At which statement Meg herself appeared in the doorway to announce, “The doctor's gone to Stanton Prior and they don't know when he'll be back."
Both Mr. Traling and William offered to find him. William was an even more daring rider than his sister, but he was naturally the earl's choice. “William, you go. I'll stay here with Aria."
“I'll take Firebird, then, shall I?” William asked, distractedly drawing a hand through his blond curls. “I've been galloping Rannoch pretty hard this morning."
“Take Longbridge. Firebird may still be too nervous from the accident."
“Take Longbridge?” William repeated, astonished. “You've never let anyone ride Longbridge."
Kinsford gritted his teeth. “Just take him. Get a move on or I'll go myself."
“Yes, sir,” William replied, almost snapping to attention, as if his brother were still in the army with Wellington. “I'll be back in no time."
He had flung out of the room before Kinsford could say, “And don't do anything reckless.” The front door slammed so hard it rattled the whole house.
“I'll heat another flannel,” Meg said, and left. Clarissa continued to sooth the partially conscious Lady Aria's forehead. Kinsford paced restlessly. Mr. Traling stood far back but the earl encountered him in his pacing and threw Clarissa a scowling look. “I wonder, Mr. Traling, if you would do a favor for me,” Clarissa asked after a moment. “I feel certain the doctor will prescribe a black draught immediately and I haven't any. Would you see if Mrs. Luden has any from the apothecary?"
“What's a black draught?” he asked, curious. “Will she know what to give me?"
“Yes. There are two ways to make it but either will be fine. I myself prefer the tincture of senna with cardamom and spirit of lavender, but the epsom salts and coriander seed work just as well, I believe."
“I'm more than happy to get it,” Traling said. “If Mrs. Luden hasn't any, shall I go to the apothecary in Bath?"
“No, we'll make do,” Clarissa assured him.
Mr. Traling left cheerfully, just as though he hadn't been snubbed by his lordship several times since his arrival. Clarissa turned to the earl.
“Would you help me with her riding boots? She might be more comfortable."
Kinsford stepped forward to help. The boots were tight and Lady Aria moaned when he attempted to remove them. Kinsford desisted, saying, “It's too painful for her."
“No, no. Let's get them off. It will be easier on her when she's half-conscious than when she comes fully awake."
Kinsford regarded her doubtfully for a moment and then nodded. It was, after all, precisely his reasoning when he had relocated his sister's shoulder. When the boots were eventually off, he ran his fingers along the ankle. “I don't feel anything broken, just the swelling. The boots probably protected her."
Lady Aria's eyes flickered open again. “What are you doing to my foot?” she whispered anxiously. “I hurt all over. Where am I?"
Clarissa stepped into the girl's line of vision. “You're at my house, dear. You've taken a fall from your horse."
“Firebird! Is she all right?"
“Perfectly,” Kinsford replied.
“I should hate myself if anything had happened to her,” she whispered. “I didn't mean to hurt..."
But her voice failed from the effort and her eyelids drooped with fatigue. Soon she seemed to be asleep.
Clarissa took a pillow from the spindle-back chair and tucked it under Lady Aria's foot. Meg placed a warm poultice on her head. Though the two women said nothing, a glance passed between them which indicated their mutual knowledge of Lady Aria's starts. Neither of them looked to Kinsford for an explanation, and it would not have occurred to him to provide one.
They heard a discreet knock at the door and Meg ushered the doctor and William directly to the sitting room. Clarissa offered the older man her hand. “Thank you for coming, sir. I hope Master William hasn't pressed you too hard."
Dr. Lawrence was a short, stocky fellow with an incurably genial face. “He did no more than protest the urgency of the matter.” His hand had already gone to take Lady Aria's wrist and her eyes fluttered open. “And how are you doing, my dear? Feeling wretched, I dare say."
“Yes,” she admitted. Her voice was alarmingly weak.
“Do you know what year it is?” the doctor asked.
“Eighteen-nineteen."
“And where you are?"
“In Miss Driscoll's sitting room."
“And who you are?"
“Lady Aria Barrington."
“Good.” The doctor smiled. “Already I'm encouraged. We should apply a lotion to the scalp here over the blow, however. Sal-ammoniac and vinegar in whisky, diluted. Perhaps it would be best to shave the area first."
