Lady Bountiful

by Laura Matthews

  And indeed she seemed perfectly content with her new home. She had a handsome jointure and particularly devoted servants, so that her days were given over to her first love—minding the business of all the county, and especially the happenings at Tarnlea. If she had not already been invited to tea before the advent of Lord Meacham, she would surely have managed a morning call as soon as she was informed of his arrival. Mere gossip was not her intent, for she was a shrewd woman not at all reticent in passing along her very bracing advice and original wisdom.

  She found it unconscionable that such a delightful young lady as Drucilla—so fashionably fair and pretty!—should be relegated to the country without hope of discovering an eligible match. Lady Nibthwaite had done her best to introduce to Drucilla's notice any eligible gentleman who happened to wander through the Lake District for business, pleasure, or family obligations. She could not, however, blame that young lady for her lack of interest in anyone presented thus far.

  Lady Nibthwaite's first impression of the viscount was favorable. Her astute gaze took him in all at a glance, and she judged him to be quite an eligible parti for her dear Drucilla. She could not tell from the way they behaved toward each other whether this possibility had occurred to either of them, and she considered it her duty to make certain that it did. She set about acquiring the necessary information.

  "Have you left your wife at Meacham Court?" she asked as she helped herself to one of the macaroons for which Mrs. Kamidge was famous.

  He answered politely, if with a trace of dryness, "I am not married, ma'am."

  "At your age? The girls in your district must be backward indeed! And do you never go to London?"

  "Several times a year, Lady Nibthwaite. And in my younger days, I lived there for long periods. You must excuse me if I mistake the issue, but I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting you there."

  "As to that, I never go. Though I would have done," she said, turning her gaze toward Drucilla, "had my wishes been given due consideration."

  "It was not to be, ma'am, as you well know." Drucilla poured tea into a fragile cup and passed it to Lord Meacham. "Besides, it would have been the blind leading the blind. You knew nothing of London society."

  "We would have managed."

  Meacham, realizing that doubtless this discussion had occurred before, asked, "Is your home nearby, Lady Nibthwaite?"

  "No more than three miles. In winter it can be a difficult drive, with the snow so very likely to make a hazard of the roads, but I will most always venture forth to see my dear Miss Carruthers and Miss Script."

  Drucilla passed the biscuits to Miss Script, saying, "And we're obliged to you, ma'am. We would become quite secluded here in December were it not for seeing neighbors such as yourself. Do you go to your son for Christmas?"

  "Yes, for Caroline has just made a very interesting announcement." There was a sly twinkle in Lady Nibthwaite's eyes. "By next Christmas we are to have a new member of the family. Did I not tell you that children would come soon? How very forward-thinking of me to have settled into the dower house in good time, was it not?"

  "Indeed it was," Drucilla agreed.

  Lady Nibthwaite, pursuing another avenue that had been traversed any number of times, expostulated, "The nonsensical boy would look for a wife amongst the Russells—you must understand, Lord Meacham, that their land marches with his—and Caroline is undoubtedly the finest of the five girls. I have nothing to say against her, but when he could have aligned himself with Miss Carruthers! I could scarcely bear to see the direction of his affections. As if Caroline Russell could hold a candle to Drucilla!"

  "Really, ma'am, you put me to the blush," Drucilla protested. "I can think of no couple better suited to each other than your son and his bride."

  The dowager laughed with real amusement. "You have the right of it, of course. Such a very dull man as he has become! I don't think he inherited it from my side of the family, but there, who is to comprehend these matters? Have you brothers and sisters, Lord Meacham?"

  "Two sisters, ma'am, both married and settled in Gloucester."

  "That is fortunate for you, if you like them."

  He acknowledged this truth with a whimsical smile. "I do. And I am in rather a push to return to Gloucester to spend the holidays with them and their families."

  Drucilla said, "You must not let us hold you here, Lord Meacham. Once you have seen the cottages and satisfied yourself as to their appropriateness, I believe you may feel perfectly safe in driving off again."

