by Sheila Walsh
‘I fear I cannot quite lay claim to that,’ she confessed, preening, ‘for Aubrey is almost eighteen, you know … and although I was a mere child when I had him …’ Her eyes clouded and her mouth trembled anew. ‘Oh, but of what use are my looks, incarcerated as I am in this great gloomy house!’
‘Well, surely there is somewhere else you might go, if only for a visit? A friend … in London, perhaps?’
‘Do you think I would not have done so long since, had it been possible? My dear girl, I have scarcely a feather to fly with! And Lord Radlett will support me only so long as I remain immured here as befits a relict … a relict … the very word strikes a chill into my bones!’
‘Oh dear!’
‘So you see, if I did decide to cut my traces, I don’t know how I should go on. There is Aubrey to be thought of …’ Selina’s voice grew bitter. ‘You would be surprised how elusive one’s so-called friends can become when one is an impoverished widow twice over, with the added encumbrance of a son still dependent on one! And yet, if Lord Radlett dies, that is exactly the fix in which I am likely to find myself, for Beau will have none of me!’
The tears threatened to flow again, and Theo, feeling she could not take another moment of such wallowing self-pity, said quickly that her grandfather was not going to die ‒ ‘And if we put our heads together, maybe we can come up with some scheme,’ she added rather rashly; upon seeing the calculating look that flashed momentarily into Selina’s eyes, she hoped she might not have cause to regret her own impetuosity.
‘Do you know,’ Selina said, pushing her sodden handkerchief into her reticule with a brave smile, ‘I suddenly feel quite hungry.’ She stood up and tucked her arm through Theo’s. ‘I must say it is very agreeable to have another woman in the house … gentlemen do not understand our problems.’ With deceptive casualness, she added, ‘It wouldn’t astonish me if you might not in time come to wield considerable influence over the old man … I mean, he’s bound to be grateful to you, isn’t he … for your care of him?’
Theo was too choked with annoyance to answer, but her companion hardly noticed her silence, being occupied by several new and interesting trains of thought.
The luncheon was an informal meal, and they arrived to find Beau almost on the point of leaving the morning room, and Benedict and Aubrey helping themselves from a side-table groaning under the weight of a bewildering selection of cold dishes.
Beau asked with scrupulous politeness how his uncle did, and Theo replied with unaccustomed brevity that he was maintaining his progress. She saw Benedict look at her somewhat quizzically, and then at Selina, before returning to address himself to the contents of his plate. The mere sight of the food filled her with nausea, but for appearance’s sake, she took a slice of ham and some bread and butter, and sat down at the table to pour herself a cup of tea. When he placed himself beside her, she threw him a quick brittle smile and then looked down as though absorbed in contemplation of the lonely slice of ham.
‘Selina seems rather more animated than usual,’ he observed conversationally, and she glanced up to see her, laughing with Aubrey, her plate piled high with delicacies. ‘You, on the other hand, are less so.’ He paused, and when she offered no comment, ‘What should I make of that, I wonder?’
The ham was like sawdust in her mouth. She swallowed it and took a sip of tea, returning the cup to the saucer with a carelessness that produced a jarring clatter.
Benedict dropped the bantering tone and said quietly, ‘Trouble with his lordship?’
She shook her head. ‘We had words, but …’
‘But?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, not wishing to be pressed. ‘We simply agreed to differ.’ She watched Selina come to sit down, resentful of her ability to shrug off her misery so lightly.
‘Ah well,’ he said after a moment, ‘when he realises all that you have done for him in the past few days …’
‘No!’ she said with such soft vehemence that he paused, his fork half-way to his mouth, to stare at her. The others, too, were watching in some curiosity. ‘No,’ she said again, low-voiced. ‘I will not be put in that position! The very last thing I want is that my grandfather should in any way feel beholden to me!’ Her angry gold-flecked eyes encompassed them all. ‘I must insist that he should not be told!’
In the small silence, Beau stood up, flicked an imaginary speck from his immaculate blue coat, and made her a slight ironical bow.
