by Carola Dunn
She set the book on the table, sat down, and picked up some sewing that Nurse had left there. When John reappeared she was hemming a pink pinafore for Mary.
He sat down on the other side of the table and drew the book towards him. “I suppose this can be mended. Yes, it is not so bad. It’s too much to suppose that Mary understands her offence, but Ned has kissed her and said he is sorry like a regular little gentleman. He will apologize to you when he is allowed out of his bed.”
“Did you beat him?” Rebecca whispered, raising her eyes to his.
“Beat a child a tenth my size?” He looked half angry, half amused. “What a villain you must think me!”
“Oh no. But you…you struck my uncle.”
“Would you rather I had let him continue to hit you?”
“You could have stopped him without knocking him down.”
“I frightened you almost as much as he did, didn’t I?” asked John gently. “I’m sorry, Rebecca. I didn’t understand. Will you tell me about it?”
She shrugged helplessly. “It was a shock to see him. I hoped I was free of him at last.”
“Did you always live with him, until you joined Lady Parr?”
“Sometimes it seemed like forever. But no, I was twelve when my parents died, and Grand'mère too. It was some fever, I don’t know what. I was very ill too, and I don’t even remember being taken to my uncle’s house.” She spoke in a monotone, but she had dropped the sewing and her hands twisted restlessly on the table.
“He is married?”
“Yes, to Papa’s sister. I think he must have restrained his brutality to my aunt as long as my father was alive. At least, she said he was never so bad before I went to live with them, and surely Papa would not have made him my guardian if he had known. She blamed me. Not that she was cruel, but perhaps we might have comforted each other!” Her voice broke in a cry of desolation.
John’s large hand covered and stilled hers, though he did not interrupt. Rebecca took a deep breath and regained a shaky composure. Talking about it, even to so unlikely a confidant, seemed to ease the pain a little.
“He would strike out whenever he was irritated, but it was worst when he had been drinking. He lost all control then. Almost all. My aunt was confined to her bed for a fortnight once after a beating, but he never hurt me so badly. There was a lawyer, in London I think, who had some sort of joint responsibility for me, and perhaps Uncle Exbridge was afraid he might find out.”
“Did you never try to contact the lawyer?”
“I did not know his name or direction. He came to the house once, about a year ago.”
“And you did not tell him?” John was puzzled.
“I was afraid to. He could hardly have taken me away at once, and it would certainly have enraged my uncle. You cannot imagine what it was like!” Her voice was trembling again.
John’s strong fingers tightened their grip on her hands, steadying her. “But you did speak to him?”
“Yes, that was what he came for, to explain my situation before my birthday. It was then I learned that once I turned twenty-one I was no longer my uncle’s legal ward. I began to lay plans that very day, and the day after my birthday I ran away to London.”
“Good girl! However, I cannot see why the man should chase after you—if you will forgive me for suggested that anyone should need a reason for desiring your presence.”
Rebecca managed to smile and was rewarded with a nod of approval.
“Since it cannot be for affection’s sake, I must suppose it is because of the money Papa left me. The lawyer holds the principal, he told me, but Uncle Exbridge controls the income until I marry or reach the age of twenty-five.”
John frowned. “There must surely be a legal way to put you in possession of the income, at least, since you are no longer living in Exbridge’s house. I’d make enquiries for you but I’ll be leaving the country soon.”
“Muriel told me you are going abroad.”
“Did she tell you about the duel? Of all the wretched, bungled affairs!” John stood up, running his hand through his hair, and began to pace restlessly.
Rebecca picked up her sewing and fixed her eyes on it. “She did not tell me, but I heard you… You shot a man...”
“More incomprehensible male violence. But it was an accident, believe me. My foot slipped.” He was earnest now, wanting to convince her. “It was all a joke originally, a stupid drunken joke that went wrong. His Grace—my father, that is; Tom and I call him that—he decided that I must take up a useful occupation. I told him I wanted to go into Parliament, but he wants me out of the country for a while.”
“Parliament!”
