by Carola Dunn
Robbie ignored him.
“I know!” he exclaimed. “It’s hurt its leg like you, sir, so I should call if after you. Fairfax is a good name for a rabbit.”
“Don’t you think that might prove confusing?” protested Mr. Fairfax. “Suppose someone wants me and calls out and the rabbit comes running. How about Homer? That’s my middle name, if you really insist on naming it after me.”
“All right,” agreed Robbie obligingly. “Allie, come and see Homer.”
Alice and Mr. Collingwood were entering the room. Reassured of his devotion, Alice had been undismayed by his description of the interview with Hester. Only the thought that he must soon return to his parish, taking little John with him, remained to disturb her, and he had promised that even if he could not see her sooner, he would find business in London the following spring.
In her happiness, she was willing to allow for her small brother’s idiosyncrasies with regard to animals. In fact, the rabbit looked delightfully soft and cuddly, and she began to stroke it.
“Better not, Allie,” warned Geoff wickedly. “I’ll wager the beast is full of fleas.” With a shriek, Alice fled to the kitchen to protest tearfully to Hester, leaving doors flung open in her wake. Skipper, a mongrel of indeterminate parentage, had been allowed into the kitchen in the rabbit’s absence, and he joyfully abandoned his dish of scraps to seize the chance of exploring the house, an ambition of long standing.
Dashing through the kitchen door, he knocked the feet from under Mr. Collingwood, who was diffidently following his beloved to comfort her. A most unchurchmanlike oath sprang to his lips, to be hurriedly swallowed as the Misses Godric, three strong, turned to him with apologies and assistance.
Undeterred by the collision, Skip got up speed crossing the hallway and entered the parlour at a fair pace. Overjoyed to find three of his favourite people, he bounced at and licked first Geoffrey, then James, then Rob. The formalities accomplished, he turned his attention to the stranger in their midst and, tail wagging cheerfully, set himself to drive off the intruder with a volley of ear shattering barks.
This was altogether too much for the unfortunate rabbit, who had been cowering in Mr. Fairfax’s arms. Hampered by the splint on his leg, Homer leaped for the open doorway. Skipper at last became aware of the presence of his preferred—until now unattainable—prey, and his voice rose three octaves to a hunting yip as he shot after Homer.
Robbie dived for the rabbit. Geoff dived for the dog. All four reached the doorway just as Mr. Collingwood, dusted off and escorted by a solicitous Alice, arrived from the opposite direction. This time he landed on top of everyone but Homer, who managed to make his escape through the kitchen and out of the back door.
Gradually the tangle of bodies was sorted out. Skip emerged unscathed from the bottom of the heap and was at once tied up outside by Jamie.
Mr. Fairfax’s sides were so sore from laughing he could barely eat his luncheon.
“It was better even than the frog,” he confided to Hester later, when Mr. Collingwood had retired to his inn to recover. “I wish you had seen it. The crowning point was when Gumby, who had been watching disdainfully from atop the tallboy, descended in his usual haughty and dignified way and sniffed contemptuously as he left the room.”
“I’m only glad no one was hurt,” said Hester soberly. “What Mr. Collingwood must think of us!”
As for Homer, he was later found in the vegetable garden, busily demolishing Geoff’s lettuces.
Chapter 8
Mr. Collingwood left the following Wednesday, taking the baby with him. Alice was very subdued for several days, which was generally assumed to be due to the loss of her nursling. She soon cheered up when Hester sent for the latest issues of Lady’s Magazine, La Belle Assemblée, and Repository of Arts. After spending hours poring over fashion plates, she spent several more at the draper’s, to Mr. Green’s delight, poring over fabrics, ribbons, laces, and spangles. The creation of a dazzling London wardrobe was soon underway.
Hester was also out of sorts for a while. Mr. Collingwood’s departure reminded her that Mr. Fairfax would soon be leaving. It was nearly seven weeks since his accident, though it seemed like forever, and Dr. Price had spoken of three months’ rest for his leg. Already October had come; next month he would return to his usual life and soon forget her. And her family, she added quickly. She had sensed a certain reserve in his manner toward her during the past few days and was sure he was also thinking of his departure and looking forward to it. He must have noticed Alice’s infatuation with Mr. Collingwood and been hurt by it, as she had feared, and now he only wanted to leave the cause of his pain behind him.
