"Good God, of course he is," I said, disgusted. "Dose yourself with laudanum, sir, and go to bed."
"I thank you, no."
"No to bed or laudanum?" Willoughby asked brightly.
"Both."
"Clanross does not indulge himself with opiates." I was as incautious as I was cross.
"How too stoic," Willoughby exclaimed and with no more encouragement from anyone was off and running with a comprehensive repertoire of witty anecdotes, all showing how very frequently and with what droll results those in the first circles ate, drank, or smoked opium.
Clanross was not amused. His grim silence finally penetrated even Willoughby's self-absorption, and Willoughby shifted to some of his staler reminiscences.
Brecon and Cecilia left the spinet and rejoined us and the worst was over, but Clanross remained silent and withdrawn. I regretted my thoughtless introduction of the topic. I should have to apologise. Tomorrow, I told myself. After all, I had promised Charles to try a little persuasion, and putting off unpleasant tasks forever was not in my style.
Accordingly, I excused myself next morning from the ritual ride and walked up the long drive to Brecon. It was a grey, damp day, rather dark. The others would not be riding long.
When I asked for Clanross, Jenkins looked flustered.
"Is he in the estate room?"
"No, my lady. His lordship has gone for a walk."
"A walk?"
Jenkins looked unhappy. "I did think it injudicious, my lady, but when I attempted to remonstrate, pointing out that the weather is chill, his lordship cut me off quite sharp. Most unlike him, if I may say so."
"Oh, dear, then he's still in a pet. Never mind, Jenkins, it's my fault. Which direction did he take?"
"He's in the formal garden, my lady. Do you think..."
"That I ought to intrude? Yes, and you needn't show me out. I know the way."
He assented, resigned, and I slipped out the French doors of the breakfast room to the long terrace that overlooks the formal gardens Capability Brown is reputed to have laid out for my grandmother.
As nothing so vulgar as crocuses or daffodils was allowed in the chaste precincts, the stiff raised rosebeds looked stark as winter, and the contorted yews, which lesser gardeners had clipped unimaginatively into urns and pillars, were downright gloomy. I set off after my prey, bending against the damp wind.
He was sitting on the rim of the stilled fountain.
"Clanross."
He started and turned his head.
"Please don't rise. I merely wish to speak with you for a moment."
He considered me without expression. "How may I serve you, Lady Elizabeth?"
"Oh dear, you are angry."
He made no reply.
"I came to beg your pardon."
He looked away. "Very well, you have it."
"That's not very gracious," I said lightly. "I confess I was maladroit, but I meant no harm."
He fiddled with his stick, digging at the flags. "I didn't suppose you did."
I sighed. "I know you have an irrational aversion to laudanum, however, and I ought not to have made Willoughby a present of it. I'm sorry."
When he did not speak I went on, carefully reasonable, "At the same time I can't help thinking you would be wise to use the laudanum, Clanross. You are slowing your recovery."
"Why can't you let well alone?"
I stared. He was not rude as a rule. "Because Charles Wharton asked me to try if I could persuade you to use it. I think he's right."
"He's a damned fool."
"It's not Charles who is the fool."
He started to reply, then thought better of it and remained silent, mouth set.
"If it's nightmares..."
"I have a fine assortment of nightmares. I think I need not retail them for your delectation."
My cheeks went hot. He had spoken quietly but with great bitterness. "I have no reason to wish you ill."
"Have you not?" His bleak grey gaze met mine steadily.
"I collect you refer to your succession to my father's honours." I was beginning to be vexed. I bit my lip. "The manner of my father's death shocked us all. But if you fancy I feel some resentment now, you're all about in your head. It's absurd."
"That I'm unreasonable or that a man with eight flourishing offspring should be succeeded by a stranger?"
"What does that signify? We're all females." I glared at him.
He glared back. "Females have succeeded their fathers in our history and done rather well. Queen Elizabeth, for an instance. Your namesake."
"Or Bess of Hardwicke," I shot back, acid.
His mouth twitched and I had to smile myself. Not exactly a genteel example. Besides, she gained power through her husbands, not her father.
