by Jo Beverley
“Do you have other children?”
“Two, ma’am. But we’ve lost two.”
There was sadness in the words, but acceptance too. Children died so easily in their early years. Giles Perriam’s first wife had simply been more unfortunate than most.
“I’m sorry if I upset you, ma’am.”
Claris wanted to deny any discomfort, but she wouldn’t be believed. Instead, she tackled the subject. “I was thinking of the babies who died in this house recently.”
The woman nodded. “Right sad it’s been. Me mam says it was bad seed.”
The same explanation Mistress Wilcock had given.
“That’s what comes of sin,” the woman went on. “As you sow, so shall you reap.”
But then she looked alarmed.
She’d just insulted a Perriam.
“Giles Perriam was a bad man,” Claris agreed. “My husband is a very distant relative.”
The woman relaxed again. “That’s what I heard, ma’am.” Her baby stirred and so she picked it up, but she glanced at Claris. “He’s a fine-looking man.”
Claris felt herself blush. “Handsome is as handsome does,” she said, then heard how that sounded. “And he always does most handsomely.”
The woman grinned. “I’m not surprised, ma’am. Men like that, they have a way with them. A woman can always tell.”
Men like what? Claris wondered, but she feared she knew. Lusty men who had a wicked way with women.
“Lawks! There’s Billy running off!” The woman looked around and then dumped her baby in Claris’s arms before racing after a young lad who was heading for one of the cart horses.
Claris looked down at the baby, who looked up at her, its mouth working as if suckling. Its swaddling was damp, so she held it away from her skirts.
It was darling, though, reminding her of the twins at such a young age. She’d used to talk to whichever twin was in her arms, babbling whatever came to mind. They’d seemed to like it.
“You’re a treasure,” she said to the wide-eyed baby. “And your mother’s a fine woman. You’re going to grow up strong and happy in Perriam Green. Nothing will ever harm you. . . .”
She realized she was trying to cast a spell of her own, one that would keep this little innocent safe. She could feel how painful the child’s death would be, and she wasn’t its mother.
Those haunting memorials.
What was she to do with them?
Impossible to destroy them, but if she had them moved to the churchyard, she’d expose more people to their disturbing design.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” the young mother gasped as she sat down and retrieved her baby. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that.”
“That’s all right. He’s behaved perfectly.”
The baby was beaming with delight at its mother, so happy to see her again, but without a trace of anxiety. Claris was sure her own mother had never felt like a secure haven.
“I’ve taken Billy to his father. He’s only three, but he’s a terror for venturing.” She picked up the remains of her food, jiggling the baby on her knees. “It’s grand to have a family here again. My granddad talks of how it was in his younger days. Plenty of work and always help in hard times. Feast days too.”
Claris suspected she was being nudged toward extravagant benevolence, but she smiled. She’d do her best.
“This was when Giles Perriam’s father was alive?”
“They’ve all been Giles, ma’am, as long as anyone can remember, but before him was his grandfather. His father died young. Racing a horse, or so they say. His father was one of four, but the others were all girls and married away. Him dying so young, Mr. Giles was the only child.”
Claris disentangled this to mean that Giles had been the only child of a Giles who’d died young, before his own father had died. He’d have been raised by his grandparents, and probably inherited at a young age. That could spoil a man, and he’d been very spoiled to ruin Aunt Clarrie.
The strong voice bellowed again, and everyone scrambled up to set back to work. The young mother carried her baby over to a toothless old man and went to a cart.
Claris stood and surveyed the progress with satisfaction.
She couldn’t rip the shrouds off those poor dead infants, but she was ripping the shroud off the house. Now she could see mellow red brick and massive exposed wooden beams. It was an old house and not straight in all its lines, but it had its own beauty.
And it was hers.
Hers to delight in, hers to care for.
The windows were dirty, but soon their lozenge-shaped panes would gleam and there would indeed be light in every room. The light would spread throughout the area. There would be work, and she’d provide assistance in hard times. If there truly were traditional feast days, she’d revive them.
She set to work, helping the servants to collect the debris. She was adding pottery mugs to a tray when she saw a carriage coming up the drive.
Visitors?
And here she was with her skirt kirtled up, no cap on her hair, which was escaping its pins as usual. All the servants were out here. Would there be anyone in the hall to open the door?
Claris frantically looked for Athena or Perriam. Where were they?
Lord help her, someone had to greet their guests, and it seemed it must be her. She unpinned her skirt and ran toward the front, only slowing as she approached the corner, where she’d be in sight.
A portly gentleman in a white wig and fine suit of green cloth had descended and was assisting a lady dressed in a hooped gown, who was wearing a very fine cap under a three-cornered hat decorated with a bold green feather.
Grand visitors!
Claris thought of retreat, but that wasn’t possible. She took a breath and went over, pushing one long tendril back under a pin. With a curtsy, she said, “Welcome to Perriam Manor. I’m Mistress Perriam.”
The middle-aged couple were looking around in amazement, but the lady smiled. “You’re having the ivy stripped. Excellent idea.”