Silent tears pooled in Lady Aria's eyes. Dr. Lawrence relented. “Well, it is not absolutely necessary. Now, what I would like is to clear the room so that I may examine my patient. You may stay, Miss Driscoll."
Though Kinsford looked skeptical, he joined the others without protest. Dr. Lawrence winked at Clarissa. “Rather a lot of company for you,” he suggested. “If you'll give me a hand here."
He allowed Clarissa to serve as his assistant as he did a thorough examination of his patient. Lady Aria groaned in protest at the pokings and proddings. “Good girl,” he said, patting her hand and turning to Clarissa. “I'm fairly certain the ankle isn't broken, but Lady Aria should stay off it as much as possible for a few days to let it mend."
He considered his patient thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “I'm not sure I can recommend your removal to Kinsford Hall as yet, my dear,” he told her. “The blow to your head could be significant. We want to see that you remain as still as possible for a while. Any conveyance would be very painful for your shoulder, and unwise for your head. Should you mind very much?"
“Of course not,” Lady Aria said stoutly. “But it would be a terrible inconvenience for Miss Driscoll. We couldn't possibly impose so on her good nature."
Clarissa laughed. “It's no imposition at all. You won't be as comfortable here as you would at the Hall but, on the other hand, William won't be here to egg you on to mischief."
“And Alexander won't be able to ring a peal over my head, either,” Lady Aria agreed. “It sounds perfectly delightful."
“Hardly that,” Dr. Lawrence assured her. “You're going to ache like the devil for the next few days. I'll come by tomorrow to see how you go on."
In the small music room off the sitting room he explained to Clarissa and the earl that Lady Aria's remaining at Miss Driscoll's cottage was purely a precautionary measure. “Sometimes there's damage that shows up later. What you have to watch for is disorientation. But she seems all right now and we'll hope for the best. Laudanum for the pain if needed; a little thin gruel if she gets hungry."
Reluctantly Kinsford agreed that his sister should stay. It rankled that he would be indebted to Miss Driscoll in such a fashion, but he would not take chances with his sister's health.
The doctor had barely departed when there was a great commotion outside the cottage. Apparently Mr. Traling had returned at precisely the same time as Lady Kinsford arrived. Clarissa heard the dowager's stentorian tones demanding. “Who are you? Where is my daughter?"
Once again Mr. Traling explained that he was an acquaintance of Miss Driscoll's and that Lady Aria was in the sitting room. The dowager appeared instantly in the doorway, where she caught one glimpse of her daughter and cried out, “Oh, my poor child! What have they done to you?"
Lord Kinsford, who might or might not have been the one held responsible, had no choice but to provide some explanation. “Lady Aria has taken a fall from her horse, ma'am. The doctor has seen her and feels she will be fine, though she must remain here for a day or two."
“Here? Absurd. She must come home at once."
The dowager was not much above five-and-thirty. She was a good-looking woman, and she had a distinct flair for the dramatic. Like a Covent Garden
actress she wrung her hands and moaned with despair. “Oh, she has injured her head. My poor, sweet Aria. I must pray she has done no damage to her brain.” Tears welled up in her pale blue eyes. “Oh, I could not bear that. Such a quick, bright young thing as she is."
Meg had drawn a chair near the sofa and the dowager adjusted her lime-green skirts as she sat down on it. When she went to take the girl's hand, she shrieked, “Her wrist! Oh, her wrist is enormously swollen! There are broken bones. I know there are. She shall never be quite right again and it is all the fault of that wild horse of hers.” She glared at Kinsford. “You should never have given her a wild horse."
“Firebird is not a wild horse,” retorted that maligned gentleman. “And Aria is an excellent rider."
“Then how did she take a fall?” demanded Lady Kinsford.
“A dog frightened the horse just as she was beginning to jump. It was a most unfortunate accident."
Clarissa felt it was time to change the subject. Since it was midday, she offered the dowager something to eat and drink. Lady Kinsford considered her with a frown. “Yes, I will take a cup of tea. China, not black. And perhaps a spot of cheese with my bread. A soft cheese, mind. I can't tolerate those hard cheeses, nor the strong ones. And a pear. We're already getting pears from the succession houses."
