The sound of footsteps crunching up the gravel drive penetrated her thoughts, at once causing her to sit up, throw off her covers and leap out of bed. Dashing across the room to the tiny window, she peered out fearfully, hoping that the noise did not herald Sir Arthur’s imminent appearance on the scene.
Shrinking back in dismay, she saw that the arrivals were, in fact, Latimer himself along with her two sisters. The little group appeared to be engaged in some sort of cheerful raillery, for both girls were laughing and Latimer’s face was covered in a wide smile as he followed them to the front door. Georgina then noticed that he was carrying the book that her mother had allowed him to borrow and, since it was obvious that the only reason the man had accompanied her sisters back to the house was to return their father’s property, she forced herself to return to the bed, where she sat for several minutes in dejected contemplation.
Suddenly, she sprang to her feet and made for the bedroom door. Opening it cautiously, she peeped out around the galleried landing at the stair head and, having satisfied herself that there was no one else in the offing, she tiptoed silently across to the banisters and peered over them into the hall below, from where she could hear the sound of Latimer’s voice.
‘Please convey my sympathies to her,’ he was saying. ‘And do tell her that I am very sorry that I was not able to see her. When do you think she may be well enough to receive visitors?’
Mrs Cunningham smilingly replied that, for the moment, she was unable to say, but she would certainly convey his good wishes and, after thanking him once more for the return of Sophie’s book, she accompanied him to the front door.
Hiding his disappointment, Latimer bowed his farewells and was just on the point of leaving when his eyes caught a flash of white in the gallery above his head. He stared up in stupefied astonishment as he witnessed Georgina’s hasty retreat. Glancing quickly at his hostess, he was relieved to see that she had been spared the sight of her eldest daughter caught, not only in the act of eavesdropping but also, if his eyes had not deceived him, clad merely in her nightgown!
As he walked down the front doorsteps, a bemused smile appeared on his face. Was it possible that Georgina’s surreptitious interest in his visit could be taken to mean that, in spite of his appalling behaviour on the previous evening, he might still have a chance to redeem himself? And, if only he could find some way to talk to her in private, would she, perhaps, be willing to hear him out?
He turned and, for several minutes, stood looking back at the house, his eyes raking the upstairs windows, hoping for some sign of Georgina’s presence but, as far as he could tell, there was no perceptible movement. Eventually, he was forced to admit defeat and resume his journey back to the cottage, wondering, as he walked slowly down the lane, whether Annie Jacklin had finished her labours and, if so, how soon she would be able to pass on his note to her daughter.
Concealed behind the bedroom curtain Georgina, her face aflame, watched him go. She was mortified that he should have caught her listening to his conversation. It was bad enough that he had witnessed her skulking around in her nightwear—not that the garment was in any way revealing, she had to remind herself. Nevertheless, the most infuriating thing about his unwelcome discovery of her hiding place, as far as she was concerned, was that it had probably encouraged him to continue with his mistaken belief that she was still carrying a torch for him!
The moment she had realised that her presence had been detected, she had scurried back to Sophie’s room and, in a panic-stricken haste, had dragged the curtains firmly shut—apart, that is, from the tiny chink she had left to enable her to observe Latimer’s departure. When he had unexpectedly turned to look back, she had found herself rooted to the spot, unable to breathe. She found it almost impossible to believe that he had not seen her, for she felt absolutely certain that their eyes had locked several times during his scrutiny of the windows.
Still shaking, she slumped down on the bed. She wondered dismally when, if ever, he would be likely to pay another visit. His tone of voice had given the impression that he was quite anxious about her well being and he had earned her eternal gratitude for not betraying her to her mother but, even so, she was well aware that she would find it very difficult to face him after today’s indecorous behaviour.
Hearing the click of the door latch, she hastily pulled the bedcovers over herself and lay back against the pillows, feigning sleep. The sound of Becky’s heavy shuffle crossed the room, followed by the tinkling of a glass being placed carefully on the marble-topped washstand next to the bed. She opened her eyes and bestowed a beatific smile upon the elderly housekeeper.
