Lady Elizabeth's Comet

by Sheila Simonson

  "This and that. Lady Elizabeth, is that lake frozen?"

  "Solid."

  "I wish..."

  "You wish to skate on it. What a wonderful idea."

  He grinned. "Do your sisters skate?"

  "They swoop and circle like a pair of swallows, and if I don't return soon to restrain them they'll be clearing the lake themselves and perishing of putrid sore throats."

  "You could have your servants build a bonfire."

  "On the ice?"

  "By the ice. It promises a clear night."

  "Night! Why night? Aha! I believe you're trying to stage an illumination you can watch from your window."

  "I believe I am. Don't let me press you, however, Lady Elizabeth. I can always amuse myself by browsing among your father's collection of Latin sermons."

  "My grandfather's. I believe you're cutting a wheedle."

  He waited.

  "Very well. We'll disport ourselves before your mocking eye. I'd intended to watch the meteor shower that French observers have lately reported, but I'll make the sacrifice. Clear nights are indispensable to my work and so rare in this climate."

  "Now you're cutting the wheedle. Your eyepiece would freeze to your brow."

  I laughed. "So it would. You've found me out. I have no recourse but to leave you, with burning ear and blushing cheek. Do you have the lake cleared, Clanross, and I'll set Jem and Harris to supervise a bonfire."

  "Tell them to roast potatoes in it."

  "Potatoes! I fail to see the connection."

  "For warming the hands. One to a pocket. Or do girls still carry muffs?"

  "Muffs," I admitted, intrigued. "But it's an ingenious idea. Do you eat the potatoes afterwards?"

  "Only if you're hungry," he said mildly. "Speaking of which, bring the lot up here afterwards. I daresay cook will rise to another pot of chocolate."

  * * * *

  Maggie and Jean responded with whoops of delight to his lordship's plan for their entertainment and dashed off to the lumberoom to unearth two generations of skates.

  I believe I enjoyed the outing as much as they did. To everyone's surprise, Alice proved an accomplished skater, graceful and tireless, but I'm sure Miss Bluestone made Clanross's evening. She wobbled and weaved and fell down every possible way, and if she had not laughed so hard I must have urged her to rest, for she was not a child, after all. Fortunately, she did herself no injury beyond a few bruises.

  "I'll feel this tomorrow," she murmured to Clanross over her steaming chocolate.

  He smiled but forbore teazing. "You made quite a creditable turn at the last, I thought."

  Her eyes shone. "I did, did I not?"

  A remarkable woman not to betray embarrassment. I believe she felt none, and yet she was certainly not without dignity. It seemed to me admirable that she should risk appearing foolish before her charges. It was an index of the respect they gave her that neither of my sisters indulged the sort of unkind mockery that would have withered their other governesses.

  "You were splendid, Miss Bluestone," Maggie uttered through a mouthful of scone. Cook had indeed risen to the occasion.

  "I think Mrs. Finch was best," Jean said judiciously.

  Alice fluttered.

  "She's an accomplished performer," Clanross agreed, "but you mustn't hurt your sister's feelings by leaving her out. What do you think was your finest moment, Lady Elizabeth?"

  "When I ate the potato."

  They all laughed.

  I refrained from mentioning that I hadn't eaten the whole thing. It was half raw and half charred and most unappetising. I daresay I'm incurably inquisitive.

  Chapter 9

  I wrote Bevis a dramatic account of the skating party, but I avoided saying how much I missed his company. There was no point in giving him a conceit of himself. I did miss him. I suspected that Clanross did, too. Clanross and I sparred every time I called on him. That diverted me temporarily from melancholic reflections, but I missed Bevis's easier style.

  Clanross fell again, delaying his advancement to a stick. When he found his patient walking--or stumping and wobbling--about the whole first floor of Brecon, Charles Wharton flew into a tantrum. He was so furious that I believe he would have resigned the case had I not flattered him into mere crossness. Finally, he agreed to continue to treat Clanross, and his lordship slowly improved.

  The snow melted, the sky lowered, and we entered that season of drizzle and drear I bear least well. Bevis answered my first letter at once. He was dealing comfortably with his father. He thought he would have to spend above a month in London arranging the complex process of his resignation at the Horse Guards.

