by Joan Smith
She glanced across the street and said, “There is a park with a pond and geese. Shall we go and see them?” Grace led off, and he followed with a frown on his brow.
She went to the pond’s edge and knelt to coax a goose to her with very little success. Whewett did not join her. The feeling of embarrassment ebbed as she played with the fowl. One fat white goose reminded her of Esmeralda, her own favorite goose at home, and she tried to lure it to her. She snapped her fingers, and finally leaned out to try to reach it. There were some elderly folks sitting on benches nearby.
“Pretty girl,” an old man said to Whewett. “Your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Best grab her before she falls in,” the man suggested, with a shake of his head at the folly of children.
Whewett went to the pond to retrieve the wayward daughter. “You worry me considerably,” he said, “I suffer a recurring delusion that you are indeed twelve years old, and I have abducted a child from her parents.”
“You didn’t abduct me. I joined you voluntarily.”
His dark eyes studied her. “That worries me even more.”
She felt uneasy, having her common sense judged by this man, and quickly changed the subject. “I like geese,” she said vaguely. “They’re so pretty in water, and the goslings are just at that awkward stage when they don’t know whether they are still goslings, or all grown-up.”
“One tells by the feathers, amongst other things,” he said, scanning her own childish garments. But when his eyes lifted to her face, he wondered how he had ever mistaken Grace for a child. There was maturity in those eyes, and a certain precision of features that young girls lacked. A feeling of strangeness was growing between them as they stood together. “Would you like an ice?” he asked, to break the tension.
“Yes, it’s warm. I haven’t had an ice in ages.”
“Do you not have ices when you take your charges to that ocean Ellie Lou likes to fall into? There are stands set up on the beach at home.”
“The girls do. A governess must maintain her dignity.”
He shook his head. “And you hungrier than the two of them put together, if I know anything. You really do worry me, Doll.”
They had two ices at a parlor, then went into the street again. Whewett felt a tugging at his sleeve. As he turned, Grace darted off to look into a shop window. “It’s Mr. Whewett, isn’t it?” a loud voice called. Turning, he saw the woman from the stage, whose name he could not remember and whose protruding eyes he could not forget.
“How is Lady Healy?” the woman demanded, with all the familiarity of an old acquaintance.
“Very well, thank you.”
“Are you having any luck selling Willowcrest?”
“A man from Kent is coming to look at it this week.”
‘“That’s fast work. Still, there’ll be many a looker before there’s a taker.” She folded her arms, planted her feet comfortably apart, obviously settling in for a lengthy chat. She glanced around and discovered Grace behind them. “Why, there is Miss Jones! Quite a coincidence, all three of us meeting. I’ll just go and see if she got to her governess all right, for she wasn’t met at the coaching stop. She ran off down the street all alone, poor tyke. Unconscionable the way some girls are let run wild. She wouldn’t of heard yet if she got the brother she wanted, I expect.”
Whewett was left to ponder this last mystery, till a memory stirred of Miss Farnsworth’s story on the stage. He walked along to the next shop and stood looking in the window till Mrs. Sempleton had had her chat with Miss Jones and was on her way. Grace waited till the woman had turned a corner before looking for Whewett.
“Very nearly caught out!” she exclaimed. “Wouldn’t you know, we would meet the one person who knows I am not Augusta.”
“That woman had the memory of an elephant. She even remembered your mama is in the throes of childbirth.”
“She remembered I wanted a brother, too.” Grace laughed.
“You will be happy to hear I have got one, just yesterday. Mama is calling him Alfred, after my own papa.”
“Let us get out of here before she returns. We’ll go to Miss Thomas’s cottage now.”
An inquiry was of no help. The lady of the house was out, and the servants knew nothing. The afternoon was fast drawing to a close, and it was time to return to Willowcrest.
Chapter Seven
Lady Healy had arisen from her nap when they returned to Willowcrest. Grace was allowed to sit with the grown-ups and have a glass of lemonade. “How did you like your new doll, eh?” was the first word said. “Did you pick out a pretty one?”
