Katherine, When She Smiled

by Harmon, Joyce

  “But I don’t quite understand,” Rupert said with a frown of puzzlement. “Why would the Baron’s horse suddenly become ungovernable? That seems a bit too convenient for me.”

  “Oh, don’t you see?” Katherine replied eagerly. “Remember much earlier – I think it was in Chapter 3 – the Baron boasted of having bought the best of Prince Alfonso’s stable when the Prince was declared dead and his household broken up. So the horse was actually Prince Alfonso’s horse originally and recognizes his old master in the stable boy Horatio. So of course when de la Tour is trying to do Horatio a mischief the horse would take exception to that.”

  “I see!” Rupert said. “I say, how ingenious. Good thought.”

  “Thank you,” Katherine said with a slight blush.

  Rupert looked back at the notes he’d been taking. “I’m still a bit lost in the castle, I think. If you could explain again the terminus of the secret stair…”

  But a sound of carriage wheels drew Katherine to the window, to see the Greymere barouche traveling briskly up the drive. “Oh, I’d quite forgotten!” she said.

  “Forgotten what?”

  “It’s Lady Clara and Miss Mason. This is our day for walking in the shrubbery.”

  “There’s an appointed day for walking in the shrubbery?” Rupert asked.

  “She’s under doctor’s orders to walk,” Katherine explained, “and has taken to coming here; we walk and converse, it’s a pleasant outing.”

  “But who is Lady Clara?”

  “She is Lord Charles’ sister. He is the owner of Greymere and newly arrived in the area. Come and meet her.”

  “Lords and Ladies,” Rupert marveled, following Katherine to the front door. “I had no notion that country life would move in such exalted circles.”

  The visiting ladies professed themselves delighted to meet Mister Grimthorpe, even allowing him to participate in their promenade. “Just this once, for it’s in general a ladies’ affair,” Amanda told him with a dimpled smile. He acknowledged the honor and in no way betrayed that he would prefer to be back in the study hammering out the conclusion of the latest Mrs. Wilson opus.

  The conversation for today’s promenade centered around a proposed excursion to Dorchester. Originally put forward by the younger Massinghams and eagerly adopted by the Fordices, the jaunt would involve the younger set taking various vehicles to examine Roman ruins, followed by a meal at an inn. The more intrepid would ride horseback and Miss Mason placed herself firmly in this group. “You must contract to ride with me in the barouche,” Lady Clara told Katherine.

  “Certainly,” Katherine agreed.

  “Do you ride, Mister Grimthorpe?” Amanda asked.

  “I do, of course,” he said. “But I thought to take my curricle. That is to say, if I’m invited.”

  “Of course you are invited!” Amanda assured him.

  At dinner that evening, Aunt Alice confessed bafflement at the outing. “To travel such a distance and consume an inferior meal prepared by strangers at a public inn, all in order to observe a few sad bits of rubble? How that can be considered entertaining is a great mystery to me.”

  “I believe it is the traveling itself rather than the destination that is the real attraction,” suggested the vicar, who dined that evening at Rosebourne. “A change of scenery, while socializing with your friends, can be refreshing.”

  “So you say,” Alice said doubtfully. “And glad I am that you are going, Mister Downey, so that I may stop at home with peace of mind.”

  “Ah, so you are coming, Vicar?” asked Rupert. “I’ll offer you the other seat in my curricle, since Miss Katherine is riding in Greymere’s barouche.”

  “Thank you, but I will ride my horse,” Mister Downey told him. “That will enable me to move from group to group as seems good. I don’t think I’m revealing secrets when I mention that the younger Massinghams have a tendency to get rather wild when they feel themselves to have escaped supervision.”

  “What of you?” Rupert asked Jack. “Will you be joining us?”

  Jack looked up from his plate and repudiated the suggestion with an eloquent shudder. “A bunch of giggling females, flirting and whispering and rolling their eyes? Thank you, but no.”

  “Mind your tongue, young man!” said Aunt Alice, though she later admitted to Katherine that it was indeed a fair description of those Massingham girls.

