Deborah Goes to Dover

by M C Beaton

  When the party broke up and went upstairs, Hannah waited until she was sure Mrs Conningham would have gone to bed and went to Abigail’s room. That young lady was sitting, still dressed, on the end of the bed, staring into space.

  ‘It is not going to work,’ said Abigail when she saw Hannah.

  ‘You must not be cast into despair the whole time,’ said Hannah bracingly. ‘You have another day and then the whole rest of the journey to Dover. How would it be if I arranged with the earl that Benjamin take myself and your mother out for a drive tomorrow afternoon? You would be left alone with your captain.’

  Hope shone again in Abigail’s eyes. ‘Could you do that?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Hannah. ‘Only leave it to me.’

  In his bedchamber, the earl climbed into bed and stretched out his long legs. Then he leaped up with a cry and jerked back the sheets. Stuffed down at the end of his bed was a gorse bush.

  Fuming, he took a pair of tweezers out of his manicure set and removed several gorse prickles from the soles of his feet. He was bitterly disappointed in Deborah. She had seemed such a mature and attract ive lady when he had been talking to her about his estates and the need for improvement.

  In her room, Deborah, in night-dress and lacy wrapper, looked miserably at her short golden curls in the glass. Men like the earl no doubt thought hair a woman’s crowning glory. Not that she was in love with him or anything stupid like that. It was just, oh, it was just mortifying that her kiss had seemed to have so little effect on him. Now if her hair were longer … She shrugged her shoulders and decided to read herself to sleep and forget about the earl. There was a small pile of books considered suitable for a lady on an occasional table. She picked them up. Five Hundred Embroidery Stitches, by ‘a Lady’; The Perils of Lady Marcheson or The Wicked Italian Count by Mrs Bradford; Mr Porteous’s Sermons; The Holy Bible; and Putnam’s Formulas for Beauty.

  She seized on the last and turned the pages eagerly. ‘Hair, hair, hair,’ she mumbled. ‘Ah, here it is. Nothing for lengthening hair. But straightening hair … yes, that might do the trick.’

  Like all people with very curly hair, Deborah often longed for straight hair. Hannah Pym might have pointed out to her that any young lady who has not endured the hell of sleeping in curl papers or clay rollers longs for straight hair, something which seems quite mad to most of the rest of her sex. But Deborah became convinced that straight hair would mean longer hair. She eagerly read the recipe. Half a pound of petrolatum, half a pound of rendered mutton suet, three ounces of beeswax, two ounces of castor oil, ten grains of benzoic acid, one fluid dram of lemon grass and fifteen drops of cassia oil.

  She could not wait. Between the kitchen and the still-room, she could put together the ingredients, and the kitchen fire, with luck, might still be alight, as the mixture would need to be heated.

  She crept silently downstairs, or as silently as she could, for the wooden treads on the great staircase creaked abominably.

  In his bedchamber, the earl, still awake, heard that tell-tale creaking. He was all at once sure it was the twins up to more mischief.

  He got out of bed, after lying awake for fifteen minutes and wondering whether he should leave them to their own devices, pulled on a rich embroidered dressing-gown, picked up his bed-candle and made his way out. He went down to the hall and raised his candle high and looked around. Then he saw that the green baize door to the kitchens was standing open.

  He walked down the stone steps of the back stairs. The servants’ hall was deserted, but there was a light shining under the kitchen door.

  He softly opened the kitchen door.

  Deborah was standing there, looking down at an assortment of items spread out on the scrubbed deal table. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked sharply.

  Deborah jumped guiltily. ‘I was hungry and … and … came down to see if there was anything to eat.’

  He walked forward and looked down at the assortment on the table. ‘Beeswax,’ he murmured. ‘Benzoic acid … are you trying to create another terrible practical joke?’

  Deborah hung her head.

  ‘I thought this evening you had finally grown up, Lady Deborah,’ said the earl heavily. ‘That was until I found the gorse bush which you and your brother had placed in my bed.’

