by Jo Beverley
“Advise me, I hope.”
“Of course, but Perriam is better suited to that.”
“He’ll be leaving soon, and that’s all to the good. I will be mistress here.”
“Excellent, but pick his brains dry before he goes.”
“I’d rather pick yours. I need to know about a servant for the twins. They will be supposed to have one, won’t they?”
“Of course. Consult the housekeeper. She’s assigned us a maid. The footman will do for the boys for now, but she’ll probably have to hire someone new. Instruct her to hire an older man, not one young enough to encourage them in mischief.”
“Thank you.” Claris turned to the new Ellie. “You’re comfortable here?”
“As long as I have something to keep me busy, dearie. Not a bad house, this, once the light’s let in. Thanks for acquiring it.”
Trust Ellie to remember to thank her. No one else had.
Claris said, “Be free to command anything you need or want,” and retreated back to her bedchamber to try to sort out her tangled emotions. She felt as if she’d been caught in a fairy circle and spun off into another world.
Her grandmother had become a grand lady and was acting as if she were mistress here. Claris was surprised to discover how much she resented that.
Ellie was now a well-dressed lady’s companion, as comfortable in one of the manor’s finest bedchambers as anyone could be. Claris didn’t resent that, but it would take time to grow used to it.
Her husband would be sleeping in a bedchamber separated from hers by only a door. An unlocked door. He was so comfortable with the situation that he’d answered the door in disarray. He might open it next in his nightshirt!
At least the twins were still the twins, for better or worse.
As she went downstairs, she considered the paintings hanging there. Some were landscapes, but there were three portraits.
The first was a full-length painting of a handsome young man in country clothing leaning against a tree, a hound at his feet. His hair was dark, but his complexion fair. His features were a little blunt but still well put together, and his slight smile was both arrogant and tantalizing.
Giles Perriam himself? Most likely, but if so he’d been more handsome than she’d thought. Because he’d been vile she’d assumed he’d look it, but that made no sense. Aunt Clarrie wouldn’t have succumbed to a monster.
A warning there about the appeal of unscrupulous, handsome Perriams.
The other two portraits were of ladies, and by the style of their gowns the paintings weren’t old. Two of Giles Perriam’s wives?
One was of a young woman in a simple white gown with flowers in her hair. A bridal portrait? She wasn’t a beauty, having a round face, thin lips and mousy hair, but she looked pleased with herself, presumably anticipating a pleasant future.
The woman in the other portrait was a bit older and bolder—a handsome brunette in a red dress.
Brides one and two, Claris suspected. The first had been an heiress, but also the one to suffer the death of all five children. The one who’d constructed that ghastly grove.
The second Mistress Giles Perriam had been the one with the good fortune to be barren, but fate had struck her down anyway. Was there a portrait anywhere of the third, the one driven to madness and suicide?
At that moment, in the dark and gloomy hall, looking up at two tragic Perriam brides, the curse seemed all too real.
Claris looked higher, in the direction of heaven.
Here I am, Aunt Clarrie, the Perriam bride you should have been.
Be appeased!
Chapter 17
Perry arrived at the dining room prepared for anything. Foolish not to realize that Claris would expect him to leave her at the doorstep, but foolish of her to imagine such a thing. Perhaps he should have told her about the thirty days earlier, but as he’d said, there’d been no sense in telling her more than he must until everything was settled.
Hardly surprising, however, if she was as twitchy as a burned cat, ready to scratch at anything.
He found only her and her brothers at the table, which was too large for four. They’d have been more comfortable at the small table in the anteroom, but he didn’t suggest a move. That might be taken as a criticism.
There was no need to strain for conversation, for the boys assailed him with thanks for the ponies, questions about the ponies, and their expectations for future adventures on the ponies. He didn’t mind. They were good lads.
When they paused to eat, he looked down the table at Claris. “Would you like to learn to ride?”
Her eyes widened. “No! Thank you, but it looks uncomfortable.”
“It needn’t be, but if you don’t wish to ride, you need to learn to drive.”
“Why?”
“To get around.”
“I have legs.”
“You may wish to travel farther afield.”
“Isn’t there a coach?”
“Why would there be when Giles was rarely here? If one’s needed it’s hired from Maidenhead.”
She cut into a slice of ham. “I see. But I don’t expect to travel far. I will be content at home.”
He reminded himself that this life was new to her. “You may wish to visit the village.”
“That’s not far from the gates.”
“Or visit local families.”
“Unlikely.”
She was making a battle of this when he only wanted to help. He really should stay here for weeks to ease her into the way of things, but he couldn’t, and she’d probably shoot him if he tried.
“I suspect your grandmother knows how to drive,” he said, “so there should be a chair for her use.”
That seemed to make an impression. She frowned but said, “Perhaps I would like to learn.”
“Excellent. I’ll purchase a chair and a suitable horse. Which reminds me, unless your grandmother or her companion wants to ride, we should sell Giles’s horses.” He regretted the “we” as soon as it escaped, and quickly said, “But that is for you to decide.”
