Mary Or The Perils 0f Imprudence
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“I think it grossly unfair that I should be obliged to suffer for your foolishness,” Lady Leland said, abandoning reason and taking refuge in childish petulance. “I engaged you as a companion because I wished to hear you sing; I certainly did not do so on account of your prowess at sewing or measuring out my medicine, although you are perfectly capable of doing the latter at least.”
“Perhaps you should seek another companion,” Mary suggested, rising and walking with jerky steps towards the window.
“Now I have upset her,” her ladyship observed in an undertone. “I am sorry, my lord, to enact such an improper scene before you. Do you not find staff excessively hard to please these days?”
He laughed. “They keep us on our toes. Pray do not apologise for raising a subject which is obviously close to your heart and which I suspect you hoped might lead to some change in your companion if it were aired in my presence. Will you accept my invitation to dinner? If Miss Best’s finger is healed by then, I hope that she will play something for us but I shall not expect her to sing, unless she particularly wishes to do so.”
“We would be delighted to attend,” her ladyship said at once, holding out her hand for Marklye’s cup and refilling it. “You notice I speak for my companion and she will no doubt be vexed with me for doing so but, ultimately, she is obliged to do as I say. Mary, are you listening?”
“I cannot help hearing, my lady,” Mary replied, turning round.
“Miss Best, will you do me the honour of coming to dinner at my house next week?” Lord Marklye asked. “Whatever I may have said about hoping that you would play, there is of course no obligation on you to do so. You will be my guest and I shall strive to make the evening an enjoyable one.”
“It is very kind of your lordship and I am sensible of the great honour you do me in extending the invitation to a humble companion,” Mary said, “but it is too late to pretend that I am accepting with pleasure since my attendance has already been commanded.”
“Nevertheless I hope it will be a pleasure,” he said, smiling. “I must return to my guests now but will look forward to it. Your ladyship.” He bowed over Lady Leland’s hand.
“And I hope you will be able to attend my card party,” she said graciously, “along with your guests.”
“I shall be delighted and will apprise them of the treat in store as soon as I reach home. Your servant, Miss Best.” Mary still stood at the window so that he was forced to walk across the room to take his leave of her.
“My lord.” She did not come towards him, but unwound the handkerchief from her finger. “It has stopped bleeding but I daresay you would prefer this to be washed before you take it back.” She looked up from examining the wound, the bloodstained piece of linen held in the other hand.
“Are you sure it is wise to remove the bandage so soon?” He had reached her side and now stood before her, a quizzical expression on his face.
“Why yes; it is not a serious wound, as I told you at the time, and is already vastly better. It really had no need of being bandaged and now your handkerchief is quite ruined. But thank you for your solicitude.”
He held out his hand and she, mistaking the gesture, put the piece of linen into it. “Show me your finger,” he said, refusing to be baulked and pushing the handkerchief into his pocket.
Mary proffered it and he, taking it once more in his, bent to examine it.
“I can see the wound and, although it is true that it is not now bleeding, I think you should be careful that you do not open it up again. You must not do anything rough until it is perfectly healed.”
“I am surprised you can discern it,” Mary said lightly, a tremble in her voice, but she did not draw her hand away. “It is such a very small incision that I should have thought you would be in need of a magnifying glass to see it.”
“It is small but, in relation to your finger, undeniably large. I would advise most strongly that you leave the arrangement of the roses for someone else.”
“I should not like to put anyone else at risk of such an injury.”
“There!” he exclaimed, apparently delighted. “That is a clear acknowledgment that the wound is graver than you wish to own. Pray allow me to attempt the surgery. I offered to do it for you earlier but you seemed reluctant to allow me to try; I daresay you thought my hands too big and clumsy for such delicate work. Have I your permission now?”
“It is not necessary,” she replied, smiling. “I can ask one of the outside men to crush the stems with a hammer.”
“If it is a job for a man, pray allow me to perform it. I brought the roses and feel myself responsible for their welfare as well as yours.”
“It is very kind of you, my lord, but I cannot conceive why you should feel responsible for arranging the flowers merely because you gave them to us. Once the act of giving is complete, I am persuaded any further action should fall to the new owner.”
“But it seems to me that when I bestowed them upon you I had not fully understood the difficulties that would inevitably follow from such an improperly prepared gift,” he argued. “I have never picked flowers for a lady before; I have, I am afraid, merely bought them in the past. Only now do I appreciate the dangers inherent in such an impulsive gesture.”
Mary had been trying, without much success, to control the corners of her mouth, which would keep quivering into a smile during this courtly speech.
“Now you discover for yourself,” she said, “something of the cost of rash action.”
“Shall I,” he asked, fixing her with a look of such grave intensity that she could not look away, “find myself unable to cut another rose as a consequence?”
She flushed and her blue eyes blazed as she replied, “It seems you find my loss a subject for ridicule, my lord. I can only advise that, next time you wish to ingratiate yourself with a female, you return to your previous habit of purchasing something from a shop.”