  Meacham regarded her with pensive eyes. "You wouldn't be trying to hasten my departure, would you, Miss Carruthers?"

  "Certainly not! But we do very little in the way of Christmas celebration here, you must understand, because of my father's condition and the exp—, the thinness of company at this time of year. The longer you stay here, the more danger you court of being outflanked by the weather. We very often have storms at this time of year that make the roads impassable."

  Lady Nibthwaite regarded her with astonishment.

  "But, my dear, that has only happened once in the last score of years! I feel certain we have no fear of heavier weather in the next week. His lordship will surely find no difficulty in returning to his home after he has spent a decent amount of time making your acquaintance. And as to the thinness of company at this time of year, you know you are always included in our plans for Christmas dinner if you would but come."

  "I do know," Drucilla said sincerely, pressing the dowager's hand. "You are all kindness, ma'am. Perhaps this year Miss Script and I will allow ourselves to be persuaded."

  But there was a hesitancy in her voice that made this seem unlikely. Whether it was because she wished to remain at home with her father, or not to intrude on another's family circle, or for some other reason entirely, was unclear to Meacham.

  When Lady Nibthwaite rose to leave, he accompanied her to her carriage, an older but comfortable-looking conveyance that had been brought round by her coachman. Miss Carruthers and Miss Script had said their good-byes in the warm salon, so Meacham stood alone with her on the front stairs, even though he was dressed only for indoors in coat and pantaloons.

  "I recognize your partiality to Miss Carruthers, Lady Nibthwaite, so I think you may be the very person to answer a question for me. Do you not think the running of Tarnlea, both the house and the lands, along with the management of her father's health, too great a burden for such a young person?"

  "Too great a burden?" that august woman ejaculated. "My dear fellow, Drucilla is the most capable woman I know to be doing precisely what she is."

  "Oh, I don't doubt that. But she has been to a deal of trouble over the state of the farms and cottages these last few years."

  "So I should think, the condition they were in! Quite shameful it was. Not that I wish to speak ill of those who can no longer defend themselves, but there it is."

  Lady Nibthwaite had moved toward her carriage as she spoke. The door was being held open for her by a servant, and as she appeared ready to be handed in, Meacham elegantly provided this service, but could not restrain himself from asking, before the door was closed upon her, "Would you be able to advise me as to why Sir Lawrence neglected his tenants even before he became ill?"

  The dowager settled a blanket over her legs. "The past no longer concerns me, sir. It is the future—Drucilla's future—that is of the utmost importance."

  "I am not here to make Miss Carruthers's life more difficult, ma'am. It seems to me that I may very well be able to alleviate some its... tedium."

  "I believe you could." Lady Nibthwaite regarded him with keen eyes. "Understand that though I believe Drucilla perfectly capable of the tasks she has undertaken, the onerous charge has severely limited her life, and will continue to do so if changes are not made. But any rearrangement of the situation at Tarnlea must take into account her sincere affection for her father and her need to see past neglect corrected."

  Meacham bowed in acknowledgment of her
assessment and stepped back. She gave an imperious tap on the ceiling of her carriage, and the coachman urged the horses forward. The viscount, frowning slightly, watched until the vehicle had disappeared around the bend in the carriage drive.

  Coming back into the warmth of the house, he could not help but picture the two Tarnlea ladies alone in the large dining room on Christmas, with no outward sign of its being a day different from any other. A distinct melancholy gripped his mind. Miss Carruthers, Meacham felt, was not meant to dwindle away in obscurity in the country. Without a doubt she was meant to be the laughing, delightful hostess of some large family party of her own.

  Meacham wondered briefly if perhaps one of his sisters could present Miss Carruthers in London, even at this late date, but his common sense acknowledged the impossibility of the scheme. Miss Carruthers was not likely to leave Tarnlea, with her father mentally deranged and the burden of both the household and estate management on her shoulders. There was a great deal more to be set right at Tarnlea than he had suspected when he began the two-hundred-mile drive there, and very little time in which to do it.