“It seemed of first importance, ma’am. You must excuse my state of clothing.”
“Of course, of course. You must excuse our impetuosity.”
“And our manners,” said the man with a warm smile. “Sir Ernest and Lady Fosse, of Pilch House, a few miles to the east. We were keen to welcome you to the area, but perhaps too keen.”
She immediately liked them and hoped she wasn’t deceived.
“Not at all. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance. Won’t you come in? I could enjoy a cup of tea.”
Thank heavens she’d been so busy talking that she’d eaten and drunk little.
As they turned toward the doors, Perriam came over, easy in his manner despite his undress. He carried his waistcoat and coat slung over one shoulder.
“Fosse. Lady Fosse. How kind of you to call. You find us in complete disarray, but in a good cause.”
“We were just saying as much,” said Lady Fosse, smiling at him. “Mistress Perriam has kindly offered us tea.”
“I’ll join you,” he said, offering an arm.
Despite the arm being half-exposed and somewhat grimy, Lady Fosse took it and went into the house with him, saying, “I do hope this means you intend to reside here.”
Claris took Sir Ernest’s arm, hearing her husband say, “My wife does . . .”
She felt compelled to explain. “I prefer country living.”
“I’m the same myself, ma’am. Reason I gave up my seat in Parliament years ago. Pity Perriam’s so much obliged in Town.” At least he didn’t seem to find this odd. “With or without him, you must come and dine with us when you will. You might also enjoy the company of our daughter, Jane. Mistress Jordan now, but living not far away. She’s about your age, and also a young wife.”
“That would be lovely,” Claris said, and a part of her meant it. Another part, the old part, shrank from all this sunny conviviality and wanted to fade back into the shadows.
&
nbsp; Claris settled the Fosses in the drawing room and ordered the tea, and then hurried to her room to tidy herself. Her husband came with her, bellowing down to the hall, “Auguste!” He glanced at her. “Maid’s name?”
“Alice.”
“And Alice!” he shouted.
Claris made it to her room only a minute before her maid. She would have to gather the nerve to shout like that. Or acquire loud bells. Yes, that was it. A large bell in each room. There could even be a different tone or pattern for each member of the family.
“Tidy me. Quickly. Change? No, it would look odd. Do I have dirt or grass on me?”
Alice brushed her down. “Perhaps clean stockings, ma’am?”
Claris saw hers were muddy. “And my new shoes.”
While Alice found them, Claris brushed out her hair and pinned it up. “The new cap! Oh, you’ve trimmed it already. Thank you.”
Claris didn’t know if the ribbons hanging down the back would make her flighty or not, but she’d use any improvement she could.
When she returned to the drawing room, the requirements for tea had arrived and Athena was preparing it. Claris was shocked by a spurt of annoyance. Her grandmother was usurping her place. She hid that behind a smile and sat down, looking forward to learning more about the area and the local families.
Athena had charge of that too, however, and the talk was about Town delights. When Perriam came in, restored to neatness, he joined in. Excluded, Claris did the only thing possible and paid attention so as to learn. She was going to have to go to fashionable London with the boys one day.
Yet again, however, a situation was being twisted away from her expectations. Something would have to be done.
When the Fosses left, Athena said, “We dine at two?”
Claris hadn’t given a thought to normal daily patterns.
“With everything at sixes and sevens, I think it best if we each eat in our rooms when we will.”
“The workers don’t need constant supervision. Or assistance.”
Perriam had left, probably to rejoin the merry throng outside. Claris envied him.
“It’s good to be at ease with the local people,” she said.
“Pandering will make them idle. Dinner at two. It is necessary to maintain good order, especially in disordered times. I shall tell the cook.”
She left before Claris could find an argument. She’d thought her husband the biggest threat to her status here, but perhaps she’d been wrong.
Had Athena ruled the roost in the cottage?
Perhaps she had. When she’d arrived, she’d been the one with worldly knowledge, while Claris had been deeply ignorant.
Her grandmother liked to be in command, but so, Claris realized, did she.
Perhaps if Athena decided she could now abandon her grandchildren it would be no bad thing. Claris would miss Ellie, but no one was going to usurp her hard-won authority over Perriam Manor.
Chapter 21
However, when they gathered for dinner, Claris accepted that Athena might have been right. This was her family’s first proper meal at Perriam Manor, and it would set a pattern.
Perriam was at the head of the table. She was seated opposite him. The twins, scrubbed and neat, sat on her left side. Athena and Ellie sat on her right. The first course of dishes was laid on the table and they all began to help themselves and one another.
The twins were bright-eyed at the selection and needed to be nudged to serve others as they should. They’d never eaten like this before.
“Cook has done wonders to prepare this as well as the food for the workers,” Claris said.
“She might be enjoying the challenge,” Perriam said.
“I think you’re right. I gather your cousin rarely came here.”
“Not until his last months.”
“According to one of the village women, the manor was lively in his grandfather’s time.” She related what she’d heard. “I hope to restore that way of life.”
