By the time they reached The Pines, the wind was rising and the clouds looked so threatening that Strand decided to take luncheon at the old tavern. Over the meal they enjoyed a long discussion regarding the possibilities of restoring Silverings, a venture with which Lisette was thoroughly in accord. She was mildly surprised when her husband not only encouraged her to voice her opinions regarding the reconstruction, but seemed sincerely interested in what she had to offer. When they were ready to leave, Strand was able to exchange his steed for a somewhat less somnambulistic animal. The storm had drifted away, and they started out in fair weather. Again, Strand proved a pleasant companion. He had taken quite a liking to Lisette's family and she was pleased when he suggested that she invite Norman to spend a week or two with them during the summer. All in all, she felt amazingly light-hearted by the time they rode into the yard at the Hall, and was more in charity with her husband than she'd been since first she saw him.
Best and another groom hastened to take their mounts. Strand responded to Best's anxious enquiries about Brandy, but it seemed to Lisette that the groom was not reassured. Glancing back as they walked away, she surprised a furtive anxiety in the man's eyes and, turning to her husband, realized belatedly that he looked tired. It must have been a wearing day; that jump especially had been taxing, and she knew a twinge of guilt that she'd not previously considered that his arm might be paining him. "Strand," she said, "are you—"
"Lisette!"
"Surprise! Surprise!"
"Look who has come to pay a bride call!"
The shout, the squeal, and the amused, high-pitched cry brought Lisette running to embrace Norman and her two sisters. Judith looked plumply pretty and overjoyed, Norman was genuinely glad to see her, and Beatrice was a picture of elegance in a robe of green sarsenet over a slip of palest green cambric. She kissed her sister sweetly but not so unaffectedly as had Judith, taking care not to ruffle her coiffure.
"How lovely you look!" Lisette exclaimed. "And, oh, how very glad I am to see you all."
"I had supposed you might be," murmured Beatrice with a sidelong glance at Strand. "Which is precisely why we came."
Flustered, Lisette suggested they all return to the house, and in they went, Judith and Norman both talking at once, Beatrice's arm twined in Lisette's, and Strand quietly bringing up the rear.
Happily, the Van Lindsay party had arrived sufficiently early that the chef had been granted time to prepare his usual excellent meal. The dining room rang with chatter, and Lisette, delighted by this visit from her loved ones, was animated and—so thought Strand—glowing with happiness. The conversation swept from the wedding, to Strand Hall, which Beatrice thought enchanting, to Brutus, whom Norman thought a jolly fine dog, to Charity Strand and what a very charming girl she was. Strand wholeheartedly agreed with this, contributing his longest sentence thus far when he said that both his sisters were "rare human beings."
The faintest breath of unease touched Lisette. Her brows arching, she asked, "Did you meet Charity in town, Beatrice?"
"No, love. Here. Today."
"She came back?" Strand said sharply. "But she only left here yesterday afternoon. She was not ill, I trust, Lady William?"
"No, no," Beatrice answered, putting down her wine glass. "But it seems they encountered such bad road conditions between here and Godalming that they were compelled to put up at an inn for the night, and then your sister recalled something she had promised to take to Mrs. Leith, so she turned back." Her eyes sliding to Lisette, she smirked, "I could not have been more pleased, for we had such a delightful cose."
Lisette smiled. Inwardly, however, she was dismayed. Charity was so innocent and naive; she would be no match for Beatrice.
"Well, I'm sorry we missed her," said Strand. "But we are fortunate to have more company. May we hope you mean to spend some time with us, ma'am?"
"Alas, but I cannot," sighed Beatrice. "Indeed, I should not have come at all, save to bring the children to you."
Lisette stared at her blankly. Amused, Strand raised his eyebrows and waited.
Looking from one to the other, Beatrice said, "Well, you must have got Mama's letter by now, surely?"
Lisette had received no such letter, but an enquiry to Fisher elicited the information that one had arrived this morning and would be brought at once. Lisette requested it be delivered to her in the drawing room, and they left Strand to his port.
