by Joan Smith
“Not only fiction. They’re dead bores in real life, too. See you later, Doll.”
Whewett went below to hear a diatribe on the vulgar, encroaching Mrs. Elton. He allowed Lady Healy to wring half a promise out of him that he would not marry her, but put up some resistance to allay suspicion. He did finally admit she was not the only lady he had in his eye.
Grace ate her potatoes and sausages alone, hid her bread pudding in the dustbin, and threw her warm milk out the window. When Molly came to inquire whether she had any laundry to be done, she decided to have her frock washed. The hem was muddied from playing with the geese, and besides, she wanted to have a bath while she was assured of an hour or so of privacy.
Chapter Eight
Molly felt obliged to help missie with her bath, and by the time Grace got rid of her, the water was growing chill. Her bath was more a dip than a luxurious soak, and when she emerged, she realized she would have to wear her own suit, as her dress was being laundered. She stood wrapped in a towel when the door to Whewett’s door reverberated with his knock.
“Are you decent?” Whewett called.
“Stay out! I am naked as a needle!”
“Throw something on. I want to see you for a moment.”
“It will take a while. I’ll join you when I’m dressed.”
While she stared in consternation at the door, it began to open. She clutched at her towel, but only a hand came through, holding a man’s dressing gown. She took it and hastily pulled it around her, surprised at its elegance. The garment was richly patterned in deep hues of red and black, revealing a latent streak of the peacock in Whewett. The smooth caress of silk on skin felt luxurious. The robe fell to her ankles, and the fringed tie touched her toes when she moved to the door.
“What is it?” she demanded.
Whewett’s gray eyes widened in surprise when he saw her. “Good God! You can’t let Grandma see you like this! Why did you not buy yourself a proper dressing gown?” His tone was harsh, but his eyes betrayed some pleasure in her appearance. With her curls pinned loosely on top of her head and her face glowing from its scrubbing, Grace looked entirely delectable, but she did not look twelve years old.
“Buy a gown for two nights? What wicked extravagance! Is she coming right up?”
“Yes, she had a headache. She mentioned saying good-night to you before retiring.”
“Oh, dear! You must go! I’ll slip on my nightie.”
Grace unceremoniously pushed Whewett into his own room and scrambled into her nightie. By the time Lady Healy arrived, she was in bed with her hair demurely tied up in bows, the doll beside her, and, unfortunately, one corner of Pamela protruding from beneath her pillow.
Before long, the dame espied it. “What’s this? Reading something you shouldn’t, eh? Humph, love stories. I suspected all along you had your head full of fellows. I hadn’t realized you were turning into a woman already.”
Her eyes just glanced off Grace’s bosom. In her thin gown, it was clear she was not a child. Grace slouched to conceal it as well as she could, but was not allowed to get off with that trick.
“Sit up straight, Augusta. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I had breasts when I was thirteen. Stranger things will be happening to your body soon. Don’t let it worry you. I never paid any heed to all that foolishness about not riding on my days. All stuff and nonsense. Well, I have rung a loud peal over your papa and half talked him out of the Elton creature, but I come to see he must marry someone. Have you any ideas?”
“Papa has good taste. He’ll find someone.”
“Of course he has. He married your mother. But he is getting old, and old men get silly. They take into their heads to marry a pretty young chit, to show the world they are still attractive. Very foolish things are done when a man is forty.”
“Is—is Papa forty?” Grace asked.
“He soon will be.”
They talked on for a while. No difficulties arose, as Lady Healy did most of the talking. Just before leaving, she said, “Would you like to come to Scotland and visit me sometime?”
“I would love to, Grandma.”
“Invers could bring you. We shall think about it later.”
This sounded sufficiently vague to agree to. Grandma gave Grace a hug and kiss before leaving. There was no repulsion at her swoop this time. She was just a lonely old lady, and Grace wanted to let her know, or at least think, that she was loved. “I’m so happy to have met you at last, Grandma,” she said.
