The Arrangement

by Joan Wolf

  I should never have agreed to come, I thought. I wanted to put my arm around my son and hug him to my breast. I wanted to tell Savile to turn the phaeton around immediately and take us home.

  I hadn’t thought about the fact that Nicky would be expected to conform to the ways of an aristocratic household. I hadn’t thought that he wouldn’t be sleeping in the room next to mine or taking his meals with me. I hadn’t envisioned this kind of separation.

  I looked at Savile and bit my lip, trying to think of a way out of the situation I appeared to have gotten Nicky into. At the same moment, the earl turned and looked directly at me over the top of Nicky’s head.

  His eyes were grave. His face was stern. He shook his head slightly but definitely, then turned back to the road.

  “I realize that you might be feeling a little overwhelmed, Nicky,” he said cheerfully, “but I can assure you that dinner in the nursery will be far more fun than a long, boring evening with the adults. We dress up for dinner every night, and my cook always serves five separate courses.”

  “Five courses, sir!”

  “Always. Dinner goes on for a very long time.”

  “I could never eat five courses,” Nicky said.

  “Neither can I,” I said. “Perhaps I could join the nursery party, my lord.”

  “Absolutely not,” came the instant reply. He added in a humorous voice, “One of the reasons I invited you to visit was to provide me with relief from the company of my relatives.”

  Nicky actually chuckled.

  I scowled at the earl’s profile, but he gave no sign of noticing.

  I stared at the passing landscape, chewed my lip, and wondered how I could ensure that no one said anything to Nicky about George’s legacy.

  * * * *

  Predictably, Nicky was struck with wonder at the magical sight of Savile Castle materializing in the distance. The other time I had been to Savile, it had been encompassed by snow, and today the sight of its high round towers soaring above the clear waters of the surrounding lake made it look more than ever like a fairy castle out of the pages of Thomas Malory.

  The horses’ hooves crunched on the gravel of the causeway. A long, low stone wall, which had been hidden by the snow on my last visit, separated the causeway from the water of the surrounding lake, which lapped very gently against it. The island that contained the gatehouse was also visible today, and I was able to see how truly small it was. From the island we crossed over the last expanse of water and drove through the immense gate in the medieval walls and into the castle courtyard.

  Thick carpets of lawn stretched on either side of the drive, and carefully trimmed and shaped evergreens softened the stone walls of the house. Beds of flowers, with each bed planted according to color, lined the paths that left the driveway to circle around to the back of the house, where, presumably, the stables were hidden.

  The phaeton came to a halt in front of the stone-arched front door of the house, and the butler and two footmen in the earl’s blue and gold livery came out the door so quickly that one would have thought they had been standing there all morning, waiting for us.

  One of the footmen went to the horses’ heads.

  Savile jumped down, then turned to help me alight as well.

  I didn’t want him to touch me, but there was no way I could avoid it. I rested my hands lightly on his shoulders and he lifted me down. I turned away from him immediately to look at the house.

  Nicky came to stand beside me.

  “It’s so big, Mama,” he said a little breathlessly. “Why, it’s even bigger than Rayleigh.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

  “Uncle Raoul! Uncle Raoul!”

  Two boys came tearing around the side of the house and began to run across the lawn in our direction. They skidded onto the gravel drive, came to a halt in front of the earl, and stood grinning up at him delightedly.

  “You’re back!” the smaller one said.

  “As you see, I am back, Theodore,” Savile returned, “and I have brought with me another young man who is going to be staying with us for a while.” He reached out, gently removed my hand from Nicky’s shoulder, and drew him into the orbit of the two other boys.

  “This is Nicky Saunders,” he said. “Nicky, these are my disreputable nephews, Charlie and Theo Austen.”

  Charlie and Theodore took turns grabbing Nicky’s hand and pumping it furiously.

  “Are we glad to see you!” Theodore said fervently. “This whole place is infested with girls.”

  Nicky’s smile was a little tentative, but it was a smile. “I’m glad to be here,” he said.

