by Ann Barker
She had thought carefully about how to continue her clandestine correspondence with him. On their visit to the village, she had noted an inn, the Horseshoe, and had guessed that mail was probably distributed from there. She decided that the best way to proceed would be to send her letters directly from there, and pick them up from the same place. She knew perfectly well that Lord Thurlby would frank any letters that she sent to respectable sources. She also knew that correspondence directed to Lord Riseholm from a single young lady could not be included under this heading. What was more, if the earl caught her sending anything to the notorious rake, he would instantly guess that she had been the object of his attentions all along. Then she would be sent back to Mrs Wilbraham in disgrace. There could be only one consequence of that; Mrs Wilbraham would pack her off to Harrogate to stay with her grandmother.
This aged relative had very firm ideas on how a disobedient granddaughter should be brought to heel. These included walking a horrible, bad-tempered smelly dog, sitting day after day in a cold house, and listening to a tirade of criticism, occasionally punctuated by a few blows with a switch wielded by the old lady, whose arm was much stronger than someone of that age had any right to expect. If Grandmother was in an exceptionally good mood, then she, Isobel, might be permitted to be a fourth at one of the interminable whist parties attended by her aged relative. She would rather die than go to Harrogate, but she could not give up Riseholm.
With this in mind, she made her way up to her room with deceptive casualness, then waited for Lavinia to come upstairs afterwards. After waiting for a while without hearing her friend’s footsteps in the passage, she crossed to the window and by great good fortune, spotted Lavinia crossing the lawn. Quickly, she put her bonnet back on and hurried down the stairs and out of the house, taking care not to be seen. Should Lavinia catch sight of her, she had an excuse prepared – a lost handkerchief which she feared she had dropped earlier. She walked back to the village and once there, she made her way to the Horseshoe, and asked if she might speak to the landlord.
‘How may I be of service, miss?’ the landlord asked her, wiping his hands on his apron as he came to attend her.
‘It is simply that I would like to bring some letters here to be sent to London, from time to time. I am also expecting letters to arrive. Could you hold them safely for me, until I can come and fetch them?’
‘I’ll do better than that, miss,’ the landlord replied beaming. ‘I’ll make sure they’re brought up to the Hall with the rest of the mail. You are from the Hall, aren’t you?’
Inwardly, Isobel cursed the inquisitive nature of village society. No doubt the servants at the Hall were related to half the village. ‘That is very good of you, but I would prefer to collect them myself,’ said Isobel, keeping her manner calm so as to not arouse attention. ‘Mrs Hedges, my friend whose correspondence it is, is a very retiring lady, and has particularly asked that only I should collect her letters.’
If the landlord thought that this was a trifle odd, he did not say so. ‘Very well, miss,’ he answered, smiling even more broadly when she handed over some coins.
‘For your trouble,’ she said graciously. ‘And for your discretion.’ She gave him her first letter, which instructed Riseholm to send his correspondence to Mrs Hedges. ‘I’ll be in here regularly to deliver and collect her letters,’ she concluded. Her expression as she returned to Thurlby Hall would have instantly told Lavinia that she was up to mischief, but Lavinia was elsewhere and did not see her.
Benjamin Twizzle had been sharing a jar or two with an acquaintance in the tap room of the Horseshoe. He had been on the point of leaving the inn, when Isobel had appeared, and asked to speak to the landlord.
Although a hedonistic young man, he was not essentially greedy, and providing for the future was not something that had ever occurred to him. As long as he had money in his pocket to spend on the needs of today, the requirements of the morrow concerned him not at all.
Recently however, his sunny existence had become overshadowed by a cloud. His father, displaying an optimistic streak somewhat at variance with his generally gloomy cast of mind, had always hoped that his youngest son would follow in his footsteps and, eventually, take Holy Orders. This would at least be a means of making his way in the world and also, as Rev’d Josiah Twizzle had admitted to himself somewhat guiltily, a way of removing from the vicarage a presence which the clergyman found very disturbing.
