Clarissa slept soundly as usual, secure in the knowledge that Lady Aria had had a good day and that the maid Betty was established in her room to watch over her in the night. The sighing of the wind and the distant creak of the elms were the only sounds disturbing the peaceful quiet.
So it was with heart pounding that Clarissa was awakened by a cacophony of alarming proportions. There were shrieks and groans, and an incessant sharp barking that sent shivers down her spine. She bounded out of bed, pulling on the dressing gown she had left on a chair at the foot of her bed. When she burst into the hall, flinging the door back so precipitately that it banged against the wall, she saw out of the corner of her eye a small object rushing toward her, snapping at her ankles.
Since her feet were bare and unprotected, she kicked at the intruder, trying to save herself from its attack. At the time, she remembered later, she wondered how a wild animal had gotten into her house.
She grabbed the first thing that came to hand, a lamp resting on a small table, and swung it at the charging form. Her reflex was good enough to cause the blow to glance off the animal, and it howled in surprise and pain. Only at this point did she realize that it was Max, the “sweet” little dog William had presented to her the previous morning.
By this time there were four people in the minuscule hallway at the head of the stairs, and Clarissa was the only one of them who was silent. Betty was crying rather loudly, and kept insisting that she had been bitten. Lady Aria, in defense of the animal, was assuring her that she could not have been. And Meg, as late on the scene as Clarissa, was demanding in a stern voice to know what was going on.
Max howled and cowered under the table and Lady Aria, imperious as Clarissa had never seen her, insisted that she would not have her animal treated in such a fashion. She sounded frightfully like her mother.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lady Aria demanded for the third or fourth time. “You will all be discharged from my service instantly. No one, I repeat, no one is to mistreat my animal in such a manner. He is worth the lot of you."
The three other women stared at her. It was dark in the hall but none of them believed it was because Lady Aria could not see that she didn't recognize where she was—or who she was. She stamped her bare foot and thundered, “Send Kinsford to me and be quick about it! He'll have the lot of you packing before you can whistle a ditty."
With this she swung around, scooped up the little dog, who didn't dare object, and stormed back into her room, slamming the door behind her. Meg and Betty, wide-eyed, turned to Clarissa.
“Don't look at me,” she protested. “I haven't the slightest idea what to do. Perhaps she'll just go to sleep and be all right when she awakens in the morning."
But this hope was instantly shattered when the imperious voice from within the room ordered, “Bring me a slice of gingerbread and a pot of tea. Quickly."
“I think it would be best,” Clarissa said to Meg, “if we humor her."
“But we don't have any gingerbread."
“Well, bring her something sweet. One of the rhubarb tarts from dinner will do. I'll take it in to her, if you don't mind."
“Not at all,” Meg muttered as she pulled her robe around her and left.
“Do you think I should go and get Lord Kinsford?” Betty asked, her brow furrowed with alarm. “He'd want to know, I think."
“Not in the middle of the night. I won't send you out there alone. First thing in the morning you can send one of the village boys for him. Besides, she isn't actually asking for this Lord Kinsford, do you think? It sounds more like Lady Kinsford asking for her husband, the earl's father."
Betty remained unconvinced. “You don't think it means she's terribly sick? That we should send for the doctor?"
Clarissa considered this, but only briefly. “No, she's not sick in that way. At least I don't think so. She's been disoriented before, though not quite like this. I feel certain she'll be all right until morning.”
“Should I—uh—go in there?"
“Not unless you want to be dismissed again,” Clarissa said, her smile rueful. “Why don't you go to bed in Meg's room and I'll take care of Lady Aria for the rest of the night?"
“But Lord Kinsford sent me so you wouldn't have to do so much."
“Yes, but I feel responsible for Lady Aria while she's here, especially during these disoriented times. I'll call you if I need you, Betty."
The girl curtsied and disappeared into her sister's room. By the time Clarissa had managed to light a candle from her bedroom, Meg appeared with the tea and tart on a tray. Clarissa took it from her. “Go to bed,” she directed her maid. “I'll call you or Betty if I need you.” Meg reluctantly disappeared into her room and Clarissa stood a moment before the closed door, hearing Lady Aria's voice in monologue to the dog, not quite loud enough to be decipherable.