  "Poltroons!" I was in the Brecon withdrawing room relaying the news. "Incompetents! Feather-merchants!"

  When I finished my tirade Clanross added helpfully, "Fleawits. Macaronis. Jobbing clerks."

  "It's exasperating. Poor Bevis."

  "Poor? Nonsense. He'll realise a handsome profit."

  "Money!"

  "He's not out to give the commission away."

  "You have the soul of a shop clerk." Or an estate agent. I glowered at him.

  Clanross replied, with spirit, "If by that you mean not above money, you're right. They owe me three months' arrears and the Peninsular prize. I daresay they owe Bevis six and Water-loo. We should charge 'em interest. Compounded."

  "If every one who served the Nation felt that way..."

  Clanross shot me a satirical look. "Of course you have a soul above money--but not, it appears, above intrigue."

  "What can you possibly mean?"

  He balanced on the crutches and drew a letter from the breast of his coat. "This is your doing, I believe." He unfolded the stiff sheet.

  "What is it?"

  "Willoughby Conway-Gore," Clanross said tersely.

  "He's paying you a visit? How thoughtful of Willoughby." I rose from my chair and walked to the fire for a good toast. In February Brecon was almost uninhabitable.

  Clanross scowled. "So he seems to think. He lays his inspiration at your door, Lady Elizabeth, so I assume you spent your holidays pressing upon him the need to secure his succession. Thank you very much."

  "He is your heir."

  "I'm aware of that. I wasn't aware I was required to offer him hospitality every time the bailiffs are after him."

  I recalled Bevis's description of Henry Conway. "Do you dislike propping up indigent relations? How odd in your father's son." I confess the remark was ill-natured.

  Clanross went still. "I'm sure you're the best judge of that, ma'am. No doubt your father provided you with a model of lordly condescension. I fail to see why I should be obliged to bear Mr. Gore's company, however. I prefer to prop him up at a distance."

  "Conway-Gore. Do you dislike Willoughby? He has a claim on you."

  "I make him the same allowance your father made him," he said coldly. "Did he sit in your father's pocket, too?"

  "Papa found Willoughby good company, and he also enjoyed playing host to his kinsmen. Perhaps that seems strange to you." Abruptly, I was struck by the fact that of all our kin Thomas Conway had emphatically not met with Papa's hospitality. I bit my tongue.

  Either Clanross didn't notice my slip or didn't care. "I've no wish to surround myself with men I have nothing in common with," he snarled. "If that's strange, so be it. Nor do I require Gore to hang about licking my boots."

  I stiffened. "If you imply that my father did..."

  "How should I know what your father liked? I never met him." He took an incautious step forward and wobbled, swearing under his breath.

  I was now very angry. "You may not have met my father, but you met with his benevolence. He bought your commission."

  "Well, now, I wondered whither we were trending. Am I required to repay Lord Clanross's tender concern for my well-being by putting up with Willoughby Conway-Gore at the breakfast table? That seems excessive."

  I did not like his tone. All the same I chose my words with greater care. "Papa wis
hed you to enjoy the advantages of a gentleman's son."

  "I'm not a gentleman's son." He gave me a cool, grey, unsmiling gaze, very direct. "I'm the son of a whoring cardsharper. Come, Lady Elizabeth, if you feel I've not repaid your father for my creditable establishment, tell me what more I must do."

  That struck me silent. He had, after all, nearly repaid my father with his life, however involuntarily. Finally I said, "You're under no obligation, my lord, except perhaps that of natural feeling."

  He made a contemptuous noise and stumped back to his window. "I wonder you can indulge such hypocrisy, ma'am. It suited your father's pride to educate me and his convenience to stick me in the army. And none of this maundering explains why you busied yourself setting Gore on the scent."

  I had been moved by nothing more elevated than a desire to see Willoughby and Clanross strike sparks off each other, but I did not like admitting to so base a motive. I said with dignity, "I wished to promote your better understanding of one who, besides his close ties with the Family, is a man of wide connexions in the fashionable world. I thought the two of you might supply one another's defects. He has excellent manners, and you know how to keep accounts--a fair exchange."

  He ignored the gibe. "Had you considered the man's comfort, ma'am? A gentleman of fashion must find himself at loose ends at Brecon, for I don't intend to fill the place with his friends. I rather draw the line at his sister."

