Lissa

by Mira Stables

  He took Lissa’s unresisting fingers and folded them round a small package, smiling at her kindly, and somehow she managed to murmur a rather stilted thank you.

  “Now cheer up,” he exhorted her. “Be a good child, and I’ll send you word as soon as I find a suitable opening for you.”

  She thanked him once more in a small colourless voice, but she was already recovering from the shock of his announcement and thanking heaven that her own plans were so well advanced. She bade him a dutiful farewell and then, quite as though it was an afterthought asked if she might have the use of the pony carriage during the afternoon to deliver the bundles—she indicated them—to the Vicarage. Lord Wrelf was vaguely uneasy. She would be bound to mention her going and he would very much rather that no one outside his personal household knew of it. He said that one of the grooms could perfectly well discharge the simple task and no need to put herself to any trouble over it. But when Lissa said that she would like to say good-bye to the Hetherstons and thank them for all their kindness to her he could scarcely persist in his objections. He gave permission, reminding himself that Hetherston would be heartily of his own opinion as to the wisdom of sending the girl away. A word in the good man’s ear, and Jervase would never learn her whereabouts from him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was oppressively hot. Even the leaves of the magnificent trees that clothed the slopes of Beechen Cliff hung limp, with no breath of air to set them whispering. Lissa pushed back damp tendrils of hair from an aching brow. She had already discarded her hat and wished once more that she had been able to include one or two of her thinner dresses in the bundle that Ned had smuggled into the gig. But she had been forced to limit its contents to such items as Janet would not think of packing for the journey to Torquay. The snuff brown dress which Nanty had chosen for the start of her great adventure was heavy in this weather and was not helped by the fact that she had grown so much that it was uncomfortably tight across the breast and round the arms. She thought wistfully of the purse of money that she had found when she unpacked her bundle and wondered if she might use some of it to buy herself just one muslin gown. But the prices in the shops on Milsom Street had frightened her and she did not choose to squander Ned’s money on high-priced luxuries. It would have to be paid back as soon as she had found work.

  Dear Ned! He had managed her escape beautifully. They had stabled Dandy and the gig in Warminster with Ned’s friends and had hired a light chaise for the remainder of the journey. The friends were a young couple only recently married. They had accepted the arrival of a strange young female without question and offered cheerful hospitality in the most informal way. When Ned had spoken of escorting Miss Wayburn to Bath, Michael had insisted on lending him his own covert-hack. Lissa had been sorry to leave their friendly menage.

  The house in Gay Street that General Carnforth had hired was both elegant and comfortable and despite their unheralded arrival and the fact that she herself had only been installed in it for two days, Miss Parminter’s welcome had been warm and sincere, bringing comfort and reassurance to a sore heart. General Carnforth paid little heed to the unexpected addition to his household. By a blessed dispensation of Providence he had come across a former comrade in arms among the valetudinarians who gathered daily in the Pump Room. The two had served together under Cornwallis and since they spent their days very contentedly re-fighting old campaigns and criticising the conduct of the current ones, both gentlemen were agreed that the waters of Bath and the treatment they were receiving were highly beneficial. Since the General always breakfasted in his own room he and Lissa very rarely met and Miss Parminter was free to spend most of her time with her young guest. Today, however, she had gone to visit a friend who conducted a very select seminary for young ladies in fashionable Bathwick, and Lissa had been left to her own devices. It was doubtless wrong in her to venture out alone, but having studied her reflection in the sober stuff gown and with her hair hidden under an old-fashioned bonnet borrowed from her hostess she felt she could pass for an abigail going on an errand for her mistress and should be safe from molestation, Miss Parminter having most particularly warned her against the demi-beaux and rakehells who infested the city.

  Miss Parminter was regretfully coming to the conclusion that the air of Bath did not suit her young friend. During the month which had passed since her arrival she had grown listless and heavy-eyed as though she had slept badly. She ate little—Lissa, who, on her first arrival at Stapleford Place had found the art of the chef so irresistible that she had actually reproved the child for greed. And all of this was a great pity for it must militate against a splendid scheme of her own for securing the girl’s future.