“A beautiful one, Grandma. Thank you so much. She has blond curls, blue eyes, and the loveliest gown.” Grace tore off the paper with a fine show of childish enthusiasm.
Grandma clucked over it with as much pleasure as the recipient. When Grace went to sit down, she picked up the doll to take with her, to please the old lady.
“It is nice to see the young ones in no hurry to grow up,” Lady Healy said aside to Whewett. “All too soon Gussie will be wearing long skirts. What a quiz she will look, not five feet high. I am closer to six. She’ll be having beaus, first thing you know. Are there any good partis for her around Downsfield?”
“We haven’t begun to think of that yet.”
“You haven’t. Let us hear Augusta speak for herself.” She raised her voice. “Have you got a sweetheart, Gussie?”
“Not yet, Grandmama, but I am looking about me.”
“I wager you are. She’s half grown up on you, Alfred. Best face the fact you’ll soon be losing her. It don’t do for a father to depend too much on his daughter, or vice versa. You’ll up and die on her and leave her a spinster. We don’t want Gussie sinking into a spinster.”
“I shan’t, Grandma. I do not depend entirely on Papa,” Grace said, with a saucy look at Whewett.
“Ha, she has an eye on some lad already. She’ll never say so before you. I’ll get her alone one of these days and discover the whole. How about yourself, Alfred? Do you never think of marrying again? Irene’s been dead a decade. You need a son and heir for Downsfield.”
“There is no hurry. Gussie and I rub along fine.”
“You and Gussie do, but when Lady Augusta makes her bows, it will be a different story. She must go up to London for her debut. A growing gel needs a mother to teach her the ropes. Even before that time, there are things Gussie must learn about her body and feelings. A man ain’t the one to tell her.”
Whewett looked uncomfortable as he sipped his wine. Lady Healy continued her counsel. “It is all well and good to have a proper regard for Irene, but sentiment can be carried too far. I wager you would have taken a wife before now if you didn’t have a loose widow or light-o’-love nearby to amuse you.”
“I would prefer not to discuss it at this time,” he said curtly, with a quick look at Grace.
“Your daughter ain’t a Bath miss, I hope. There is nothing worse than a missish gel who blushes at the simple facts of life. Has your papa got a mistress, Gussie? Tell me the truth.”
Grace was happy that someone other than herself was the butt of the old dame’s intrusive questions. “I don’t know, Grandmama,” she replied.
“It wouldn’t surprise me a bit. Better a wife than a convenience. Perhaps Gussie has someone picked out for you, a nice mama for herself. She writes me letters, you must know. Oh, yes, I know things.” She nodded smugly at this and cast a conspiratorial wink at Grace.
Whewett blinked in astonishment. “What nonsense have you been writing, Augusta?” he demanded sternly.
“Now we have him on the anxious seat,” Lady Healy crowed. “He has been found out.”
Mischief danced in Grace’s eyes as she said, “I’m sorry, Papa. Was I not supposed to tell about your lady friend?”
“She told me,” Grandma cackled. “I do not disapprove, Alfred, so long as she is a proper lady. I was married twice myself. Well now, I am feeling better after my nap. I sh
all go and harry those lazy girls I hired into doing a decent job. Don’t go upstairs, Augusta. I shall be back presently. Haul me up, Alfred.”
As soon as they were alone, Grace turned a brightly curious eye on Whewett. “You had best inform me about this mysterious lady you’ve been making up to behind my back.”
“I haven’t a notion what she was talking about.”
“Whewett, don’t be missish. You are plenty old enough to have a chère amie, if it is the woman’s ineligibility that restrains you.”
“I do not have a chère amie!”
“I am happy to hear it. As I am about to be severely quizzed about your friend, you must tell me at least her name, and a few rough facts about her background. Is she a widow, spinster, what?”
