by Mira Stables
She positively refused to return to Stapleford. She could support herself by her own efforts. And, since he insisted, despite all her protestations, on escorting her home, he should see for himself what a very respectable post she had found. Nor did Miss Meredith prove the stout ally that he had hoped. A swift glance at his card had certainly disposed her in his favour, and his apologies for having delayed Miss Wayburn and her charges were graciously received. The stern reprimand that she had prepared for them was forgotten and the girls were dismissed to their supper with no more than an admonition to make haste. But the suggestion that Miss Wayburn should return to Stapleford Place was less welcome. While by no means so besotted about the girl as was her friend Edith, she acknowledged Lissa’s good qualities and found her services, just at this juncture, both useful and economical. The Miller girls had taken a fancy to her and gave no trouble—a marked change of demeanour—and any replacement would ask at least double the pittance that Lissa had accepted. While sorry to disoblige his lordship she did not feel that she could release Miss Wayburn without due notice given. She was vastly surprised to learn that Lissa did not wish to give notice. That caused her to unbend considerably. She even suggested that perhaps at the end of the month—for surely Miss Beaton would be recovered by then—Miss Wayburn might return to Stapleford for a short holiday.
His lordship then exerted himself to charm her into consenting to the outrageous proposal that he should form a member of the projected picnic party, blandly announcing that he had taken a great fancy to her lively charges and would value an opportunity of improving his acquaintance with them. But this was going too far for Miss Meredith’s sense of propriety until he hit upon the happy notion of inviting Miss Parminter to join the expedition. Since neither protagonist consulted Lissa’s wishes this was agreed between them and his lordship went off to engage Miss Parminter’s support. Lissa, torn between the longing for a whole day spent in his society and the shrinking from its cost in further heartache, pleaded a migraine and went early to bed.
Chapter Eighteen
Only the Miller girls regarded the picnic as an unqualified success. Lissa, though looking charmingly young and biddable in the muslin dress of Miss Parminter’s providing, refused to discuss any but the most impersonal topics. When Jervase tried to draw her a little aside from the others she stayed the closer to Miss Parminter’s side. There should be no repetition of yesterday’s caresses if Lissa could help it. She recognised too well her own weakness in the face of that form of persuasion.
So Lord Stapleford found himself charged with the entertainment of three schoolgirls, a fate which he undoubtedly merited in view of his brazen remarks to their preceptress. And though he did in truth, find them likeable and entertaining, this had scarcely been his primary object in joining the expedition.
Lissa, meanwhile, was subjected to a long homily from Miss Parminter. That good friend urged her to consider well before she rejected all that his lordship offered. While in part agreeing with the girl’s view that so unequal a match was a hazardous business, she would not go so far as to say that it was inevitably doomed to disaster, or that his lordship might some day come to regret his present rashness. Since Lissa remained obdurate she spoke next of gratitude and duty. Lissa had been shown great kindness by the Wyncasters, yet she had left their roof in a clandestine manner which had caused them considerable trouble and anxiety. Only to think of Lord Wrelf’s actually going to Bow Street, all to find one naughty girl! If she persisted in refusing the Viscount’s offer of marriage then the least she could do was to accede to his request that she return, however briefly, to the Place. So the world might see that she had not been driven out by persecution but had left of her own choice.
To Lissa’s reproachful eyes at this defection she hardened her heart. Lord Stapleford should have every chance that she could win for him, however low she sank in Lissa’s esteem. To see her darling Viscountess Stapleford she was perfectly willing to throw overboard the principles of a lifetime. It was not, she told herself, as though his Lordship was a rake or a waster. He would make the most delightful husband.
What was more to the point she was prepared to offer practical help. When Lissa objected that Miss Meredith could not spare her, Miss Parminter promptly countered with an offer to take charge of the Miller children until Miss Beaton returned to duty. Her uncle no longer needed her attendance, Lady Mary was in London, and she would be happy to oblige her future partner. The girls looked rueful. They were inclined to like Miss Parminter who was not near so fusty as most governesses. But she could not compare with Lissa who had been playmate as well as guardian. The three bright faces so woefully clouded touched Jervase’s ready sympathy.