  It had long been her intention, when she had saved a sufficient sum, to go into partnership with her friend in Bathwick. She had hoped that this happy day would arrive in some two or three years’ time when Lady Mary would be old enough to dispense with her services. But if she could persuade Miss Meredith that the sum she had saved was sufficient—or if, in his present unwontedly benign mood, General Carnforth could be persuaded that a loan to a thriving educational establishment would be a sound investment, then her dream would become fact and what was more she would be in a position to offer Lissa suitable work under her own guidance. Not a word of this had she divulged to the girl herself since it was dependent on so many “ifs,” though she had felt quite guilty at leaving the child to entertain herself, so low spirited as she had been since her arrival. But it was growing increasingly difficult to pacify her with assurances that the help that she gave with domestic duties and the pleasure that Miss Parminter took in her society were adequate return for the cost of her keep. While as for her refusal to buy that charming sprigged muslin gown, or to allow Miss Parminter to buy it for her—well, really! One could carry independence too far!

  It had been a great pleasure to the lonely spinster to have an agreeable companion to share her explorations of the ancient city. While paying just tribute to its many modern improvements, both ladies preferred to delve into the past. Miss Parminter’s knowledge of the antiquities was far superior but it was Lissa’s lively imagination that peopled the place with the marching legions or the mythical court of King Bladud. Briefly, while absorbed in these flights of fancy, she would seem once more the vivid eager child who had first won Miss Parminter’s regard. But such moments were rare. For the greater part of the time she was unnaturally subdued—compliant and helpful, but withdrawn into a world of her own. She had, of course, told her hostess the whole story of her sudden arrival in so far as it concerned others. Of her own hurt and grief she made no mention and Miss Parminter was too sensitive a woman to probe the secrets of the child’s heart. She had felt herself bound to concur with the Marquis’s point of view and thought that under the circumstances he had acted both wisely and kindly, though she was well pleased that Lissa had chosen rather to come to her. Privately she thought the girl would have been more sensible to have accepted the money that was offered, but this opinion she kept to herself, respecting the principles that had dictated the refusal. The package had been left unopened on the library table enclosed in a brief note which expressed Miss Wayburn’s polite regret that she could not accept either the Marquis’s plans or his money and had made her own arrangements. An affectionate note for Nanty, begging her not to be anxious since Lissa would be safe with friends, had been delivered by Ned under cover of darkness, a touch of drama which had delighted that young man. Unfortunately the message did little to soothe the poor woman’s fears, for who could the unknown friends be?

  She might have been comforted could she have been privileged to overhear a conversation in progress in a certain neatly furnished parlour on the outskirts of Bathwick. Miss Meredith listened to Edith Parminter’s detailed exposition of her young friend’s dilemma with absorbed interest. The plan of setting up a partnership must be reserved for further consideration. The sum that Edith mentioned was modest. On the other hand Bathwick was developing rapidl
y and she had a satisfactory waiting list of hopeful pupils. She would like to extend her accommodation for parlour boarders, but that meant building—a heavy expense. Edith’s contribution would be useful there, but she would prefer to consult with her lawyer before reaching a decision.

  As though to make amends for this businesslike attitude, her interest in Lissa’s story was sympathetic. She would like to help. But could Edith vouch for the girl? Miss Meredith’s pupils were drawn mainly from the daughters of the squirearchy, leavened by an occasional offshoot of the minor aristocracy. No governess, however junior, could be admitted to that select dovecot unless her character and references were unimpeachable.

  Angry colour suffused Miss Parminter’s cheeks. “She has been educated under my personal supervision and has had the inestimable advantage of being reared in the Wyncaster household. It is only the misfortune of Lord Stapleford’s having begun to pay her such distinguishing attention that has cast her upon the world at so tender an age. Lord Wrelf himself was willing to sponsor her, but her delicacy of principle persuaded her rather to apply to me.”