“Invent anyone you like to satisfy her. There is no such person. And I’ll tell you something else, miss! I am not flattered you think I would be looking out for an old widow or spinster for a wife.”
“I did not say old. You are a widower yourself, so you cannot take exception to that. I shouldn’t think a gentleman of your years would be dangling after a deb.”
Her every word incensed him more deeply. “Gentlemen of any age, Miss Farnsworth, prefer pretty young girls to aging spinsters. I am not quite a doddering old fool yet.”
“Good gracious, I have wounded your vanity. I am excessively sorry, Whewett. I shall make it up to you.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“I shall invent, for your delight, a lady of unparalleled beauty. She shall have youth, fortune, accomplishment, pedigree. In short, a princess out of a fairy tale.”
He listened, amused. “Much good an imaginary lady will do me. Be sure you give her a sense of humor.”
Grace tossed him an arch smile. “She shall certainly require that. Fear not, all virtues shall be hers. Would you like her a trifle on the blue side, just a twilight tinge? And vivacious into the bargain?”
“I see what you are up to, making the lady the complement to myself. You are conferring on her all those elements lacking in myself. I am half in love with her already.”
“Only half? You are hard to please, sir. What shall we call this paragon?”
“What else but Pamela?”
“Are you quite sure? She may go off into swoons every time you get near her and want her virtue rewarded, too. Let us call her—”
The shuffling tread of Lady Healy brought their discussion to a halt. “They are a lazy enough lot, the village girls,” she scolded, “but they have good strong backs. Now, where were we?”
“We were discussing Papa’s girlfriend,” Grace answered helpfully.
“So we were. He will contradict every word you utter, so we shall send him off to his room.”
“There is a change!” Grace smiled.
“Run along, Alfred. Your secrets are all going to come out now.”
“If Gussie breathes a word of my women, I shall box her ears soundly. And so I warn you, miss,” he added with a menacing look at Grace.
“You never lay a hand on her. That’s why she is such a saucy minx.” Lady Healy laughed merrily, for she liked to see anyone discomposed. “Now, tell me all about Mrs. Elton,” she said eagerly as Whewett strolled out the door.
The name was a boon to Grace. It supplied some notion of the woman’s status: a widow, obviously.
Her companion nudged her on with more clues. “What was she doing at Downsfield for a week? You said Alfred was mighty taken with her.”
Grace began to fabricate a tale. “She came to visit us.”
“Something to do with your clothing, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, that is why she came.”
“But she cannot be only a modiste.”
“Oh, no.” Grace proceeded to make Mrs. Elton a family connection on Whewett’s side, the widow of a cousin. She was a blond enchantress, whose hand was sought by all men.
“She sounds a proper hussy to me,” the grandmother said at the end of the tale. “Blond curls and silken gowns don’t make a good mother. Is she nice to you, Augusta? That is what is important.”
Grace realized she had allowed herself to be carried away. “She seemed very nice,” she said uncertainly.
“Ho, they’re all nice till they catch their prey. I don’t care for the sound of her. She is only after the title. I shall tell Whewett so. He don’t want a proud beauty who will be trailing him off to London for the season, abandoning you. He wants a more settled sort of lady.”
She continued with these animadversions for some time. Grace feared she had inadvertently made future trouble for Whewett, if he did indeed plan to marry this Mrs. Elton. She tried to tame down her description, but her first extravagant outpouring had made a vivid impression, and Lady Healy took the lady in violent dislike, sight unseen.
When it was time to eat, Grace was told she would eat in the nursery. “For I must speak to your papa about this Elton creature.” Grandma scowled. “Ask him to step down, Gussie.”
Grace went upstairs and tapped at Whewett’s bedroom door. His valet was just brushing the shoulders of his evening jacket. “You can leave us, Jenner,” Whewett said. “Come in, Gussie. What’s up? You look worried.”
“I have made a dreadful mistake, and I’m very sorry.”
“She hasn’t found out?” he asked in alarm.