“Perhaps your parents would allow you to come to Stapleford for a visit on your next holiday,” he consoled.
“Will Lissa be there?” demanded Susan suspiciously.
“That I can’t promise,” he said, “though I hope very much that she will. You must help me to persuade her.”
Lissa felt that she was being pushed into an impossible position—as though it was not already hard enough to do what she felt was right.
“Since you are all so set on it,” she said with dignity, “I will consent to return to the Place for a little while. Beyond that I promise nothing.”
The children were jubilant. Susan hugged her warmly and Pamela said that she would write to Papa that very night. Miss Parminter pronounced judicially that her decision was the right one. Lord Stapleford, very sensibly, said nothing at all. He had never been one to push his luck too far. It was left to Miss Parminter to suggest that since the weather was so genial it would be very pleasant if he took Lissa up in his curricle. It would be perfectly proper. An open carriage was quite a different proposition from a private chaise. And since there was no reason for delay, why not tomorrow while the good weather held?
To this, too, Lissa assented, with an air of indifference and a tilt to her chin that augured ill for the progress of his lordship’s wooing. She might and did adore him—but she had red hair and a mind to match and no liking at all for the subtle sort of blackmail to which she had been subjected.
For the first part of the journey she managed to nurture these feelings of outrage. His lordship might as well have been driving a waxwork figure modelled by Madame Marie Tussaud for all the response he won from her. But there was too much to tempt her to enjoyment. The day was so balmy, the air so sweet with the fragrance of honeysuckle and new-cut hay. The greys, fresh after their day’s idleness, buckled to their task with a will, but the curricle was so beautifully balanced and sprung that the pace was exhilarating rather than frightening. With so much to tempt her Lissa could not for ever resist the insidious call of youth and freedom. Why not pretend that all was as fair as it seemed? That she was some high-born maiden driving in company with her betrothed husband with only the stolid Tom perched up behind to play propriety. And when they stopped to rest the horses and Jervase, reaching up his hands to help her alight, said suddenly, “You do not know what happiness it is to have you safe beside me. For today it is enough that you should be alive and well and content to trust yourself to my care. I know that you have been persuaded against your wish but I promise not to tease you with further importunities,” there could be no resisting the warm sincerity in face and voice. She smiled back at him, all her love in her eyes, and allowed all thought of anything but present joy to fall away.
They reached Stapleford half-way through the afternoon. As Tom sprang down and went to the horses’ heads, Jervase looked down for a moment at his companion, grinned cheerfully and said, “And now to face the dragon! And what an ungrateful wretch I am to describe him so! Frightened?”
“I don’t think so,” said Lissa cautiously. “He has always been very kind to me. But that was before I ran away.”
Anti-climax followed. There was no ordeal to face. The Marquis was gone—and Lissa’s portrait with him. “Left only an hour or two after your lordship’s self,�
� said Humphreys, Lord Wrelf’s valet, still indignant that he had been left behind. “Travelling north, I apprehend, and driving himself in the phaeton.”
“The phaeton?” said Jervase, blinking. “For a journey north? Which horses?”
“The chestnuts, milord,” said Humphreys reverentially, for though he was an indoor man the fame of those four matched chestnuts was part of the Wrelf tradition.
Jervase could only imagine that his grandfather had suddenly run mad. There was no close relative whose imminent decease could explain such a crazy start. It seemed most probable, especially in view of his having taken the picture with him, that his departure was occasioned by his partial recognition of its background. But a man approaching his seventies—and driving a phaeton and four!
