“It’s all very well having a good cook,” the Countess interrupted, “but if your house is dirty one can still be poisoned.”
“Come, Mama,” Archie said. “You have said all this several times before and have not, to my knowledge, suffered any ill effects from eating here. Pray do not add to my guests’ discomfort by making them anxious lest they contract a disagreeable disease in my house.”
“Oh, I think Frederick has; as I recall, last time we ate here he was confined to his bed for a week afterwards.”
“You exaggerate, Mama, as usual on the subject of what you will insist on calling my ‘delicate digestion’. I felt a trifle indisposed the following morning but was perfectly well by noon.”
“Frederick, although a fine upstanding fellow in most respects, has always had a weak digestion,” Lord Archibald said, addressing Mrs Ripley with his twisted smile. “He was frequently ill when I was a child, the consequence of which was that we were brought up on a diet largely consisting of bread and gruel.”
The Earl pressed a dish of glazed carrots on her, saying, “I believe you will be quite safe with these, Mrs Ripley; I never heard of carrots upsetting anyone.”
“Butter, though, is another matter altogether,” the Countess observed, sniffing. “Particularly when the weather is hot, the conditions in the larder inadequate and the household small – so that not much is used at a time,” she explained.
“I own to having developed a taste for rich food since I have been grown up,” Archie said, “which I ascribe to the extreme dullness of what we were given as children. I have heard it said that a child’s palate can be ruined by allowing it to eat highly spiced food; I rather think mine failed to develop until I was quite old. Even when we were grown up, what you might call ‘nursery food’ was the order of the day. In spite of that Papa died of a malady of the stomach.”
“He was in agony for weeks before finally succumbing,” the Countess recalled.
“Pray do not describe his symptoms,” the Earl besought.
“Oh, I shall not; I am persuaded you can all imagine them quite well enough without my going into detail. He had a weak digestion too – which is why he had to eat bland food – and I am afraid Frederick has inherited this tendency. As for you, Archibald, I repeat, I wish you would be more careful while you are in such a delicate state of health if for no other reason than sitting around without taking exercise and eating quantities of rich food will end by making your figure resemble Prinny’s.”
“If I could not enjoy my dinner I am sure I do not know what pleasure life could offer me,” Archie said, half humorously. “As for exercise, walking between the library, saloon and dining room provides a perfectly adequate amount for a man in my condition. Why, I spend all day hobbling between one room and another. Sometimes I even manage to get as far as the riverbank.”
In spite of this brave declaration, however, he did not eat a great deal, toying with a piece of salmon before half-heartedly trying to carve the beef.
“Let me do that,” the Earl said.
Lord Archibald shrugged but ceded the knife and fork to his brother who stood up the better to wield them. Having cut a few slices, he offered them round before applying himself to the ham.
Archie, now with several slices of both ham and beef upon his plate, tried to cut the meat into smaller portions but failed to achieve any success, the pieces sliding across the plate while he chased them with his knife. The Earl, without a word, took the younger man’s knife and fork and did it for him.
“Thank you. I am usually obliged to ask Oliphant for assistance.”
“I wish you would come back to the Castle,” the Earl said.
“So that I can watch you make love to the woman I thought would be mine?” Archie asked, but he spoke very low.
“No: so that we can keep an eye on you. In any event, I’m persuaded it would do you good to see your comrades-in-arms again. Do you think it likely that Fielding and Sharpthorne will call upon us, Mrs Ripley?” he added more loudly.
“They certainly seemed keen at the time, but they may have found something else to entertain them by now.”
“I shouldn’t think it likely they would have found one to rival two pretty women,” the Earl said.
“How neatly they would fit into our party,” Archie observed sardonically. “Their presence would add immeasurably to the amusement at the Castle. The uncle is presumably in pursuit of Mrs Ripley and the nephew Miss Denton; the only problem, of course, is that Miss Denton is already spoken for. I suppose they know that, do they? I do believe that, if they were to turn up, I might come after all, if only to be diverted by the fireworks.”
“Yes, they know precisely where we stand and the reason for our journey,” Aspasia said. “I cannot conceive it likely that they have formed any serious intentions towards either of us; we spent very little time with them. I am persuaded we were nothing more than a diversion.”
“That may be so but, knowing soldiers, I should think, if they have nothing better to do with themselves, they will turn up under the guise of wishing to renew their acquaintance with Frederick,” Archie continued. “After all, the attraction provided by two pretty women can be so much more easily pursued if they have a ready excuse to hand such as calling upon an old acquaintance.”
“They wanted to see you too,” Aspasia reminded him. “But they did not know where you were.”
“See me?” Archie asked, affecting astonishment before continuing more soberly, “But I own I would like to see them again. Pray send word, Frederick, if they turn up, and I will set forth immediately. I don’t suppose they’d care to come here unless I can prevail upon Mrs Ripley and Miss Denton to move in with me. Would you permit that, Frederick?”
“I hardly think I could forbid it,” Stonegate replied, “but I own I would prefer my guests to remain where they are – which is, whatever you may say to the contrary, Archibald, more comfortable than here.”
