“That will not be necessary,” he said as he shoved the door wide and pushed past her. “I have seen one of them in the parlor and I intend to see her whether she likes it or not.”
Harpert was helpless to stop him, and since Rebecca had heard the whole conversation and was now at the door of the parlor, the maid looked imploringly at her.
“All right, Harpert. I shall see Mr. Lawton,” she said coldly, returning to the parlor but not seating herself. Harpert left the door open and did not leave the entry hall, although she was aware that some biscuits were likely to burn.
“Please state your business, Mr. Lawton. I am not in the habit of having gentlemen barge into my house this way.”
“Are you not?” he sneered. “I should have imagined you were. Which one are you, Exton or Clayborne?”
“I am Mrs. Clayborne.”
“I take leave to doubt you are a married woman,” he scoffed.
“Nevertheless, I am. Did you come here to insult me, Mr. Lawton?” she asked frigidly.
“I am here to inform you that my niece will be attending no more ‘lessons’ here. I can just imagine what she learns from two lightskirts in Chipping Campden.”
“Get out of my house, Mr. Lawton, and do not present yourself here again,” Rebecca ordered. When he did not move but stood leering at her heaving breasts, she called, “Harpert, see this person out!”
Harpert, wielding a broom she had grasped from inside the kitchen door, approached the visitor menacingly, whereupon he gave a snarled laugh but took himself off.
“Thank you, Harpert. You are not to admit that person again,” Rebecca shuddered.
“I should think not, ma’am! Can I bring you a cup of tea? You look dreadful pale,” she said solicitously.
“Best make it a glass of wine. I am sorry to have put the burden on you, Harpert, but I could not bear to have that despicable man in the cottage a moment longer. You were very brave and I admire your foresight in arming yourself with the broom. You looked like an avenging Fury.” Rebecca smiled tremulously
“Just you rest a moment, ma’am, and I shall have a glass of wine for you.”
When Harpert had bustled into the kitchen, Rebecca shakily sat down on the nearest chair, despite the fact that it had no seat cover on it. For the first time since had come to the cottage she questioned the wisdom of three women sharing a cottage alone. However, momentarily her anger prevailed, and she realized that they had been doing well enough before meeting Mr. Lawton, and that he alone suddenly made everything appear sordid and distressing. She had not been exposed to anyone of his disgusting nature in her life and she found it hard to know how to handle him.
If only Clayborne would do something about him! But she could not be sure that Clayborne had paid any heed to her letter, as she had not heard from him. That lowered her spirits considerably, and they were further lowered when she realized that Elvira had no doubt suffered for her friendship with the two older women. What a tangle!
When Constance returned and was apprised of the situation by Rebecca, she took a very firm stand. “If Clayborne is not looking into the matter, I shall write to my brother. He is no doubt busy, but if I request it of him urgently, I am sure he will come. And Rebecca, you must carefully avoid Lawton. I would not put anything past him.”
“Nor I,” Rebecca shivered. “Really, he is so intent on bending everything to suit his own demented notions that I cannot but believe he is deranged. To call us lightskirts, Constance! He has not the least claim to being called a gentleman.”
“No, and we must remember that he is not, and cannot be expected to behave as one,” her friend replied worriedly. “I cannot like being here alone with such a villain in the countryside. And we can no longer do a thing for Elvira. I fear she has paid dearly for our acquaintance already.”
“I have just been thinking that myself. Perhaps we had best speak with the vicar and see if he can help us. He seemed a pleasant enough man when he visited, if rather vague. I shall write to Clayborne today and ask if he has instigated any inquiries. If not, we must turn to your brother, I suppose, though I dislike having to involve him.”
When Rebecca had written her letter, the two young women posted it in the village and proceeded to the vicarage where Mr. Andrews lived with his sister and a dozen cats. Miss Maria Andrews was delighted to see the visitors and immediately rang for tea, announcing that her brother would be returning shortly and they should await him with her.
