“What do you think?” she asked her husband when they joined him in the saloon before dinner. “I shouldn’t think he’d cry off now, would you?”
Letty was wearing one of the new gowns, a Pomona green crepe whose colour suited her delicate complexion and tawny hair.
“Probably not but, since he made the offer more or less sight unseen, one cannot help but assume that he cares nothing for looks,” the Viscount said, squinting at his daughter.
“Lady Vanston is ravishing,” his wife reminded him.
“Yes, but he is not looking for a replacement mistress. Indeed, since he has been making love to another man’s wife for years, I daresay he would just as well his own had no looks to speak of. No one expects him to admire her but I am certain he will not want anyone else to do so,” her lord explained succinctly.
“Do you tell me, Papa, that Mama and I have been to all this trouble and expense only to make him lose his nerve if he finds me less of an antidote than he was expecting?” Letty asked almost skittishly, not in the least distressed by her father’s aspersion. It was a long time since she had flinched at a frown – there were too many of them for her even to notice now – and so close was her escape that she felt almost intoxicated.
“Oh, I don’t think you’ve quite managed to make a silk purse,” he said unkindly, apparently determined to depress her joy, “although she does look a deal more presentable than usual.”
“Thank you, Papa; should I take that as a compliment?”
Chapter 2
Mrs Ripley was Lord Hankham’s younger sister. She had married in haste when she was barely sixteen and repented almost at once. Her husband, who had at the time she ran away with him seemed the most romantic creature ever to have walked the earth, had rapidly disabused her of this belief and left her, much to her relief, less than a year after their nuptials. Enquiries by the local squire and magistrate failed to find any trace of the man; he seemed to have vanished, together with his horse, into thin air.
Some fifteen years had passed since this dramatic event. She lived as much on her own as convention permitted which, lacking the presence of a husband, brother or father, generally involved another woman, euphemistically referred to as a ‘companion’. Unfortunately, none of the succession of drab females who had shared her house and dinner could, strictly speaking, be described as providing much in the way of companionship. Most of them had an irritating tendency to follow her around, commenting at frequent intervals on the obvious, often repetitiously, and interspersing such dreary attempts at conversation with platitudes or advice to ‘wrap up warm’ or not to forget her gloves when she went out. Mrs Ripley, as a direct consequence of this advice, was often to be found walking briskly across the fields with neither coat nor gloves.
She was not well acquainted with her niece as she had not been invited to her brother’s house since she had left it, sixteen years previously when Letty had been a child of four, so that it was something of a surprise when she received a letter from her brother requesting – she supposed it was a request although it read more like an order - that she ‘do something useful for the family for once’ and accompany her niece on a visit to the Earl of Stonegate’s residence in the south.
This method of seeking her help annoyed her so much that she was tempted to refuse. She had tried to help before, offering to have the girl to stay several times, first immediately after the ill-advised kiss and, later, after the thwarted elopement. She had, knowing her brother’s nature, felt some sympathy for the child but, her intervention rejected, there did not seem to be much else she could do. She had kept in touch by writing on the girl’s birthday and at Christmas, often enclosing a small gift – a handkerchief or, once, a book of flowers that she had pressed herself. This had had the desired effect of forcing the girl to write to her so that she had been assured that she was at least still alive, something which from time to time, when her conscience smote her most acutely, she feared might not have been the case.
The arrival of the letter, beyond enraging, intrigued her. How, she wondered, had her niece made Lord Stonegate’s acquaintance apart from his intervention – which surely could not have endeared either party to the other – on the night of the aborted elopement? And how, even more pertinently, had she brought him up to scratch when, now approaching his fortieth year, no one else had succeeded in doing so? The only way she could find out was to swallow her pride and accept the commission.
She rose early on the morning when she expected the Hankham carriage to arrive, completed her packing, instructed the footman to carry her valises downstairs to wait by the front door and went into the morning room to eat her breakfast.
Her present companion, a Miss Sarah Watkin, was already there, fussing around with the coffee pot and rearranging the plates and cups as though her life depended upon them being in the right places.
“I hope you will find enough to keep you occupied while I am away,” Mrs Ripley said, wishing the wretched woman would sit down. It was no wonder, she thought, that she so frequently suffered from indigestion: all this fidgeting made her feel rushed.
“Oh, yes, Madam; I’m planning to go through all the linen and embark upon a programme of mending everything that is showing signs of wear. There is also a great deal to do in the larder; I have been meaning to mention it for some time but, now that you will be away for a time, I really do think that, with such a small household, Cook should not make quite so much jam – we really do not eat it, you see.”
“No; I am sure you are right; I will speak to her when I return but there is no hurry for there are several months before anything will be available with which to make it. What about the bottled fruit? Is there, in your opinion, too much of that too?”
“No, I don’t think so; we seem to eat rather more of that.”
“Yes, I own I am partial to bottled fruit but I find jam a little too sweet and we have no one in the household who eats vast quantities of bread do we, except perhaps Tom and Gibbs? Perhaps you should give some of the superfluous jam to Tom and the stable staff – they must have some hungry sons who would appreciate it. I don’t recall Gibbs having any children.”