John stopped and looked at her. There was surprise on her pale, thin face, but he thought he saw interest too. He had not told even his brother of his ambition, for fear of being laughed at. Yet Rebecca had confided in him. He felt a need to reciprocate.
He sat down again. “I happened to run into Hugh Iverbrook in town a few months ago. He’s a crusader against slavery, sits in the House of Lords, and he was telling me shocking stories about the conditions on the West Indian plantations. It reminded me of Teresa’s adventure with the slave ship. Has Muriel told you about that?”
“No, though she did tell me about being abducted with your cousin. Oh, there was a slave trader involved in that, was there not?”
“There was.” John recalled with great satisfaction having milled down the man responsible for that incident, but he doubted Rebecca would appreciate that particular reminiscence. “It was by way of revenge for her saving his slaves from drowning, thus putting him behind bars. She’s a great gun, Teresa. You will like her.”
“So you want to enter Parliament to join the campaign against slavery?”
“Yes.” He grinned at her. “Only I haven’t quite Iverbrook’s singlemindedness. There are other ills to be rectified. The trouble is, and the reason I have never mentioned it to him before, his Grace is a staunch Tory and I fancy myself on the Opposition benches.”
It was the first time he had heard Rebecca laugh, and it delighted him. Only a few minutes since he had made her smile, also a first in their admittedly brief acquaintance. Having heard her story, he understood her usual solemnity, but it had troubled him.
Already her moment of mirth was past. “Will he not aid you, then?” she asked, with touching anxiety.
“I am first to prove my worth in foreign parts, before he will consider it. I am not sure whether he means me to be a clerk in Calcutta or a consul in Cameroon.”
“Or a counsellor in Constantinople?”
“I dare not aspire so high! At least those are all warm areas of the globe.” He feigned a shiver as the nurserymaid came in with a scuttle of coal to make up the fire. “On a day like this, even Cameroon sounds attractive. I believe I shall go in search of nuncheon, in the hope that Tom’s cook will provide some hot soup. Will you come?” He stood up, leaned across the table, and touched her cheek with one fingertip. “This does not show any longer, you know.”
Flushing slightly, she raised her chin and said with an air of resolution, “I shall go down. But I want first to make sure that Ned is not unhappy. Do go, and I shall follow in a few minutes.” She folded the tiny pinafore neatly and went into the night nursery.
John waited for her. She was smiling when she rejoined him.
“He is half asleep, but he said he was sorry and gave me a kiss. What a dear boy he is, and Mary is a pet too, in general. They are the first children I have known since I was a child, and I am grown very fond of them.”
“So am I. It’s odd, I never took much note of my sister Pamela’s offspring.”
“Perhaps you are approaching your dotage, after all,” she ventured, peeping at him nervously as if she was afraid he might object to her impertinence.
He laughed, and they went down together. The usual cold nuncheon buffet had indeed been supplemented with a steaming tureen of split pea soup.
“It’s country fare,�
� Muriel apologised, “but we are all family today and it is so good in cold weather.”
Only her mother turned up her nose at the thick, savoury pottage. John seated Rebecca and helped her to a large bowlful, then buttered two golden-crusted rolls and set them on her side plate.
Lady Parr, having done without her companion for two days, was in a mood of thorough disgruntlement. Rebecca had scarcely begun to eat when her ladyship felt a draught and wanted her shawl.
“Pray exchange places with me, ma’am,” offered John promptly. “It is so warm at this end of the table one might almost imagine oneself in Calcutta.” He caught Rebecca’s eye and saw her lips twitch as she repressed a giggle.
For the rest of the meal, Lady Parr contented herself with pointed comments about how fast some people’s appetites recovered after an indisposition. John watched with some amusement as Rebecca manfully consumed every drop and every crumb, not wanting to offend him. He’d soon put some meat on her bones, he vowed to himself.
