The Chaperon (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  “You are most kind, ma’am, to poor, weary travellers.” He made her his most respectful bow, and she coloured up like a girl. “I shall bring Margaret in, and arrange for the rest of the boxes to be unloaded.” With another small bow, he whisked out of the door again.

  “Well… well now… goodness me! Such delightful manners! London polish, I dare say.”

  One of the twins coughed, and tugged at her sleeve.

  “Oh! Oh yes, how foolish of me! Mrs Price, may I present to you my step-daughters, Miss Kingsley and Miss Winifred Kingsley.”

  The two girls made perfectly demure curtsies, then spoilt the effect by giggling.

  Lucy was almost too surprised to make her own curtsy. So this lady, of much her own age, was Mrs Kingsley, the lady whose illness was supposedly so severe that she must not exert herself in the slightest. Yet here she was, in the very bloom of health, fairly exuding energy and wellbeing. It was a puzzle.

  Robin returned with Margaret, Brast slinking in behind them, and this time Lucy made the introductions, noticing Robin’s eyebrows rise a little as she named Mrs Kingsley. He too had supposed her to be a companion of some sort.

  “Let me show you to your rooms,” Mrs Kingsley said, and set off directly for the stairs.

  “Ma’am, should you not be resting?” Lucy said in some alarm.

  Mrs Kingsley turned, her face crestfallen. “Oh dear! I suppose I should, but I was so happy to see you… I keep forgetting, you see. Peter will be so cross with me.”

  “Perhaps the Miss Kingsleys would be so good as to show us the way, so that I may get to know them a little?” Lucy said.

  One of them — was it Winifred? — looked cross, but the other said, “Oh yes, let us show you the way! May I put them in the tower, Mama?”

  “Oh, well… Mrs Price, certainly, the Queen’s chamber, as we discussed, but Mr Dalton and Miss Winterton… I had thought the blue room and the lilac room? Those are always prepared, you know. There will be not the least dampness in the air, you see, dear. And those narrow stairs in the old house are so awkward for the servants.”

  Deirdre said silkily, “It will not take a moment to light the fires and make up the beds, and the servants may use the regular service stairs and then along the upper passageway. It is not very much further.”

  “Oh, very well, very well. Mrs Hapmore, prepare the priest’s room for Miss Winterton and the great chamber for Mr Dalton. Oh, I do hope the rooms will be warm enough.”

  “I am sure we shall be very comfortable, Mrs Kingsley,” Robin said smoothly.

  Lucy thought so too, and could not help smiling to herself. The tower? A priest’s room? The Queen’s chamber? That sounded perfect! She was going to like it here.

  2: Pot Luck

  The old house was every bit as thrilling as Lucy had hoped. There was indeed a great hall, and a tower and a myriad of dark, wood-panelled rooms with mullioned windows. The Queen’s chamber, her own bedroom, was constructed on a massive scale, with furniture in proportion. The wardrobes were cleverly built in to one wall, on either side of the bed, and instead of an escritoire or elegant desk, a vast table, big enough to dine on, was equipped with the usual array of pens and paper. But the room was dominated by a huge bed, the head recessed into the space between the wardrobes, and the whole surrounded by with thick velvet curtains.

  “Well, I shall not feel the least draught when these are drawn,” Lucy said, feeling the heaviness of them.

  Margaret gazed around, wide-eyed. She had travelled the least of all the sisters, and had rarely been away from Woodside. This was her first view of a building so old.

  “Where is my sister’s room?” Lucy said.

  “Just next door,” Deirdre said. “The priest’s room. It is your sitting room, but it has a bed also.”

  “Priest’s room? Like a priest hole?”

  Deirdre gave her a condescending smile. “Not every old house has a priest’s hole. The priest’s room is where the priest used to sleep, because it is right next to the chapel. We do not have a priest any more, though. This way.”

  When they went through the connecting door to another, only marginally smaller, room, they found a perfectly normal parlour with no sign of a bed. However, two maids rushed in and began folding away wall panels to reveal a small bed built into one wall.

