The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor

by Wendy Burdess

  ‘Are you aware, Lady Eleanor, that after the age of eighteen, it is most important that a young lady observes what she eats.’

  Eleanor smiled beatifically. ‘Oh, indeed I am, Lady Madeleine, and I can assure you that I observed this particular sandwich for a full ten minutes before selecting it.’

  From his prone position, James snorted with laughter. Madeleine, evidently not amused, shook her head disparagingly.

  Much to the Hungarian’s disgust, Eleanor had partaken of two more sandwiches and had even forced down a large slice of Savoy cake, purely for the pleasure of watching Madeleine’s perfect face contort in disgust. These amusements over, though, Eleanor was bored. James was still dozing; the dowager, having finished off the champagne, also appeared to be nodding off; and Madeleine was preoccupied in the construction of a daisy chain. Eleanor decided to escape for a while. The homesickness, which had enveloped her earlier, continued to linger. Along with her home and her friends, she missed the peace, tranquillity and, above all, the freedom of the countryside. Here in London, constantly surrounded by people, it was positively claustrophobic.

  Mindful that she could, quite unwittingly, bump into Felicity Carmichael or the viscount during her stroll, Eleanor swiped up her parasol. Normally having no time for such frilly feminine articles, it did have one advantage in that it formed an effective shield from those one had no desire to see. Only Madeleine looked up briefly as Eleanor took her leave and, as usual, was so disinterested, that she did not bother to enquire as to where she was going.

  Eleanor wandered along the river bank which was crammed with guests. She recognized many of the faces now - amongst them the Duke and Duchess of Swinton. Sneaking a look at the pair, she noticed that the duchess, although still magnificent in a gown of delicate cream, looked wan and, like James, had dark shadows under her eyes. Her husband, conversely, appeared in fine spirits - laughing and joking while his wife sat glumly by his side. Although she knew little of such matters, it seemed to Eleanor that the break-up of James and the duchess’s relationship had affected both parties deeply – a fact that left her feeling decidedly odd.

  As Eleanor continued her stroll, a high-pitched whiny titter reached her ears: the unmistakable girlish giggle of Cynthia Carmichael. Eleanor immediately tilted her parasol to obscure her face but, as she drew level with the group, her curiosity got the better of her and she dared to peep out from behind it. What she witnessed made her immediately regret her actions. Lady Carmichael and her daughter were part of a large group who had spread themselves out on several blankets. Felicity was sitting with her back to the rest of the group, her lilac dress making her pallor appear even greyer than usual. She was engrossed, much to Eleanor’s revulsion, in dissecting a live red and black butterfly with her podgy fingers. Eleanor recoiled in horror and retreated back behind her parasol. There was no doubt in her mind that Felicity Carmichael was the most evil, hateful girl she had ever had the misfortune to meet.

  A fence marked the end of the house’s immaculate gardens. Eleanor crossed the stile there and continued following the river along a narrow bridle path. As the party’s chatter faded, she heard shouts and laughter of a different nature. Rounding a corner, she came upon four boys ranging in age from around eight to fifteen years. They all had mops of thick fair hair, faces crammed with golden freckles and, having stripped off their shirts, were bare to the waist, displaying lean, brown torsos. They were each holding a twig on the end of which wriggled an indignant worm. Eleanor experienced a pang of envy as she watched them. Suddenly, as they became aware of her presence, a murmur of fear rippled through the boys. They stood stock-still in the water, anxiety etched on their young, freckled faces.

  ‘We ain’t doing nothing wrong, miss,’ piped up the tallest. ‘We’re just larking about.’

  ‘Are you now?’ asked Eleanor, walking towards them. ‘Then I was wrong in assuming you were fishing.’

  The boys stood in silence for a moment.

  ‘Well, we were, miss, but we ain’t caught nothing yet and when we did, we were going to put it straight back. Honest.’

  ‘Hmm,’ mused Eleanor, stroking her chin with her free hand. ‘You haven’t caught anything yet, you say. Then perhaps you had better show me what you were doing.’

  Horror spread over the boys’ dumbstruck faces.