  ‘That was nothing to do with me!’ cried Deborah. ‘Oh, William, I could kill you. That must have been why he was out of the drawing-room for so long. I noticed his pumps were muddy when he came back.’

  ‘Well, well, let us say you are blameless. You had better tell me what you are doing with such an odd assortment.’

  Deborah turned fiery red. ‘I was trying to straighten my hair.’ She pushed forward a small book. ‘I found a recipe for a hair straightener in here.’

  The earl’s green eyes began to dance. ‘Why destroy your golden curls?’

  Deborah ran her fingers through them and sighed. ‘My hair is so very short.’

  ‘Come, let us put all this stuff away. Your curls will be the envy of all the ladies when you go to London.’

  ‘Why should I go to London?’

  ‘For the same reason most young ladies go to London – to make a come-out and find a husband.’

  ‘I do not need to find a husband,’ said Deborah. ‘Papa has money enough.’

  ‘What a condemnation of the state of matrimony.’

  ‘It is true. Only look at poor Miss Abigail, condemned to marry an old man because of his money, or rather because of her uncle’s money, for he is to help the family if she does as she is bid.’

  ‘If Miss Pym has her way, then she will have her captain. Perhaps I should engage the services of Miss Pym to find me a bride,’ said the earl.

  ‘You?’ Deborah looked shaken. ‘You are a bachelor.’

  ‘I could not marry before this. I had nothing to offer a wife. I was in the army.’

  ‘That did not stop Captain Beltravers having a wife.’

  ‘Only look what became of the poor woman. My father kept me on short commons, so I doubted very much if I could support a family before this inheritance.’ The earl eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I should definitely discuss the matter with Miss Pym.’

  ‘And what do you look for in a bride?’ asked Deborah.

  ‘Grace and manner and wit and kindness. Looks are not important, nor the length of her hair.’

  Deborah began to pick up bottles and jars. ‘Then ask Miss Pym tomorrow,’ she said tartly.

  He took some bottles from her and they walked through to the still-room and Deborah began to put everything away, letting out an involuntary shiver, for the room was cold.

  ‘Come, that’s enough,’ he said. ‘The servants can clear the rest away in the morning. Back to bed with you.’

  Deborah was suddenly very conscious of the nearness of him in the small still-room, of the faint scent of cologne he wore. She said breathlessly, ‘Yes, yes. I am a little tired.’

  ‘Then come along.’ They walked back up to the hall together.

  ‘Are you very angry with William?’ asked Deborah.

  ‘I’ll teach the young fool a lesson before I go to bed. He should have grown out of such tricks. I am glad you had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘You believe me?’ said Deborah in a small voice.

  He ruffled her curls and smiled down at her indulgently as they stood together in the hall. ‘Yes,my chuck.’

  ‘Do not do that!’ said Deborah sharply, backing away. ‘I am a woman, not a child.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘Yes, I had noticed. You looked very beautiful this evening – you are very beautiful and will break many hearts.’

  Deborah gulped. ‘I d-don’t want to break h-hearts.’

  He put his candle down on a table and put a long finger under her chin and tilted it up. ‘I should write to your father,’ he said softly, ‘and warn him of the enchantress his daughter has become.’ He stooped and kissed her gently on the mouth, startled to receive the same dizzying shock he had
experienced when he kissed her before. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeper.

  William, above them on the landing, looked down in horror at the couple in each other’s arms, standing in the pool of light shed by the candle. He had gone in search of Deborah to tell her about his prime joke on the earl, confident that such a mild practical joke would not prompt the earl to damn him with Clarissa.

  He now forgot about Clarissa. Deborah was leaving him for that adult world of conventions and marriage. Gone were all the easy days of companionship, of hunting and fishing.

  Whatever it was between Ashton and his sister must be stopped. He crept away. If he interrupted them, demanded that Ashton state his intentions, then he was dismally sure that Puritan Ashton would promptly point out that his intentions were honourable. He must think up some way to stop him.