"What say you to Bloody Mary?" I sat beside him on the damp stone rim of the fountain. "I concede a certain vague resentment. I daresay you feel a twinge or two of resentment yourself at being precipitated into the midst of a gaggle of strange females, always telling you to mind your manners and drink your medicine. Shall I strive for a less nanny-like approach in future?"
"I'd appreciate your restraint."
"In the meanwhile, drink your medicine."
He did not reply at once but traced the pattern of the near flags over with his stick. At last he said wearily, "There's an excellent reason why I cannot use laudanum, Elizabeth. I have an addiction for it."
"Oh, dear God." I turned cold. A good many things came clear at once. "But Charles must know..."
"Yes." His stick scraped on the stones. "He's a very good surgeon and, like most surgeons, almost completely without imagination. He considers withdrawal from the laudanum the lesser of two evils. I can't agree."
"Is it so dreadful?"
He did not reply.
I swallowed, thinking of his slow recovery in the early weeks. "Then Bevis..."
"It's fortunate he came when he did."
I fell silent as I tried to rearrange my perception of what had happened in December. If Charles were unimaginative, what might be said of me? Laudanum is quite a common remedy. Some of stepmama's cronies drank gallons of it--for their nerves, they said. But I had also heard of the fate of opium eaters. I did not like my thoughts at all. "How did it happen?"
"In the usual way." His stick dug into the nearest crack. "I was hit at Alexandria, not very badly, but it--my arm--didn't heal as it should. The surgeons gave me too much laudanum for too long. It's not dear in Egypt. They used a lot of it."
"But that's some time ago!"
"Sixteen years," he said evenly.
I stared at the stiff new leaves of the rosebushes.
"When we reached England the regiment were sent to Hove, and the surgeon there helped me stop using it. I haven't since. Willingly." He gave a slight repressed shiver that was sufficiently eloquent because it was clearly involuntary.
I could think of nothing but the appalling stretch of time in which he had continued in the army after that--six years in the Peninsula, battle after battle--and the even more appalling time afterwards. "I wish I'd known."
He jabbed at the widening crevice in the flags. "D'you fancy it's something I'm proud of?"
"No, but it's nothing shameful either. I should not have tricked you into using laudanum in December with any other motive than to save your life, Clanross. I hope you'll credit that."
"At the time I didn't especially wish to have my life saved." His voice was matter-of-fact but he did not look at me.
Once in a great while I find the right thing to say. "I ought to be shocked, I daresay, but in the circumstance I'm not." I didn't mention Bevis's fears for his friend's life.
Imperceptibly Clanross relaxed. What had he expected of me? High-toned moralising? Disgust? It came to me that I must seem as strange and unexpected to him as he seemed to me. "We'll have to reconcile you to your continued existence."
"That won't be necessary. I was grateful to you for lending me Miss Bluestone's company ove
r the holidays, however. Otherwise I might have imagined I'd got my desserts."
"What do you mean?"
"Premature sepulture," he said wryly.
I smiled. "Brecon's tomb-like qualities have struck other observers"
We sat for a time in a silence that was not unfriendly. "You ought to send Willoughby packing," I ventured at last.
"And spoil love's young dream?"
"Willoughby in love? Nonsense."
He smiled at that. "Wharton is smitten with the fair Cecilia. It can't have escaped your notice."
"Do you mean to encourage the connexion?"
"She would make him the worst possible wife."
"I'm not sure of that. She's a witling, but she admires Hazeldell and seems to like Charles's mother and sister. All of which is not to the point if you dislike the match."
"I? Good God, who am I to be approving or disapproving Charles Wharton's marital prospects?"
"You are Head of the Family. I meant Cecilia's prospects."
He began to laugh.
Presently, I saw the humour, too. "It would serve Willoughby right. Especially if Cecilia meant to entrap you."
"Or Bevis."
"You saw that, did you?"
"I'm afraid it had to be pointed out to me."
"By whom?"
"By Bevis," he said dryly. "He enjoys playing with fire, if so intense an element may be attached to Miss Gore's sensibilities."