Mr. Fairfax’s thoughts were running on quite different lines. Prejudiced by Robbie’s disclosure, he noticed nothing between Alice and her suitor, only that Hester seemed to spend a lot of time with the young vicar, as in fact she did—to keep him out of Alice’s pocket; Hester’s depression after Mr. Collingwood returned to Somerset seemed a confirmation of his suspicions, and neither James nor Geoffrey had any comfort for him. They accepted that Hester had developed a tendre for Grace’s brother, thought him unworthy of her, and hoped that time and absence would bring her to her senses. In the meantime, though, Mr. Fairfax found himself unable to treat her in his usual unreserved fashion. Jealousy was out of the question, of course. He was merely being circumspect.
It was not in Hester’s nature to be in the megrims for long. For one thing, she was too busy to dwell on her troubles. Then a period of glorious weather set in. The sun rose red through mists over the river with a nip of frost in the air, sparkling on leaves and grass. By midday the clearest of blue skies and a delicious warmth called everyone out of doors.
Regretfully leaving Mr. Fairfax behind, with promises of pies and jellies to console him, the Godrics went blackberrying.
Grandfather Stevens came to keep him company, a jug of ale in his hand. In the weeks since their confrontation, the two men had come to entertain considerable respect for each other. Mr. Fairfax enjoyed the freedom of not having to watch his words, and found the old fellow’s shrewdness and concern for his grandchildren—real and adopted—admirable. Mr. Stevens relished equally tales of travel and of society life, approved his lordship’s Whiggish politics, and could not avoid a scarce-acknowledged hope that Lord Alton might prove to be Hester’s entree into the Fashionable World. No hint of toad-eating on the one hand or of arrogance on the other marred the relationship, and they played endless games of draughts, very well satisfied with each other.
Mistress Ivy provided a nuncheon at noon, and the talk turned inevitably to food.
‘Now this be what I call a good solid meal,” declared Mr. Stevens, biting into a pasty. “Plain English mutton’s good enough for me; no dressing it up wi’ they sauces and fal-lals as Hester do set such store by.”
“There’s nothing to beat a fine roast,” Mr. Fairfax agreed, “but Miss Godric’s cooking is the equal of Carème, the Regent’s chef. Given the resources, I am sure she could produce a banquet such as I attended at the Pavilion in Brighton in January. Thought to tell the truth, it was an inexcusable display, with half the population starving. Thirty-six entrees, from filets de volaille à la maréchale to pigeons à la Mirepoix financière, and countless side dishes. And of course wine and port and brandy by the gallon.”
“I’m not above a drop o’ brandy after a good meal myself,” conceded the old man. “Only good thing to come out of France.”
“How can you say so, sir, after hearing Miss Alice rave over the latest styles from Paris?”
Mr. Stevens snorted. “Lost sight o’ their waistlines, from what I seen, and they skimpy skirts, straight up and down wi’ no hoop, and never a trace o’ wig nor powder. Indecent, I calls it.”
“There’s no arguing with fashion. When you see Miss Alice in her new gowns, you will be reconciled, I’m sure.”
“Our Allie’d made an old potato sack look good. My Hester, now she’d disappear in they French
gowns, skinny as she be.”
“Oh no, sir, I disagree. You cannot call her skinny. Perhaps you are thinking of her when she was a child. The simpler styles of the last few years suit her to perfection.’’
Mr. Stevens regarded his lordship in an appraising silence. “Ah well,” he said at last, enigmatically. “Have an apple, m’lord.”
The back parlour, facing east, grew dark early and Ivy had already lit candles when merry voices were heard approaching the back door. Moments later, Hester appeared at the French window, a basket heaped with glossy berries on each arm.
Her grey gown was stained with purple, her hair was tangled, an unnoticed scratch ran down one cheek, and she was laughing. Mr. Fairfax’s breath caught in his throat, and his heart leaped within him.