‘Oh, you’re awake, Miss Georgina!’ said that worthy. ‘Didn’t mean to disturb you—just brought you up a warm posset. Do you feel well enough to sit up and take a sip?’
‘I feel absolutely fine, Becky,’ Georgina assured her, discovering at the same time that it was perfectly true, for her headache seemed to have suddenly and mysteriously disappeared. ‘I really think I ought to get up now.’
‘By no means, miss,’ returned Becky firmly. ‘You’re to stay in bed until your mama says—so don’t you be arguing with me.’
‘But I’m hungry!’ protested Georgina. ‘I missed breakfast, you may recall!’
‘Well, you know what they say—“feed the cold and starve the fever”, my pet,’ said the servant, tucking the blankets in tightly before placing her hand on Georgina’s forehead. ‘Hmm, not too bad, though you’re still looking a mite flushed—a day in bed won’t do you any harm.’
Turning to go, she pointed to the glass and gave a brisk nod. ‘Now you drink that up, like a good girl, and have another little sleep and, if you promise to behave yourself, I’ll fetch you up some nice chicken broth later on!’
‘Oh, lovely!’ muttered Georgina ungratefully, as she reached for the glass and took a sip of its contents. She screwed up her nose at the never-to-be-forgotten taste of Becky’s famous cure-all, a mixture of lemon and liquorice laced liberally with ipecacuanha. However, with Becky’s sharp eyes watching her every move, she realised that she had no choice but to obey. Therefore, she reluctantly obliged the housekeeper by swallowing the rest of the loathsome concoction, whilst, at the same time, remembering countless occasions in her childhood when either she or Katharine had managed to distract Becky long enough to tip their doses of the hated medicine out of the bedroom window, much to the detriment of the fuchsias below.
‘That’s a good girl,’ said Becky, removing the empty glass from Georgina’s hand. ‘Now you have a nice little nap and your Mama will be up to take a look at you later.’
Georgina nodded weakly and closed her eyes, knowing that she would be more than happy to lie perfectly still until the nauseous effect of the foul liquid had subsided.
With a final satisfied look in her direction, Becky left the room.
Well, I probably deserved that, thought Georgina, clenching her teeth, for a more suitable punishment for my ludicrous behaviour this morning would be hard to conjure up! Tentatively, she took a deep breath and carefully eased herself into a sitting position, wondering how on earth she was going to manage to spend the entire afternoon in bed, with nothing to occupy her but an old and tattered copy of Perrault’s fairy tales, which had been in the family since before she was born.
She picked up the well-thumbed volume and her lips curved in a wan smile as she read down the well-remembered list of contents. ‘Cinderella’, ‘Sleeping Beauty’ and, of course, ‘Red Riding Hood’, the last of which immediately set her to thinking about Latimer once again and, in particular, that heart-stopping moment in the church vestry, when she was almost certain that he had been about to kiss her! If only she had not taken the coward’s way out and removed herself from temptation, things might have turned out quite differently.
As she flicked dispiritedly through the pages, it came to her that all of Perrault’s fictitious heroines, without exception, were depicted as resourceful, resolute and totally uncomplain
ing females, bravely enduring a series of character-testing adventures until, eventually, every one of them managed to overcome whatever obstacle life threw at her and was rewarded with true love, good fortune and an eternal happy-ever-after land.
If only real life were like that, she mused wistfully, closing the book and returning it to its shelf above the washstand. I seem to be far better at creating obstacles than removing them. I have certainly made a complete mull of things these last few days or, to be strictly honest, ever since Latimer arrived on the scene. Pondering over this inescapable fact, she could not help but remember the number of times that she had flippantly remarked to Katharine that, in her opinion, love appeared to weaken the brain. No wonder all of her would-be suitors had been reduced to composing such drivel, she thought, in sudden and astonished realisation. And, if they had felt as helpless and as hopeless as she did herself at the moment, she was almost inclined to feel sorry for the poor fellows.