She relaxed a little, but she was definitely en garde.
“Why don’t you learn to ride?” Peter asked her. “Then you could ride out with us.”
Instantly she was softer, gentler. “I’m sorry, darling, but there are some sacrifices I will not make, even for you.”
She made it a joke and they took it as such, smiling and turning to him.
“Are there fishing rods, sir?” Tom said. “Jake—he’s one of the grooms, sir—said there are fish in the river.”
“I have no idea. You and your sister must sort that out.”
Peter said, “There are plenty of rabbits too. Too many.”
Perry understood where that was going. “You’re too young for guns, but you may trap them if you want. If,” he added, “your sister approves.”
“Oh, she won’t mind. We caught dinner many a time.”
She looked embarrassed, and indeed, the footman had come in with the coffee tray. He didn’t see any way to stop the twins from chattering about their former life.
Their hunger seemed appeased, for they asked permission to leave. Claris gave it but seemed anxious as she watched them go.
“They’re good lads,” Perry said. “No need to fret.”
As she poured the coffee, Perry moved to a seat beside her and sent the footman away. If she objected to that, she could choke on it.
She seemed preoccupied by her brothers. “They are good but adventurous.”
“As they should be.”
“But up till now they’ve adventured within a familiar world where they knew the hazards and the rules. It’s different here. Are there weapons in the house?”
A reasonable concern.
“I have my sword and pistols, but you mean others.”
“Yes.”
“Very likely. You think they’ll meddle with them?”
“They’ve never been trained not to. That’s my point.”
&n
bsp; “Don’t worry. If you permit, I’ll find out if there are any and secure them.”
He was braced for objection, but she said, “Thank you. However, I thought of that danger, but what ones have I not thought of? This is a complex new world.”
“You can’t leash them to your apron strings, Claris. If you wanted to try, you shouldn’t have permitted the ponies. Once they’re at ease with them, they’ll roam all over.”
“Within the estate.”
“Perhaps.”
“They’ll do as they are told!”
How would she react to advice?
“But best, perhaps, not to make the rules too tight. They’re nearly twelve years old. They might still seem children to you, but they’ll soon be youths, and soon after that men, completely beyond your control. In the end their welfare will depend on good sense and good luck. I judge them to have both.”
Her fingers tightened on her coffee cup. “I only want to keep them safe.”
He realized something.
“You’ve as good as raised them, haven’t you? You were, what, twelve when your mother died?”
“Almost thirteen, but they had a nursery maid.”
“One maid, two babes. You took your mother’s place.”
An emotion flickered over her face.
“A penny for that,” he said.
“What?”
“The thought you didn’t speak.”
She shook her head. “It was of no importance. Yes, I played the part of mother to the twins and will continue to do so. A mother has authority over her sons, even as they grow.”
He’d like to offer to be a father to the boys, but thirty days a year wasn’t enough time for that. “I’ll advise them when I can. If you permit.”
She thanked him but was inscrutable. He found that interesting. He rarely failed to read and understand people.
She put down her coffee cup. “I saw the portraits on the staircase. Are they the first two wives?”
“Yes.” Anticipating her next question, he said, “I asked. Giles destroyed the only portrait of the third, of Lydia Helmcock. Perhaps even his hard heart couldn’t bear her looking down at him.”
“He didn’t marry again,” she pointed out.
“Don’t give him credit there. I’ve learned he was negotiating for a local girl, as good as buying her, when his illness began to destroy him.”
“Thank heavens she escaped.”
“Amen.”
She looked at him. “Are we safe?”
She meant, Am I safe?
The sun was setting, and even through the ivy the ruddy light lay grimly on the darkly paneled walls.
He covered one of her tense hands. “If there was a curse, we’ve done our best to end it.”
“I suppose so. But . . .”
“My dear, why would your aunt want to harm you?”
He saw her react to the phrase “my dear” and wasn’t surprised when she slid her hand from under his. How very careless he was becoming.
“Indeed, why would she?” She rose. “We should go elsewhere and discuss the many things I need to know.”
He rose too but shook his head. “Are you so redoubtable? Pity the weaker male. It’s been a long day and I still have correspondence to deal with. Wouldn’t you like some peaceful time to yourself?”
“Maybe later,” she said. “I should see what the twins are up to.”
“Stables. I’ll lay odds on it.”
“They can’t spend their lives there.”
“They’ll try. Go and rest, Claris. Your day’s labors are done.”
He meant it kindly, but again he was clumsy. She took it as an order.
She dipped an ironic curtsy, said, “As you command, sir!” and marched out, head high.
Perry blew out a breath.
Perhaps there was a curse on this place. He was making wretched work of this.
* * *
Claris was heading for the stairs when she thought of the library and went there instead. She’d never had access to a wide range of books. There had been some in the rectory, but mostly of a religious nature. Her father had a few other books he used in teaching the twins, but most were in Latin and Greek. Her mother had owned a copy of Pilgrim’s Progress and a volume of sermons by a Dr. Burton. She’d taught Claris to read from those, and from the Bible.