  For the next several days, notes flew throughout the district, arranging who would ride in which conveyance, or who would be on horseback. The Fordices decreed that Evelyn might attend the treat, and Lady Clara invited Helen to join them as well. Bowing to her entreaties, Katherine gave her permission.

  Captain Fernley accepted the seat in Rupert’s curricle with genuine gratitude, saying that it provided him an escape from being the only man in the Greymere barouche, which was sure to devolve into a hen party.

  It was the morning of the great excursion. The appointed meeting place was the Massinghams’ Hurst. Mustering his forces at Greymere, Lord Charles was moved to exclaim, “We crossed the Pyrenees with less!”

  “And were the worse for it,” Hector said, clambering awkwardly into the barouche. “How often during those days did I say ‘If I only had a parasol!’”

  “Oh, fiddle,” said his wife, twirling her parasol. “Of course we want to be comfortable.”

  Amanda rode up then on her spirited mare. “I can travel light, you see,” she boasted. “Not even a reticule.”

  Charles swung up to the saddle and looked over his group. “Are we finally ready? May we proceed?”

  “By all means,” Lady Clara said, pointing her parasol down the drive.

  As the barouche moved down the drive, Charles and Amanda rode ahead. “You seem out of sorts today,” Amanda observed.

  “Do I?” Charles asked. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.” He smiled at her and began an easy conversation, shaking off his ill humor.

  It was true, though. He was out of sorts. Somehow, with no conscious decision on his part, he found himself hosting a house party. He was wanting to become acquainted with his neighbors and tenants and learn of his land, but lately too much of his time was being occupied with entertaining his uninvited guests. In the evening, he often yearned for a quiet seat beside the fire, with perhaps a book or a newspaper, but found himself called to make a fourth at cards, or listen to a musical performance.

  He was not, he assured himself, an unsociable man, but sometimes how he yearned to simply be left alone! He looked back nostalgically to his first days at Greymere, sitting in the evening with a newspaper while Han sketched. Han at least did not maintain a constant flow of chatter or express a sudden interest in charades or jackstraws or some busy group activity.

  Ah, well, he told himself. His company would have to leave sometime. Surely they would.

  THIRTEEN

  The front gravel of the Hurst was a scene of mass confusion as horses and riders and carriages all got sorted out. In addition to Lord Charles, Amanda, and the vicar, Sylvia Massingham was also riding, as were Jeremy Fordice, Luke Massingham, and Quentin Fletcher. Sylvia had felt herself quite the best dressed woman there in her deep blue riding habit with lace at the throat and wrists, until Miss Mason arrived in her severe, almost mannish brown habit that suddenly looked the height of elegance and made Sylvia feel overdressed and provincial.

  The other Massingham girls went in the family’s landau and took up Miss Eloise Smythe with them. The Fordices had their landau with a place for Pamela Fletcher, and Julia smiled to see the Rose girls arrive prosaically in the farm gig. Her smile faded when the party from Greymere arrived and the Rose sisters replaced Captain Fernley in the barouche with Lady Clara.

  Charles looked over the scene. Everyone appeared to be in their assigned seats, but there was no movement to depart. Riders went from one carriage to another, conversing easily with this group and that. Finally, Charles raised his crop and called in his military command voice, “Everyone situated? Let’s get st
arted!”

  At that, the carriages began to move down the drive. Riding alongside Mister Downey, Charles murmured, “Is no one in charge of this circus?”

  “I’d say you are now,” the vicar said with some sympathy.

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Charles replied.

  Amanda rode up beside them. “Smile, Charles!” she said. “A noisy, cheerful group off on a pleasure jaunt. It’s supposed to be fun!”

  In the barouche, Lady Clara nodded toward Charles and Amanda with a significant smile. “You see how my scheme prospers?” she said complaisantly.

  “Does it so?” asked Katherine in encouraging tones.

  “Oh, splendidly!” Clara said. “I plume myself on my cleverness every day. My dears, you cannot conceive how cheerful we are, spending our evenings with games and music and all manner of frisks and jollifications.”