Excusing herself, Lisette read her letter as hurriedly as her mother's flourishing hand would allow. Dear Great-Uncle Ian had, it would seem, received notice to quit and had sent word that he desired his near and dear to be around him at the end. Since "dear Great-Uncle Ian" was of a dour and reclusive nature and dwelt on one of the Scottish islands, this entailed quite a journey, but since he also was said to be an extremely wealthy old gentleman, Mrs. Van Lindsay had undoubtedly undertaken it without hesitation. Norman and Judith would benefit by a change from the London scene, she wrote, and since summer was almost upon them it would not do any incalculable damage for them to leave their studies now and spend a few weeks with Beatrice—at least until their parents returned, when they might possibly all remove to Worthing for a time. The rest of the letter was of small consequence and Lisette folded it and said thoughtfully, "Poor Uncle Ian."
Beatrice sniffed. "About time, was you to ask me. I vow I thought the man would live forever! Oh, never look at me in that silly, fusty fashion! You know he had his three score and ten at least a decade since. He's rich as Croesus and Mama was always his favourite, so perhaps she will now stop expecting me to open my purse each time they are in the basket. I declare, poor William has been more than generous. And patient? My dear husband is the very soul of patience, but there comes a limit, and you'll own Norman and Judith have not been strictly reared and their behaviour is not what one might wish."
It was at about this time that Judith and Norman were jointly overtaken by the effects of the long journey and in a rare display of weariness elected to go early to bed.
"I am not at all surprised," said Beatrice, receiving a dutiful good-night kiss from each. "Had you not felt it necessary to explore the entire estate with that horrid animal the instant we arrived, you might be less fatigued."
"We might," Judith retaliated, hugging Lisette. "But only think how it gave you the chance to worm as much as you could out of poor Charity Strand."
Beatrice uttered an enraged screech and sprang to her feet, and the younger Van Lindsays fled, Norman's whoop echoing after them as he closed the door.
"Do you see what I mean?" Beatrice asked angrily, sitting down and smoothing her robe. "They are not to be borne!"
"From what Mama writes, dear, you could not have borne them longer than three or four days."
Lisette had spoken mildly, but Beatrice fired up at once. "And I collect you meant me to carry the whole burden—as usual! I vow it is so unfair. With Timothy away, everything falls on my head, only because I am the eldest. Nobody stops to consider that I might have plans! Or cares if poor William is reduced to a nervous wreck."
Since Beatrice had never been known to offer the least assistance in time of crisis and would, in fact, go to considerable lengths to be suddenly "called away" in the event of illness in the family, Lisette found it difficult to summon much sympathy for this tale of woe. She knew "poor William" a good deal better than her sister imagined and was well aware that he both loved children and longed to set up his nursery. He was the most amiable of men and would, she had no doubt, have been delighted to host his niece and nephew on an indefinite basis. The truth of the matter was, she suspected, that Beatrice did not want to remain in the country, but had no wish to be cooped up in a town-house with a sister and brother who were, admittedly, rather a handful.
Watching her obliquely, Beatrice said a persuasive, "After all, it's not as though yours were a love match, dearest. Besides, since Strand is—is incapacitated—" She stopped, her eyes brimming, and went off into a small gale of mirth. "My clever L
isette! I thought I must burst with laughter when Charity told me the way of it!"
Lisette's hand tightened on her fan. "Told you—what?"
"Of how you drove him off for the first week and then was so fortunate as to have him trip over the dog! La, what a wretch you are! The poor man must be seething with rage. And—frustration! Did you—did you give the poor doggie a bone, love?" And again, she dissolved into hilarity.
This was exactly what Lisette had feared. Charity, obviously adoring her brother, had certainly said nothing malicious, but Beatrice's shrewd mind had very quickly put two and two together. She said stiffly, "That is not true, Bea! I must ask that you do not repeat—"
"Not true? Of course it's true! Mama told me how bitterly you wept when you were compelled to wed the creature, and—"
"Do I perhaps intrude, ladies?"
Strand's cool voice seemed to slice through Beatrice's words. Lisette's eyes shot to the door. He stood on the threshold. His lips were faintly smiling, but it was a rather grim smile and Lisette felt her cheeks blaze.