‘My dear Theodora ‒ pray do not distress yourself. I am sure I speak for all when I say that your wish is our command.’
Selina bit her lip, as though she would have spoken and thought better of it. Aubrey shrugged, and Benedict merely continued to look at her in an enigmatic way.
‘You see? We are agreed,’ Beau said smoothly, and turned to leave.
As he did so, Purley entered. He addressed himself to Beau, but it was to Benedict that the message was directed.
‘If you please, sir, Mr Cartwright, his lordship’s lawyer, has just arrived. He says, sir, that he is expected.’
Theo heard Benedict say ‘Damn!’ with some force beneath his breath. As Beau bent a coolly enquiring eye upon him, he pushed back his chair.
‘Where have you put Mr Cartwright, Purley?’ His voice sounded harsh.
‘In the library, sir.’
‘How very odd of him to arrive in this fashion,’ murmured Beau. ‘I suppose we had better see what he wants. The library, you say?’
‘No need for you to be put to any trouble,’ Benedict said, a shade too quickly. ‘I’ll deal with Cartwright. His coming is entirely my fault. I arranged it on Lord Radlett’s behalf when I was in London last week ‒ some trifling matter of business, but he would have it settled, and rather than argue with him …’ He shrugged. ‘In all the upset, I forgot to cancel the arrangements. If you will excuse me.’ He nodded abruptly to them all and strode from the room.
‘Well, really!’ said Selina.
Chapter Six
In the library, a thin-faced spare gentleman, conservative in his dress and with a pair of spectacles perched on his nose, over which he tended to survey the vagaries of his fellow man with a censorious air, sat perched in an erect, faintly apprehensive attitude, as though he would rather be anywhere than where he was. He clutched a small portmanteau to his chest.
‘Mr Cartwright.’ Benedict shut the door and came forward to shake his hand. ‘No, pray do not get up. Allow me to give you a glass of Madeira.’
The lawyer inclined his head, and in answer to a further enquiry assured Mr Radlett that he had eaten. Benedict handed him his drink and sat down in the chair opposite.
‘Before we go any further, I owe you an apology, for I very much regret that you have had a wasted journey.’ He explained what had happened, and the lawyer managed to look more disapproving than ever.
‘Dear me. How very distressing … a severe relapse, you say?’ He laid a tentative hand on the clasp of the bag. ‘I have the papers, drawn up as Lord Radlett instructed me to do in his letter ‒ also the codicil to his Will. Ahem …’ He subjected Benedict to a frowning stare. ‘I don’t know how far you are in his lordship’s confidence?’
‘Given the somewhat radical nature of his proposals, I could hardly be other than fully aware of his intentions,’ said Benedict drily.
‘Quite so.’
‘However,’ Benedict continued, ‘there is now an added complication. Lord Radlett’s long-awaited grandchild has arrived ‒ and is female!’
‘Bless my soul!’ Mr Cartwright’s eyebrows lifted in thin crescents of astonishment. ‘But surely, in that case …’
‘You will need to take fresh instruction from his lordship with regard to the codicil. Yes, I realise that. The difficulty lies in knowing to what extent Lord Radlett may wish to amend it ‒ if at all. And I very much doubt his being in any condition to take such a decision, let alone sign anything, within the next few hours. It could even be days.’
‘Ah.’
&nbs
p; ‘There is no chance of your being able to stay, I suppose?’ Benedict asked.
‘As to that, Mr Radlett, I have arranged to put up for tonight at the inn in Hatherton, and I suppose …’ Doubt echoed in Mr Cartwright’s voice. ‘I could manage an extra day.’
‘Well, there’s always the chance that Great-uncle Edmund will rally sooner than we think,’ Benedict observed with a grin. ‘He’s proved more than once that he’s as tough as old boots! You may be sure I shall let you know if there’s the least possibility.’
The lawyer’s thin mouth quirked at one corner. ‘You are most kind.’
Theo’s insistence on concealing from Lord Radlett her part in his recovery was thwarted by Sir James, who upon his next visit found his patient so much improved that he was moved to comment with rather more animation than he was wont to show.
