Madcap Miss

by Joan Smith

  “Brushing up on the Bible, are you?” he asked, glancing at the book.

  “I am more agreeably entertained, reading up on the rewards of virtue.”

  He lifted the tome to see the title. “Pretty warm stuff for my twelve-year-old daughter,” he quizzed.

  “Buy her a copy. One is never too young to learn about the wickedness of men. I consider the book de rigueur for servants like myself, and I like Pamela, the heroine. A pity Mrs. Bixworth had no wastrel son to fall in love with me. Even the initial would have matched Pamela’s Mr. B.”

  Whewett lifted a satirical brow. “A great pity. It would have enlivened your dull days no end to have the pleasure of being pursued by a rake.”

  “My days did not lack liveliness, I promise you. When I was not pulling Dora out from under a horse’s hooves, I was rescuing Ellie Lou from the briny deep.”

  “It puts skipping and Bible reading quite in the shade, eh, Doll?”

  “You should not call me that in front of Grandma. She likes to hear her own name being used on a younger person. She resents her age so.”

  “It must be the devil when they start building the chairs so low you can’t get out of them unaided."

  Grace adopted a confidential tone. “Did you know her hair is dyed? I caught Mulkins with the dye pot going to her room when I came upstairs.”

  “And she letting on it was a posset! It’s sweet, though, to have held on to her vanity for so long. I seemed to turn old at thirty or so.”

  Grace looked at his smooth cheek and discerned a fresh dose of cologne emanating from him. “I don’t think you are quite free of vanity yet, sir. A man does not shave twice in one day if he does not care for his appearance. I think you are on the scent of some female, Whewett.”

  She watched in astonishment as a pink flush ascended from his collar. What had possessed him to have a fresh shave, only to come in here and be mocked by this bright-eyed young lady?

  “It’s true!” she charged, and laughed loudly. “Now do tell me all about her. You must have met her at the inn, unless she was lurking about the west acres.”

  At least she didn’t suspect she was the cause. The pink faded, leaving only an air of consciousness. “I always shave twice a day,” he said with a fair semblance of ease.

  “You didn’t yesterday. Your cheek was rough last night. You’ll have to slip out quietly, Whewett.. Grandma wouldn’t like it.”

  “I’m not slipping out!” he exclaimed. “You make me sound like a libertine.”

  She gave him a saucy smile. “No, you are making yourself sound like one. A gentleman might take a glass of wine with a lady in the evening without being a libertine. Now, before you shock me with any further lechery, let us speak of more important things. I mean, of course, food.”

  Whewett was remarkably glad to change the subject. “I thought it would not be long before we came back to that. I daresay you haven’t had a bite in half an hour, except for a peck of apples and box of bonbons.”

  “It’s been more than half an hour since I ate,” she reminded him, as he went to his room for the food. He returned with a roasted chicken in oiled paper and an apple tart,

  “A whole meal!” she gurgled. “How splendid. And how messy. I cannot eat an apple tart with my fingers. And what do I do with a chicken carcass after I have devoured the rest?”

  “I thought you would eat the bones, too, like a whale.”

  “Whales are not carnivores, Whewett,” she said! daintily dismembering a leg and nibbling on it. “I’ll wrap the bones up for you to throw away when you are riding tomorrow. Would you like some of this?”

  “It looks good,” he said, accepting the other leg. “A pity we have no wine for our picnic.”

  “So much more appetizing than sour milk, my youthful innards notwithstanding. Did Grandma say anything interesting after I left?”

  “It is settled you are to be her sole heir but for the Hunt Club in Scotland. Mulkins and the servants will get some bequests, of course, though she didn’t say so.”

  “I am happy for Augusta, but I feel badly about fooling Lady Healy.”

  “I don’t. She might have left it all to the Scottish hunters if you hadn’t come. She is miffed with me for not having sent Gussie to her, but this visit convinces me they would not have rubbed along at all. She is shy, my Gussie.”

  “Tell me about her,” Grace said.

