by Gayle Buck
“Miss Worth was engaged? Then why has she never wed?” asked Mrs. Pettiforth, seemingly doing a reassessment of the lady in question.
“It was such a tragic thing. Her fiancé was killed in the Peninsular. He was Chard’s heir. I believe that Verity is still on very good terms with the family, for she was a particular favorite of the earl and the countess,” said Mrs. Arnold.
She saw that the information that she had deliberately let drop was having its inevitable effect. Several expressions reflected startled respect. In their minds, Miss Worth was going through a metamorphosis from being an unimportant individual of dependent gentility to that of a young lady with influential social connections. Satisfied that she had done much to undermine the validity of the slander that had so pained her friend, Mrs. Arnold rose from the table with the request that a message be sent round to the stables for her carriage to be made ready.
“Of course, Mrs. Arnold. I shall arrange it myself,” said Mr. Pettiforth quietly. He also rose. “In fact, I will bear you company and attend to it now, for I should like to say good-bye to Mr. Arnold.”
Mrs. Arnold was surprised, but she graciously assented. “That is very kind of you, Mr. Pettiforth. He is above stairs just now changing out of his hunting attire. He had gone out with his fowling piece quite early this morning.”
“Yes, of course. A sportsman will make the most of the time,” said Mr. Pettiforth. He escorted Mrs. Arnold out of the breakfast room and across the hall. At the bottom of the steps, he quietly requested a short word with her.
Mrs. Arnold, her foot already on the first step, looked up at him without undue surprise. “Of course, sir.”
Mr. Pettiforth was frowning. “Mrs. Arnold, you are Miss Worth’s friend. I know that she would not have left without a word to me or to anyone. Miss Worth is not a capricious young woman.”
“No, she is not. Mr. Pettiforth, I am as puzzled as you. Yet, perhaps a little less so.” Mrs. Arnold studied his face, wondering how much she could say without giving offense. “Mr. Arnold, you are aware of the rumors that were set about at the ball?”
His expression hardened, “Yes, indeed. I know also that those rumors were lies. Miss Worth was not to be held at fault.”
“So I know, also. But others held quite a different opinion. Miss Pettiforth, in particular, was very much overcome by the things that were being bandied about,” said Mrs. Arnold.
Mr. Pettiforth regarded her silently for a long moment. “Did something occur last night between my daughter and Miss Worth, ma’am?”
“I visited Miss Worth in her bedroom a few minutes after we returned from the ball. I had just bid her good night when Miss Pettiforth came into the room.” Mrs. Arnold paused fractionally. “Miss Pettiforth was in the throes of hysterics.”
“I see. And Mrs. Pettiforth?”
“She could do nothing with Miss Pettiforth. It was left to Miss Tibbs to calm the girl. Miss Tibbs, Miss Pettiforth, and I left Miss Worth’s bedroom at your wife’s request,” said Mrs. Arnold. She looked searchingly into her host’s face, hoping that he had understood all that she suspected and had left unsaid.
Apparently he had, for Mr. Pettiforth took hold of her hand and bowed over her fingers. “Thank you, Mrs. Arnold. You have perfectly explained exactly what I wished to know,” said Mr. Pettiforth. “I will send word for your carriage to be brought round. Pray give my regards to your husband. If you would be so kind to join me in my library for a moment before you depart, I should like to entrust to your care a letter and a cheque for Miss Worth. Her departure was made so hurriedly that she neglected to collect the reimbursement I was to make to her for taking her away from Lady Worth at this difficult time.”
“Of course, Mr. Pettiforth. I will be glad to be of such service to you,” said Mrs. Arnold.
They parted on excellent terms.
* * *
Chapter 18
Mr. Pettiforth sent word to the stable and then returned to the breakfast room. As he entered, the butler was in the act of handing a folded note to Mrs. Pettiforth.
Mrs. Pettiforth unfolded the sheet. She read the few penned words, her countenance growing ever more aghast. She fell back in her chair with an expression of disbelieving horror. “Lord Rathbone has gone!”
Miss Pettiforth shrieked. “What! I do not believe you! He could not possibly!” Miss Pettiforth snatched the note from her mother’s limp fingers and read it in her turn. “No! He cannot have left. It is a horrid hoax. I shan’t believe it! I shan’t!”
