Clarissa lifted Max off her lap and rose, ready to head back toward the village. “Then I think you have a perfect opportunity here to do something delightful for your wife, Steven. Arrange with the governess to come to your house to see Jane. I dare say Jane would love that."
Steven grinned. “You're right, of course. Why couldn't I have thought of such a simple thing?” And he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it with a playful intensity. “My very dear Clarissa!"
Naturally this was the moment when Max began to bark excitedly because he'd spotted Lord Kinsford astride Longbridge approaching them. Clarissa withdrew her hand a little precipitately and Steven regarded her with mild surprise.
“He thinks there's something improper about my friendship with you,” she whispered as the horse and rider drew close. Max had continued to bark and she scooped him up and held his muzzle to quiet him. She could feel a totally unwarranted flush creep into her cheeks. How very inane of her! As though she had done anything amiss.
Lord Kinsford's face wore a solemn expression which said as plainly as words that he had witnessed the episode and drawn the least favorable conclusion from it. He tipped his hat at each of them, murmuring, “Miss Driscoll, Mr. Traling,” before riding off without another word.
Clarissa was tempted to let the dog have his head, since Max was growling fiercely and showed every indication of wishing to charge off after horse and rider to do great damage to one or both of them. Instead, she said, “Oh, be still, you little noise-box. Where did you learn to be so ferocious?"
“Well, I think it's the outside of enough if he entertains any such ideas,” Steven said, referring to Lord Kinsford rather than the dog. “What kind of character does that give you, or me for that matter? How very odd in him to imagine such goings-on. Has he forgotten what it's like in the country?"
“Yes, I think he has.” Her voice was dull, discouraged.
“Clarissa, you cannot mean that he's serious? Does he imagine we do something illicit out in the fields? No, no, he's not such a gudgeon. You've misunderstood him."
It did sound ridiculous when Steven said it and she gave a small hiccough of laughter. Then she said seriously, “He's rather stuffy where his brother and sister are concerned. There was, I believe, the suggestion that he might have to take them out of my charge."
“Nonsense! He would not be so foolish. Where could he find the kind of expertise you bring to them? There's not another soul in the neighborhood who could do half so well."
His indignation on her behalf was admirable, but irrelevant. “He's only trying to protect them, Steven. How does he know what kind of woman I am?"
“He has only to look at you to tell,” Steven retorted. “The earl probably has a good working knowledge of what the other kind of woman looks like."
“Do you think so?” Her eyes danced. “I should be very surprised. He's become so righteous these last few years.''
“Wasn't he like that when he was younger?"
She gave one last glance in the direction of the distant rider, then turned toward the village, Max at her ankles. “No, when he was young, he was quite wild. I remember my father talking of him, and when I'd meet him in the village I'd think he was such a daring young man, somehow dangerous, and I would get quite a thrill out of speaking to him. As if I were risking my reputation, or some such thing. Of course,” she admitted ruefully, “he hardly noticed me at all. He was always polite but dismissive. And now he's the one who behaves ever so properly, and views me as the suspect one."
“Well, he must have a mental disorder if he suspects you of anything other than being a tiny bit unconventional.” He placed her hand on his arm and matched his stride to hers. “Pay no mind to him. He's in your debt now for taking care of his sister. You haven't a thing to worry about."
Clarissa didn't quite believe she had nothing to worry about, but for the time being there was very little she could do to change the situation. So she smiled and changed the subject.
Chapter Eleven
The Earl of Kinsford was arguing with himself. It was not something he did as a rule, and it annoyed him. Half of him seemed to believe that Miss Driscoll was exactly what she appeared to be: a spinster of some seven-and-twenty years, brought down in the world from a position of decided country eminence by her father's gambling; who now with complacence taught the sons and daughters of the neighborhood quality various accomplishments that they would otherwise not have acquired until they reached London.
