High Spirits at Harroweby

by Comstock, Mary Chase

  “It really is the most amazing thing, Waverly,” his cousin told him with considerable enthusiasm. “I saw it last year with Slaverington. Some don’t care for it, but I must admit I found it quite fascinating. Exceedingly enlightening.”

  The marquess now cast a sidelong glance at Lady Selinda. He had noticed on his first seeing her that day that she was not at all in looks; at this last description of Madame Tussaud’s artistic technique, however, she had become pale, indeed. How could he have ever thought her a beauty? he wondered with incredulity. It must surely have been all the champagne he had drunk the night of her ball, he decided with a frown. And then, there was also that hereditary wasting sickness of which that extraordinary Miss Snypish had so kindly warned him. She was right it seemed: the disease’s course must be extremely rapid, for the girl looked a good deal less robust than she had just a week ago. Bed her or wed her ... The terms of his wager with Slaverington echoed in his head.

  Marrying the poor chit would not be such a bad thing, he supposed, and the prospect of inheriting her fortune more quickly than he had imagined was a fair inducement. But bedding her and casting her aside? That was something else entirely, wasn’t it? He was well-aware that his reputation was not quite what it ought to be, but even he wasn’t equal to fulfilling his wager by such an expedient. Would Slaverington allow him to cry off he wondered?

  * * * *

  As the carriage rattled along, Lucy shrank into the squabs, trying to make her diminutive presence even less noticeable. Sharing the compartment with persons of such immense proportions as Rupert and his mother was not a pretty prospect, even for one so small as Lucy. Each took up the greater part of the bench upon which they had deposited themselves, and the child was in a quandary to decide which of them should have the bliss of squashing her up against the door. Furthermore, neither scoundrel was in charity with the other, and Lucy suspected that it would not be long before their interchange of barbed glances became verbal. All she could do, however, was envy Lady Sybil’s invisibility.

  In spite of enormous discomfort, emotional and physical, the long coach ride to Darrowdean still held some small amusement for Lucy. To begin with, it took a fair amount of concentration for her to maintain a sober countenance. Although Lucy was, of course, the only passenger who could either see or hear the ghost, Lady Sybil carried on a continuous monologue, reminiscing about the various sights of London as their carriage made its way through the city, remarking on the countryside and villages through which they passed, and, from time to time, commenting satirically on Prudence and her unlovable son in the most outrageous terms imaginable.

  Beyond this, however, the irreverent spirit further diverted herself by plaguing their dreams whenever either Prudence or Rupert chanced to drift off to sleep. Even though the sight of their disconcerted faces as they started into wakefulness was extremely amusing, Lucy had much rather the ghost allowed them their repose, for it was a good deal less noxious for her than the strained vigilance that followed their dreams.

  Lucy sat, therefore, biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing aloud for several hours, until the rattling carriage came to halt in front of an inn. Rupert’s stomach had been rumbling unmercifully for some hours, but his mother, who had put away a meal of Amazon proportions that morning, had insisted they wait until late afternoon to break their fast. The pair descended the carriage heavily, snapping irritably at one another. Lucy waited a moment for the vehicle to stop rocking before she attempted to follow them, but, as she moved forward, her progress was immediately obstructed by the substantial form of Rupert’s mother.

  “Stay in the coach, brat, and do not think of stirring,” she was told crossly. “Don’t for a moment think I haven’t seen your sly little smirks. When you can behave yourself as a decent child ought, you shall be fed something. But not before.”

  With that, Prudence made her bulky way toward the mouth-watering aromas issuing from the inn, and Lady Sybil, perforce, followed in her wake. If only the wretched woman had put the pomander into her luggage instead of insisting on constantly wearing it, the ghost might have been able to stay behind with Lucy. In addition to feeling that the child might need some reassurance, Lady Sybil had no desire to observe Prudence when she applied herself to her dinner. Something would have to be done about this inconvenience before too long, Lady Sybil decided.

