Calamity Claresta

by Irene Estep

  "Not yet. I’d been exploring for only a short while when I happened upon this roomful of wonderful distractions." Claresta waved at the book-lined shelves. "I have been here for a good while admiring the varied collections of such writers as Voltaire, Nash and Fielding."

  "I should have known you were a bluestocking," Lady Norwood said with only the least disdain. "Well, then, feel free to help yourself to anything that takes your fancy. As for the gallery, you must visit it before you see Lord Norwood again. But, for now, let’s go in to the breakfast room. Perhaps your aunt and cousin have come down by now, and I invited the good doctor to join us. He is probably at table already salivating over Coggins’ honey-oatmeal cakes. The housekeeper said you had looked into the dining room twice already to see if I were there. I’m a miserable hostess, I fear, to leave my guests to starve while waiting for me to talk these old bones of mine into moving about."

  "Nothing of the kind, my lady. I was not that hungry before, anyway," Claresta said politely even though she, too, had salivated over the enticing scents coming from the kitchen. She had eaten very little of the repast laid before them the evening before.

  Claresta’s stomach chose that moment to rumble, and Lady Norwood laughed heartily. "Now, my dear, I know you are shamming me."

  When they reached the breakfast room, Claresta’s aunt and cousin were indeed down and, along with the doctor, were filling their plates from the dishes sitting on the breakfront. Doctor Adams was much younger than Claresta had expected. He had a high forehead and unfashionably long golden hair that he had tied at the back of his head with a leather thong.

  She decided whatever Doctor Adams lacked in years of experience, he’d made up for by education. He’d been schooled in Edinburgh, attended medical seminars whenever he could and subscribed to every publication he could afford on new methods of patient care. He was so confident in himself that she believed him when he predicted that Drake would be completely recovered within a few days.

  She found his quick wit and intelligent conversation enthralling and became especially interested when he gave them a summary of his trip to London where he conferred with some of the medical practitioners who Dr. Croft kept at bay during Princess Charlotte’s lying-in and final hours of life. "‘Twas an outrage, the way the poor princess suffered when there are methods that could have prevented such a tragedy."

  Claresta thought of her mother also dying in childbirth. "Are you saying, sir, that the princess and her baby might have been saved?"

  "Perhaps not both child and mother, but certainly one could have been spared, and the other’s suffering would most likely have been lessened by hours if not days." Claresta wanted to learn more about these new methods and wished to discuss the subject more thoroughly with Dr. Adams, but Lady Westhaven intervened.

  "Claresta, such talk is not befitting an unwed young woman, nor is it fit conversation for the table."

  "Your aunt is right," the dowager agreed. She pointedly directed her next remark toward Doctor Adams. "Your father would never speak of such matters in front of ladies at the dinner table or otherwise."

  "Please forgive me, my lady," Doctor Adams said. "But as you know, my father and I held differing views on many subjects. I’m of the opinion that any lady thinking of entering the matrimonial state has a right to learn all there is to know about childbearing."

  He cast an apologetic look at Claresta, and she smiled in return and said, "I quite agree, sir. But, rather than offend those who do not have such interests near at heart, perhaps you and I could have a private discussion on the matter sometime in the near future."

  "Engaged to be married, are you? Then you’ll be wanting to know something about the conception, as well."

  When Lady Westhaven gasped, the doctor laughed, which he did often. His jovial, forthright nature was another thing Claresta liked about the man.

  Lately, she’d been thinking quite a lot about the conception process. She’d not had a mother to guide her, and the little Nan had imparted when she’d started her menses had sounded rather vulgar at the time. But lately she’d begun having forbidden thoughts of lying beneath Drake Lockwood in that vague position Nan had described. And, each time she did a fluid dampness began to seep into her pantalets. It was a very disturbing phenomenon that she’d rather like to discuss with a member of the medical profession. She’d also experienced this restlessness in her lower regions a few times, and after seeing Drake bared to the chest this morning it had flared up quite suddenly. Perhaps there was a remedy Dr. Adams could recommend for both conditions.

