Madcap Miss

by Joan Smith

  “It was, but I should think a lightskirt would prefer a widower with no children, or the nursery already fledged. A half-grown daughter hanging on her arm when she goes up to London to make the next match might be enough to put her off.”

  “I am just at that awkward age, it seems. Too old for a love match and too young to appeal to the fortune hunters.”

  “Five years will take care of your problem,” she said.

  “Good God, my fling is nearly flung, too. Ah, well,” he said, hefting the wine bottle, “at least I am old enough to drown my sorrows. Good night, Grace.”

  Only after Whewett left did she notice he had stopped calling her Miss Farnsworth. When had it happened? During his tirade against the stage, likely. Anger would often blow away the proprieties. She felt a stirring of pity for him. His life was not very full, either. She wondered why he had never remarried. He must have been very much in love with Irene. Lady Healy would be able to tell her more.

  Chapter Nine

  At eight o’clock the next morning the family group met for breakfast. Grace took one look at her gruel and said, “I am not hungry today. Just tea for me, please.”

  She thought Lady Healy must be unwell. She did not protest or seem to notice when Whewett slipped an egg and toast on a plate and handed it to Grace.

  The old lady sipped her drink, thinking. Later she said, “You must go into Wickfield for me, Alfred, and see Bronfman about a mortgage. Daugherty has only three thousand dollars in cash, but that need not beat down my price. Tell Bronfman I will take a mortgage for two thousand. A mortgage is a safe investment. I will let him have it at five percent. He would pay more at a broker.”

  “It will be a good selling point.”

  “I need that, for I am anxious to get home. I feel little shooting pains in my chest. I thought it was the flu coming on, but no cough developed. My physician at home, Dr. MacTavish, is excellent. He will have me feeling better in jig time.”

  “Very well, I’ll see Bronfman,” Whewett agreed.

  “I shall stay quiet, write some letters. What will you do, Augusta? Will you go with your papa?” the dame asked.

  “Yes,” Grace answered promptly.

  “No, you stay with Grandma,” he said. Grace looked at him, surprised and offended.

  “Take her along, Alfred. I shall be busy.”

  Grace looked at Whewett with renewed hope. He replied, “It is a nuisance having a child dragging along on business errands. Gussie will stay.”

  “Papa, please take me with you,” Grace entreated, not believing he would consign her to such a tedious morning for no apparent reason.

  “Not his time, dear. Perhaps tomorrow we can go out.”

  “Daugherty don’t come till Friday,” Lady Healy mentioned. “Tomorrow you and your papa can have a long drive. Don’t pout and sulk, child. It makes you look like an ugly pug dog. Do you have a dog at home?”

  The remainder of breakfast passed in harmless discussion. When it was over, Whewett took his leave. He directed a long look at Grace, which conveyed nothing to her, though she thought it was intended to.

  “I’ll set up my desk by the window so I can watch you skip,” Grandma decided.

  There was to be no escape. Lady Healy did as threatened. The rope was brought out, and the exercise began in a desultory way. When Lady Healy looked out, Grace speeded up, and when she was writing, Grace slowed the pace. At one point Lady Healy set her letter aside and waved.

  Not thinking what she was about, Grace lifted a hand to wave back. The rope tangled in her legs and she pitched forward. It was not a hard fall, but Lady Healy became alarmed. It was very clear the old lady loved her, for she came pelting out the French doors at a gallop.

  “Goodness, I hope you have not sprained your ankle!” Grace felt a perfect wretch to have caused such agitation. “Mercy, and it is all my fault, distracting you so foolishly. Can you hobble in and let us have a look at it? Lean on me, Augusta. Oh, dear, and Whewett not here. I’ll send a boy for a doctor.”

  “I don’t need a doctor,” Grace said hastily. She could have walked unaided, but with the sun rising higher, she was relieved to have done with skipping. Were it not for the promised outing with Whewett, she might have taken to the sofa for a few days. She hopped in on one foot. Mulkins was called to fetch a stool. The ankle was examined with the stocking off. There was no swelling, but a red welt had burned a layer of skin away. The treatment was to send Mulkins off to make lemonade.