Miss Maria was a tall, angular woman of faded mien and indeterminate years. If she was curious about her visitors, there was no sign of it, for she merely began a long, rambling discourse on the various cats who padded about the room, brushing lazily against the young ladies’ skirts.
“Now Sophia there has had five litters since she came to us, and I have not been able to part with more than three or four of the kittens. Sox and Sother are two of hers, and the striped one on the writing desk, Somat, is also. They were the naughtiest little kittens, but have become quite well trained now,” she proclaimed, as Somat knocked over a vase of roses, and she gently scolded him. Perhaps feeling that the subject had proved infelicitous, she queried the young women on their cottage.
“We are making great progress,” Rebecca informed her. “I imagine in a few more weeks you would not recognize it. I hope you and your brother will come for tea when we finish.”
“That would be delightful. The cottage has been empty for a short while, and the elderly man who lived there before was in no position to care for it as should have been done. I have lived here many years with my brother, and I am sure Mr. Peter was there when we came. He must have been ninety when he died.”
This conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Andrews, who appeared to remember the visitors from his early call at their cottage, even if their names eluded him. He seated himself comfortably in a chair beside Constance and began to speak of parish matters with them.
“We have come to speak with you on a rather serious matter,” Rebecca gently interrupted him after a while.
Miss Andrews immediately excused herself, but Rebecca and Constance assured her that it was not necessary. “We wish to discuss Elvira Carstairs,” Rebecca explained to her, “and you may be of assistance.”
Miss Andrews again seated herself, and murmured, “The poor child.”
Mr. Andrews regarded the two young women curiously. “You have met Elvira?”
“Yes, we met her out riding one day,” Constance replied. “She has come to our cottage several times.”
“I am surprised her uncle allows it!” Miss Andrews exclaimed.
“When he found out, he forbade it,” Rebecca admitted. “We had been giving the child some lessons and, I hope, providing her with some much needed companionship. From what we’ve seen and heard, we’re convinced that her uncle mistreats her.”
“Now, now, I know he is a strict man, but surely not unkindly so,” the vicar said soothingly.
“You do not consider his whipping her over trivialities to be unkind?” Rebecca asked hotly.
“Purely a child’s imagination,” the vicar protested condescendingly, “which adults should listen to with the proper incredulity.”
“It is no such thing,” Constance asserted. “We have heard him whip the girl quite shamelessly. He has denied her any contact with children her age, has rid the manor of all the servants she knew and loved, including her governess, and has sold off her father’s stable for the most part. Surely that is not a child’s imagination!”
The vicar regarded her sadly. “If what you say is true, nonetheless there is nothing that can be done. Elvira must learn to bear the burden God has seen fit to lay on her shoulders.”
“God has not laid it on her shoulders,” Rebecca said scornfully. “Her uncle has done so, and certainly there must be something that can be done.”
Miss Andrews cast a reproving look at Rebecca and said, “My brother’s concern is with the souls of his parishioners, Mrs. Claybo
rne. When Miss Elvira comes to us infrequently for lessons, as some of the village children do, my brother instructs them in the words of the scriptures, and a very elevating time it is. I would that some of the adults in the village took such heart from his words,” she said meaningfully.
“I am sure Mr. Andrews is quite noted for his uplifting services,” Constance replied soothingly. “It did in fact occur to Mrs. Clayborne and myself that if he were to visit Campden Manor occasionally and speak with Mr. Lawton, it might ease Elvira’s situation somewhat.”
Mr. Andrews’s face became flushed as he said quietly, “Mr. Lawton has indicated to me that my visits to Campden Manor would not be welcome. I did try going there when first he came, you understand, and he allowed that the child might attend my scripture classes occasionally if she were not required at home.”
“And has Elvira attended many?” Constance asked.
“Not above half a dozen in the last year,” he admitted.
“But when she came did she not give you some idea of the situation at Campden Manor?” Rebecca pressed.
“What she said was most distressing,” Miss Andrews sighed.
“Did you not believe her?” Constance asked coldly.