“I shall make sure to do so; my intention was no more complicated than a desire to please. If I have angered you with an ill-chosen attempt at humour, I apologise.”
Mary, mollified, acknowledged, “They are very beautiful and I appreciate the gesture.”
He continued, still in a conciliating tone, “I came to make sure that you had recovered from your accident and also to make myself known to her ladyship. I picked the flowers because I thought, in view of the danger you put yourself in to reach the ones by the water, that you would value them.”
“I do; they are quite lovely and their scent fills the room. I am also not unaware that you too have suffered as a consequence of picking them. Perhaps what we should both learn from our encounters with flowers is that they should be left to bloom undisturbed.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed gently. “Plucking them and taking possession of them without their permission appears to trigger a somewhat defensive response on their part.”
Mary did not answer. Her eyes flew to his and what she saw there made her colour rise again, only this time from a different cause. She could not pretend not to understand his meaning any more than she could pretend that she disagreed with the sentiment he had expressed.
He took her hand and kissed it, holding it for a moment longer than was usual until she withdrew it and turned away to stare out of the window.
It was Lady Leland coughing which brought him back to a sense of his position in the old lady’s house and his unmannerly conduct in bidding her farewell a full half hour before he left the room.
“I am sorry, my lady,” he said at once, returning to her side.
“No, I am sorry,” she said quietly. “You have been torn to shreds by my companion as well as by the roses. Pray pay no heed. She will come about in due course.”
“I believe she already has,” he answered very low. “I should not have attempted to make a jest of a subject which clearly distresses her. I, too, can be rash.”
She held out her hand to him again, he bowed over it and left the room without another word.
“I will do them myself,” was the cool reply.
“Do you suppose you will be able to without impaling yourself upon the scissors again?” her ladyship enquired in a conversational tone.
Mary came away from the window and returned to the table. “Perfectly, so long as I am not observed and I do not have to do so while my finger is wrapped in a large handkerchief.”
“Perhaps you would feel happier if I left the room?”
“Of course I would not; it would be quite outrageous in me to expect you to do so, but his lordship’s presence is unsettling.”
“Indeed.”
Mary tossed her head and her ladyship kindly refrained from making any further remarks while her companion attended to the roses, arranging them carefully in the two vases. When she had done and all were standing proudly in water, the superfluous pieces of stalk and a few extraneous leaves resting in the bowl, she said, “Pray bring me my vase; I should like to smell them.”
Mary did so and rang the bell again to request removal of the rubbish as well as the coffee and Madeira. She left her own flowers upon the table.
“He was not intimidated by you,” the old lady observed when Mary had sat down again.
“No; I was intimidated by him.”
“Nonsense! You were stimulated by him. I am beginning to think that falling in the river was one of the most sensible things you have ever done. Now, encouraged by his example in not allowing himself to be browbeaten by you, I feel I should come clean about my actions yesterday. While you were engaged in procuring the services of a hero, I spent the afternoon with an exceedingly dreary man by the name of Morgan. He is to return later with the proper papers so that I may sign my new will.”
“Are you going to leave your effects to Lord Marklye?” Mary asked, taking refuge in humour.
“Pray do not be absurd! Of course I am not: he has no need of any additional funds and I am sure his home is furnished in the very pink of fashion. I look forward to seeing it next week. But I am determined to make certain that you are not left destitute when I shuffle off this mortal coil, an eventuality which, at my age, may take place at any time.”
“I have told your ladyship countless times that what you have already given me over the years is more than enough. There is little doubt in my mind that, if you leave me anything more than the odd bracelet, I shall likely be accused of having exerted undue influence over you and be given over to the law myself.”
“Not if I do it now while everyone who knows me can attest to my being of sound mind. If I wait much longer I may either be dead or reduced to a dribbling wreck. I already find that I cannot remember where I have left my spectacles; why, it is only a matter of time before I fail to recognise you, dear Miss Best. And, what is more, I do not take kindly to your deciding on my behalf to whom I should leave my worldly goods. Do you already believe me incapable of knowing my own mind?”
This last was uttered in such a sharp tone that Mary was forced to acknowledge that her reluctance to benefit from her ladyship’s affection seemed to that lady almost to be a rejection of her love.
Lady Leland continued somewhat impatiently, “There is really no need for you to feel uncomfortable about it. You will not, in any event, be able to continue to live here and lord it over the servants, which I daresay might be disagreeable, although I think they would soon become accustomed to a new mistress. This house is of course part of my late son’s estate and will immediately become available to the next dowager – his widow, I suppose, although I believe her to be perfectly happy where she is.
“You will be obliged to buy a house of your own and engage your own servants. If you wish, you can live abroad. I have made no stipulations except that the money must be used to purchase property and provide financial support for you for the rest of your life if you do not marry. If, one day, you decide to take a husband – and I own I hope that will not be long delayed - you will bring with you a substantial fortune. The other aspect to your having something of your own is that you will be in a position to choose a man you like – nay, even, love – rather than feeling obliged to snare one whose prime purpose is to support you. That is what I wish for you and that is what will allow me to die a happy woman.