  “Ingenious, but there is no need to make up a second bed,” Lucy said briskly, looking at the bare mattress and wondering how damp it might be. “Margaret can share my bed tonight. After all, there is room for a dozen in there, so she will not incommode me in the slightest.”

  “Oh, yes, please!” Margaret said.

  “There, that is settled,” Lucy said, and the maids smiled in relief as they unfolded the wall panels again to conceal the little bed.

  The boxes began to arrive soon after, followed by hot water and trays bearing tea and tiny lemon cakes, and the twins exclaimed in delight as the maids unpacked Lucy’s gowns and tippets and shoes and shawls. At least, one of them exclaimed in delight. Deirdre, the elder, smiled and touched each new garment, be it muslin or silk or gauze, with reverence. Winifred, the younger, pulled out several gowns to hold against her frame, before pulling a face and declaring each one too plain or too dowdy or too black.

  “So much black!” she said, holding up one of Lucy’s crepe evening gowns. “Such a dreary colour. Shall you be in mourning for long, Mrs Price?”

  “Two or three months of full mourning, and the same of half mourning,” Lucy said. “I would not wish to do less for my father.”

  “But it will not interfere with our engagements?” Winifred said. “Mama assured us you would take us into company. There is no point in employing you if you cannot, you know.”

  “The final approval must come from your mama, naturally, but I see no reason for me to stay secluded for long. Another week, perhaps, and then it would be permissible for me to go out again.”

  The two girls groaned in unison at this dreadful curtailment of their pleasure.

  “Oh, but the Extons’ ball on Friday!” Deirdre said. “We had quite hoped to attend that, for everyone will be there — all our friends, you see.”

  “Your mama will decide,” Lucy said firmly.

  Although they were twins, the two girls could not have been less alike. Deirdre was tall and angular, with a nose as sharp as a knife and thin lips whose smiles never quite seemed to match the rest of her face, despite the praise emanating therefrom. Winifred was short and well-formed, with a pretty face frequently marred by a petulant scowl. Lucy, used to Annabelle’s composure, Margaret’s quietness and Fanny’s sunny good humour, was not quite sure what to make of them, but determined not to judge them by a few minutes of chatter over gowns.

  The unpacking was still underway when the housekeeper arrived, her calm demeanour belied by wide eyes.

  “Begging your pardon, madam,” she said to Lucy. “If it please you, the master would like a few words with you in his study.”

  “Of course,” Lucy said, rising and straightening her skirts. “I shall come at once.”

  Mrs Hapmore’s face registered relief. He was something of a tyrant, then, Mr Kingsley, Lucy deduced. Well, she was not afraid of him, she told herself stoutly.

  The study was a modestly appointed room off the entrance hall, and Lucy was relieved to find Robin already ensconced there, a glass of Madeira in his hand. His face, however, gave her no clue to the nature of the interview, whether good or bad, for he was far too well-bred to show anything other than polite interest towards his host.

  Mr Kingsley was a bluff man approaching fifty, of unprepossessing appearance. He was not ugly, precisely, but his features were such as to engender no pleasure in the observer. He was stout without being fat, and simply dressed without much attention paid to fashion. His cravat was no more than a careless knot. Beside Robin, he looked like a provincial man of business — an attorney, perhaps, and could easily be mistaken for a prosperous farmer.

  “Ah, Mrs Price. Do come
in. I am Peter Kingsley.”

  Lucy curtsied respectfully.

  “Pray be seated, madam. May I offer you a glass of Madeira?” She agreed to it, and he poured with hands that shook very slightly. “Dalton, may I refresh your glass? No? I shall have a little more myself.”

  He poured himself a good measure and drank half of it before resuming his seat on the far side of an ornately carved desk. Lucy felt as if she were being interviewed, which, she supposed, was no more than the truth.

  “Mrs Price,” he began, “let me come straight to the point. I had supposed, when your uncle first apprised us of your existence, that you were a lady of mature years, well beyond the frivolities of youth. Dalton informs me that you are no more than two and twenty — the same age as my wife, madam, and only four years older than my daughters! I do not doubt your good qualities, but I cannot think you a person capable of instilling proper behaviour into my two daughters. They are at a trying age, as you will appreciate, and require the firm hand of experience to guide them. Would you not agree?”