“A good harvest?” he asked, with a suddenly dry throat, failing to note Mr. Stevens’s speculative gaze upon him. Indigestion, he told himself. Ivy’s cooking.
“Yes indeed! I brought these to show you. The children have each taken two baskets to the kitchen, though I think more are in Rob’s stomach than in his baskets. Grandpapa, you shall have some pots of bramble jelly tomorrow, and Susan will make you a pie. Will you have a cup of tea with us now?”
Mr. Stevens said he must be on his way and would see the children on the way out.
“Might I have a bowl of blackberries and, cream with my tea?” ventured Mr. Fairfax, his outward calm restored. “My nurse would never let me eat them uncooked, so I developed a passion for them.”
“Two bowls—three!” Hester promised gaily. “The more you eat, the less I have to bottle. It was such a beautiful day; we were so sorry you could not come.”
“Not long now. Dr. Price will permit me a few steps on crutches at the end of the week.” Mr. Fairfax found himself suppressing a strong desire to offer his assistance in cleaning Hester’s scratched cheek. Or he would have been happy to kiss it better if that was needed. Appalled by this train of thought, he fell silent, and Hester, thinking he was contemplating the joy of restored mobility, left him.
No longer could Mr. Fairfax deny to himself that he was falling in love. Admiration and protectiveness could be dismissed, but add to them a longing to take her in his arms and kiss her thoroughly, and the diagnosis was clear. His immediate reaction was to fight it, and there was no lack of ammunition.
For a start, he had only to consider her present appearance. No lady with any claim to gentility would show herself in an old, torn, stained dress with her hair flying every which way. The fact that she looked adorable was beside the point; she obviously had no idea of how to go on in society. That led to his next point: her grandfather. He himself might be able to dismiss that worthy’s past, but society would never forgive him for foisting a shopkeeper’s brat on it as his countess, not to mention his family’s legitimate objections. He shuddered to think of Ariadne’s reaction, and there was an assortment of uncles, aunts, and cousins whom he rarely saw but who would undoubtedly rebel at being expected to give precedence to a female with such low connexions. God forbid anyone should ever find out that she had cooked for her family for years.
That family was another obstacle. It was inconceivable that Hester should abandon her brothers and sisters, yet how could he be expected to take on the upbringing of five youngsters before he even had a chance to set up his own nursery? He was more than willing to lend a hand, but to take full responsibility was a horse of a different colour.
And, he added as an afterthought, she was not even beautiful. Had she possessed Alice’s looks, the ton might have smiled slyly, winked and forgiven. They would never understand how he could betray his own rank for a dab of a girl like Hester. In any case, as he had almost forgotten, she had some sort of understanding with John Collingwood.
The fact that he could marshal so many arguments against his love persuaded him that his emotions were not deeply committed. He had caught himself in time, and now that he was aware of the danger, he would be on his guard. Absence, of course, would be the best defence. He realised that if he were prepared to acknowledge hordes of servants able to spare him every least exertion, he could leave at any moment.
The reasons for his reluctance to pursue that course were the same as ever. If Hester found out that he had been deceiving her all these weeks, she might turn from him in distrust. That might be desirable in view of his determination to detach himself from her, but he could not regard the prospect with equanimity. Besides, he had promised Mr. Stevens to keep his secret as long as possible.
So he must stay here for another month. He must rely on his return to society to cure him of his infatuation. Perhaps he had better look about him seriously for a wife, a lady of impeccable lineage, of undeniable beauty, and with all the sophistication and countenance that Hester so noticeably lacked. He thought of her dishevelled appearance a mere few minutes ago, and a tender, reminiscent smile crept onto his face as he remembered her glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes.
Before the vision could undermine his determination, the tea tray arrived. He did not have to face Hester, who had gone to change and tidy herself, and the others were lively enough to cover any reticence on his part.
The rest of the week seemed endless. Unable to avoid Hester except by staying in his chamber, which would have worried her and caused unwanted speculation, he did his best to look at and speak to her as little as possible. Inevitably, his troubled gaze rested often on Alice, and soon nothing could have persuaded Hester that he was not in love with her sister. To assuage his unrequited pangs, she redoubled her kindness and attentiveness to all his needs, and he soon realised how impossible it was to hold himself aloof. He must just hope that time would undo all the damage the next few weeks might inflict upon his already wounded heart.