“I would not dream of making any such claim,” Archie replied at once. “Have you put them in the South Tower?”
“Yes.”
“It is very agreeable,” Aspasia murmured.
“Just so; you would not find it more than tolerable here although there are plenty of rooms and, as you already know, my cook is good – better than Frederick’s in my opinion.”
“The dinner last night was excellent,” Aspasia said at once.
“It did not consist entirely of gruel and boiled vegetables?” Archie enquired, raising his eyebrow.
“No; it was both varied and sophisticated.”
“Still holding out against Mama then, Frederick?” Archie asked. “I own you tempted my convalescent appetite with great success, but I was afraid you might have succumbed to her counsel and reverted to pap the minute my back was turned.”
“I doubt my cook would stay a week if I ordered him to serve that sort of thing,” the Earl replied. “Mama, as you know, is always welcome at my table but, if she insists upon eating such a restricted diet, she must do so in her own quarters for I will have none of it.”
“Well, pray do not lay the blame on me when you find yourself suffering the ill effects of too rich a diet,” the Countess said.
“I would not consider doing so, but I suppose that what passes my lips is my own affair. In any event, I take full responsibility for it.”
“Have you planned a string of entertainments to amuse your guests?” Lord Archibald asked his brother, making an effort to conceal his bitterness and behave in a more conciliatory manner.
Stonegate told him that he had invited a few neighbours to a dinner later in the visit, where he hoped there would be dancing. He also intended to take his guests on various outings into the surrounding country, complete with picnics. There would be riding and perhaps a short trip down the river in boats.
“Have you invited any of your London friends?” Lord Archibald asked.
“One or two but they are not expected for another two or three weeks. I tho
ught Mrs Ripley and Miss Denton would prefer to grow used to the Castle and the neighbourhood before they had to meet a whole lot of new people.”
“Need to accustom themselves to you and Mama, you mean, before dazzling them with a set of fashionable people? I am afraid it might interfere with the entertainments if you were to be obliged to drag a cripple around with you.”
“Not in the least. It would be the greatest possible pleasure to have you with us, Archibald.”
Something in the younger man’s face changed at this warm and seemingly genuine response; his eye grew moist and his lips trembled.
“Dear Frederick,” he said. “I do believe you mean it.”
“You know I do!”
“But I am afraid my presence might interfere with Miss Denton’s enjoyment.”
“Don’t be absurd! If she is to become my wife she will have to learn to tolerate my brother turning up from time to time.”
“But she did not know what had happened to me,” Archie pointed out. “nor how close I would be living. Indeed, Frederick, I do feel you were somewhat remiss in not having warned her of what she would find before you got here. Why did you not?”
“I thought I had, but realise now that what I said was inadequate,” the Earl admitted.
“Just so, but it was not only my being in the neighbourhood, was it? It was the sight of my face that threw her so much that she cast up her accounts in the garden. That was thoughtless of you – or was it intentional? Did you mean her to feel so much disgust that there would be no possibility of her preferring me to you?”
“No, I never thought of it,” Stonegate replied, adding acidly, “If I had, I might have been afraid that her pity would prompt her to abandon me in your favour!”
This conversation between the brothers had been conducted in such low voices that the only person who could hear was Aspasia, who was sitting between them and could not avoid being privy to their discussion. Neither the Countess, from whom Lord Archibald’s face was resolutely turned, nor Letty, who did not look at either of them, could discern much of what was said, although the Countess tried strenuously to make it out.
Now she interrupted, saying, “I think it excessively ill-mannered to speak so quietly that no one can hear what you are saying.”
“I am sorry, Mama,” Archie replied at once, raising his voice. “We were not discussing anything that could be of any interest to anyone else.”
This reply clearly left a good deal to be desired in terms of truth: most people, when unable to hear precisely what is being said in a confidential manner, are supremely interested in the content and the Countess was no exception.
She snorted with derision and said, turning to Letty, “I dare swear you are interested in what my sons were discussing; it probably concerned you.”
“I am sure I do not wish to know,” Letty returned coldly.
“Put in my place by a chit of a girl,” the Countess observed with an unfriendly glare.
Letty, who had more or less decided not to marry Stonegate and to persuade her aunt to order the carriage to take them home the very next day, did not reply but bent her head once more over her plate, the contents of which had been rearranged several times but had not noticeably diminished.
“I don’t doubt she’ll lead you a merry dance, Frederick,” the older woman said to the Earl. “Serve you right, I should think.”
“I have decided not to marry Lord Stonegate after all,” Letty announced, laying down her knife and fork and addressing her remark to her betrothed.
“I am sorry for it,” he said apparently unmoved, “but perfectly understand that your experience of my family so far has been somewhat off-putting. I beg you will not decide at once but allow me a few more days to change your mind.”
She pushed her plate away and stood up. “Would you mind if I find somewhere to lie down for a little?” she asked. “I am not feeling at all well.”