  Such presumption! His wife, presumably, was regarded as perfectly suitable to chaperon the girls, but Lucy, of the same age and equally married, was not. Insufferable impertinence! Lucy lifted her chin. “You wish me, sir, to commend myself to you by some recitation of my qualifications for the role of chaperon to your daughters. In this I cannot oblige you. I am a married woman, and therefore to most of society perfectly placed to fulfil that role. You alone must decide whether your own standards differ from those of society at large.”

  He glared at her in silence, frowning. She sipped her Madeira, hoping her hands were not shaking. Beside her, Robin said nothing, but he uncrossed and then recrossed his elegantly trousered legs.

  “You are very forthright, young woman.” Now he glared at Robin. “You did not tell me that she was quite so opinionated, Dalton.”

  Robin brushed an imaginary speck of dirt from one sleeve. “If Mrs Price is forthright with you, Kingsley, you may be very sure she will take no nonsense from your daughters’ suitors.”

  Mr Kingsley gave a bark of laughter. “That is true enough! But two and twenty! So young to have charge of my two chicks.”

  “I am the same age as Mrs Kingsley,” Lucy said.

  “Yes, but—” he began, then stopped abruptly.

  Lucy could almost see him wavering. “You do not know me, sir, so it is natural to feel some qualms about my suitability. So why do you not accompany us to one or two engagements, then you may judge me for yourself?”

  “What, go to balls and whatnot? Whatever would I do at a ball?”

  “Why, talk to those of your acquaintance who also attend, drink and play cards, as gentlemen do who have no inclination for the dance,” she said, smiling. “I am told there is a great deal of pleasure to be had at a ball, even for gentlemen. Is it not so, Mr Dalton?”

  “Indeed it is. In the highest levels of society, it is very commonplace for a gentleman to accompany his wife and daughters to such occasions. Indeed, it is regarded as the mark of the true gentleman to do so.”

  “Is it so indeed? The highest levels of society, eh?”

  “Oh, certainly. Why, at Carlton House last season there were at least as many gentlemen as ladies. I counted seven dukes, and almost as many marquesses, quite apart from the princes.”

  “Well… perhaps I might consider it…”

  “Excellent!” Lucy said. “There is a ball on Friday, I understand. The Extons.”

