Calamity Claresta

by Irene Estep

  "I am not an invalid yet, so don’t try to make me seem one, sir." The dowager crossed the room, carefully balancing the potion on a silver tray.

  "I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean--"

  "Pooh! You are no fun a’tall, young man, always receiving my cantankerous rambling with such tolerance, and you in such a fix yourself. Well, I shall not taunt you so again, I promise. Leastwise," she smiled, "not until you’re well again."

  "You are too kind and make me eagerly anticipate my recovery," Drake said teasingly. "But, as I said, I don’t wish you to trouble yourself fetching and carrying for me while I’m about it. I must have been sleeping for quite awhile, otherwise I’m certain Shipley would be hovering nearby to attend to such matters."

  Lady Norwood eased the tray onto the bedside table and flexed her cramped fingers. "If you must know, Shipley has gone to King’s Lynn to fetch Doctor Adams and also to find a carpenter to patch the roof over the west wing."

  Drake wondered why the dowager was dipping into her limited funds to make repairs that had gone unattended for months now. It would be ill mannered of him to ask. He frowned. "I wish you had not done so, ma’am. Sent for the doctor, I mean. I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few days. And I can understand your wish to see the hole on the roof repaired, but we can well keep the west wing shut off for the time being. If you would just be patient a while longer, until I’m feeling a little more myself--"

  "Hush now. I would have sent for the physician sooner, only I knew Dr. Adams was off to London conferring with other young upstarts like himself on some newfangled medical treatment or other. Studied in Edinburgh, you know. But he is somewhat competent, even if I don’t always agree with his prescribed regimens. Comes from a long line of medical practitioners, he does. ‘Tisn’t like in his father’s day, though, when one could expect a good bleeding or purging and go on about one’s business. Oh well, I heard young Adams just returned and felt he should take a look at you. At least the fellow knows the difference between a simple ague and a contagious disease."

  He found it strange she did not mention the repairs again. In a surly mood, Drake said, "I should think, at this stage, it’s a bit late to be concerned whether I’ve something catching or not?"

  "Perhaps . . ." She bit her lip as if deciding on something. "I suppose I should have mentioned it earlier, but with the manor not up to snuff and all, I feared causing you undue stress. Of course, if the lady is the tolerant sort, which I doubt, or the persistent sort, which I believe, then chances are Miss Huntington’s arrival will be an invigorating tonic for us all."

  "Miss Huntington!"

  "If you do not quit your fretting, sir, your fever will return. Here take this. Tsk, tsk, hush now," she said, when Drake rose up in bed and again started to speak.

  She shoved the tisane beneath his lips, and he had no choice but to take hold of the bottom of the cup and drink. "There now," she said, "that’s a good lad. I know well and good you meant to take measures to patch up the leak. But you have worn yourself out working and worrying over making the tenant’s houses more livable. I’m just grateful you braced up that pillar at the main entrance. "‘Twas a disaster waiting to happen."

  "But, I don’t understand, my lady. You said you hardly knew Miss Huntington."

  "Well, I decided I should like to get to know her, and what better reason to extend an invitation?"

  Drake groaned. He knew the dowager had peculiar ideas about the way of doing things. Anyway, the deed was done now, and there was little he could do about it. He leveled a look at the dowager who stared at him with the innocence of a newborn babe. "When is Miss Huntington expected?"

  She sighed and leaned back in the rocker she’d pulled closer to the bed last evening when she’d sat and read to Drake from Coke’s journals on land management. He had a hunger to know all about successful farming techniques for the area. He hoped he’d prove to be a better manager than the fool Denton had assigned to the task.

  She must have been thinking the same for she said, "I should die of mortification if Percival were alive to see what’s come of his beloved home. He promised to see that I lived in grand style for the rest of my days, but alas, I don’t believe he foresaw the difficulty in locating his heir. Might have prevented the place from going to rack and ruin had he done so."

  "We’ll take care of matters one at a time. Probably things aren’t as daunting as they appear. When Rutherford returns, maybe he can shed some light on the situation." He gave her a bracing smile. However, Drake feared the worst. It would likely take a fortune to bring Norwood Manor about.