  For the moment, she decided it best to put thoughts of intimacy with Drake out of her mind. She would be offering him a marriage of convenience, after all, and the subject of intimacy probably would not become a factor in their relationship.

  To get her mind off such things, she concentrated on the overworked Mrs. Williams. The woman was making a gracious effort to keep up with Lady Westhaven’s demands--all coming at different intervals so several trips had to be made to and from the kitchen by the housekeeper.

  Aunt Ester first demanded a less heavy syrup for the cakes, then a lighter brew of coffee, and finally--after she’d devoured several pieces already--a less fatty ham to be served.

  Due to the speed with which the housekeeper kept up with these complaints, Claresta suspected the congenial servant merely watered down the syrup, watered down the coffee, and drained the excess grease from the already cooked ham after she’d taken them from Lady Westhaven’s sight. But her aunt seemed pleased by the results, and consequently, everyone was made happy.

  Reggie had been nibbling at his food in relatively sullen silence, which Claresta found quite disconcerting. Her cousin was usually as loudly critical as his mother.

  "You seem preoccupied this morning, Reggie. Bored already?"

  Apparently he’d been waiting for just such an opportunity to voice his own complaints. His eating utensil thumped against his plate. "I tell you, I did not get a wink of sleep. I had the shivers all night. ‘Tis worse than sleeping in a dank mausoleum."

  "Really, Reggie. When have you had such an experience to compare?" Claresta asked.

  He gave his cousin a quelling look but his mother, oblivious to the testy exchange, commiserated over his discomfort. "Oh, my poor dear. Did the fire go out in your hearth, too?"

  "Go out? Why, I daresay, if one has been lit in that particular grate in many a day, ‘tis no signs of it."

  To this Lady Norwood sounded concerned, but not overly so. "I shall speak to Coggins. We certainly do not wish your stay to be uncomfortable, Lord Westhaven."

  "When I did manage a doze," Reggie said, ignoring the dowager’s solicitude, "I had this awful nightmare about that pesky little animal nipping at my--" Reggie glanced up when the doctor guffawed loudly.

  "So you’ve met the terror of Norwood Manor, have you? Can’t say as I blame you for being afraid of the little canine hoaxer. Had a few moments of anxiety myself when I first came here."

  "Oh dear," Lady Westhaven said, fanning herself with her napkin, "there is a vicious animal on the premises?"

  "Oh, ‘tis no need to be concerned, ma’am," the doctor assured her. "The little rascal kicks up a ballyhoo whenever a stranger comes around. But docile as a lamb, he is. That is, after one gets acquainted with the tiny fox."

  "A fox," Lady Westhaven exclaimed.

  "Merely a figure of speech, madam, because of his slyness, you see." The doctor patted his stomach and rose. "Well, must be on my way. Have to stop by the Childers’ place on my way back to Kings Lynn. Five brawny lads she has already, so she is hoping for a girl this time. Not that I can do anything to make it one or the other, mind you. Ladies," he bowed, then said to Claresta, "I shall be back this way in a few days to check on our patient, Miss Huntington. Perhaps we can find time for our private discussion then."

  In spite of Lady Westhaven’s groan, Claresta said, "I look forward to it, sir."

  "Well, lad," he turned to Lord Westhaven
, "beware of the little terror. Shouldn’t want to be called back ‘round here to patch up any chewed off vitals, mind you."

  The doctor roared with laughter on his way out, causing Reggie’s face to color up.

  "Dr. Adams is teasing, of course. ‘Tis nothing to fear from Puggy, sir," the dowager assured him. "But, if he does become a problem, then just instruct Coggins to put him in the stables."

  Claresta grinned broadly. "At least your stay will not be as dull as you predicted, Reggie. You can spend your time taming the wild beast."

  Apparently, irritated by being the brunt of their jest, Reggie quickly changed the subject. "Are there no entertainments hereabouts, Lady Norwood?"

  "Our nearest neighbor will likely be holding a soiree or musicale now that she and her daughter have returned from London. Lady Chelsworth--"

  "Lady Chelsworth?" Claresta gasped.