These were sentiments that he could scarcely express to Humphreys. Instead he enquired how Madame did. Humphreys cast down his eyes. “I understand from Mrs. Graham that she is up and about but keeps to her own room,” he said sedately. “The physician, it appears, is now of the opinion that some great trouble—possibly the terrible fate of the late Comte—is oppressing her mind so that it does not recover its normal tone.”
Humphreys, with his precision and his pedantry, usually amused the Viscount. On this occasion he found no cause to smile. He had conceived a mild liking for the Comtesse and was sorry to hear so wretched an account of her health. He was more concerned for Lissa, since he had reckoned on her being strictly chaperoned, and now, with his grandfather also away, the position was far from satisfactory. However a simple solution offered. He would beg hospitality for himself at the Vicarage.
This he presently did and was warmly welcomed, especially by young Ned, heartily relieved that no guilty secret need now mar a promising friendship. He offered to give up his room—the best guest chamber—for Lord Stapleford’s comfort, gratifying his aunt by such proper behaviour even though the offer was promptly refused. He then escorted the honoured guest to a much smaller room which was pronounced to be very snug and comfortable, and took the opportunity of offering frank apology for his deception.
“Turning me up sweet, eh?” grinned Jervase, cuffing him lightly over the head. “No wonder you were so magnanimous about giving up your room, letting me chase round every damned coaching office in the county hunting for a girl whom you had quietly lifted away from under my nose. How you must have smiled to see me so completely taken at fault!”
“I did at first,” admitted Ned honestly. “But that was before I realised that I had the wrong sow by the ear. And by then it was too late. I’d promised Liz, you see, and I couldn’t let her down.”
“Of course you couldn’t. I must have done the same myself.”
“She’s a great gun is Liz,” amplified her friend. “We’ve been good chums ever since she planted me a facer for calling her ‘Coppernob,’ the first time we met.” He grinned reminiscently. Then added, in more serious vein, “True as steel. She’d never let a chap down.”
“If you could only convince her of that,” said Jervase dryly, “you would be doing me a service. I might even find it in me to forgive you for the trick you served me.” And seeing Ned’s mystified expression, explained, “So far as I can gather, her only reason for refusing to marry me is the fear that by doing so she would be letting me down.”
Ned was a little startled at this frank confidence. Uneasy, too, since he could think of no word of comfort or advice. He fidgeted miserably about the room, uncertain whether to stay or to go. Seeing his distress, Jervase took pity on him and said briskly, “However, don’t imagine you’re going scot-free, Master Impudence. Come up to the Place tomorrow morning and we’ll have the foils out. I’ll teach you a proper respect for your elders, see if I don’t.”
Chapter Nineteen
There was, in fact, time and to spare for several such lessons. They were much in each other’s company, fencing, riding and driving about the quiet lanes. Sometimes Lissa joined them, but she spent a good deal of time in the Comtesse’s room and so managed affairs that she was never alone with Jervase. He enjoyed young Hetherston’s society but found himself waiting with growing impatience for news of his grandfather or from Mr. Whitehead.
Lissa’s return seemed to have put new heart into the Comtesse. When first the girl went in to visit her, the invalid had held out frail white hands and drawn her close to be clasped and kissed with a fervent, “Dieu merci! You are safe!” and Lissa had felt the soft cheek pressed against hers wet with tears. But though they spent long hours in each other’s company they spoke little, Lissa busying herself with embroidery, the Comtesse gazing out in the summer glory of the gardens but so lost in her own thoughts that it was plain she did not see them.
Once, when Lissa sighed over sorrowful thoughts of her own, the Comtesse reached out and touched her wrist, murmuring, “Do not grieve, child, nor be anxious. It will end well, I promise you,” and Lissa found the confidence in the quiet voice oddly reassuring.
On Thursday morning the Comtesse announced her intention of coming downstairs. She was much stronger, her mind seemed perfectly clear, and she was, she explained, expecting a visitor. This gentleman was coming from London and should arrive in the early afternoon. If convenient she would like to receive him in the library. A little surprised at this punctilious formality, Jervase gave good natured assent.