“That I am not Augusta? No, but I have landed you in a pickle. I hope your heart is not quite set on Mrs. Elton?”
He looked bewildered. “Who the devil is Mrs. Elton?”
“The lady who visited you at Downsfield, and you fell in love with. You cannot have forgotten her in six months!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Think! She was helping Gussie with her clothing. I assume she must be a close friend or family connection. I said she was your cousin’s widow.”
Whewett touched his forehead. “Oh, Mrs. Elton. I remember her now.”
“Well, who is she?”
He threw up his hand and laughed. “A dressmaker from the village. A schoolteacher’s widow. She was out some time ago to make up clothes for Augusta’s trip to Ireland. I recall my daughter had one of her infatuations with the woman. As Mrs. Elton was genteel, she took dinner with us and Invers. Gussie was fond of her. That is the sum and total of the great romance.”
“What a take-in.” Grace looked unconvinced. “Gussie’s letter hinted it was you who were fond of her.”
“No, she is an older woman. She must be forty.”
“That is not so old. You must have had an eye for her. Augusta would not have made it up out of whole cloth.”
“Yes, she would,” he said baldly. “She probably hoped I would marry the woman and give her a mother. She was a nice little old lady.”
“Oh, dear, and I told Grandma she was beautiful—gave her a sense of humor, liveliness, and all, just as you ordered. She has taken the idea Mrs. Elton is only after your title. She is convinced Augusta will be abandoned while the pair of you flaunt your bodies in London.”
“She must take me for a prime simpleton!”
“No, Mrs. Elton for a prime hussy. You are guilty of no more than a susceptibility to incomparables, as you told me yourself all men are.”
Whewett looked at her in the mirror as he adjusted his cravat. “If you were my daughter, I’d turn you over my knee for such impertinence as criticizing your elders.”
“You’re ruining that nice design your valet made,” she said, unfazed. “I wager you’ve never laid a hand on Doll. I have just been thinking these past days what a lovely father you would make.”
Whewett’s eyes flashed dangerously, and he gave the tie a yank that ruined it entirely. “Very flattering. And was that the great trouble, that I cannot marry old Mrs. Elton?”
“At the moment your cravat is the problem. Lean down. I am a bit of a dab with cravats. I used to help Papa.” He hesitated a moment before turning from the mirror. “You had best sit down, Whewett. You’re too tall.”
Grace arranged the cravat, chatting nonchalantly all the while, unaware that Whewett was engrossed with their image in the mirror. It called up memories of married bliss. Just so had Irene used to fuss over him. It felt good, to have a woman cosseting him. He studied her long lashes, spread like fans on her cheeks.
“You must go downstairs and be very biddable,” Grace advised. “Ingratiate yourself with Lady Healy by making a fine renunciation scene. She will love to think she’s saved you from ruin. But don’t give up Mrs. Elton without a fight. I made her so beautiful, just for you.” She patted the tie. “There. That’s better. Away you go.” She stood back to view her handiwork.
“Are you not coming?”
“My tender young ears must be spared. Be sure you tell me all the details later. I shall be dining alone.”
Whewett was aware of a stab of disappointment. He was coming to enjoy Grace’s easy, playful conversation. “Not again! No, that is too bad. I’ll speak to her.”
“Don’t bother. I’m more relaxed away from her.”
“I feel guilty that all the difficulties of the masquerade fall on you.”
“I shan’t mind. I’ll have my dollie for company,” she joked. “I call her Mrs. Elton, for she is very like my Mrs. Elton, with her blond curls. She’ll be a lively partner.”
“If she fails, you have plenty of liveliness to spare. Will you join us later?”
“If I am sent for. Otherwise I shall continue with the perils of Pamela. Frankly I am coming to despise her. I am half hoping Mr. B. will beat her with his sword hilt.”
“He--”
She stopped him with a gimlet gaze. “Don’t tell me. The book is boring enough when I don’t know what is going to happen. Those pious, proper girls make for tedious fiction.”