  When the invalid had been made comfortable, Grandma handed her the Bible, while she resumed her writing. Grace leafed through the heavy tome, reading with very little interest of Abraham begetting Ishmael. When Lady Healy went to speak to Mulkins, Grace slipped quickly upstairs and brought down Pamela. With this tucked inside the Bible, she passed the morning more pleasantly than foreseen. At eleven-thirty Whewett returned, to be regaled with what Lady Healy called “Gussie’s awful accident.”

  His head jerked toward Grace, revealing his alarm. “Are you all right?” He strode quickly to her and seized her hands, as though to satisfy himself that she was in one piece. When he noticed what he had done, he quickly dropped them.

  “Yes, but I could only skip for ten minutes,” she said in a doleful voice, while her eyes laughed over the top of the Bible.

  “A pity. I see you are suitably occupied all the same.”

  “I’m reading Deuteronomy, Papa. Very uplifting.”

  Whewett suspected that pious smile and glanced down to see Pamela concealed behind its bulk. “You can certainly do with heavy doses of the Bible,” he said dampingly.

  “This terrible accident would not have happened if you’d taken the child with you,” Lady Healy grouched, making clear he was the villain of the piece. After more regrets, she asked, “Did you speak to Bronfman?”

  “He thinks the mortgage is a good idea, and of course he likes the five percent.”

  The sale was discussed till luncheon. Whewett offered his arm to Augusta to reach the table. With careful winces, she lagged along. “Don’t overdo it, or she’ll call in a sawbones. Did you hurt yourself at all?”

  “It pains dreadfully,” she told him, with such an innocent expression, he could not judge whether she meant it or not.

  “Perhaps we should call a doctor,” he said uncertainly.

  Her smile twinkled mischievously. “Perhaps I should be an actress.”

  “On the other hand perhaps you should be thrashed. Allow me to get your chair, Grandma.” He abandoned the invalid to shift for herself, which she did very well.

  “May I have a wee glass of wine, Grandma, as I am feeling dizzy from my accident?” Grace asked in a wheedling tone.

  “Ask your father. A sip of wine may settle your nerves.”

  “May I, Papa?”

  His eyes raked her. “Certainly not.”

  “Papa!” she exclaimed, offended. Really Whewett was turning into a perfect tyrant.

  “Half a glass won’t harm her,” Grandma said irritably.

  “She is too young. Wine ruins a young lady’s character. She will end up an actress, or something equally disreputable.”

  “Don’t be such a gudgeon,” Grandma replied angrily and gave up pretending Whewett had anything to say about it. She poured a full glass of wine and handed it to Grace. Later, she urged second helpings of dessert.

  “You are forgetting we must watch Augusta’s dumpy figure,” Whewett said, pushing away the sweet tray. “After that clumsy fall, she cannot exercise. She should eat less, not more.”

  “You pick a fine time to exercise your discipline. The poor child needs some compassion.”

  “I am disappointed in my daughter’s performance.”

  “I see what Irene meant now,” Grandma said cryptically.

  “What has my wife to do with it?” Whewett asked stiffly.

  “She said you could be a perfect mule. The accident was my fault, and I find it incomprehensible that you choose this moment to be strict, when you are us
ually too soft by half.”

  Conversation was sporadic after this minor outbreak. “I managed to hire a decent nag at the inn,” Whewett said. “It will make overseeing the estate easier.”

  “Well, Augusta,” Grandma Healy said, “it seems you and I have nothing better to do than nap this afternoon. You may dine with us this evening,” she decreed, with a challenging look to the father, who ignored her. “Take her upstairs for a nap, Alfred. You had best carry her to save that ankle.”

  “It’s not broken. She can walk.”

  “Well, upon my word! I don’t know what has become of your manners. Even Irene, for all her complaints, never said you was quite heartless.”

  “Irene did not complain. She had nothing to complain of.”

  While the two exchanged glares, Grace said, “I shall just rest on the sofa and read my Bible, if that is all right.”