“No, Madam; I don’t think he has ever been married.”
“Oh, dear, I hope some of the outside men are; we seem to live a very singular existence here.”
“It will be agreeable for you to spend time with your niece before her nuptials,” Sarah said, clearly pleased to have found a new and hopeful topic of conversation. “And then, eventually, I daresay, there will be some great nephews and nieces. Won’t that be delightful?”
“Yes, indeed,” Aspasia Ripley agreed in a rather leaden tone. She was not fond of children.
“It is a pity Lord Stonegate’s property is such a long way away,” Sarah continued. “Shall I refill your plate, Madam? I am sure it would be advisable to eat a substantial breakfast for you never know when you will be able to stop again.”
“We will be obliged to stop quite soon if you make me eat too much,” Aspasia pointed out.
“Oh, Madam – what things you do say!” Sarah tittered, flushing.
“Are you certain you would not like to visit your own family while I am away?” Mrs Ripley asked, wincing and trying to make up for it by showing consideration for her maddening companion, reminding herself that she would be spared her company for the next month. “I would not like you to be lonely.”
“Oh, no, I shall be so busy I am sure the time will fly,” Sarah said at once so that Aspasia wondered, not for the first time, if her companion had as disagreeable a family as she had herself. They had lived together for more than five years but knew hardly anything about each other beyond the habits which irritated.
She rose and went to put on her hat and pelisse so that she would not keep her niece’s party waiting when they arrived. Having tilted the hat to her satisfaction in front of the hall mirror, she sat down on a hard chair to await the sound of wheels.
She did not have long to w
ait but remained seated while the footman opened the door and her niece descended from the carriage and entered the house.
Aspasia was struck immediately not only by the way the child had become a woman – which was of course only to be expected - but also by the sourness of her expression. She could have been nearer forty than twenty; her face had a pinched look not much alleviated by the new hair style. Yellow curls surrounded a countenance whose undeniable beauty of feature was so etched - almost drowned - in long-standing disappointment that she looked the very picture of a tragic heroine.
“Aunt Aspasia!” she said, arranging the beautiful lips in something resembling a smile and leaning forward to bestow a kiss on the older woman’s cheek. “It is so kind of you to consent to travel such a long way; I am truly grateful.”
Her voice was low and soft and, while the words showed a becoming deference, there was a noticeable lack of warmth in the greeting and the lips that brushed her aunt’s cheek were so cold that Mrs Ripley wondered if the carriage were excessively draughty and decided to order some extra rugs to be packed.
In spite of not yet having reached her majority, everything about the young woman spoke of lost youth. It almost made Aspasia, who was no more than twelve years older, weep. She wondered, with a piercing stab of memory, if she had looked like that after Mr Ripley’s desertion - or even if in fact she still did.
“My dear,” she said, returning the kiss and holding the thin figure in her arms for a moment longer than strictly necessary, “it is the greatest possible pleasure to be permitted to spend so long with you.”
“Oh, I would not be certain that it will in the end turn out to be a pleasure, Aunt; we are, after all, barely acquainted,” the girl replied with a cynical little twist of the tragic mouth.
“Unfortunately, that is indeed the case,” Aspasia agreed. “Nevertheless, I have always held you in affection and have been looking forward to this trip ever since your papa wrote to me. Will you come in for some refreshment before we set off?”
“No, I think we should go at once; we have a long way to travel.”
“Indeed,” the aunt said, not entirely referring to the distance.
While the women had been speaking, the footman and groom had been loading Mrs Ripley’s baggage into the carriage.
The stern gaoler who was ostensibly Miss Denton’s maid had been greeted by Mrs Ripley’s handmaiden and the pair had gone outside to oversee the loading of the additional valises. It had been intended – in order to save the expense of another carriage - that they should all travel together, an arrangement which, when she saw her niece’s servant, was the first thing to which Aspasia felt she must attend.
“I wonder,” she said, her eyes resting thoughtfully on the progress of the packing of the carriage, “whether it might be prudent to take another vehicle for the servants and the baggage.”
“Papa did not think we could run to a second one,” Letty explained.
“No, but I have one of my own,” Aspasia said. “The thing is, my dear, that we will be uncomfortably crowded if we are all to sit together and we will find ourselves hampered in what we can speak of if we are to be incarcerated with our maids for eight or more hours at a time for two or three days. I own I am of the old school and prefer not to have every word I say overheard and afterwards commented upon in the servants’ hall.”
Letty smiled. “Not only the servants’ hall, Aunt. Dunn takes her duties as chaperone excessively seriously.”
“Does she indeed? Well, we do not need her quite so close now because I am to be your chaperone. It is a pity we cannot leave her behind. Perhaps we could lose her – both of them – en route?” As she spoke, she raised an eyebrow at her niece and was relieved to see an answering twinkle in the blue eyes.
“Indeed! She is a spy, Aunt, and I own I cannot abide her!”