  "Too bad Rutherford’s mother took ill just after your arrival, and he had to go off to Yorkshire. Perhaps he will not hem and haw over your questions as the current bailiff, Mr. Conyers, does, and can give you some accounting as to why some of the fields have gone fallow for the past few years. ‘Tis a pitiful legacy you’ve inherited to be sure, but I do hope you don’t blame poor Percy for the lowly conditions."

  "Never, my lady," Drake said, and noting the moisture that dampened the many creases surrounding the widow’s eyes, he rose up on his pillow and tried to once more reassure her. "There is nothing amiss with the manor or the fields that cannot be fixed. The tenants’ problems may take a bit longer than I’d hoped, seeing as some of the cottages need replacing completely, but in time that, too, shall be put to rights."

  Drake realized suddenly that he was making a long-term commitment that he’d not been certain of when first arriving in England. He no longer thought of ridding himself of the properties and returning to America.

  "You bolster my lagging spirits, Norwood."

  "As you do mine, ma’am," Drake countered and meant it. Then thinking on all he had to do, he said, "I’d like to take a look at the ledgers as soon as possible and see what resources are immediately available. When Mr. Rutherford gets back, we will go over what needs to be done to the fields. Perhaps," he said more to himself than to Lady Norwood, "I’ll arrange a meeting with the tenants to discuss the problems."

  He looked up and saw the troubled look on the lady’s face and recalled his intent to make her rest easy. In the few days he’d been here he’d come to know the dowager well. Although she showed concern for the tenants when he spoke of them, her disability had kept her from paying regular visits over the last few years, so, she could not realize the extent of what they suffered. She was likely more worried about her own circumstances, as was natural for a lady of refinement.

  Drake knew his stepmother would be similarly distressed living under such lamentable conditions. "Once I can obtain proof of my identity, I shall secure enough funds to hire laborers to tend to the major repairs needed to the manor."

  "I do not wish to put your hopes to flight, my lord, but I doubt there is a bank in all of England that would frank the amount of money needed to correct all the ills of Norwood Manor."

  "Don’t worry, my lady. I’m sure something will turn up."

  "Yes, indeed. I expect it shall happen quite soon."

  Drake puzzled over the lady’s words, but he’d found that most women didn’t know nor have a desire to understand the least concept of finances.

  "Burr!" The dowager shivered and drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. "This fusty old place cleaves with the dampness left by the night air without the fires lit. Coggins has let the one in your room go out again, I see. I must instruct him to have welcoming fires going in all the rooms before our guests arrive."

  She stood to leave. "You must rest now. I shall hurry Coggins along to reset the fire in your grate, as well. Hopefully the doctor will arrive soon. Perhaps I can talk him into bleeding you to drain some of the poison out of your system."

  "Tarnation," Drake mumbled and plopped back onto his pillow. He’d seen enough bloodletting when his father was ill to make him wary of the practice.

  It wasn’t until after the dowager left the room that he realized how smoothly the dowager had steered him away from making further inquiry int
o Claresta Huntington’s visit.

  * * *

  It was near dusk the next evening when Claresta’s entourage finally arrived at Norwood Manor. But the dimness of light did little to hide the deplorable conditions of the winding driveway cluttered with weeds. Tree branches had not been kept properly trimmed, and the coachman had to weave the carriage in and out of the overhanging limbs. The outline of a hideous stone relict seemed to suddenly rise out of nowhere, probably because it blended well into the thick, chaotic growth of vines covering it’s outside walls.

  "Oh dear," Lady Westhaven said, peering out into the growing darkness.

  "Perhaps the coachman took a wrong turn," Reggie remarked with acidic disapproval.

  "No," Claresta said, "I saw a sign at the turn. Lady Norwood warned me that Norwood Manor had been in a languishing state of late."

  Claresta thought that an understatement. She noted one of the columns of the convex portico, in front of which the coachman pulled to a stop, was slanted at a precarious angle. It appeared to be temporarily shored with some freshly hewn, sturdy timbers, so she didn’t believe there was any danger of the parapet above tumbling down on Douglas’s head when he jumped down from the second coach and pounded on the tarnished lion-head knocker.

