that precisely, but…”
“Of course you cannot. Because he was shockingly unpleasant, was he not? I knew it. Let us talk of my other relations. What of my cousins? Why leave nothing to them? Surely they are as deserving as I?”
Tilling frowned. “I do not know. He was informed of their situation. Perhaps, finding that they had a home with their paternal uncle, he thought them provided for.”
“Oh, but it is a sad strain on Mr. Brinmore’s purse to have them. Belinda has written me of it.”
He shrugged. “I cannot explain his motives, Miss Elham. I am sorry.”
“Well,” said Elisabeth decisively, “I shall invite them to live with me. There can be no objection to that, I suppose?”
“None at all. You are in complete control of your fortune, though advised to heed the counsel of your banker and me.”
Elisabeth smiled at him quizzically. “And do you advise me not to have my cousins?”
“No, indeed,” replied Tilling quickly. “I think it a laudable scheme.” He caught her ironic glance and relaxed somewhat. “And they will be company for you, as well. You have no acquaintances in London, I think?”
She shook her head. “I daresay some people remain who knew my father. But I’m not at all certain they would be proper friends for me.” She smiled. “And in any case, I’d be at a loss to find them now.” She shrugged. “Several of my former pupils have made their debuts in the last two or three years, but whether they’d be pleased to meet me I cannot say. I will be glad of my cousins’ company.”
Tilling nodded. “And you will want some older female companion as well.”
“Shall I?” responded Elisabeth.
The solicitor looked at her. He was beginning to get her measure pretty clearly and to feel the strength of her personality. “Perhaps you will not. But I assure you that if you set up in London alone without some older woman to act as chaperone, it will create a scandal. You would be considered fast and more than likely would not be received in p
olite society.”
Elisabeth grimaced. “A terrible fate.”
“Your cousins might find it so,” continued Tilling carefully. “They might have some wish to enter ton circles. And I am convinced that you, too, will wish to take up the position to which your birth and fortune entitle you, when you have had time to consider the matter.”
The girl sighed, then smiled at him. “I perceive you are a very cunning advisor, Mr. Tilling. I shall have to take care with you. But I suppose you’re right.” She frowned. “I cannot think where I shall find a proper chaperone, however. I have no older female relatives. Can one hire a respectable companion? Oh, I wouldn’t like that,” she added.
“Understandable,” agreed the man. “I hope we may not come to that, though one can, of course, hire perfectly satisfactory persons, if one knows how to go about it. I’ve looked into your father’s family pretty exhaustively, and it’s true there are no suitable candidates there. What of your mother’s connections? She was an Ottley, was she not? A fine old family.”
“Fine enough to cast her off when she insisted upon marrying my father,” replied Elisabeth. “I daresay they wouldn’t care to hear of me now. But that is beside the point; I never met any of my mother’s family. She died when I was very young, you know. I can scarcely remember her.” She sighed, then her eyebrows drew together. “Wait a moment,” she exclaimed. “There was a visitor to the house once or twice when my mother was in her last illness.” She concentrated as Tilling maintained an obedient silence. At last, she looked up triumphantly. “Cousin Lavinia,” she declared. “It was Cousin Lavinia. I remember her as a very pleasant woman, in fact, a fascinating creature. Her pockets were always full of candies.” She smiled. “I believe she was a cousin of my mother’s.”
Mr. Tilling nodded encouragingly. “And what was her surname?”
Elisabeth grimaced. “Oh, dear, I haven’t any notion. I don’t believe I was ever told it. Can it have been Ottley?”
“Possibly,” he answered drily. “You have no recollection?” Elisabeth shook her head, and he sighed. “I shall make inquiries.”
“Thank you. I am giving you a great deal of trouble.”
He denied this stoutly. “You will wish to go over your properties as soon as may be, I expect,” he continued. “I should be happy to escort you to Elham House this afternoon, if you like. Will you go down to Willowmere?”
“I suppose I must. It’s in Hertfordshire?”
“Yes, near Hempstead.”
“Ah, perhaps I can fetch my cousins at the same time then. I must write to them immediately.”
They agreed that Mr. Tilling would call for her at Brown’s at two, and Elisabeth departed, bearing with her a sheaf of documents she’d been advised to “look over.” Back in her room, she sat down to compose a letter to her young cousins, but this proved more difficult than she’d expected. To explain all that had happened required a long missive, and she had neither the time nor the patience for that at present.
After a good deal of thought, she managed to produce a creditable short letter telling of her uncle’s action and the plan she had formed for their future. As she sealed it, she was astonished to find that it was one o’clock. She had only just time to partake of a light luncheon before Mr. Tilling arrived.
At Elham House, Elisabeth met Ames and the other servants and looked through the rooms. She was appalled by the size of the house and the dilapidated state of its furnishings. Everything seemed worn, faded, and outmoded, even to one who was not familiar with the latest London fashions. When she mentioned this, Mr. Tilling agreed. “It will require complete refurbishing,” he said. “And we must find you some kitchen help and someone to take charge of the stables.”
