The Youngest Miss Ward

by Joan Aiken

  ‘Oh, dear God!’ Harriet stared at Godwit, transfixed.

  Why, why did I not anticipate that? she asked herself. Of course! He planned to go to France, he wanted a companion – and no doubt he thinks that to elope with Barbara, to take her into that French hurly-burly, will be to hold a pistol to the Earl’s head, will make him provide her with a dowry.

  But will Lord Elstow give in and pay up? She very much doubted it.

  She thought of that brief dialogue in the library. The Earl had sounded immovably opposed to du Vallon’s offer. But perhaps the Abbé really has got important friends in the revolutionary movement, thought Hatty, perhaps Barbara will now have the chance, that he offered me, of an exciting new and active career in Jacobin circles? She could well imagine Barbara, clad in some flowing, dramatic attire, her thick black locks cascading over her shoulders, shouting exhortations to an enthusiastic crowd of followers. But what about that unfortunate habit of purloining other people’s belongings? Well, perhaps she will not need to do that any more; or perhaps in a revolutionary setting, it will not be held to matter – they all do it . . .

  ‘And,’ went on Godwit, who had not concluded his tale yet, ‘as you may suppose, Miss Hatty, there was a mighty to-do at the Priors, and his Lordship sent for from London; and then they find there’s valuable books been took from the library, books worth hundreds of pounds, and a note found from Lady Barbara, saying they was took in exchange for her marriage portion, for well she knew she’d never see a penny of that.’

  ‘No,’ said Hatty thoughtfully, ‘no, that she will not.’

  ‘And then,’ continued Godwit, ‘to cap all – after there’d been a deal of welter and pelter in the library – his Lordship and a chap he brought down from London, a Mr Artingstall, trying to see what’s missing, they go off and leave the youngest girl, Lady Drusilla, alone in the place, and what does she do but set fire to a lot of papers and nigh to burn the place down!’

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Hatty, aghast. ‘She was always fascinated by fire. I was always afraid something like that would happen. Was she hurt?’

  ‘No – Glastonbury saw the flames and fetched her away – but a deal of damage was done, and when the fire was put out they found Lady Elstow in a swound, for the smoke had risen up to her chamber and like to suffocated her. So Lord Elstow will have to stop at the Priors for a long time, till all’s set to rights.’

  ‘He will not like that,’ commented Hatty.

  Lady Ursula, sitting nearby in her basket chair, had been listening to all this narrative with a severe, remote expression, her upper lip drawn downwards over the lower, her eyes veiled behind their lids, her mouth pulled down at the corners.

  Now she suddenly turned on Hatty.

  ‘This is all your fault – you miserable, neglectful girl!’ she said sharply. ‘If you had remained at your post, as you should, and minded your charges, none of this would have occurred.’

  Hatty had indeed been feeling considerable remorse over the chaos that had overwhelmed Underwood Priors after her own departure. Though would my presence, she wondered, have made any difference to the flight of Barbara and du Vallon? – I very much doubt it.

  But this sudden attack stung her so much that she retorted: ‘How can you say such a thing, Lady Ursula? When it was you who went off and left those poor girls to the care of governesses – in spite of Lord Camber telling you that it was your duty to stay at home and look after them!’

  Godwit had tactfully gone off across the garden.

  Lady Ursula started to speak, then apparently thought better of the impulse. A silence prevailed for some minutes. Then Hatty said: ‘Would you care to look at the paper, Cousin Ursula?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Hatty handed it over, glancing at it. There had been very few prisoners, it seemed, in the Bastille; storming it had hardly been worth the trouble, though it made a fine, symbolic gesture. And it must have seemed worthwhile to those poor souls who were released, thought Hatty. I could write a poem about that . . .

  If such uprisings were to take place in this country, I suppose Underwood Priors and Bythorn Chase would be ransacked by angry mobs. I am sure Lord Elstow is a shockingly bad landlord – and I know the Duke is, for Camber said so. They would quite deserve to be disappropriated. But will such a thing ever happen in England? I hardly think so. I have read that the French peasants are miserably poor. Conditions are much better here.

  Are they not?