Was Clanross warning me that Bevis was a flirt? I stiffened but kept my voice light with an effort. "Bevis's antics have always been amusing to watch."
He did not pursue the matter. Perhaps he thought me complaisant. Perhaps Bevis thought me complaisant. An unwelcome thought. It had been a morning of unwelcome thoughts. They followed me after Clanross and I had gone in out of the damp.
Chapter 14
Willoughby and Cecilia had been at Brecon more than a month. Quarter day was long gone and Willoughby showed no sign of leaving, despite some strong hints from me.
Our routine continued with slight alterations. Bevis had definitely turned from Cecilia to me, freeing Charles to pursue his lady on our morning rides and sometimes, boldly, in the evening under Willoughby's offended glare.
Clanross had begun to take daily walks, though he avoided further carriage rides, and he looked decidedly better for the exercise. We saw him sometimes on the great mown slope that led down to the Dower House, listening with grave courtesy to Miss Bluestone's botanical lessons and admiring the twins' sketches. That drew Willoughby's satire, of course.
I was glad Willoughby's sharp eye had not yet discerned an even more absurd development. Jean had decided to fall in love with Clanross. Calf love is at all times awkward, and Jean bored Maggie and Miss Bluestone and me excessively with her moonings and her tears. She quarreled with Maggie merely because the Object of her Devotion had commended Maggie's drawing of a rhododendron bloom. Maggie, happily, took it all in a spirit of tolerance. I wasn't sure how long Clanross's patience would last. It was all rather wearing. Willoughby was wearing. Even the weather was wearing, obstinately cloudy day after day.
I could not work, so I gave myself over to dissipation and allowed Bevis to court me, so long as he wasn't obvious about it. This challenge put him on his mettle, and he was all that is delightful. I began to reconcile myself to marriage. It was not difficult to reconcile myself to Bevis. Flirt or no, he was a good companion, and courtship at twenty-eight is far more satisfying than at eighteen.
There were other changes, too. The most revolutionary was Clanross's high-handed decision to remove the long table from the small dining room and to replace it with a comfortable oval affair from one of the lumber rooms. General conversation now became possible at dinner, but the style of the table did not blend with the massive gilt furnishings of its new surroundings.
"Such a lovely piece of furniture," Willoughby exclaimed as we entered. "But more suited to an, er, parlour, don't you think, than the Brecon dining room?"
Clanross bowed. "In future I'll consult your taste, Gore."
I could not forbear asking, "Whose taste did you consult this time?"
"Chacton's."
Bevis fell into the whoops, and Willoughby, conscious that he was the butt of a conspiracy, said with fair humour, "We'll have to educate your tastes in other directions, Clanross. I wash my hands of the furnishings. Do you go up to Town in the autumn?"
Clanross eyed him warily. "I may. Why?"
Willoughby affected languor. "I had looked forward to introducing you to the Ton during the Little Season."
Bevis's eyes gleamed. "When the time comes, I'll show Tom the village."
"No need for guides, thank you. I've seen the village."
Bevis hooted. "London in July as viewed from the Embankment?"
"Just so," Clanross said coolly. "I prefer Madrid. I even prefer Lisbon."
Willoughby's face was eloquent of disbelief.
Bevis smiled. "What you need, my lad, is a good look at Paris."
Clanross glanced up from the soup, a nice madrilène. Cook was learning. "I'd like that. Next spring?"
"Done."
I was wondering whether Bevis planned to take Clanross on our bridetrip, or perhaps, God forbid, he wanted an autumn wedding.
Miss Bluestone, who was dining with us because Alice had caught a spring cold, leaned forward and said in the tones of one who wishes to verify a fact, "But you'll have to go up to London, my lord, will you not? To take your seat in the Lords."
There was a moment of startled silence. At least I was startled. Willoughby's mouth thinned and Bevis's opened slightly. Even Charles and Cecilia broke off their tête a tête and regarded the rest of us questioningly. Miss Bluestone cocked her head like an inquisitive sparrow.
