by Mira Stables
Their mother, ignoring this slight contretemps with Olympian indifference, turned a sharply suspicious eye upon her caller. “I am sure it is very kind of you, Stapleford, to invite my little girls to share your pleasure, but I declare, I scarcely know how to answer you. With girls, you know, one cannot be too careful. I would not for the world expose them to any undesirable influence. Tell me, pray, is the Wayburn child to be of the party? One hears that she is seen everywhere with your sister, and I am not at all sure—” She allowed the sentence to trail off and looked at him searchingly.
Perhaps it was that beady inquisitive eye or the dominant, sharply curving nose, somehow suggestive of a bird of prey about to strike. At any rate his lordship allowed temptation to over-ride any scruples that he might have felt about departing from the strict truth. He smiled at his hostess quite charmingly and said, “Miss Wayburn? There is no cause for anxiety, ma’am. I think she has inherited a little of that inimitable character. She is most unassuming, quite unspoilt in spite of her birth, without the least height in her manner. Of course she has not been told the whole truth and does not realise on just how high a form she might—” He, too, allowed the sentence to trail away, with a shrug and a spreading of the hands that indicated his own superior knowledge, and then went on in encouraging tones, “So you see there is not the least need for your daughters to feel shy.”
There was a brief pregnant pause while the lady sought for breath and tried to assimilate the incredible implication of Stapleford’s remarks. Then an expression of sudden anxiety erased his friendly smile and his fingers flew up to his mouth in a gesture of deep dismay.
“Oh! Good God, ma’am!” In his sudden agitation he had clearly forgotten to mind his tongue. “Never say you did not know! Indeed I never dreamed—such an old and trusted friend! Ma’am, ma’am, I throw myself on your mercy. I can only beg you to forget what I have said and never to mention it to a living soul. Believe me when I say that it would be shocking beyond belief if anything that you may have conjectured from my rash words should ever pass beyond the walls of this room. How could I have been so grossly, so criminally careless? Pray permit me to take my leave of you. I am wholly overset and must consider carefully whether I ought not at once to inform— But I beg of you once more—the utmost discretion.” He made her a very flustered bow, pressed his hand to a brow presumably fevered with anxiety, and hurried out of the room still muttering to himself.
Mrs. Wetherley, for once completely shattered, uncertain what to make of the farrago of hints and half sentences that his lordship had let fall, cast herself upon a sofa and fumbled blindly on the table for a seldom used vinaigrette. After a prolonged period of reflection she decided that there were several possible solutions that would fit the puzzle he had set her, and one, in particular, that caused even so noted a connoisseur of the “on dit” to suck in her breath in reverential awe. Her difficulty was to decide upon her next move. Should she attempt, by subtle blackmail, to coerce Stapleford into telling her the whole? Such a course sorted ill with her pride. If she could discover it for herself, she could then pretend that she had been in the secret all the time. Eventually she reached only one firm decision—that she herself would chaperone the girls to tomorrow’s skating party instead of leaving that tedious task to Clarissa’s governess. It was several years since she had set eyes on Wayburn girl. It was possible that now that she was almost grown up she might bear a marked resemblance to one or other of the distinguished gentlemen at whom his lordship had hinted. She would see for herself. Time enough then to decide on her further conduct.
His lordship’s groom, summoned in haste from the Wetherley stables where he had been proudly holding forth to an admiring audience on the manifest perfections of the prime bits o’ blood and bone that his master had chosen to drive that day, was at first at a loss to account for this change of plan. It was then borne in upon him that his lordship had been seized with a sudden illness. He seemed unable to speak clearly, his face was contorted into the strangest grimace and he actually signed to Tom to take the reins. In deep anxiety Tom wasted no time in obeying, thankful for the smooth action that would ensure the greatest possible comfort for his passenger and wondering how soon he could get him home and how long it would take to fetch the doctor from Wilton.
