They had not long to wait for an answer. Having seen the horse arrive, Drummond and his pupils emerged to greet the new arrivals.
“What a magnificent creature!” Drummond exclaimed, stroking Hercules’ nose. “How I envy you. Robert, keep well away from those rear feet, in case you startle him. All of you, come and talk to him and give him a little pat on his neck, one at a time mind!”
“Mary is offering to stay for a few days to help out,” Dulcie began. “But will there be enough food?”
“We will manage,” he said at once. “For the sake of such a splendid fellow we will find a way, and it is lucky for you, Miss Mary, that I have neither saddle nor riding clothes, for I should be very tempted to borrow him.”
“Hercules has never carried anything but a lady,” Mary said. “Should you like to try riding side-saddle?”
He laughed loudly at that, and the boys laughed too at such an absurd idea. After that there was no question but that Mary would stay, and the horse too.
“Hercules will not mind eating grass for a while, and we can spare a few of our oats,” Drummond said. “As for Miss Mary Allamont, I am sure she will not mind our simple stews and bread-and-cheese suppers.” His eyes twinkled charmingly.
“I have brought a ham and two bottles of wine,” Mary said. “And I have a little money to buy supplies.”
“That is excellent news, especially about the wine. But will I have your irate father on my doorstep to reclaim you?”
“Papa will not mind a bit. He knows how dismal everything is for me at home just now. If you should see my irate Mama coming down the lane, however, I suggest you run and hide, Mr Drummond.”
“Your advice is duly noted. Welcome to Lower Brinford Schoolhouse, Miss Mary.”
~~~~~
After Mary’s arrival, everything was easy. She was a competent cook and more or less took over the kitchen, leaving the animals to Dulcie. More than that, she was a friend, lifting Dulcie’s spirits with her ready smile and confiding good humour. She shared the lumpy mattress in Mrs Lorne’s spare room, the two of them whispering together long into the night, while Polly snored on a pallet on the floor. In the evenings Mary sang or read aloud or invented acrostics to amuse them. Polly would not play cards with them, so Mary and Drummond played backgammon while Dulcie watched and tried to follow the moves, for they were both very quick players. Even Polly seemed grudgingly approving of the new helper.
One morning, Grace and Hope arrived with news from the Hall.
“The Marquess of Carrbridge is here and will be staying for a few days,” Grace said. “He has brought a physician with him from London to attend Jess. It seems he has been paying for all her doctor’s fees from the start, although he told no one.”
“That must be Connie’s doing, I daresay,” Dulcie said. “She became close to Jess when they were in London together.” She tried hard to suppress the little pang of jealousy the thought provoked.
“No such thing, for she knew nothing of it,” Grace said. “It was all the Marquess. I must say, I like him much better now that he is head over ears in love. He is not near so stuffy and grand. Oh yes, and since Mama is home from Shropshire, there is to be a big dinner on Saturday. You are all invited. The carriage will come for you.”
“I have no evening gowns here,” Dulcie said.
“That is no difficulty,” Grace said. “You must come early, that is all, so that you may have ample time to change. Mary, we will find a gown for you. We are much of a height.”
“Is my mama invited?” Mary said.
“Everyone from Willowbye is invited, and to stay overnight, for otherwise they would have to leave too early.”
“Then I thank you for the invitation, but I shall not come,” Mary said. “Even in company, Mama and I would be at odds.”
“As you please,” Grace said. “Mr Drummond will come, I am sure, for Jess may be well enough to sit with us for an hour after dinner, and he would like to see her so much improved. We must get on, for we have to go to Mr and Miss Endercott to invite them next.”
“I do not know why they should go,” Dulcie said. “They have dinner at the Hall every Sunday.”
“That is just what I said,” Hope said, “but Mama said one must always invite the parson. It is the done thing.”
“I had almost forgot,” Grace said. “That strange Mr Eddington is here with Mama again. He came back from Shropshire with her.”
“It is extraordinary how they do keep running into each other,” Hope said. “And now he is staying at the Hall and I am not at all sure that I like him.”
