A Country Gentleman

by Ann Barker

  It had happened that she had visited Vauxhall for a masquerade one evening with Mrs Wilbraham and a party of her choosing. At such events, dancing became a much more exciting business, since disguise meant that it was possible to partner those with whom it might not, in other circumstances, have been permitted even to pass the time of day.

  Isobel had been wearing a charming pink gown, with a domino of a darker shade, lined with white silk. She had just enjoyed a splendidly vigorous excursion with a slim, fair man whom she had not recognized, and who, she suspected, might have been a footman on his night off, when a familiar caressing voice had spoken from behind. ‘Dance with me, fair Rosebud.’

  Like everyone else, Lord Riseholm had been masked, and nearly everything he was wearing was of the darkest black. His linen was snowy white, trimmed with rich lace, and his domino was lined with purple shot silk. His teeth had gleamed in the lamplight.

  ‘Thank you, kind sir,’ Isobel had responded, not giving away the fact that she had recognized him.

  She had danced with him before, and had discovered their steps to be wonderfully well attuned. That evening had done nothing but confirm that impression, and when the dance had finished and he had slipped an arm about her waist, she had willingly gone with him off the dance floor and under the trees.

  ‘Do you know me, sweet?’ he had asked her, as he had pulled her into his arms.

  ‘I believe so,’ she had responded demurely.

  ‘Then prepare to have your education extended, for you are about to know me a good deal better,’ he had said, before kissing her. At first his kisses had been languid, seductive and assured. Then as she had gained in confidence and begun to return his caresses, his languor had appeared to diminish and his passion increase. They had remained in seclusion, kissing and murmuring endearments for quite some time; and when at last he had led her back to the dance floor, she had felt breathless and not quite steady.

  From that moment on, Riseholm had been the man she had looked for at every gathering. Anyone could have told her that the wisest course would have been to avoid him completely; she knew it herself. She had quite deliberately set up other flirtations so that her interest in him would not look so particular. It was only Riseholm who made her heart beat faster, however, and she had been foolish enough to allow her preference to lead her into indiscretion. The occasion when Lavinia had seen them together in the street had not been the first time that they had met thus. Eventually the scandal had forced Mrs Wilbraham to take the step of threatening to send her away from London, but this had been the last thing that she had wanted. She had managed to manipulate things so that she could come to Thurlby, rather than be sent to Harrogate. Truth to tell, wherever she had gone, she would have found a way of keeping in touch with Riseholm. She did not by any means wish to be parted from the earl.

  Circumstances had fortuitously combined to enable her to find a way of writing to Riseholm. This did not mean that she was unaware how wrong it was to engage in a secret correspondence with a libertine in the way that she had. Why else would she keep this secret from Lavinia? Nevertheless, she found herself wanting to know everything about him. She had asked him questions which he had answered, before asking some of his own in his response. Why had he said nothing about an engagement? Had he said anything about Miss Egan at all? Could Hawkfield’s friend have been mistaken?

  She hunted at the back of the cupboard where her clothes were kept, and got out the box in which she kept all his letters. Carefully she re-read each one, but there was nothing about the wretched girl. With a man like Riseholm, she knew that there was a great danger of out of sight, out of mind. She now realized with added force that the notion of his forgetting about her was very disturbing, to say the least.

  She sat nibbling the end of her finger before making a decision. She decided to write to Riseholm playfully, teasing him a little about his conquest of Miss Egan. Then in the same letter she would boast discreetly about her success in enslaving the vicar. He was, after all, the nephew of Lord and Lady Smilie, a wealthy childless couple. Yes, a hint that she was on the point of contracting an alliance with Timothy Ames would make his rakeship think!

