The Fugitive Heiress

by Amanda Scott

  She awoke early the following morning. Not bothering to ring for Mary, she dressed quickly in a simple round gown and found her way to the schoolroom. It gave view to the east, where the glow of sunrise outlined dark trees. She was not surprised to hear voices in the nursery and entered to find Ashley sitting on the edge of Teddy’s cot. The boy seemed restless.

  “Relax, Teddy. You are quite safe. It is only the medicine making you feel queer.” His voice was gentle, soothing. Something made him turn and he saw Catheryn. “I’m glad you came. Look, Teddy. Look who’s here.”

  The boy’s feverish eyes rested upon her and she thought he relaxed a little, but his voice was weak. “You came.” He closed his eyes. Ashley’s brows knit.

  “He’s been drifting in and out this past hour and more. I don’t like it. Seems feverish, too, and complains of the headache. What do you think?”

  Catheryn hoped her smile was reassuring, though she felt anything but confident. “It’s most likely the drug, as you said yourself, sir. My grandfather commonly took laudanum in the last years to help him sleep and was a constant victim of morning headaches. Perhaps you might ring for some strong tea with plenty of milk and sugar. If it is only the drug, it will help, and if he has concussion it won’t harm him.”

  He did not question her judgment but went immediately to pull the bell in the schoolroom. Catheryn took his place on the cot. Laying a cool hand on Teddy’s forehead, she did not think him warm enough to have a fever. But then, she reminded herself, she had no idea whether fever accompanied concussion or not.

  Teddy opened his eyes. “Where is Richard, Cathy?”

  “In London, dear. He has been detained.”

  “He will be very angry.” He sighed deeply.

  “You deserve that he should be, do you not?” But she smiled gently. “Whatever possessed you to do such a foolish thing?”

  “Nat. He’s the best of good fellows. Full of ginger. Said I’d fall off, that I was pigeon-hearted. Had to try then.” He moved uncomfortably. “Didn’t know it would hurt so much.”

  “Teddy, did you land on your head when you fell?”

  He frowned. “I dunno. Remember riding. Don’t remember falling, only waking on the ground. Told ’em yesterday.” He sounded impatient.

  “They didn’t tell me.” She smoothed the tousled hair.

  “Did they tell you Blaze is all right? Wasn’t hurt a bit, Mr. Ashley said he bolted but Hobbs caught him easily enough. Did they tell you?”

  “I didn’t think to ask, Teddy, but I’m sure Dambroke will be glad the stupid animal is unharmed.”

  Her comment drew a weak grin, which had been its purpose. “He won’t ’preciate you calling Blaze stupid, you know. But you didn’t say when he’s coming,” he added anxiously.

  “I don’t know, Teddy.” She started to explain about the Prime Minister but soon realized he wasn’t listening, that he had drifted off again. She sat quietly for a moment, watching him, noting that his breathing was steady and lacked the harshness of the previous night. Relieved, she went to find Mr. Ashley. He was standing by the schoolroom window.

  “The tea will be here soon,” he said, “and I’ve sent for Quigley as well. I cannot like this. Even if it is only the drug, I’ll feel better if I hear it from him, since I must report to his lordship.”

  “Of course. I shall also be interested in his opinion, though Teddy spoke to me just now and seemed quite lucid. He’s anxious about what Dambroke will say about all this.”

  “Then he is in good company, is he not?” Ashley’s expression seemed almost grim, but a near twinkle lurked in his eye. She looked at him suspiciously, but there was no opportunity to question his meaning, since Teddy’s tea arrived at that moment.

  The boy awoke when they carried it in to him, and it revived him a bit. He still seemed drowsy but managed to stay awake until the doctor arrived. After introducing her to the grizzled old gentleman, Ashley suggested she might go along to the breakfast parlor, since Teddy would not appreciate her presence during the examination. She agreed to go only when he promised to report the doctor’s findings as soon as possible.