“He is in trade,” Grace said with a disparaging sniff. “He has no style, no conversation, nothing at all to recommend him..”
“Your mama enjoys his company, and that is all the recommendation he needs,” Mary said.
But when the younger girls had left, she said quietly to Dulcie, “Does your mama plan to marry this Mr Eddington, do you think?”
“Not that I am aware of. She has told us that she has no wish to marry again.”
“Then she should be very careful,” Mary said. “Even a respectable widow may damage her reputation by careless behaviour. Could you pick some beans for dinner? And perhaps a cucumber, if you can find any well-grown enough.”
~~~~~
An hour or two later, having set everything ready for dinner and completed their regular chores, Dulcie and Mary set off down the lane, Dulcie armed with a hand scythe to cut back the brambles which now almost blocked the way, and Mary with a basket to look around for mushrooms and herbs. They were hard at work near the road when they heard the sound of several horses approaching from the village at a brisk trot. As they watched, three riders came round the corner, one clearly a gentleman, and the others Dulcie thought most likely a valet and groom.
The gentleman reined in his horse beside them. He was a handsome man, dark of complexion as if he had been much in the sun, with fair hair that curled loosely round his face, in a manner which Dulcie thought was familiar, although she could not quite bring to mind how. The stranger smiled, his gaze taking in Mary, then Dulcie, then turning back to Mary and lingering for so long that she coloured and dropped her gaze.
“Good day to you both,” he said, still looking at Mary. “Is this the road for Allamont Hall? The ostler at the inn in the village we just came through directed us this way, but the road is smaller than I had supposed it to be.”
His question seemed to be addressed to Mary, but she still hung her head, so Dulcie said, “You will find the gates to the Hall about three miles down the road, sir. In about a mile or a little more, you will begin to see the walls that bound the estate’s fish ponds.”
He looked at her sharply as she spoke, glancing down at her old gown, many times mended and now torn again by the brambles, and taking in the scythe in her hand, the discarded bonnet hanging on a tree and her otherwise dishevelled appearance. She almost laughed, because he was so obviously attempting to reconcile the appearance of a labourer’s daughter with the accent of a well-born lady.
“If you prefer a shorter way,” she went on blithely, “you may ride through the woods by entering at the gate beneath the elm tree you will find just round the next corner. It is a pleasant ride now that the trees are in full leaf. If you keep to the main track, you will emerge at the eastern lodge in half the time it would take by road.”
“Thank you, we shall do that.” His horse pranced a little, impatient to be off, and he soothed it in a language Dulcie could not identify. It was a beautiful animal, a grey, which even Dulcie’s inexpert eyes could see was of a quality not often seen.
The movement roused Mary sufficiently to raise her eyes. “Such a magnificent creature! He must be Spanish, surely.”
“Indeed he is. Are you—?” His groom murmured something in the same foreign language, and the stranger nodded. “Forgive me, but I cannot linger.” The horse shifted restlessly under him, perhaps sensing his impatience.
“Have a care with the h
orses as you pass through the woods,” Dulcie said, struck by sudden anxiety. “My sisters may be walking there.”
“I shall take the greatest care. Indeed, I have a strong wish to encounter them, if they are as intriguing as you two ladies,” he said with a wide smile. “You are ladies, I am certain of it, despite the milkmaid’s attire. May I have the honour of knowing to whom I speak?”
“I am Miss Dulcie Allamont of Allamont Hall, and this is Miss Mary Allamont of Willowbye.”
Again his gaze lingered on Mary, who lowered her head demurely and dropped into a curtsy. “There is a story to be told here, I vow. I have no doubt we will meet again, Miss Dulcie, Miss Mary, for I am your cousin, Maxwell Dunnoull of Glenbrindle.”
He tipped his hat to them, and turned and rode on, leaving Dulcie and Mary bereft of words.
7: A Dinner At Allamont Hall
Dulcie had never felt quite so ill-prepared for an evening engagement as for the dinner at Allamont Hall that Saturday. Barely two hours beforehand she had been on her hands and knees amongst the vegetables pulling out weeds and tossing them onto the compost heap. Now here she was in all her finery, receiving guests and smiling politely, yet all the while some part of her mind was fretting over the goat, and hoping Mary had managed the milking without incident and would remember to shut up the chickens later.