“Ma'am, Miss Driscoll may not have any pears,” Kinsford pointed out.
“No, then perhaps a rhubarb tart. Yes, I should quite like that, or a gooseberry tart. Either will do."
Clarissa grinned at Meg and whispered, “Just bring her anything we have, please. On a tray.” She cocked her head at Kinsford, raising her brows.
“No, I thank you. I'm not hungry,” he said. William and Mr. Traling concurred.
Lady Kinsford held her daughter's uninjured hand and sighed repeatedly. “The news reached me through the servants. It would have been better if you'd sent a message, Kinsford.” Apparently the earl had learned better than to respond.
Lady Kinsford was curious about Miss Driscoll's house; fascinated, in fact, by the tiny size of the room, as if it were a miniature, and she turned quite around to see where the windows faced. Her eye happened to fall next on Mr. Traling, who was doing a pretty good job of keeping himself in the background. “I don't believe this gentleman is from the area,” Lady Kinsford commented.
“No, I'm from Bath,” he said, bowing slightly to her.
“I don't care for his being here when my daughter lies insensate and unclothed,” Lady Kinsford said. “It's not seemly.''
Clarissa wondered if by unclothed the countess meant that Lady Aria's boots had been removed. Only the very tips of her toes showed beneath the blankets. Clarissa hastened to tuck them in.
Mr. Traling, however, was not proof against the dowager's scowl; or he had finally determined that there was no chance of his seeing Miss Driscoll alone on this day. With a rueful grin, he handed Clarissa the bottle of black draught, shrugged and said, “I'll be off then, Miss Driscoll. I certainly hope the young lady won't be any the worse for her fall.” He bowed to the dowager, dipped his head to Kinsford and his brother, and mischievously squeezed Clarissa's hand as he shook it. Neither the earl nor his stepmama failed to notice this.
When he had left the room, the dowager suggested, “I believe you have a companion living with you, Miss Driscoll."
Without a moment's hesitation, Clarissa nodded. “Lorelia Snolgrass. She's not here at present. A very worthy woman, at the beck and call of her family. I believe it is her younger brother's wife who was in childbed and in great need of her. Undoubtedly she'll be back in a few weeks. So very exhausting, travel, don't you think?"
As Lady Kinsford never traveled anywhere, one might have thought she would agree with Miss Driscoll, but she merely sniffed and returned her attention to her daughter. Lady Aria was making feeble movements with her hands. Occasional low groans came from her throat. She tossed her head restlessly, dislodging the damp flannel.
“I'll get a warm one,” Clarissa said, and left the four of them alone in the sitting room.
In the kitchen she found Meg preparing a tray of food for the dowager.
“Lady Aria may be pale now, ma'am,” Meg said, “but in no time she could develop the fever. Shall I make up a fever-mixture?"
“Have we any carbonate of potash?"
“Enough for one receipt. I could get more later."
“Very well. Mr. Traling has brought us a bottle of black draught from Mrs. Luden."
“Oh, I feel certain we have some."
“It kept him busy and out of the way,” Clarissa said tartly. “Though perhaps not long enough. I'll take another warm flannel in."
When she returned to open the sitting-room door, she overheard Lady Kinsford in full spate. “And I cannot believe that she would entertain a gentleman in the absence of her companion. Imagine! A single woman. A spinster in a small village."
“Usually I wear a cap,” Clarissa pointed out as she came in. This did not discompose Lady Kinsford, but the earl looked acutely uncomfortable. “You must ask your stepson here. I was wearing one this morning. They're very effective, you know, in driving amorous intent out of young men. I swear by their efficacy myself, though I know others who champion the dragon companion. Not that Miss Snolgrass is a dragon, by any means."
She bent down to place the warm, moist flannel on Lady Aria's head. “Her color looks a little better, I think."
“We're grateful for your kind assistance,” Kinsford assured her stiffly.
“Well, I've never seen her looking so pale,” Lady Kinsford said. Then she frowned. “What were you doing here this morning, Kinsford?"
In a bland voice he replied, “Discussing Lady Aria's lessons with Miss Driscoll."