  She went quietly indoors and left Lady Ursula, who hardly seemed to be looking at the paper.

  XXII

  Letter from Lord Camber to Miss Hatty Ward:

  My dear little Miss Hatty:

  Those last two words might be found inscribed on my heart. I miss Hatty a great deal – how often do I find myself wishing for your discerning eye and your descriptive tongue! I wish so much that you could see Amity Valley, where the village begins to take on a charming appearance as the little wooden frame houses are given a coat of white paint by their proud occupiers, and a few creepers start to climb the walls and cottage flowers to blossom in the garden plots. A wooden bridge has been built over the river, so the ford is no longer used, and a stone grist mill has been erected. I wonder if you are now installed in the Thatched Grotto? Half of me hopes that you are there, conversing with your Muse; but half would still be glad to know that you remain at Underwood, opening the eyes of my young Cousins to all the world’s beauty. I must confess that I – now that our little community here is in a prosperous way and soon bids fair to be able to support itself – I now begin to fret and hanker for fresh woods and pastures new; I have a mind to sling a pack on my back and make off westwards, to unexplored ground. I have met travellers who tramped off into the unknown land across the Mahoning Creek in Eastern Pennsylvania and on to the Muskingum River in Northern Ohio – this land is so vast and so wonderful that it seems a waste not to adventure farther into its mysteries and its wilderness. I have heard tales of the Dakota Indians and of Assiniboia – savages dwell there, to be sure, and they are said to be very ferocious, but I have never yet met the man – or woman – whom I could not befriend (with the possible exception of my Cousin Ursula – how is she, by the bye?) and I have a mind to try my fortune in those western regions. You, meanwhile, are exploring the realms of Faerie – and, I hope, finding plenteous treasures. You wrote in your last that a volume of your writings had been accepted for publication – I cannot begin to express how happy this news makes me and how proud I shall be when I first peruse it.

  Your friend H. C.

  P.S. By the bye, did you ever receive a package which I ordered, at my departure, to be sent to you in Bythorn Lodge?

  Please give my best regards to my cousin Ursula, if you should be in touch with her. It is my dearest hope that you two may become good friends.

  Letter from Lady Barbara Fowldes du Vallon to Miss Hatty Ward

  Dear Miss Ward:

  I daresay by this time the furore over my elopement with Marcel has died down and I don’t doubt you are now snugly establish’d at Harry Camber’s Grotto. I wish, when you have time, you will ride over to Underwood and ask Winship to pack up my chemises and send them to me here, to the address at the head of this paper, which is in the Cordeliers’ District of Paris, a most Quaint and Picturesque neighbourhood, very ancient, with dark alleys and crooked streets leading nowhere. My husband (Marcel and I were married in a civil ceremony) is a friend of a surpassingly interesting man, Jean-Paul Marat, a doctor who, however, has forsaken medicine for politics. He considers that Lafayette, who is now in charge of the National Guard, is a hopelessly ineffective and useless figurehead, and writes many pamphlets about it. Marat is not handsome in appearance, but has an intent and burning gaze, and the most brilliant mind I have ever encountered. Please tell Winship not to forget those chemises, and to mend a great rent in one of them before she sends it.

  You
rs,

  Barbara du Vallon.

  Letter from Lieutenant Edward Ward to Miss Hatty Ward

  Dear Cousin Hatty:

  I have two weeks’ shore leave coming soon & sh’d be happy to ride north and spend a portion of it with you if convenient. Tom, who is now an Ensign in General D——’s regiment, encamped at Brighton, writes that our father has married Burnaby – did you know this? So I have no great wish to spend more than a day or so in Portsmouth – it will be cold cheer in Lombard Street from now on I fear! And though I writ to my dear Nancy in London, I have not yet received her answer, so cannot be sure of seeing her, tho’ confident in her loving constancy at all times. So no more now from your affct. Cousin Ned.

  P.S. Tom writes that Burnaby is increasing – there’s for you! Ain’t it horrid?