‘A remarkable constitution,’ he observed. ‘I would not have believed such a degree of recovery possible. As it is, I have every expectation of seeing further improvement before I return to London at the weekend.’
The Viscount, banked up on pillows, his hawk nose very prominent, his deep-sunk eyes piercingly bright, fixed him with a glare.
‘And finding yourself considerably plumper in the pocket, I’ve no doubt,’ he growled irascibly.
‘Grandfather!’ exclaimed Theo, shocked by his ingratitude.
But Sir James only uttered a short bark of laughter. ‘As to that, my lord, I have done little enough to merit reward! If anyone is deserving of your appreciation let it be your grand-daughter. I declare that I have seldom met with such a degree of imaginative dedication in anyone, let alone so young a lady. Or, for that matter, so much sensibility combined with good common sense.’
‘D’ye say so?’ snapped Lord Radlett.
‘I do, sir ‒ most emphatically.’
Theo knew that her grandfather’s eyes were on her, but she would not meet them and moved quickly out of his range of vision so that he would not see how she coloured up. But it was less easy to avoid her cousin’s quizzical glance, and she did not know whether to be glad or sorry when he finally took Sir James away.
The room was very quiet when they had gone, so quiet that the ticking of the boule clock on the mantelshelf seemed to fill Theo’s head. She was annoyed to find that her hands were not quite steady as she tidied up the table used by Sir James, and a great deal of resolution was needed before she could bring herself to straighten the bedclothes.
A wasted, heavily veined hand shot out and the fingers closed round her wrist, pinning it to the bed with surprising strength as she tried to free it.
‘So ‒ I’m to be beholden to you, am I?’
‘No!’ she cried, and unable to release herself without hurting him, she made herself look at him, her thickly lashed dark eyes flecked with gold very close to his, so that they seemed locked together. ‘You owe me nothing! I simply did what had to be done,’ she said in a tight voice. ‘I would have done as much for anyone.’
He grunted. ‘Highty-tighty miss!’ But he released her, and she moved quickly away, busy once more. But she knew he was still watching her.
‘ “A remarkable constitution,” that prim-faced leech said.’
There was a note of complacence in the truculent voice. Theo caught a glimpse of him through the mirror; he looked for all the world like a sulky, lost, little boy hunched up against his pillows. Her anger dissolved on the instant. It was all too absurd!
‘So he did,’ she agreed, suppressing a quiver of amusement. ‘And, seeing you now, I have to agree with him.’
‘Ha! Can’t think what Marston was about … bringing a cursed top-lofty nobody along to tell him something he ought to have known for himself! It wouldn’t have happened if Gorton’d been here, let me tell you!’
Theo stood at the bottom of the bed, thinking that he looked more than ever like a fractious child, and with some trepidation she decided to treat him as one.
‘Perhaps,’ she agreed, ‘but Gorton wasn’t here, and if you weren’t such a crusty old curmudgeon, you might be a little grateful that Sir James consented to give up part of his well-earned holiday in order to treat you! He is a very busy and highly regarded physician.’
His lordship glowered. ‘Highly rewarded, too! You mark my words, I shall be expected to pay his fancy London charges!’
‘Oh, Grandpa, really!’ she exclaimed. ‘As if that signifies!’
His brows came together with alarming suddenness, and she wondered if she had been wise, after all. But though her heart skipped a beat, she determined to face him out.
‘Think I’m made of money, do you?’ he snapped.
‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ she said lightly. ‘But I doubt that you’re so purse-pinched that you can’t pay a doctor’s trifling bill.’
‘Malapert!’ he grumbled. His frown appeared to deepen. ‘What was that you called me just now?’
Theo looked back unflinchingly. ‘Grandpa,’ she repeated. And then: ‘It is what I used to call my other grandfather, but perhaps you don’t care for it? Some people don’t, I believe, and I shan’t be in the least offended if you have other ideas.’
His mouth worked as though he had difficulty in expelling his words. When he finally succeeded, they fell gratingly on the ear.
‘Come here, girl.’