  She was also aware that she needed to do something to get rid of Benjamin Twizzle. Short of a torrential downpour, she could not see a way out of meeting him in the wilderness the day after tomorrow. Thanks to her craftiness, she had some money to give him, but her allowance was not a bottomless pit, and what would he do when her money was gone? If he told Thurlby, as he had threatened, then Thurlby would send her back to London, and Mrs Wilbraham would send her to Harrogate to her grandmother’s house. She could not think of her grandmother without a shudder. She remembered a cold voice, the grip of bony fingers, and a thin switch, vigorously applied. Her grandmother was the only person of whom Isobel had ever really been afraid. Getting rid of Benjamin Twizzle was becoming a matter of urgency.

  The only certain way out of the situation, as far as she could see, would be to become engaged. Then any tiny scandal of the past would be covered by a cloak of respectability. There were four men in her immediate orbit who might fit the bill. Lord Thurlby she discounted immediately. In a private conversation before she had left London, she had suggested to Mrs Wilbraham that she could exert herself to attach him. She might have done, too, had it not become perfectly plain to her that he was in love with Lavinia, and she with him if only they would pull themselves together and realize it. Isobel had very few scruples, especially with regard to attracting men, but spoiling her friend’s romance was one of them.

  Mr Laver would never do. He had an irritating laugh, and was so self-effacing that she could imagine him agreeing to pay Twizzle twice as much rather than getting rid of him. Hawkfield would not do either. He looked too much like Riseholm for comfort, and Isobel had a suspicion that he would not take any of her overtures seriously. It would have to be Timothy Ames. She had no scruples about breaking that engagement. Caroline Tasker was not a friend of hers after all and she was as she, Isobel, had already observed, a dyed-in-the-wool spinster. Her own engagement to the vicar would be announced; Twizzle would retire in discomfort, and Riseholm would be made to think twice about engaging himself to that insipid creature. She was not sure which eventuality would give her the more satisfaction.

  ‘Really, Timothy, I am not an invalid,’ Caroline protested the following morning. ‘There is no need for me to stay in bed. The doctor said so.’

  ‘The doctor said that you must keep the ankle still,’ the vicar retorted. ‘If you remain in bed, then that is the best way of ensuring that you do not move it. The doctor said that as well.’ He had just come from making a formal call, and was dressed all in black, with a high stock and bands. Caroline thought that he looked exceedingly attractive, but did not say so.

  ‘Well when can I get up? Did you ask him that?’

  The vicar smiled down at her. She was wearing a nightgown which had been lent to her by Lavinia, and had a frilly cap on her head. Her hair, which waved gently, was gathered loosely under the cap, allowing a few tendrils to escape. This more casual arrangement was much more becoming than her usual severe style and Ames thought how desirable she looked. He smiled. ‘How very dear to me you are, my darling,’ he said, sitting down next to her and tilting her chin with his long fingers so that he could press a kiss upon her lips.

  ‘Timothy!’ she exclaimed, intending to reprove him, but sounding half-hearted about the business.

  ‘Now now,’ he said in minatory accents, wagging a finger at her. ‘You are not to move. The doctor said so.’

  The interval that followed was very satisfactory to both parties, and when the vicar got up to leave, not forgetting to say a brief prayer for the speedy recovery of his future wife, Miss Tasker lay in a happy daze until eventually she dropped off to sleep.

  Perhaps because his mind was still more than half upon his betrothed, Ames was not as alert to danger as he might have been. When Isobel, catching him at the bottom of the st
airs as if by chance (for she had been waiting for him ever since he had gone up them) said that she would be grateful for his advice, and would he please stroll in the garden with her so that they could have some private conversation, he therefore agreed at once.

  Isobel was determined to make the most of this opportunity. She had not slept well the previous night, for she had lain awake for some time, thinking about Lord Riseholm and Miss Egan. When Hawkfield had raised the subject of the earl’s prospective engagement, she had followed her instincts and fled the scene as quickly as possible. Now, she could have kicked herself for not lingering. Had she not been so anxious to show no undue interest in Riseholm, she could perhaps have discovered more by judicious questioning. She had tried to extract further information from Lavinia, but it appeared that the subject had been dropped soon after her withdrawal.