  “It seems you have no choice, unless you are able to crawl up the stairs on your hands and knees,” Grandma announced, and stalked from the room, her bosom heaving and her mind hatching a plan that would soon throw her guests into a conniption.

  “You should abuse me more often,” Grace said to Whewett, tipping the wine bottle to refill her glass.

  “It can be arranged,” he said in a thin voice.

  “Why wouldn’t you let me go to the village with you?”

  “Never mind the attack, young lady. What do you mean by pretending you have hurt your ankle and lolling about indoors on a fine day like this, reading a trashy novel?”

  “You forget I am not an energetic youngster who enjoys bouncing up and down in the sun for hours on end. You should try it some time! When I fell, quite by accident I assure you, and did hurt my ankle, I was delighted to get out of the sweltering sun. And don’t bother ranting at me about trashy novels when you have read it yourself and told me the ending, too, in the most odious way.”

  “It wasn’t the ending,” he said. Whewett realized he had behaved badly and felt not only guilty but foolish. It was not today’s stunts that bothered him, but Grace’s notion of going on the stage. He could see its attraction to a provincial lady of little experience. The deuce of it was, he couldn’t do a thing to prevent it.

  “I recognize a diversion when I meet it, sir. Why didn’t you let me go to the village this morning?”

  “Because we should not be seen together. That pop-eyed woman from the coach—”

  “I don’t see why you cannot remember a person’s name. Mrs. Sempleton.”

  “Yes, well, you will be interested to hear I met Mrs. Sempleton. She is strangely interested in you. She told me she learned Miss Thomas has rented her house.”

  “Did she say where Thomas has gone?”

  “She doesn’t know yet. Give her another day.”

  “Is that why you didn’t want me to go?”

  “Of course. What other reason could I have?”

  “I thought you didn’t want my company.”

  He waved the idea away as foolish. “A pretty sly trick, making up to Grandma to get wine out of her.”

  “That’s not why I did it. And why should you begrudge me that simple pleasure anyway?”

  “I dislike to see you practicing your thespian skills. It revives a theme I hoped we had put to rest. Does that ankle really hurt at all?”

  “I am suffering agonies but conceal it with my acting. I would be in bed this minute if you weren’t too cruel to help me upstairs.”

  “I’ll help you upstairs, if you like. And call in a doctor to leach you,” he added, when her smile told him she had conned him again.

  “I am quite comfortable here. I must recover for that trip you promised me tomorrow.”

  “The word promise did not arise.”

  “Whewett, you said you would!”

  “Don’t sulk, pug.” He laughed. “I’ll take you if you are a good girl and finish your novel.”

  Grace finished the book soon after he left. She went to the garden to hide the skipping rope in the bushes, to forestall further exercise. Then she walked around the house, exploring. The cellar door was open, and she went in, guiding herself carefully down the steep stairs to avoid real harm to her ankle.

  Below it was dark and dank, with little to see. The light from the opening fell on the wine racks, and she went to examine them. John Brougham had kept a well-stocked cellar. There was even champagne. She and Papa used to have claret or port with dinner, but she had never tasted champagne.

  Before many seconds she had slipped a bottle under her arm and fled up the stairs. The kitchen door was ajar. Mulkins was not there, so she went in and up the servants’ stairs to her room. She hid the bottle under her pillow, planning to have it that night.

  And if Whewett was still in a snit, she wouldn’t share it with him. He was acting peculiarly today. The strain of the masquerade was beginning to show, but she would not let him take it out on her. The greater part of the burden was hers. If anyone was to be allowed a fit of temper, it should be she.

  Chapter Ten

  Lady Healy rose after her nap and found Grace in the saloon, where she had gone to practice the pianoforte. After she had played a few selections for Grandma, the elderly lady said, “I have a very nice instrument in Scotland. How I should love to hear you play it for me, Augusta. You must do so when you visit me. I’ll speak to your papa about your visit.”