  Eventually, a balding, elderly gentleman with a irritated expression yanked open the door. Adding to his look of insouciance, he wore baggy pantaloons and a partially un-tucked shirttail that flapped loosely against one leg. If he was the butler, his credentials were questionable, for he bellowed loudly, "’Ere now, what ye be wanting at this ‘our?"

  In his typical Scottish burr, Douglas inquired for the lady of the house, to which the man cupped a horn-like gadget over his left ear and shouted, "What say?"

  Claresta and the rest of her party alighted and stepped upon the crumbling steps. When Douglas got another similar response from the servant, Claresta moved forward, lifted the barrel end of the horn and spoke clearly and closely into the receptacle, making herself known to the man.

  "Miss ‘untington? Oh yeh, ‘course, ‘course. Yer man got a speech impediment, do he? Come in, come in. Lady Norwood ‘spected ye to ‘rive yeste’day."

  If Aunt Ester had not slept until noon, Claresta silently fumed, then bathed and breakfasted at her leisure before they returned to the road yesterday morning, they could have made better time. Then an afternoon rain had kept them to a crawl until they were forced to take respite at another posting inn.

  If not for the delay, she’d have been happy for the chance to get away from the mother and son’s steady harping for a few hours. She had listened to Reggie--who came from his bed quite late himself--complain of a headache all the way to the next town where Aunt Ester insisted they stop for a remedy.

  The concoction the innkeeper stirred up for him seemed to have done little good, for Reggie continued to split hairs with her from the outset. Claresta suspected his headache came more from aftereffects of the bottle of port she’d heard him bellow to the barmaid to bring him after she’d left him in the private parlor that first evening.

  "We were unavoidably delayed," she explained to the butler.

  "Waylaid, eh? Blasted ‘ighwaymen. Roads ‘ereabouts ain’t safe, no ‘tain’t

  "Delayed, not waylaid, you cocklehead," Reggie blurted, obviously still feeling out of sorts.

  "Took to yer bed? Well . . ." The man cocked his head to one side, leaned forward, and examined Reggie’s burnt orange waistcoat embroidered with green hummingbirds. He took a step back, lifted his gaze and said with an amused gleam in his eyes, "Reckon so, reckon so. Put a fright into you, did it, mate?"

  "Oh dear," Lady Westhaven said. She snapped her fan open and began waving it vigorously in front of her face.

  "Cull made off wid yer values, did he?" The butler scratched the few hairs standing out at odd angles atop his head. "Reckon ‘er ladyship will be a sendin’ me out to fetch the sheriff when she hears ‘bout it, she will."

  "My God!" Reggie said, taking his mother’s arm as she swayed on her feet.

  Claresta put her mouth to the horn and asked the man to direct them to a parlor where her aunt might rest. He took their coats as they removed them and tossed them haphazardly onto the chair in the foyer. This carelessness drew a gasp and another "Oh dear" from Lady Westhaven.

  "A mite missish, ain’t she?" the servant said, making Claresta wonder if the old fellow was as hard of hearing as he made out.

  With only one taper in his hand lighting their way, the man led them up the stairs and down a long corridor to the west side of the house. He opened the door to a room that had no fire in the grate. He lit the two candelabras on each end of the mantelpiece, and light invaded the recesses of the cavernous room. They got a good look at the careworn, possibly blue salon, and Lady Westhaven suffered another swoon.

  "Oh dear."

  "Here, Mother." Reggie solicitously led her to a damask sofa that had seen better days. As soon as the lady sat, she yelped and stood promptly, making Claresta wonder at her aunt’s unusually quick recovery.

  "Good Lord," Reggie said when his mother turned around and lifted her skirts away from her backside. Claresta muffled a laugh when she spotted the large, round, wet spot that circled the seat portion of Lady Westhaven’s gown.

  At that point the old servant hastily left saying, "I’ll fetch ‘er ladyship to ye."

  Momentarily, Lady Norwood came into the room, apologizing profusely for her guests being placed in a section of the house that had been sealed off for restoration.