Theo walked obediently to his side, and as he gestured irritably, sat on the edge of the bed, hands neatly folded. ‘Such a charming invitation,’ she said gently.
‘Pshaw!’ he retorted. ‘Are all females in that America of yours so free with their manners?’
‘I really hadn’t thought about it,’ she reflected. ‘But Beau called me “forward” the other day, so I suppose there may be some truth in it.’
‘Beau!’ Lord Radlett almost spat the name out. ‘You’ve little enough in common with that mincing park-saunterer! Still hanging around, is he … waiting for me to close my account?’ He uttered a derisory snort. ‘D’ye see what you’ve done, young woman? You and your father between you … saddling me with such a poor thing for an heir! But I’ll thwart his ambition yet, damn me if I don’t!’ He was tiring fast, his breath labouring with every word. Theo stood up.
‘You won’t be able to thwart anyone if you don’t rest,’ she said firmly. ‘And I don’t want all my good work undone, so you will sleep, if you please.’
He could feel the awful darkness coming on him again, and his fear of losing her was out of all proportion to the brief span of their acquaintance. In his bitterness he had wanted to dislike her, but in a curious way it was as though her voice, her spirit, were in his head and in his heart, and the thought that she might not be there when he woke terrified him.
His hand reached out shakily to stay her. ‘Haven’t done with you yet … something I wanted to say …’
‘It will keep.’
‘No,’ he said harshly. ‘About this other grandparent … fond of him, were you?’
‘Yes,’ Theo said a little warily, wondering where the question was leading. ‘We got along very well.’
There was a moment of silence, then: ‘You won’t go? Not … while I need you?’
The last few words were so indistinct that she had to bend close to hear them. Her reply came clear and steady.
‘I shall stay for as long as you need me.’
Theo wasn’t sure if he heard her, but the fingers biting urgently into her arm slackened their hold.
In the library below, Sir James had reverted to his more usual noncommittal attitude. Benedict pressed him to be more specific. Was he not as satisfied as his comments in the presence of Lord Radlett had appeared to convey?
Sir James pulled at his ear. ‘It is true that his lordship has made far better progress than one could have envisaged ‒ and to this end, there is no doubt in my mind that his grand-daughter’s presence is of paramount importance. Whether or nor Lord Radlett acknowledges the fact, she has given him a lifeline to cling to, and as long as that association continues, there a
re at least some grounds for hope.’
Beau listened, his eyelids seeming heavier than usual; he crossed one leg elegantly over the other and narrowly regarded the gilded tassel of one gleaming Hessian.
‘But you think it unlikely that my uncle will make a complete recovery?’
Sir James’s thin face was inscrutable; clearly, he did not care to be drawn, though he was obliged to admit that his lordship’s age was against him, not to mention the ravages of past illnesses, and a temperament which he feared would not be conducive to restful convalescence. ‘If, however, he can be persuaded to pass his days quietly and abstemiously, his life could well be prolonged for several years.’
Beau received this intelligence without comment, though his mouth tightened fractionally.
Benedict raised a droll eyebrow. ‘Cousin Theo has admittedly worked wonders, but I doubt if even she is capable of performing miracles!’
In the days and weeks that followed, Lord Radlett seemed bent on proving them all wrong. There were setbacks, of course, but these he weathered with increasing certainty while remaining for the most part irascible, demanding, and totally selfish. There were many times, as Christmas came and went, when Theo’s patience was sorely tried ‒ times when her grandfather consistently rejected what he scathingly referred to as pap and demanded good red meat and a bottle of his best burgundy, and survived with no apparent ill effects.
One of the happier outcomes of his recovery lay in the departure of Beau, who soon accepted that there was little point in remaining and took himself back to town, a frustrated man. Benedict, too, once it was clear that his lordship’s improvement was not temporary, disappeared for considerable periods.
Thus Theo and Selina were thrown very much more upon each other’s company. The inclement weather restricted exercise, which did not trouble Selina, who did not ride and even in good weather seldom strayed farther than the rose garden. But the frequent snow squalls and lashing gales frustrated Theo and Aubrey, and the latter became broody as his mother chided him for being poor company.