“Then let us be rid of her without delay! I think you had better take some refreshment after all while I deal with this. Sarah,” she called to the companion who was hanging around with her mouth open in the background, “pray take my niece into the saloon and give her some coffee and cakes or something while I deal with the staff we are going to take with us.”
Having thus disposed of both her niece, whose fleeting twinkle had given her cause for hope, and her companion, whose presence was, as usual, irksome, she walked firmly out to the carriage where her own maid, Wilson, was already seated on one of the small tip-up seats. The other, who she already thought of as the turnkey, had returned to the hall in pursuit of her charge.
“Wilson, I daresay you will be relieved to hear that I have decided the carriage will be excessively cramped with two maids and all their paraphernalia as well as my niece and me. Since we are going to a well-appointed Earl’s household where I am certain he will be able to provide us with any assistance we may require, I am persuaded that it will be unnecessary for you to come with us.”
“Oh, Madam,” Wilson cried, “how will you manage without me?”
“It will no doubt be difficult,” Aspasia admitted untruthfully for, in fact, so struck had she been by her niece’s appearance that she was determined to do away with all the chains of convention which had bound them both all their lives. “But I do not like the cut of that woman’s jib,” she went on, nodding towards the turnkey. “Unfortunately, since I do not pay her wages, I cannot very well lay her off without her running hotfoot to my brother and making a complaint. If, on the other hand, I leave you both behind, she will not have a leg to stand upon.”
“Oh, Madam!” Wilson exclaimed again but in an altogether different tone, now rather more amused than upset and positively eager to assist her beloved mistress in any way she could. “What would you like me to do?”
“I will tell her what I have told you – or at least the portion that I consider suitable for her ears – and will leave you both behind. I will pretend that I am arranging for another carriage to be made ready to carry the pair of you but it will, sadly, prove not to be possible as the only one suitable for such a long journey will turn out to be missing a wheel. Sam shall take her back in the gig – it’s only a few hours’ journey from here - to Lord Hankham’s house.”
“Oh, Madam! What an excellent notion! Could I, do you think I should try to follow you as soon as Dunn – I believe that is her name – has been taken off in the gig?”
“Yes, why not? What an excellent notion. I will issue instructions that you are to be conveyed south in the travelling chaise as soon as Dunn has left the premises. Will you not mind travelling alone?”
“Oh no, Madam.”
“Good. On second thoughts, why do you not bring Bess with you? We will train her up to look after Miss Letty. I am afraid, until Dunn is taken off, you will be obliged to entertain her in some way or another – cake, I should think, would appeal.”
“Yes, Madam; it will be a pleasure, Madam, I’m sure.”
“Well, you can begin by explaining that she – and you – are to travel separately. Take her into the kitchen and offer cake and coffee – or perhaps ale – she looks like the kind of female who would enjoy that sort of beverage more than coffee.”
It was thus some time before the two ladies finally set forth. Aspasia had spoken to the head groom, informed the butler of the situation and, with some difficulty, Sarah Watkin; it was always onerous trying to impart important information to the companion because she seemed to be incapable of concentrating for more than a minute on any subject without constantly interrupting with what she no doubt supposed were soothing responses, but which generally made her employer feel in imminent danger of losing what wits she still possessed.
When the carriage finally left the grounds and gained the open road, both women heaved a sigh of relief. They were alone in the carriage and had succeeded in leaving behind the two people they found most injurious to their peace of mind: Miss Watkin and Dunn.
“Oh, is that not wonderful?” Aspasia exclaimed with a happy sigh. “Do you not feel delightfully free?”
“Well, yes, I own I do, but I am afraid Papa will send after us. He will be excessively displeased that you have sent Dunn home; he may even come after me himself.”
“What on earth for? He has engaged me to act as chaperone; we are not making for Gretna Green; indeed, we are going in the opposite direction as he will soon discover if he makes any enquiries.”
“Yes, but he does not like not to have his own way.”
“I know that,” Aspasia said with heavy meaning. “He is near twenty years my senior and I can assure you I too felt his heavy hand restraining me until I managed to get away. I suppose he considered it to be his duty. I cannot think how he became so dreadfully overbearing for our father was not like that at all; I daresay, while she was alive, your mother kept him on a short rein.”
“No, she did not; he kept her on one. I don’t of course know what she was like when they were first married – or indeed what he was like, although you have given me a very good idea - but she never seemed able – or willing even to try – to say boo to a goose, much less her husband.”
Aspasia was silent for a few minutes while she assimilated this. Then she said, “And what is your new stepmama like? I gather she is excessively pretty, as of course was your mother. Does she perhaps manage to wind him around her little finger?”
“I think she probably thought she could – at first – but now that they are married, I am afraid he has gone back to his old ways of shouting and breaking things. But, before you express sympathy for her, I must tell you that I quite detest her.”
“He does not hit her, does he?” Aspasia asked, frowning.
“I do not think so; if he does, he makes sure it is not in a place where anyone will notice.”
Aspasia was by this time looking very grave. “Did he hit you – or your mama?”
Letitia Or The Convalescent Heart Page 2