She shivered, then jumped up and walked briskly back the way she had come, past the narrow track from the rotunda and on in a long curve. The track was obviously well-used, and she saw no other paths to either side. Before long she came to the house she had observed before, nestling in the trees as if trying to hide itself, a couple of chimneys smoking. A dower house, she supposed. But there was no dowager to be accommodated, so who lived there?
The path she was on led straight past a well-tended vegetable plot with a neat row of bee hives to a yard at the side of the house, where a wide porch protected a meat safe. The shutters were open, and a few windows too, but the kitchen door was closed and no one was in sight.
Lucy could not avoid walking past the house, for there were no other paths through the woods, so she boldly made her way to the yard and thence along a paved path to the front of the house. There were no fences or hedges surrounding the house, so she stepped straight onto the lawn and made her way back to the main house without seeing a soul.
Curiosity was burning her up, so at breakfast, as her uncle and aunt ate in desultory fashion, she decided to address the issue at once.
“I had a delightful walk this morning, all around the gardens,” she began, in a cheerful tone. “I woke early and the air was so fresh after the rain that I could not bear to sit still, so I explored the woods a little. I found a very pretty little rotunda, but such a shame it is quite hidden away, for I should not have known it was there had I not happened to walk that way. But such a surprise, to see it deep in the woods, all surrounded by trees in that way. So mysterious! Oh, and I found a little burial ground, with tiny wooden crosses to mark each grave. So sad! I sat for a while, contemplating those unknown lives, so tragically cut short. But then I realised that it would be the dogs, of course! I have not seen any dogs here yet, but I am sure there must be some, if only to keep down the rats in the stables. How charming, to have a proper burial for a dog! I had not realised you were so sentimental, uncle, aunt. And then I came past a very pretty little house just at the edge of the woods, and someone is in residence, for the vegetables are very well tended. Who is it who lives there?”
Lucy had long ago discovered that her artless chatter deflected any suspicion of serious intent, and while she rattled on and appeared to be engrossed in buttering some toast, she could covertly watch her aunt and uncle to see what they reacted to, and in what degree. Her aunt gave a little squeak of alarm as soon as the woods were mentioned, and sat unmoving, her cheeks pink. Her uncle suspended his slice of cake in mid-air, but then, with forced casualness, continued to eat until she asked her question. He chewed thoughtfully, watching her.
“Just some of the servants,” he said at length. “Retired servants, given a house of their own to live in. The dogs were theirs.”
“Goodness!” Lucy said, reaching for some strawberry jam. “That is a fine house for servants. How generous you are, uncle.”
“You should not go through those woods again, Lucy. The farmer leaves traps and snares about, and I should not wish you to encounter one.”
“Oh dear! Traps! No indeed, I should not wish to encounter one of those. Thank you for your advice, uncle.”
But she was careful to make no promise not to walk through the woods again. In fact, his words made her even more determined to investigate further.
“I shall call upon Kingsley this morning, Lucy, to see if we might not resolve this business and get you sent back to the Priory. Failing that, I shall be obliged to write to Dalton and ask him to remove you.”
“Of course, uncle,” Lucy said demurely. “I shall write to my brother-in-law, also, to explain the circumstances, for it might embarrass you. I am very sorry to be such a trouble to you.”
“So you should be,” he grunted, glowering at her through lowered brows.
After breakfast, Lucy retreated to the morning room with her work basket and a bonnet to refurbish, while Uncle Arthur went off in the carriage to the Priory, and Aunt Laurel disappeared to the schoolroom. It promised to be a long, boring day, but almost immediately it improved beyond measure, when Mr Audley was announced.
Lucy leapt to her feet with a wide smile. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you, Mr Audley. Everyone has gone away and left me all alone, and nothing is so dull as one’s own company, is it? How are you? And how is everyone at the Priory? Oh — there is nothing wrong, is there? Augusta—?”
“Nothing in the world wrong, except that your company is sorely missed,” he said, his eyes alight with such fire that Lucy, despite herself, blushed and lowered her eyes. He went on, “Gussie complains constantly that she cannot manage without you, and Deirdre and Winifred whine as only young ladies of eighteen deprived of a ball can whine.”
“Oh dear — the assembly! Is there no one else who could chaperon them?”
“No one who is trusted, as you are. Or were,” he added, grinning mischievously. “You know what Kingsley is like, for so few families meet his exacting standards. You will be back at the Priory before the assembly, I wager. But tell me of yourself, Mrs Price. How are you liking it here?”
So she told him of her dull evening, and then, of her early morning excursion. Even though they were alone, she lowered her voice so that he was obliged to lean closer to her, which was more distracting that it ought to be. When he spoke, she watched his lips and thought of how he had employed them yesterday, without words but oh so effectively. When she made some reply, she could barely think of her words. She wanted nothing more than to—
He tipped his head to one side in puzzlement. “Mrs Price?”
“I beg your pardon,” she said, blushing furiously. “I have forgot what I was saying.”
He laughed, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Ah, perhaps you are remembering our last meeting, when we were more agreeably occupied than talking about buried dogs.”
“It is not easy to forget such a thing,” she said, venturing a smile.
“Quite impossible,” he said, and he looked at her with such meaning that she lowered her eyes again. Good heavens, the effect this man had on her! “Lucy, I am very sorry to be the means of getting you into trouble with Kingsley.”
“Oh, do not be sorry!” she cried. “I am not in the least, I assure you, and I would do the same again in a moment if I could.”