Mr. Pettiforth had sat down again at the table and was calmly cutting his steak. Mrs. Pettiforth rounded on him, repeating the tidings in strident accents. “What do you think of that?” she demanded.
Mr. Pettiforth looked across the table at his wife, his expression one of mild surprise. “Why, nothing. Indeed, why should I? Lord Rathbone conveyed his intentions to me last night before you and our daughter had returned from the ball. He had formed the desire to return to London and informed me that he was taking immediate departure this morning.”
Miss Pettiforth uttered another, more penetrating, shriek.
The others of the company began to furtively eye the door. “Never could abide a female given to distempered freaks,” muttered one gentleman uncomfortably.
Mr. Pettiforth glanced at his daughter in patent disapproval. “If you cannot conduct yourself in a more moderate fashion, young lady, I shall request you to remove yourself to the schoolroom.”
“Oh, well done!” exclaimed the gentleman. He than glanced around guiltily as he realized that he had spoken quite loud. But no one particularly noticed, being too interested in what was transpiring.
Upon her father’s pronouncement, Miss Pettiforth’s mouth had opened. No sound came forth, however, even though hot color surged into her cheeks. She stared at her father. Apparently comprehending that he meant what he had said, she subsided with uncharacteristic meekness.
“But why would dear Lord Rathbone rush off in such a precipitate manner?” wailed Mrs. Pettiforth. She had retrieved his lordship’s curt note and had been rereading it with an effort to understand what might be between the lines.
“I fancy Rathbone remained longer than he intended. The hunting was excellent, of course,” said one gentleman, nodding to Mr. Pettiforth.
“Indeed, I expected him to leave much earlier. It was my understanding that house parties in the country are not his lordship’s usual fare,” said a lady.
“No, by God! Nor mine, come to think of it,” discovered one of the gentlemen. “Pettiforth, it has been a dashed good stay. Excellent country and all that. But I must cut my visit short. Other obligations, you know.”
Mr. Pettiforth indicated that he understood perfectly. He wished his departing guest a pleasant journey. That seemed to signal the end of the house party and the other guests also extended their gratitude for the hospitality. Mrs. Pettiforth said all that was proper, though with a somewhat distracted air.
When the door shut behind the last personage, only the Pettiforths and their daughter remained in the breakfast room. “Well, my dear lady, it seems that our house party comes to an end at last,” said Mr. Pettiforth happily.
“Yes, and how disappointing it has been, too. I had hopes that—”
Mrs. Pettiforth cast a glance at the footman who had entered to slowly clear some of the empty serving dishes on the sideboard and finished lamely, “Well, I mean to say it is all very odd. Lord Rathbone is, after all, my nephew and I should think I could have expected more of him.” Mrs. Pettiforth held her silence for as long as she was able before exclaiming, “Leave them, man!”
The footman correctly interpreted his mistress’s glare and quickly exited.
Mrs. Pettiforth leaned forward across the table, her eyes fixed on her husband’s in an intent manner. “Dear Mr. Pettiforth, did his lordship say anything to you before he left?”
Miss Pettiforth had been sitting in a sullen posture, but at her mother’s question she snapped
upright, her expression alert and avid.
“Regarding what, my dear?” asked Mr. Pettiforth mildly.
“My hand, of course, Papa!” exclaimed Miss Pettiforth, contemptuous of her father’s obtuseness.
Mr. Pettiforth bent a baleful look on her. “You want manners, my girl. Such disrespect toward an elder is uncomely in any young person. I see that I have allowed you to be too much spoiled. Every governess ever engaged for you failed to impress the importance of self-control upon you. Miss Worth was obviously unable to curb your willfulness, as well. I regret the necessity, of course, but I shall not ask Miss Worth to return to us at the end of her visit to Mrs. Arnold.”
A swift tide of color rose in the beauty’s face. Her bosom heaving with the force of her outraged emotions, she said stormily, “I am glad! I am glad to be rid of her. She tried to steal Lord Rathbone from me!” Her eyes flashed and it seemed certain that she was about to deliver herself of further opinions when her mother hastily spoke up.
“That is quite enough, Cecily. Not but what it might be altogether too true, but we shall not speak of it,” said Mrs. Pettiforth, patting her daughter’s arm. Miss Pettiforth pulled away with a petulant frown.