  "Sister!" I stared.

  "He proposes to join me in a week with Miss Gore, three servants, a travelling coach and team, and two hacks." Clanross held the letter to the light. "He don't wish to put me to any trouble for their entertainment. A simple evening of whist, a snug dinner, and he will rest content. I hope you enjoy whist, ma'am. Since they come at your behest, you can undertake to amuse the pair of 'em. I daresay Gore won't stand the quiet above a week."

  "You might as well practice hospitality on Willoughby and Cecilia. Willoughby is merely protecting his interests. Besides, Cecilia would make you an excellent countess."

  "What!" That did make him blink.

  "If it's as apparent to Willoughby as it is to me that you dislike him, he'll be thinking you mean to marry to disoblige him, and he'll see only two courses. He can murder you or marry you to his sister. As he's a civilised man he probably prefers the second course." I regarded Clanross thoughtfully. "I daresay between the two of you, you can bring Cecilia up to scratch. You can't be much more than twenty-five years older than she is."

  He stared. "She's ten years old? Shall I have to provide a nurse?"

  "Ten?" My turn to blink.

  "Thirty-five less twenty-five are ten," he said impatiently. His eyes narrowed. "Or so I always assumed as I grubbed my way through my ledgers. What a nuisance. D'ye think Lady Jean and Lady Margaret would object to keeping the child company?"

  I regained the power of speech. "Cecilia Conway-Gore is in her third season, handsome, ripe for wedlock, and unmarried only because she's confronted with too many choices. I daresay you find it annoying that Willoughby has forced your hand, Clanross, but no man I know would consider Cecilia an affliction. She's accounted a diamond of the first water."

  "You almost reconcile me to my fate."

  "Good."

  "Almost. I consider your part in this comedy officious and impertinent, ma'am. No doubt you'll point out that I'm indebted to you as well as your father and must allow you your little amusements."

  That stung and was unfair besides. I said through clenched teeth, "I acquit you of any debt to me. Good day." I departed with the dignity of my forebears stiffening my backbone, and seethed all the way down the hill to the Dower House.

  When I had taken the time to think, however, I perceived that the trick I'd so lightheartedly played on Clanross was really rather unpleasant. He was not yet recovered and would have found it a strain to see to Willoughby's entertainment even if he had liked his heir. There was only one solution. Bevis must come to the rescue. Swallowing my pride I wrote him a full account and begged him, Horse Guards or no Horse Guards, to follow Willoughby from Town.

  I did not doubt Bevis's capacity to please even such a nonpareil as Cecilia Conway-Gore was reputed to be.

  Clanross ought to marry. Why not Cecilia? He owed it to the Family to set up his nursery. Willoughby would make a deplorable earl. He had no sense of responsibility to anyone but himself. That wouldn't debar him from enjoying the prestige of an earldom, but he'd shrug off the duties. From what I knew of Clanross he seemed at least conscientious. While Willoughby, I reflected, still piqued, was at least amusing.

  Could Clanross be only five-and-thirty? That made him three years older than Bevis and only six years my senior. There was no reason why he shouldn't wed some placid creature who would endure the shafts of his malice meekly and bear him half a dozen sons. Cecilia probably wouldn't do--too fashionable--but there must be dozens of possible brides, hundreds even.

  That night I had nightmares, and Clanross figured in them, his face as it had appeared that terrible night I had forced him to drink the laudanum. His eyes were closed and he did not speak. I knew he was dead. I knew I had killed him.

  The third time I woke in the grip of this vision, I gave up trying to sleep, lit a candle, and read grimly through a volume of Mr. Wordsworth's verse. Kill him, indeed. I had saved the ingrate's life. Even Wordsworth's poetry was preferable to the baseless and overwhelming sensation of guilt the dream provoked.

  * * * *

  In the ensuing week two things happened. Bevis wrote to tell me he was coming "to save Tom's groats," and Clanross sent me a curt note of apology. He did not explain his fit of temper, nor did he make further mention of the Conway-Gores. Apparently, he meant to deal with them alone.

  Appalled at the possibility that I might miss the comedy I had staged, I wrote him a less curt note in which I gracefully acknowledged my responsibility for his predicament and volunteered to assist him in diverting Cecilia. Further than that I did not choose to go, so I watched Mrs. Smollet's mobilisation of forces from the outside.