  The earl released Deborah and said, ‘You are trembling.’

  ‘So are you,’ said Deborah shakily.

  ‘It is cold and we are behaving quite disgracefully. What would Miss Pym say?’ He dropped a light kiss on her nose and picked up the candle. ‘I shall see you tomorrow,’ he said huskily. ‘There is much we have to discuss.’

  Deborah felt dizzy and light-headed. She was sure he loved her. He would not have kissed her otherwise, not Puritan Ashton.

  Outside her door, she gave him a shy good night.

  William was lying in bed, pretending to be asleep as he heard the door of his room open. No doubt Ashton had arrived to read the riot act. The earl went quietly over to the toilet-table and picked up a full jug of water. He walked over to the bed and tipped the contents over William’s head. William sat up spluttering. From the darkness came the earl’s mocking voice, ‘Do not ever play tricks onme again, young William, or itwill be the worse for you.’ Then William heard the door close.

  He sat up in bed, cursing, and fumbled with his tinder-box until he was able to light the bed-candle. He got up and dried himself and put on his clothes and sat sulkily in a chair by the fire. Damn Ashton. There must be some way to pay him out and keep Deb free of him.

  And then he remembered Ashton had said something about writing to Clarissa and her brother. A great idea struck him. If he could find that letter …

  He went downstairs and made his way to the earl’s study. There were various bills and estate books on the desk, but there on top was a half-finished letter. He drew his candle close and began to read. The earl had given the Carruthers an account of Miss Pym’s further adventures and the haunting of Lady Carsey.

  He put down the letter which fortunately, he noticed, although unfinished, stopped at the end of a page. The earl obviously meant to write more before he sent it off. William took a fresh piece of paper. The earl wrote in a clear italic script, easy to copy. ‘As far as Lady Deborah is concerned,’ William wrote, ‘she has proved quite charming out of her men’s clothes and will provide me with an interesting bit of dalliance before I decide to settle on the business of finding me a wife. Perhaps you know of some suitable lady?’

  William then took the two pages of the earl’s letter and the page on which he had written the forgery and darted quickly up the stairs again and found his way to his sister’s bedchamber.

  She was lying asleep and he shook her roughly by the shoulder. ‘Who is it?’ demanded Deborah crossly.

  ‘It is I, William. Wake up. You should read this.’

  ‘Read what? Oh, William, I had just got to sleep. And I am so very angry with you. Whatever possessed you to play such a childish trick on Ashton?’

  Her brother lit a branch of candles and carried it over to the bed. ‘I was ferreting around downstairs looking for something to read and I came across this half-written letter. It’s from Ashton to that Carruthers chap; you remember he said he was writing to Clarissa and her brother?’

  Deborah struggled up, aghast. ‘William, you have no right to read anyone else’s correspondence.’

  ‘And nor would I have,’ said William righteously, ‘if I had not just glanced down at it and seen your name. You need not read all, just the last page. There’s only one paragraph, the letter is not finished, but it is just as well. You will find what he has written about you is bad enough.’

  As Deborah read it and turned white, William felt a stab of conscience but persuaded himself fiercely he was doing it all for his sister’s own good. Ashton was too old for her, and she should not be thinking of marriage yet.

  ‘Take it away,’ said Deborah, holding it out with the tips of her fingers after she had read it. She lay down and turned her face into the pillow.

  ‘You had to know,’ said William gruffly.

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘Don’t take it so hard, Deb. Let’s get out of here. I can rouse the groom and get the carriage brought round. You’ll feel better at home.’

  There was a long silence. He was almost on the point of saying he had forged that part of the letter when she suddenly sat up, two spots of anger burning on her white cheeks.

  ‘Yes, William,’ she said fiercely. ‘Let’s go home.’

  ‘Good girl. Get ready and meet me outside. Don’t bother to pack anything. We can send the servants for it later.’

