by Gayle Buck
Cassandra did not realize that she had spoken her question aloud until Sir Marcus and Miss Bidwell started laughing.
“Isn’t that just like a woman? Always wondering what she is going to put on,” said Sir Marcus, still chuckling. “It is a good thing that we are not like the female of the species, eh, Philip?”
“Quite. However, in this instance I must sympathize with Belle. I brought little in the way of evening togs,” said Mr. Raven.
“I shouldn’t worry overmuch, Philip. Sir Thomas is a country doctor, not a courtier. He’ll not expect London finery, I daresay,” said Sir Marcus.
Mr. Raven subsided, a skeptical brow raised.
Cassandra recalled very well what her aunt had packed for her to wear to Sir Thomas’s house party, and there was nothing in Belle’s wardrobe that was going to be adequate. “Sir, I beg to differ. Sir Thomas has several guests to his house party. It is likely to be a more formal affair than you envision. I ... I suspect that I haven’t anything to wear that will measure up.”
“I must agree with Belle, Sir Marcus. We must work on the assumption that Sir Thomas may have some influential personages staying with him. Belle has a gown that may be passable, given the addition of a few tucks of lace and ribbons. We shall have to go into the village to the shops and engage a seamstress,” stated Miss Bidwell.
Sir Marcus stared at the elderly lady. His bushy brows contracted until they almost met over his large nose. “Is that what you think, ma’am?”
Miss Bidwell gave a single nod. “Indeed it is, Sir Marcus.”
“Then take Belle in at first light. I shall stand the cost for whatever you think is necessary, Miss Bidwell,” said Sir Marcus decisively.
“Thank you, Grandfather,” said Cassandra.
He shook a bony finger in her direction. “Aye, you’ve managed to wrap me round your finger yet again, miss! This is a high treat. You’ll scarcely sleep a wink for excitement, I’ll warrant. Belle, I’ll have your promise now that you will behave yourself with all propriety.”
“Of course I shall, sir,” said Cassandra, smiling at him.
Sir Marcus nodded. “Very well. I shall trust you. And you, Miss Bidwell! You’ll turn her out every inch a lady, I know.”
“Indeed I shall, Sir Marcus,” said Miss Bidwell, nodding.
“I’ll want to see you before you go, Belle,” said Sir Marcus.
Cassandra promised to come see him before she left for the soiree.
“Now I am tired,” said Sir Marcus, deflating abruptly. He stirred fretfully in his chair. “Pull the bell, Philip. I want Weems. Tomorrow, Philip, I wish to go over some estate matters with you.”
“I am completely at your disposal. Sir Marcus,” said Mr. Raven with a bow.
* * *
Chapter 19
At first light, Miss Bidwell knocked on the door and entered Cassandra’s bedroom and ruthlessly drew back the bed draperies and the window curtains. Sunlight streamed into the room. Cassandra threw her arm over her eyes, muttering incoherently.
“Come, Belle, it is time to get up. I have already asked that Young John bring round the gig,” said Miss Bidwell, bustling over to the wardrobe. She looked through the several gowns that were in the wardrobe and selected a green merino and a matching corded pelisse. “You’ll need to dress warmly. It is snowing a little, I think. Now I am going downstairs to ask that some hot tea and biscuits can be served to us before we go.”
Cassandra sat up, yawning. “I shall be with you directly, Biddy.”
“See that you are. I have the gown that we decided upon last night folded in a hatbox in my bedroom. I shall take it downstairs with me so that we shall not have to come back up,” said Miss Bidwell. She glanced around, folding her hands before her. “I trust that I have remembered everything.”
“I am certain that you have, Biddy,” said Cassandra with a smile.
Miss Bidwell shook her head regretfully. “I only wish that I had known earlier about this soiree. Of course Sir Marcus has no notion of what it will take to make that gown presentable in such a short time.” Miss Bidwell walked over to the door. Opening it, she admonished, “Now don’t fall back to sleep, Belle. We have much to do and very little time in which to accomplish it.”
Within an hour, Cassandra and Miss Bidwell climbed up into the gig to set off for the village. Miss Bidwell was also attired warmly in a heavy pelisse and velvet bonnet. She had insisted that Cassandra bring a muff to warm her hands and that a heavy wool rug be wrapped snugly over their laps.