The other half of Kinsford, perhaps irrationally but with some small encouragement from his own observations, believed that Miss Driscoll led a double life, which was not at all in accord with her position. This part of him believed that she only maintained the appearance of a suitable teacher for his brother and sister, that she was in actuality nothing like what appearances declared she must be.
This half of him believed that she was carrying on with Steven Traling. And it infuriated him.
The earl believed wholeheartedly that the reason it infuriated him was that he had the purity and integrity of his brother and sister to protect. The earl was, on occasion, quite able to fool himself in a spectacular way. There had been the instance of the horse which he had been determined to purchase from his friend Rutherford some years ago. But he hadn't dwelt on that after the fact, and so he had not perhaps learned the lesson it offered.
Ordinarily it was without the least difficulty that his lordship reached an opinion on any manner of subject. It was uncomfortable and somewhat perplexing for him not to understand what was going on with Miss Driscoll, especially as he was, at the moment, quite dependent on her good nature and her goodwill. Aria was ensconced in her house, next door to her bedroom, as it were, and he had to accept this arrangement or possibly jeopardize his sister's future health.
Miss Driscoll's bedroom, which he had seen that morning in retrieving the dog for his sister, had given no clue as to any sinister behavior on the spinster's part. It had been a bright, charming room with several family miniatures on the flowered-paper walls. There were a great number of books resting in a wooden trunk which served as a bookcase, and almost no toiletries on the vanity. That struck him, now, as strange. No woman of his acquaintance could manage for long without these feminine essentials. There had, in fact, been just the sort of things one would expect in Miss Snolgrass's room. Very odd, indeed.
To establish the truth of the situation Kinsford was willing to have another go-round with his younger brother, except that he realized it would do little good. Will had fixed himself as Miss Driscoll's champion. Though one could undoubtedly pick up bits and pieces from a discussion with him, there would be nothing definitive. The same could be said for any discussion with his stepmother, who knew very little about Miss Driscoll and apparently had no basis for an opinion about her of either good or ill. So how was he to go about determining the truth?
The scene he had witnessed on his ride home from the village was suspicious, certainly. One didn't every day see a young woman having her hand kissed passionately by her “cousin” in the middle of a field. That was one thing he could do, Kinsford decided. He could find out who Steven Traling was, and whether he was indeed related to Miss Driscoll. That wouldn't be so very difficult to do.
Nor would it answer most of his questions. But it was worth pursuing, just for discovering the truth of Miss Driscoll's assertions. He had the most persistent feeling that Miss Driscoll played fast and loose with the truth. And if she played fast and loose with the truth, who knew what else she played fast and loose with?
But how could she be carrying on a liaison in a small village like Pennwick where gossip was necessarily rampant about any occupant doing something untoward? The idea of gossip suddenly struck Lord Kinsford as being very useful. Though he had agreed that no servant need be sent to Miss Driscoll's house to help with Lady Aria, it now seemed the most necessary and salutary course of action. He would send a servant—Lady Aria's personal servant—and subject her to the most
stringent questioning on her return. He was so taken with the idea that he sent for her immediately, to attend him in his study.
The girl's name was Betty, and she was a rather small, retiring sort of girl, though she looked vaguely familiar. Obviously nervous at being in his presence, she shrank back against the door as he outlined his directives.
“Your mistress has had a fall from her horse, as you know, Betty, and is staying at Miss Driscoll's because it would be dangerous to bring her home. Miss Driscoll has only the one servant, Meg, and I think Lady Aria's being there is more work than we should impose on the household. So I propose to send you to lend a hand."
“Yes, your lordship."
She rather squeaked this reply and he thought it prudent to inquire, “You have no objection, have you?"
“Oh, no, your lordship."
“We want Lady Aria to be perfectly comfortable there. You're to take certain foodstuffs that Mrs. Stalker will have ready for you. Probably we should send a pallet as well, so you can sleep on the floor of Lady Aria's room."
“Yes, your lordship."
