Vanessa felt a small twinge of pride in her accomplishments and her brother's seeming appreciation of them and desire to learn. She went to the small side table to look over the pile of books on horse breeding which she had left there.
Stifling a yawn and rubbing her aching temples, she blinked hard to focus her eyes on the writing on the spines, wondering why she felt like a clock that had begun to wind down.
While her back was turned, Gerald whisked the vial out of his pocket and sprinkled what looked to be the right amount in her cup, before pouring the hot coffee onto the white powder and stirring briskly. He then added several teaspoons of sugar, and a liberal amount of milk. He placed the cup by Vanessa's side, and nervously prepared another cup for himself. He could not help staring at her as she took her first sip, and made a moue of distaste.
Vanessa sat down wearily. "A tad more sugar, Gerald, if you please. And we really do need to speak with Mr. Grigson about a less bitter blend of coffee in future."
"Of course, Vanessa, whatever you wish. Now that you are back here in Somerset, I look forward to you taking the servants in hand."
She looked steadily at her brother over the rim of her cup as she took another sip of coffee, disliking the taste but hoping it would give her a lift to get through the rest of the evening. "I will agree to help, if you will also permit yourself to be taken in hand. Gambling, balls, hunting, fine dining, are out of the question from this point onwards. You simply cannot afford the pursuits of a gentleman of leisure until you have a more stable and reliable income. You need to take the reins of this estate yourself, and see that everything here has a real cost. I expect you to know the price of everything you buy down to the last penny, so that you may be sure the housekeeper and steward are not cheating you.
"And it must be apparent even to a bluff country gent like yourself that you cannot continue to spend and spend on luxuries when you can barely manage to secure the necessities. I know you of old. You would rather buy a new waistcoat than have the button sewn on. I will help set up the estate, to ensure that it will provide you with a decent income, never fear. But if we are talking of family pride, I wonder you can stomach the notion of requiring rescue from your baby sister, rather than at least trying to shift for yourself."
Gerald bit back a scathing retort, and forced himself to sip his own coffee. All he really longed for was to be out of her company downing a few stiff drinks with his friends. A bout of roistering would do them all a world of good. He had been much more circumspect since Vanessa had arrived three weeks previously, but the throbbing excitement in his blood as he thought of all the possibilities that awaited him down the road was almost more than he could bear.
"After all," Vanessa continued, "you will never secure a decent, respectable woman for a wife if you continue to be so heedless of you reputation and estate. You know you will have to work hard and try to marry well if you wish to improve your expectations. Yet that no one with any status in society will let you anywhere near their daughter if they know you to be nothing more than a fortune-hunter."
"I can go to London, find a pretty girl just coming out and--"
She shook her head. "You can try. However, a London season costs more than I can grant you. In any event, you tried it before, and got yourself talked about most dreadfully. Even if the people in London had short memories, which I am sure they do not, I am afraid this latest debacle of yours will precede you unless we can persuade Clifford Stone to give up his claim, and allow the matter to drop. As it is, I think tongues will be wagging all over the County and beyond about your infamous little card game for quite some time."
"And I tell you, if you marry him and settle down, make the best of this situation, no one will talk at all, except about what a marvelous couple you are, and how you have tamed the wild Rakehell Clifford Stone."
She shot her brother a withering look over the rim of her coffee cup. "A man I hardly know, who is so lost to decency that he would gamble for a wife? Rakehell. Oh charming. Yes, indeed, he sounds just the right sort of chap for me," she said in a tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Gerald, please do not take me for a fool. I know I usually have my nose in a book or ledger, and I was about to have my season when aunt became ill, so I am not as well informed as many young ladies of the Ton. I know I have no reason to defend him after his appalling conduct last night, but there seems a great deal more to this affair than you are telling me."
"What on earth do you mean?" Gerald asked, his face like granite.
"I am not very worldly, I know, and have been gone from Millcote for many years. But public censure is seldom a hidden thing. Being as overt as it usually is, I find it surprising that you appear to be the only person at odds with Clifford in this district."
Gerald fiddled with his pocket nervously again, which she took as an admission of guilt.
"Oh, it's true. Servants do talk, after all. And you have already reminded me of how much the finer class of people here loves to gossip. Yet I can state with absolute certainty that I have never heard Mr. Stone spoken ill of in any circles I have traveled in, neither in the past nor now. Rakehell is supposed to be a nickname, no more, due to he and his friends' Radical politics, not their exploits with women.
"You tell me he is a debaucher, but no one else has imparted this information to me by way of warning. No one has come to the door expressing alarm or condolences, and not even my cousins have said a word against the match except insofar as they desire my wealth for their own.
"I only wish I could say your reputation was as good as Mr. Stone's. Your one and only season in London when you turned eighteen is still whispered over to this day by some of the more devout members of the gentry."