  Miss Meredith’s eyes brightened. “The Wrelf connection could be very useful to us,” she pointed out. “A favourable word from that quarter—” She shrugged. “In the meantime—” her manner grew brisk—“your protégée can make herself useful immediately if she so chooses. Miss Beaton has foolishly contracted the mumps from her small brother. It is most inconvenient since I have three girls staying on at school over the holidays. Their parents are abroad. Major Miller is serving in India. Miss Beaton was charged with the task of supervising their activities. If Miss Wayburn wishes to earn her keep she may take Miss Beaton’s place. Naturally I would not expect to pay a salary since there is really no work involved. It is just a matter of joining the girls on their little excursions and seeing that they come to no harm. She would be housed and fed and I would have the opportunity of assessing her character and ability for myself.”

  It was not to be expected that Miss Parminter would accept much meagre terms for a task that she well knew to be far more onerous than teaching. The charge of three lively girls—fourteen-year-old twins and a younger sister—imbued with holdiay high spirits, was by no means the sinecure that Miss Meredith had implied. She succeeded in wringing from that lady the offer of a small salary in addition to board and lodging and promised to put the suggestion before Miss Wayburn. The two ladies then exchanged dignified farewells, each with an increased respect for the other’s business acumen and no diminution of goodwill.

  Under the shelter of a low hanging branch Lissa started awake, yawned and stretched in brief contentment from a dream in which she had been back at the Place. Coming fully awake, with the now familiar sinking of her spirits as she recalled her true situation, she wondered for the hundredth time if Jervase had yet returned from his unexpected journey to London. Had he, perhaps, gone there to wait upon the girl that he was to marry? Surreptitiously she had searched the columns of the Morning Post each day, expecting yet dreading to see the announcement of his betrothal. No word had come from Ned, the only person who knew her direction. She was as much cut off from her former life as though she had suddenly been transported to another planet.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jervase’s visit to London proved to be frustrating in the extreme. He made a good start. Mr. Whitehead, it transpired, was well known in his professional capacity to several of Jervase’s friends who pronounced him to be both able and discreet. There was no difficulty in tracing him either to the prosperous looking chambers where he conducted his business affairs or to his private address. But there success ended and the obstacles began. Mr. Whitehead was away on business in the north and no one could say exactly when he would return. It might be as long as a sennight.

  In the event it was ten days, and for that seemingly interminable time Jervase kicked his heels in maddening idleness and wondered how he had ever contrived to pass the time in former years. It was not that there was any lack of diversion. As soon as it was known that he was back in Town he was positively inundated with invitations to a dozen different parties and might take his choice between a musical soirée, a drum, and a grand ball given by the Sternports to honour Miss Wetherley. Or if he preferred entertainment in a lighter vein he might join a party in Hyde Park and stake his blunt on a race between two sturdy piglets ridden by pet monkeys.

  With shocking lack of appreciation he dropped the rest of the elegantly superscribed missives on to his writing table without even bothering to open them. There was nothing from Stapleford so they held no interest for him. Somehow, between riding and driving out into the country with one or two likeminded friends, putting in a little practice with the foils and an occasional rubber of picquet, he managed to get through the days. He even had the grace to laugh at himself for turning so soon, even before matrimony had contributed its well-known sobering influence, into the very epitome of the country squire who couldn’t abide Town life and longed only to return to his ancestral acres. Of course when he married Lissa it would be different. It would be amusing to show her the sights and take her to all the ton parties. He would enjoy her enjoyment. But even so he rather thought that they would spend most of their time in the country. He yawned and went off to bed at the indecently early hour of eleven. He must be up betimes next day, for the elusive Mr. Whitehead had at last returned to Town and had made an appointment to see him at noon.

