Madcap Miss

by Joan Smith

  The proprietor bowed and left, closing the door behind him. “You’d ought to have let me go with the lass. It looked odd-like for her to be on the streets alone and hauling her own bags and boxes,” Hucker said.

  “I’m sure Miss Farnsworth lent even that a touch of plausibility,” Whewett replied. “How did it really go?” he asked, turning to Grace.

  “Fine. I got everything I need and have money left.”

  “Keep it. Mad money. I had Hucker pick you up a decent light traveling case. That is—” He came to a conscious stop, glancing to see if the lady had taken offense.

  Hucker produced a leather case bound in brass. “That was well thought of,” she replied nonchalantly. “What shall I do with the indecent one I brought with me?”

  “We’ll discard it here. You will want its contents put into the new one, for when the play is over.”

  “Yes. Are all your servants in on the scheme?”

  “Just me, Trudgen, the groom and his lordship's valet, Jenner,” Hucker replied.

  “You may leave us now, Hucker,” Whewett said. The footman left. “I had to tell them,” he added. “They know you’re not Gussie. They are to be trusted implicitly. Indeed, they are enjoying themselves hugely. Of course I told them nothing of your personal history.”

  “I am not ashamed of it!” she said sharply, pulling open the straw case to repack her belongings.

  “No reason you should be. It is hardly your fault that your father was improvident. There are a good many things you need to know. We live at Downsfield, outside of Dover, not far removed from the coast. You and I live alone but for the servants. Your governess is Miss Invers, a good woman. I don’t know if Lady Healy is familiar with the name. I have a sister, Mary, married to Lord Dewitt, from Ireland, where they make their home.”

  “That is where your real daughter is now?”

  “From this moment you are my real daughter. The Dewitts spend the season in London. They have two girls, Catharine and Anne, aged seven and six respectively. You know them fairly well from their visits to us. If embarrassing questions arise, I’ll try to give you a hand. Grandma Healy is not intimately aware of our business, which is all to the good. She was my wife’s grandmother, and since her death, she takes little enough interest in me.”

  “Who are you? I mean what kind of lord?”

  “Tory, of course.”

  “I mean your rank. Are you a baron—”

  “An earl.”

  “I should know your Christian name, too.”

  “Alfred, and yours is Augusta Isabel, the Augusta after Grandma Healy. Don’t forget it.”

  “Don’t call me Doll, then, or she won’t like it. What about my mother? Did I know her at all?”

  “She died ten years ago. You would have no recollection of her. Her name was Irene. She was your type, generally speaking. Small. Not so small as you, quite, but smallish, with brown hair.”

  Grace finished the packing and went to sit beside him. The tea tray was brought in by an obsequious servant. It was amusing to watch him bow and truckle to Whewett and treat her with that combination of respect and playfulness deemed suitable to a noble child. As soon as they were alone, the lesson continued.

  “You enjoy riding. No matter if you don’t really. There will be no occasion to do so at Willowcrest. You have not traveled at all.”

  “What of cousins and so on that I should know about?”

  “None on the Brougham side. She would have no interest in any others. Oh, hell!” A quick frown pinched his brows together. “She and Augusta correspond once a month. I don’t know what is in the letters. Fake it if you can.”

  Instructions and facts were poured out in such a rapid stream, Grace did not grasp the half of them, but she did her best. When tea was finished, she said, “Should we not be getting along?”

  “No hurry. The later we arrive, the less time you’ll have to be with her. It will be a strain on you, I imagine.”

  “I’m worried sick,” she confessed. “What if I make a shambles of it?”

  “You won’t. I’ll be there to give you a hand. I’ll try not to leave you alone with her. And Miss Farnsworth,” he added in a hopeful voice, “be nice to her. She will not be easy to be nice to, but it would be a shame if anything should arise to turn her against my daughter.”

  Grace saw the worry etching lines on his forehead and felt a spasm of pity for Whewett. Whatever else he was, he was certainly a considerate father. “I’ll try. There is just one thing—why did we not bring Invers with us?”

  “Good point. We’ll say her mother is ill, and she had gone home to Sussex for a week. Invers is actually in Ireland with Gussie, of course.”