  “It’s hard for me to be objective. I love her, you see. She is quiet,” he began, with a fond smile. “She’s been too much alone, with no mother, you know. We are close, but it’s not the same. She often rides out with me on my rounds when she is not at her lessons. She’s bright, plays the pianoforte, speaks French, but not so fluently as you. Neither does she do so well in her sums.”

  “As to the sums, there is no teacher like necessity. Besides, you forget I’m old enough to be teaching Augusta.”

  “That’s true. She’s a good rider. I made her be. She was frightened at first.”

  “What of her friends—the girl with the toothache?”

  “There are no youngsters living close by. The one with the toothache, Sally Grimsby, was just visiting six months ago. Gussie makes a big thing of anyone who happens along. A cousin or whatnot in the house for a few days takes on great importance.”

  “I expect she has an active imagination. Those ... lonesome children do.”

  “Too much so. I had a librarian cataloging my books a while ago, and Gussie took to pretending his daughter was her sister. For two weeks she was happy as a lark and talked on for ages about her sister. I worry a little about her. I should send her to a seminary, I expect, but I’m too selfish.”

  “That’s not really selfishness. I imagine you’re a very nice sort of father. Kind, caring, easy to wind round a thumb,” she added with a pert look. “Is Gussie a winder?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You wouldn’t recognize it if she were.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. She talked me into letting her go to Ireland with Mary. I hope she isn’t homesick—she’s been gone a month. They’ll be back soon.”

  “Perhaps she’ll be there waiting for you when you return.”

  “Not quite that soon. In any case, my sister is bringing her back, so Gussie would not be alone at Downsfield.” He glanced at the remains of chicken. “What are we to do with the rest of this meat?”

  “Eat it, of course. Do you have a pocket knife to carve that lovely breast?”

  Whewett shook his head, wondering where such a small girl put so much food. He cut it into thin strips, to be eaten with the fingers. “Does your sister know you are here?” Grace asked.

  “I didn’t write. They know at home where I am, and would tell her if she came.”

  “I hope she doesn’t come landing in with the real Augusta!”

  “Not much chance of that. But enough of my problems. What will you do when you leave?”

  “I’ll try to find Miss Thomas, get a new position. My hundred pounds gives me time to look around.”

  Whewett mentally compared their futures. “It sounds a hard life for a young girl. Yes, I know you are all of two and twenty, but that happens to sound young to me. Would you like to go to Ireland? I could speak to Mary about you. With two girls, she might have some use for you.”

  “I never thought of Ireland,” Grace said pensively. If Mary were like her brother, she would be a congenial employer.

  “Think about it. It is unfair that one of my daughters get so much, while the other is thrown into the cruel world with a measly hundred pounds.”

  “All things are relative. A measly hundred pounds sounds a princely sum to me at the moment.”

  Whewett soon left but continued thinking of what they had discussed. It did indeed seem hard that poor Miss Farnsworth be put to such shifts to earn her bread. She had been reared a lady and was not equipped for this hard life that was thrust upon her. Such a girl might come to grief—a lecherous son or husband, for instance, in some home where
she was working, could ruin her.

  Behind the closed door Grace entertained no such lugubrious thoughts. She ate her chicken, carefully wrapped the apple tart up for the morrow, read her book, and occasionally thought of her good fortune at soon having a hundred pounds in her reticule.

  Chapter Six

  Lady Healy blamed her headache the next morning on the weather. The air was not so cool and clear as the air of the Highlands. Her headache, however, was no reason for Augusta’s regime to be interrupted. Grace was sent off to the garden with her rope before the sun became too warm.

  Whewett was back on his glue pot to decide which corners of the estate were to be concealed from Daugherty and which brought to his attention. With Bronfman’s help, local girls were hired to clean up the house. They were busy with goose wing to dust the library books, with beeswax and turpentine to restore the gleam to old wood, with soap and water to clean windows, and with damp tea leaves to keep down the dust when they swept the carpets.

  Grace skipped for the ten minutes Lady Healy observed her, then darted off to walk through the grounds and enjoy herself. When Whewett returned for lunch, Lady Healy felt well enough to come to the table, but she was feeling peaky.