“You know – for I have told you numerous times and am in danger of becoming a dead bore on the subject - that I would not be at all content if I thought that a large portion of my means would immediately be used to pay off my son-in-law’s debts. It is in any event too late for you to attempt to change my mind. The matter is in hand; Mr Morgan has been instructed and will no doubt be in the process of drafting the document.”
Mary, seeing that her ladyship’s mind was quite made up, took the fragile old hand and held it between her own. “Thank you. Have I been abominably ungracious, Ma’am?”
“Yes, my dear, you have, although I daresay it is from the best of motives. If the arrival of that letter from my daughter is any indication, it will not be long before I am subjected to another visit from her. Desiring at all costs to avoid her badgering me any further on the subject of my dispositions, I decided to deal with the matter immediately. That is why I sent for Mr Morgan and why I despatched you for a walk. It was fortuitous that you chose to fall in the river that afternoon, meet a hero and come home excessively late for I own I had been dreading your questioning me on the subject before it was all tied up. Fortunately, he had already left by the time you returned.”
“I saw him in the hall as I came in,” Mary admitted. “When do you expect him again?”
“This afternoon, so you may as well take another walk although I beg you not to fall in the river again unless you have first ascertained whether his lordship is near enough to rescue you. It would be too bad if you succeeded in drowning before you came into your fortune and wrote a will yourself.”
“I shall not go anywhere near the river,” Mary promised. “His lordship would think I had cast myself in on purpose if he were to be forced to rescue me again so soon. But, if my drowning is truly an anxiety for you, dear lady, would it not be prudent to allow him to teach me to swim?”
“Yes, probably – and now that I have met him, I must admit that I am positively eager for you to begin your lessons as soon as possible.”
Chapter 12
When Mary returned from her walk that afternoon - not beside the river – she met the same man she had seen the previous afternoon. He was accompanied by a young one, who blushed furiously when he saw her, so that she wondered if the older one had described the dishevelled female he had met before. This time she was correctly and demurely clad in a somewhat faded, but perfectly proper, pink dress and carried her spencer, freshly laundered and completely dry, over her arm. Her head was protected from the strong rays of the sun by a straw bonnet tied beneath her chin with pink ribbons.
“You are a very fortunate young woman,” the older man informed her so severely that Mary conjectured that he did not approve of the contents of the will, which he carried beneath his arm.
“Yes,” Mary agreed coldly. “I am not unaware of it.”
The lawyer folded his lips as though to indicate that that was the very least he expected and nodded distantly.
The young man, meanwhile, goggled at her in such an encroaching manner that she was obliged to repress a strong desire to slap him.
When she reached Lady Leland’s side, she found her looking exceedingly self-satisfied and said, “I must thank your ladyship. Judging from the parting remarks of the man I met in the hall, you have been exceedingly generous. The young one positively ogled me; I suppose he is already eyeing the fortune and wondering whether he might have a chance with a female who has until today belonged to a rank not dissimilar to his own.”
Lady Leland laughed. “He will no doubt be only the first of many who will be sniffing after you once they discover you
r prospects. Do not give him another thought, my dear, for I shall not be sending him an invitation to the Autumn Ball – nor yet the card party. But he will serve as a useful introduction to depressing pretensions. I assume you did depress them?”
“Oh, certainly. I gave him a withering look.”
“Good. It will be an entirely new experience for you, my dear, to find yourself the subject of intense interest to any number of aspiring fortune hunters. I have decided to announce to the neighbourhood that I have made you my heiress and we shall see what transpires as a result. I cannot think why I did not do so before. The minute that document was signed and witnessed, a load was lifted from my shoulders.”
“If I had known how happy you would be once you had done what I own I did not altogether approve of, I would not have tried to deflect you so strenuously. Pray forgive me for presuming to know best – and being proved wrong.”
“My dear! The only thing I can say in answer to that is that I am not quite in my dotage and do indeed know my own mind. Of course, you know yours too but I am persuaded you will adapt to the new situation soon enough. Now we shall see what Sir Adrian makes of you and whether he will find words come more readily to his lips.”
“He may think me a vastly improved package,” Mary said, “although I am not altogether certain that I wish to be courted on account of my prospects. Do you suppose he will get over his embarrassment and make a serious play for me?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t think he is on the look-out for a fortune although I daresay he would not turn up his nose at one; his embarrassment is merely a product of his infatuation. If he wishes to fix his interest with you, he will have to make a determined effort, particularly now that Marklye has entered the ring. To my mind, he is the kind of man who would marry a chambermaid if he fell in love with her but would make no bones about refusing a princess if he did not care for her. However, I think this makes you more equal with him – and that will do you good. You are no longer the beggar maid and can hold up your head as high as you like.