“Now, Betty,” he said, coming to the fine point of his instructions, “it's very important that Lady Aria not be distressed by anything at this point. She's had a concussion and at times may be disoriented. If there were anything ... unusual or distressing going on in the household, it would not be healthy for her.” His listener had developed a deep frown. “Do you understand what I'm saying, Betty?"
“You want me to spy on Miss Driscoll,” she said, wide-eyed and beginning to wring her hands in front of her.
“Not at all!” he insisted, stunned by her forthrightness. “That's not what I'm asking, not in the least. I only wish to make sure Lady Aria is comfortable there. If the maid, Meg, for instance, hasn't the time to see to her wishes or..."
Before he could continue, the little mouse drew herself up to her five feet of height and said with astonishing dignity, “Meg is my sister, your lordship. I know for certain she's doing everything she can to make Lady Aria comfortable. If you was to suggest otherwise to anyone, I shouldn't find it possible to remain in your employ. Your lordship."
Poor Kinsford knew when he had been defeated. “I didn't meant to suggest that your sister was doing less than she could, Betty. Not at all. She is a remarkable and resourceful girl from all I've seen. I just wish to help out in the household because of all the extra demands placed on it by my sister's presence. Certainly you would be the best person to offer assistance. If you would be so good."
Now she looked offended, as though he were mocking her in asking her permission. Which in fact perhaps he was, in an effort to maintain his own dignity. The whole situation was getting out of hand. He made a helpless gesture with his hands and Betty relented, saying with kindness, “Why, of course I shall go. There's little for me to do here with my mistress there. If that's all, your lordship?"
“Yes. Yes, that's all. Thank you, Betty. Let us know if there's anything you need there, or anything Lady Aria wants."
She curtsied and disappeared. Lord Kinsford cast his eyes heavenward and sighed. Apparently putting a spy in Miss Driscoll's household hadn't been such a terrific idea after all. He would have to manage to find out the truth on his own.
* * * *
Clarissa spent an equally long time trying to sort things out in her own mind. Her discomposure at Lord Kinsford's appearance had surprised and alarmed her. Since she knew perfectly well that she was doing nothing wrong, there was no reason for her to color up at such an instance. She very much feared that she was beginning to let the earl distract her from her usual equilibrium. It had taken many years for her to achieve such serenity as she possessed and she had no intention of allowing Kinsford to destroy it.
Caught up in these musings, Clarissa did not hear Meg's announcement of William. Her attention was captured only by movement at the sitting-room door where she found William observing her with patient concern. She rose from the sofa and impulsively held out her hand. “I'm sorry, William. My mind was elsewhere."
“Oh! I thought perhaps you were ill.” He shook her hand firmly and released it, still observing her closely. “Aria is a burden, I know. My brother is sending Meg's sister, Betty, to help with her care. She's Aria's maid at the Hall."
“That's very kind of the earl, though I thought we had established that it wasn't necessary.” Clarissa waved him to a seat and resumed her place on the sofa. It did occur to her that the earl had made this decision after seeing her with Steven; no doubt he thought Betty's presence would inhibit such carryings on. The corners of her mouth twitched when she said to William, “I'm sure Betty will be a great help. She'll be able to report on the situation to Lord Kinsford personally."
But William had lost interest in the subject and only waited for her to finish speaking before he asked, “Where's the dog? He hasn't run away, has he?"
“Oh, no. He's curled up beside Lady Aria again. I took him for a walk earlier."
“You're going to keep him, aren't you? He's such a nice dog."
Clarissa thought her guest looked a little guilty saying this, but she assumed it was because he had dumped the animal on her with very little ceremony and felt a bit ashamed of himself over the matter. “I haven't decided yet, William. But I don't think you'll have to worry in any case. Obviously your sister has become fond of him. I'm sure she'd be happy to have him with her at the Hall."
“No, no! She can't have him there!"
Clarissa's brows rose in surprise at his adamance. “Why ever not?"
