Warrior of Fire
Page 24
* * *
Aunt Caroline was right. Lady Lansbury, a regal lady, arrived with her daughter in a carriage with a resplendent coachman and a little page at the back to leap down and open doors.
Jane could not believe her eyes when she saw Lady Lansbury—she was the woman she had met on the ship and the child Octavia was just as she remembered. She was touched that Lady Lansbury should remember her.
‘Why, Miss Mortimer! I am so pleased to see you again. Allow me to thank you once again for what you did for Octavia. Your niece was extremely brave, Mrs Standish,’ she said to Jane’s aunt. ‘She risked her life to save Octavia when she fell on the deck of the ship when we were crossing the Channel and was in danger of sliding into the sea. I was journeying from Paris accompanied by my son, Lord Lansbury. We were indeed grateful that Miss Mortimer acted so quickly.’
Mrs Standish looked at her niece with some degree of surprise. ‘Really? You never mentioned it, Jane.’
‘I had no reason to. We were not introduced so I had no idea the two of you are acquainted. When the child slipped and fell I did what anyone else would have done. At the time I was close to her.’
‘You are too modest, my dear,’ Lady Lansbury said. ‘Your prompt action saved her life.’
‘I was glad I was able to help.’ Jane longed to ask after Lady Lansbury’s son, but thought better of it. After all it was unlikely they would meet again. Lord Lansbury had made a large impression on her virgin heart. When she was least expecting it thoughts of him would fill her mind so that she was unable to think of anything else which totally confused her. No man had ever had this effect on her before. But he was an earl, the Earl of Lansbury, way above her station in life and all she could do was admire him from afar. She looked at the child, who, it was clear, didn’t remember her. ‘Lady Octavia is such a lovely child.’
Jane’s wonder increased when Octavia, clutching her beloved Pekinese in the crook of one arm, danced up to her and said, ‘I like your dress. It’s very pretty.’
‘Thank you,’ Jane said, responding warmly to the compliment, even though she disagreed with her. It was much worn and certainly not fashionable. But the colours were bright, the pattern bold, and she was in no doubt that it was this that had drawn Octavia’s attention.
Octavia sat beside her on the striped sofa, placing her dog between them. The dog lifted its paw, cocked its head and peered up at Jane with yellow eyes, as if to fathom the spirit of this new person.
‘She wants you to shake hands with her,’ Octavia informed her.
Jane took the proffered paw and a pink tongue lolled out the side of the jaws almost in a smile. ‘Does your dog have a name?’
‘Poppy. She’s called Poppy.’
‘That’s a nice name. She is safe, isn’t she?’ Jane questioned with a teasing light in her eyes. ‘I mean—she doesn’t eat people, does she?’
Octavia tilted her head to one side and looked at her curiously, amazed that this lady should think her precious dog might bite. ‘No, of course she doesn’t. She likes you. I can tell. I like you, too. You are a very nice lady. Will you be my friend? I don’t have any.’ There was no hint of sadness in her remark. It was a matter-of-fact comment. That was the way it was.
Jane laughed and said she would like that very much. Stroking the ears of the Pekinese she studied the young girl. With silver-blonde hair and eyes a shining bright blue, her features piquant, she was a lively and restless girl with an independent spirit and full of energies she was unable to repress. For the time the visit lasted Octavia never left Jane’s side. Jane realised that Lady Lansbury was closely following their exchange and watching them attentively, speculatively. She did not withhold comment.
‘I can see Octavia has found a friend in you, Miss Mortimer. You are fortunate. She doesn’t take to people easily.’
From the small table beside her Jane took a painted tin of bonbons she had bought earlier and held them out to the girl. ‘I don’t think I can eat all these, Lady Octavia. Would you mind keeping the tin for me and helping me along with them?’
Octavia blinked her large eyes and looked enquiringly at her mother as if seeking her guidance. Lady Lansbury nodded and smiled her approval, and hesitantly Octavia’s gaze came back to Jane. Accepting the tin, she immediately opened it and selected a bonbon, popping the sugary confection into her mouth and beaming her delight at the taste.
