Maxwell. Another cousin, she thought. Not the eldest, since it seemed he was in the army and that was the preserve of younger sons. But whether he was tall or short, handsome or plain, fair or dark, she had not the least notion. So many relatives she knew nothing at all about.
A rustling in the undergrowth of the lane caused her heart to speed up painfully. Surely Mr Drummond was not back already? She stuffed the letters back into the cabinet, and sped down the stairs and into the parlour. As her palpitations eased, all was quiet outside. It must have been some creature passing by — a hedgehog, perhaps, for they were noisy little things, scuffling about under last year’s fallen leaves.
The fright brought her to a realisation of the wickedness of what she had been doing. It was one thing to look into the rooms, for that was not so terrible. But looking at Jess’s jewellery and reading private letters — how dreadful! She would not do so again. She would punish herself for her sin by reading some of Mr Drummond’s sermons. She pulled a book from the shelf and dutifully began to read. It was dull work, and she had difficulty in persuading her eyes to focus on the words. One yawn succeeded another, and somehow, her eyes closed.
She woke with a jump to the creak of the front door opening. The book of sermons slid off her lap and fell to the floor with a crash. An exclamation from the hall was followed by Mr Drummond’s head appearing round the door.
“Are you still here, Miss Allamont? I had thought you would be gone to Mrs Lorne long since.”
It was almost full dark, with just the slightest hint of red filtering through the window from the dying sun.
“I… I must have nodded off. Ouch!”
“Are you all right?”
“A little stiff from sitting awkwardly, and my elbow is sore.”
“Come through to the kitchen, and let me look at it.”
Meekly she followed him down the passage and sat, still half asleep and disoriented, at the kitchen table while he lit the lamp, built up the fire and put a kettle of water to heat.
“Have you eaten anything?” he said.
“No. I forgot. How was your dinner? Was the claret good?”
“Very good!” He laughed, setting a basket on the table. “And look, I have your supper here — a few slices of meat from the joint, a whole cooked duck, some fruit pastries, all sorts of good things. And a haunch of mutton for our dinner tomorrow. Miss Endercott is always very generous. Wait a moment.”
He disappeared down the passage, as she looked at the array of food, the aromas wafting temptingly, and realised she was ravenous. When had she last eaten? Breakfast, probably. She pulled off a leg from the duck, and devoured the flesh greedily.
Drummond came back with a bottle and two glasses. “I cannot afford such delights, but my friend Burford very kindly brought this the last time he was here.” He poured two generous measures. “Here. You look quite worn out. A little brandy will be just the thing.”
“Thank you.” She sipped, and felt the warmth as the liquid trickled down her throat. “You are very kind.” For some reason, tears prickled her eyes.
He paused in the act of stoppering the bottle. “Kind? On the contrary, Miss Allamont, I am such a disagreeable host that I fear I have treated you abominably. But Miss Endercott gave me such a good report of Jess tonight that I am a great deal more in charity with the world than I have been for some time. I trust we shall go on a little better from this moment.” He set the bottle down and pushed it aside. “Now, let me look at that wound of yours.” Gently he unwrapped the bandage, cleaned and prodded, and declared all to be in good order. “You will live to fight the chickens another day, I daresay,” he said, with his charming smile and twinkling eyes that always made her smile, too. “There, that is much better. I do not like to see you so glum. You know, Miss Allamont, I would not for the world keep you here if you find your situation too distressing. You may go home at any time, if you wish to.”
“What, and have Polly gloat that I was too feeble to last even a few days? I think not.”
He laughed and shook his head. “You have spirit, to be sure. I never imagined you would come at all. Even if you had been willing, I thought your Mama would forbid it, as being improper for an unmarried young lady to share a house with a bachelor, Mrs Lorne notwithstanding.”
“To tell truth, I thought so too,” she said. “But Mama said that Polly and I would protect each other’s virtue.”