“Well, because ... because she already has a dog. Puffin, its name is. And it wouldn't like a new dog around at all. Not at all! And I'm sure my brother can't want any more dogs. We have quite enough, in addition to Puffin.” He leaned toward her, color creeping into his cheeks. “Don't even mention him to Kinsford again! It will just upset him. Not to be able to take the dog and all. He'll not want to have to disappoint Aria, but I'm quite sure he wouldn't be willing to have the dog around."
“But he's hardly ever there. What possible difference could it make to him?"
This reasoning apparently struck him forcefully. “Indeed. What difference could it make? Well, still, the dog would be better off here for a while, I think. Where it's quieter and smaller and there's someone to pay attention to him. Then later, in say a month or so, perhaps we could have him at the Hall. If you weren't willing to keep him. Would that do?"
The whole matter was beginning to seem suspicious to Clarissa, and she was about to pursue it further, when William rose abruptly. “I think I'll just look in on Aria and see if she's awake. Have a word with her, don't you know. You don't need to come up, of course. I'll just find my own way."
Clarissa shook her head ruefully. There would be plenty of time to find out what William was up to. “In a month or so” was obviously his guess as to when Kinsford would be gone again. Clarissa sighed and rose to plan menus with Meg.
* * * *
William peeked around the open door of Aria's room and found her sitting up in bed with a watercolor pad on her lap and supplies at her elbow. “Well, aren't you a picture?” he teased, coming into the room. “You certainly don't look sick."
She put her finger to her lips, a wicked light sparkling in her eyes. “You're not to say that to anyone, Will,” she whispered, putting aside the pad. “Close the door and I'll explain to you."
Curious, he did as he was bid, returning to the rocking chair which he overpowered with his youthful energy. “What are you up to now?” he demanded.
“Well, to be sure I'm not really well yet. My head still pounds a great deal and my shoulder and wrist ache.” She shrugged such concerns aside. “But I'm not ready to go home yet, either. You must have noticed that Miss Driscoll and Kinsford do not see precisely eye to eye on things and I have decided that the longer I stay here, the more opportunity I shall have to get them to appreciate one another."
“Sounds a rather harebrained scheme to me. Just as likely they'll
get on each other's nerves."
Aria tossed her head. “Little you know. Kinsford has threatened to stop my lessons with Miss Driscoll and I simply could not bear that. Now don't spoil my plan, Will, or I shall do something drastic to you when I'm better."
“I don't see how you can make them think you're sick much longer, Aria,” he said reasonably. “Your color is good, and you're eating again.” This much was obvious from the empty plates on her tray. He indicated the watercolor pad. “And you're even drawing again. Who would believe that you cannot be moved?"
“If I tell you, do you promise on your honor not to reveal my secret?"
Intrigued, Will nodded.
* * * *
At night the village of Pennwick was almost totally silent. Its narrow lanes drifted past dark cottages, and not man or beast stirred. There were, in all, perhaps two dozen cottages in the village or close by and, for the most part, the men of the village arose early to work on one of the estates or farms, the women to join them or toil with household work and the care of children at home.
In the moonlight the houses of gray stone and red brick alike looked washed-out and insubstantial. The slate roofs and tall chimneys seemed suspended on little more than foolscap. Much more solid was the avenue of noble wych-elms on the road out of town heading toward Bath. At the other end of Pennwick was a stream thirty feet wide which was spanned by a triple-arched bridge.
Most of the cottages on the northern side of the village were joined one to the next, spare though charming, with ivy softening the roughness of the stone and sufficient windows to bring in the sunshine or moonlight. Clarissa's house, on the southern side of Pennwick, stood apart from the other cottages in the lane, and was the last one before the fields of the local farms. Out front was her small garden with hyacinths and narcissi just poking through the ground. The tulips would be protected by a small box hedge, and the scilla would grow close to the ground, its delicate blue flowers the treasure of her spring garden.
The Village Spinster Page 10