After nuncheon Tom went off to see his bailiff, and John accompanied the ladies to the drawing room, hoping to entice Rebecca into a game of backgammon to while away the time. In this he had no luck at all. First Cousin Adelaide’s shawl must be fetched at last; then Cousin Adelaide’s silks, horridly entangled after two days of neglect, must be sorted; then Cousin Adelaide, while she set an occasional stitch in her embroidery, must be read to from her newest book of sermons.
This last drove John from the room, wondering at Rebecca’s cheerful patience.
His own patience was sorely tried as the foul weather continued over the next couple of days. He wished he was back in Town, where a swift dash through the freezing rain to one of his clubs would provide congenial companions galore.
The only bearable part of the day was the mornings spent in the nursery with Rebecca. Otherwise, bored by Muriel’s chatter and increasingly annoyed by Lady Parr’s impositions on her companion, he was forced to seek out his brother. The political journals he usually read (with an eagerness that would have astonished his father) were not delivered. Not even the nearest neighbours ventured out to visit.
John’s only consolation was the prospect of Teresa’s arrival.
Chapter 5
Rebecca was very much aware of John’s boredom. It was difficult to be flattered at meeting him in the nursery every morning when she knew he had nothing better to do, but she found she enjoyed his company. Her lingering nervousness lessened as she saw his unfailing gentleness with the children, who adored him. He often made her laugh, and she was learning to respond to his banter.
As unflattering as his lack of any other occupation was his habit of wandering over to the window, gazing out at the freezing drizzle and muttering, “If this goes on much longer Teresa will have to go straight to Hull. Lord knows how long before I shall see her again!”
When, on the third day, the sun rose in a washed-out sky, Rebecca was glad for John’s sake more than for her own. He had already gone riding by the time she went down.
Sir Andrew and Lady Graylin were expected the following afternoon. John returned early from his ride that day and hovered about the drawing room. At the sound of carriage wheels in the drive outside his face brightened. He rushed to the window, looked out for a moment, then strode out to the vestibule.
Muriel placidly folded her sewing and went after him.
“Help me up, girl,” demanded Cousin Adelaide, to Rebecca’s astonishment. Even Lady Parr, it seemed, was eager to see Teresa.
Curious to meet the woman who aroused so much enthusiasm, Rebecca followed, though it was none of her business to greet the visitors. She stood in the shadows by the staircase, watching.
A tall woman, in an excessively fashionable carriage dress of amethyst silk and a splendidly feathered matching bonnet, swept through the front door. Her face glowed with vitality and she laughed as she flung her arms round John in an exuberant greeting. He returned the hug with equal warmth.
“Mind my hat, John,” she protested, her infectious laugh ringing out again.
A fair gentleman had entered behind her. Catching Rebecca’s eye, he smiled slightly and shrugged his shoulders. Sir Andrew Graylin, she presumed. He was taller than Teresa, lean but tough-looking. He seemed resigned to his wife’s delight at seeing her cousin.
Teresa withdrew from John’s arms, her bonnet intact, and turned to embrace Muriel, though more temperately, while Sir Andrew and Lord John exchanged greetings. Tom arrived, to receive a hug that sadly upset his dignity.
Lady Parr, who had been standing near Rebecca watching this circus with considerable disapproval, moved forward now.
Teresa curtsied to her, then said with a wicked twinkle in her eyes, “Now I wonder, ma’am, did I do that right? You must know that Andrew is newly made a baronet, so I try to adjust my salutations accordingly.”
Though Lady Parr looked a little offended, she said tolerantly, “I’m sure it is no longer my concern to teach you proper manners—but I know your funning ways. Allow me to felicitate you, Sir Andrew.”
The others were adding their congratulations when a young black woman appeared on the doorstep, holding the hand of a little girl with a bright pink bow in her blonde hair. Rebecca guessed her to be about the same age as Ned.
She let go the servant’s hand and ran forward, calling, “Papa, Mama!”
Teresa turned. “Chiquita, come and make your curtsy to Aunt Muriel and Lady Parr and your uncles.”
Rebecca smiled at the child’s grave and slightly wobbly curtsy, the tip of her tongue visible as she concentrated. Muriel kissed her, Lady Parr nodded approvingly, Tom pinched her cheek, and John picked her up and tossed her in the air, to her vast delight. He caught her, set her down, and engulfed her tiny hand in his.