  * * * *

  The following afternoon Drucilla took the precaution of donning her most fetching riding habit and bonnet, which were a deep shade of blue she knew to be flattering to her fair looks. The viscount had been gone for the entire morning and had arrived back at Tarnlea only in time for lunch. There had been a number of parcels in his curricle, the disposal of which he had arranged for with Hastings in a murmured discussion in the entry hall.

  Drucilla was extremely curious as to what Lord Meacham might have bought, but she could not feel it would be polite to ask him straight out, and her efforts to be circumspect at luncheon had failed entirely to produce the slightest clue.

  Lord Meacham smiled appreciatively at her riding costume, and handed her up onto her mare with a grave gallantry. This was in every way the opposite of that gauche twelve-year-old she'd met so many years ago. As was his capability with a horse. He had chosen to ride her father's favorite horse, a large roan stallion that only the most competent of the stable boys even attempted to exercise.

  Sir Lawrence, by some quirk of mind, had continued to ask after the horse, Standish, and Drucilla liked having him exercised where her father could watch from his window. She looked up now to see the baronet's white head pressed against the glass, and she waved a cheerful hand at him as she said, "I trust the lads have warned you about Standish, Lord Meacham. He's a bit of a handful."

  "So I'm told."

  Drucilla's own horse, a small gray mare, was well behaved and wonderfully smooth-gaited. Since Meacham held back his horse so that she could lead the way over the lightly snow-covered ground, she had a chance to witness his superb control of his animal. Standish did not like following other horses and champed at the bit to be off with his rider. Meacham handled his prancing and sidling with a firm hand and neither annoyance nor alarm.

  Once in the pasture, Drucilla allowed Glory to stretch out into a canter and then, with an encouraging look from Meacham, into a gallop. Standish could have outdistanced the little mare easily, but Meacham held him in check, side by side with the gray mare.

  "Oh, let him out," Drucilla urged. "My father will love to see him run for all he's worth. I'll meet you at the home wood."

  Following at a distance, Drucilla acknowledged that Meacham and Standish were a magnificent sight. Sir Lawrence had been a masterful rider, but without any of the viscount's grace. When Meacham rode, there was an air of excitement, even exhilaration, about him that Drucilla had not previously detected. Standish seemed to sense it as well, and lengthened his stride until he almost appeared to be flying. Even the gray mare flicked her ears at the sight of them.

  When at last she came up with them, Meacham's face wore a wry grin. "Lord, I'd love to own this horse," he said.

  "In time you will," she reminded him, her dimples peeking out.

  "That was not my meaning, Miss Carruthers. I should like to purchase him from Sir Lawrence."

  "My father still has an affection for Standish. He continues to ask about him and he loves to see him ridden. It would be wrong to take that pleasure away from him.

  "Besides, how would we manage such a sale? You don't believe my father capable of any business dealings, and you don't approve of my conducting them."

  Meacham raised his brows. "Surely I haven't been so rude as to say any such thing."

  She shrugged her narrow shoulders. "No, but you have thought it. And I have no doubt that you have resolved on having my father declared incompetent at the next quarter sessions. Which would place you in charge of Tarnlea."

  "Your conclusions are somewhat premature, my dear. Shall we just take one step at a time?"

  Drucilla could only nod and bite her lip.

  Within ten minutes they had reached the first of the tenant cottages. Smoke drifted from each of the chimneys, giving a snug aspect to the snowy scene. There were three groups of them on the estate, of five cottages each, and it had taken her the last two years to bring all of them into acceptable condition.

  A number of tasks remained to be accomplished, but Drucilla was grateful that at least the major work had been completed. As the solicitor, Mr. Wicker, had become more and more uncomfortable with the estate expenses, she had attempted to push the renovation schedule forward, but winter was not a time when a great deal of construction could take place.