If she felt curiously disconnected from her surroundings, Mr Drummond was quite the opposite, verily the beating heart of the gathering. He moved lightly from group to group, with a smile and a quick jest to one, and a serious face and sympathetic words to another, as their circumstances decreed. If he found a lady alone, he became flirtatious, so that she blushed or simpered or smacked his arm with her fan in pretended outrage. Everyone liked him, it seemed, except Dulcie.
Yet she could not quite remember now why it was that she disliked him so much. She had been very angry with him when they had had their violent disagreement and she had impulsively committed herself to take Jess’s place, but now the stormy nature of that emotion had softened and become an insubstantial thing, as wispy as a dandelion head and just as likely to blow away altogether. After he had discovered her transgression over the letters, they had reached an accord, if an uneasy one. If Drummond had made the effort to flirt with her instead, she would have been more than ready to lay aside all their past differences and accept him as a friend. But he did not. With every other lady in the room, he exerted his easy charm and one by one they fell under his spell, but he did not come near Dulcie all evening.
Considering that the party was in honour of the Marquess of Carrbridge, in acknowledgement of his betrothal to Connie, the shining star of the night was Mr Maxwell Dunnoull, or Lord Kilbraith as he was now, as the heir to the Earl of Strathmorran. His blond good looks were striking, despite the sun-darkened skin, and now that Dulcie saw him beside Mama, she could see the family resemblance at once, and only wondered that she had not recognised it immediately. But then his mother was Mama’s sister, so there was nothing surprising in the likeness.
He greeted Mr Drummond with open affection, which was natural enough when they had grown up on adjoining estates. With everyone else, he was a little reserved, perhaps, but otherwise no fault could be found in his manners. Of his family at Glenbrindle, he answered every enquiry but volunteered nothing. When asked about the Peninsula, where he had spent almost two years, he stepped lightly around the question. Only his horse, which was of Spanish blood and a famous breed, brought him to a degree of enthusiasm.
And perhaps there was one other subject which brought a spark to his eye. “Your cousin is not here tonight, I think?” he said to Dulcie in low tones at the first opportunity.
“Mary? No, she has not come.”
“Oh.” He chewed his lip. “I do hope that nothing in my behaviour the other day gave rise to any offence? I should be quite mortified if I gave Miss Mary Allamont any cause to wish to avoid me.”
Dulcie smiled and shook her head. “No offence in the world, my lord. If there is any avoidance in the case, it is in another direction entirely.” She inclined her head very slightly towards Cousin Vivienne, then to be seen exerting her formidable personality on a bemused Sir Matthew Graham.
“Ah.” The relief on his face was plain to see. “I have had the circumstances of your stay at the schoolhouse explained to me, cousin, and you have all my admiration for your selfless gesture.”
Such praise was too much for Dulcie to accept with any degree of complaisance. “Your praise is unwarranted, my lord. I am sorry to admit that my selfless gesture, as you term it, was begun in a fit of temper worthy of a small child. I was excessively rude in regard to Miss Drummond, and insisted that she refined too much upon the management of one small cottage, for it was surely a trivial matter. Thereupon Mr Drummond challenged me to take her place. I have been mortified to discover the level of my own ignorance.”
“And Miss Mary Allamont? Did she also begin in a fit of temper?” He was smiling as he spoke, sure of the answer.
Dulcie could not help smiling back, for his charm was hard to resist. She was glad that he made his preference for Mary so obvious, for otherwise Dulcie might have been drawn in herself. “Mary’s involvement is far more generous than mine, and not driven by temper.”
“Truly a selfless gesture, then!” he said eagerly.
“Indeed. She also possesses greater competence than I in all areas of household management. I have learnt a great deal these past weeks, Lord Kilbraith, and humility is not the least of it. There is one happy effect, however, for my fumbling efforts have provided immeasurable entertainment to the Drummonds’ maid. I feel sometimes that she should pay me for the amusement I have given her.”