The afternoon dragged on interminably, relieved only by Becky Harper’s single appearance bearing the promised cup of thin chicken broth, which, by this time, Georgina was more than thankful to accept.
‘Surely I may be allowed to get up now,’ she pleaded. ‘You must see that there is nothing wrong with me. My headache has gone and I have absolutely no sign of fever, I promise you!’
The housekeeper frowningly studied her charge. ‘Well, you do seem much improved, Miss Georgina, and that’s a fact,’ she conceded. ‘But your mama will be up shortly—she’s been busy most of the day, sorting out piles of them there books in the Reverend’s study. I had thought that you might like to go back to sleep until dinnertime but, of course, my remedy probably did the trick. Hardly ever fails, I’m happy to see.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you are right, Becky!’ breathed Georgina fervently. ‘It made all the difference, I am sure. Do go and ask Mama if I may come down.’
But the advancing sound of carriage wheels on the gravel drive quickly distracted Becky’s attention and she scurried to the window to see who could be arriving at this hour.
‘Well, I never!’ Georgina heard her exclaim. ‘It looks like Sir Arthur himself! Surely not! I’d better go and warn your mama!’ Without further ado, she whisked out of the room and was on her way downstairs, as fast as her legs could carry her.
As soon as the door closed behind the elderly housekeeper, Georgina tore back the covers, flew to the window and peered down at the handsome maroon-coloured equipage that was parked at the front-door steps. The smartly liveried driver appeared to be about to light up his pipe and, at the front of the rig holding the horse’s heads, stood a young groom who had his nose deep in some sort of reading matter. The pair had obviously been told to expect a long wait, she conjectured glumly and prayed that her mama would hear Sir Arthur out before dismissing him.
Some forty minutes elapsed, with Georgina alternately pacing the floor and rushing to the window at the slightest sound. The driver had finished his pipe and had then spent some time examining the leaf springs under the carriage and the groom must have walked the horses at least twice around the central flowerbed.
More than once she had tiptoed over to the gallery railings to peer into the hall below, but no noise of any kind could be heard. She wondered where Katharine and the younger members of the family were. It was unusual for Rupert to be so quiet, she thought, a worried frown on her face, and hoped that the boy was not up to mischief somewhere.
Then, all at once, having caught the sound of Becky’s heavy tread outside the door, Georgina leapt back into bed and pulled the covers under her chin, just as the servant entered the room. She was bearing a tray, upon which lay a plate of bread and butter, along with a glass of milk and a water jug.
‘Now, my pet,’ said Becky, laying the tray down on the washstand. ‘You’re to eat this up and then get dressed as quickly as you can and come downstairs. There’s hot water in the jug for you.’
Her wrinkled old face was wreathed in smiles as she turned and walked back to the doorway. ‘They’re all in the sitting room,’ she added, over her shoulder. ‘So make haste, won’t you? There’s a good girl.’
Georgina needed no second command, for she was out of bed in an instant, one hand reaching for a slice of bread, which she hastily and inelegantly crammed into her mouth, while the other snatched up the water jug and poured its contents into the basin on the washstand. Then, having remembered, to her utter dismay, that her clothes were still in her own room across the landing, she sped quickly around the gallery and pulled a selection of garments out of her closet before dashing back to Sophie’s room to complete her toilette.
Less than ten minutes later she was washed and dressed in her Sunday best muslin, her unruly ringlets brushed neatly into a ribbon at the back of her head. Stopping only momentarily to give herself a cursory inspection in the tarnished pier glass over the washstand, she left the room and made her way down the stairs, her heart quaking in nervous anticipation.