  Catheryn went downstairs to the first floor and a chambermaid directed her to a room filled with sunshine. The fact that the walls of the breakfast parlor were bright yellow with crisp white woodwork and a white marble mantle over the fireplace only added to the effect. It was a corner room facing south and east, and it was empty. She stepped to the window and found herself overlooking a courtyard flanked on two sides by double-story wings, which she later discovered to be the chapel wing on the north and a residential wing on the south. Mr. Ashley’s apartments were there, and Miss Felmersham’s were above his and connected to the breakfast parlor by means of a passageway. Beyond the courtyard was the low roofline of the stables and carriage house, then the succession houses, sloping well-scythed lawns, and the deer park.

  Catheryn loved watching the day wake up in the country, for the morning had an exhilarating freshness about it. Much of this flavor was lost in the bustle and noise of the city, particularly in London, which woke up so long before dawn, with the calls of street vendors and the rattle of milk wagons and other vehicles. She let out a long breath, drinking in the landscape. The warm courtyard evidently produced an early spring, and a circular flower bed in the center boasted red roses surrounded by circles of daisies, cornflowers, yellow pansies, and alyssum.

  “Have you rung for breakfast, Miss Westering?”

  Catheryn nearly jumped out of her skin. She whirled around to discover Miss Felmersham standing only a few feet to her right at the passage door, her head cocked a little to one side. If Catheryn had thought her odd the previous evening, there was certainly nothing in her matutinal appearance to alter that opinion though, admittedly, her hair was tidier. It had been brushed severely back from her face and forced at the nape of her neck into a tight little gray bun from which not one wisp had as yet dared to escape. But her costume was little short of sartorial disaster.

  From the down-at-heels boots to her tiny little waist, she was dressed for riding. Both boots and dun-colored skirt had seen better days, but they were as nothing compared to the disreputable thing that served as her upper garment. It was actually one of Dambroke’s shooting jackets, long since outgrown, which she had appropriated to her own use. One of the many bulging pockets was ripped, and several others showed distinct signs of having been mended, hastily and haphazardly, with varicolored threads. But the most outrageous detail, in Catheryn’s opinion, was the old leather belt fastened tightly around her middle over jacket and all. Extra holes had been punched in order to make the belt fit, but no one had bothered to adjust the length, and the excess leather simply dangled where it would. The whole incredible outfit was topped off by a dashing and expertly knitted red-and-white-patterned scarf knotted around her neck with its ends stuffed any which way into the front of the jacket.

  Catheryn realized she was staring rudely while Miss Felmersham waited for an answer to her question. She blushed. “I beg your pardon! I don’t know where my wits have wandered, ma’am. I was diverted by the view.” The warmth in her cheeks increased when she realized exactly what she had said.

  But Miss Felmersham did not seem the least disturbed. She strode purposefully toward the bell. “In effect, my dear Miss Westering, you have not rung.”

  “No, ma’am.” Catheryn had never had a governess, but she suddenly had the strangest feeling that if she had had one, that lady might have been very like Miss Felmersham, except for her manner of dress, of course.

  “No matter. Save a trip for someone. What about Ashley?”

  “He will be along momentarily, I believe,” Catheryn replied, dragging her eyes away from her hostess with difficulty. “He is with Teddy and Dr. Quigley.”

  “Good.” Miss Felmersham stepped briskly to the table and whisked out a chair. “Sit down, child, sit down! Doesn’t matter where. But do, for God’s sake, have a good hard look at me and be done with it! I dre
ss for my own convenience and no one else’s. You’ll get used to it.”

  Flushing to the roots of her hair, Catheryn begged her pardon but was ruthlessly told to sit down and put a sock in it, unless she had something of worth to impart. Meekly, she obeyed and sat staring at the polished surface of the table wishing she could think of something to say and thinking that even Dambroke at his fiercest would be more easily dealt with than this difficult old lady. Silence reigned for several seconds. Finally, she looked up to find Miss Felmersham, elbows on the table, staring at her with amusement. Her natural courage bolstered by that look, Catheryn asserted with only a hint of defensiveness that it was rather an odd costume.

  “I daresay.” Miss Felmersham let the propping hand fall to the table and directed a more piercing stare at her guest. “I expect I was rude to you last night. Never at my best when I’m wakened. Often rude anyway,” she added with wry candor and a slight shrug. “However, I think I might like you, Miss Westering. Believe you’ve got spunk. I shall call you Catheryn, and you’d best call me Miss Lucy like the rest of them. What’s going to be done about that dratted boy?”