“That cannot have been at all necessary. I could have told you anything you needed to know.” Though she awaited further explanation, he did not avail himself of the opportunity. After a very long time, which Clarissa would have described as a battle of wills, Lady Kinsford shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, very well. It's of no importance. It was your father, after all, who originally arranged the lessons, and Lady Aria is my daughter. I wouldn't have thought it was any of your concern."
Clarissa had had enough of the discussion and would have stepped in to interrupt if Meg had not provided the necessary diversion. The maid came in with a tray loaded down in foodstuffs that Clarissa had forgotten were in the larder. There were two cheeses, a Cheshire and a Stilton; a cottage loaf of bread, sliced thin; several warm rolls; a lemon tart; and several pieces of fruit, though no pears.
“How lovely,” Clarissa said, forestalling the dowager. “Perhaps Lady Kinsford would like to sit here at my desk to eat. It's so uncomfortable to eat from one's lap, don't you think, Lady Kinsford?"
“I wouldn't know,” her visitor declared. “I've never done anything of the sort.” But she obligingly made her regal way to the one bit of furniture which Clarissa truly loved and had salvaged from her father's estate. The little writing desk had inlaid marquetry and a dozen small drawers and cubbyholes for quills and accumulated letters and ink pots.
Meg set the tray on a table which she drew close to the desk and Lady Kinsford helped herself, frowning all the while. “No pears?” she asked.
“I'm afraid we had none, my lady,” Meg replied.
“And it's a lemon tart, isn't it? I'm not particularly fond of lemon tart. But I shall eat it."
Gracious to the end, Clarissa thought with amusement. Kinsford offered a half-apologetic shrug and, to Clarissa's decided relief, made sure that the dowager's visit ended as soon as she had finished her repast.
Chapter Four
Kinsford Hall was an imposing structure, dating originally from the sixteenth century. Additions had been undertaken by most of the Earls of Kinsford, some to good effect. The rough-hewn stone of the walls and battlements was contrasted by finely carved lighter stone for the window and door embrasures. There were finely carved stone chimneys with detailed chimney pots, all entirely
too short to effectively remove smoke and reduce drafts.
The original interior of stone, stone, and more stone had given way to wood and plaster and rugs. Lady Kinsford's suite of rooms had actually been added by the fourth earl for his first wife, the present Lord Kinsford's mother. It was a charming, airy portion, with multitudinous windows and romantic flights of fancy in the ceiling decoration.
The present Lady Kinsford had added to the fanciful architecture her special touch of habit: She seldom left her suite. For that reason, Alexander Barrington, fifth Earl of Kinsford, presented himself there when she summoned him, though he would have preferred neutral territory. His stepmother's behavior at Miss Driscoll's had heightened his fears about her adequacy as guide to her own two children.
“Good evening, ma'am,” he said as he took the seat she indicated. “I trust your excursion has not unduly tired you."
As Lady Kinsford was lying on a reclining chaise, with a cool cloth on her forehead, her wrists recently bathed in lavender water by her maid, this was spoken only as a pleasantry.
“I am as well as can be expected, Kinsford.” She waved a hand in the direction of the village. “I think you made a mistake in allowing Aria to stay at that woman's house, Kinsford."
“I had little choice, and I'm sure she'll be perfectly fine. Miss Driscoll has known her for years and has explicit directions from the doctor as to her care.''
“Aria said the doctor spoke of shaving her head. You don't think they would actually do that, do you?"
“No. Not unless it were totally unavoidable. You mustn't worry about such things, ma'am. Her hair would grow back in any case.''
“But she's fifteen. This is not a time for her to be looking freakish.” Lady Kinsford toyed with a lavender-scented handkerchief, pressing it briefly to the tip of her nose. “It was at fifteen when young men began to notice me. It's a precarious age for a girl. I should hate for her to suffer from this accident."
Kinsford felt a little impatient with the focus of her concern, but he forced himself to remain easy in the straight-backed chair to which she'd relegated him. “She's a healthy young thing,” he said. “I'm sure she'll recover physically and mentally without any harm done.” He was not unaware of the possibilities for damage, but he did not intend to alarm Aria's mother with such worries. “Dr. Lawrence seemed satisfied with her condition."
The Village Spinster Page 3