“Perhaps,” he said, his tone serious. “Miss Endercott is very helpful in spreading the word that you sleep under the good widow’s roof. Even so, I am not quite comfortable with it. I hope your reputation will not suffer from an act of charity on your part, but you may be sure that I would protect you, if that should happen.”
“Oh. You mean…?”
“I mean that I would marry you, Miss Allamont.”
“But I do not want to marry you!”
“Nor do I want to marry you,” he said coldly. “I know my duty, however. If it proves necessary, I will certainly offer you my hand, if not my heart, for that is already given.”
“To Isobel,” she said without thinking, and then wished with every ounce of her being that she could unsay the words. Her unruly tongue would be the death of her one day.
His face darkened. “What do you know of Isobel, or my feelings for her?”
What could she say? She dared not let him discover that she had been reading his letters. “She is my cousin,” she managed. “Why should I not know?”
“Your cousin? The Earl of Strathmorran is your uncle?”
“By marriage. The Countess is Mama’s sister.”
“I had no idea! What a strange coincidence, to come all this way and find such a close connection. How many hours have I spent at Glenbrindle and never heard mention of the Allamonts! So you know of my understanding with Isobel. Still, that is no secret, although of course there is no possibility now. She will—”
A cacophony of noise from the garden assaulted their ears, a riot of squawking that was not difficult to interpret.
“Oh, dear God, the chickens!” she cried. “The fox has got them.”
4: Roast Mutton
There were feathers everywhere as she raced out into the yard. The air was thick with them, and flapping birds, too, leaping for roofs or trees or any perch they could find that might be out of reach. In the gloom, she caught a glimpse of something orange-brown, more shadow than animal, slithering under the fence to the woods, a shape dangling from its jaws. On the ground, two or three still birds, and another squawking in distress, one wing dangling.
For a moment Dulcie stood, hands over her mouth, too upset to do or say anything. They were only chickens, perhaps, but guilt wracked her. She should never have fallen asleep! How Polly would triumph over her, and point out that she could not manage even the simplest thing. Dulcie could not even disagree. How useless she was!
“Oh dear,” Drummond said, coming up beside her. “Well, shall we get this mess cleaned up?”
“Not you,” she said. “Not in your finery.”
“Wait while I change, then.”
“No,” she said slowly. “Papa always said that if one makes a mistake, one must correct it oneself, and not expect others to do so.”
“The task would be quicker with two pairs of hands.”
“But then Polly would say I could not manage the job on my own. This is my fault, so I need to set everything to rights, not you.”
“You must not blame yourself,” he said mildly. “At this time of year the vixen is feeding cubs, and steals wherever she may. We have lost more than one bird to her during daylight hours. I will bring you a lantern, if you are determined to do this yourself.”
“What shall I do with the injured bird? Must I slit its throat?”
“Polly will do it in the morning, if it is still alive. She knows how to deal with it. Do not be dismayed, Miss Allamont. We shall have meat for the whole week now.”
Dulcie set to work persuading the remaining chickens int
o the safety of the coop. They were reluctant, preferring the top of the creamery and woodshed, or the branches of nearby trees. She was too tired to count, but there seemed fewer than expected, even accounting for the losses.
The injured bird was not to be left overnight, however, for Polly herself arrived. “You wasn’t at Dodie’s, so I came to see what had happened to you. Well, look at what you’ve done!” She could hardly stop laughing long enough to berate Dulcie. “I knew you’d forget,” she said. “You never remember anything unless I’m there to remind you. Well, you can tidy it all up yourself. I’ll wait here for you.” And she settled herself on an upturned bucket, grinning, her arms folded.
Dulcie was too exhausted to retaliate. “I shall do what I can, but I would be very much obliged to you if you would deal with the injured bird.”
Polly stared at her, and for a horrible moment Dulcie thought she was going to refuse. Then, with a quick nod, she strode over to the poor creature, tucked it under one arm and twisted its neck. Dulcie heard the crack, shockingly loud in the darkness.