  Helen sighed enviously. “It sounds marvelous,” she said.

  Lady Clara described their jolly evenings and quizzed the Rose sisters on their intriguing guest. Meanwhile, in the curricle, Captain Fernley answered some polite questions about the Peninsular War and Waterloo, before telling Mister Grimthorpe, “You want to know the secret to surviving a war? Sleep when you’re able,” and leaning back and falling asleep.

  Rupert marveled at the man’s ability to sleep in the swaying, rattling curricle, amid the chatter and laughter of a large pleasure party, but held his peace.

  Mister Downey kept himself busy, riding from one group of riders or carriage to another, exchanging pleasantries and reminding the young people by his presence that their conduct was under observation. At one point, he rode alongside Charles and Amanda when they heard shrieks of laughter coming from the Massingham carriage, and Lydia Massingham called to Quentin Fletcher, “Sir, you are too bad!”

  The vicar collected his reins preparatory to moving in that direction, when Amanda said, “Pray, sir, what mischief could they get up to on a public road in a group such as this?”

  Mister Downey paused and replied, “Perhaps not mischief, precisely, and these are all good lads. But sometimes high spirits might take a young gentleman beyond the line of what is pleasing and cause him to say things that would make a young lady’s mother stare would she hear of it.”

  “Gracious, Mister Downey!” Amanda replied. “Have you never said anything to a young lady that you were prefer her mother not to hear?”

  “I hope not, indeed,” he said soberly.

  She burst into laughter. “Why, you funny old stick!”

  The vicar nodded slightly and rode off. Charles said, “Amanda, that was rude.”

  “Was it?” she asked in surprise.

  Eventually, the merry band of travelers reached the Roman ruins. They turned out to be as Aunt Alice predicted, ‘sad bits of rubble’. But having come this far, the excursioners were determined to find them intriguing and delightful. Piling forth from carriages and leaping down from saddles, they clambered over the rubble, finding part of a wall and building a fanciful history for it, and wondering who had lived here and how they lived and where they went.

  Seeing the vicar walking alone, Miss Mason approached him, her train draped over her arm. “Mister Downey, Lord Charles tells me I was rude, and upon consideration I think he is correct. I must beg your pardon.”

  “Not at all,” Mister Downey said, more politely than sincerely. “Think nothing of it.” Then he asked curiously, “Do I seem that old?”

  “Your appearance is certainly not old,” Amanda told him. “Though your behavior sometimes gives you an air beyond your years.”

  He sighed. “It’s difficult in my position,” he said.

  “I’m sure it is,” Amanda said briskly. She extended her hand. “Now shake my hand and tell me I’m forgiven.”

  He shook her hand with a slight smile, saying, “Of course you are.”

  Relieved, she ran off to tell Charles that she had made amends with the vicar. Downey stayed standing in place, looking across the field to where Katherine and Rupert were clambering on the stones and talking animatedly. Rupert leaned close to say something for Katherine’s ears only, and the vicar sighed heavily. They seemed to have such an excellent understanding in such a short time.

  In fact, Rupert was sharing with Katherine a notion he’d had about an exciting sword fight between the Baron and the stable boy prince. Katherine had her own notions of how the final battle should be waged but reminded herself that the man was her publisher after all and should be heard politely.

  Meanwhile, Julia watched Katherine and Rupert and formed the amiable resolution to steal the young man from her dear friend. Oh, not to keep, she told herself virtuously. But just a practice flirtation and perhaps some means of rousing the demons of jealousy in Lord Charles.

  Hector Fernley was seated on a large stone, cane planted firmly in front of him. “I say,” he called out finally. “I’m beginning to feel devilish sharp-set. Who else is with me?”

  It was as if a sign had been given that the young people could stop being enchanted by the ruins and turn their attention to a meal, and quickly the group reassembled to make their way to the inn where a lavish spread had been bespoken in advance.

  The proprietor of the George had prepared for a large group, but the reality of the noisy chattering throng took him momentarily aback before he led the party to the private parlor reserved for them, waving to the waiters to serve refreshing beverages immediately.