* * *
London was an exciting and fascinating place to be. Jane loved it. Aunt Caroline accompanied her on her excursions, pointing out to her buildings and places of note. They strolled in the parks and Jane was thrilled to see all the bright and beautiful flowers in borders and beds. Having spent most of her life surrounded by hot and arid landscapes, she found it truly amazing to see so much colour in one place.
At other times she was trying to sort out her father’s affairs and considering her future. She gave little thought to her meeting with Lady Lansbury, so she was surprised when she called on the off chance one week later, hoping to find her at home.
Thinking her visit had something to do with one of the charities they supported, Aunt Caroline ushered her into the drawing room. Over tea they chatted about trivial matters. Jane listened, saying very little. Beneath a tiny jacket Lady Lansbury had on a beautiful gown in a silky material which shone where the light touched it. It was in a colour that reminded her of the sun when it was sinking at dusk, a sort of mixture between brown and gold and warm pink. The skirt was full and on her head was a pretty straw hat decorated with flowers to match her dress.
Jane was conscious of Lady Lansbury’s eyes studying her, not critically, nor with the kind of morbid fascination with which many of her class would gaze at her unfashionable attire and plain looks. Rather it was with an assessing frankness, a frankness and even an admiration one woman directs at another when she sincerely believes that woman is worthy of it.
‘How is Lady Octavia?’ Jane found herself asking. ‘It was a pleasure to meet her. She is such a charming, sweet girl.’
‘Yes, she is—but then she is my daughter and I love her dearly.’ Lady Lansbury placed her cup and saucer down. Her face, which had been firm with some inner resolve, softened imperceptibly. ‘Of course I am so glad you think so, Miss Mortimer, because my visit concerns Octavia. When we were here last week I could not help noticing that you seem to have a way with her—and she has talked of nothing else but you since. I have come here today to ask for your help.’
‘Oh!’ Jane uttered, slightly taken aback, for she could not for the life of her think how she could possibly be of help to the Countess of Lansbury.
‘When I spoke to your aunt, I seem to recall her mentioning that you have returned to England after spending many years travelling abroad with your father.’
‘That is so,’ Jane confirmed quietly. ‘Sadly my father died when we were in Egypt, which is why I have come to stay with Aunt Caroline while his affairs are put in order and I consider my future.’
‘Do you like children, Miss Mortimer?’
‘Why—I—yes, of course, although I confess that being an only child and constantly on the move, I have no experience of them.’
‘You appeared to get on with Octavia well enough. I wondered if you would consider helping me take care of her. She can be difficult on occasion. All the young ladies I have employed in the past do not make it past the first month before they are heading for the door.’
‘I—I don’t know...’
‘Miss Mortimer, please, I beg you, let me finish. I want to offer you permanent, full-time employment. We will be leaving London for our family home—Chalfont House in Oxfordshire—within the week. Octavia has developed a slight cough. I believe the country air is so much better for her than this London smog. I can’t tell you how happy it would make me if you were to come with us.’
‘Lady Lansbury—
I don’t know what to say. I freely admit you’ve taken me by surprise.’
‘I hope you will say yes. I will not pretend that it will be easy taking care of Octavia. As you have seen she is not—not quite—like other girls of her age. She is twelve years old but looks and behaves much younger. She is fragile and needs tender care. She finds it difficult to tell people what she needs and how she feels—she also finds it difficult to understand what other people think and how they feel. She finds it hard to meet people—and to make friends—but she seems to like you. I do love her so very much, but I have grown weary and I often despair of what will become of her...’
For a moment Jane thought Lady Lansbury was about to break down. She bent her head, placing the back of her immaculately gloved hand to her head, swallowing painfully. Jane stood up, ready to go to her, to kneel and place her own soothing hand on hers, wanting to comfort, but recollecting herself when Lady Lansbury raised her head staunchly.