She rapped lightly on the door and entered without being bid, bearing the tray as both shield and enticement. “I have your tea, my lady,” she said, as though it were midday and something she was accustomed to doing.
Lady Aria was propped up in bed against several pillows. She had lit her lamp and sat with the dog on her lap, talking to him in a haughty voice. It was clear she was still imitating her mother. “Put it on the table,” she directed with a sweeping wave of her hand. “That doesn't look like gingerbread. I asked for gingerbread."
“There was no gingerbread,” Clarissa said firmly. “You will enjoy the rhubarb tart. It was made for you especially.”
“I don't like rhubarb tarts,” the girl insisted, pouting. “I won't eat it. I want gingerbread."
“It's rhubarb tart or nothing,” Clarissa retorted as she settled the tray on the small bedside table. Though she would have hated to see Lady Aria have a temper tantrum, she was not about to make up gingerbread in the middle of the night. “Milk and two sugars, my lady?"
“One sugar. You should know that. How long have you worked for me?"
“Some years, my lady,” Clarissa admitted.
“Very unlikely. You would know how many sugars I take.” Lady Aria's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who are you? What are you doing here?"
“I'm here to take care of you, m'lady. I think perhaps your head injury is causing you some trouble right now."
“Head injury?” Lady Aria's hand flew to her head, where she could feel the dressing above her ear. Her eyes became confused and teary. “What's happening to me?” she whispered. “What's the matter with me?"
Clarissa moved quickly to the bedside where she gently cradled Lady Aria against her shoulder. “Don't be alarmed, my dear. This is only temporary, I'm sure. You'll feel better in a few days."
“But I don't ... know who I am. Sometimes. I forget where I am and what's happening to me.” She looked up with beseeching eyes. “Can't the doctor give me something?"
“We'll speak with him tomorrow. Try to sleep now, Lady Aria. Sleep is the best healer.” Clarissa helped her charge scoot down in the bed and drew the coverlet up to her chin. “I'll sleep here on the pallet. You won't be alone. Perhaps I should put the dog downstairs so he won't disturb you again."
“No, please. He's a comfort to me."
If not to the rest of us, Clarissa thought. But she nodded and said, “As you wish. Sleep well, my dear."
Chapter Twelve
When Clarissa could not get comfortable on the pallet, she spent the remainder of the night seated in the rocking chair near Lady Aria's bed. In the event of a recurrence of the girl's behavior, neither Meg nor Betty would have had the necessary authority to restrain her effectively. So Clarissa assumed the responsibility and spent a fair amount of time trying to puzzle out what was happening. She was deeply troubled by Lady Aria's behavior.
And yet she was not completely convinced that the problem was medical, that the blow to Aria's head had caused some structural damage that impinged on her brain. That was quite possible, of course. Dr. Lawrence seemed to think it likely, if Lady Aria were to remain disoriented.
Perhaps the accident had precipitated some problem. Clarissa had been in charge of Lady Aria's tutoring for the last year, and she had witnessed fluctuations of mood, but these seemed perfectly normal for a girl of Aria's age and lively disposition. Laughter and excitement and flares of temper. Occasional blue devils that would bring tears to her eyes as she did watercolors. “It was just so sad,” she once explained. “The leaves were falling, it was autumn, everything was dying.” And sure enough, in her picture would be leaves scattered on the faded grass, and blowing in the autumn breezes past a church and graveyard.
Not that Lady Aria was frequently downcast. More often she was in tearing spirits, full of so much energy there seemed not enough of an outlet for it. When William wasn't at home, she had a hard time finding someone to accompany her on wild gallops across the fields. The other girls in the neighborhood were not usually up to such unladylike pursuits, though they were fond enough of her that they didn't bear tales to their parents.