  The more she thought about the matter, however, the more she decided that Mr Hawkfield’s friend must be correct in his opinion. Miss Egan was not just pretty; she was very well behaved and virtuous, the kind of debutante who never put a foot wrong; quite unlike herself, in fact. To put it bluntly, Miss Egan was the kind of biddable young woman whom men like Riseholm ended up marrying. By way of contrast, she, Isobel, was the sort of girl with whom such men flirted and misbehaved as much as they could, but whom they never took seriously.

  It was essential, therefore, that Riseholm should be brought to realize that someone did take her seriously, even if he did not. Having written to Riseholm indicating that Ames was almost on the point of proposing, it followed that she would need to make some solid progress that would warrant such boasting. Little Miss Tasker was up in her room after her handsome fiancé’s duty visit. Thurlby was in his study, and Lavinia was helping Miss Wheatman to identify her grasses. There would be no one to interrupt.

  She had thought long and hard over what private affair she might consult the vicar about. It ought to be some romantic entanglement in which she would feature as an innocent victim, then she could make play with wet eyelashes. After a little heart-searching, she had decided to give a carefully doctored version of her connection with Riseholm. There was always the possibility that Benjamin Twizzle might not keep quiet about his rakeship, so telling the vicar about his lordship’s ‘unwanted’ attentions would at one and the same time arouse the clergyman’s chivalry and spike Mr Twizzle’s guns. She was aware that she would be taking a bit of a risk, since it was essential that Lord Thurlby should not hear of her connection to Riseholm. If she bound Ames by the seal of the confessional though, he would have to keep quiet. Once she was engaged to him, it would not matter who knew.

  ‘Now, Miss Macclesfield, how may I be of assistance?’ Mr Ames asked, as they descended the terrace.

  Isobel looked about her intently. ‘Not just yet,’ she said. ‘I fear being overheard. Let us get a little further from the house.’ They crossed the grass and walked down to a little bridge over an artificial stream which fed into an ornamental lake. Once across the bridge, they began to walk along a slightly rougher path, which took them through a pretty wood which in spring was carpeted with primroses, celandines and bluebells. ‘Oh,’ exclaimed Isobel. ‘It is a little uneven underfoot along here. Do you mind if I take your arm?’

  The vicar politely disclaimed and extended his arm to her. She took it and smiled up at him; suddenly at that moment, he scented danger. ‘What a comfort it is to be able to walk along with you like this,’ Isobel said. ‘With any other gentleman of course it would not be proper, but with a clergyman, I know that all will be well.’

  At this, Ames experienced a feeling of relief. It was as a clergyman that she had sought him out. His instinct for danger had been wrong. ‘Tell me how I may advise you,’ he said kindly.

  ‘Before I do so, I must have your assurance of secrecy – your word as a clergyman.’

  Mr Ames hesitated. He had been asked to keep secrets before and on one or two occasions, he had wished that he had not made any such promises. ‘I do not know …’ he began hesitantly.

  ‘The matter affects no other person,’ she insisted. ‘If I cannot unburden myself to you, I do not know where else I can turn.’ She dabbed her dry eyes with a handkerchief.

  ‘Then of course you must confide in me,’ he replied. ‘I will pass nothing on, I promise.’

  ‘Well you see, I have just come from London,’ Isobel began. ‘I am sure you know, Mr Ames, that London is a dangerous place, especially for a young girl like myself. It is difficult to tell the true from the false, and the virtuous from the wicked.’ She glanced sideways at him under her lashes. He seemed to be paying close attention. ‘It was when I first arrived in town that I met Lord Riseholm,’ she went on. ‘He was very kind and friendly to me when I was feeling awkward and shy.’ Lord Riseholm would have spluttered with laughter at this point. Timothy Ames did not know Miss Macclesfield so well, and although this sounded unlikely, he accepted that such could indeed be the case.

  ‘I was grateful for his kindness,’ Isobel continued, ‘and for that reason, perhaps, he began to think that I would welcome rather warmer advances. Lavinia’s invitation came at just the right time, as it meant that I could escape his attentions. Now, however, he has threatened to pursue me even to Lincolnshire. What should I do?’