“Thank you, Polly. I shall be as quick as I can.”
Gingerly Dulcie picked up the dead birds, and took them back to the house. Not knowing what else to do with them, she left them in the scullery sink, then washed the blood off her hands.
In the kitchen, Drummond was sitting at the kitchen table. “Here. Finish your brandy, Miss Allamont. I should think you need it.”
She smiled wanly. “It is so educational, living here. Now I know how to kill chickens.”
He laughed out loud at that. “You have been very brave. I have set the porridge to steep, so you need not worry about that.”
She clucked in annoyance. “And I had forgotten that, too! How incompetent I am! I know four languages, play three instruments and can recite Vergil or Shakespeare from memory, yet managing one small cottage is beyond me.”
He laughed even more, and again she was aware of his charm. “I am glad to see you in such good spirits after your ordeal,” he said. “It would not have surprised me if you had not wished to speak to me again, after my appalling outburst earlier. I must beg your pardon, Miss Allamont. I was unconscionably rude to you.”
“Were you? I do not recall…”
“I said I did not wish to marry you, and that is an unforgivable thing to say to a lady.”
“Even if it is true?” she said mildly. “Honesty is usually regarded as a virtue. Besides, I also said that I did not wish to marry you, Mr Drummond. If we are to speak of rudeness, I believe we are on equal terms in that regard.”
“True or not, I should never have said it.”
“But it is true,” she said, smiling a little. “You have your lady in Scotland, and Jess has—” She almost gave his name, then remembered that she was not supposed to know it. “Jess has someone, too, someone she loves.”
“That is so.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “Both of us have been so fortunate as to meet a person who inspires in us the deepest attachment. And for both of us, that person is quite out of reach, and there is nothing at all to be done in either case.”
That was the moment when Dulcie had her great idea. For Mr Drummond, perhaps nothing could be done, but for Jess? That was a different matter, and then how pleased everyone would be, and how grateful to Dulcie for her cleverness. And the Drummonds could escape from this dreadful cottage once and for all.
~~~~~
Dulcie was awake early the next morning. Indeed, she had slept but little, and then her dreams had been filled with blood and feathers and slinking shapes in the dark. She woke even before Polly, and was dressed and ready to walk the short distance to the cottage before the maid stirred from her side of the bed.
It was Sunday and many of the usual chores were suspended, but the animals had still to be seen to. That took some time, but Dulcie was finally becoming adept at milking the goat. Later, they all walked into the village for Matins, a shorter service which the Hall family usually chose not to attend, because of the inconvenience of taking the carriage horses out twice. Dulcie sat alone in the Allamont family pew, as Mr Drummond had his own pew, which he shared with his six boarders.
Dulcie’s prayers were rather more fervent than was her usual habit. Her venture upstairs at the cottage followed by her search through the bedside cupboards of the Drummonds was troubling her conscience painfully. What on earth had she been thinking? And to read Mr Drummond’s letters from Cousin Isobel — it was unforgivable behaviour, she was well aware of that. She could not account for it, except that curiosity had overcome her good sense. She tried, truly she did, to be well-mannered and polite and do all that was expected of her, yet time and again she fell short of her own standards. Her rough tongue had got her into trouble more than once, and now she had been even more foolish. Only one thought comforted her, and that was that no one knew about her guilt, apart from the One who saw everything, and to whom she now prayed most sincerely for forgiveness.
Most of the congregation vanished after the service, some to their homes, some to friends, if they had walked a distance, and some to one of the two inns. The farm labourers and servants preferred the George and Dragon, with the lure of cheap beer and hot meat pies in the tap room, while the gentry and professional class chose the more salubrious quarters of the Haddington Arms, the coaching inn, where a private parlour might be procured and even the public saloon boasted a carpet on the floor.
