The Miser's Sister

by Carola Dunn

  Her victory pleased her, and she behaved well enough for Oliver to offer to take her out the next day. Unfortunately the weather was atrocious, sleet and high winds making it out of the question to venture forth unnecessarily.

  “You promised!” Letty whined at the breakfast table, but it was a token protest.

  They decided to play backgammon. The luck was with Oliver this time. He kept rolling doubles, and however much he cheated in her favour, Letty only managed to win twice. When he reached the point where one more game with a sore loser would have made him scream, he took her to his laboratory.

  He knew immediately that it was a mistake. Not only was she not interested, she did not wish to be reminded that she was residing in a family whose affluence proceeded from trade, a fact she had managed to suppress.

  “I cannot think why you should imagine that I might desire to see such things,” she said crossly. “Ruth may pretend to be fascinated, but I shall not lower myself so. Pray take me back to the drawing room at once.”

  “Willingly,” responded Oliver. “You may be sure I shall not again insult you with an invitation.” Looking on her as a selfish child, he was not hurt by her sneers, but his patience was at an end. He made no further attempts to entertain her, suddenly becoming very busy about his father’s business.

  Fortunately for everyone’s tempers, a diversion occurred, in the shape of a visitor.

  Ruth and Letty did not realise it, but until now their hostess had been very careful that they should not make any acquaintance of which their uncle might not approve. Even had she been in good health, however, she would have found it difficult to deal with the self-assured young Yorkshireman who now put in an appearance.

  Mr Snaith was the son of a manufacturer in whose mills Sir Edward had a considerable investment. Word had reached the Pardoes that the workers in Mr Snaith senior’s employ, mostly women and children, as was usual, were subject to the most deplorable conditions. Sir Edward, though a man who knew the value of a sovereign, would gladly forgo a proportion of his profits to assure reasonable treatment for these unfortunates. He had recently written to demand an accounting, and young Mr Snaith had been sent south to refute the accusations as best he might.

  Arriving on the Pardoes’ doorstep at seven o’clock one foggy evening, Mr Snaith assumed himself to be a welcome guest. After half an hour of his company, they were anxious to persuade him otherwise.

  “I am sorry that my mother is ill,” said Rose in desperation. “I fear it will be impossible to entertain you as we would wish.”

  “Pray offer Lady Pardoe assurances of my most sincere sympathy and desire for her rapid recuperation. I have always been given to understand that the climate of London is singularly insalubrious.”

  “You are quite right, my dear fellow,” Oliver quickly agreed. “Especially for those who are unused to it. However, we have any number of excellent hotels in the neighbourhood. Visitors to the City often put up at the Peacock or the Blue Boar, and I have heard both highly recommended.”

  “In our part of Yorkshire, the Cross Keys at Leeds is generally reckoned to be a superior hostelry.”

  “Then, of course, there is the King’s Head, noted for the softness of its featherbeds, and the Royal Oak with its famous winecellar.”

  “The Hare and Hounds at Sheffield is also much admired. Lady Laetitia, I daresay you have travelled a good deal?”

  The thick-skinned Snaith was a young fellow of middle height, with a distinct tendency towards corpulence and aspirations to dandyism. The height of his collar, his grass-green coat and yellow pantaloons, completely cast Oliver’s black and white elegance in the shade, at least as far as Letty was concerned. All evening she drank in his words, until Rose and Oliver decided there must be something to be said for anyone who could so absorb her attention.

  Mr Snaith stayed to dinner and settled himself comfortably at Letty’s side in the drawing room afterward. The tea tray came and went, and still he showed not signs of taking his leave.

  “I’ll order the carriage for you,” offered Oliver hopefully.

  Mr Snaith waved an airy hand and continued his conversation. “I’d better tell Mrs Larkin to prepare a bedchamber,” Rose whispered to her brother with a sigh of resignation.

  On the morrow, it was plain that Mr Snaith considered himself fixed for the duration of his stay in London. Sir Edward being engaged elsewhere for the whole day, Rose had the brilliant notion of suggesting that Letty should show Mr Snaith the sights. She thought no harm could come of it with John Coachman and Cora in attendance.