  “May we take Nicky up to the nursery and show him where he is going to sleep, Uncle Raoul?” Charlie asked.

  Savile turned to me. “Allow me to apologize for my nephews, Mrs. Saunders. I assure you, they have been taught manners. I can only assume that in the excitement of the moment they have forgotten them.”

  The two little boys looked abashed. “We’re sorry, Uncle Raoul,” Theodore said.

  “Mrs. Saunders,” said Savile, “may I present my nephews, Charles and Theodore Austen.”

  Both boys had smooth, shiny hair cut in a neat fringe over their foreheads. Charlie was dark haired, however, while Theodore was blond, like his mother. Both of them had large, long-lashed brown eyes.

  “How do you do, Mrs. Saunders,” they chorused.

  “Hello, boys,” I said with a smile. “I am very glad to meet you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Theodore.

  “Sorry if we were rude, Mrs. Saunders,” Charlie said with a beguiling smile. “It is just that we are so happy to have reinforcements against all these girls.”

  I grinned.

  “Someday you will not feel that way, Charlie,” Savile said.

  Charlie looked unconvinced.

  “May we take Nicky with us, Mrs. Saunders?” Theodore asked charmingly.

  “Of course,” I replied.

  There was a spring in Nicky’s step as the three boys walked together back across the drive toward the side of the house. I could see Theodore gesturing largely as he talked to Nicky, no doubt explaining to him the horrors of the female invasion.

  “Feel better?” Savile asked me softly.

  I didn’t look at him. “A little,” I said.

  At that moment, Lady Regina came out of the front door of the house. “Oh good, you’ve brought Mrs. Saunders, Raoul.” She came up to the side of the phaeton where we were standing, kissed her brother on the cheek, and held out her hand to me.

  “I am very glad to see you, Mrs. Saunders. Welcome once more to Savile Castle.”

  Her smile was gracious if not precisely warm.

  I said, “Thank you, Lady Regina. It is kind of you to have me.”

  “Do you think we might go inside?” Savile said.

  The smile his sister gave him was much warmer than the one she had given me. “I think we might manage that, Raoul.” As the three of us started walking toward the front door she looked around. “I take it that my boys have already kidnapped your son, Mrs. Saunders.”

  “Yes, Lady Regina. They took him off to the nursery.”

  She chuckled. “Their noses are out of joint because Harriet’s girls are here. I only hope the boys don’t plot anything too grisly to make their disapproval felt.”

  She did not sound overly worried.

  “They had better not,” the earl said. “The Melville girls seem to be quiet, timid little things. I don’t want them to be upset or frightened, Ginny.”

  I thought of Harriet and her father. “Timid?” I said.

  “Harriet’s probably knocked all the spirit out of them,” Lady Regina said cynically. “She doesn’t care about her daughters. All she wants is a son so that she can hang on to Devane Hall.”

  “Well, there is still the possibility that she may get one,” Savile said.

  “I know you will be devastated to hear this, Raoul,” Lady Regina said, “
but Mr. Cole has been called away to London on business.”

  “Oh, what a shame,” the earl said with a mixture of amusement and relief. “We must say a prayer that his business is time-consuming, Ginny. Harriet is much more pleasant when her father is not around to stir up all her grievances.”

  The relief I felt at this piece of news was enormous. I wouldn’t put it past Albert Cole to call Nicky a bastard to his face.

  We stood for a moment longer in the middle of the Great Hall while Savile and his sister consulted about bedroom arrangements, and I looked at the immense stone fireplace, which was even more fabulous than I had remembered, and registered my relief about the absence of Mr. Cole.

  “I told Mrs. Ferrer to get the blue end bedroom ready for Mrs. Saunders,” I heard the earl say to his sister.

  She didn’t answer, but the words must have produced some kind of a reaction because something about her body posture caught my immediate attention. After a rather long pause she said, “All right, Raoul. I will ask Mrs. Ferrer to show her up now.”