“Come and meet Aunt Beckie,” he said. “Teresa, Andrew, you are not acquainted with Miss Nuthall, I believe.”
Rebecca had thought him unaware of her presence. Flustered, she stepped forward uncertainly, wondering whether to expect an embrace from the lively Lady Graylin.
However, Teresa merely greeted her with a friendly smile as Muriel explained that she was a relative. It was Lady Parr who made plain her subservient status.
“My companion,” she said grandly.
John threw her a look of dislike. “Cousin Rebecca, this little shrimp is my niece, Esperanza, known to her mama as Chiquita and to her papa as Peri, with an ‘i’. She is actually my first cousin once removed, but she does not care to be removed, do you, sweetheart?”
“No,” agreed Miss Esperanza Graylin.
“All the same, pet,” Teresa said, “it is time for you to be removed. You will like to see your Cousin Ned again, will you not? Annie,” she called to the servant. “Take Chiquita up to the nursery, if you please, and then come down to help me unpack.”
Esperanza pouted.
“Pray let me take her up?” Rebecca suggested. “Will you go with me, Miss Esperanza?”
The child regarded her thoughtfully. “All right,” she decided. “Can Uncle John come too?”
With one hand in Uncle John’s and the other in Rebecca’s, she skipped happily up the stairs.
Rebecca glanced back half way up the first flight. Teresa had her arm around her husband’s waist, and his was about her shoulders. Her face was turned up to him, and at that moment he dropped a kiss on her nose. Rebecca looked quickly away, feeling like an intruder.
“Peri with an ‘i’?” she said to John.
“P-e-r-i,” he spelled out. “A peri is an Arabian fairy, I collect. Andrew spent some time in North Africa before he met Teresa.”
“Not ‘Rabian, Pershin,” Esperanza corrected. “And Chiquita means a liccle girl.”
“In Spanish. A family of linguists.” John shrugged, then pulled a horrified face. “The devil—beg pardon, ladies—deuce take it, I had not thought, but doubtless I shall have to learn some outlandish lingo when I go abroad!”
“Me and Mama and Papa and Annie and Rowson’s going
to Russia.”
“I wager you don’t speak any Russian, shrimp.”
“Dobry dyen,” said Esperanza promptly.
“I can make up nonsense words, too.”
“No, she’s right,” Rebecca put in. “It means good day.”
John stared at her. “You speak Russian?”
She flushed. “Grand’mère was Russian. My mother’s mother. My grandfather was a diplomat, like Sir Andrew.”
“Papa is a dip’mat,” the child confirmed. “Where’s Ned and Baby Mary? It’s a lot of steps.”
Her honorary uncle picked her up and set her on his shoulders. “You speak Russian?” he asked Rebecca again.
“Yes, or I did. Grand’mère was an aristocrat and spoke French with my mother—the Russian aristocrats prefer French, I collect, or did in those days—but by the time I was born she wanted to speak the language of her childhood. As a matter of fact, I was brought up in a mixture of English, French and Russian.”
“Famous! I expect Teresa and Andrew will be glad of your tutoring while they are here.”
“Oh no, I could not presume to instruct them! Besides, I never learned to write it. Pray do not tell them.”
“You are by far too retiring,” said John severely. “Here we are, shrimp. I expect your cousins are having their tea, with all sorts of good things to eat.”
He and Rebecca stayed only long enough to be sure that Esperanza was comfortable with the other children and Nurse. However, when they reached the nursery door she jumped down from the table and ran after them with a milk moustache and a jam tart in her fist. She tugged at Rebecca’s sleeve, fortunately with the other hand.
“Wait,” she commanded stickily.
Rebecca crouched down to her level. “What is it, Miss Esperanza? You will be all right with Ned and Mary, you know. Your mama is just below-stairs.”
“I know that! You can call me Chiquita, Aunt Beckie. I like you. Will you come and kiss me good-night?”