  Completely disconcerted, Catheryn was grateful for the interruption of John the footman and two maids with their breakfast, or the first part of it at any rate. She discovered that Miss Lucy took only hot chocolate, toast, and fruit as a morning repast. She disdained early chocolate served in her bedchamber, saying she disliked crumbs in her bed and had a nagging fear that Belinda, her cat, would overset the tray one day. As for having it served upon a table in her room rather than in bed, why, if she were to arise from the bed at all, she was certainly capable of tottering so far as the breakfast parlor—quite the closest room in the main house to her own—to be served in a proper Christian style. As a result of her well-known tastes, the servants had not arrived empty-handed but produced a basket of fresh fruits from the succession houses, a large silver pot of chocolate, and a covered basket of fresh buttered toast. John ascertained that Miss Westering preferred an expanded menu, and she agreed enthusiastically to his smiling suggestion of a cheese omelet prepared in the French style, to be accompanied by thin slices of Yorkshire ham. In the meantime, she helped herself to toast, jam, and chocolate.

  Mr. Ashley arrived as the servants were leaving, paused long enough to confer briefly with the footman, and then took his place at the table. He smiled. “Good morning, Miss Lucy.” She bent her head in response and he continued, “You will both be pleased to know that Quigley thinks Teddy is going to be fine. He looked him over carefully and believes he is only shaking off the effects of the drug, just as you thought, Miss Westering.”

  “Oh, I am glad!” Her relief checked when he frowned. “There’s more, Mr. Ashley?”

  “Well, he thinks the boy does have a mild concussion and doesn’t want to dose him any more if it can be avoided, since the stuff seems to affect him so severely. Said he ought to have shaken off the small amount he gave him last night well before dawn. At any rate, Teddy’s going to be in a good deal of pain and will likely have trouble sleeping. I’m afraid it will mean a lot of nursing, if only to make certain that he stays put and doesn’t die of boredom. Your Mary is with him now. She came looking for you and offered to stay. And Mark will be here later this morning. I know he will help keep the boy entertained, though Teddy won’t be wanting lessons for a while yet. Mark’s a great one for reading aloud and for making up hair-raising tales as well.”

  “I’m certain he will be very helpful, and I know I can depend upon Mary. We’ll do nicely, sir.”

  “Well, there’s servants aplenty,” declared Miss Lucy, “which is a blessing, since the Lord knows I’m no nursemaid.” She pushed back her chair. “I’ve things to do, so if you’ll excuse me….” She nodded in her curt way and left the room.

  Catheryn stared after the old lady, her temper aroused by the suggestion that Teddy should be tended by servants. Ashley, watching closely, seemed to read her mind. “Miss Lucy is a bit disconcerting at first,” he said quietly, “but she is only being honest when she says she is no nursemaid. She hasn’t the patience for it. She’ll leave Teddy to you, Miss Westering, and I know you will not be distressed by her blunt manner. She dotes on his lordship, but no one would know it from the way she speaks to him.”

  Since he seemed to expect it, she returned a smile, but her heart wasn’t in it. Embarrassed that he had read her thoughts so accurately, she still didn’t quite know what to think about Miss Lucy, and she didn’t particularly want to think about Dambroke at all. The servants arrived with breakfast, and their conversation turned to Ashley’s forthcoming journey. The chaise had been ordered for half past nine.

  XVI

  AFTER BREAKFAST, CATHERYN WISHED Ashley a safe and speedy journey and returned to the schoolroom feeling a little forlorn. At least while Ashley remained she knew she had an ally. Once he had gone she couldn’t be sure. She dismissed Mary and turned her attention to the boy. He was wan and pettish, his eyes still seemed too bright, and he complained of headache, but he seemed to have his senses about him. Mary had ordered toast and an egg for him, but both were untouched. There was also the teapot, still warm under its thick cozy. Catheryn poured out a second cup, adding plenty of cream and sugar, then fluffed up his pillows and helped him to a more comfortable position. He grumbled.