‘Ah! Georgina! There you are.’ Her uncle was first to greet her as she entered the sitting room. He rose from his seat at her mother’s side and strode over to meet her, hands outstretched. ‘Are you sure that you are fully recovered, my dear? You need not have risen from your bed on my account.’
‘It was nothing, Uncle—I had a slight headache, that is all,’ Georgina assured him. ‘Mama was afraid that I had caught a chill and thought it best to keep me away from the young ones, but whatever it was has passed now and I feel perfectly fine.’
Sir Arthur squeezed her hand and led her to the sofa. ‘Your mama was quite right to be concerned and I am very glad to hear that her fears came to naught. She has been beset by far too much worry these last few months.’
Georgina sat down and cast an apprehensive glance at Mrs Cunningham, who seemed to be regarding her with a most contented expression on her face, causing her daughter to wonder if Uncle Arthur had chosen to keep the news about Saturday’s visit from her. The very idea that he might have done such a thing troubled her greatly. It was true that she had promised him that she would refrain from mentioning it before his visit, but had not thought to be involved in any permanent deception! Her turbulent thoughts were invaded by the sound of her mother’s voice.
‘You were very wrong to do what you did, Georgina,’ she was saying, but her tone was gentle and her eyes held a smile. ‘But your uncle has begged me to excuse your impetuosity and—in view of his kindness and generosity—I shall say no more about it.’
‘No, no, ma’am, I beg of you!’ exclaimed Sir Arthur, holding up his hands in protest. ‘The kindness and generosity is all your own! To welcome me back into your home after so many years is more than I was entitled to expect. I deem it an honour and a privilege to be allowed once more into the bosom of your family!’
‘It is your family, too, Arthur,’ Mrs Cunningham replied shakily, as the tears threatened. ‘But you must know that Henry had my complete loyalty, without question and, even after his death, I could not bring myself to go against his wishes.’
‘I am well aware of the quandary in which you found yourself, dear Amelia,’ Sir Arthur assured her gently. ‘And I am mindful of the fact that, in spite of all his many excellent qualities, my brother could, at times, be very obstinate—even as a child he had the most stubborn streak…’ He paused, a broad smile appearing on his face as he noticed the rosy flush that suddenly covered Georgina’s cheeks at his final words. ‘May I take it that you also are occasionally beset by the same demon, dear child?’ he enquired teasingly.
His remark provoked a barely suppressed giggle from Katharine who, throughout Sir Arthur’s visit, had been sitting in pent-up silence on the sofa opposite. Visibly shocked by this most unseemly outburst on her daughter’s part, Mrs Cunningham flashed her a quelling look, whereupon Katharine’s cheeks turned scarlet and she clapped her hand to her mouth in mortification.
Sir Arthur laughed aloud and, turning to his hostess, he adjured her, ‘No, do not scold her, dear Amelia. Le
t us have no more formality between us. I have missed so many years of your delightful children’s lives and I do so want to get to know everything about them.’ He looked across at Katharine and his eyes twinkled. ‘I am informed that you, Miss Katharine, are about to become a married lady. May your old uncle crave the honour of escorting you down the aisle?’
‘Oh, you are too kind, Arthur,’ gasped Mrs Cunningham, as Katharine nodded in delight. ‘But you do make me feel most dreadfully guilty!’
‘Nonsense, Amelia! I have a great deal of catching up to do!’ was Sir Arthur’s firm reply. ‘And, since I may not have too many years ahead of me, I fully intend to make the most of them so, from now on, my dear, you must be prepared to have me on your doorstep at every possible opportunity!’
‘And I assure you that I—we—will be more than happy to receive you whenever you care to call,’ returned Mrs Cunningham, favouring him with a wide smile. She reached over to pull the bell-cord, adding, ‘Let me have Mrs Harper bring the little ones back in,’ and, turning to Georgina, she explained that Becky had taken the two youngest Cunninghams down to the kitchen with her—‘in order that your uncle and I could converse more freely.’
Dorothy Elbury Page 14