  Although Rupert was very nearly beside himself with hunger, he tarried a moment at the carriage door. He did not, of course, have any natural feeling for the child, but he did recognize an opportunity to ingratiate himself with Selinda. If he could pose as the brat’s champion, he reasonsed, he might well find it an advantageous avenue into her older sister’s heart once more. When the coachman, too, had made his way toward the taproom (Rupert trusted no one), he leaned in close and smiled.

  “Never worry, dearest Lucy,” he told her in a conspiratorial undertone. “I have promised your sister I shall look after you. I will see to it that you do not starve.”

  Quickly then, he followed his mother’s retreating bulk and disappeared into the inn. A few moments later, he returned with several withered apples and the dry end of a loaf. “This was all I could contrive under that vulture’s watchful eye,” he whispered quickly, looking nervously over his shoulder. “Eat it all quickly and don’t leave any cores about. It would benefit neither of us to be found out.”

  With that he hastily made his way back to the inn, leaving Lucy to munch away at her meager repast in peace. It would simply have to do until they reached their inn later on tonight, she told herself stoutheartedly. Surely, by then, Prudence would have relented somewhat. Or perhaps her small sins would be overshadowed by some offense of Rupert’s. At least, Lucy hoped so.

  When at last her guardians did return to the carriage, they moved with a sluggish waddle that bespoke their prowess at the table. As they settled once more into the squabs and their eyes grew heavy, Lucy darted a significant glance at Lady Sybil who graciously allowed them their sleep for the present. It was not long before their snores filled the compartment’s air with a sonorous sawing.

  In this relative tranquility, Lucy turned her thoughts to her predicament, steeling herself to the chilly dread now working away at her heart. Her resources were few, but better than they might have been. Lady Sybil was at her side most of the time, and, tied in a handkerchief in her pocket, she had the gold pieces Lord Waverly had left for her. Moreover, they were headed for Darrowdean. So, she had resources, a friend, and knew the territory. It could have been far, far worse.

  * * * *

  As soon as Selinda and Miss Snypish had bid farewell to their callers, the latter at once set about determining a costume for the morrow’s expedition. Fortuitously, the companion did not call upon Selinda to assist her in this endeavor but left her to explore her own thoughts for the first time that day. These were, naturally, a good deal lighter than they had been two hours earlier or, indeed, for a good many months. It seemed altogether too good to credit that such a one as Lord Waverly was not only intimately acquainted with their horrid predicament, but had pledged his assistance as well.

  As the elder of the sisters, Selinda had, for the most part, suffered their troubles as her own particular burden. Lucy, of course, was privy to their nature, but how could a mere child be expected to help, after all? Ironically, now that Lord Waverly had revealed the substance of Lucy’s investigation, Selinda felt quite useless in comparison. Her little sister had been more successful in her endeavors than any might ever have guessed— infinitely more so than Selinda herself had been. It was altogether remarkable that the child had managed to learn (and to accomplish with that knowledge) so much in so short a time. It was not that Selinda was ungrateful—quite the reverse, in fact. But she did so wish that she might have saved Lucy’s innocent childhood from the ravages it had lately undergone. Thanks to the child’s efforts, however, the riddle of their supposed guardians’ relationship was now unraveled and the aid of the inestimable Lord Waver
ly had been enlisted.

  Lord Waverly? Selinda’s ruminations were brought to a sudden halt as she recalled the feeling of his arms around her that afternoon. That moment of comfort had been too brief, but it had been sufficient to still her fears and inexorably engage her heart. If only he could hold her forever! It had been more than just an embrace, of course, lovely as that instant had been. His proposed rescue of Lucy and his assumption of her own inclusion in the undertaking had completely overwhelmed her. How many other gentlemen, for all their lovely speeches, would do as much? They would be full of their protestations for her reputation and safety. They would very likely insist that sitting about in a fretful stew constituted a more proper show of sisterly devotion than riding to poor Lucy’s rescue. Ignorant cattle! There was now not the least doubt in Selinda’s mind: she loved Lord Waverly and loved him completely. She would marry him and they could all live happily—

  Just then, an exceedingly dampening thought occurred to her. The same set of events that promised to deliver the sisters from their distress brought with them yet another dilemma. It was quite clear now that Selinda need not embark on a precipitous marriage to anyone in order to bring about a change of fortune. In fact, she need not seduce Lord Waverly after all!