Clanross said without enthusiasm, "Yes, for my sins."
Bevis choked.
I began to be amused. "Have you writ your speech yet? Papa's are in the library, bound in calf."
"I'll read them with interest," Clanross said gravely, "but your father was used to make significant utterances. I thought I'd just mumble a few clichés and fade gracefully into the background."
"You don't aspire to political leadership?"
"Why, no. If I achieved it I might have to consort with politicians." He returned my gaze blandly.
Even Cecilia laughed at that. I caught Charles admiring her silvery trill.
"Dashed dull lot, politicians," Willoughby pronounced. I daresay it was the first time he had agreed with Clanross on anything. He looked surprised at himself.
"Has Smollet showed you the state robes, Clanross?" I asked. "I believe my father kept them at Brecon."
He looked pained. "Let us hope I'll have small cause to use them."
Bevis grinned devilishly. "Bound to. The king can't hold out much longer, and I daresay Prinny will put on a coronation to end all coronations. Elephants and ancient musick and illuminations. A grand processional in the Abbey. There you'll be, Tom, mincing up the aisle well ahead of my esteemed parent and all decked out in purple and ermine."
Clanross contemplated this vision above a bit of turbot. "I'll have a relapse."
Bevis gave a muted whoop of laughter. "Imposter."
"Commoner." Clanross grinned at him. He was right, of course. Bevis is merely a courtesy title.
I could see Miss Bluestone did not approve their levity. When the general laughter subsided she said in mild reproof, "I'm sure you'll do your duty, my lord. Have you a sponsor for your entry to the Upper House?"
"As it happens I have, ma'am." Clanross's amusement turned wry.
"Kinnaird," I murmured. "What an appalling prospect. He huffs and snorts and looks exactly like a purple walrus."
"I shan't trouble Lord Kinnaird."
Bevis leaned forward, almost dipping his frill in the gravy. "Who?"
"Dunarvon."
One in the eye for Kitty, I thought, tickled.
"My father?" Bevis's voice is too mellifluous to squawk.
"When?"
"You were still in France."
"When?"
Clanross dissected another neat bit of turbot. "Directly I told him the ghastly news."
Bevis stared, mute. Finally he took a long, steadying breath. "Are you suggesting that all that roaring and snorting Dunarvon had been directing at my head is poodle-fakery?"
"I told you his bark is worse than his bite."
Bevis lapsed into stunned silence. He had always held his father in exaggerated awe. I wondered if this revelation of Dunarvon's softheartedness would give Bevis the brass to defy his papa. I felt a faint stirring of hope for my telescope. The real problem was that I'd have to persuade Bevis. I had been assuming I must exchange astronomy for matrimony, so I hadn't troubled to ask Bevis's opinion of wives who wrote scholarly articles and stayed up all night chasing comets.
Suppose he approved and Dunarvon approved, what then? Oblivious to Willoughby, who was exercising his wit on the House of Lords, I reviewed what I knew of Dunarvon's properties. There was a tidy little place in Dorset with a promontory overlooking the Mendips. Perhaps my instrument could be housed there. Of course, spring viewing would be out of the question. Bevis enjoys the fashionable world and we would go up to London--or Paris--in the spring. Summer, perhaps.
Willoughby uttered something sharp.
"I beg your pardon, Willoughby. I was wool-gathering."
Willoughby did not dignify that with a riposte. He was out of sorts all evening. After our usual rubber of whist, at which Willoughby and Miss Bluestone lost for once, he waxed downright surly. He even declined to review everyone's mistakes. Bevis and Clanross had been amusing themselves at backgammon, and Willoughby watched them wind up their match with sullen disdain.
"Child's play. Why don't you take up something decent like vingt-un or loo if you don't play whist?"
"You're labouring under a misapprehension," Clanross said calmly. "I play whist, but not with you."
Willoughby went dangerously still. "Upon my word..."
"I shouldn't like it said I was bent on fleecing my heir."
Momentarily mollified, Willoughby took in the significance of Clanross's bland statement. "Fleecing!"
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