Showing not the slightest trace of embarrassment, Beatrice, said blithely, "Oh, pray do come in, Strand. We are bored to death without a gentleman."
He walked in his quick way to poke up the fire and enquire if either lady desired a screen for the draught, for the wind was blowing ever more strongly. They both declined, however, and since each was busied with more or less the same strain of thought, a brief silence fell. Strand broke it, observing blandly, "It is rather chill this evening. I doubt you needed your fan, my love."
"Very true," said Beatrice. "I quite thought it would rain this morning."
"Did you?" said Strand.
"Yes, but it did not after all."
Strand's eyes, gleaming with mischief, darted to Lisette. She felt a surge of relief. He must not have heard! "Perhaps it will rain tomorrow," she contributed demurely.
He broke into a laugh. "You always can top me, my sweet."
He sounded genuinely fond, and an odd sensation shivered between Lisette's shoulder blades.
Beatrice looked wonderingly from one to the other, and Strand said politely, "Your pardon, Lady William. My wife was roasting me because of my scintillating conversation."
"Oh," said Beatrice vaguely. "Well, we cannot all be accomplished. I feel sure you must have some talent, Strand."
He grinned and admitted he was the dullest of men, but Lisette said defensively, "Save when a lady's life is in peril, do you mean? Words would not have saved me this morning, Justin."
He looked down, a flush burning his cheeks.
Beatrice at once demanding to hear the story, Lisette told her, Strand inserting an occasional mumbled complaint that she made more of the incident than was warranted.
"Good gracious!" Beatrice exclaimed when the tale was done. "That was positively heroical in you, Strand. I'll allow I am surprised, for when we heard you had broke your arm on your honeymoon, so many thought it a downright silly thing to have done."
Strand's eyes, lifting slowly to Beatrice, contained a thoughtful and unsmiling hauteur. It was an expression Lisette had seen before, and she held her breath. Beatrice saw that glimpse of steel and, being nobody's fool, said hurriedly, "How you could have accomplished such a deed with but one hand defies imagination. I can scarce wait to tell William!"
The balance of the evening passed quite pleasantly, and since Beatrice announced her intention of leaving the following day, Lisette could only pray that no more such difficult periods would have to be endured—for a time at least.
It was a prayer destined not to be granted.
Chapter 10
Battle was joined the day after Beatrice's departure. Accustomed to lounging in bed until nine o'clock, at which hour he was usually sure of being variously implored, ordered, and sometimes actually threatened by his sorely tried tutor, Norman paid no heed to the first two attempts to rouse him, and was aghast to be ruthlessly awakened by the simple expedient of having the bedding torn from him.
"Good God!" he cried, leaping up in shivering dismay. "Is the house afire?"
"It will be, do you not look alive!" Strand, fully clad in his riding clothes, added, "I don't care to be kept waiting, young fella."
Staring at him with slack jaw, Norman gasped, "K-kept waiting? But—but it ain't even hardly light!"
"Lord! What wretched grammar! Come now, you'll find this is the best possible time to ride. Puts an edge on your appetite. I've a fine stallion saddled for you—a bit wild, but I think you can manage him."
Whether the challenge was the inducement, or whether Norman had taken due note of the set to Strand's chin, Lisette had no way of knowing, but not very many minutes after her husband had tossed her into the saddle, she was amazed to see her brother coming reluctantly to join them, his cravat a disaster, his hair uncombed, and a surly look in his dark eyes. Once mounted and out of the yard, he had all he could do to control the spirited animal Strand had chosen for him. The cold, bracing air and vigorous exercise had their effect, and it soon became apparent that the boy was thoroughly enjoying himself. Lisette was not surprised by the pace Strand set. Norman was. Despite his laziness he was a spirited youth and, concealing his unease, at once set to work to outdo his brother-in-law. Strand led them at thundering speed across a wide hilltop, and reined up at the start of the downward slope. It was a cool morning, the wind hurrying a flock of clouds across the pearly sky. The birds were already twittering busily, and the sun began to come up, gilding the clouds with gold that blushed slowly to a deep pink. Behind the neatly fenced meadows spread the darker bands of woodland, and beyond, smoke rose into the air, soon to be whipped about by the wind. Strand leaned on the pommel, looking out at the verdant panorama, and Lisette murmured, "How very lovely it is."