Alas for such misdirected sympathy! No sooner had the lodgekeeper closed the gates of ‘Peacocks’ behind the curricle, even before they were safely out of sight round the bend in the road, than his lordship threw back his head, which had been sunk on his chest, and gave way to such a paroxysm of mirth that Tom actually found himself chuckling in sympathy without the least notion of the cause of the outburst. That set his master off again. He clung to the side of the curricle and rocked with laughter until he choked and the tears ran down his face. When at last the convulsion abated and he had mopped his face with a handkerchief, he suggested, in a voice still raw from excessive laughter, that Tom might put ’em along a bit, since they were not, so far as he was aware, bound for a funeral. The curricle then proceeded more briskly, his lordship still giving vent to an occasional snort of laughter as he recalled the expression on Mrs. Wetherley’s face. But as they neared home he grew more subdued. The possible repercussions of his deliberate mischief began to arise in gloomy array. For himself he did not care a fig. The scrape he was in was cheap at the price. But he had been so carried away by his own histrionic talent and the ease with which he had bamboozled the old she-dragon that he had momentarily forgotten that Lissa would once again become the target for all the gossip mongers. It was too much to hope that Mrs. Wetherley would keep such a choice morsel to herself. It was unlikely that anyone would have the effrontery to question the girl directly, but he could well imagine the turning of heads, the nods, the nudges and the sly whispers that would attend her simplest appearance in public. By the time they were bowling up the avenue he was heartily regretting his folly, and yet, at the same time, aware of a curious desire to unfold the whole story to the innocent victim. She might be shocked and frightened. He thought it was far more likely that she would thoroughly enjoy the joke. He sighed impatiently for the impossible situation into which he had got himself and informed his startled groom that it was a great mistake to partake in play readings since it was apt to give one an exaggerated notion of one’s own talents and an irrepressible desire to display them. Tom, who could just about manage to read those bits of the prayer book that he knew by heart anyway, gulped and looked sideways at his master, but realised thankfully that no answer was expected.
His lordship was very much on the fidget as the time for the evening reading approached, even considering taking Miss Parminter into his confidence and asking her assistance in safeguarding Lissa from the effects of his all to successful essay in gull catching. When the expected knock fell on the library door he started guiltily. But it was only Miss Parminter who came in sedately and asked if for once he would excuse them from the reading. Lady Mary seemed to be starting a cold. No, nothing serious, just a sore throat and sneezes, but she had thought the child would be better in her bed. And then she had begged so earnestly for Lissa to bear her company that she had consented to ask his indulgence for once. It was a pity that his sister would have to miss tomorrow’s gaiety, but it would not do to run the risk of a further chill. At least she would be able to watch the fun, since the schoolroom window overlooked the lake.
“What about Lissa?” asked his lordship. “Mary will not wish her to miss the fun.”
Miss Parminter looked a little surprised. “Indeed, my lord, it is no such thing,” she explained. “Lady Mary did her utmost to coax Lissa to join the other guests, but quite properly the child refused. It was tactfully done, too. No least hint that it was a matter of duty—just that she would be quite petrified if she had to face a bevy of strangers without your sister’s support.”
With a sudden recollection of the difficulties that he himself had created for the girl his lordship forbore to press the matter further. Indeed, on
further reflection, he began to feel quite grateful for Mary’s fortuitous cold, a sentiment which strengthened to fervour when he found himself next morning greeting the redoubtable Mrs. Wetherley herself. It did not need a vast amount of intelligence to guess why she had chosen to attend a simple affair which she would undoubtedly find a dead bore and the gleam in that calculating eye as she enquired for Mary was definitely warlike. His excuses sounded lamentably feeble even in his own ears, despite the fact that they were true, and it was obvious from the lady’s disbelieving air that she suspected him of deliberate prevarication. Luckily for him another party of guests arrived before she could pursue the matter further and he took care thereafter to avoid her dangerous vicinity. Since she made no further effort to corner him alone, his lordship was eventually able to relax and even to enjoy the party.