Jane smiled, a compassionate warmth lighting her eyes. She could almost feel the tension inside this regal lady splitting the air. Jane didn’t take any persuading to accept her offer of employment. Through his work her father had told her that on his death she would be a wealthy woman, but until his lawyer had sorted out his affairs and the will was read she had no idea of her worth, although she knew it would be considerable. Never being one for crowded places, getting out of London into the English countryside for a while appealed to her.
There was also another reason that added weight to her decision—Lady Lansbury’s son, the Earl of Lansbury. The temptation to see him again was too great for her to resist. She had not believed their paths would cross again and for the first time in her life she acted on impulse.
‘I am sorry to hear that, Lady Lansbury, and I will help if I can.’
As she spoke a kindly light appeared in Jane’s eyes. Her interest and feeling towards the girl were obviously sincere. Octavia was unpredictable, dainty and fragile as gossamer. She reminded Jane of a fluff of swansdown blown along on the breeze and may blossom that showed its beauty so profusely in spring. The blossom, flushed with pink, was no more delicately lovely than this child who had latched on to her from the first.
‘I accept your offer, Lady Lansbury. I will return with you to Chalfont House—although I cannot commit myself indefinitely. But for the time being I would dearly like to be Lady Octavia’s companion and I promise I will be patient with her.’
Lady Lansbury’s eyes were bright with tears of gratitude. Miss Mortimer’s acceptance of the post lightened her spirits, as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘Thank you, Miss Mortimer. I can’t tell you what a relief that is to me.’
‘There is one thing I must ask of you, Lady Lansbury. When my father died a good deal of his work was not completed. It meant a great deal to him—and to his publisher and other antiquarians he worked with. I was his assistant and I am doing what I can to finish his work.’
‘Of course you must. I quite understand. You will not be caring for Octavia all the time. We have a perfectly good library at Chalfont. It is a quiet room. I am sure you will find it the perfect place for your work.’
‘Thank you. I would appreciate that.’
‘Nonsense. It is I who am grateful to you.’ She looked at Jane’s aunt, who had listened to their exchange closely. ‘What do you say, Mrs Standish? I do so hope you approve of Jane’s acceptance to my proposal. I am certain she will be a great help to me—and to Octavia.’
‘It is not for me to approve or disapprove, Lady Lansbury,’ Mrs Standish said, choosing her words with care. ‘At twenty-one my niece is old enough and sensible enough to decide her own future. But since you ask my opinion I will say that I am—concerned about the position she will hold in your household and how it will be seen by the others who work at Chalfont House. In age Jane will be on a par with your maids in the kitchen and...’
‘Please, say no more, Mrs Standish. Jane will never be on a par in any way with the maids in the kitchen. I know that she is the daughter of an academic, a highly intelligent man, an acclaimed writer, whose own father held a high-ranking position in the army. Her mother is from good stock, the Grants of Derbyshire. They were not a wealthy family, but they were of the class.’
‘But—how do you know this, Lady Lansbury?’ Jane asked.
‘When I saw how taken Octavia was with you, I—made a few enquiries. I ask nothing more of you, Jane, than that you be my daughter’s companion—her friend. Octavia has never reached out to anyone the way she has to you.’
‘I will do my best to make her happy.’ Knowing how concerned her aunt was about her, Jane tried to put her at ease with the situation. Looking after Octavia would be a demanding position but a pleasurable one for the girl aroused a protective fondness in her. ‘Please—do not worry about me, Aunt,’ she said gently. ‘Ever since I returned to England I’ve been undecided as to what to do with my future, which path to take. As you know my mother died when I was very young. Having spent almost my entire life with my father, helping him with his work and wandering from place to place like nomads, I don’t know what I’m cut out for.’
‘You don’t have to do anything, Jane,’ her aunt said quietly. ‘And didn’t you mention that one of your father’s colleagues is to come to London shortly?’