“I am aware that you are not particularly susceptible to the cold, Belle, but humor me in this. I shall feel more comfortable if we both keep as warm as possible,” remarked Miss Bidwell as she took up the reins.
“Very well, Biddy,” said Cassandra docilely. She had no objection to make, for she was grateful for the comfort provided by the muff and rug. It was a cold, damp day, the kind of weather that so readily chilled one to the bone.
The drive to the small village proved to be a pleasant jaunt. The countryside was serene and peaceful, the barren branches of the trees seeming to be waiting for the cloaking of winter.
As they drove down the village’s one thoroughfare, Cassandra looked around curiously. She had not been at Sir Thomas’s house long enough to have enjoyed any possible excursions into the small town, and so she had never been there. The village appeared to be a quaint, bustling place, and she liked it immediately.
However, as she and Miss Bidwell executed their errands, the charm of her first visit quickly wore off. She was continually greeted by different personages, who spoke to both her and Miss Bidwell in a friendly, familiar fashion. It was a bit nerve-racking, not knowing anyone’s name and having to pretend otherwise. Cassandra felt as though her mind was doing cartwheels in her efforts to be so like her sister that no one could suspect otherwise.
Cassandra was certain that she had offended at least one lady simply because she had not greeted the lady at once, as her sister would have done upon coming face-to-face with the woman. She had lingered a step or two behind Miss Bidwell to peer closely into an apothecary shop when the lady spoke to her. Cassandra tried to smooth over the awkward moment by claiming that she had been woolgathering and offered her apology. The lady nodded, but slanted a backward glance at Cassandra as she went on her way.
After that disconcerting experience, Cassandra stayed close beside Miss Bidwell in hopes that she could pick up clues from her companion’s demeanor and greetings whenever they chanced to meet other acquaintances.
The village boasted just one true dress shop. Miss Bidwell showed the gown in the hatbox to the seamstress and asked the woman’s advice. After much discussion, they agreed that several knots of ribbon and a new ruching of lace would refurbish the gown nicely on such short notice. The woman promised to have the gown ready by five of the clock, which would leave ample time to dress for the soiree. It was agreed that a messenger would deliver the gown up to the Hall.
“I only hope that it turns out as well as I have envisioned,” said Miss Bidwell with the slightest air of anxiety as they emerged from the shop.
“I am positive that it will,” said Cassandra soothingly. She honestly had not a notion how talented the seamstress might be, but judging from her sister’s wardrobe the woman was not completely inept. “She seems to know her business. If it isn’t just what we want, then I can certainly do some last-minute basting of lace.”
Miss Bidwell stopped short on the walkway to glance at her. “You, Belle? Surely, you jest.”
“No, I am learning to be quite handy with a needle, actually,” said Cassandra with studied casualness. Once more she had inadvertently revealed too much of herself. She grasped the elderly lady’s elbow, and in an attempt to distract her, she admonished, “Biddy, do come on! That gentleman wishes to pass, and you are blocking his way.”
Miss Bidwell murmured an apology and walked on toward the gig. She cast an anxious glance at Cassandra. “Belle, are you quite, quite sure that you are all right? I
think it is wonderful that you are so willing to help, of course. However, you are not precisely well versed in such matters, are you?”
“Oh, I may not have been in the past, but I am learning quickly. You are well enough acquainted with me to know that I am equal to any challenge,” said Cassandra cheerfully, hardly turning a hair. She caught up her skirt and stepped up into the gig.
“Quite true,” murmured Miss Bidwell, throwing her a glance as she, too, got up into the gig. Miss Bidwell took up the reins and gave the horse its office to go.
When they had returned to the Hall, Steeves conveyed the message that Sir Marcus had sent down word that he wished to speak with his granddaughter directly upon her return. Cassandra at once exchanged a worried glance with Miss Bidwell. She finished stripping off her gloves, turning her gaze anxiously to the butler. “I trust that he is not—
“Not as I know, miss. Mr. Raven said nothing about the master being ill,” said Sleeves, taking her gloves as well as her muff. He also accepted Miss Bidwell’s gloves.