“And I would like both you and Lissa to be present at the interview,” went on the Comtesse, “though I would be obliged if you would permit us the privilege of five minutes’ private talk first.”
This seemed puzzling but probably had some simple explanation. Jervase thought it likely that he and Lissa were to be invited to witness the Comtesse’s signature to some legal document and dismissed the matter from his mind. He wondered once more how soon he might hope to have word of his grandfather. He was beginning to suffer some anxiety on that head. It was unlike the old man to have sent no word of his activities.
He had intended to drive into Warminster that afternoon with Ned and Lissa to meet the friends who had aided the escape, but the expedition must now wait until Madame’s business was done. He suggested that they should adjourn to the billiard room. He and Ned could have a hundred up and perhaps Lissa, who did not play, would consent to mark for them. So he did not see the arrival of Madame’s visitor and when, presently, a footman announced that Madame la Comtesse would be pleased if they would join her in the library, it was with a sense of severe shock that he found himself shaking hands with Mr. Christopher Whitehead.
“I will not, for the moment, present you to the lady,” said the Comtesse, with a tight little smile in Mr. Whitehead’s direction. “Lord Stapleford you know already. He will be interested to learn that I am the ‘client’ who can help him to clear up the mystery in which he is interested.”
Mr. Whitehead bowed. “That is correct, my lord,” he said gravely. “You will recall that I informed you that I had received no answer to my letter. The delay was caused by Madame’s illness.”
None of this seemed quite real to Jervase. The suddenness with which it had burst upon him gave the scene the quality of a dream. Gravely he returned Mr. Whitehead’s bow and awaited further revelations. The Comtesse, as though her brief flare of energy was already spent, sank into a chair. Lissa, bewildered by a conversation which meant nothing to her, ran to Madame’s side and asked if she should bring some restorative.
“No,” said the Comtesse abruptly. “And perhaps, in a moment or two, you will not wish to be doing me that service. Mr. Whitehead will explain.”
In the billiard room, Ned Hetherston, after playing one or two desultory shots, replaced the cues in their rack and wandered over to the window, hoping that his friends would not be too long. He was thus privileged to observe the arrival of the most dashing equipage that it had ever been his good fortune to see. So absorbed was he in the perfection of the matched chestnuts drawing the phaeton that he paid no heed at all to its occupant.
Mr. Whitehead cleared his throat and wondered
how best to go about his difficult task. He looked at the Comtesse, her face resigned to a calm acceptance of what must come, yet strangely vulnerable, and he was touched to compassion.
“In what follows,” he said firmly, “let me make it perfectly clear that the facts which I am about to reveal would, in any case, have been made public very shortly. Lord Stapleford’s intervention has only accelerated their disclosure.”
The Comtesse gave an infinitesimal shrug. The man was loyal and kindly disposed, but—n’importe!
“When the Comtesse de Valmeuse visited my office recently,” continued Mr. Whitehead, “she rehearsed to me a full conf—er—account of the facts concerning the child known as Lizzie Wayburn.”
“Confession will do, Mr. Whitehead,” interposed the Comtesse dryly.
Mr. Whitehead blushed. “This account proves beyond doubt that the child in question is, in fact—”
“The Lady Alicia Kentsmere,” said another voice from the library doorway, “only child of Robert, twelfth Baron Kentsmere and his wife, Angela.”
The little group that had been listening so closely to Mr. Whitehead that they had not marked the opening of the door, swung round to stare at the newcomer. The Marquis of Wrelf came in composedly, stripping off his driving gloves, as though the delivery of such thunderbolts as the one that he had just launched was mere commonplace. The Comtesse, who had been prepared for just this revelation, though not, perhaps, in quite such bald phrases, was the first to recover.
“Your information, my lord Marquis, is perfectly correct. Had I realised the extent of your knowledge I might have spared Mr. Whitehead a wearisome journey.”