Gerald put down his cup impatiently. While he was eager to ensure that his dosage of the powder had been sufficient, he was damned if he was going to sit there while she preached to him. Besides, it would look better if he was out of the house and in full view of all the company at one of the local taverns when Vanessa met her end. And a feigned illness might not go amiss either. Blame it on the oysters, and all would be well.
Was it his wishful thinking, or was she already starting to look a bit green?
"Vanessa, I appreciate all you are doing for me. Nevertheless, please keep in mind that I am the head of this household. I will not tolerate being lectured by a mere girl several years my junior. So, if you will forgive me, I shall go over to James' house for more congenial company." He rose from his chair stiffly, looking the picture of wounded indignation.
"You mean the local tavern," she countered, quirking one eyebrow.
"I said James Cavendish's house. You have no right to doubt my word. But if he does happen to suggest we go down to the local tavern, who am I to gainsay my host?"
She shook her head and waved him out with her fan, her head truly throbbing in earnest now. "Go you on then. So much for enjoying my company and an improving book."
"You should retire early, Sister. You will have a long day tomorrow. Planning for a wedding can be so time-consuming."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already gone, leaving her rigid with anger.
As Simms the butler helped him into his greatcoat, he instructed, "You might as well get off to bed early, all of you. My sister is about to retire, and there is no point in you waiting up for me. I shall stay at the Cavendishes' house this night, and shall see you on the morrow.
"Lock everything up behind me securely. I do not wish my sister to be left in this house unprotected, and must take steps to find her an appropriate chaperone."
"Of course, sir," Simms replied.
For the life of him he could not imagine what the young master thought was worth stealing in the ramshackle old place. There was nothing of value left from his parents' time, and Miss Vanessa had never been one for ostentatious jewels or trinkets.
But at least he appeared to be solicitous of his sibling, which was no more than the lovely young lady deserved.
&n
bsp; As soon as Gerald left the house, taking the family's only small conveyance with him, Simms summoned the footman, Hartley. Together they began securing the heavy wooden shutters on the ground floor windows.
Vanessa felt herself growing more and more aching and weary, but attributed it to nothing more than a long, distressing day and a surfeit of oysters.
She made her way slowly up to her room, and began to undress for bed. As she was brushing out her hair, a wave of violent nausea swept through her. She barely made it to the basin before she lost the contents of her stomach, and collapsed onto her knees onto the floor.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When at last the retching had subsided, Vanessa took a sip of water and rinsed out her mouth, then drank a cool glass, before doubling over and being ill again.
She now realized that this was more than simple fatigue or a headache. She rang the bell for the little hunch-backed maid who had been waiting upon her since her arrival at Hawkesworth House. But with the servants all abed, and the bell mechanism ancient and in poor repair, no one responded to her summons.
After waiting some time, during which she felt herself growing more and more cold and clammy, she bestirred herself to attempt the stairs. Another fit of nausea paralyzed her for several minutes.
By the time she summoned the strength to go down to seek help, Simms and the footman had made the entire house and stable block secure, and shut up the servants' quarters.
Thus, when Vanessa eventually descended the stairs on trembling limbs and began knocking feebly on the belowstairs door, no one was there to hear her, and all the bolts had been driven home.
She sat shakily on the stairs for a moment, before half-staggering, half-crawling over to the front door. It too was barred shut.
Vanessa knew she needed help. She could feel herself weakening, her vision darkening around the edges as though she were looking down a long tunnel.
She grasped her cloak from off of the clothes tree. Clutching it to her scantily clad bosom, she made her way to the nearest room, the large front parlor.
Her heart sank when she saw the shutters firmly fastened. A strong instinct for survival propelled her forward. Mustering what little strength she had left, she heaved on the bolt with all her might, and managed to shift the heavy iron bar a couple of inches. A few more tugs slid it open fully.
Vanessa then attempted to pull one of the huge panels ajar. She struggled hard for some minutes, pausing every so often as another wave of nausea doubled her over. At last she uncovered half of the window.
She groaned inwardly, for the next obstacle she faced was the huge casement window itself. The weight would be hard enough to manage. If the sash were broken, she would not be able to keep it up in order to climb through it. She risked the prospect of being trapped, or damaging one of her limbs.
She had not thought far enough ahead to work out how she was going to get to the surgeon's house. It was over two miles away on the outskirts of Millcote so far as she had discovered. She knew the road which went past their front gate was well traveled. If she could just manage to get out the window and down the short drive, she would be able to find help. She simply had to.
Vanessa heaved upwards on the window handle, and felt it give a half-inch or so. At least it was not completely jammed. But by the abrupt manner in which it fell back down, she knew the sash had given way.