  ‘Or perhaps,’ she added, closing her parasol. ‘You would like me to show you how it’s done.’

  Staring, open-mouthed, the boys watched in amazement as Eleanor put down her parasol, kicked off her slippers and tucked her skirts up into her undergarments. She then picked her way down the craggy riverbank and waded into the water.

  Confident that she intended them no harm, the boys quickly relaxed in Eleanor’s presence. Soon all five of them were larking and splashing about. It was the most fun Eleanor had had since she had been despatched from Nottingham. Ed, the oldest boy, who had nominated himself as spokesman, suddenly spotted a large trout. All five stood stock still, hardly daring to breathe as they watched the fish. It approached Eleanor. She held her rod still just above the water, watching the worm as it wriggled and writhed. The fish swam nearer.

  All at once, a booming masculine voice broke the silence.

  ‘Lady Eleanor, what on earth do you think you are doing?’

  Eleanor jerked up her head to find James Prestonville standing on the river-bank directly above her. He was wearing the same unfathomable expression she had witnessed several times before. Madeleine, as usual, was hanging from his arm.

  ‘I’m …er …’

  Madeleine, evidently in no mood to hear Eleanor’s excuses, regarded her as though she were not worthy of a minute of their attention.

  ‘Why, is it not obvious, James? The girl is engaging in yet more tomboyish behaviour. She is quite simply out of control. How on earth your aunt imagines she can find someone to take her, is beyond me. Come, let us walk a little further, my sweet,’ she urged, tugging on James’s elbow.

  James shrugged her off. ‘You go on walking if you wish, Madeleine. I have a duty to return Lady Eleanor safely to my aunt.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ she sniped, affecting a hurt expression. ‘I shall go on alone. But if anything untoward happens to me, it will be your fault,’ she said, glaring accusingly at Eleanor.

  As Madeleine flounced off, James crossed his arms over his broad chest, his features set in a grim expression.

  ‘I think it is time, Lady Eleanor, you put an end to your fishing expedition and return to dry land.’

  At his severe tone, Eleanor cringed. She pulled a rueful face at the boys. ‘Sorry. It looks like I have to go now.’

  Disappointment washed over their young faces before Ed piped up, ‘That’s a real shame, miss. You’re the best fisher, I’ve ever known - even if you are a girl.’

  The others nodded their agreement.

  Eleanor winked to convey her gratitude at the compliment before wading carefully through the water towards James, who bent down and extended his arm towards her. As she grasped it, a pulse of heat surged through her. With his shirtsleeves still rolled up, she noticed the fine dark hair covering his arms, and felt something stir in her stomach as she observed his rippling muscles. With very little effort, he hauled her up on to the bank. There they released their hold of one another. Eleanor stood before him, unable to speak. For a moment, James, too, seemed devoid of speech and simply stared at her. A splash from the water below broke the moment as they became aware of their young audience.

  James was the first to regain his voice. ‘I can imagine what my aunt will say to your appearance, Lady Eleanor,’ he said, removing a twig from her hair. ‘Although …’ he continued, in a tone so intimate that it caused her stomach to flip over, ‘… I have my own opinion.’

  Mortification flooded Eleanor as she realized he was staring at her bare legs. Good God, what on earth must he think of her gawping at him so with her gown tucked up in her undergarments? She flushed crimson and began hastily rearranging h
er skirts into some semblance of decency. As she bent down to squeeze the water from the hem of her frock, something bright caught her eye. Something that was glinting ominously in the sunlight as it made its way quickly and silently through the still, warm air. In the split second it took for her to realize what it was, her instincts kicked in and she launched the full weight of her body against James. Catching him off-guard, he tumbled backwards into a group of ferns. Eleanor landed on top of him. Their heads turned in unison as the arrow whistled past them, landing with a thud in the trunk of a nearby tree.

  In stunned silence, they watched the weapon quivering indignantly in the bark. It was some moments later, with both of them lying quite still, before James said, quite matter-of-factly, ‘Well, Lady Eleanor. It would appear that we are making quite a habit of rescuing one another.’