What concerned Clarissa now was the possibility that Lady Aria's distress might have something to do with her mother's strange behavior. After all, Lady Kinsford was downright peculiar in her habits. Could one inherit such a tendency? Could an accident precipitate it?
Heavy-eyed, Clarissa went to her room when Betty arrived to relieve her at first light. Lady Aria still slept and the dog remained curled against her back. There had been no further disturbance, from girl or dog. After penning a note to be sent to the earl, Clarissa gratefully fell on her bed and slept for a whole hour before Meg came to help her dress. She chose a drab-colored bombazine round dress with endless buttons at the back. When Meg attempted to enlivened this with a peach-colored handkerchief, Clarissa objected.
“But for the earl, ma'am,” Meg protested, her fingers darting about the piece of cloth, tucking, pulling, rolling, fluffing. "Much better,” Meg said, standing back. “And your kid half-boots instead of those slippers, if you'll allow me to say so, Miss Driscoll.” She held the boots out determinedly to her mistress until, with a sigh, Clarissa took them.
“It's not as if he's going to notice what I'm wearing,” Clarissa protested as she pulled them on. “Dr. Lawrence would probably pay more attention."
''Still..."
Clarissa sat down at the dressing table and regarded herself in the glass while Meg went to retrieve her hairbrush from Aria's room. Her oval face looked back at her from the mirror, tired smudges under the gray eyes. She groaned and touched the puffiness as though her fingers might absorb it and make it go away. “How awful! He'll think I'm totally unfit to take care of his sister,” she muttered to herself as she let Meg brush her hair into its usual tidy wrap.
“I could do something different with your hair.” Meg allowed the wavy brown mass to fall forward around Clarissa's face. “Soft ringlets distract the eye from the face. I've read that in the ladies’ magazines."
“Just do it the usual way, Meg. It doesn't matter."
Meg snorted, and obeyed.
* * * *
Lord Kinsford arrived before Clarissa had finished her toilette. Betty came up to her room and stuck her head around the door. “I've told him Lady Aria is still asleep and have put him in the sitting room. He wanted to know what happened but I told him you were the one to explain. I offered him a cup of tea, but he refused. I can hear him in there pacing about the room."
“Thank you, Betty.” Before going downstairs, Clarissa checked on Lady Aria once more. The girl continued to sleep soundly, but at the sound of the opening door, Max jumped down from the bed and came to her, wagging his tail gaily as though nothing untoward had occurred during the night. As she closed the door behind them, Clarissa muttered to him, “You really are the most incomprehensible fellow. Come along. Meg will feed you and let you out."
He trotted after her down the stairs without so much as a yip of excitement. She started to lead him into the kitchen, but the sitting-room door flew open and Lord Kinsford regarded her with astonishment. “Surely the dog can wait!” he protested. “I need to know what has happened to Aria."
“Lord Kinsford, I'll be with you in a matter of moments. I'm just taking Max to the kitchen. Aria is fine right now; she's sleeping, as I'm sure Betty told you.” Clarissa slipped through the door into the dining parlor, leaving him behind. She could understand his anxiety, but there were certain things that required her attention so briefly that it would have been foolhardy to ignore them. Shrugging off a feeling of guilt, she handed Max over to Meg with a request that he be fed and walked.
“But what about your breakfast, Miss Driscoll? You haven't eaten."
“I'll get something later. No, bring me tea in the sitting room after you've finished with Max, please. I'm starving.” Then a thought occurred to her and she added, “The earl may not have had breakfast, either. Just set up for two in the dining parlor, if you will."
He was standing by the window when she arrived. The day outside was misty and he appeared to stare out toward the lane without interest. When he heard her tread, he turned abruptly from his contemplation and faced her. Clarissa thought he looked almost apologetic, but he said, “Your note said there had been an upsetting occurrence during the night, that Aria's mind had become disoriented again."
Clarissa seated herself and, though he hesitated, he followed suit. “The dog caused a disturbance. Barking and nipping at all our ankles for a while. I don't know what caused him to do that, and afterwards he was quite all right. He didn't actually break any skin, and certainly never tried to hurt Lady Aria. Perhaps he was protecting her."