  He ran downstairs and put the earl’s part of the letter back where he had found it. Then he went back to his room. The fire was nearly out, but he thrust his forgery through the bars of the grate and then went back down again, unbolted the heavy front door and ran to the mews to rouse their groom.

  Twice on the road home, he nearly told his sister the truth, she was so quiet and sad. But tomorrow would surely see her restored to her old self and her old clothes and her old way of speech. In the short space of time since the earl had kissed her, she had not sworn or spoken like a groom.

  Deborah felt quite cold and empty. She would never marry now. She would hunt and fish with William and they would grow old together, two eccentrics, two Originals, while the earl went to London and found himself a lady who would faint at the very sight of a female in men’s clothes.

  The earl did not discover the absence of the twins until late in the afternoon. He had had an early breakfast with Miss Pym, who, he was amused to see, seemed to have taken over the running of his household, giving orders to the butler about the proper cleaning of the rooms. Then he had ridden out to visit his tenant farmers. He was looking forward to getting the work of the day over quickly so that he could tell Lady Deborah all about it. He was conscious of a happiness he had never known before.

  Hannah had successfully borne Mrs Conningham off, with Benjamin driving them in a gig, which left Abigail alone with the captain, or so Hannah thought. But the captain had, just before she had left, promptly taken a horse from the stables and had ridden over to Travers’s place for a further look. He did not know Hannah’s plans and was glad to escape from the gushing Mrs Conningham, so Abigail was left alone with the servants to pass the time in gloomy thoughts.

  The earl returned at the same time as Hannah and Mrs Conningham. Hannah noticed he looked carefree and happy. He told her to tell Lady Deborah that he would be in the drawing-room as soon as he had changed out of his muddy clothes.

  It was in the drawing-room that Hannah learned of the ruin of the romances. There was Abigail, sad and downcast, to say she had not seen the captain all day, and there was Judd, the butler, to tell her that Lord William and Lady Deborah had gone home in the middle of the night and had sent servants over in the afternoon to collect their clothes.

  And then the earl came in, cheerfully demanding to know where Lady Deborah was and Hannah told him the news and watched in dismay as the happiness died out of his face.

  It was a grim dinner. Hannah was glad they were to leave in the morning for Dover. Something awful must have happened between the earl and Lady Deborah, and as for Captain Beltravers, well, Hannah felt like shaking him.

  Abigail asked Hannah shyly what she should do with Lady Deborah’s gown and jewellery and Hannah told her to keep the lot until she heard from Lady Debo
rah.

  The earl was glad to go to bed and get away from them all. His heart felt heavy and he felt like a fool. He must have frightened Deborah. She must have thought him a lecherous old satyr. He was too old for her. But she might at least have said goodbye. He damned the Earl of Staye. He would not go near Downs Abbey again. Let the earl look after his own children!

  Deborah and William spent a quiet day fishing without catching anything. Deborah was muddy and cold and depressed when they returned home. For the the first time, she felt the loss of her mother acutely. And then she thought of Hannah Pym. Miss Pym would give her bracing advice. Miss Pym would know what to do.

  ‘William,’ she said casually. ‘I feel blue-devilled. I would like to know the end of the story, that is, if Miss Pym succeeds in getting Abigail and the captain together. Let’s go to Dover tomorrow and surprise them. I don’t want to travel in another stage-coach. We could take our own travelling-carriage.’

  ‘Don’t know that I care much what happens to them,’ said William gloomily, for his conscience was beginning to torment him badly. Deb had changed now for good and would not change back, whatever he did. Even going fishing, she had worn an old woollen gown and cloak, something she had never done before, always saying men’s clothes were more practical. She spoke softly and sadly and had not sworn once all day, not even when the fish did not bite.

  ‘Besides, if we wait here, Ashton will come calling, perhaps …’

  William sat up. What if the earl did call and Deborah told him about that letter! William began to sweat at the very idea.