“She is not a child given to fancy,” Mr. Andrews allowed, “but she is young, and her parents’ death was a shock to her. I daresay she is unused to being other than indulged, as only children often are,” he replied pompously.
“So in fact you are well aware of the situation at Campden Manor and intend to do nothing about it,” Rebecca said sadly.
“There is nothing I can do except give her the benefit of my guidance and my faith,” the old man pointed out self-righteously.
“She will grow accustomed to her uncle’s ways and learn to accommodate him,” his sister assured them.
“There is no accommodating him,” Rebecca retorted. “He uses the flimsiest of pretexts for punishing her severely and allows her no companion with whom she may share her troubles, or even her joys, if she has any. Thank you for your time, Mr. Andrews. We need not trouble you further.”
Chapter Eighteen
From London to Oxford Clayborne made very good time on his journey to the Cotswolds; he drove his own curricle with his groom up behind. After Oxford, however, he made frequent stops and detours to the towns and villages in the area, using the letters of introduction his solicitor had thoughtfully provided.
In Chipping Norton, Long Compton and Shipston he was unable to gain any information, but his inquiries were more rewarding in Broadway and Evesham. There Eustace Lawton was well known and, which Clayborne found not at all surprising, heartily disliked. Clayborne had been referred to a particular solicitor in Broadway, a young man who seemed clever and honest, and to him he confided the whole of the matter concerning Lawton and commissioned him to investigate further. After passing the night at an inn there he at last turned toward Chipping Campden.
Clayborne passed Campden Manor on his way to the village, but he saw no activity there and did not pause. When he arrived at the Lygon Arms he entrusted his curricle and pair to his groom and went in to bespeak a room. He was soon on friendly terms with the landlord who, fortunately for Clayborne’s purposes, was a very talkative, confiding fellow.
“Ay, I knows Eustace Lawton, but I misdoubt your honor be a friend of his. More like he be a friend of the devil. Never seed such a mean man in me life. Your lordship would hardly credit the way that man treats a horse! Once he tried to hire a horse here when his was lame, but never would I allow it. Told him meself ‘twasn’t a one not spoken for. Nor did he believe it. But what odds is that, I ask you? I couldn’t care less for his custom. Took it out on the groom he handed his own horse to, would you believe it? Very nasty fellow. Steer clear of him I would were’n I you,” the landlord cautioned.
“I thank you for the warning,” Clayborne said. “He sounds a most unsavory character.” He had meant to ask Rebecca’s direction, but thought better of it. After seeing his valise taken to his room, he strolled out of the inn, sure he could recognize the cottage from his wife’s drawing, And although there were similar stone cottages, none was so bedecked with roses as the one for which he searched, and he was not long in finding it. His tap on the door brought Harpert peering out through a small crack.
“Lord Clayborne,” she gasped in astonishment, throwing the door wide. “Do come in, your lordship. Mrs.... ah, Lady Clayborne is not in at present, but Miss Exton is in the parlor. One moment, I shall announce you,” and she dove into a room off to the right, closing the door behind her. She returned immediately to usher him into the parlor.
“Jason,” Constance cried, holding out her hands to him. “I was never so glad to see anyone!”
Clayborne clasped her hands firmly, and noted the pallor of her cheeks. “Is something amiss, Constance? Is Rebecca all right?”
“Truly, I don’t know, Jason, for I have just arrived home to hear from Harpert that Rebecca has gone to meet Elvira. I cannot like it! Elvira’s uncle came to the house some days ago and informed Rebecca that Elvira was not to see us any more. He called us lightskirts, Jason,” Constance cried, “and was very insulting to Rebecca!”
The muscle in Clayborne’s jaw twitched and his lips tightened. “I have heard nothing but evil of the man. Please have Harpert come here.”
Harpert appeared immediately to the summons and stood nervously before Clayborne. “I want you to tell me exactly what happened this morning, Harpert.”