“I really will have to speak to Will about the dog,” he said. “There's something going on that obviously isn't quite right. He told me something...” His frown gave way to an exasperated sigh. “Right now Aria is more important. Tell me what happened."
“She suddenly became very imperious, telling us that we were all dismissed from her service. She sounded exactly like, well, if you will pardon me, your lordship, she sounded exactly like her mother."
He stiffened in his chair. “Have you ever seen my stepmother behave in that fashion?"
“No, but it's no secret in the village. She dismisses servants right and left. Fortunately, they all know that she forgets what she's done in a few hours, so they just lie low until the whole thing blows over. Otherwise, you'd have an incredible change in staff every few days at the Hall."
Kinsford seemed particularly distressed. Whether this was because she had presumed to tell tales on her betters, or because he wasn't aware of the phenomenon she was describing, Clarissa could not know. “In any case,” she continued, “Lady Aria retired to her room, demanding gingerbread and tea. She wasn't happy when Meg produced a rhubarb tart, but it was all we had. She asked that Kinsford be sent to her, but it was clear to me that she was referring to the late earl, and not yourself."
“Why was it so clear to you?” he asked, leaning toward her.
“Because she was, in effect, your stepmother at the time. And she was asking for her husband."
“My father has been dead for many years, Miss Driscoll. Aria would not be asking for him, even if she thought she was her mother, which sounds totally bizarre in any case."
Clarissa tried to be patient. “It was as though she were portraying a scene she'd witnessed long ago, perhaps as a child. Only now she was taking the part of her mother. She was not herself, Lord Kinsford."
“In other words, this is rather a different kind of disorientation than you've seen before."
“Yes.” She rubbed her temples to soothe the aching that had begun there. “The other times she has at least been herself, though not in the appropriate time. This time she was a different person in a different time."
“You can't be sure of that."
Agitated, Clarissa rose with a dismissive gesture. “No, I can't be sure of it. But I know she didn't think she was Lady Aria because, better than you, I know who Lady Aria is."
Kinsford had risen almost as rapidly as she. He stood over
her, glaring. Then, just as swiftly, frowning. “You look fagged to death,” he said. “Didn't you get any sleep?"
His empathy completely threw her off balance, as did the finger he reached out to touch the smudge under one eye. She was, suddenly, reminded of the kiss by the stile, and a faint flush came into her cheeks. She stepped back and his finger fell away. “I sat up with your sister."
“But I sent Betty to do that."
“Neither Betty nor Meg was in a position to deal with Lady Aria in her condition last night. When I reminded her of her head injury, she soon returned to normal; only frightened, poor child. She hasn't awoken yet this morning. I think she'll be herself when she does."
He stood staring at her for a long moment. Vines scraped against the panes and wind buffeted the corner of the cottage. He could not be remembering the kiss. He had forgotten it the moment after it happened, Clarissa felt certain of that. And yet, he looked at her in such a way that she could almost believe he, too, was recalling that episode.
Nonsense! she scolded herself. He was undoubtedly planning how best to handle the situation with his sister and wasn't aware that his gaze had remained on her. Only when there was a tap at the door and Meg entered did his gaze shift.
“Lady Aria is awake now,” she announced. “She seems to be all right.” This was for Clarissa's benefit, and was supposed to carry a certain significance which not only the two of them but Lord Kinsford understood: Their patient was not, at present, crazy as a loon. Meg carried a tray with tea and an assortment of foods which she set down on the table near the sofa. “I've taken some breakfast up for her and told her that the earl is here."
“Thank you, Meg.” Clarissa indicated the food with an expansive gesture. “We thought you might not have eaten, Lord Kinsford. Won't you join me?"
He hesitated briefly, as though he would go to Lady Aria first, and then nodded. “She'll need time to eat her own meal without interruption,” he said, as if in explanation. When they were both seated and Meg had left, he asked, “What did you mean when you said you knew Aria better than I do?"
The Village Spinster Page 11