  "Two years ago these were ramshackle buildings with open fires in them that blackened everything in sight," Drucilla explained as Meacham helped her down from the gray mare. "There was no water within easy reach and no privies for proper sanitation. Each cottage had only one large room, no matter how numerous a family occupied it. Now there are several divisions in each building, and often a loft above. And there is a pump for water indoors."

  The viscount was contemplating the neat cottages with interest. "Not everyone would have thought a pump necessary for the cottagers, Miss Carruthers," he remarked, though with no disapproval in his tone.

  "It was a simple enough matter to arrange when we were doing such extensive work. These poor people had suffered for many years with inadequate facilities. I cannot think it will spoil them to have a decent living space."

  "Why was it that their quarters were so deficient even before Sir Lawrence became so ill?" he inquired as he tied their horses to a railing, giving Standish an encouraging pat.

  Miss Carruthers, no more than John Thomas or Lady Nibthwaite, vouchsafed him an answer to this query. "Shall we go in?" Drucilla suggested. "I've brought some treats for the children, which will provide an excuse. And, of course, the Brewsters will be pleased to meet you."

  The family seemed less pleased than curious, perhaps, but held wide their door to Miss Carruthers. Mrs. Brewster curtsied to Meacham and bid him welcome, while her husband asked after Sir Lawrence's health. Two children peeked shyly from behind a doorway.

  While the couple toured his lordship over their small kingdom, Drucilla beckoned to the children. When they came hesitantly to join her by the fire, she handed each a foil-wrapped confection that she had brought with her. The little girl dropped a sweet curtsy and the younger boy said, "Thank you, miss," with an adorable lisp that made Drucilla want to hug them.

  Before they left, she promised that she and Miss Script would be bringing pillows for the children's cots for Boxing Day. "We've had goose down and goose feathers all over the winter parlor," she admitted, laughing. "But we're almost finished."

  As Meacham handed her up onto her horse, Drucilla noted his puzzled frown. "You make a very gracious Lady Bountiful," he said, not unkindly, "but I cannot think that is the motivation behind all this renovation."

  "I have explained that the cottages were not fit to be occupied, sir."

  "Yes, but neither you nor anyone else has explained to me why you have taken such a demanding task upon yourself," he persisted as he swung himself onto Standish.

  "It is my firm belief that the cottage
rs and their children will be healthier and happier because of their improved living conditions. And if they are healthier and happier, they will be more productive."

  Meacham regarded her with a reproachful gaze. "What is it you are so afraid of telling me, Miss Carruthers? Do you think I will be censorious? John Thomas has already shown me that the previous estate manager defrauded the estate. Come, is there something worse?"

  "You cannot like it that your inheritance has been depleted."

  "My dear lady, I have more than enough property for any man. I'm not so concerned with the expenses as with the condition of the estate. I would have done no less than you have, had I found the tenant conditions at Tarnlea so deplorable as you say. And I certainly don't hold you responsible for the previous situation. Are you trying to protect your father?"

  "He's a good man."

  "I don't doubt that he is. Yet you are obviously embarrassed by the deterioration he allowed even before his illness."

  "It was not his fault."

  The viscount's brows rose. "If not his, then whose?"

  Drucilla nudged Glory forward, and the viscount fell in beside her. "He should have paid more attention to the estate, but he trusted his estate manager," she said, not looking at him. "That was imprudent of him, of course. Would that I had been older at the time and more aware of what was going on!"

  "You had more than enough responsibility at such a young age, taking care of household matters. How could you be expected to recognize that problems were developing with the estate?"

  This view held little consolation for Drucilla. "How could I not have noticed such misery as the cottagers suffered? The children were forever sick. I brought them soups and gruels from our kitchen, but I considered it not at all out of the ordinary. And yet I was never sick as a child, living in that big house with a fire any time I wanted one, and more than enough food to sustain me."

  "We are all guilty of being blind to the suffering of others from time to time, dear lady. You have done more than most to remedy any unconscious fault."