Cassandra had already started up the stairs. She paused, her hand on the banister as she looked down at the butler. “Mr. Raven?”
“Yes, miss. Mr. Raven was closeted with Sir Marcus all morning. He is now in the drawing room,” said Steeves.
“Thank you, Steeves. I shall see Mr. Raven presently. I suppose,” said Cassandra.
“I shall inquire after tea, Belle,” called Miss Bidwell.
“Yes, of course.” Cassandra hurried up the stairs, wondering if Mr. Raven had had news in the morning post. It was the first thing that had flitted into her mind to explain why Mr. Raven had been in with her grandfather for such a long lime.
Mr. Raven would naturally have informed Sir Marcus of such an item of importance. However, Cassandra very much doubled that Sir Marcus would volunteer anything about it to her, for she was supposed to know nothing about Mr. Raven’s private affairs.
She hoped that Sir Marcus would not keep her long. She was anxious to go down to the drawing room and discover for herself if the long looked-for papal letter had come at last
Cassandra went along to her grandfather’s rooms and knocked on the door. It was opened promptly by the valet. She said cheerfully, “Good day, Weems. How is my grandfather?”
“He is as well as could be expected, miss.”
At Cassandra’s look of inquiry, the valet amplified. “The master had Mr. Raven up to go over several estate matters. Sir Marcus has been tired out by the unusual exertion, miss.”
“I see. Then I shall not stay with him long, Weems,” said Cassandra.
The valet nodded his approval and ushered her into the bedroom. Cassandra went toward the canopied bed. She saw that her grandfather was sitting up against a bank of embroidered pillows. At first glance it appeared that Sir Marcus was asleep, but then he stirred, seemingly at some little noise that she had made.
“Ah, Belle. You are back at last,” a pleased note in Sir Marcus’s voice. “Has your shopping trip proven to be worthwhile?”
Cassandra dropped a kiss on his wrinkled forehead. It was the first time that she had ever felt emboldened enough to take such a liberty. “Yes, I think so. We shall see what the seamstress does with the lace and ribbon that we gave her for refurbishing my gown.”
“You could appear at a ball dressed in rags, Belle, and you would outshine every one of the others,” said Sir Marcus with fondness.
“Why, thank you, sir.” said Cassandra, rather touched. “However, I rather think that you are biased in your granddaughter’s favor.”
Sir Marcus chuckled. “Aye, I am that. Belle, I requested you to visit me because I have something for you. Weems, bring me that box.”
The valet approached, carrying a tarnished silver jewel box. He set it down carefully on the bed within Sir Marcus’s reach and opened the ornate lid. Inside was an impressive array of old-fashioned gold and silver pendants and bracelets and necklaces and rings. The precious stones set in several of the costly pieces sparkled in the light.
“Oh!” exclaimed Cassandra involuntarily.
Sir Marcus reached into the jewel box and fumbled until he was able to grasp a long length of translucent pearls. The pearls rattled against the edge of the box as he lifted them out. “These belonged to your grandmother. They were my first wedding gift to her. I wish you to have them. Wear them tonight.”
Cassandra was overwhelmed and dismayed. Her first thought was that Sir Marcus should be handing them to her sister, not to her. “My dear sir! I cannot possibly take them.”
“What nonsense! Take them, I say! I wish you to have them,” thundered Sir Marcus, his face turning a shade darker.
Cassandra reluctantly accepted the long strand of perfectly matched pearls. They slipped smooth as pale silk through her trembling fingers. She knew that she was holding a small fortune in her hands. “Oh, they are so beautiful.”
Sir Marcus nodded, obviously satisfied with her reaction. “And they will look beautiful on you, Belle. You will come show me how they look before you leave this evening.”
“Of course I shall,” said Cassandra, her smile trembling on her lips. She wished fervently that it could be she, Cassandra, who could express her gratitude for such a magnificent gift. It was so very hard, especially just now, not to be known for herself.
“Weems, take the box away.” Sir Marcus waited until the valet had picked up the box and exited the bedroom into the dressing room. Sir Marcus turned again to look at Cassandra, and he reached out to grasp her wrist. “Belle, are you feeling quite the thing?”