  He nodded. “Luncheon will be in half an hour, Mrs. Saunders, and then I would like to show you the castle grounds.”

  “Very well, my lord,” I replied slowly, still trying to puzzle out what had caught my attention about Lady Regina.

  The earl’s sister told a footman to summon the housekeeper, who appeared in less than two minutes. I followed her up the great, almost theatrical-looking Jacobean staircase, with its open well formed by arched Ionic columns and its mythological figures worked in grisaille along the wall. We walked through Raoul the Seventh’s gloriously carved Renaissance Great Chamber, then took the route that was familiar to me from my previous visit. This time, however, we did not stop at the middle of the bedroom passageway, but continued on to the very end, where Mrs. Ferrer opened the last door on the left before a narrow set of carpeted stairs at the hall’s end.

  I noted the stairs with pleasure. Due to the nature of my parents’ death, I always looked for an escape route when I stayed in an unfamiliar place.

  This room was half again as large as the bedroom I had occupied on my earlier visit, and although the drapes and the bed hangings were several degrees less faded, there was nothing else about the room that suggested to me the reason for Lady Regina’s reaction.

  For Lady Regina did not approve of my being given this room; of that I was quite certain.

  My eyes went slowly around the bedroom, taking in the carved four-poster with its blue tapestry hangings, the mahogany writing table with its handles made to look like brass lion-head masks, the mahogany cheval glass, the pair of gilt beechwood chairs with blue velvet upholstery on either side of the coal-burning fire, and the large, carved wardrobe against the east wall.

  At this moment a footman came in carrying my pitiful-looking portmanteau. Behind him came a chambermaid carrying a jug of hot water.

  The footman put down my baggage and the chambermaid poured the hot water into the porcelain bowl on my bedside stand.

  “There is a rather small dressing room and a water closet through that door, ma’am,” the maid said, nodding to the door near the middle of the west wall of the room. “Due to the size of the dressing room, I am afraid that your clothing will have to be hung in the wardrobe in this room. Would you like me to unpack for you now?”

  “Yes,” I said quietly, “that would be nice.”

  I let the maid hang up my clothes, and when she volunteered to take a few of my dresses to have them ironed, I agreed. After she left, I looked at the three dresses that were left hanging in the wardrobe.

  The sight was depressing in the extreme. My clothing, which was barely adequate for the social amenities of life in a small village, was woefully inadequate for the demands of a country-house visit.

  I told myself that I didn’t mind, but I did. No woman likes to appear at a disadvantage, and I knew that both Harriet and Lady Regina would regard my unfashionable wardrobe with scorn.

  I could tolerate Lady Regina’s disdain more easily than I could Harriet’s.

  “Oh well, there’s nothing I can do about it,” I said aloud, trying to sound offhand. “As long as Nicky is happy, I must be content.”

  I didn’t bother to change my brown cambric traveling dress, as I had nothing better to wear, but I washed the travel grime from my face and hands and combed my hair in front of the cheval glass. Then I went downstairs to luncheon.

  * * * *

  I met John Melville in the Great Hall and he came to shake my hand and welcome me to Savile Castle. His smile looked genuine and his brown eyes held what appeared to be admiration as he looked into my face.

  I appreciated the look; it fed my badly faltering self-confidence.

  “Rotten luck, losing your lease like that, Mrs. Saunders,” he said. “Don’t worry though, I shall find you something even better, I promise.”

  “I should be so grateful if you could, Mr. Melville,” I replied. “My late husband found Deepcote for us, and I’m afraid I haven’t the smallest idea of how to start looking on my own.”

  The warmth of his smile increased. “Don’t worry,” he repeated. “Are you going in to luncheon, Mrs. Saunders?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “It is always laid out in the family dining room,” he said. “May I escort you?”

  “That would be very nice,” I said, and the two of us began to walk slowly across the Great Hall.

  “Do you have an office in the house, Mr. Melville?” I asked as we passed through the music room, with its black-and-white marble tile floor.