  Letter from Mrs Agnes Norris to Lady Ursula Fowldes

  My dear Lady Ursula:

  I was more shock’d than I can say to learn that my inconsiderate & flighty young sister had abandoned her responsibilities at Underwood Priors & removed herself to the wholly undesirable shelter of Lord Camber’s abode. (The fact that Lord Camber is himself at this time somewhere in the Americas makes no difference at all to the gross impropriety of her action.) I was indeed distress’d to hear, also, of the other Unfortunate Occurrences at Underwood – the elopement of your sister Barbara with that ramshackle Frenchman whom your dear Father employ’d to index his library books (I could have told him that no good would come of that) – the theft of books by your sister Barbara, thus confirming what we already apprehended as to her predatory and untrustworthy nature; and the further Misfortune of your youngest sister Drusilla starting a Conflagration from which your dear Mama was drawn out only just in time to preserve her life. I am afraid these events will be injurious to the reputation and fortunes of your family in general, for who would wish to connect themselves with a group so signall’d out for scandal and misfortune? So I have said to everybody I know & they all agree with me. Rumour has it that you yourself are also install’d at Lord Camber’s residence, which seems most strange, but I address this there, having no other direction for you. I do think it your duty, my dear Friend, to return without delay to your Paternal Home. It is your plain charge to set matters to rights there.

  I am, dear Cousin, with sympathy,

  Yours etc. A. Norris

  ‘They do tell as how his Grace is very poorly,’ said Godwit one day, happening upon one of Dickon’s singing lessons.

  These were held at a safe distance from the Thatched Grotto, for the mere proximity, within a hundred yards, of Lady Ursula frightened Dickon acutely, and rendered him not only dumb, but witless and shivering. Whereas, when well away from her, he was making excellent progress; the ground lost through his disappointment when Hatty went away to Underwood had been made up by Miss Stornoway, who continued with Hatty’s letter-game until he was able to read for himself; and Hatty had now found that if she sang words and phrases to him at a certain pitch, he could hear them very well and understand them. So she was able to make use, with him, of various singing games which she had invented to bridge the gap between Drusilla’s musical genius and her total vacancy in all other departments. Dickon had a good natural wit, she knew, and he could recognize a tune, and nod his head in time to it.

  They held their lessons walking about the woods, or in a keeper’s hut, if it rained.

  ‘A noun is a thing like a ring,

  A verb is for doing, like baking and brewing’

  Hatty was singing when Godwit came into the gamekeeper’s hut with the private smile he kept for her and his piece of news.

  ‘Poor man,’ said Hatty, who had never met the Duke, and had only Lord Camber’s descriptions to go on, which did not give her a very high opinion of his Grace. ‘Is he going to die?’

  ‘They have recalled Colonel Wisbech from his regiment. But of course the one they are really wishful to get hold of is Master Harry. When did you last hear from him, Miss Hatty?’

  She shook her head doubtfully.

  ‘The last letter I had was a month ago. In that he announced his intention of going off next week on a journey to explore the unknown regions west of Ohio; but I noticed that, instead of the usual eight or nine weeks, that letter had taken five months to reach me; it was dated some time in last autumn. Plainly it had gone astray. So I do not know whether he did take his journey and, if so, whether he is still away from Amity Valley. I have not had any letter later than that one. But I suppose the Duke’s people will send an urgent message to recall him. There is the postman on his pony now. Let us go and see what he has brought.’

  The postman had brought a letter from overseas, but it was for Lady Ursula, and not in Lord Camber’s writing. Mrs Daizley took it up to Lady Ursula, as she was spending the wet afternoon in her own chamber.

  Hatty, meanwhile, had opened a letter which was addressed to her from London.

  ‘Oh!’ she cried out joyfully. ‘It is from my publishers – they say they will very shortly be sending me copies of my book of poems. Oh, how I wish Lord Camber were here. I should so much like him to see it.’

  ‘Well, let us hope that he will soon be back at home, dearie.’ said Mrs Godwit. ‘If his Grace is in such a sorry way as they say. Looks like Master Harry will soon be stepping into his Grace’s shoes.’

  ‘And a precious tight fit he’s like to find them,’ observed Godwit.

  ‘I cannot imagine Lord Camber as a duke,’ said Hatty. ‘I do not think he will make a very good one.’