On Friday morning, Dr. Price arrived with a newly carved pair of crutches. Inexorably, he dismissed all but his patient and Geoffrey from the back parlour. James retired to his books, and Hester sent Alice and the children into town to make a few purchases. She tried to busy herself with the preparation of a celebratory luncheon, but at frequent intervals she found herself staring with painful expectancy at the closed parlour door and straining her ears to hear the murmur from within. Dr. Price had not mentioned the possibility of a limp since the first day, but she could not dismiss it from her thoughts. She dreaded what a disability of that sort might do to a handsome, athletic young man, and all Ivy’s horror stories returned to torment her, of lads crippled in the wars who had lost sweethearts and livelihood and all hope.
By the time the door opened, she hardly dared approach. Geoff called her.
“Hester! Come quickly. Mr. Fairfax wants you to see the result of your nursing before he sits down.”
He was standing by the couch, a little pale but with a triumphant grin on his face.
“I took three steps,” he boasted, “though I confess I have by no means yet mastered these instruments of torture. Without Geoff s aid, I’d have measured my length more than once.”
Looking at him standing there, tall and proud, Hester was suddenly shy. The invalid she had cosseted and scolded had vanished, and in his place was a stranger whose magnificent physique and noble bearing were unimpaired by the crutches he leaned on.
“Congratulations, sir,” she murmured with downcast eyes.
Sensing her withdrawal, he put out his hand toward her. A crutch slipped, and he sat down suddenly. Starting forward anxiously, Hester became aware of his pallor and the lines of exhaustion around his mouth.
“Two steps too many,” she commented tartly. “Geoffrey, help Mr. Fairfax lie down. You have quite worn him out, I see, between you.” She turned to Dr. Price.
“Ye’ll not be disputing my treatments, I trust, Miss Hester?” he queried with mock belligerence, a twinkle in his eyes. “I see I’ll be having to explain myself to you. First, look you, the poor lad has a sense of achievement and progress that will help his recovery. And second, he knows his limitations and will not be trying to gad about before he’s r
eady. He’s tired now, but he’ll recover soon enough, I’ll warrant you, and ye’ll have a hard time keeping him down.”
“Not at all, sir,” contradicted Mr. Fairfax cheerfully. “I obey Miss Godric in all things.” Already the colour was returning to his face.
“After an argument,” Hester added. “Dr. Price, you had best leave precise instructions with me, for otherwise I foresee endless disputes. If you are finished here, perhaps you would come into the kitchen for a glass of ale before you go. Mr. Fairfax, can I bring you something?”
“A glass of ale would be delightful, ma’am, if it is permitted,” teased the gentleman, apparently quite recovered.
“If you are good,” promised Hester.
Dr. Price was unable to reassure Hester as to whether Mr. Fairfax would regain full strength in his leg.
“The bones have knit straight,” he told her. “That’s a good start, Miss Hester bach, but we’ll not know for sure till he’s able to walk without aid. And even then, time and exercise might cure any lingering weakness. I do not believe the bones have shrunk, which is most to be feared. He’s a fine, healthy gentleman. Make sure he walks daily and does not overstrain himself, and do not worry, my dear.”
In a very few days, Mr. Fairfax was able to take a turn about the room unassisted, and the end of the month saw him discard one crutch. On All Hallows’ Eve, he bobbed for apples with the children, and then sent Alice into hysterics when he appeared unexpectedly in a sheet, thumping his stick, rattling Skipper’s chain, and moaning horrendously. Hester thought him curiously unconcerned at Alice’s fright, but she dismissed it as one of the inexplicable facets of the male sex.
Mr. Fairfax was looking forward to leaving the house for the first time to see the Guy Fawkes bonfire in the river meadows. For a week both town and farm children had been collecting wood and brush, and the huge pile could be seen over the hedgerows from the boys’ bedchamber. However, on the second day of November clouds blew in from the west, October’s crisp sunshine vanished, and before midday the skies opened and rain fell in torrents.