“Of course.” This time it was her host who spoke.
He too rose – with some difficulty – and, leaning on his cane, went to open the door for her.
“Shall I send someone to escort you to a bedchamber where you can be quite quiet and undisturbed?”
“No, I shall be perfectly comfortable in the saloon - so long as I am by myself.”
“I will take you there,” he said, tucking the cane under the bad arm and offering her the good one.
She looked up at him and, seeing only the undamaged side of his face, drew in her breath sharply. She took the proffered arm and they went out together, he leaning on her more than she on him.
Chapter 14
“I am sorry this has turned out to be such a disagreeable experience,” he said as they walked back down the long corridor towards the saloon.
“I daresay I have been behaving with excessive sensibility,” she admitted. “And I am sorry for that; I did not mean to insult you.”
“I am aware of that.”
In the gloom of the corridor, she could not see the scar on his face although she was still discomposed by the presence of the black handkerchief. He was not the man she remembered falling in love with; he seemed much more than four years older than when she had last seen him and the arm on which her fingers rested appeared to consist entirely of bone. The physical attraction that had drawn her across the room the day she first saw him had vanished. Her aunt had spoken of the scales falling from her eyes; they had and left her, not only no longer blind to his faults, but almost dazzled by them.
She went on, attempting some sort of explanation for a reaction which she knew left something to be desired, “I only learned last night that I had been duped. All the way here, I kept telling my aunt that I would never love another, that you possessed my heart for ever, whether you were married or not.”
“And presumably whether you were married or not as well? Are you still determined to go ahead now that you know how greatly you were deceived? You said just now that you would not.”
“I don’t know why I said that; I think I just wanted to defy everyone.”
“Has your family not altogether succeeded in crushing your spirit?” he asked with tender amusement, beginning to walk again.
“No, not entirely, but I think the truth is that I am not afraid of your brother.”
“As you are – or were – of your father?”
“Yes, but you already knew that.”
“I do not think I realised quite how far he would go to prevent you from doing what you wanted.”
“I forgot about it when I was with you. He has neither beaten nor locked me in my room since - or only occasionally when I have been particularly tiresome.”
When they reached the saloon, he pointed to the sofa on which she had been sitting earlier.
“That one looks the cleanest and has, I think, the fewest broken springs. Would you like me to move it closer to the window?”
“It does not signify where it is,” she said dully, her low spirits returning after her brief show of animation.
“I disagree; I find that one’s location is of enormous significance.”
“Is that why you moved back here?”
“It wasn’t a question of moving ‘back’; I have never been here before. My father died during the time I was missing, so that I only learned of it when I got back a few weeks ago.”
“Oh! That must have been a horrid shock! Were you close to him?”
“Not particularly; he always seemed to be under Mama’s thumb which made me despise him. All the same, everything was different when I got back. Neither Mama nor Frederick expected to see me again so that I felt like a ghost - and then, Mama, like you, could not bear to look at me. Frederick was somewhat altered too; I suppose he had been compelled to take on responsibility for the estate which had previously been our father’s domain and, in doing so, had of course discovered the level of debt that Papa left, but I think what was really troubling him was his betrothal to you. He had to confess that as well as tell me of Papa’s dem
ise.”
He moved away from her towards the sofa, his cane tapping on the floor. She watched his unsteady progress for a moment before she said, “Let me help.”
“Sit down!” he ordered sharply. “Moving furniture cannot be considered a proper activity for a guest. I do have a few servants, although Mama seems to think them incompetent, so that, if the task proves to be beyond me, I can send for one of them. In any event, you should not exert yourself when you are unwell.”
“I am perfectly well,” she snapped, defensive because she knew that her slight indisposition did not by any means merit a place in the same category of infirmity as her host. “It is only that I did not feel able – after I had been unwell – to eat much.”
He shrugged. “You have claimed illness in order to escape from luncheon and must now submit to being taken care of.”
“I am glad I didn’t marry you,” she declared, hurt by his coldness. “You are as dictatorial as my father. Would you lock me in my chamber and starve me until you thought I had paid sufficient penance for exaggerating my malady?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he acknowledged in a softer tone, turning towards her with a shadow of the alluring smile she remembered but which, along with so much else, had been damaged almost beyond recognition. Now it was twisted, the distorted side of his mouth not moving in quite the accustomed manner; it trembled as though aware that some effort was required of it but was, ultimately, unable to co-operate fully. The result was, if anything, even more bewitching.
“Very well; you can help if you like. You can start by moving that table out of the way.”
“Where shall I put it?”
“Wherever you like; just remove it from the path of the sofa.”
Letty picked up the small table and carried it to the other side of the room, where, after some thought, she placed it next to another sofa.
“Good. Thank you. Now where precisely would you like this? Do you want to face the window or have it at your side?”
“Do you not know what I would like?” she asked, frustrated by his apparent determination to restrain whatever sentiments he might be feeling and determined to provoke a less pragmatic response. “Do you not remember me at all?”
Letitia Or The Convalescent Heart Page 12