  Reggie dropped his utensil and laughed.

  Lady Westhaven, continuing to fan her face with the napkin, sniffed her vinaigrette. "Oh dear, oh dear. Do you suppose she will call upon you, Lady Norwood? Whatever happens, Claresta," she admonished rather forcefully, "I expect you to conduct yourself in a manner befitting a lady."

  A slow understanding came upon the dowager as she cast a bewildered glance from one of her guests to the other. "Oh my, I quite forgot Lady Chelsworth’s family name was Pedigrew."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Measles. Drake starred into the mirror at the red spots on his face.

  Not only was he concerned that Miss Huntington’s presence in his room had exposed her to a contagious disease, but he was mortified to have contracted an illness that naturally afflicted the infirm or very young. And though he wasn’t usually a vain man, he took exception that Claresta had yet to see him at his most robust.

  Thankfully, because Drake’s eyes had been sensitive to brightness during his illness, Shipley had kept the sickroom dimly lighted. If Miss Huntington had not gotten a clear look at the horrible red spots covering his face, he’d make certain that she never had another chance to do so. But the next few days of his self-induced isolation, with the exception of Shipley’s long-suffering presence, took on a drudging pace.

  Drake could not forget how much he’d enjoyed spending time with Claresta in London. Very often he found himself smiling at some intriguing reflection.

  Too, the memory of her graceless entrance when Shipley opened the connecting door to her rooms to return Puggy that first day after her arrival had him laughing aloud at the oddest times. He’d gotten a look at her small feet and well-turned ankles before she’d had the mind to cover them from his admiring gaze. But she had not immediately withdrawn from his presence as he’d expected. Instead her concern for his welfare seemed to have taken precedence over her modesty, and she’d marched across the room to check him for fever.

  He wondered what she would have done if he’d carried through on the overwhelming impulse he’d felt to draw her hand to his lips and kiss it passionately when she’d laid it upon his forehead. The very thought caused him to have another mirthful outburst.

  The valet cast a wary eye at Drake at these moments of light-mindedness. But if Shipley believed his lordship were a candidate for Bedlam, he did not comment. Rather, he went about his business in the same stoical manner he always did.

  Drake knew Miss Huntington had remained on the premises, in spite of his lingering malady. He was anxious to be well so he could seek out her company again and apologize. As the hours and days passed, he kept a close vigil on the ugly red spots on his face. Too slowly, they began to fade.

  * * *

  On the final day of Drake’s recovery, Claresta made an unenjoyable but fruitful journey into King’s Lynn. Her aunt and cousin accompanied her and took exception to everything from the rough roads leading into town to the strong odor of fish that enveloped the majority of the seashore village they visited.

  At the bankrupt warehouse, the numerous bolts of cloth, purchased at Claresta’s expense, captured her relative’s attention and curtailed their complaining for a short while.

  Blue silks with various sarcenets for linings, rose taffetas, and colorful chintzes printed with bird and flower motifs were included among Aunt Ester’s selections.

  Reggie had been particularly taken with a jonquil-yellow satin and a strange green bourrette with uneven nubs of a reddish tint. When packed up with the other purchases to be sent by mail coach to London, he included strict written instructions to his tailor to design something exquisite before his return. Claresta thought the outcome would more likely resemble a daisy springing from a blushing green stalk.

  For herself, she picked out a pastel shade of blue silk. The color seemed a perfect complement to Lockwood’s eyes. Time permitting, she would have the material sewn into a lovely wedding gown.

  If all went well, by this time next month she should be busy making arrangements for her wedding. She did not foresee having the time to return to King’s Lynn for the auction, nor could she spare Edwin for she would need him to attend Gilbert and Huntington business during that chaotic period.

  She sized up the contents of the warehouse and decided to make a lump sum offer for a number of items including bolts of cloth, spices, and dried lavender, all of which had a promising resale value in London. The proprietor gratefully accepted her offer as he admitted being too indebted to afford transportation of the goods to a more lucrative location.