‘Yes. Phineas Waverley. He is to set up an exhibition of artefacts and photographs and the like. No doubt he’ll write to me when he knows more himself. In the meantime I have to do something. I’m not cut out for a life of idleness. I need to be busy. Chalfont House is within easy reach of London so I’ll not be far away.’
* * *
On returning to Lansbury House, Lady Lansbury broached the matter with her son of Miss Mortimer accompanying them to Chalfont to help take care of Octavia. She found him unexpectedly obdurate and impatient.
‘Why this girl? How can you be so certain about her on such short acquaintance? Of course Octavia took to her. It is what she does when anyone shows her kindness.’
‘You dislike Miss Mortimer?’ Lady Lansbury was puzzled by his vehemence. ‘I find her quite charming.’
In a voice that was matter of fact rather than critical, he continued, ‘I cannot be accused of being either uncharitable or unaccommodating in this instance. And contrary to what you might think, I have formed no opinion of her whatsoever. It’s just that...’ He faltered, avoiding eye contact with his mother. ‘I don’t dislike Miss Mortimer. Why should I?’
Lady Lansbury eyed her son closely. Why should he, indeed? For the first time in years she thought of the girl—Lily, her name was—Christopher had fallen for and how it had almost destroyed him when she had left him. Could it be that in Jane Mortimer he saw similarities to Lily? Perhaps that was it, but apart from the colour of her eyes, in her opinion there the similarities ended. Jane was not in the least like Lily.
‘I am glad to hear it. Has it not entered that arrogant, stubborn head of yours that you might even like her? You may be pleasantly surprised.’
‘Even for an arrogant, stubborn man like me it is not beyond the realms of possibility,’ Christopher conceded.
‘My fear is that when she is faced with your formidable manner—a daunting prospect for any girl—it will alienate her from the start.’
‘What I dislike is wasting time on such a trivial matter when Octavia is perfectly happy as she is. Actually, there are one or two minor problems associated with your plan,’ he said drily, but he couldn’t bring himself to dampen his mother’s enthusiasm completely. ‘Miss Mortimer will be the latest in a long line of young ladies we have employed to care for Octavia in the past. Not one of them lasted more than a month and each time they left Octavia was distressed. I doubt Miss Mortimer will be any different. Why don’t you give the entire project some careful thought and we’ll discuss the various aspects of it when we reach Chalfont?’
Christopher sighed. He was not completely heartless. Looking after Octavia, worrying about her, wearied his mother. Finding the right person to care for her had proved a problem in the past. ‘I’m sorry, Mother. Of course you must do as you see fit. Go ahead and employ Miss Mortimer if it makes you happy.’
‘More importantly, Christopher, is that she makes Octavia happy.’
* * *
Chalfont House was the Lansbury seat in the heart of Oxfordshire. Jane was irrevocably touched by its timeless splendour. A wide stretch of stone steps led up to the colonnaded front door, while on either side two great wings stretched out to portray, in perfect proportions, the great arched dome which surmounted the centre of the building. Inside, the pomp and grandeur, which the countess took for granted, left her breathless.
As soon as she entered the house she was greeted with unaffected warmth. She felt this was a house where courtesy and mutual affection ruled in perfect harmony.
A maid appeared and whisked a tired Octavia to her room, leaving Jane with Lady Lansbury. She stood in the hall, looking about her with interest. And then, as if she was seeing a dream awaken before her, Lord Lansbury appeared from one of the many rooms leading off from the hall and strode toward them.
It was strange, but it was as if she had first seen him only yesterday. He had made such an impression on her on the ship and it had remained, only now it was stronger. He had a look she saw rarely—the complete indifference of inherited position. It was something that could not be acquired or even reproduced. It had to develop over time. Attired in a dark-green jacket and pristine neck linen, tall, lithe, his features strong and darkly, incredibly attractive, he moved with the confident ease of a man well assured of his place in the world and completely unconcerned about the world’s perception of him.