Satisfied that her daughter was, for the moment at least, unlikely to break into a tiresome tirade, Mrs. Pettiforth turned to her husband. “Indeed, Mr. Pettiforth, I think it best that Miss Worth is let go. She has stirred up considerable gossip, which I heard from any number of people last night, as I am sure you did, as well.”
“I trust that you, too, are too intelligent to have been taken in by such jealousies, my dear wife,” said Mr. Pettiforth with a straight look.
Mrs. Pettiforth stared. She stammered uncertainly, “Of course, Mr. Pettiforth. I trust I am not such a ninny to believe every tittle tattle.”
Miss Pettiforth was astonished by her mother’s inconsistency. “But you know that it was true, Mama! You agreed with me last night as we came home that it was all so very horrid and tawdry.”
Mrs. Pettiforth was made acutely uncomfortable at what else might be let drop by her daughter’s impulsive tongue. The previous night she had not seen any necessity in informing Mr. Pettiforth that she had ordered Miss Worth from the house, having made the sublime assumption that he would be thankful to have the focus of such gossip gone and would ask no questions. Now in the face of his grave declaration she realized that she was perilously close to offending him. Too late, she recalled that Miss Worth was the daughter of Mr. Pettiforth’s favorite cousin and that Mr. Pettiforth had always displayed an inexplicable liking for the young woman. She frowned deeply at her daughter. “Enough, Cecily. You put me to the blush.”
“It is plain to me that what Cecily lacks is a bit of polish,” said Mr. Pettiforth.
At her mother’s reproof a hasty retort had sprung to Miss Pettiforth’s lips, but at her father’s words, the anger in her narrowed gaze became suddenly arrested. Her eyes grew bright as she leaped to a welcome conclusion. The mutiny in her expression disappeared, to be replaced by a dazzling smile.
At last, she was going to be brought out in London.
Her lips parted as visions of dizzying prospects unfolded in her head. “Oh, dearest Papa! That is so! A little polish is precisely what I do need. Then I will know just how to go on and I won’t displease you anymore.”
“I am glad that you agree, daughter. I shall write to a most exclusive seminary this very morning to let the headmistress know when to expect you. As I understand, it is a strict establishment that guarantees to turn out well-behaved young ladies,” said Mr. Pettiforth.
With one outraged glare of disbelief. Miss Pettiforth fell promptly into hysterics. She snatched up a plate and wildly slung it through the air, smashing it against the opposite wall.
“Cecily! Mr. Pettiforth, pray—! No, no, not the tea!”
Amidst the fury of screams and implorings and the smashing of flying crockery, Mr. Pettiforth got up from the table and calmly walked out of the breakfast room. It had gone very well, indeed, he thought contentedly. He was at last master in his own house.
Mr. Pettiforth repaired to his library. There he wrote out the letter and cheque for Miss Worth and enclosed them together. As he was engaged in this, a knock sounded upon the door. At his call, the door was opened. Mr. Pettiforth, rising from his chair and expecting to greet Mrs. Arnold, was surprised when Miss Tibbs and his second eldest daughter entered.
“Why, Miss Tibbs! And Sophronia. What is this?”
He walked around the desk and placed an affectionate hand upon his daughter’s shoulder. She glanced up fleetingly, a shadow of anxiety in her eyes, and Mr. Pettiforth frowned. “Is there something that I should know about, Miss Tibbs?”
“Indeed there is, sir. Sophronia shall tell you about it herself,” said Miss Tibbs.
The girl cast up another glance, this time at her governess. Miss Tibbs nodded encouragement. Sophronia circled the toe of her slipper on the carpet. “I found a note from Miss Worth, Papa.”
“Did you, indeed! You must tell me about it. Have you got it now?”
Mr. Pettiforth was astonished when Miss Tibbs handed into his hand several shredded pieces of paper. Then as he listened to Sophronia’s story, he turned to the desk and began to match the pieces together much in the manner of a puzzle. “Yes, it is from Miss Worth and it is addressed to Mrs. Arnold. There is no need to be in a quake, child. You did quite right, Sophronia. Now I shall see that Mrs. Arnold receives it. She is to come to see me presently.”