  "I don’t know how Coggins could have made such a mistake," she said. Ushering her guests out of the ramshackle salon, they almost collided with a spherical woman of short stature.

  "Oh, there you are, Mrs. Williams," Lady Norwood said. "We shall need tea and cakes. Oh no, that will never do. Ask Cook to prepare the leftovers from this evening’s dinner. There should be plenty since we anticipated Miss Huntington’s party beforehand. Bring the tray into the Green Salon, in the east wing, mind you."

  "East wing. Yes, mum," the housekeeper left after giving them each a jaunty curtsy.

  Claresta noted several moments of silence as Lady Norwood’s own lips twitched slightly. Then seeming to overcome her lapse, she moved them along toward the east wing. "Coggins received orders to take you into to the east, not west, wing upon your arrival. ‘Tis a puzzle, to be sure, how a retired sailor could have mixed up a somewhat basic nautical direction." She tsk, tsked. "More and more of late, the man has trouble following instructions. Poor fellow. Age gets the better of all of us eventually, I suppose," Lady Norwood said ruefully.

  "’Tis not your fault," Lady Westhaven said, surprising Claresta with her sympathetic words, until her aunt scornfully added, "A soldier knows little outside the battlefield."

  "I believe Lady Norwood said Coggins was a sailor," Claresta said, knowing her aunt meant her remark as another reprimand for retaining the bungling servant, Douglas, who’d served during the Napoleonic Wars.

  "’Tis all the same, my dear, and the pity, so many of them rustics as well. I know how difficult it was to decently staff a country household. I’ve had plenty of experience with the lackadaisical nature of provincials."

  Claresta knew her aunt took pride in referring to the years before Cedric’s terrible setback when she’d been mistress of a large country estate herself.

  "I should think the discharged militiamen would have the good sense to go back to farming or weaving, or some such," Lady Westhaven went on to complain. "‘Tis a shame the way they are overcrowding the city looking for a handout at every turn."

  "The shame," Claresta said, feeling the need to defend the men who’d bravely fought for England, "is the lack of honest jobs available to them so they can feed their families properly. The weaving machines have mostly taken away the necessity for inkle-weavers, leaving many without work to return to in their home counties. Which, I might add, is why they come to Town in such large numbers, hoping to find a way to support themselves and
their families."

  Reggie bristled. "For Heaven’s sake, Mother, do not get Claresta started about one of her pet charities."

  Taking her son’s advice and turning to their hostess, Lady Westhaven said, "Perhaps I could recommend a good agency in London, Lady Norwood. Ofttimes city applicants are willing to relocate to the countryside."

  "You are so kind," the dowager said, with a chord of indifference. She stepped aside as she opened the door to a much cozier, if somewhat well-used, green room. As she turned and looked at the fire going in the smutty grate, a look of pleasure lit her etched features. Claresta, too, found the warm glow added an inviting aura to the otherwise drab surroundings.

  "Oh dear, oh dear." Lady Westhaven raked one white-gloved finger over a dusty table and shook her head sadly. "I shall make a list of agencies for you this very night."

  Mrs. Williams brought in a tray laden with food, but Claresta ate little. Her thoughts had turned to Lady Norwood’s other guest who lay in the sick room above stairs somewhere. She wondered if he knew of her arrival. In most households servants passed along the news of guests but, thus far, she’d only seen two retainers. From the condition of things, she would guess that was about all employed here at the moment.

  She suspected her theory correct, for after Reggie and Aunt Ester gorged themselves on the cold repast of ham, chicken and fruit, finished off with poppy seed cake, Lady Norwood instructed Mrs. Williams to show Lord Westhaven and his mother to their bedchambers, saying she would see to Claresta’s comfort herself.

  The dowager slowly led the way up the stairs. Claresta followed her into a room that exuded strong odors of beeswax, attesting to a recently fastidious cleaning. Unlike the parlor they’d come from, not a speck of dust was to be found on the gilt furnishings that even time had not tarnished. The bed hangings were a different matter, showing some signs of wear in the varying shades of rose-pink colour. However, that did not detract from the room’s elegance.

  "Why, it’s beautiful."