“I am a crotchety old lady, but you must not dislike me for that.”
“What a thing to say!”
“I thought you might be afraid of me. I’m glad to see you ain’t a widgeon. Stand up to me. That way we shall go on famously. Now I am off to bed. I hate being old. I used to dance till three, then be up riding at seven the next morning. Make good use of your youth, Augusta. It don’t last long. You wake up one morning and see an old lady in the mirror, while your heart is still young. You only get to go around once. Isn’t that a sad thing? By the time you’ve got a glimmering what the world is all about, you’re too old to enjoy it. Don’t I wish I were twenty again, with strong legs and a strong back. But I ain’t. I am seventy-five and need my sleep. We turn back into babies before we die, sleeping and eating all day long. Brush your teeth, Gussie, and go to sleep.”
“Good night, Grandma.” Grace hopped up to open the door for her, and Molly came with a footman to remove the bath water. Grace watched Lady Healy depart, sad to see her hobble down the hall, leaning on her black stick. What unfulfilled dreams had caused that outburst from the old lady? Her life had been full—much fuller than Grace’s own life.
She sat on the side of the bed thinking. It was fine to say make good use of your youth, but how was it possible in such straitened circumstances? Grace rose and went to the dusty mirror, to see a child staring glumly back at her, with the gloomy walls looking very like a prison behind her. She pulled the blue ribbons from her hair and tossed them on the dresser.
Whewett would be coming soon, and she began to dress. She put on her white lawn blouse, and as the room was warm, she did not bother with the jacket. Her skirt did not have to be hiked up when it was only Whewett who would see her. She ran a brush through her hair and, on impulse, piled it on top of her head, turning this way and that to study her appearance.
If she could only get out of service, get some decent clothes, and meet a few gentlemen, she might make a match yet. But how could it be done? Her life, her youth, her precious one chance were all slipping away. She had to earn her bread, but she did not have to be a governess. Surely the world offered more exciting jobs. Acting, for instance ...
She was a fair actress, to judge from the job she had done here. It was a shady career for a lady, but if a respectable marriage was beyond her, what did that matter? You only get to go around once. What a dreadful fate, to have your one round as a governess. If Lady Healy were in her position, she would not settle for so little. What an actress she would have made, with her dramatic height and commanding manner. She would have ruled the West End. But would a daub of a woman like herself be able to accomplish it? Not likely.
There was a discreet tap at the door. “Come in,” she said.
Whewett stepped in and stopped dead. His last view of Grace had already upset him. In his mind he knew she was an adult, but it was a thing known without being felt. That first tantalizing glimmer was now revealed in its entirety.
“Am I in the right place? I don’t believe I recognize this ravishing creature.” His eyes traveled slowly from the tip of her gleaming curls, over the swell of her breast, down to her toes.
She sensed his interest and said sharply, “It won’t be for lack of looking!”
Her rebuke startled him back to business. “Why are you dressed like that? Do you want to blow the whole thing?”
‘‘Don’t worry. I had my hair up in bows when she came.”
“I trust you had on your jacket as well,” he said. His eyes l
ingered on that blouse and the tiny waist below it.
“She doesn’t suspect anything. We squabs of girls are early developers. We had a very interesting talk.”
“That sounds ominous. You look—unhappy.”
“I am. I would like to be put on the rack and stretched six inches.”
“It sounds delightful. Many gentlemen prefer the pocket-size Venus, if this torture is designed for that purpose.”
She tossed her head proudly. “It’s not just that. Grandma gave me some excellent advice, but I don’t know how to follow it.” She walked to the bed and sat on its edge. “Have a seat, Whewett,” she said, indicating the chair.
He went warily toward it. He was uneasy at being in a bedroom with what was very obviously a pretty young lady. As he had been in the habit of coming, however, he hardly knew how to extricate himself creditably. “What advice did she give?”
“To take life by the neck and throttle a good time out of it.”