  Grace nodded, believing this event was far in the future. She learned the startling truth as soon as Whewett joined them after completing his rounds. “Augusta and I have been chatting about her visiting me,” Lady Healy began. “She is eager to come now that she and I go on so well together, Alfred. I have a notion why you hesitated before. You thought I’d frighten her, but it is no such a thing. We rub along fine. She has promised to play for me when she comes.”

  “Perhaps next year,” Whewett said, stalling her. Grandma was old and infirm; next year might not come for her.

  As if reading his mind, Grandma said, “Next year might be too late. I want her to come now.” Her arrogant face wore its commanding aspect, black eyes flashing.

  Grace and Whewett exchanged a wary look. “You will be fagged after your trip,” he said. “Best to let you get home and recuperate first.”

  “I would appreciate her company for the trip. And I do not get so knocked up during travel as you think. My carriage is well sprung. I take it slow, with plenty of stops to rest.”

  “Gussie is not ready to leave from here,” was his next effort. ‘‘She has only a few clothes with her, and Invers is not available at the moment, either.”

  “Invers can join us later. Clothing will be no problem. We shall get her new ones. Her holiday is the perfect time for it, with no lessons to worry about.”

  “I had not thought to see her go off at this time,” was Whewett’s last, desperate objection.

  “Well, start thinking about it. I want her to come. I insist,” the old dame decreed. In her mind it was settled.

  Whewett needed a breathing space to sort out the mess and entered into a discussion of Lady Healy’s estate. A little later she suggested he change for dinner, and when he came down, he accompanied the ladies, one on each arm, to the table.

  “I’m glad to see you ain’t limping,” Lady Healy congratulated Augusta. “The young recover quickly. I was tossed from a wild nag when I was fourteen. They thought I had broken my collarbone, but I went to dinner and danced for three hours that evening. Perhaps I was a little older than fourteen. Lord, I’d give my right arm to be young again—be glad to be rid of it. The elbow aches like a bad tooth.”

  “Pretty young to be setting up as a flirt at fifteen,” Whewett quizzed her.

  “Young? Why I had my first offer of marriage at fifteen, and half a dozen flirts before that. You’re dragging your feet, Gussie.”

  “I am in no hurry to see Gussie grow up,” Whewett said.

  “She has to learn to handle the fellows. Let her start young, and when she’s seventeen and ready to settle down, she�
��ll know her way around. There is no saying she will settle for the first man she meets, like Irene. Now that I come to know her better, I see she has a deal more spirit than her mama. Pay no heed to your papa, Gussie. Find yourself a beau. I’ll see if I can’t help you in Scotland.”

  “It is not settled that Augusta is to go to Scotland,” Whewett pointed out.

  Grandma just smiled in a condescending way. When the wine was poured, Grace surreptitiously slid her glass forward.

  “I see what you are up to, minx!” Grandma laughed. “Never mind scowling, Alfred. She has to learn to drink, or she will make a cake of herself when she goes into society.”

  At the meal’s end, Whewett was directed to bring his port to the Purple Saloon. Augusta tagged quietly after the grown-ups and sat in a dark corner to avoid detection. After a little business talk, Lady Healy turned to more personal matters. “Have you given any thought to your marriage, Alfred?” she asked.

  “Yes, I think of it often.”

  “You should have been married years ago. You need a mother for your daughter, as well as a wife for yourself. Who else have you in mind besides that vulgar cit, Elton?”

  “Mrs. Elton is not a vulgar cit,” he objected.

  “Title hunter! I know her sort. Up from the gutter by marrying some gouty old fool, and now she thinks to make herself a lady. She thinks to have easy pickings with you. You must not marry her, Alfred. Tell me who else you have in your eye. I want to hear what Gussie thinks of the ladies, too.”

  “As the criterion of acceptability appears to be my daughter’s approval, let us hear which of my harem Augusta likes best,” he suggested, smiling lazily.

  “I like Lady Eleanor. She already has a title, so she cannot be after that,” Grace said, tossing the ball back to Whewett to describe this fictitious lady.

  “Let us hear about her,” Lady Healy commanded.

  “Unexceptionable,” was Whewett’s brief opinion.