  Having received more compliments and praise from Ed and his pals on how clever she was – especially for a girl - Eleanor returned to the manicured picnic grounds accompanied by James. She was aware of several enquiring looks as they made their way back to their party: the edge of her crumbled gown dripping water around her ankles, and her hair, which Milly had gone to such lengths to arrange, now completely dishevelled and adorned with varying pieces of flora.

  The dowager’s reaction to her goddaughter’s appearance was surprisingly restrained, undoubtedly due to the presence of three other stout persons squeezed onto the blanket. Aware that it would not do at all to scold her goddaughter in front of her prospective in-laws, Lady Ormiston had hastily rearranged her initial expression of horror, into one of concern.

  ‘Ah Eleanor, there you are. And looking a little … out of sorts,’ she sniffed, holding up her lorgnette and pursing her thin lips. Then, attempting to make light of the situation, ‘Obviously you have been involved in some mishap. Now do sit down here with the Graysons, my dear, and tell us all about it.’

  Eleanor had never imagined she would be so relieved to see Whitlock. The moment they returned from the Stanningtons’ picnic, she made her excuses and retired to her bedchamber without any supper. For all her fatigue, however, she could not sleep, her head whirling with the events of the day.

  Once news of the ‘mishap’ had spread, their party had been inundated with curious, gossip-seeking guests all eager to hear the details of the drama first-hand.

  The Stanningtons, of course, had been appalled that some rogue poacher had dared to be hunting on their land and had come so close to injuring, or worse still, killing, one of their esteemed guests. Eleanor had wondered, as Lady Stannington had dramatically dabbed her handkerchief to her eyes, if the couple would have been quite so upset if the guest in question had not been quite so esteemed.

  Then there was Madeleine, who had appeared on the scene with all the theatre of a newly bereaved widow. Rather than adding to her praise, the Hungarian had blamed Eleanor, bemoaning the fact that if Eleanor had not been behaving like a child in the water, then James would not have been on the river-bank in the first place.

  Never one to miss a drama, Cynthia Carmichael had been one of the first tabbies on the scene, bustling over with her vinaigrette. She had had, so she informed the dowager, a fit of the vapours upon hearing how close the arrow had come to hitting poor James. Felicity, tagging along behind her, had not spoken a single word but had regarded James with a strange look that Eleanor had been unable to decipher. The glare she had thrown Eleanor had been much easier to read: it had been one of unconcealed disdain.

  Another reaction Eleanor had found difficult to assess was that of the Duke of Swinton. As members of his party had passed by and exchanged a few words with James, the duke and duchess had remained on the periphery, the duchess looking thoroughly shocked and the duke looking unmistakably … disappointed.

  Lady Ormiston, despite having had her own fit of the vapours when Madeleine had later informed her of Eleanor’s fishing spree, had had little choice but to support her goddaughter’s actions in front of the Graysons. Indeed Lord Grayson, from whom his son had obviously inherited his unfortunate looks, had been most impressed with Eleanor’s quick thinking and nimble actions.

  ‘Can’t be doing with these simpering ninnies who do nothing but talk dresses and balls,’ he had advocated. ‘Like a woman with spirit, so I do.’

  Relief had spread over the dowager’s face. ‘Oh, well, I can assure you, Lord Grayson,’ she had replied with alacrity, ‘that Lady Eleanor has plenty of that.’

  The young viscount had nodded his approval. ‘And not only that, but a fine-looking filly too, Papa,’ he’d leered.

  Eleanor, resentful of being talked of as though she were a horse, had been about to protest when she’d caught James staring at her with that same strange – but increasingly familiar - expression on his face. For a very brief moment, as her eyes had fused with his, everyone else had melted into the background and only the two of them had existed. James had been the first to avert his gaze leaving Eleanor wondering if he, too, was aware of something very strange happening between them.

  THIRTEEN

  The following morning, Eleanor regaled the events of the picnic to Milly, adding in her own distinctive humour. But, rather than drinking in every detail as was usually the case, Milly appeared to be paying scant attention.

  ‘Is something wrong, Milly?’ Eleanor asked concernedly, as the girl brushed her hair.