  By now, they had walked through the little wood, and were strolling along a path which continued on around the edge of the lake. They reached a fork in the way, one side of which would take them deeper into the wood, whereas the other would lead them back along the edge of the lake and eventually back to the lawn again. Determinedly, the vicar led Isobel along the second of the two paths. ‘There is no doubt about your course of action,’ Ames replied. ‘I take it that your father is not aware of this situation? He must be informed so that he may take steps to make this man keep his distance. Your first duty must be to obey him.’

  ‘Yes of course,’ Isobel replied demurely. This time it would have been Isobel’s own father who would have been doing the sniggering. ‘However, he is abroad and my guardian in London is not a very motherly person. I can expect no help from her.’

  ‘Then in that case, Lord Thurlby would be your natural protector. You must unburden yourself to him and ask for his help.’

  ‘Oh I would, believe me; I have thought about it many times. But I do not find him truly sympathetic.’ She looked meltingly up into his eyes. ‘What must I do?’ she whispered. ‘You, of all people, must be able to tell me. I felt a strong pull of sympathy between us from the very first. Did not you?’

  Ames looked down at her, horrified. Now, the letters of the word ‘danger’ flashed before his eyes, huge and flame coloured. ‘Why, I … I …’ he began.

  Isobel knew better than to push things at this stage. She would only frighten him off. ‘Pray give my situation some thought,’ she said. ‘I know that your wise counsel will enable me to deal with Lord Riseholm should he dare to come near this place.’ Briefly, she squeezed his arm, then slipped her hand away, and strolled elegantly back towards the house, a smile on her lips. Of course he had been startled. Doubtless in this restricted society he would be unaccustomed to the admiration of someone as glamorous as herself; but he would soon come round.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lavinia had gone out into the garden to pick some flowers. She had made a good selection of the summer blooms, but needed some greenery. She was just walking past one of the tall hedges near to the kitchen gardens, when she heard hasty footsteps, and around the side of the hedge came Mr Ames. When he saw her, he gasped with shock, then let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God! I thought it must be her!’ he exclaimed with real fervour, briefly losing control of his grammar.

  ‘Her? Whom can you mean, sir?’ Lavinia asked in puzzlement.

  He turned brick red. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘My … my wits have gone wandering, I think. You … you must excuse me.’

  He would have turned away, but Lavinia touched his arm. ‘Forgive me, sir, but you are distressed. Can it
be that you have encountered my friend, Miss Macclesfield?’

  He did not speak at once, but glanced at Lavinia hesitantly. ‘It’s all right,’ she said reassuringly. ‘Isobel is an old friend, but I suffer no delusions about her.’

  He closed his eyes briefly. ‘I do not know what to say,’ he said. ‘I hesitate to criticize one who is close to you but I …’

  Lavinia put her basket down and invited the vicar to join her on a seat in the shade. When he hesitated, she added, ‘I promise not to flirt with you.’

  He sighed and smiled ruefully. ‘That would indeed be a relief,’ he said, taking his place next to her. He told Lavinia in general terms about what had transpired, needless to say without disclosing matters that Isobel had asked him to keep confidential. ‘What do I do, Miss Muir?’ Ames asked eventually. ‘I do not want to be unkind, but really, I have to consider Caroline above anyone else. I will not have her distressed.’ He glanced at Lavinia then looked away, almost shyly. ‘I love her so much, you see.’

  ‘Yes, I know that you do,’ Lavinia replied warmly. ‘If it is any consolation to you, Isobel’s flirtations do not generally last very long.’

  ‘So what would you advise me to do?’ he asked earnestly.

  ‘Whatever you do, avoid being alone with her. And perhaps try to talk about something in a very dull, sanctimonious way. She cannot bear to be dull.’

  ‘I could explain the Greek origins of some of the words in the New Testament at considerable length,’ he said after some thought.

  ‘That should do the trick,’ she answered with a smile.

  On the following day, which was Sunday, Lavinia visited Miss Tasker before the morning service and found her feeling very disgruntled.