After her mother died, her father had done his best to prevent her reading anything, always ranting that books were time wasters for a woman with duties to attend to. He’d ensured her duties by dismissing the nursery maid when the twins were only six months old.
Despite that, she’d managed to enjoy a history of Britain and a book that described the nations of the world. She’d delighted in the occasional illustrations of strangely dressed people. She’d taught the twins their letters from those books, not the religious ones. She’d probably go to hell for it, but her parents had given her a deep dislike of religion.
The library was even gloomier than the dining room, for the sun had long left this side of the house, and the ivy blocked what little light there was. A tinderbox sat by a branch of candles, so she made a flame and lit them, then carried them around. Perriam had said it was poorly stocked, and he’d been right, but the shelves held more volumes than she’d ever seen before.
The spines of large books indicated subjects such as the laws of Britain and the duties of magistrates. Here, too, were volumes in Latin and Greek, and others in French. She wanted something lighter and in English.
She found a book that listed racehorses and their pedigrees, and another that listed women in London. Dear Lord, it was a list of whores with details of their charms and skills! She shoved it back on the shelf, then reconsidered and hid it behind some other volumes. She doubted the twins would explore the library, but she certainly didn’t want them finding that!
She turned to the bookstand on the central table.
The History of the Perriam Family.
She opened it to find an engraved picture of a grim lady in a spiky Tudor ruff. A scroll beneath declared her to be the Lady Beatrice Perriam Stakeleigh.
One of the feuding sisters, originator of the Beatrician line, who’d taken possession of this manor house. Claris flipped through the heavy pages, but there were no more illustrations. Certainly none of Cecily, the older sister and originator of the Cecilian line, which was now headed by the Earl of Hernescroft, Perriam’s father.
Her father-in-law.
Now, there was a terrifying thought!
Claris extinguished the candles and took the book up to her room. She found the beginning interesting, though it told the story of the original division from a very biased angle. Nothing about Cecily was good, whereas Beatrice was a saint who had been bullied into signing away most of her birthright.
A glance at the engraved portrait suggested that was unlikely.
Claris put the book aside. It was nothing but a continuation of a vicious feud that had lasted to the present day, when Giles Perriam had done his best to make the inheritance a poisoned cup. She saw no dark emotions in her husband, but what of his family? She hoped never to have to meet any of them and find out.
She yawned and acknowledged that Perriam had been correct. It had been a long day involving momentous events. She glanced at the door. Was he steadily working through his letters, or was he too yawning and thinking of bed?
Separate beds.
She suddenly remembered the twins and hurried to their room. It was dark, but she could see them safely in bed and on the edge of sleep.
“Good night, my dears.”
“Good night, Claris,” they said in unison.
“This is a grand place,” Peter added.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?”
She returned to her room smiling. This would be a grand place for them, and worth any sacrifice.
Because of the stays, she needed Alice to undress, but how to summon her? Cheynings had bell wires that fed down to the servants’ area. At the rectory, if t
hey’d needed service they’d opened a door and called, “Lottie!”
Claris opened the door but couldn’t believe that a shout from here would reach the servants’ hall. She certainly couldn’t bring herself to yell loudly enough. She went down the corridor to the top of the stairs, hoping someone was in the hall, but it was deserted. She was certain that going to the servants’ hall to summon her maid would make her a figure of fun.
She’d have to ask Perriam.
No, Athena would advise her.
Ellie opened the door more cautiously this time, for she was in her nightgown and robe. “Oh, come in, dearie. We’re just going to bed.”
Athena was in the big bed, nightcap on her head. “What’s amiss?”
Claris shut the door behind her. “I don’t know how to summon my maid.”
“Why are you whispering?”
Claris blushed. “I don’t want to appear the fool.”
“Then don’t whisper. I use Ellie to summon others, but she can’t oblige in her nightclothes. In a house like this, your maid should mostly be in your room ready to serve.”
“That sounds tedious for her.”
“Her pleasure is not the issue. She can occupy herself with mending or other stitchery. Or she can accompany you, especially if you go out walking.”
“I don’t want Alice trailing after me everywhere I go. I’m not sure I even need a lady’s maid, but Lady Ashart insisted.”
“It gives a good appearance. Simply, Claris, if you want your maid now you must call for her, and call loudly. It will not be considered strange.”
As if in confirmation, a male voice bellowed, “Auguste!”
Claris knew she couldn’t do that. But . . .
She hurried out, and when a neatly dressed manservant ran upstairs, she was ready to say to Perriam, “How convenient. Your man can summon my lady’s maid when he returns downstairs.”
Twitching lips said that he saw right through her, but he gave the order, along with his own for washing water.
The valet hurried away, but Claris lingered.
He was even more undressed.
He’d shed his neckcloth and waistcoat.
The open placket of his shirt revealed a vee of chest.