They’d retired to the library by this time, the only really habitable room on the ground floor, and Elisabeth had sunk into her uncle’s easy chair. “It’s a herculean task,” she said ruefully. “I hardly know where to begin. And I’m certain it will cost a great deal of money.”
Mr. Tilling smiled. “Fortunately,” he answered, “you have a great deal of money, more than you could possibly spend furnishing twenty houses.”
“Am I so plump in the pocket? I hadn’t really taken it in.” Elisabeth’s eyes lit suddenly. “Good God, I suppose I’m an heiress.”
Mr. Tilling laughed aloud, then quickly begged her pardon.
“Quite all right. This is excessively diverting; it struck me all at once. There were several heiresses at Miss Creedy’s, you see, and I was recalling the care we were forced to take, wrapping them in cotton wool as if they had been made of spun glass.” Her expression was momentarily disapproving, then amusement lit her eyes once more. “I’ll have to be on the lookout for ‘gazetted fortune hunters,’ won’t I?”
Smiling, the solicitor agreed.
“But that is a future worry, and in any case, I don’t regard it. Now, I must deal with this house.” She thought for a moment. “What do you say to this plan? I shall go over all the rooms again on my own, perhaps tomorrow, and mark the things I wish to keep. There are some good pieces of furniture here. Then, I shall chose colors, hangings, carpets, and so on in the city. I daresay I shall make several London merchants very happy. Then, as soon as I have finished, I shall leave directly for the country. This cunning scheme allows me to escape all the trouble of hiring workmen and seeing to the servants during repairs and put all my cares upon you.” She laughed up at him.
Mr. Tilling, who was well on his way to being captivated by his new client, readily agreed. “I can also oversee the completion of your staff if you will trust me to interview candidates from the agency. I suppose Ames will lend me his aid.”
Elisabeth clasped her hands. “But can I be such a wretch as to leave you with this bumble-broth? I was only funning when I suggested it. I never meant to desert you in the midst of paperhangers and carpenters.”
“Nonsense,” replied Tilling. “I’m happy to be of service.”
“Splendid man! Why have I never before had a solicitor? I hope I pay you very well indeed.”
This settled, they returned to the hotel, and Mr. Tilling took his leave. Elisabeth packed her things and prepared to move into her new house, for she had decided that however out of repair it might be, it was the best place for accomplishing the great amount of work she had set herself in the next few days.
It was an intensely busy period. Elisabeth made notes on each room in the house, then spent several afternoons in the modish showrooms of London merchants, choosing furniture and other necessities. She had an interview with her new banker, a very distinguished gray-haired gentleman in the City, and found time to engage a personal maid from among the candidates Mr. Tilling sent over. And though she was ruefully in awe of this very formidable lady, she felt, by the time a week had passed, that much progress had been made. However, she was exhausted with running about London, and it was with a profound sense of gratitude that she left Mr. Tilling in charge of the work on the house and climbed into a chaise to travel into the country.
Three
As she rode, Elisabeth looked at the letter she’d received from her cousins just before her departure. Though it was signed by both of them, it had apparently been composed by Belinda, who expressed such enthusiasm for her proposed plan that Elisabeth had decided to go directly to Mr. Brinmore’s house in Bedfordshire, stopping at Willowmere on the way back to London.
Miss Belinda Brinmore’s epistolary style scandalized a former teacher of composition and penmanship; her letter was full of misspellings and odd phrasing, and Anthony’s signature at the end was much blotted. But the sentiments were warm and their gratitude patent; Elisabeth felt that she would like her rediscovered cousins very well. Their uncle had also enclosed a note, welcoming her to visit his house for as long as she liked.
She arrived at Mr. Brinmore’s estate late in the afternoon. The house was small but set invitingly on a
knoll amid gardens. As her chaise swept up the drive, Elisabeth admired the neat lawns and banks of flowers. It was a peaceful scene. But just as the driver was negotiating the curve leading to the front door, a very large and shaggy dog shot out from behind the far corner of the house and ran directly into the carriage’s path. Elisabeth started up, crying, “Oh, look out!” The driver pulled the horses up sharply, stopping the coach but causing the animals to rear and plunge sideways. Elisabeth was thrown to the floor, wrecking her new bonnet and sadly mussing her buff traveling dress. By the time they stood still , she was a trifle breathless, and she could hear the driver cursing.
“Careless young fool,” he said. “You might have killed the lady, letting that rubbishing mongrel run loose. Of all the hey-go-mad, mutton-headed, cockle-brained… Aye, you’d best hold him. For if I get my fingers near that beast’s throat, there’s no saying what might happen.”
“He is not a mongrel!” a young voice answered hotly. “He is a very rare and seldom-seen breed of dog. I daresay there are not three in all of England.”
The driver snorted, “Now that is a cawker, and well you know it, young sir. I know a commoner when I see one, and that dog ain’t no more a rare breed than I’m a royal duke. Which I hain’t,” he added unnecessarily.
There was no answer to this remark, but in a moment, a young man’s face appeared in the carriage window, peering anxiously at Elisabeth. “Are you all right?” he asked. “I am terribly sorry. I was teaching Growser to fetch a stick, and his…his spirits got the better of him for a moment. He didn’t mean any harm.”