“Then we shall not keep you further, sir,” said Miss Tibbs. She and the girl started to leave.
“Miss Tibbs. A moment, if you please,” said Mr. Pettiforth.
Sophronia looked up in question, but Miss Tibbs said, “You may wait for me outside in the hall, Sophronia.”
Reluctantly, the girl did as she was bid. She knew very well that something of import was in the wind. Her father wore a most unusually grave expression.
When the door slowly closed, Mr. Pettiforth addressed the governess. “Miss Tibbs, my daughter Cecily will shortly be journeying to a seminary in the wilds of Yorkshire. I do not wish Mrs. Pettiforth to tire herself with such a trip. I hope that I may impose upon you to undertake that journey with Miss Pettiforth to see that she is safely ensconced in that establishment. In addition, I would like you to act as my deputy to the headmistress. I repose the fullest confidence in your ability to convey to that lady the particulars of Miss Pettiforth’s character and upbringing, and my hopes for her education.”
“I understand you perfectly, sir. I shall be happy to be of assistance, of course. I shall inform Nurse that all of the girls will be in her care until my return,” said Miss Tibbs. She coughed delicately. “Er... when shall I expect to leave, sir?”
“I am writing the letter today. Miss Pettiforth will be ready to leave upon the return acknowledgment,” said Mr. Pettiforth quietly.
Miss Tibb’s light blue eyes rounded. There was a good deal of astonishment as well as respect in her expression. “Very good, sir.”
There came a light tap on the door, followed immediately by its opening. Mrs. Arnold entered, but paused upon seeing the governess. “Forgive me, Mr. Pettiforth. I did not know that I was intruding.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Arnold. Miss Tibbs has merely conveyed to my hand a note discovered to be from Miss Worth to you,” said Mr. Pettiforth.
Upon Mrs. Arnold’s exclamation and drawing nearer, Miss Tibbs quietly effaced herself from the room.
Mrs. Arnold stared down at the mutilated note, then turned her puzzled glance on Mr. Pettiforth. “But I do not understand.”
“Perhaps I should explain that the note passed first through Miss Pettiforth’s hands,” said Mr. Pettiforth, his face flushing ruddily.
“Oh!” Mrs. Arnold understood, but she did not voice her sympathy for the gentleman. It would be more gracious not to do so. She turned her attention to the contents of the short note and exclaimed in astoni
shment. “Verity means to return to Crofthouse! But it is shut up and Lady Worth is gone from there. Oh, the foolish girl!”
“I was not aware of this. Surely Miss Worth would not place herself in such a spot,” said Mr. Pettiforth, disturbed.
“Oh, would she not, indeed! I know just what it is. She has taken some prideful, silly notion into her head that she cannot bring her troubles to me. Well, I shall soon disabuse her of that,” declared Mrs. Arnold, sweeping the shreds of the note into her reticule.
“What do you mean to do?”
“I shall follow her to Crofthouse. And once I have given her a thundering scold, I shall carry her off to London with me and make certain that she is positively raddled with amusements,” said Mrs. Arnold in vigorous tones.
Mr. Pettiforth chuckled. “I believe that you will, indeed. Here is the letter and the cheque for Miss Worth that I promised to you earlier. Thank you, Mrs. Arnold.”
“I shall see that she has them safely, sir.”
Mr. Pettiforth gallantly escorted Mrs. Arnold to the front door and she took final leave of him on the outside steps.
Mr. Arnold was waiting to hand his wife up into the carriage, but he paused to say his good-byes to his host. “Must express my appreciation for a smashing time, Pettiforth. I got a brace this morning and I’ve left them with your cook.”
Mr. Pettiforth was gratified and assured Mr. Arnold that he would be welcome to return at any time.
Mrs. Arnold shuddered at the prospect as she glanced toward the open front door. She saw nothing of Mrs. Pettiforth or the eldest daughter, for which she was thankful. She had waited tolerantly, her expression one of smiling good humor, during the exchange and her patience was soon rewarded.
“Ready, my dear?”
“Thank you, yes.” With a brilliant smile, she gave one hand into her husband’s and with the other caught up her skirt. Mrs. Arnold climbed up into her carriage, followed by Mr. Arnold. The driver snapped his whip and the equipage rolled away down the drive.
* * *