  Ale for the gentlemen and ratafia and lemonade for the ladies were hailed by both sexes with equal delight, as the waiters made their way between the two tables in the crowded room. The gentlemen sought tankards of ale before finding seats, leaving the ladies to arrange themselves and dictate the seating.

  “Mister Grimthorpe!” called Julia Fordice to that gentleman as he looked over the room, tankard in hand. “Come sit beside me and tell us of London.” Obligingly, Rupert sat among the Fordice ladies, and began describing Vauxhall Gardens and the Menagerie at the Tower. Lady Clara and Miss Mason snagged the vicar and began grilling him on the needs of the poor in the parish. The young Massinghams, Smythes and Fletchers took the other table and began a noisy and laughing conversation among a group of young people who had known one another all their lives.

  Lord Charles surveyed the crowd and finally took the seat closest to the door, at the end of the quieter table. He was seated beside Miss Rose, who was slicing the ham.

  “Whew!” he said to her. “I’ll have some of that, if you would be so kind.”

  “Certainly,” she told him, and handed him a plate with ham. He was thankful she didn’t rush into conversation.

  After a moment enjoying the ham and the ale, he asked, “Did you enjoy the ruins?”

  “Yes, indeed!” Katherine said brightly.

  “Really! Do you know a lot about the Romans in Britain?”

  “No, not a thing.”

  “Then what did you find enjoyable about the ruins?” Charles asked, puzzled.

  “Oh, don’t you see?” Katherine said. “It wasn’t about the Romans, it was about us. Surely you must have noticed that everyone’s imagined Romans, with all their activities and interests, were actually just reflections of themselves.”

  “I must not have been paying attention,” Charles confessed. “Please explain.”

  Katherine chuckled. “Julia was certain that the flattest area of the ruins must have been a dance floor. Captain Fernley pointed out to the Massinghams where the defensive structures must have been placed, and Sylvia Massingham was sure she descried the outlines of a wedding chapel.”

  Charles grinned. “I must admit, I was taking note of how well situated the area was for farming and wondering how the hunting had been in those days.”

  “There you have it,” Katherine said.

  “And your Roman was observing and taking notes on all the other Romans,” Charles pointed out.

  “Oh, dear, so she was. And what that says about me, I hate to think.”

 
; “That you are observant and interested in your fellow man.”

  “To make sport of them?” Katherine asked.

  “If so, a gentle sport. If that is a vice, it is surely a mild one.”

  “You are most generous.”

  The conversation turned to the problems of keeping boys from getting into too much mischief on school vacation, and Katherine was astonished to learn that ‘Inky’ Cooper was in fact the Hannibal Cooper whose illustrations made the mock-epic poem Tales from the Levant so entertaining. “Gracious! That was him? I laughed so much! The Parliament of Apes!”

  “That was him,” Charles confirmed. “Sometimes he’s like a strange little old man. Your brother is teaching him how to be a boy again, I think.”

  “I hope Jack isn’t leading him into too much trouble,” Katherine said. “Lately they’ve been camping in the woods, playing gypsy. It seems to be quite detrimental to their clothing.”

  “That never bothers boys,” Charles told her.

  When the party at last left the tables, leaving nothing but fruit rinds and crumbs behind, Captain Fernley approached his wife to solicit a seat in his own barouche.

  “Why of course you may ride with us,” Lady Clara said. “We have room. But weren’t you riding with Mister Grimthorpe?”

  “It seems my seat has been reassigned to Miss Fordice,” he explained.

  “Indeed!” Clara looked across at Mister Grimthorpe with narrowed eyes. “I wonder at him.”

  “Don’t blame the poor chap,” the Captain said. “Nothing he could do about it. You know how it is. When a lady admires your bays, exclaims over your skill with the ribbons, expresses the wish to watch how you handle a curricle – well, eventually you must offer her a seat in your carriage or appear churlish.”

  “Why, Captain Fernley!” said his wife, taking his arm. “That sounds remarkably like the way I got that first ride through Hyde Park in your phaeton.”

  “Well do I remember, m’dear,” he said, patting her hand.