  “I’ll have a lie-down this afternoon while you take Augusta into Wickfield,” she decided. The old lady was so unlike herself that Grace got a piece of plum cake onto her plate without censure.

  The day was pleasant, with just a hint of early autumn approaching. Whewett let down the carriage windows. “You have a rare treat in store for you today, Doll,” he said.

  “Indeed I have. I can lower my voice from a childish squeak and not call you Papa.”

  “Even better, you are about to receive a present that will help pass those dull hours in your room. Grandma has ordered me to buy you a doll, to make up for being harsh about the blue pill.”

  He thought she would laugh and was surprised by her wistful smile. “How touching. I feel a perfect wretch. I didn’t even take the pill, but held it under my tongue till I could hide it in my handkerchief.”

  “Here I have been pitying you for nought. But still, your duplicity is to be rewarded with a new doll.”

  “Must we?”

  “Gussie will love it.”

  “Lucky Gussie! She enjoys the pleasures of Ireland, and gets my reward.” Grace spoke without thinking and was surprised to see Whewett took her seriously.

  “That is true. You must have a present as well.”

  “I was joking, Whewett. Does your daughter still play with dolls?”

  “Not in public, but when I go to tuck her in at night, she is surrounded by half a dozen of them. Sisters all.”

  “Then we shall pick out one for her, and you take it home.”

  “A little difficulty has just occurred to me...”

  “What a mountain of imagination! One whole difficulty.”

  “One specific thing I hadn’t thought of before. Gussie’s future correspondence with her grandmother will discuss this visit, or ought to. I must dream up some explanation for Gussie.”

  “That’s true,” Grace said, frowning. “You must edit her letters carefully, to see she doesn’t give the show away.”

  “The future holds a few problems, but the visit is going marvelously well.”

  “Best of all, it’s nearly over.”

  Whewett jabbed at his collar, looking as guilty as sin. “I—I have a confession, Miss Farnsworth.”

  She turned a wrathful brown eye on him. “Whewett, don’t—pray do not tell me the show has been held over.”

  “Just a few more days. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

  “I’ll never get away from here! Root will sprout from my feet. I’ll grow old and wrinkled while still in short skirts.”

  “The thing is, you see, Daugherty isn’t coming till Friday, and she wants me to show him around.”

  “Let Bronfman show him around. That’s what he’s being paid for. The Daughertys aren’t coming till three, and that means we shan’t get away till Saturday.”

  “Just three more days,” he said hopefully.

  “It’s too long. You said two days altogether. That’s all I agreed to.”

  “I’ll pay you more—anything you ask,” he said in desperation.

  “It’s not the money. It’s just—just too long. I’m not used to such wicked deceit. I can’t relax a moment.”

  “You can relax now, when we are alone, I mean.”

  “Relax? With my skirts hiked halfway up my legs and my hair pinned into these bows, and going to buy a doll? You have a strange idea of how I relax.” Grace felt close to tears from sheer vexation.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Farnsworth. Truly I am. I didn’t intend to impose on you so brutally. Please bear with me. I’ll make it up to you. Five hundred pounds.”

  “Don’t be absurd. I can’t take such a sum from you. It would be—immoral. I am immoral. I didn’t mind so much before I knew Lady Healy. Oh, and she is so nice, buying me a present, when I didn’t even take the pill. Could you not make some excuse to leave earlier, Whewett?”

  He damped down his frustration and answered civilly. “I can, if you insist, but she’s right about the sale. Bronfman will sell her out cheap to close the deal and get his commission. She wants me to keep an eye on things. It is only common sense, and common courtesy, too, when you consider it is all to be my daughter’s one day. I understand, of course, that my family’s welfare is not your first concern. No reason it should be.”

  Grace acknowledged that from his point of view, staying was the sane course. She gave a weary sigh and said, “I have nothing special to do the next few days except find Miss Thomas.”

  “Perhaps we could do that today,” he suggested eagerly.

  “Her neighbor said she had let her house. The new occupants might know her address. Will you take me to them?”

