“How long ago was this?”
“Oh, an hour and more.”
“What on earth is the time?” Cat cried, leaping from her bed and heading for her vanity table.
“After eleven, I should think. You did sleep well and I thought it best to let you be.”
Cat felt her spirits dampen unreasonably on hearing that she had missed her morning visitor. Mr. Hazelforth had proved to be far more agreeable than she had originally anticipated, and she was beginning to value his friendship a good deal more than she would ever have thought possible. She had not realized how starved she was for intelligent conversation. That must surely be the reason her heart fluttered a little when she saw him, she told herself. Besides, he had been so kind and understanding and circumspect yesterday. Her emotions were too ruffled just now to bear closer examination, but she did wish she had been able to thank him for his kindness. That was all, wasn't it?
Completing her toilette with amazing rapidity, Cat proceeded to the drawing room where she found Eveline already busily drawing up a plan of study.
“You will be glad to find, Cat dear, that our chore will not prove so taxing as you feared. Your dancing was always quite good, I recall. Your manners at table, as well, as long as you remember to have a good meal before you leave the house so you can pick daintily at your food in public. I am a little afraid your healthy appetite wouldn't bear close examination.”
“Well, I'll have a chop or two and a tart in my chamber before dinner. That should do the trick,” Cat pronounced. “Go on now, Eveline. I know the worst is coming.”
“It's your conversation, I'm afraid, that requires the most attention,” Eveline told her with a rueful glance. “I believe you know the rules as well as any. You have merely determined to flout them and it's become habit now. What I propose is that we concoct some sort of practice—exercises, if you will. I shall compose a list of hypothetical situations for us to work from. Then I shall play a role and you will respond to me. Together, I believe we can contrive a host of polite scripts. What say you, Cat?”
“I suppose it cannot hurt,” Cat mused. “You are quite correct about my conversation. I do find that the most shocking comments rise to my lips almost of their own accord. Perhaps practice would be the very thing for me. Indeed, you make it sound almost diverting, Eveline—like playacting.”
“Well, so it is. You remember Shakespeare said, 'I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano. A stage where every man must play his part …'”
“ ‘…and mine a sad one,' “ Cat finished the quote in dramatic tones. “When shall we begin?”
“As soon as I have made up a list of possible scenarios. In the meantime, I think that you might spend your time considering some of the particulars of this adventure. You must contact Mr. Bagsmith about letting an appropriate house in London and engaging a staff. I suspect that he will already have begun that endeavor. I'm also afraid that you will need someone to act as your sponsor in London. I can serve adequately as companion and chaperon, but I cannot hope to introduce you to society and contrive invitations for you. What you need is an established member of the ton. Can you think of any relative or acquaintance in London who could serve in that role?”
“No relation, of that I am sure,” Cat reflected. “Uncle Martin is no help — he has always been a simple country squire and is just released from duty as it is. I have no other blood relations.”
“What of Cecily's new family? Surely they would be happy to see to you. And you are such good friends with Hazelforth …”
“Heavens, no!” Cat responded with such sudden vehemence that Eveline was forced to look quite narrowly at her. “John's family wouldn't do at all — I can hardly claim any intimacy there. Besides, Cecily and John are away on their wedding trip and they will be gone for some time yet. I really could not bring myself to broach this subject without them.”
“I suppose you're right, Cat,” Eveline agreed disconsolately. “Well, I must say, you are in a quandary indeed.”
“Whatever am I to do then, Eveline? It must be someone I know. Some details of this wretched situation must be communicated to whomever does agree to sponsor me, yet I don't wish to introduce such a delicate subject or relate such intimate details to near strangers. Let me think a moment,” Cat continued as she paced back and forth about the room. “There is Lady Montrose, my godmother, but I have heard very little from her in recent years. She was a close friend of my grandmother—heavens! She must be at least as old as Methuselah by now! I wonder, though, if she would be up to such an undertaking?”