Looking around the room desperately, she espied some books sitting on a small side table. Taking the thickest of them, she scrambled back to the window. Tugging with all the strength her slender frame possessed, she opened the window far enough to wedge the book into the space between the ledge and the bottom window frame, and then sat on a small stool nearby to rest.
Waves of biliousness continued to wash over her. She began to shudder with cold and the strain of her efforts. By now she knew that her struggles to get out of the house were a matter of life and death. She blamed the oysters, and knew enough people had died of food poisoning to know how serious her plight was. She might have vomited, but she couldn't be sure it was enough to purge the illness from her body. Death could well be nigh if she didn't hurry.
She steeled herself and moved with a greater sense of urgency. Heading over to the table to fetch the rest of her books, she repeated her efforts, propping the window wider and wider until she was sure she had enough room to slide through the opening head-first.
She bundled up her cloak and threw it out the window, and then put her own arms, shoulders and finally head through the small opening. She guessed the drop to be about six feet, but knew she had no choice. At least there were some straggling bushes below which would partially break her fall.
Propelling herself forward inch by inch on her hands, which were propped either side of her on the outer ledge, Vanessa writhed and wriggled like a serpent to get her ample bosom through the small gap. Next came her firm buttocks, and finally her long legs.
The pressure of all of her weight on her arms began to take its toll. To the sound of the shredding of her chemise, she slid trembling out into the cool night air. The ferns and mosses broke her fall somewhat, but she knew she would be badly bruised the next day.
"If I live that long," she muttered, as she groped around for her cloak in the pitch dark, and wrapped it around herself.
Standing up, Vanessa felt as spindly-legged as a newborn colt. She nearly turned her ankle on a stone as she tentatively stepped forward in her thin house slippers. Their soles were slippery and the small heel kept catching on roots and branches as she made her way out of the shrubbery and onto the drive. She kicked them off hastily, picked them up for her walk along the road, and pressed on in her stockinged feet.
She could see a carriage light in the distance going past her house, and tried to walk faster. Though her head throbbed, her stomach heaved, and her legs jellied at every step, she pressed on, knowing only a doctor could save her now. A bad oyster? Or perhaps the pork? Mayhap something more insidious? But, no, surely not...
She shook her head. She put it all down to absurd fancy. She'd been tempted to read too many Gothic novels, and her nightmares ever since she had returned to the estate were causing her unease, that was all. It was only natural. Being back in her old room had simply sparked some rather unpleasant recollections.
Gerald had said it was brain fever. She could recall little of her illness, but he would have been old enough to have witnessed what by all accounts had been her peculiar imaginings, which had inevitably given rise to speculation that she was weak-minded, hysterical, if not downright mad.
Her father had been at his wit's end, a grieving widower trying to cope with an equally bereft young daughter. Eventually her aunt had rescued her, given her a new life of the mind, one based on intellectual pursuit, not fairy tales of demons and goblins.
All the same, as Vanessa trudged on, she could not escape the prickling of unease. What dark forces were at work here in the gloomy old house? It had been bad enough her brother gambling her, without her cousins coming over to tea afterwards to squabble over her like dogs over a nice juicy bone.
She could go to her cousins' for help, she decided, trying to calculate the distance there on foot. There was certainly no succor here, she said, putting as much distance between herself and the gloomy old pile as she could.
But to throw herself on the mercy of the Stephens family might well put her in an even worse predicament than just taking a chance on the open road.
She knew her own constitution. She had rarely been ill after her bout of brain fever at the age of eight, and had grown tall, strong, self-possessed, not in the least like the hysterical little girl who had first entered her aunt's home in Dorset. She certainly had never experienced anything like the wracking gastric pains doubling her over at nearly every step.
No, she needed a doctor. Quickly.
Another carriage went past the gate, heading west to the house near Millcote Forest where the doctor resided. Vanessa called out with all her might, "Help me! H
elp me, please!"
But the carriage lights flickered off into the distance, leaving her alone once more on the tree-lined avenue.
Vanessa tried to force herself to remain calm. There was no need to give way to despair. Not yet. She had seen two carriages thus far. It stood to reason that another would be coming past shortly. She guessed it was about eight in the evening. Any number of people could be abroad this night, on their way to supper or an assembly or party, she reasoned. There would be another carriage. There simply had to be.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Vanessa made her way up the avenue of Hawkesworth House, clinging to the trunks of the tall oaks which lined the drive. Though she longed to rest, to sit just for a moment, she knew that to give in to that impulse could well be the death of her.
Her breath was coming in short, labored gasps. The roaring in her ears was only due in part to the chill wind sweeping through the countryside. In naught but her chemise, petticoats and cloak, with an autumn storm about to descend upon them, if her illness didn't do away with her, the elements surely would.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1 Page 7