When at last the vicar had accepted that this would not happen, he had given his son an ultimatum; he would continue to pay him an allowance until he was twenty-five. After that, young Mr Twizzle would be obliged to fend for himself.
Benjamin had put these warnings to the back of his mind. It had therefore come as quite a surprise on his twenty-fifth birthday when his father, as a birthday gift, had presented him with a full year’s allowance. With it was a copy of the letter which he had sent to his bank, terminating the regular quarterly payment from then onward.
The money itself had been very welcome, and Benjamin, thinking as usual only of the present, had simply seen that in his hand he had four times as much as usual. He had therefore set about spending it four times as quickly.
Part of this spending had involved joining a select group who played cards together at one of the less salubrious establishments in Peterborough. The table had been presided over by one Cyrus Nightshade, who had been impressed by Benjamin’s well-turned-out person and apparently affluent circumstances. Carried away by the excitement of the game, Benjamin had signed numerous IOUs, and by the end of the evening, he had found himself owing a large sum of money that he had no way of paying. When he had first met Lavinia and Isobel, he had been attempting to hide from Mr Nightshade, whilst at the same time, trying to decide which of his relatives might be good for a trifling loan.
The reason why he had been on the stage was that he had been visiting his eldest sister, who resided in Huntingdon with her husband, an impecunious army officer with a weakness for cards. Esther was the most sympathetic of his siblings, and he had been hoping that she would help him out, but to no avail.
‘We haven’t sixpence to scratch together,’ she had said frankly. ‘Tom is on half pay and I’m increasing again. And if you try to persuade Tom to gamble with you, I’ll skin you alive.’
Vigorously denying any such intention, he had decided to set out for home and apply to his father. Asking any other of his siblings for money was simply not possible. One of his brothers was in the navy and at sea, whilst another was a curate living in lodgings. A third was serving in the army overseas, and a fourth was a tutor, escorting his charge around Europe on the Grand Tour. Another sister was married to the meanest man on the planet, whilst another was visiting her husband’s family somewhere in Scotland. Then just before he had left Esther’s house, she had scuppered his plans completely.
‘Father and Mother are visiting an old university friend of Father’s,’ she had told him. ‘Mother told me in her last letter that they would be away for some weeks.’
This news had effectively cut off his last source of money. On hearing the name of Miss Isobel Macclesfield, however, he had felt an immediate surge of optimism, for he knew that she was a considerable heiress. He had not been able to decide how to make use of this knowledge to begin with, particularly since he was persona non grata at Thurlby Hall.
Since making a strategic retreat from the inn yard of the George, therefore, he had resolved to drop in at the Horseshoe in Thurlby to find out what he could about the activities of his two travelling companions. He had been on one previous occasion, but had discovered nothing. This time, he could not believe his luck.
He kept out of sight, and managed to hear what had been said. Knowing better than to approach the landlord himself, he beckoned to a waiter and gave the man a coin, after first making sure that the man could read.
‘Send me word whenever letters pass through this place either for or from Mrs Hedges,’ he said. ‘And tell me who is her
correspondent.’
He would wager that the latter would prove to be Lord Riseholm, otherwise why not have the letters sent directly to Thurlby Hall? And what might the young lady not be prepared to pay to ensure that her host did not discover to whom she was writing? The whole business gave every evidence of being profitable enough to extract him from his immediate difficulties.
Had anyone challenged him on the morality of this plan, he would have defended himself stoutly. His motive was not greed; it was sheer survival, and his involvement of Miss Macclesfield would enable her to perform a noble act of charity, which would no doubt be good for her soul.
Mr Twizzle’s extremely pliable conscience having thus been assured of the merit of his enterprise, he left the inn, an angelic smile on his countenance.