  Troops of girls from the village were called in to unshroud and polish the furniture. Cook, quite unbidden, offered to help out with the baking, as everyone knew Mr. Conway-Gore had not given the earl time to send for extra staff from Lunnon.

  In due form Willoughby and Cecilia rattled up the long drive past my door. I made no attempt to waylay them. Bevis did not appear, and I began to feel some anxiety. At tea time Willoughby and Cecilia were announced, and I took a deep metaphorical breath and girded myself to charm them.

  When the flurry of presentations was done with, Willoughby seated his sister gracefully by Alice and took his own chair beside me.

  "Such a snug house, coz. I'd forgot its quality. Don't you admire Liz's taste, Cecy?"

  "Indeed, Lady Elizabeth," Cecilia said agreeably. A nice child and quite beautiful.

  I poured, and Alice kept up a gentle babble of social chitchat. The twins were under control, but it was inevitable that Jean would snaffle a marron glacé. She showed it to Maggie, who giggled. Willoughby raised his eyeglass. When they found themselves the objects of his leisurely scrutiny, the girls fell silent.

  "I trust Mrs. Smollet has made you comfortable, Cecilia," I said.

  She looked at Willoughby uncertainly and flushed. "Indeed, Lady Elizabeth." A female of wide vocabulary. She made me feel ancient and worldly. She was beautiful. Clanross, and Bevis when he came, could look at her.

  Willoughby was causing a flutter with Alice. Miss Bluestone, I perceived, was trying to deal with the twins and Cecilia, and she looked a trifle harried. I rose, exchanged seats with Alice, and did my duty by Willoughby's sister. Why had no one told me she was a widgeon? Or perhaps she wasn't. Perhaps, all unwitting, I intimidated her.

  "Are you acquainted with Lord Bevis, Cecilia?" I asked in my kindest tones.

  "In-indeed." She looked as if she would burst into tears. What could ail the child? I am not a dragon like my Aunt Whitby. I ignored Cecilia's dist
ress as the kindest course, but it puzzled me.

  "Bevis is a particular friend of mine. I believe you visited the Tyrells at Dunarvon Castle this Christmastime, so I thought you must know him. He is coming here very soon."

  I missed her response because Willoughby took me up at once. "Bevis? Is he coming back?"

  "So he said in his latest letter."

  Willoughby composed his features, but I thought he was...what? Uneasy? Pleased? He said languidly, "Excellent news, Liz. At least he's conversable."

  Cecilia smiled uncertainly, the twins munched chestnuts, and Miss Bluestone initiated a discussion of the weather.

  "By the bye," Willoughby said as they prepared to leave. "Clanross asks you, Mrs. Finch, and Miss, er, Bluton, to dine. Not the schoolroom." His glance flicked over the twins. "If you've any regard for my sanity, Elizabeth, you'll come."

  "Yes, of course. When?"

  "Sevenish, I believe."

  "Country hours."

  "Just so," he said blandly. "Make your adieux, Cecy. If we behave conformably now perhaps we may be allowed to come back."

  "Cecilia may come whenever she wishes, cousin."

  He acknowledged the hit, smiling, and they took their leave.

  "I hate that man," Jean said intensely.

  "He looked at us as if we were beetles." Maggie screwed up her face in a fair imitation of Willoughby looking down his nose. "'Not the schoolroom.' You won't go, Miss Bluestone, will you?" It was a plea.

  "I'll wager Clanross wanted to ask us." That was Jean defending her Hero. Maggie looked less certain. They were both injured.

  "Why don't you take tea with Clanross tomorrow?" I proposed. "I'll remove Willoughby and Cecilia to Aunt Whitby's, and you can make your feelings known to his lordship."

  "All right," Maggie grumped.

  "It's not the same as dinner." Jean had probably fancied herself sporting the Legion of Honour in the Brecon dining room.

  Miss Bluestone said firmly, "Tea is an excellent notion, my lady. I'll escort the girls. If you will convey my excuses, I prefer to dine with Jean and Margaret this evening. The lace fringe of my gown is not yet mended, and besides, his lordship will not be needing an extra lady at table."