Polly went off to join her sister’s family, while Mr Drummond and Dulcie joined the Endercotts and the six boarders for a late breakfast at the parsonage. The boarders, boys aged from eight to fourteen, were the sons of gentry or the wealthier sort of local man. One was a farmer’s son, and another Dulcie recognised by his bright red hair as belonging to the miller’s family. It appeared that the meal was part of the boys’ education, for all conversation was conducted in Latin. Dulcie had no trouble joining in, to the great delight of the boys.
“I never knew ladies was educated!” one of them exclaimed.
“Dicere illud in latin, Robertus,” Mr Endercott said gravely.
But the boy just grinned, and Dulcie smiled benevolently back at him, far more at ease conversing in Latin than milking the goat.
After the meal, when the boys took Mr Drummond down the garden to show him the beans they were growing, and Mr Endercott settled down for his snooze, Miss Endercott said quietly to Dulcie, “Are you all right, my dear?”
That was not a question Dulcie was at all sure she could answer, even to her own satisfaction, but she had too much pride to admit to it. So she said, “Certainly. I would like to bathe more often, and I cannot manage my own hair at all, but otherwise I am quite well, all things considered.”
“Are you? For you have a scratch on your face, there is something amiss with your left arm and… well, I know very little Latin, but the words ‘pullos mortuus est’ sounded very ominous to me.”
Dulcie pulled a face. “If you know the word ‘vulpes’, then you have the answer.”
“Ah. The fox got amongst the chickens?”
“And the worst of it was that it was entirely my fault, for I was supposed to shut them up before dark and I fell asleep.”
“Was Mr Drummond angry about it?”
“Not at all. He was very understanding, and said that at least we would have fresh meat all week now. Polly, however, found my humiliation very entertaining.”
“And your arm?”
“I slipped and fell in the mud. Polly thought that was funny, too. I was not aware I had a scratch on my face. I dare not look at myself in a mirror.”
Miss Endercott smiled. “You look well enough. Not quite Miss Dulcie Allamont of Allamont Hall, but no one would mistake you for anything but a lady. Well, if the dead chickens did not send you running, it may safely be said that you have carried your point, and may now go home triumphant, if you wish.”
Dulcie’s eyes widened. “Go home? By no means. Polly already thinks me a feeble specimen of humanity. I sho
uld not wish to fall even lower in her estimation by running away.”
“Does Polly’s opinion truly matter to you?” Miss Endercott said, the smile even broader..
“She would gloat so if I surrender before my month is over, and I shall not give her the satisfaction.”
Miss Endercott chuckled. “I had not guessed you to possess so much spirit. It is a pity you could not have stayed here with me, but as you see, we are full of boys just now. However, you know where I am if you need any aid or support.”
The second service of the day was longer, and boasted one of Mr Endercott’s immensely long-winded and rambling sermons. They took interesting detours occasionally, for he never managed to stay close to the subject, but today’s was just dull, and once or twice Dulcie found her eyelids drooping as her lack of sleep caught up with her.
The very best part of this service was that her sisters were there too, sitting beside her in the family pew. It was not so well-filled these days, with Papa in his grave, Amy and Belle married, and Mama not attending as often as perhaps she should. She had returned home for a day or so, but was now gone away again, Dulcie discovered, off to Shropshire once more.
“I do not know why she goes there so often,” Grace whispered as they filed out of church. “And to rush away so impulsively, on a whim.”
“She tells us very little,” Dulcie said. “I daresay she had this planned some little while ago. It amuses her to keep such arrangements secret.”
It made Dulcie sad to see her sisters climb into the carriage after the service, waving cheerfully to her as they set off back to their normal life, whereas she had nothing to look forward to but another three weeks of drudgery. At least the news of Jess was better, and Dulcie could reluctantly admit to herself, if not publicly, that hard work, exhaustion and poor food must have been at least partially at the root of her illness.
Dulcie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 4) Page 4