  As was only to be expected he was by far too early for this all-important engagement and was ushered into a small ante-room where he paced impatiently from chair to window until Mr. Whitehead should be at liberty. Presently he saw from his window the clerk who had admitted him obsequiously assisting a heavily veiled female to enter a closed carriage. That presumably was the client who had preceded him, for almost immediately the door opened and the clerk announced that Mr. Whitehead could see him now.

  The lawyer’s appearance came as a surprise. Jervase had somehow assumed that he would be elderly. But the man who came forward to greet him and to apologise pleasantly for the inordinate delay in arranging the meeting could not be much more than thirty. Seeing him so taken aback Mr. Whitehead said at once, “Perhaps your lordship was expecting to see my uncle? I regret that ill health compelled his retirement last year. But I shall be happy to offer you any service that lies within my power.”

  There was something immediately likeable about this quiet-voiced, blunt-featured young man, so different from the gimlet-eyed, sharp spoken creation of Jervase’s imagining. He found it easier than he had thought to explain his situation and his problem.

  Mr. Christopher Whitehead listened attentively, making neither comment nor query until the tale was done. There followed a long thoughtful pause before he said quietly, “An interesting case, my lord. I must make it clear from the outset that I, personally, cannot be of any assistance to you. It was, of course, my uncle who originally placed the child with Mrs. Wayburn, but I very much doubt it he ever knew the truth about the child’s parentage. If he did, he is, alas! unable to impart his knowledge. He suffered a severe seizure last summer which has impaired his faculties. He can neither speak nor write. However, there is one person, a client of mine, who may be in a position to help you. The business is, of course, highly confidential. I could not furnish you with names or directions. But I could make representations on your behalf if you wish me to do so.”

  “Most certainly I do,” said Jervase emphatically, “and with the utmost despatch.”

  The lawyer smiled slightly. “You realise that my client may refuse outright? Or that, if the information is forthcoming, it may not be to your liking? It is most probable, you know, in view of what you have told me, that Miss Wayburn is illegitimate.”

  “As to that, it makes no difference to me,” said Jervase simply. “It is my grandfather who is concerned. Since he has been very good to me—and, indeed, unexpectedly sympathetic in what must seem to him sheer madness on my part—I owe it to him to find out what I c
an. But if Miss Wayburn will accept me, I shall marry her whatever her parentage.”

  “May I repeat that statement to my client?”

  “You may tell him all that has passed between us,” confirmed Jervase. “And you will earn my gratitude by doing it as soon as possible. At the moment Miss Wayburn has no notion of my feelings towards her, a state of affairs that I am anxious to remedy without loss of time. Nor do I anticipate an easy conquest,” he added ruefully. “The lady is of a very independent disposition. I do not know that she would care a great deal for the stain of illegitimacy—she has accepted it with fortitude for years—but she has an exaggerated reverence for the house of Wrelf. Ranks it far higher, I fear, than that of Guelph! My best hope is to prove to her that the blood in her veins is fit to mate with mine. I might then be able to win her consent.”

  Mr. Whitehead looked distinctly incredulous. “Surely she must realise the honour you do her? It is the suggestion of such a match for her—if I may so far presume, such a very advantageous match—that gives me some hope of persuading my client to speak.”

  “And indeed I hope it may succeed. But it will do me no service with his daughter—for I presume he is her father, this mysterious client of yours?” He glanced up enquiringly, but the lawyer’s expression was perfectly non-committal.

  “I will use my utmost powers of persuasion,” he promised, “and make what speed I may. But I do not foresee any possibility of securing the information for a week at least. And I must warn you again not to be too hopeful of the outcome. A secret that been guarded for fifteen years is not lightly disclosed.”

  Lord Stapleford groaned. “A week! Then I shall go back to the Place and await the issue with what patience I may. Another week of idling here would drive me insane. And you will send to me the moment you have news?” And Mr. Whitehead’s smile and firm hand clasp confirmed his promise that his new client should not be kept in suspense a moment longer than was absolutely necessary.