Cassandra was startled. “Why, of course I am. Why-ever do you ask?”
“I have been hearing odd things. Not bad things necessarily, but odd,” said Sir Marcus.
“How do you mean?” asked Cassandra, sitting very still. She could feel her heartbeat quickening, and hoped that Sir Marcus could not detect it fluttering in her wrist.
“Why, that you have taken over some of the steward’s duties with the bills. That you take an interest in the preparation of menus and housekeeping. That you read!” Sir Marcus was staring intently at her, as though he could draw answers from her eyes. “Belle, you must tell me. Have you been feeling unwell lately? Is that why you have been less energetic than your usual wont? I never knew you in all of your life to sit of an evening and embroider. You have told me often enough how those things bored you to tears. Tell me the truth, girl! Are you sickening?”
“Sickening!” Cassandra blurted the word out with amazement. “Of course I am not!”
“Then what is it? Pray tell me,” begged Sir Marcus. “You know that I will do anything for you. Only tell me what I must do to make you better.”
“I am not sickening. Grandfather, really! If ... if I have seemed different somehow, more subdued, then I must put it down to your own health, sir,” said Cassandra, her mind working as quickly as it was possible. “I have been greatly concerned about you. Biddy may tell you so and Steeves and the rest. Why, I have been doing and saying all sorts of things that are out of character. But it is only because of my anxiety over you, sir, nothing more. I am trying to occupy my mind so that I do not think about it so often.”
“But ... reading, Belle? You have never enjoyed reading, except for those silly novels that you and Miss Bidwell have such a fondness for,” said Sir Marcus, his bushy brows lowered. “And I haven’t any of those in my library, I know.”
Cassandra wondered how many of the household had reported on her “odd” behavior to Weems, and thus to Sir Marcus. She could not help what had already been said about her. She would simply have to carry on in her stumbling way.
“I had never before come across such a fascinating book, you see,” said Cassandra. She folded her hands demurely in her lap, the warmed pearls pooled under her palms. “It is called A Faire History of the Weatherstone Family of Great Britain.”
A light flared in Sir Marcus’s winter-blue eyes. He shifted against his pillows, his gaze never leaving her face. “You found
that, did you? And you say that it is fascinating?”
“Quite fascinating. I never knew before what a ramshackle lot we are,” said Cassandra dryly.
Sir Marcus gave a gruff laugh. “Aye! You have the right of it, my dear. Very well, I am satisfied. I shall let you go along now, Belle. I am tired. Philip and I went over all of the estate earlier, and my eyes feel like dry marbles in my head.”
“What sort of business did you discuss with Philip, sir?” asked Cassandra delicately, wondering if her grandfather might divulge just the right thing that she was hoping to learn.
Sir Marcus looked at her from under lowered brows. “Now what manner of question is that, my dear?”
“Why, a perfectly ordinary one, I should think,” said Cassandra with the lightest of shrugs.
“You’re curious about whether or not we discussed you, aren’t you?” asked Sir Marcus bluntly.
“Not precisely,” said Cassandra. She could scarcely say more, for she simply couldn’t announce that it was Philip Raven’s personal affairs that occupied her thoughts lately. Sir Marcus would not unnaturally leap to the conclusion that she—or rather, Belle—was more than passing interested in Mr. Raven. And that would not do.
Sir Marcus sighed. “Very well, Belle. I shall tell you all. I went over several matters having to do with the estate, things that must be seen to and that I cannot expect anyone else to do for me. Philip is my godson. I wish him to be fully familiar with all of my holdings. As I recall, we did not discuss you to any degree.”
Cassandra was suddenly struck by the oddity of what Sir Marcus had said, or perhaps more important, what he had not said. “Grandfather, are you making Philip your heir?” she asked slowly, for it had occurred to her that Sir Marcus had all along been quite insistent that Mr. Raven learn all there was to know about the Hall and its environs.
“If I am, what is that to you?” asked Sir Marcus, lying back on his pillows, seemingly at his ease, but with his blue eyes fixed intently on her face.
“What of your son, my Uncle Phineas?” asked Cassandra, point-blank.