“That sounds like the very thing. I suggest you write to her today, Cat. You needn't reveal all of your situation until you meet her and decide how much is necessary or advisable. Now, I will begin working on the conversation exercises, while you attend to the details of your business.”
As Cat made her way to the library, she thought how fortunate she was to have Eveline. Once it was clear that there was no way of circumventing her grandmother's wishes, Cat could see little value in wailing, whining or lamenting the situation. The most intelligent thing for her to do was to carry on and be about the necessary business to achieve the most desirable end to this dilemma. In this endeavor, Eveline's calm demeanor and competent approach were more heartening to Cat than any amount of sympathy or fussing would have been.
For most of the morning, Cat was up to her elbows in papers and correspondence. She hoped that Mr. Bagsmith would be able to find a suitable house in an acceptably fashionable neighborhood. She had decided that she would take some members of the Sparrowell staff to the city with her. It would be diverting for them and comforting for her to be surrounded by familiar faces. She knew that Felicia, for one, would look forward to the interlude away from the country, and was convinced that few others could take her place.
Having made several lists of things which must be attended to in the weeks before her remove to London, Cat now turned her efforts to her letter to Lady Montrose. Cat had dutifully written to her each year, but had received responses somewhat erratically, particularly in later years. There had been an occasional gift from her godmother from time to time, but these were apparently sent according to whim, for their arrival never coincided with either Christmas or Cat's birthday. Also, these gifts ranged from the sublime to the decidedly ridiculous. Once there had been a pair of ruby-encrusted combs; another time an elephant foot umbrella stand; still another time a caricaturist's version of Lady Montrose and Cat's grandmother as young ladies.
There had never been any question that Lady Montrose was very high ton indeed; it was, however, unclear whether her sponsorship would confer on Cat the sort of conventional aura that she now required. There was no one else, however, so Cat set about composing her letter. This task took some time, for the wording was difficult; it was necessary, Cat felt, to be clear as to the particulars of her visit, but subtle as to its importance and purpose—at least until Cat was able to meet the lady in person and make an assessment of her circumspection. There was also the problem of Lady Montrose's age and very likely diminished memory. Would she remember immediately who Cat was and why she felt she could draw on her sponsorship?
When Cat had finished that task with some degree of satisfaction, she rang for a servant to take her letters to the post and to summon Snagworth to her. She faced this last problem with some consternation. She did not feel entirely secure leaving Sparrowell Hall under Snagworth's sole administration for such a long duration, but there certainly was not enough time to engage a new manager and familiarize him with the property in the short time that remained.
Snagworth's behavior had certainly posed a puzzle lately. Cat had mentioned her concerns briefly to Uncle Martin, but he had seemed untroubled by them. She could not help feeling a little foolish, after all, for what had the man actually done? Chastised some overly bold children and behaved oddly in the walled garden. There was some justification for his conduct with the boys, although the ferocity of his admonitions certainly went too far. Perha
ps, Cat told herself, the real reason for her discomfiture with him was wounded pride on her part. He really did not treat her as if she were the mistress of the Hall. Perhaps he was right, she reflected dismally. Whether she would actually hold that title was in some doubt now.
Cat did, however, attempt to look as daunting as possible when Snagworth was announced. She fixed him with a dark stare as he came smiling and bowing into the room, rubbing his hands together in an unpleasantly servile manner.
“Ah, Miss Catherine, so you're off to the pleasures of London so soon. Well, well, well. We can't hardly blame you for looking for a little excitement, a little diversion. You just go along to your fancy balls and operys and stay as long as ever you please, my dear, and don't worry your head a bit about auld Sparrowell Hall. Auld Snagworth's here, yes, indeed.”
Snagworth's manner and apparent anxiousness to see her gone did nothing to relieve Cat's apprehension. She took a deep breath.