He was an excellent host, noticing in a trice if anyone seemed to be left out of the fun and contriving to draw them into a congenial group without undue fuss. A good skater himself, he was even better as a partner, using his strength and skill to exhibit the lady’s graceful performance so that she felt she had never skated so well before. It was a pretty sight to watch and quite a number of the estate workers and even a few folk from the village had taken advantage of a friendly arrangement by which they were allowed to use the lane that ran through the park as a short cut to the turnpike. It was surprising how many people seemed to have business in Amesbury that morning and how many of them had time to linger at such gateways as gave a clear view of the lake to watch the quality disporting themselves. The Viscount recognised a few familiar faces among the onlookers. One was Mrs. Wayburn, who would doubtless be disappointed at not seeing Lissa among the laughing youngsters. She had a stranger with her, he noticed, a slender woman dressed in black, who even at that distance had a certain air of distinction. He asked his partner if she knew who the visitor was and she was able to tell him that this was Mrs. Wayburn’s new lodger, only just arrived, and understood to be a French lady, one of those poor creatures who had lost homes and loved ones during the shocking excesses of the previous year. Lord Stapleford nodded sympathetic interest and turned the talk to more cheerful matters.
Mrs. Wayburn, seeing that her companion looked pinched with cold, suggested that they should make their way home. She expressed her regret that her foster child had not been among the skaters and then related in voluble detail the story of the girl’s good fortune in finding such a splendid post. The Comtesse de Valmeuse was an excellent listener and seemed to have a remarkably good understanding of the English language. Perhaps, thought kindly Mrs. Wayburn, a story so romantic and unusual as Lissa’s would afford her temporary distraction from brooding over the shocking death of her husband. “’Tis strange to think that had I not answered Mr. Whitehead’s advertisement for a home for the child, you would not be here now,” she ended thoughtfully. “I hope I shall be able to make you comfortable after his recommending me so high. I daresay it’s not at all what you’ve been used to.”
If she hoped that in response to this inviting opening the Comtesse would obligingly reveal a little more of her own story, she was disappointed. All she got was a courteous rejoinder that her guest had no anxieties on that score and was grateful for the healing peace of the countryside. She gave it up. If the lady did not wish to talk of the past it was ill-mannered to persist. She pointed out various landmarks that would help the stranger to find her way about if she should venture abroad unaccompanied.
When first Mr. Whitehead’s letter had come, asking if she would care to take in a French widow lady who wished to live secluded in the country, Nanty had wondered at once if the lady had anything to do with Lissa. There was the fact of her introduction by the same lawyer and Nanty’s own belief that the doll that had been sent to the child was French. This was partly why she had complied with the suggestion for she had never taken lodgers and was not at all sure that she wanted one now. The lawyer’s letter had assured her that the lady had funds in England and would be able to pay an adequate sum for her accommodation, but it was that faint possibility that there might be some connection with her fosterling—that the lady might even be the child’s own mother—that had swayed her towards acceptance, rather than the financial inducement. Her first sight of the Comtesse proved disappointing. She could trace no resemblance to Lissa in this olive-skinned, dark-eyed lady, her black hair showing frosted with silver beneath her widow’s cap. But now that she was there in the flesh, Nanty’s motherly heart went out to her as a woman who had suffered tragically. She did her utmost to make the Comtesse comfortable though she shook her head sadly over the long hours that the lady spent in brooding, her delicate embroidery lying neglected in her lap. Much better if she had some occupation to fill her mind and banish haunting memories. It was almost a pity that she had no need to earn her bread.
His lordship, having regaled his guests at an informal and extremely noisy luncheon, waved farewell to the last departing carriage and turned back to the house, thankful to have the morning safely over without being plunged more deeply in the morass of deceit. An imperative tapping on the windowpane drew his attention to two heads in the schoolroom window. There was Mary, waving and beckoning, and Lissa standing a little behind the shorter girl. He would go up and tell them all about the party he decided, with an inexplicable lifting of his spirits. They had had a dull day of it. On a sudden inspiration he collected from the silent drawing-room a certain well-worn mahogany box which had beguiled many a lonely hour in his own childhood. A flowing inscription on the inside of the lid described it as “A Compleat Compendium of Games of Skill,” and in addition to a set of finely carved chessmen, draughts and playing cards, it also held more frivolous things, among them a set of Jackstraws.