  After making arrangements for the items to be shipped on the next merchant vessel to London, Claresta deposited her aunt and cousin at a local inn to rest before their return journey to Norwood Manor. Reggie was quite satisfied to nurse a tankard of ale while Claresta went about the task of staffing the estate.

  The innkeeper recommended a likely agency to deal with the problem. Instead of taking a hackney, Claresta, accompanied by her maid, chose to walk the short distance.

  It was her misfortune to nearly collide with Lady Chelsworth as she stepped out of the same building Claresta was about to enter.

  "Mama--" Lady Emmeline said, lifting her chin and placing her hand on her mother’s arm to keep her from ramming into Claresta.

  "Hurrumpf!" Lady Chelsworth lifted her eyes and her skirts and stepped around Claresta as if she might be tainted.

  "Good day, madam. Lady Emmeline," Claresta said politely in spite of the hurt she felt from the obvious snub. She was surprised when Lady Emmeline acknowledged her greeting with a faint nod after her mother’s back was to her.

  "Come along, Emmy," her mother ordered when she realized her daughter wasn’t following as quickly as she should.

  "Femme stupide."

  Claresta smiled at Lizzette’s critical whispered reference to Lady Chelsworth’s mental flaw. One thing about her servants, they were all very loyal. She hoped she’d be as lucky with the new ones she’d come to the agency to acquire.

  Seated a moment later before a cluttered desk that reminded Claresta somewhat of her own, she soon put the Chelsworths out of her mind. The scarecrow-like agent in the seat across from her seemed to have more interest in the new Earl of Norwood than staffing the manor.

  "I hear he is an American."

  "With good breeding," Claresta said, in case the woman had misgivings about placing servants under his care.

  But Miss Peerlace did not seem satisfied with that as she kept trying to extract more information about the new Earl of Norwood. This wouldn’t have been suspect had the agent’s interest been along the lines of what sort of employer the earl would be to the prospective servants.

  "Handsome as a gallant knight, I hear," the long-backed spinster said. A smile tugged the corners of her thin lips upward.

  Claresta thought the woman prettier than she’d thought. She didn’t like this tangent of conversation, however, and responded in a tedious voice, "Oh, are all gallant knights handsome?"

  "Hmm. If not, they certainly should be, don’t you think?" The woman tittered.

  Not thinking the question required a
n answer, Claresta remained silent.

  Miss Peerlace recovered her somber expression and got down to business. She opened a book of record and ran her spindly finger along the page. "The cook and a footman might be difficult to find at this time of year. So many of them travel to London. ‘Tis much better wages there during the Season, you know."

  "Perhaps then, you could recommend a scullery maid with some cooking skills." If Coggins had more free time, perhaps he could keep the fires going at the manor. Hopefully, Drake did not suffer from a icy chamber as she had these past few nights.

  Miss Peerlace flipped to another page and repeated the finger down the page exercise. Her dark brows, a striking contrast against her colorless, elongated face, beetled together. "I’m terribly sorry, Miss Huntington. Perhaps, I can find a village girl willing to help out if the pay is sufficient."

  The pay for the village girl or the agent? Claresta wondered. She felt certain it was the latter. "Whatever the going rate is, to be sure."

  Miss Peerlace slapped her book closed. "I don’t mean to be ungracious, Miss Huntington. But is it not true that the Norwood estates are under the hatches, so to speak, and the new earl, with an identity which is also in question, has not a farthing to his name?"

  So that was the rub, Claresta thought. She smiled tightly. "It’s astounding to know even the edge of civilization can be so current on Town gossip."

  "The Morning Post is delivered by mail coach on a regular basis." Miss Peerlace said, and her long back seemed to stretch to an even greater length.

  "How refreshing," Claresta said, trying to remain as amiable as possible, "that even the Morning Post is available this far afield. However, in this case, I fear the news is a little dated." Rather than the newspaper, she suspected Lady Chelsworth had been the rumormonger carrying this latest gossip to the agent’s ears.