  On my previous visit Lady Regina had told me that the music room had originally been used for occasional banquets, plays, and entertainments, and also as a dining hall for servants. Today it took its name from the harpsichord, pianoforte, and two harps that stood in each of its four corners. There was a modern Egyptian-style sofa placed along one of the walls, and four Egyptian-style chairs flanked the opposite wall, presumably for the comfort of listeners.

  “I have my office at the top of the Constable’s Tower,” John Melville answered me.

  I turned to him with a smile. He was not a particularly tall man, but I am not particularly tall either, and I had to look up to meet his eyes. “What wonderful views you must have,” I enthused.

  He grinned. “That’s why I chose it. I spent most of my boyhood summers here at the castle, and I love it dearly. I can never get enough of the sight of the walls reflected in the still, clear lake water on a summer’s day.”

  “The castle seems to be some sort of summer refuge for boys,” I said with a laugh.

  “My aunt and uncle always had a kindness for children,” John Melville said. “And Raoul, of course, draws them like a magnet.”

  “Does he?” I asked curiously.

  By now we were passing through the drawing room, which Lady Regina had told me had originally been called the King James dining room, since it was the room where King James (along with other royal visitors) had dined. A life-size bronze statue of the king, placed there when the house was built, still surveyed the room from the auspices of another great Jacobean chimneypiece. On the opposite side of the room was a huge portrait of Savile’s grandfather who, in the preceding century, had turned the room from a state dining room for royal visits into a drawing room.

  “Yes,” John Melville said, referring back to my question about Savile. “It is a thousand pities that he has no children of his own.”

  “I am surprised that he has not married again,” I said.

  “Considering that during the last six years Ginny has thrown every eligible young lady in the ton into his path, it can be nothing short of a miracle that he has not married again,” John Melville returned with a soft laugh.

  “He must have loved his wife very much,” I said.

  “He was exceedingly in love with her,” John Melville replied. “So much so that I doubt he will ever remarry.”

  By now we had passed through the formal dining room and entered the break
fast room.

  The first person I saw as I came in the door was Harriet. She was wearing a bronze silk afternoon dress that made her skin look sallow and, since she was seated, I could not get a good look at her figure. Her normal stoutness probably masked her condition anyway, I thought meanly.

  She scowled when she saw me. “Well, well, look who is here,” she said in a tone I can only describe as nasty. “It’s Mrs. Saunders.”

  She made Saunders sound as if it were a barnyard word.

  I stared directly into her eyes, and after a moment she shifted her eyes back and forth and then looked away. With a flash of intuition, I wondered if Harriet thought that I was a witch too.

  If she was indeed laboring under the delusion, I thought delightedly, then perhaps I could make use of it.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Saunders,” said a light, faintly amused voice, and I turned to look into the eyes of Roger Melville. Clearly, he had seen the same thing in Harriet’s face as I had. “I am so glad you have come,” he continued. “This family party stands in crying need of a little enlivening.”

  Lady Regina said repressively, “Mrs. Saunders is here so that her son can be a companion for Charlie and Theo, Roger.”

  “Of course, Ginny,” Roger said, and the malicious glint in his blue eyes was very pronounced. Of course, I understood that Roger had no reason to love Harriet, but I most certainly did not want him to use me as a pawn to annoy her. I shot him a repressive look.

  At that moment, Savile walked into the room. He looked from where his family was seated around the table to where I stood empty-handed next to the sideboard. “Why are you not eating, Mrs. Saunders?” he said. “We had a long ride in the open air this morning. I know that I am starving.”

  John Melville handed me a plate. “We’ve only just got here ourselves, Raoul. I was recommending that Mrs. Saunders take some of the cold fowl.”

  I smiled at him. “That sounds very nice, Mr. Melville.”

  One of the three footmen standing beside the sideboard cut me a piece of the aforementioned duck, which I took to a seat at the table as far away from Harriet as I could possibly get. Savile piled his plate high and came to take the place next to mine.