“She certainly followed her own advice.”
“Tell me all about her,” Grace said eagerly.
“She led the family a merry chase. There was a broken engagement or two, capped off with a runaway match with an ineligible officer of the Guards. He had the grace to die and leave her a romantic widow at eighteen. She went north, ostensibly to mourn, but I doubt there was much crape in evidence. The year was hardly out before she married Lord Healy and burned up the countryside with her pranks—happily ever after. The one lack in her life was a son. After a few miscarriages brought on by riding, she had a child, my wife’s mother. My Augusta is her great granddaughter. Quite a lady, old Augusta.”
“I knew she’d be like that,” Grace said with a wistful smile. “I wonder what she would do if she were me.”
“Some such thing as you are doing. She wouldn’t stop at playing a child. She’d take to the boards at Covent Garden, get herself an influential patron or two—or ten.”
“That is exactly what I thought.”
“You’re coming to know her pretty well.”
“I am coming to like her, too. I think she is wise as well as wild. Whewett, have you often been to Covent Garden?”
“Frequently. Why do you ask?”
She stood up and turned a slow circle in front of him. “Do you think I might be an actress? Am I too dumpy?”
“What nonsense is this?” he demanded angrily. “Ladies do not turn actress.”
“Oh, pooh! I am not a lady by anything but birth. I am a servant, to be ordered about by anyone who can pay me a hundred pounds a year. If I must work, I would prefer an exciting job. Do you think I am too short and plain to be an actress?”
“Yes! It is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of.”
She sat down, crestfallen at his vehemence. “You didn’t have to be so positive about it.”
“I am positive you are not going to be an actress, a byword in the clubs, a plaything for some doughty old duke.”
“Much I’d care about that! I have a good mind to take my hundred pounds and go to London to give it a try. If I got some flashy, low-cut gowns and painted my face ...”
“Stop talking such foolishness, Grace! What on earth did Grandma say to put such ideas into your head?”
Grace sighed wearily. “She said to make good use of my one chance. Imagine, I am having my one fling as a governess. Oh, it makes me so angry, I could cry.”
“Being a governess is perfectly respectable.”
“I’m tired of being respectable!” she exclaimed in frustration. “What do you know about being a governess? You’re rich. You’ve always been independent. You’ve never had to stay up half the night with a whining youngster and get up again at seven, your eyes gritty with fatigue, to go back to work. You’ve never had to spend months doing work you hate—teaching arithmetic. I hate arithmetic. I hate Mrs. Bixworth and all the Mrs. Bixworths. The next job will be the same, or worse.”
Her diatribe gave him some idea of her past and, worse, her future. He wanted to comfort her, but was restrained by reality. “Calm down, Grace,” he said mildly. “It won’t be the same. I’ll speak to Mary. She has two nice girls, utterly unlike the Bixworths. Mary would be happy to have you.”
“She must have someone already.”
“She was complaining about her woman,” he invented.
Grace looked at him with the dawning of interest. “What is she like, your sister?”
“Very nice. She certainly wouldn’t work you night and day. She lives in a good style in Ireland, with plenty of horses.”
“She wouldn’t let me use her mounts.”
“It could be arranged.”
Grace shook her head. “I know you would arrange it if you could, but to treat a governess so would only lead to gossip in the neighborhood. I’m sure Ireland has its Mrs. Grundys, too. If I am to be a byword, I would prefer it to be in London, where they are used to such things.”
“I don’t want to hear any more about your becoming an actress,” he said sternly. “I won’t permit it.”
He sounded so very much like her father in a rant that Grace had to stifle a laugh. But there was no point pestering Whewett with her problems, and she said no more.
“You have provided a valuable service for me,” he continued. “I shall find a respectable post for you before we part. Now, the subject is closed. I have a bottle of wine in my room. We shall have a glass of wine and go to bed.”