  ‘Can’t be worse—’ began Godwit, but they were interrupted by a strange keening wail from upstairs.

  ‘Dear gracious! What’s amiss with Lady Ursula?’ exclaimed Mrs Godwit, struggling to her feet. Mrs Daizley, who was halfway down the stair, turned and retraced her steps. Hatty ran up after her.

  They found Lady Ursula in a very peculiar condition.

  She had been seated in an oaken armchair in her bedroom. Now she was leaning back, with her legs stretched out stiffly in front of her, and her head twisted as far as it would go to one side. She looked as if she were trying to see some distant object, or catch some fleeting sound. But her eyes were closed, and her hands hung down limply on either side. A letter she had been reading had drifted down from her grasp and lay on the floor.

  ‘We should get medical help,’ said Hatty. ‘She looks as if she has had some kind of seizure. Like her sister Drusilla. First we had best get her into bed.’

  Hatty, Godwit and Mrs Daizley lifted her on to the bed and then he went off to fetch Mr Jones while the others undressed her. She remained unconscious or asleep. When nothing more could be done for her, Hatty read the letter to see if it could give them some clue as to the cause of her mysterious spasm.

  ‘Ah, it is from Amity Valley; from a lady called Lucy Kittridge. I have heard Lord Camber refer to her brother Humphrey. She thanks Lady Ursula for her letter of last year – informs her that Lord Camber and her brother have gone off on a journey of exploration across the unknown western territories – she—’ Hatty checked and looked back at the top of the sheet. ‘This letter is quite recent, I see, it has taken only five weeks to get here – Miss Kittridge says they are all greatly concerned in Amity Valley because Lord Camber and her brother had promised to be back by Easter, which is long past, and there is grave reason to fear that some fatal accident has befallen the travellers. Oh, heavens!’

  ‘Eh, dear, deary me!’ lamented Mrs Daizley. ‘No wonder Lady Ursula was took queer. If his Lordship’s dead and gone, she’ll never get over having behaved so harshly to him – that she won’t! Never!’

  Mrs Godwit nodded her head in gloomy concurrence.

  ‘She’ll feel it to her dying day. But it wasn’t she who turned him down, Mrs D. It was his Lordship as begged off.’

  ‘Really?’ said Hatty. ‘I thought she cried off because she wanted to marry Lord Fordin
gbridge.’

  ‘Na. That was put about. The truth of what happened was that, over at Underwood my first cousin once removed, Prue Hedger, got dismissed for stealing a lady’s reticule. (That was in the old days, when they used to have parties of guests at the Priors.) All the time it was not Prue what took the thing at all, but that Lady Barbara. And Lady Ursula knew that full well. And Lord Camber knew it too, for Prue told me, and I told him. He found Prue another place, at Lady Munster’s, in London. It was not long after that that Lady Ursula made an end of their courting.’

  ‘I think I begin to see . . .’ said Hatty slowly. ‘That accounts for a great deal . . .’

  Godwit arrived back with the apothecary, who examined the unconscious lady. After careful inspection he gave it as his opinion that what afflicted the lady was a disorder of the heart, not a paralytic seizure, as they had feared, and that she would presently recover.

  ‘For,’ said he, ‘she has naturally a very robust constitution.’

  Hatty, remembering Aunt Polly, was not so sanguine, but in the event Mr Jones was proved right. Lady Ursula, after a day or so, began to move, moved a little more, opened her eyes . . . and was then able to converse quite sensibly. The only odd thing was that she appeared to believe that she had been on a long journey, from which she was just returned. It was the Grand Tour, she explained.

  ‘I said to my father, the Earl, “Sons go on the Grand Tour, why not daughters?” “Why not indeed?” said he, and sent me off with my tutor. It was most enjoyable and instructive. We met the Pope. But the fleas in the Appenines were very bad.’

  Poor thing, thought Hatty. I suppose the Grand Tour was what she always longed for.

  Another disconcerting feature of Lady Ursula’s recovery was that she mistook Hatty for her mother, Isabel.

  I daresay I may look very like Mama, Hatty concluded, at the age when she and Ursula became such good friends.