  ‘No, miss,’ Milly replied weakly. ‘Nothing to bother yourself with at any rate.’

  Eleanor swivelled around on her stool to face her. ‘But I want to bother myself. You are my only friend here and if something is troubling you, then I want to help. Now tell me, what is it?’

  Milly regarded her for a few seconds, chewing her bottom lip. ‘It’s rats, miss.’

  Eleanor wrinkled her forehead. ‘Rats?’

  ‘Yes, miss. And lots of ’em. House was full of ’em when I visited my ma yesterday. Causing some right bother they are.’

  ‘That I can believe,’ puffed Eleanor. ‘I’ve seen first-hand the trouble a load of rats caused to poor Zach’s farm last year. Now tell me, Milly, how does your mother plan to be rid of them?’

  Milly shrugged her shoulders. ‘Not much she can do, miss. She’s put a few traps down but there’s so many of ’em, the traps don’t seem to be making no difference. Reckon she’ll just have to wait ’til they get fed up and move on.’

  ‘But we have to do something,’ gasped Eleanor. ‘We can’t let your family live with rats. I will have a word with the farmer here. What’s he called again? Mickey Humphreys. I’m sure he’ll be able to get his hands on some rat poison.’

  ‘But that costs money, miss, and my ma ain’t-’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that. I owe you more than a few packets of rat poison for all the help you’ve given me with my dancing - and for being such a good friend. I will go and speak to Mickey this morning and see if he can help us tomorrow. We will most likely need everyone out of the house for the day so that Mickey can do his work and I know exactly what we will do. You said yesterday that you would like to go to a picnic, Milly. So, tomorrow, if Mickey is willing, we shall have a picnic - in Paddy’s Meadow. All you will have to do is to bring your family to the meadow by noon and I shall arrange everything else. What do you think, Milly?’

  Milly stared at her mistress in genuine awe. If only all toffs were as kind and caring as her, she thought, then the world would be in much better fettle.

  It was yet another beautiful day with the sun already high in the cloudless sky. After breakfast, Eleanor determined to ride over to the Humphreys’ farm to discuss the Maguires’ rat problem with Mickey. She had thought him a decent sort at her godmother’s garden party and was almost sure he wouldn’t mind lending a hand. Giles had informed her that Lady Ormiston had gone to Richmond and thankfully there was no dancing lesson scheduled for that day. Eleanor had one of the grooms saddle up a chestnut mare and, steadfastly refusing the man’s offer to accompany her, she made her way to Mickey’s farm, marvelling at the
abundance of violets, bluebells, buttercups and daisies springing from the hedgerows, as she trotted along the quiet country lanes.

  Once they had recovered from the shock of having such a ‘top-lofty visitor’, Mickey Humphreys and his pretty wife, Bella, had made Eleanor most welcome, with a slab of delicious fruit cake and a dish of tea. Mickey, honoured that Eleanor had thought to turn to him with her problem, was only too delighted to help and had promised to be at the Maguires’ house first thing the following morning, complete with rat poison and as many traps as he could muster.

  Almost two hours later, reluctantly taking her leave of the Humphreys’ cosy cottage, Eleanor was in no mood to return to the intimidating, ghostly walls of Whitlock. She decided instead to make the most of the glorious day. She trotted her horse along a maze of lanes until she was surrounded by a patchwork of multi-coloured fields. She had had little opportunity to ride during her stay at the castle, Lady Ormiston being of the opinion that it was quite unbecoming for young ladies to sit in a saddle. As Eleanor kicked the horse to a gallop and the two of them flew effortlessly over hedgerows, streams and fences, she forgot all about her problems, aware only of the countryside flashing by, the breeze whistling through her hair, and the large powerful beast beneath her. When they eventually reached a wide track flanked on either side by fences, she slowed the horse to a trot and found that they were both panting with exhilaration.

  The incongruous sound of slow, mocking applause caused Eleanor’s heart to skip a beat. She swung the horse around and found herself face-to-face with James and Derek Lovell, both also on horseback.

  ‘Thank you, Lady Eleanor,’ sneered Lovell, ‘for that first-class demonstration of yet another of your alternative accomplishments.’