As soon as Isobel had gone to her room, Lavinia began to think about Miss Wheatman, and soon started to feel guilty. On an impulse, she put her bonnet back on, collected a basket from the kitchen and headed for the meadow where they had last seen Miss Wheatman. Sure enough, she was still standing with her book in one hand and grasses in the other. Had Lavinia not noticed the position of the Hall with relation to that lady, she might have supposed that the spinster had not moved since they had last seen her.
‘Miss Wheatman,’ she called. ‘Have you found many? I have brought a trug basket for your specimens.’
Miss Wheatman looked up, her face alight with pleasure, and for a moment, Lavinia thought that she looked a little like Miss Tasker. ‘That is kind,’ she said, all at once making Lavinia feel guilty. ‘Where have you young ladies been? I thought that I made our plans quite clear yesterday, but you did not appear at breakfast or afterwards either.’
Lavinia made a sudden decision. ‘We did not like the idea of a competition, Miss Wheatman,’ she said placatingly. ‘Remember that we have come from London where ladies are for ever competing over who has the best bonnet or gown. What’s more, during the season one’s every activity runs to a timetable. We want to be a little more relaxed in the country. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘No, no,’ answered the other lady with a relieved smile. ‘I had the silliest notion that perhaps you were avoiding me.’
‘Not at all,’ replied Lavinia hastily, if not with perfect truth. ‘I had not realized that you wanted to set off straight after breakfast; but I am here now, although sadly, Miss Macclesfield is not feeling well. Pray tell me, how is it that there are so many kinds of grass? I had thought that grass was just grass, but evidently that is not so.’
‘No indeed,’ replied Miss Wheatman. ‘Now look at this one.’
To her surprise, Lavinia found her interest captured, as much by Miss Wheatman’s enthusiasm as by the topic itself. Yet again, as the older lady compared two different kinds of grass, Lavinia was reminded of the time in the church that morning when Miss Tasker had drawn their attention to the different kinds of work on the brasses set in the church floor.
On impulse, she said, ‘Are you related to Miss Tasker, by any chance?’
‘She is my niece,’ replied Miss Wheatman, smiling delightedly. ‘Her mother is my sister. Now how did you guess that?’
‘We made her acquaintance when we called in at the church this morning,’ Lavinia explained. ‘There is a great likeness between you when you are absorbed in something that interests you.’
‘She is a dear girl,’ said Miss Wheatman, as they stood up, and began to assemble their specimens in the trug. ‘I am so happy that she is to marry Mr Ames. I must say, I had not thought that she ever would marry. She loves her work at the school, you see. But I am sure that she will enjoy the responsibilities that will come to her lot as the parson’s wife just as much.’
As Lavinia went inside thoughtfully, she decided that she would not share this conversation with Isobel. The other girl would only take it as proof that Miss Tasker would be just as happy continuing as the village schoolmistress as she would be marrying Mr Ames, and Lavinia was by no means convinced that this would be the case.
Whilst they had been at the vicarage having tea, Mr Ames had reached out for another biscuit and Miss Tasker had leaned over to smack his hand. Mr Ames had looked at his bride with an arrogant expression and reached out for a biscuit once more. Isobel had given Lavinia a knowing look before strolling over to the window. Lavinia had paused before following her a moment or two later and had thus seen something out of the corner of her eye that Isobel had missed. Having taken the biscuit, Ames had looked at Miss Tasker again, broken it in two, compared the pieces and given her the bigger one. The tiny incident had been over in a flash, but it had almost had the appearance of a sacrament. It had made Lavinia wonder whether perhaps the attachment between Miss Tasker and Mr Ames was deeper than anyone suspected.
Isobel may have spoken in fun about taking the vicar for herself, but Lavinia decided that she would do all that she could to make sure that her flirtatious friend did not destroy the plain little schoolmistress’s romance. Miss Isobel Macclesfield, with her looks and her more than adequate dowry, could attract a large number of men with very little difficulty. Miss Tasker only had one, and she would keep him, if Lavinia had any influence in the matter!