  Enchanted with the idea of being seen abroad with such a fine beau, Letty was all compliance.

  “It is too kind of you, Lady Laetitia,” bowed Mr Snaith. “The presence of such a charming young lady must increase immeasurably the inevitable exaltation of one who beholds the wonders of the capital for the first time. I anticipate no ordinary measure of satisfaction from your unexpected participation in this excursion, Lady Laetitia.”

  He reminded Ruth of Walter, except that he toadied instead of condescending, and she had no reason to suppose his intentions to be half so kindly.

  Mr Snaith stayed a whole week, by the end of which even Letty’s infatuation was beginning to fade. His endless compliments were flattering but couched in such flowery language that it quite exhausted her to puzzle out his meaning. He had no better success with Sir Edward, who remained far from convinced that all was well in the Yorkshire mills. Oliver received instructions to pack his bag and accompany Mr Snaith on his return to the north. A personal inspection was indicated.

  “I fear I shall not be back before you remove to your uncle’s house,” he told Ruth. “May I hope to call on you there?”

  “Of course, Mr Pardoe, how can you doubt it? I shall never be able to express my gratitude to you for rescuing me from my horrid situation, and...”

  “Say no more.” He pressed her hand. “Only pity me for being shut up in a chaise for three or, God forbid, four days with our new acquaintance. Goodbye, my dear.”

  This farewell left the two with greatly differing feelings. Oliver was once again persuaded that gratitude was the most he could expect from Ruth. On the other hand, she felt for days the pressure of his fingers on hers and treasured his final words in her heart.

  Chapter 12

  One morning a few days after Oliver’s departure, Ruth and Sir Edward sat at breakfast in the morning room. The other ladies being late risers, Ruth had come to know her host well over the breakfast table, and though both missed Oliver’s cheerful presence, there was no lack of conversation.

  Sir Edward was expatiating upon one of the reform bills now before Parliament, when footsteps and voices were heard in the hall, the door swung open, and in came a tall, thin gentleman. Sir Edward jumped to his feet, but before he could utter a word, his hand was being pumped vigorously and the visitor cried, “My dear Edward, congratulations, congratulations! I cannot sufficiently express my delight at the news. A baronetcy, no less! Magnificent! And where are my nieces, Sir Edward? You have them safe?”

  The new baronet extricated his mangled hand with some difficulty.

  “Of course, John. Oliver brought them up to Town two months since, as I told you in my note. Delightful young ladies, and here is Lady Ruth waiting to greet you. Your uncle, Sir John Hadrick, my dear.”

  Ruth curtsied shyly and was promptly enveloped in an embrace that left her in no doubt of being welcomed. He took her chin in his hand and studied her face.

  “Yes, child, you have something of the look of poor Millicent, something about the eyes.” Sir John sighed. “And where is your sister, my dear? Still abed?”

  “Yes, sir. Letty is no early bird. How happy I am to see you, uncle! Is my aunt well?”

  “Somewhat fatigued after our journey, or she would be here to welcome you with me. We arrived from Paris only last night, you know. Well, I shall see Letty later, and you will both remove to Curzon Street as soon as may be.”

 
; “Sir Edward and Lady Pardoe have been exceptionally kind to us, uncle. We shall be sorry to leave...”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I’d not have entrusted Millicent’s girls to anyone else. Now you must excuse me, my dear Ruth. I have a deal of political business to discuss with Mr... Sir Edward, after my long absence.”

  It did not take Ruth long to discover that her uncle, though sincerely delighted to receive her and Letty into his home and most affectionate when he saw them, was an excessively busy man. As Member of Parliament for a pocket borough in East Anglia, he took his duties extremely seriously. It was through his political activities that he had become intimate with Edward Pardoe, both being active Whigs of long standing in a period when Reformist ideas were anathema to the Tory government.

  In recent years, Sir John had made a number of excellent investments, advised by Sir Edward, and he was now in a position to offer a home to his nieces, and even to bring out Letty at his own expense. He later apologised profoundly to Ruth for having been unable to do the same for her.