  “I feel as if I had a herd of stampeding horses in my stomach. If anything goes wrong, what becomes of me? She’ll throw me out on my ear.”

  “Us, on our collective ear. We’re in this together. If you give any wrong answers, I shall claim you’re addlepated from the trip. Gussie doesn’t travel, remember?”

  She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and said in her new childish voice, “Don’t you think it is time to leave, Papa?”

  “Yes, Doll.” When he cocked his head to one side and laughed, he looked ten years younger and much more attractive. “What’s the matter?” he demanded, seeing her studious gaze.

  “You were to call me Augusta because of its being Grandma’s name,” she reminded him.

  “I’ll try to remember,” he said, and went to the door to call Hucker to take out the luggage.

  As Grace left the room with Whewett behind her, she had an instinctive feeling he was looking at her ankles. They almost tingled from the imagined perusal. She was struck with a terrible premonition of disaster and had to force herself to advance sedately to the carriage.

  Chapter Three

  A five-mile trip in a well-sprung chaise bore no resemblance to a ten-mile one on the common stage. As Grace was wafted along the road, she admired the blue velvet squabs and the elegant silver appointments of the interior. The trip was over before it seemed possible and before Grace felt quite ready to become Lady Augusta. “Chin up,” Whewett said, offering his arm as she descended from the carriage.

  Till she was striding along beside him toward the house, she had not realized he was so very tall. Besides having to reach up to hold his arm, it was necessary to lengthen her stride uncomfortably, for he did not shorten his.

  She took only a glance at the building she was entering. It was a sprawling red brick place, more wide than high. The lengthening shadows of evening emphasized the unkempt condition of both grounds and house. Though there were no Gothic windows or brooding elms, it struck Grace as the proper setting for a Gothic novel. The brick was not perishing, but dusty windows and overgrown grass caused the proper air of brooding menace.

  The servant who showed them in was a groom masquerading as a butler and looked it. His rough manner and ill-fitting jacket suited the house, however. Lady Healy had come to a place that had been standing empty for some time, and she had only her own few servants to tend to it.

  “You’d be his lordship,” the servant said. “Come in, then. She’s been waiting forever.” He sounded put upon as he pointed a peremptory and not very clean finger toward a lighted saloon.

  It was in this ghastly Purple Saloon, large and dingy, with the fading sun filtering through dusty glass and dispirited lace curtains, that Grace had her first view of her new grandmother. Whewett had called the dame old, leading her to expect a decrepit little gray-haired lady with a humped back.

  What stood glaring at her was a positive grenadier with jet black hair, heavy black brows, a mannish hooked nose, and a scowl. She wore a stylish black silk gown trimmed with bugle beads, while her bodice sparkled with diamonds. The gnarled fingers clutching a blackthorn walking stick were cluttered with rings.

  “About time you got here!” was the harridan’s opening salvo, fired off in a rough voice. “Well, come into the light, child, and let us have a lo
ok at you.”

  Grace felt a nearly uncontrollable urge to turn and flee out the front door. She clung to Whewett’s arm, till he gave her a nudge forward into the puddle of light emanating from a table lamp. With her clear brown eyes goggling and her lip fallen a little open in fright, she looked young enough that Whewett had no fear of instant disclosure.

  “Humph. Turn around,” the dame ordered. In instant obedience, Grace turned slowly. “She didn’t get the Brougham looks, more’s the pity. Nor yours, either, Whewett. Takes after her maternal grandfather—well, after her mama, if it comes to that. Dumpy little thing. Mousy hair, no countenance. I hope you ain’t a saucy chit, are you?”

  “N-no, ma’am,” Grace answered in a cowed voice.

  “Not a blancmanger, either. I have no use for blancmangers. Do you stand up for yourself, eh?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Grace answered, turning an appealing eye to Whewett, who threw himself into the breach.

  “Grandma, you have not made me welcome. Do I not get a kiss after my trip to see you?” He stepped forward for the greeting.

  “Ha. You ought to be able to do better than an old relict like me. Come here and kiss me, then, if you insist.” She turned her cheek to receive the kiss, but did not return it. Her main interest was still on Grace.