  “Don’t fret, Teddy.” She spoke briskly. “You’re bound to be uncomfortable for a while, but it’s no use moaning and groaning about it. Drink your tea like a good boy.”

  He hitched himself up obediently but muttered in fractious tones, “Just like a flogging.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What they say. ‘Six of the best,’ he droned, imitating a master, ‘to be taken as delivered. No moaning and groaning, young Dambroke. You know the drill.’” He grimaced. “Same thing.”

  “Oh.” She thought for a moment, watching him scowl over his tea. “Perhaps it is a kind of punishment, Teddy, for disobeying Dambroke.” Grimacing again, he shrugged, but he had forgotten his bruises. His face clouded over with pain.

  “What did he say before you left? About me, I mean.” She explained again about the assassination and her own decision to come to him. Clearly, the boy’s only interest in Perceval was a certain gratitude that the tragedy had delayed Dambroke, but his eyes widened when she told him about convincing the countess to let her come. “Do you mean to say that Richard didn’t even know you were leaving London?”

  “No, dear, how could he when he was still at the Commons? He will understand that it was the sensible thing to do. For your mama to come would have meant disrupting the entire household.”

  “That’s true enough,” he agreed, “and I’ll wager Tiffany kicked up a dust, too. But Richard won’t care about ‘sensible,’ Cathy.” He gazed at her shrewdly over his teacup. “I believe you’ve already thought of that. He don’t care to have his authority set aside.”

  “Nonsense, Teddy.” She took the cup and motioned for him to eat his egg. “What could he possibly find to say?” Her protest sounded weak even to her own ears, and the boy actually grinned, looking normal for the moment.

  “I think he will find plenty to say to us both, and I doubt much of it will be very comfortable to hear.”

  “Well, I think he will be too worried at first to say much,” Catheryn said, “and, hopefully, by the time he realizes there is nothing further to worry about, he will have forgotten to be angry. He may still have something to say to you about your little ride, but only because he cares about your safety and not till you are recovered from your injuries.”

  The boy looked doubtful but left her to her own reflections while he finished his egg and toast. She remembered Ashley’s comment about Teddy being in good company. She had hoped he referred to himself but knew now that he had not. He, too, understood the earl’s nature and knew Dambroke would oppose any decision he had had no part in making. She sighed. It would do no good to worry about it now. When Teddy finished, she took the tray and the t
eapot into the schoolroom and rang for someone to take them away. While waiting, she glanced over the books on the shelf. They were not precisely dusty but looked as though they ought to be. Cheek by jowl with an outdated geography was an ancient book of rules for proper conduct. After rejecting its fusty neighbors, she plucked the latter from the shelf, thinking it might prove amusing, and carried it in to Teddy. They were chuckling over the author’s advice to children when Miss Lucy entered, accompanied by a sturdy young gentleman.

  “Miss Westering, this is Mr. MacClaren, the new tutor.”

  “MacClaren!” She realized immediately what must have happened and laughed, letting him shake her hand. “How silly of me! Mr. Ashley has spoken of you only as Mark, and I just assumed you would be Mark Ashley. How do you do!”

  MacClaren grinned. “Cousins on the distaff side, Miss Westering. Is this my charge?” Teddy had been eyeing him warily and Catheryn quickly made the introductions. Mark MacClaren was fair with crisp curls and broad shoulders. He was not as tall as his slim cousin and, despite his recent illness, had more the look of sportsman than scholar. Even his well-made coat fit loosely, as though his muscular body needed room to breathe. His eyes twinkled merrily when he realized Teddy was sizing him up. He hefted the load of books under his arm and grinned when the boy blinked. “I am supposed to be a tutor,” he mocked. “Did you expect me to arrive with a trained monkey on a string?”

  “Wouldn’t half mind it if you did, sir.” He showed relief to discover that, though MacClaren had brought along Magnall’s Questions, Lindley Murray’s English Grammar, and the first volume of Oliver Goldsmith’s History of England—all unhappily familiar to the boy—he also had a copy of Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe. Teddy’s eyes lit up, and Catheryn and Miss Lucy left him confiding to MacClaren that he had never read the famous tale.