  “Friday,” Mr Kingsley said faintly. “Oh dear.”

  ~~~~~

  When Lucy, Margaret and Robin entered the grand saloon at the appointed hour before dinner, it was already crowded with people. Lucy wondered at so many willing to take their pot luck with the Kingsleys, until it occurred to her that Mrs Kingsley’s idea of pot luck may not be quite the same as her own. At Woodside, a guest taking pot luck would see only one course and no joint of meat to be carved.

  Mrs Kingsley held court in the centre of the saloon, seated in a large gilt chair with a footstool, her daughters to either side of her. Around them were gathered a number of ladies and several young men. Mr Kingsley likewise had a cluster of older men around him, listening intently as he held forth on some subject or other.

  Lucy followed Robin as he made his way across the room to bow to Mrs Kingsley and be introduced to the other guests. She caught the name Exton, seeing a pleasant woman of middle years, comfortably attired in a round gown. There was a Mr Exton, too, a young man of no more than five and twenty. Then the Cherry family, featuring another young man, and the three Miss Watfords, spinsters older than Mrs Exton. Lucy curtsied and smiled and curtsied again, and sat down to listen to the usual tedious remarks — how tragic to be widowed so young, and how long had she been married, and had she any children, and how sad to now mourn her father as well. Lucy had no trouble deflecting these platitudes with more platitudes of her own — her husband had lived a full and active life and would not wish to be mourned, she had been married for three years, no, she had not been blessed with any children and yes indeed, her father’s death was a sad event.

  Margaret had no such facility in company. She sat, shaking, so close to Lucy that they were touching, and only Lucy knew how much effort it cost her to answer questions put to her with three or four words. She envied Robin, who could make his polite greetings and was not thought odd when he made his excuses and drifted away to join the men. New acquaintances were so awkward, and a large group like this the worst of all, where everyone else knew each other intimately, making the newcomers the focus of all conversation.

  Once they went in to dinner, it was easier. Margaret, her eyes wide with fear, was swept away by one of the young men, while Lucy was escorted into the dining room by a sprightly older gentleman with a roguish glint in his eye, Sir Giles Mathom, who promised to be a lively dining companion. On her other side, she had one of the Miss Watfords, a solid and sour-faced woman of indeterminate age. She wore a spinster’s cap over hair not yet grey, but whether she was thirty or forty or fifty was impossible to guess.

  “You will not be in mourning long, I dare say, Mrs Price,” she began, even before the soup had been served. “Not for a father who left you destitute and obliged to earn your own bread. No one would expect it of you. Clearly your husband left you ill provided for, also. You will be in half mourning soon and looking about you for another husband. This is an ideal position for the purpose, since you will be mixing with quite the best society. The Kingsleys know everybody.”

  “I am not looking for another husband,” Lucy put in quickly.

  “Hmm. Everyone says that, but no one ever means it. Of course you want another husband. Once a woman has sampled the delights of the marriage bed, she is never again content outside the wedded state. My poor cousin Millicent became quite a lunatic after she was widowed, and had to be quite locked away, for the safety of the men in the neighbourhood. A bad business that was. So of course you must marry again, a young woman like yourself, and although you are not so pretty as your sister, you have a certain air about you that men like, I fancy.”

  “I thank you for the compliment, but I assure you I have no thought of matrimony at present,” Lucy said, although blushing at the impropriety of such a subject on the lips of a spinster. Even allowing for Miss Watford’s age, it was highly irregular.

  “Hmpf,” Miss Watford said, undeterred. “Now, Sir Giles there might suit you. Very spry, considering. Energetic enough to be a satisfactory husband, if you take my meaning, but old enough that he will not be around for ever. And wealthy, of course, for that is the most important consideration, is it not? I could have married a dozen times over if I had been less particular as to wealth.”

  Since Lucy could not but disagree with her violently, she with difficulty held her tongue on the subject and tried to divert Miss Watford by complimenting the array of dishes spread out on the table, which was about as far from the expected pot luck as it was possible to be. When this did not answer,
she was happy to turn to Sir Giles, whose flirting might offer some amusement, and not raise her temper.

  For a while they chatted very amicably, he offering ever more outrageous compliments and she paying him the sort of attention that a man of his age rarely received from a woman of two and twenty, as she was very well aware. She liked an older man of that type, who relished youthful company, yet was quite safe to flirt with. She made him feel young and handsome and manly, and he made her feel attractive and desirable. They could part at the end of the evening with a smile, both improved in spirits, yet with hearts untouched, and what could be objectionable in such a scheme?

  When the ladies withdrew, Lucy found herself unable to avoid the company of the matrons, Mrs Kingsley, Mrs Cherry and Mrs Exton. Her heart sank, for they would undoubtedly be talking about the trials of motherhood, a subject on which she could contribute nothing, and she would always rather be talking than listening. She looked longingly towards Margaret, who was sitting, transfixed, between the two Miss Kingsleys. That would have been a more interesting position!

  But the matrons surprised her, for their conversation centred at first on Mrs Exton’s cousins, who had recently gone to live in America and had written at great length of the charms of that country. This interested Lucy greatly, for she had never before heard of anyone who had gone there. She had imagined it a wild, untamed land, but it all sounded remarkably normal, with balls and all manner of entertainments. There was even a theatre planned, and what could be more civilised that that?

  But inevitably the ladies moved on to the subject of the sons of Mrs Cherry and Mrs Exton, who were presently, it seemed, moons orbiting about the twin planets of Deirdre and Winifred Kingsley.

  “Mr Exton does not wish it at all,” Mrs Exton said, “for he thinks David far too young for matrimony, but for myself I will not withhold my blessing if he sets his heart on one of the two. Although I must tell you, Augusta, that I do nothing to encourage the boy, nothing at all. I would never act against my husband in that way. But it would be a good match, on both sides.”