  “How about you, Augusta? Have you got a kiss for your old grandmother?”

  Grace dutifully stood on tiptoe and reached up to do her duty. As the initial shock of the meeting subsided, Grace noticed that at close range the lady was indeed ancient. From pride in her appearance perhaps, she had placed herself in a dim light, but her cheeks were etched with lines, while those eyes that looked like coals from across the room were bleared with age. Her whole aspect was forbidding.

  Grace felt a start of terror when the old woman put both arms around her and hugged her. She felt as though she had been snatched up by an eagle and felt, too, an instinctive urge to fight free. But this was supposed to be her beloved grandmother. With a conscious effort of will, she stood still and even returned the embrace.

  “There! You ain’t afraid of me, are you?” the old lady asked, releasing her. Staring in fascination, Grace saw a tear glistening on that raddled cheek.

  Her fear and revulsion softened to pity. “Grandma, how should I be afraid of you?” she asked, smiling.

  “Ah, she’s a fine gal, a bonnie lass,” Lady Healy decreed, turning to Whewett. Mousiness, dumpiness, all were forgiven at such a slim indication of love.

  “Indeed she is. I am very proud of her,” he replied in the accents of a fond father.

  “Let us all sit down and be comfortable,” Lady Healy suggested. “We shall have some wine before dinner. Wretched stuff old John had laid in. He had no taste; never had. No wine for you, missie. Till your hair is up and you are into long skirts, you get no wine. I hope you ain’t feeding her wine, Alfred?”

  “No, Augusta does not drink wine.”

  “A glass of lemonade. I had them make you up some lemonade. Brought the lemons with me from Scotland. You may think we are savages in the north, but I have six lemon trees in my orangery. You will like lemonade, eh, Augusta?”

  “That will be lovely, thank you.”

  “Wine stunts the growth, you must know. Not one drop was I permitted till I was sixteen. My brothers were into it before they were fourteen and were not an inch taller than myself. John was shorter, though he put wedges in his boots to hide it. Your growth don’t want stunting, Augusta. You are going to be squat, like your mama.”

  “Irene was not squat,” Whewett objected.

  “She was a squab, Whewett, and if you had not been blinded by love, you would have known what a sight the two of you looked together, like a kitten and a bear. No matter, Augusta is young yet. She will grow a couple of inches. I want you to grow at least three inches, Gussie. I was called Gussie when I was young. It sounds like a bruiser. I daresay they call you that name, too.”

  “Sometimes,” Grace answered carefully.

  “I suppose you have lots of friends at Downsfield?”

  “Some friends,” she said vaguely. This point had not been covered in the sketchy lesson.

  “How about that silly girl you told me of in your last letter? Did she get her tooth that was bothering her drawn?”

  “Sally’s tooth fell out before it was necessary, didn’t it, Gussie?” Whewett mentioned casually.

  “Yes,” Grace said, taking it up eagerly. “She was relieved. No one likes going to the tooth drawer.”

  “Rubbish. I never minded having a tooth drawn when I was young,” Lady Healy told them. “I am seventy-five years old and still have my own teeth. Not so white as they used to be, and jiggling loose at the back of my mouth the half of them, but they’re all there, and they’re all mine. Do you brush your teeth every night, Gussie?”

  “Certainly I do, Grandma.”

  “You have a nice set of teeth. Not so white as mine were. Take care of them. There is nothing ruins a girl’s looks like a set of brown or yellow teeth. They have a good many yellow teeth in Scotland. They wear well, the yellow ones. With your mousy hair, Augusta, you will want all the help good teeth can give you to make you pretty.”

  “Actually,” Whewett pointed out, “Gussie’s hair is chestnut, not mousy.”

  “Looks mousy in this demmed dim light. We want another brace of candles. John was so cheap, I could find nothing but tallow candles. They have a stench. Never mind, we’ll be going to dinner soon. I am famished. I daresay you two are as well. You are eating with the grown-ups tonight, Gussie, as a special treat. For once it won’t spoil you. I hope you don’t have her at the adult table at Downsfield, Alfred?”