  Drat!

  Suddenly, her newfound sense of deliverance clouded over with a despondency which made Selinda quite angry with herself. How could she wallow in self-pity at such a time as this? Determinedly, she pulled herself from her brooding and forced herself to set about her business. Too much was at stake to cater to her own selfish ends.

  The first thing Selinda did was to find her way around to the back of Harroweby House and ascertain the exact location of the pouch in which she would find Lord Waverly’s missive at midnight. She knew quite well that such a nocturnal excursion would be regarded with suspicion should anyone notice her, and she did not wish to compound the probability of discovery by blundering about in complete darkness looking for the thing. Fortunately she was able to locate the little pouch after only a few minutes of searching through the ivy.

  She had wondered whether she might write a short note of gratitude and enclose it therein, but immediately thought better of it. All of their plans would be foiled if Miss Snypish should have the least suspicion of them. Even though that serpent had treated her with unusual civility of late, comparatively speaking, Selinda also knew that, just beneath her veneer, rested the same obdurate heart of their earlier acquaintance. She knew she dared not test it.

  On her way back to the house, Selinda prepared herself to make the same journey hampered by cover of darkness. She counted the number of steps it would take for her to reach the garden wall from the door by which she would exit the house, then, through each room she must pass, and last, the number of stairs she must descend. It would not do at all, she reminded herself wryly, for her midnight excursion to be punctuated by the sounds of breaking glass and muffled oaths. This task accomplished, she repaired to her chamber to assemble such items as might be useful on the journey to Darrowdean.

  That evening she shared a quiet dinner with Miss Snypish who, taking advantage of her employers’ absence, had dispensed with the services of their all-too-mediocre cook and sent out for a repast prepared by the chef at The Clarendon. Selinda was a little surprised at having been invited to partake of this extravagant treat until she recollected that, to Miss Snypish’s ostentatious notions, solitary splendor was no splendor at all.

  It was a vastly different sort of meal from those to which Selinda had been accustomed of late. Although she had had little appetite for the ample but bland dishes served up by their current staff, she felt her mouth water as she regarded the richly laden table: there was a steaming ham pudding, curry of rabbit, buttered lobster, artichoke bottoms, and vegetable tart, as well as a fruited syllabub and several custard creams. Miss Snypish had also called for a bottle of champagne from the cellar.

  Knowing that she would be needing every ounce of strength in the days ahead, Selinda applied herself to the repast with unusual dedication; however, she soon discovered that she was no match for her dinner partner. Selinda watched in silent fascination as Miss Snypish demolished plate after laden plate. Even a hollow leg would not explain that sort of capacity, she reflected with wide-eyed bewilderment.

  As if reading the girl’s thoughts. Miss Snypish commented briefly, “I believe I should do much better if my form were a trifle more filled out.”

  Selinda, refraining from any sort of appraisal of the companion’s sparsely set bones, quietly allowed that such a repast as this evening’s would very likely be efficacious toward that end.

  “That is quite what I thought,” Miss Snypish pronounced, availing herself, much to Selinda’s disbelief, to another helping of the artichoke bottoms. This she dispatched with amazing rapidity; then, wiping her chin, she slowly arose. “I shall be sleeping late in the morning, so see that you do not disturb me.” With that, Miss Snypish exited the dining room and made her way to her chamber where she looked forward to applying a generous amount of oil of talc to her sallow complexion.

  Selinda still had several hours to wait before she could venture out into the garden to find Waverly’s message, but she dared not allow herself to fall asleep for fear of missing the appointed hour altogether. Taking a branch of candles from the sideboard, she repaired to the library in hopes of finding a book in which she might immerse herself until that time. Oddly enough, for all her troubles, she found her mind returning from time to time to the little novel she and Lucy had been reading just last week. It must still be in Lord Waverly’s possession. Ah, the romantic travails of Rosamonde and Roderick! How, she wondered, had it all turned out?