“Snagworth,” she began, “I do not know how long I shall be away, but I have requested that Mr. Bagsmith look in on the estate from time to time during my absence. I myself may return at any time, so I would like the Hall to be held in readiness. I shall leave a number of the staff here for that purpose.”
Cat hoped that an understanding of Mr. Bag-smith's proposed visits and the veiled threat of her own imminent return would be enough to convince Snagworth her absence would not constitute an opportunity for mischief. She wasn't quite sure what she suspected him of, but she always trusted her intuition. Snagworth, however, seemed unbothered by this little speech.
“Yes, Miss Catherine, yes indeed. You'll find everything right as rain, just as your uncle would have it. No need to worry on that account …”
“Snagworth,” she interrupted sharply, “I am the mistress of the estate. My uncle is gone now. The estate will be run as I would have it, and I will thank you very much to remember it.”
“Is that right, Miss Catherine?” Snagworth smiled at her innocently. “And just what is it you would propose to change?”
“Your manner to begin with!” she cried indignantly. Then mastering herself once more, she went on, “I am forced to be gone sooner than I had planned, but we shall discuss this matter in detail another day. If any problems arise, you will inform Mr. Bagsmith immediately. Also, I am going to ask that you attempt to curb your temper. I do not want a repeat of the scene I witnessed at Miss Cecily's wedding reception, regardless of what offense you perceive is being committed.”
Snagworth bowed his head and sighed in a much afflicted tone. “Well, Miss Catherine, I was only doing my duty to you, protecting your property like, but there's some efforts that's just not to be appreciated. No, indeed. If they come after your walls with sledgehammers, why next time, I'll invite them to sit down to tea. I don't like to give offense, not at all.”
“There's no need to be facetious, Snagworth. I think we understand each other quite well. That will be all,” Cat dismissed him in an even tone. As Snagworth backed out of the room, bowing and smiling all the while, Cat felt a chill go up her spine. She had the feeling that something was very wrong, but what? Once again, Snagworth had done nothing she could pinpoint to justify her anxiety. She hoped with all her heart that she was mistaken.
Chapter Five
Between Eveline's surprisingly entertaining deportment lessons and taking care of details for their stay in London, the days that followed passed quickly. Each morning began with Cat and Eveline's practicing a different dialogue: table talk with a tedious dinner partner; polite chitchat with a nosy matron who could not be offended; managing importunate rakes on and off the dance floor. These lessons soon became Cat's favorite portion of the day, for, as often as not, the two women found themselves overcome by the hilarity of their fictional situations. Cat found herself greatly diverted in Eveline's company, particularly when she contrasted the latter's current lightheartedness with the solemnity with which she had conducted the schoolroom only a few years earlier.
“What a time you must have had to maintain your composure with Cecily and me,” Cat exclaimed one day during their exercises.
“Indeed,” Eveline replied with a laugh, “it would have done my classroom's discipline little good had the two of you realized how often I was forced to retreat to my chamber convulsed in laughter. How liberating it is to at last acknowledge that life is a very amusing endeavor!”
“You mean you were not departing in a fury?” Cat exclaimed.
“Quite the opposite, I assure you,” Eveline laughed, her brown eyes now sparkling merrily. “Do you recall the time you dipped the kitten's paws in the inkwell so you could trace its movements?”
“Well, if it had not chosen to walk across my Latin conjugations I doubt you would ever have known!”
“Very likely not, except for the fact that it also made its way up the skirt of Cecily's new lawn dress without her knowing. She was always so particular about her appearance that the sight was doubly amusing”
“It's a little embarrassing to own that I was up to such tricks at the age of sixteen!”
“I shouldn't be a bit surprised if you were to try it again tomorrow,” Eveline laughed. “Oh dear! Do you think we need add some polite explanations to your repertoire to account for such doings?”
“Very likely,” Cat admitted, only a little facetiously.