  “Pray do not be concerned, uncle,” she assured him. “I doubt very much whether I should have taken, and it would have been so much effort and expense wasted. Letty is far more suited to take the Ton by storm.”

  “Pretty chit, pretty chit,” he muttered as he raced off to some appointment.

  With this his wife agreed. Plump and indolent, she had been far from pleased at having two unknown girls thrust upon her, but noting Letty’s fair, youthful attractions, she foresaw a triumph and was reconciled to the notion.

  “I do not know what we shall be able to do for you, however,” she declared, looking critically at Ruth. “The present fashion is for blondes, and besides your age is against you. I am sorry to have to say it, Ruth, but you are practically upon the shelf. I shall do my best, of course, but I fear it will be to no avail.”

  Having no illusions, Ruth was undismayed. However, if she hoped to avoid her aunt’s ministrations, she was out of luck. Aunt Hadrick was not at all willing to introduce to the Polite World a little brown thing in whom she could see no sign of beauty.

  “We must at least attempt to remedy your complexion,” she announced. “We shall pad your hair, and you must wear high-heeled slippers; that will add a few inches to your height.”

  “Do you think it necessary, Aunt?” Ruth asked in alarm. “I have no desire to cut a figure in society, and had rather you concentrated your kindness upon Letty.”

  “She will certainly better repay my efforts,” sighed Aunt Hadrick, “but we must do what we can for you, Ruth. It will not do to have you looking a fright.”

  Ruth did not consider herself quite an antidote, but she submitted to lying for hours together with her face plastered with crushed strawberries, or distilled water of pineapples, or even slices of raw veal.

  “Though that is generally thought to be a remedy for wrinkles, of which I do not believe you yet show signs. You must avoid smiling, Ruth, or you will be getting crows’ feet at your eyes, which you cannot afford.”

  Though Ruth saw no change in her complexion, Lady Hadrick declared herself satisfied after three afternoons of facepacks. Ruth suspected she had abandoned hope.

  While Ruth was flat on her back, Letty had once again been measured for a new wardrobe. Aunt Hadrick considered the gowns chosen under the aegis of Lady Pardoe to be quite ineligible.

  “She is the wife of a baronet now,” admitted Lady Hadrick, whose own rank that was, “but she is still a Cit, and we cannot expect a Cit to have any idea of what is worn in fashionable circles.”

  Unfortunately, Mlle Denise, the modiste patronised by Lady Pardoe, was quite above the touch of Lady Hadrick, who had, besides, no natural good taste to guide her. Inferior dressmakers could not spoil Letty’s charming figure, but when it was Ruth’s turn to be outfitted, she finally put her foot down. She was not about to be turned into a regular quiz at her uncle’s expense. Better a few well-designed dresses than a wardrobe full of unwearable clothes.

  Looking at herself in the glass Chez Maisie, she saw a dumpy figure in a multitude of white frills that destroyed her natural elegance and turned her sallow. Two months ago she would not have known the difference. Now, she knew that it was possible for her to appear acceptable, and she turned to her aunt.

  “I do not think this is quite my style, Aunt,” she announced quietly but firmly.

  “It is sweetly pretty, my dear Ruth. I do not know how you can say such a thing.”

  “It suits madamwahzel to perfection,” gushed Maisie anxiously.

  “Thank you, Aunt, but I have quite enough dresses to last a little while. I should wish to look about me at what other people are wearing this season before I order any more.”

  “Very well,” Lady Hadrick agreed, feeling perhaps that anything she purchased for her irremediable niece would simply be good money thrown away. “You shall make do for the moment with what you have. Come girls, let us go to Grafton House and choose some silk stockings, and Ruth must at least have some new gloves.”

  Duty satisfied, she raised only minor objections when Ruth refused to let her maid build up her brown curls over a massive and mismatched pad of horsehair.

  “I daresay you will not wear high heels either, miss,” she snapped. “Very well, I wash my hands of you, and so I shall tell your uncle. I must be satisfied that Letty’s sweet looks will compensate me for your ingratitude.”