  “Not for dinner. We take breakfast and lunch together. If I have no company in the evening, Gussie joins me.”

  Grace listened closely to learn what she could of her imaginary past life. “It is lonesome eating alone,” Lady Healy said. “Since Willie up and died on me, I have been alone but for old Mulkins, my companion. A gudgeon. I sent her off to her room to be rid of her. Well now, let us all get acquainted. I want to hear all about your life, Augusta.”

  “How long do you propose staying at Willowcrest, Grandma?” Whewett asked rather quickly, to divert the lady’s interest.

  The adults sipped their wine, while the alleged child drank her lemonade. “Only a short visit,” she told him. “As I said in my letter to you, I wanted to see the old place before selling it off. There is no point holding on to it, but I shall pick up a few mementos of the old days and decide what price to ask for it. You can help me there, Alfred.”

  “I will be happy to, but I can’t stay long.”

  “I know you can never spare two days in a row, but it won’t take two days to ride around with the bailiff and see what kind of decay John has let the place fall into. Gone to rack and ruin like the house, I make no doubt. This used to be a handsome place. I cannot think who had the saloon hung in purple, like a state funeral. Your visit will give Augusta and me a chance to get to know each other. We’ll like that, eh, Gussie? Just the two of us. You can tell me all about your lessons and friends and horses. Are you a bruising rider?”

  Grace new Augusta rode, and said, “Papa says I am good.”

  “Do you ride a real horse or a pony?”

  “A horse,” she said, as some reply must be made.

  “I got a bay mare for Gussie a year ago,” Whewett added.

  “Good! Excellent! Do you hunt, Augusta?”

  Grace glanced to Whewett, who shook his head slightly. “Not yet, Grandma, but I hope to soon.”

  “I was hunting when I was ten. I was a big girl for my age. Don’t dally. Don’t be frightened, just because you took that tumble a few months ago. Everyone takes a spill now and then. It is half the fun of riding.”

  “It wasn’t serious,” Whewett remarked. “No bones broken.”

  “How did it happen?” the lady asked, throwing Grace into alarm.

  “Augusta was never much good at ditches
,” he said, giving Grace a lead.

  “I wasn’t hurt much,” she ventured.

  “A ditch is fine, soft falling. I never minded tumbling into a ditch, unless it was full of water,” Lady Healy said, then mercifully turned her attention to the father to grill him on other matters. When dinner was announced, the masquerade was still successful.

  Grace was sorry to see no wine glass at her place, but at least there was a large meal that promised to satisfy even her appetite.

  “You’re a good trencherman,” the grandmother congratulated, which led Grace to believe she might request a second helping.

  “No seconds, Augusta,” Lady Healy said. “You dumpy little girls don’t want to be taking seconds, or you’ll run to fat before you make your bows. You must watch every pound. If you were a ladder like myself, you might have as many seconds as you please. Put another slice of that ham on my plate, Whewett. There’s a good lad. Don’t allow your daughter seconds, or snacks between meals, either. If she is like her mama, she’ll be stuffing herself with sugarplums and marchpane every time she goes to town. Irene hadn’t time to spread before she died, but she was destined to run to fat.”

  Grace looked forlornly at the plate of viands of which she could have no more and waited eagerly for dessert. She was permitted a pear and a piece of cheese, and as it was a special occasion, her grandma allowed her one macaroon to celebrate. An apple tart passed her by while her cook’s skill with this particular dessert was expounded upon. “Nutmeg and cinnamon, and plenty of sugar. My, don’t it smell delicious!” The old dame cleaned her plate quickly and passed it along for another slice.

  Watching Grace follow every bite with her eyes, Whewett said, “Don’t you think we might let Augusta have a piece on this special day?”

  “She had a macaroon. Don’t spoil her. We must be cruel to be kind. Don’t let her wrap you round her finger, Alfred. She’ll toe the line here as at home.”

  Whewett shrugged an apology across the table at Grace. After dinner he was invited in a commanding way to bring his port to the saloon and did so. He was about to pour a glass when Lady Healy said, “Time for you to leave us, young lady. I do not approve of children in the saloon after dinner.”