He laughed gently, but his thoughts were not on Dulcie or her difficulties. “Shall you and Miss Mary be staying long at the schoolhouse?”
“I have agreed to stay a month, but that time may be extended if Jess is not well enough to resume her duties. As for Mary, she is free to leave whenever she pleases, for she has made no promise. You will just have to ask her yourself if you wish to know,” she added archly, and he looked conscious, a tiny smile playing about his lips.
“Perhaps I shall do that, cousin.”
As he moved about the room, Dulcie was able to admire him from afar. He had the well-proportioned physique of the habitual horseman, a pleasing countenance and was, moreover, the heir to a title and a great estate. Yes, he would do very well for Mary, very well indeed, and if he should be thought a little serious, then so was she. It would be a good match, and Dulcie felt virtuously noble in suppressing the twinge of jealousy that assailed her, and wishing them both well. Indeed, she was determined to do everything in her power to promote the match, although it seemed as though Lord Kilbraith’s own determination might very well be enough to carry the day.
“Splendid fellow, is he not?” murmured a voice in her ear.
She turned to see Cousin Mark beside her, his tall, broad-shouldered form looming over her. “Lord Kilbraith? Splendid indeed, for how could a man who is heir to a title and a fine fortune be anything less? No one ever points out a lord as a miserable specimen of humanity, have you noticed?” Mark sniggered. “But it is so strange to meet a cousin who was no more than a half-remembered name just a few days ago. Then I knew nothing about him, yet now he feels so familiar. But that is just the family likeness, I daresay. He is so like Mama.”
“Indeed he is, very like. More like your mama, I should have said, than the portrait of his own mama in the morning room. But some of these portraits are so ill-drawn. Good heavens, have you seen the waistcoat that Sir Osborne is wearing?” he said, instantly diverted. “I have never seen the like. I cannot imagine where his tailor found fabric of such a colour for I swear it does not occur in nature.”
Dulcie giggled. “It is indeed very striking. If he were but a little plumper, he would look like a giant orange.”
Mark smiled, but said seriously, “I suppose we should not make fun of him, for he is
a good sort of man, I believe, not a wastrel as so many are who have the wealth to indulge their whims. He would make you a good husband, Dulcie, if you were so minded.”
Dulcie looked at him in surprise. “I am not so minded, in fact. Connie has promised to introduce me to London society next season, and I shall look about me for a husband there, and perhaps I may catch one more elevated than a mere baronet. Why this sudden regard for Sir Osborne? I have never heard you speak so fulsomely of him before. You and I were wont to compete in exercising our wit at his expense, as I recall, a competition you usually won. You were ever quick-tongued. What has happened to smite your conscience?”
“I am trying to do better, Dulcie. You are right, I have always jested about the poor man’s quirks, and it was wrong in me to laugh at someone who has never done anyone any harm. He deserves my respect.”
“Mary said you were very changed and now I see that she was right,” Dulcie said. “You are grown pious, Mark. And perhaps a little dull, if I may say so.”
“My tutor at Oxford showed me how wrong I was,” he said, not rising to the barb. “I was well on the way to becoming thoroughly dissolute. With a little help from him, and a great deal of prayer, I have made great improvements. Mr Whitham — my tutor, that is — has invited me to help him on his preaching circuit. So you see I am quite reformed, cousin.”
That was a point that hit Dulcie very hard. “You believe it is possible for a person to change in some fundamental way, then? You truly think that badness is not innate, but may be curbed and perhaps eliminated? For I should dearly like to be a good person!” she burst out.
Taking her hand, he said, “My dear cousin, we are all good at heart, for that is how we are created, with the capability for virtue nestled within us, or so I believe. But we are weak and easily corrupted by the temptations of the world, that is all. If we are guided by correct principles, we may resist and come to be worthy. It should be our parents who impart such principles, but sometimes those who ought to set the example are themselves not all they might be, or they take no care to do their duty as parents.”
Dulcie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 4) Page 7