After they had returned to the house, Miss Wheatman took charge of the grass specimens. ‘We may perhaps lay them out together when Miss Macclesfield is feeling better,’ she said, as she went up the stairs. ‘I will take them up to the schoolroom where we will have plenty of room.’
‘Very well,’ agreed Lavinia. She was about to go upstairs when her eye was caught by a picture which was hanging in the hall. It was of Vauxhall Gardens. For a time, she stood looking up at it, trying to reconcile the artist’s view with what she recollected from her visit there. At last deciding that there must have been quite a degree of artistic licence used, she turned to go up the stairs herself in order to put off her bonnet.
‘Miss Muir.’ She turned to find that the Earl of Thurlby was standing at the other end of the hall, looking rather grim. ‘A word, if you please.’
It was the first time that she had seen him since his departure the previous day, and she had had no notion that he would be returning so soon. Her heart gave a little lurch at the sight of him and she could feel herself blushing, for no accountable reason.
To hide her confusion, she hurried over to him, laying a hand on his arm. ‘My lord, you are back,’ she said. ‘You look disturbed. How have you left my godmother? How did she withstand the journey? I do trust that she managed to reach her friend’s side in time.’
He inclined his head gravely. ‘My mother stood up very well to the rigours of the journey,’ he replied. ‘Her friend continues to be seriously ill. Judging that I would be very much in the way, I set off for home last night.’ He paused briefly. ‘If you would come with me, I would be grateful for the favour of a word with you in private.’ He gestured towards his study. She entered the room and he followed her, very correctly leaving the door a little open.
‘My lord?’
He directed her to a chair, and when she had taken her place, he walked over to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He was silent for a time, her sympathy having rather taken the wind out of his sails. ‘In the absence of my mother, I feel it incumbent upon me to say something about your behaviour,’ he said eventually.
‘My behaviour?’ Lavinia echoed.
‘I wish that it was not necessary, but you have made it so. To begin with, I feel that I must take issue with you concerning your conduct towards Miss Wheatman. I found her standing in the hall this morning, waiting for you and Miss Macclesfield, when there had certainly been an arrangement for you to collect grasses together. You may not find Miss Wheatman the most congenial of companions, but she is my guest and I must insist that you treat her with greater courtesy in my home.’
Lavinia could not think what to say. On the one hand, while she had certainly not wanted to collect grasses any more than had Isobel, it had been the other girl’s idea to sneak off elsewhere. On the oth
er hand, she did not want to tell tales about her friend. She opened her mouth to say that she had just come back from the meadow but Lord Thurlby held up his hand.
‘If that were the only thing, I might hold my peace. To speak plainly, however, I am obliged to say to you that other actions of yours have ensured that my opinion of your conduct is not very high.’
Lavinia straightened her shoulders. ‘Indeed, my lord?’ she said, with a touch of hauteur. ‘I am at a loss as to know what I have done to merit your low opinion.’
‘I am staggered that you even need to ask,’ answered the earl. ‘Needless to say, you are welcome to bring a guest with you, but I find it extraordinary that you took it upon yourself to invite Miss Macclesfield without first making application to my mother.’
Lavinia blinked. That had indeed been a solecism, but she had quite forgotten about it with all that had gone on besides. ‘I realize that I was remiss,’ she began.
‘You astound me,’ he interrupted.
‘But I needed a travelling companion,’ she finished more spiritedly.
‘Undoubtedly,’ the earl replied. ‘Particularly since you chose to come on the common stage.’
‘My lord, there were reasons,’ Lavinia began.
‘I have no doubt that there were,’ he agreed. ‘Your use of a pseudonym tells me what they were, too. You were clearly engaged upon a vulgar, unladylike frolic.’
‘No indeed,’ Lavinia protested. ‘It was not unladylike. It—’
‘And how else would you describe your behaviour when you were clearly observed to be on terms of intimacy with a rogue such as Benjamin Twizzle?’
‘I was not on terms of intimacy with him,’ Lavinia responded indignantly.