It was an afternoon that would always stay vivid in Lissa’s memory. She had not really minded missing the skating; had even been relieved rather than otherwise. On the previous day she had spent far more time in picking herself up and starting all over again than in gliding gracefully over the ice. She got on well enough as long as she pushed a chair in front of her but as soon as she abandoned this support, down she went. It hadn’t mattered a bit, even when they all laughed at her, for they were her friends. But she had no particular desire to be a laughing stock for strangers, many of whom, she guessed, would be well pleased to poke malicious fun at her deficiencies. Mary and she had enjoyed a good view of the proceedings from the schoolroom window and she had noticed that his lordship did not skate more than once with any of his partners, not even with the pretty Lady Sophia who skated so beautifully and whose big blue eyes and golden curls contrasted so charmingly with his lordship’s almost Spanish darkness. No doubt this was just his notion of the conduct proper from a host to his guests, but somehow it assuaged an unidentified anxiety that lay hidden in her heart. Moreover his face had lit with genuine pleasure at Mary’s urgent signals and he had wasted no time in joining them in the schoolroom. After that the hours had passed all too swiftly. Perhaps it was the schoolroom atmosphere that made his lordship seem suddenly young and carefree—no longer the important and potentially frightening arbiter of her destiny. Perhaps it was just the foolish games that they played and the blatant way in which he cheated at Jackstraws, loudly declaring that it was Mary’s sneeze that had shaken the intricately balanced pile, never his expert and delicate touch. Miss Parminter, who had declared herself too old for such childish pastimes, beamed on the three of them with warm approval and, for the first time in her life, reflected that her lot had been cast in pleasant places.
When Janet brought up schoolroom tea his lordship insisted on staying to share it and demanded bread to toast over the fire and cherry jam and plum cake, though it might have been noticed that he partook very sparingly of these delicacies when a smiling Janet produced them, appointing himself toaster-in-chief and keeping the girls in a ripple of merriment by his objurgatory remarks addressed to such pieces of bread as scorched or fell off the fork. Replete with toast and laugh
ter they finally assured him that they could not swallow another crumb and sat lazily in the firelight talking of plans for the Christmas holiday while Miss Parminter worked industriously at the embroidery of the slippers that she proposed to present to her great-uncle as a Christmas gift. His lordship, toying idly with the scattered Jackstraws, told them stories of his childhood and how he had built forts with the nursery blocks, defended them with armies of chessmen and draughts and attacked them with toy soldiers armed with Jackstraws, even pointing out the brown mark on one ivory sliver, a spear, which, hurled with excessive energy, had gone straight into the nursery fire and been retrieved by a frightened small boy at the cost of blistered fingers.
He glanced up at the end of this woeful tale to see Lissa’s great eyes fixed upon him with such an expression of sorrowful sympathy that he felt quite uncomfortable and lowered his gaze to the littered table, suggesting that a pair of idle useless brats would be better employed in tidying up the games box. It did not occur to him that Lissa’s sympathy had not been for the blisters but for a lonely little boy making his own amusements without even a loving Nanty to share his joys and comfort his childish sorrows. It was as bad as being an unwanted love-child. For the first time she realised that wealth and noble birth did not always bring happiness and in the realisation took another step towards maturity.
Chapter Seven
After all their plans and joyous anticipation the Christmas holiday turned out to be sadly flat. Ten days before the festival his lordship received an imperious summons to present himself at Wrelf, where the Marquis was entertaining a large party for the better part of a month. It was a summons impossible to refuse, for beneath the reproaches for recent neglect and the acid comments on the total lack of gratitude and respect in the younger generation was plain to be read an old man’s loneliness, his desire for a reconciliation with his heir. They had parted in coldness; the rare letters they had exchanged had been formal and, in the main, concerned with estate business. The Marquis would never stoop to plead—he spoke only of the advisability of meeting some of Society’s leaders at Wrelf, where the boy would be at an advantage in the delicate business of re-establishing himself in the eyes of the polite world. Lord Stapleford sighed. He was rather weary of this business of making himself acceptable to his neighbours. It would make a pleasant change, he felt, if someone actually approved of him when he was his natural self! First Hetherston and now his grandfather, telling him how he should go on. The Marquis expounded on this theme at length, explaining just how he should set about making himself agreeable to the various notabilities whom he might expect to meet, and offering as an inducement the prospect that success would shorten his banishment. His lordship, who was finding himself singularly well content with country life, sighed resignedly and sat down to write his reply, promising to present himself at Wrelf on the Tuesday before Christmas if road conditions permitted.