“Well, sir, Lady Clayborne was sketching in the parlor, and Miss Exton was out to the butcher shop when there was a tap on the kitchen door. There was a young lad there, kind of surly-like, and he thrust a note at me and run away. Lady Clayborne has been teaching me to read and I could tell it was for her, so I took it right in. She comes out directly and says, ‘Harpert, it is from Miss Elvira. Tell Miss Constance that she says she has to see me and I am to meet her in the old stone quarry north of the village right away.’ Then she grabs a bonnet and leaves. She took Firely, of course, though she didn’t stop to saddle her,” the maid said, wishing to be perfectly precise.
“How long ago was this?” Clayborne asked.
“A matter of perhaps half an hour,” Harpert replied.
“Do you know where this stone quarry is?” he asked them.
“Not precisely, Jason, but on our rides I have noticed a sign for Quarry Lane,” Constance said, and told him how to reach it. “Take my horse. It will be faster than going to the inn.”
Clayborne hesitated momentarily. “You do think she may need help, Constance? I should not like to interfere if it is nothing.”
“Oh, Jason, you have not met that hateful man. It may be simply a note from Elvira, but I cannot feel easy in my mind. I fear it is a trick of Lawton’s for Harpert can tell you how he spoke to her, and looked at her.” She blushed.
“I shall find her,” he promised, and left for the stable if not precisely at a run, then the closest thing to it. Constance watched after him, wringing her hands in agitation, while Harpert assured her that his lordship would see matters to rights and offered to bring her her vinaigrette.
As there were only sidesaddles in the stable, Constance soon saw Clayborne bareback on her mare, urging the horse in the direction she had given him. Then she turned to Harpert, refused the vinaigrette, and said only, “I pray you are right.”
When Rebecca had read the note from Elvira, she was not so unheeding of the possibilities as Constance believed. Before speaking with Harpert she slipped a scissors into her reticule and, feeling a little ridiculous for such cloak and dagger methods, nevertheless slipped the reticule over her wrist. In addition she thrust a wicked-looking, lengthy pin through her bonnet to hold it on in the back, though it tied securely under her chin. She did not wish to desert Elvira if she were in trouble and needed help, but she did not wish to be caught at a disadvantage, either.
She briefly cursed Clayborne for not having acted on her letter, knowing that this might be unjust
, but not particularly caring at the moment. She did not take the time to saddle Firely, for she had become accustomed to riding bareback again and she found the sidesaddle a nuisance.
Rebecca did not, however, have any clear idea of where the old stone quarry was located, and was forced to stop several village children before she received the information she sought. The young lad who provided it stared at her open-mouthed, noting her lack of a saddle skeptically.
“You’m like to fall off that way,” he advised. “The lane to the quarry be very overgrown and rocky.”
“Thank you, young man,” she laughed, “but have you ever ridden with a sidesaddle?”
He shook his head in bewilderment and she said, “Try it some day. It does not make the most secure seat,” and she wheeled the mare and was off. He watched her out of sight admiringly.
When she reached the quarry Rebecca could see no one, but her mare whinnied and another horse answered from not far away. She called softly for Elvira, but there was only silence. Not wishing to dismount, as it might put her in an adverse position, she retained her seat and walked the mare closer to the abandoned pit.
There were bushes encroaching on the open scar and the horse’s hooves raised clouds of dust which nearly choked her. Suddenly there was a movement to her left and before she could urge the horse away her arms had been grasped and she was pulled roughly down to the ground. Firely danced away from the stranger and stood eyeing him from some distance.
“What is the meaning of this, Mr. Lawton?” Rebecca asked coldly, as she lay in the dust at his booted feet.
“You shall see soon enough,” he gloated, retaining his grip on her arm.
“Where is Elvira?”
“Locked in her room at the manor, where she shall stay for the next week on bread and water, you may be sure. The grand lady did not wish to write a note for me,” he mocked, “so I was forced to punish her.”
Rebecca felt a shiver of fear and loathing shake her and Lawton, seeing it, roared with laughter. “Ah, yes, but I have other plans for you, doxy.”
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