A conscious look entered his eyes, and Grace suspected he regretted his choice of words, but she ignored any ambiguity in the speech. “You don’t have to assume responsibility for the rest of my life,” she said.
“Somebody has to, as you appear to have lost the use of your reason.” He strode stiffly off for the wine and glasses.
“We are not going to argue any more,” she told him when he returned. “This visit is the highlight of my day. I refuse to let you destroy it with your shockingly overbearing manner. You were more biddable with Grandma, I believe. She mentioned a renunciation of the Elton creature.”
Whewett was happy to follow this topic. “It looms before me when I return home. I regret losing those gorgeous blond curls and blue eyes. I think Mrs. Elton and I might have gone on happily together, darting about the dens of London.”
“She had that charming sense of humor, too. I could have grown accustomed to her as a stepmother. You would not have permitted her to beat me?”
“No, I would have done it myself, if you spoke of acting.”
“There has been a moratorium declared on that subject. We are discussing Mrs. Elton, sir. She is only after your title, you know. You men in your forties turn very foolish. Grandma told me so,” she added swiftly, when he glared at her.
“I do not happen to be in my forties.”
“Only thirty-nine? I have wounded your vanity again. You are as sensitive as an aging lady. How old are you?”
“Thirty-five, fast pushing thirty-six.” He looked closely to read her reaction, but saw only mild surprise.
“You have less than five years to find Gussie a decent mama, before you turn foolish and are picked off by the first pretty baggage that comes along. Forty is the turning point. One may do anything with a gentleman in his forties. I wonder if I might not manage to throw myself in the way of some foolish fellow past his prime. I could take my hundred pounds and go to Tunbridge Wells, where the gouty widowers are nursing their joints. What a splendid idea! With luck, I might even be a widow before I completely lose my looks.”
“Grace,” he said ominously, “You will not get the hundred pounds if this is how you mean to carry on.”
“Welcher! Here you were offering me more a short while ago. What do I know about you after all? You might shab off and leave me stranded at the coaching house after I have served your purpose,” she said airily.
“Very true, you know nothing about me, including my age."
“Did you shave off a few years, Whewett?” she teased.
“Certainly not! But ther
e are plenty out there who would do worse than lie about their age. You don’t use enough caution for one in your position. Look at you this minute—with me, here in a bedchamber, unchaperoned.”
“I never felt safer in a church. Besides, I put a chair under the knob after you leave,” she added blandly.
“That strategy operates on the same principle as locking the barn door after the horse has bolted, I assume. Do you put a chair under the other knob as well, the door from the hall?”
“No, I doubt the groom who acts as butler is likely to come and ravage me. I’m sure he is well past such exhausting endeavors. And surely he would not be brass-faced enough to try it with my father right next door.”
A reluctant smile alit on Whewett’s face. “What is to prevent me from entering via the hall?”
“Your good sense, if not your paternal instincts.”
“I do not feel any paternal instincts for you.”
“Say gentlemanly, then. Unless you plan to go whole hog and murder me after you have had your vile way with me, you would be putting yourself in a precarious position. You want to be careful about keeping me in good humor, or I shall reveal all. Grandma’s fortune would go whistling down the wind, to say nothing of your reputation if the story got wider circulation.”
His amused smile showed no fear. “I didn’t realize I had a potential blackmailer on my hands.”
“You should be a little careful whom you take up with as well, milord,” she cautioned.
“You are not quite so naive as I supposed,” he replied, and filled her glass. He looked at his own, but decided against it. “Time for me to leave. Don’t forget to put the chair under the knob, Grace,” he said as he went to the door.
“You plan to sneak in by the hall, do you?”
“Is that an invitation?”
Grace gave a disparaging look. “How many years did you shave off? Five, was it?”
“I am thirty-five years and nine months, since it seems of some interest to you. I ought to mention, however, that we Whewetts are precocious. I married young and might turn foolish young, too. Tunbridge Wells, wasn’t it, you mentioned as a good spot to pick up a flirt?”