“Easy enough,” Perriam said. “Merely living here will do it.”
“My sympathies are with your cousin Giles,” Athena said, “and his love of the beau monde. Such a pleasure today to speak of important matters with people of fashion.”
“Sir Ernest and Lady Fosse rarely travel,” Perriam said drily. “Their knowledge comes from The Gentleman’s Magazine.”
Athena’s brows rose. “It must be a most informative publication.”
“It is. Shall I subscribe to it for you?”
Claris sensed a clash but couldn’t understand it.
“Claris might benefit from it,” Athena said and then turned to Claris. “You were somewhat tongue-tied, child.”
Oh, that word “child”!
“I was bored. I would have much preferred to learn more about local affairs.”
“Of course you would,” Ellie said, peacemaking. “It’s wise to understand the ways of where you live. We’ve always made a point of it, haven’t we, Thenie?”
Claris had never heard Ellie use that name before, or challenge Athena. To her surprise, it seemed to work.
Athena returned her attention to her plate. “Why anyone would want to live the year round in the country if they didn’t have to, I cannot imagine. But if one does . . .”
“Even a person who lives only part of the year in the countryside should understand its ways.” Perriam winked at the twins. “Note the lesson, lads.”
“We like the countryside,” Tom said.
“It’s all you’ve known,” Athena said.
“I hope you always like it,” Claris said. “But Mr. Perriam thinks you should visit London at some point and learn its ways.”
She was surprised when their eyes lit, until Peter said, “There are wild beasts in the Tower!”
“There are wild beasts everywhere in London,” Perriam said. When the twins stared, he added, “I’m speaking of the human kind. That’s why you should learn its ways—to know beasts from men. But it has many delights.”
He went on to relate some, choosing just the things to appeal to eleven-year-old boys—displays of weaponry, dungeons at the Tower, and military parades at Horse Guards. There was even a swimming area called the Peerless Pool, but it would be too late in the year for that.
Claris rang for the next course, considering what she was learning, not about London’s pleasures, but about herself and her family.
Athena did not want to live here all the year round. Perhaps she didn’t want to live here at all. In some ways that might be good.
But if Athena and Ellie left, when the twins went to school she would be alone in this big house. . . .
“Do you not agree, Claris?”
She started and looked down the table. “I’m sorry, I was woolgathering.”
“Were we boring you again?” Athena asked in a tone that made Claris grit her teeth.
“I was considering when it would be best for us to visit London,” Claris lied. “My brothers must first become settled into their studies. Can you acquire a tutor for them as soon as may be, Perriam?”
“Of course. A stern one, I think, with a heavy rod and dour manner.” But again, he winked at the twins and they grinned.
They liked him.
They’d said as much.
Perhaps in a way, more than they liked her.
It was only natural, for she was more like a mother than a sister, and they were of an age to want male company. Also, he charmed as easily as he breathed. Even so, their defection hurt.
She was relieved when the meal was over and used the workers as an excuse to avoid the after-dinner tea. She went to her room to change her shoes, remembering that she must acquire a broad-brimmed hat to try to discourage freckles.
She laughed at that impossible ambition and sat at her desk to add to the list of things she could achieve.
Bells.
Hat.
How? Where? When?
She scribbled through that line but rested her head on her hand. She felt over
whelmed, but that wasn’t surprising. It was her nagging dissatisfaction that disturbed her. She had what she wanted, didn’t she? She’d won a comfortable home and had independent charge of it. She could spend her life making it exactly as she wanted.
A little voice said, Is that all?
She went to the window, a window free of ivy so that light poured in and she could look over her domain. When she looked down, however, she realized it overlooked the yew-guarded memorials. Of course the first wife would have constructed it where she could easily see it, but the smothered babes made her shudder.
She turned away. Was her destiny to live alone amid ghastly memorials and ghostly nurseries, haunted by an empty cradle that must wait for another generation to be filled?
What generation?
If Perriam died, she’d inherit the manor from him, but after her?
She could leave it to one of the twins, but that created a new thorny thicket. Which one? Peter because he was the older, or Tom because he was less likely to make a brilliant career?
An impossible choice.
That was far in the future! For now, she would be grateful for all she had, for how much improved life was for herself and her family.
She went outside to find that two sides of the house were clear. The brickwork was still marked where the ivy had clung, but the mellow beauty made her resolution easy. Perriam Manor would be her perfect home.
Perriam came over to her. “Much improved.”
“It’s lovely.”
He looked at her. “Do you truly think so?”
“Do you truly prefer the straight and modern?”
“I confess, yes.”
They were different in so many ways, perhaps in all ways. She must remember that.
“Not climbing ladders?” she asked.
“I’ve forgone pleasure for duty and am at your disposal.”
“If you speak so rudely, sir, I might dispose of you in the river!”
“My sincerest apologies! Clearly rude labor has infected me. Of your kindness, sweet lady, accompany me on a tour of the estate?”
That charm again.
“Why?”
“You must want me to introduce you to the Moores at the home farm . . .”
Oh, must I?