"Lovelier if you ain't starved and half froze!" grumbled Norman, and spurred his mount down the hill.
Strand grinned and followed.
Lisette asked, "Isn't that the Home Farm?"
"It is. And I've no doubt but that your brother saw the smoke and envisioned breakfast."
"Oh dear! Will they mind?"
"I suspect they'll be delighted." He added an amused, "But Norman may find the tariff rather high for his pocket."
An hour later, comfortably replete, Norman's round face reflected stark horror as he gazed from Strand's bland smile to Mr. Johnson's retreating form. "Help him… rebuild the chicken house?" he gasped, incredulous. "Why the devil should I do so? You own this place, do you not, sir?"
"Oh, yes." Strand nodded cheerfully. "But Johnson manages it for me, and I'd not dream of imposing on his hospitality without offering something in return."
Lisette concentrated upon her last piece of muffin and avoided her brother's imploring gaze.
Norman said with growing indignation, "Then toss the fellow a few coins and he'll likely think you most generous."
"Good God! Are you serious? Johnson would be most offended.
One don't offer to pay for hospitality in these parts. Come along now, we'd best get to it!"
Staring up at him, Norman stammered, "We? Are—are you going to work, Strand?"
"But of course. I also enjoyed a hearty breakfast—did you not notice? Enough food to last me a week! Up with you!"
Slanting a half-worried, half-amused glance at her brother, Lisette was rather taken aback to note his mulish expression. However spoiled he might be, he was usually a good sport and the first to admit defeat was he bested. As he clambered reluctantly to his feet, however, it was apparent that he had taken Strand in dislike, a circumstance that made her heart sink.
Any suspicion Judith and Norman may have entertained that they had come into the country to eat and sleep was soon put to flight. In the days that followed, the indefatigable Strand kept them so busy that they seemed scarcely to have a moment's peace. He soon teased Judith into getting up and accompanying them on their early rides, a pursuit she abhorred and yet for some reason seldom missed. After breakfast, there would be
a walk they must experience, or a visit to the village or some local beauty spot, with Brutus an occasional escort. Mealtimes constituted a source of despair to both Norman and Judith, for Strand ate sparingly, and even Lisette, who had a small appetite, was at times appalled by the meagre fare offered at table. If luncheon was served at all, it usually consisted solely of fruits, while dinners seldom amounted to more than one course of fish or cold meat with vegetables, and these in very short supply. Not only exhausted but half starved, Norman eyed Strand with ever-increasing hostility, while Judith complained bitterly that she'd not had a decent meal since she came, and would soon be reduced to picking berries to stay alive.
Despite these miseries, the days seemed to fly past. They rose early and went early and tired to bed. Their evenings were spent in playing cards or spillikins or Fish, reading aloud to one another as the fancy seized them, or the men playing dominoes while the girls sewed. Guests were few and far between, which, so Norman grumbled to Judith, was scarce to be wondered at, "for they could get better food in the workhouse!"
Lisette was happier than she had been for weeks, partly because of the presence of her brother and sister, and partly because of an entirely unexpected development that brought a new joy into her life. They were playing croquet one warm afternoon when she inadvertently stepped on the hem of her dress. Hurrying into the house to change, she glanced out of her bedroom window and was aghast to see James Garvey riding nonchalantly up the drivepath. Frightened, she ran downstairs, hoping to reach the door first, but Mrs. Hayward already stood there. Dreading that Justin might come back into the house, Lisette crept to where she might hear, without being seen. Mrs. Hayward's voice was very low, but it was clear she was affronted. "I will do no such thing, sir!" she said angrily. "If you've a message for Mrs. Strand, I'll be glad to give it her, but as I told you, she is not at home." Garvey murmured something and laughed in his easy, good-humoured way, and Lisette saw the housekeeper's back stiffen. In a voice of ice, Mrs. Hayward said, "I would have hoped that a gentleman might have known better than to make such an offer, Mr. Garvey. Good day to you, sir!" And the door slammed.
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption Page 16