For the most part, though, their lessons were more than merely diverting, and, as a result. Cat was ultimately in possession of a variety of courteous evasions and the mistress of polite prattle. These verbal formulas would do very nicely, she felt sure, to guarantee her entrance to, and continued acceptance in, society.
Cat was determined, of course, to act and speak with greater honesty to those men whose romantic interest she engaged. It would be fair to no one to present an entirely false front, nor could she consider marriage to anyone who did not know her true personality. She felt certain that there must be someone who, beneath the false front enforced by society, shared her tastes and views. If she had to continue her visits to London for the next two or three years to find him, then so be it. It was not a terribly palatable prospect, she sniffed to herself, but there seemed to be little way around it.
Cat was too stubborn to admit even to herself that the excitement she felt rising daily was the result of anticipation rather than a case of nerves. Neither would Cat have been pleased were it generally known how often her thoughts were occupied by one Charles Hazelforth. She had imagined that as time went on her encounters with him would fade from her memory. On the contrary, each seemed to be etched indelibly: every word of every conversation, every intonation. Indeed, Cat had been caught off-guard on a number of occasions when Eveline or Felicia remarked on the deep blushes that rose to her cheeks when she suddenly found herself reliving the more embarrassing moments.
Cat was content to let observers imagine that it was mere consternation at her enforced participation in the London Season which occasioned her agitation; however, it was with a great deal of perplexity that she more and more often caught herself envisioning meetings with Hazelforth in and about London.
All too often, the image of him walking toward her, his face suffusing with a smile as it so often had during the days after Cecily's wedding rose up before her. She had found herself looking forward to those accidental meetings during her morning walk. She wondered, too, if he had found them as gratifying as she, and if indeed their encounters had been as coincidental as they seemed. But this was foolishness, she told herself sternly. What on earth, she wondered, was responsible for such idle fantasies? It was altogether likely that she would never even see that gentleman in town.
Mr. Bagsmith's search for a suitable house was short-lived, for when Lady Montrose's reply arrived, it was soon clear that she would hear of no such thing. Cat and Eveline were to stay at Montrose House, and there would be no further discussion. Lady Montrose had kept a reduced household in recent years, but since she expected to do some entertaining during Cat's stay
, she would welcome any of Cat's staff she wished to bring. This solved one of Cat's problems more easily than she had imagined, and she hoped sincerely that she and her godmother would suit. She was much comforted by the fact that Lady Montrose had been her grandmother's bosom friend in their girlhood, and she found herself looking forward to this aspect of her adventure with a good deal of anticipation.
Cat packed very little beyond what she would need for her journey, for, upon their arrival, an errand of primary importance would be a visit to the modiste. What passed for fashion in the provincial environs of Sparrowell Hall would never do for London society, which seemed to change its criteria for hats, sleeves, and waistlines with the phases of the moon. Something would have to be done with her companion's wardrobe as well, for surely Lady Montrose's advanced age would necessitate the role of chaperon falling to Eveline more often than not. That sensible creature, too, it seemed would be forced to be a slave to the whims of style.
As the weeks went by, Brutus and Caesar fell victim to an energetic nervous excitement as they watched their mistress's preparations go forth. They ran up and down stairs, were accidentally shut up in cupboards, barked for sheer pleasure, and generally made themselves even more annoying than ever. Cook, though, was in a good mood for once, for she was off to visit her sisters in Cornwall for the duration of Cat's absence. Since Lady Montrose employed the services of a French chef, it was generally concluded that the volatile territory of the kitchen could suffer but one ruler.
Cat's butler, Chumley, would stay on at the Hall. Although he was somewhat young for that position, his family had been part of Sparrowell's staff for more than a hundred years, and his own father had been butler before him. His presence would allay Cat's fears about Snagworth to some degree, and she was grateful that she could call upon him to do her this service, particularly since the prospect of spending time in London was in all probability quite as attractive to him as any other member of the staff. She promised herself that she would make it up to him in some way.
An Impetuous Miss Page 5