  Because of Prudence’s penurious habits, Selinda found the library almost unbearably chilly, and she immediately set about kindling a small fire. There were already several partially burned fagots which would serve as a good foundation, and she knelt to add a few more pieces of firewood. In among the logs, there were also several charred pieces of paper, and, as she reached her taper in to reignite them, she suddenly stopped as she recognized Prudence’s spidery hand. Carefully she drew the pages out one by one and spread them before her on the hearth. Some of these, she was interested to see, were still quite legible.

  After a few moments, Selinda sat back on her knees and bit her lower lip. Unfortunately the greater part of the documents appeared to be in some sort of code; even though she could read individual words, little of it made any sense. Holding up her branch of candles, she examined each piece of paper again. All at once her eye was captured by one page in particular. On it she could clearly read her sister’s name.

  Holding back her excitement, she carefully carried the page over to the desk where she could more easily examine it. Although roughly half of the page had been destroyed and much of what remained had been crossed out, Selinda was able to decipher enough to determine that the document was a draft of a letter to Mr. Basham. For the most part, the message appeared to consist primarily of details concerning the remove to Darrowdean, the status of the sale, and the woman’s sudden decision to bring the younger of the Harroweby sisters along with her. Suddenly, Selinda’s eye was caught by a partial phrase, “.. . then dispose of the chi...” Immediately, her heart began to pound with fear, for she could only believe the last word must have been child.

  What in God’s name must possess the woman? Selinda raged inwardly. Neither she nor Lucy had done anything to harm Prudence, yet she planned not only to rob them blind but threaten their safety as well. Forcefully, it came to Selinda that she must not wait a moment to act. She was to check the pouch for Waverly’s message at midnight, but she knew he must deliver it some time after darkness had fallen. If only he had not yet come by, she prayed, she might be able to catch him.

  Carefully, she folded the partial letter and tucked it into her sleeve. Then she swept the rest of the charred papers back into the fireplace. She silently peeped out of the library door into the long, dim
corridor. No one was about. Stepping from the room and shutting the door behind her, she then noiselessly made her way up the stairs and through the halls to her chamber, her heart beating with apprehension. Once there, she quickly donned a heavy wool cloak and changed from her worn slippers to sturdier shoes, for it was altogether possible that she might have a long wait in the cold darkness. Then she transferred the charred fragment of letter to her reticule and silently made her way out.

  The house was still as she opened the door to the garden, and the moonless night, damp with threatening rain, offered only the comfort of concealment. Holding her breath and carefully counting her steps, arms stretched out a little way before her, Selinda slowly approached the vine-covered pillars. The path seemed rougher than it had in the daylight, and it felt as if a long time had passed before she finally attained her goal. As her hands traced the line of the pillar, they finally found the little opening in which Lord Waverly’s pouch had been secreted. Heart pounding, she opened the clasp. It was empty.

  All would be well, she thought, allowing herself to breathe again. Lord Waverly had not yet arrived. When he did, she could tell him of her frightening discovery. He would know just what to do. In the darkness she shivered, wrapped the cloak more tightly about herself, and dropping to her knees, she leaned back against the pillar to wait.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Whether Selinda had been awakened by the rain that was just beginning to fall or the sounds of footsteps near her in the darkness, she did not at first know. It took her a moment to pull herself from the sluggishness of sleep and realize where she was and why she felt so achey and miserable. Then she remembered.

  “Lord Waverly?” she whispered tentatively.

  There was a momentary hesitation and then a long sigh was audible to Selinda’s ears. In the silence that followed, Selinda’s heart began to pound as she realized she had, in all likelihood, spoken too soon. After all, who knew what sort of men (and how many of them!) loitered about in the darkness of such black nights as this. Anything might happen to her, and no one would be the wiser.