  “Gladly. Shall I make inquiries for you? They might think it odd, your going alone.”

  “Everyone always thinks it odd, but I’m pretty good at making excuses.”

  Whewett’s relief at her capitulation was tinged with guilt. He was treating Miss Farnsworth abominably and decided to assuage his grief by buying her a grand present. It was only fair. Her gift from Grandma was going to Gussie. He owed her for that as well as the rest. One hundred pounds didn’t begin to cover it. He would make her take the five hundred.

  They set about the business of buying the doll first. Grace began looking at simple rag dolls, of the sort she had had as a child. Whewett said, “Grandma gave me a whole guinea to spend. We can get one with a dish head, if you like.”

  “Good gracious! We’re rich. We can buy a whole family. Would Gussie like one with a dish head?”

  “She has all kinds. I believe Grandma’s plan is to outdo the others.”

  “That sounds like her. Oh, look, Whew—Papa,” she said, as the clerk came up to them. “See the pretty one with blond curls. I always wanted blond curls and blue eyes myself. Let us get that one.”

  “The little lady has excellent taste,” the clerk said, and handed it down to her.

  Grace admired the fine workmanship; the doll’s eyelids were hinged to open and shut mechanically, and even had eyelashes stuck into them. The gown was an elegant silk, with pink ribbons. It was a real work of art. “Isn’t it beautiful!” she exclaimed.

  “Is that the one you want?” Whewett asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  It was purchased, using up Lady Healy’s whole guinea. “Sure you’re really over twenty?” he asked quietly as they walked out, “You looked very pleased with your toy.”

  “Some toys are works of art. I hope Doll appreciates it.”

  “Gussie, you mean.”

  “You call her Doll sometimes, don’t you?”

  Whewett wondered why a simple lie to confirm this should stick in his throat, when his whole life had become a lie. Perhaps it was because it involved his daughter, whom he had never in his life called Doll.

  “Don’t yo
u?” Grace repeated, wondering at his uneasy manner.

  “I call her lots of things. Now that we have her present, I want to buy something for my other daughter.”

  “This daughter doesn’t take presents from gentlemen, thank you all the same.”

  “Oh, come now, surely I may replace Grandma’s gift, which Gussie has stolen from you, without infringing on the proprieties. I think a piece of jewelry would be suitable,” he said tentatively.

  It was, of all gifts, the most inappropriate. Gentlemen gave jewelry to their mistresses. Did he think that because she had agreed to this charade, she was no better than she should be? “Think again,” she said firmly.

  “I didn’t mean a diamond necklace or tiara, so you need not fly into a pelter. Some token of my gratitude for your excellent performance. A watch—”

  “I prefer cash. The sum has been agreed upon,” she said coolly.

  “Even the pious Pamela let her virtue be rewarded,” he mentioned. When she looked away, he realized it was time to change the subject. “Did you finish the book?”

  “No, it is in three volumes. At the rate our performance is dragging on, I shall finish all three before we leave. Actually Pamela hasn’t got much reward yet for her travails. But I believe she is talking Mr. B. into marrying her.”

  “He does.”

  “Whewett! How dare you spoil the ending for me! What a cruel stunt. Now I shan’t have any interest to read the rest.”

  “That’s just the beginning. Things don’t heat up till she makes the mistake of marrying the bounder. You servant girls must be very careful whom you take up with, or even marry.”

  “I’ll worry about that if the time ever comes.”

  “You really should not have accepted this job with me, you know. It was rash and foolish of you.”

  “I’m perfectly aware of it. I hadn’t much choice. I had three pennies in my pocket after paying for my tea, and nowhere to go.”

  Whewett shook his head in rueful wonder. “Did you really have no more money than that?”

  “I would not have been cheating the coaching company if I had the full fare. I am not a criminal, you know, and I don’t accept jewelry from gentlemen, either.” As soon as the words were out, she wished she could unsay them. His look of blank shock told her how far off the mark she was, to suspect any ulterior motive in the offer. When her meaning sank in, Whewett looked confused and rather embarrassed. It seemed best to drop the matter.