  Ruth was cowed but unrepentant. And how much her uncle cared for his wife’s strictures was shown when he presented both girls with narrow jewelry boxes on one of the rare occasions when he was home for dinner.

  “I have given Letty pearls,” he said. “Lady Pardoe agrees that they are most suitable for a young girl. And for you, my dear, she suggested this.”

  The box opened to display, resting on black velvet, a dainty topaz pendant. It seemed to have flames concealed within its depths and Ruth was at once certain that it would perfectly complement her first evening gown.

  “Thank you, Uncle!” she cried with shining eyes. “How kind you are to us.”

  He kissed her forehead.

  “I have always been sorry that I could do so little for poor Millicent,” he murmured. “It is too late now, alas, so I must make it up to her daughters.”

  “I am sure it is very generous of your uncle,” said Lady Hadrick severely. “I hope you will always try to deserve his good opinion, Ruth. And Letty,” she added as an afterthought.

  Heartened by Sir John’s support, Ruth announced the next morning that she and Letty must call on the Pardoes. She had suggested a visit several times during the week since their removal, only to be put off upon one pretext or another by Lady Hadrick or her sister.

  “I cannot go this morning,” Letty objected. “The hairdresser is coming to try a new style.”

  “And this afternoon I intend to take you both to call on Lady Perrin and Mrs Vaughn,” invented their aunt hurriedly. “It is time you made some acquaintance among the Ton, for the season will soon be in full swing.”

  “You will have to excuse us, Aunt,” responded Ruth with what Lady Hadrick described as her stubborn face. “It is unthinkable that we should put off our visit to our friends any longer.”

  “How can you call them friends?” asked Letty scornfully. “They are mere Cits and I do not see that we owe them any special condescension.”

  Ruth was shocked by this speech, which she at once ascribed to Lady Hadrick’s influence. Nor was she to be dissuaded from her objective.

  “You will come with me, Letty,” she said quietly. Her sister knew that voice and sulkily prepared to give in. “The Pardoes took us in when we had nowhere to go, and were they charcoal-burners we should owe them every observance of civility. I am happy to call them my friends, and I shall ask my uncle’s leave to invite them to visit me in his house.”

  “There is no need to do that, miss!” her aunt told her sharply. “Sir Edward is a political associate of Sir John, and, of course, his family may call. I dar
esay I shall come with you to the Pardoes. Sir John reminded me just last night that I had not yet offered my congratulations. I am sure I have had enough on my mind this last week to try a saint.”

  Glad to have carried her point, Ruth held her tongue, even when she heard Lady Hadrick whisper to Letty: “They may very well be out, you know.”

  Determined to do all in her power to avert that possibility, she ventured to ask the butler, Jameson, to have a note delivered.

  Thus it was that when Lady Hadrick’s coachman rang the Pardoes’ bell, he was at once informed that her ladyship and Miss Rose were at home.

  Lady Hadrick’s congratulations to Lady Pardoe on her husband’s recent elevation were stately in the extreme. Lady Hadrick went on to spend the next fifteen minutes recalling anecdotes illustrative of the seniority of the Hadricks’ baronetcy, a creation of the Restoration. She then called Letty and Ruth to her and announced her intention of departing.

  This, Ruth was quite unready to do. After a brief moment of awkwardness, she and Rose had quickly recovered their old intimacy, and a quarter of an hour was by no means an adequate visit.

  “Pray do not wait for me, Aunt,” she said cheerfully. “I may very well walk home. It cannot be much above two miles, and I daresay anyone will be able to direct me.”

  “You are not on your Cornish moors now, Ruth,” Lady Hadrick pointed out in awful tones. “It is quite unthinkable that you should do anything of the sort, and I shall be unable to send the carriage for you later. Come!”

  “Why, Lady Hadrick,” interposed Lady Pardoe placidly, “let the girls chat a little longer. I shall be happy to send Lady Ruth home in our carriage when she is ready.”

  “Surely that is unexceptionable, Aunt. I shall accept Lady Pardoe’s kind offer.”

  Lady Hadrick had already learned when it was useless to argue with her obstinate niece. She took her leave in no cordial mood.