His face shone with delight. “You are adorable!”
Anger burned through her with such fury that she could hardly breathe. “Oh, you must not say such things to me!” She jumped to her feet and strode across the room to the furthest corner, as if she could escape him by squeezing into the gap between a sideboard and a bookcase.
His face melted into confusion. He rose to his feet, but stood uncertainly by his chair. “Why not, if it is true? I am not flirting with you, Lucy. You know my intentions are honourable.”
“It is all nonsense, you must know that.”
She could see the hurt on his face, but that could not be helped. Marriage was out of the question, why could he not see it? If he would only stop teasing her! He was a charming friend, and if he would just treat her as one and not insult her with his foolish flummery, they would get along just fine.
“Lucy,” he began, but the sentiment was destined to be left unexpressed, for the door opened and Aunt Laurel flew into the room.
“Really, Leo, what are you about, to be coming here and plaguing Lucy like this? It is too bad of you, but you never did have any sense where women were concerned. Go away! Shoo! You are not wanted here.”
Again, there was nothing but pain in his face, the outer carapace of smooth charm washed away until all that remained was a rawness that made Lucy’s heart lurch.
“Forgive me,” he said, his voice unsteady, although it was not clear whether he spoke to Lucy or Laurel, for he lowered his eyes, gazing at the floor like a reprimanded child. “I… I brought these letters for you, Mrs Price. From your sisters. I thought… you would wish to have them today. Goodbye.”
He laid two letters on a
small table, then turned and swiftly left the room.
Lucy could not move. She stood motionless, her breath rasping, willing her heart to slow its juddering haste.
Aunt Laurel stared at her suspiciously. “What happened? Was he offensive towards you?”
“Not in the least. He was kind.” Then she almost ran across the room, scooped up her letters and fled for the sanctuary of her bedroom, where she wept for fully half an hour, and could not say why.
~~~~~
Leo stumbled out of the house and began the walk back to the Priory. He was hailed by two or three acquaintances as he passed through the town, but although he responded politely, he had no knowledge of what was said. He could think only of Lucy.
Just when he had begun to feel he was making progress with her, she turned him away again. Yesterday she had kissed him with such passion! It had stupefied him so much that he had been quite unable to say a word, leaving Lucy to bear the brunt of Kingsley’s displeasure. They had all gone away, leaving him sitting, stunned but delirious with happiness, on the bench in the herb garden. He thought he would never again be able to hear the lazy buzz of bees or catch the scent of lavender without thinking of her. His Lucy. His adored and wonderful Lucy.
Then, this morning she had greeted him with smiles and blushes, sending his spirits soaring to the clouds. She had as good as said that she wanted to kiss him again. Darling Lucy! But when he had made some happy remark, she had stormed away, rejecting him in the most violent manner. What had he even said? Something innocuous… that she was adorable, that was it. And she was, she was! It was as true as anything could be. Yet she would not have it, and now he was cast down again and could not see how he was ever to be happy again. And he had not the least notion why.
When he reached the Priory, there were raised voices emanating from the morning room, so he made haste for the stairs. On the landing, he found Tom lurking.
“Wherever have you been, Leo? You should have been at breakfast, for you missed a deal of fun, I can tell you. First there was a row about money, for Miss Kingsley does not have enough of it, and was attempting to wheedle more from her papa, and he would not have it. He is surprisingly cheeseparing about certain matters, when he must be full of juice. And he would not permit them to apply to you, either. That is very harsh, is it not?”
Leo frowned. “Miss Kingsley has spent all of her allowance? She never seems to spend much. When I have taken them into town it is always Winifred who has coins in her purse to spend.”
“Miss Winifred is just a better manager, I suppose, for she said that she had no need of more, and then the sisters fell to quarrelling, you know how they do. And then Tilford was here, and Kingsley was shouting at him. Then that Exton fellow was here again about Miss Kingsley, and was turned away again, and that set all the ladies off, and Kingsley is berating all of them, so I came up here to keep out of the way. I have to say that this house is becoming a most uncomfortable place for non-combatants. But I say, Leo, you look dreadful. Whatever is amiss?”
“Lucy.”
“Ah. May be time to give up on it, then. A change of scene, perhaps? Durbury would be happy to see us at Ballinton, and the fishing is always good there, to say nothing of the Miss Durburys. Or we could go to Brighton, if you want to be lively.”
“I have a better idea,” Leo said. “I shall go to Stoneleigh and see about the renovations there. You are welcome to join me. It is no more than ten miles away, but… it will be better for my peace of mind, I believe.”
“And for mine also,” Tom said. “Miss Winifred is beginning to occupy my thoughts rather more than is good for me, I fancy. Stoneleigh it is, then.”
22: Bread Pudding (July)
‘Dear Lucy, I am disappointed to hear that you have had some disagreement with Mr Kingsley and have felt obliged to leave his house. It will give him a very poor opinion of the family, and will reflect badly on Uncle Arthur and Aunt Laurel too. You really should think more carefully before speaking your mind, sister. A little discretion goes a long way, and you might have remembered that you are a paid employee and have no other income before you provoked a breach. Do see if you can effect a reconciliation. Yours, Rosamund.’
~~~~~
JULY
For several days Lucy behaved herself. Uncle Arthur returned in high temper, Mr Kingsley having refused to yield to his entreaties to take Lucy back.
“I shall write at once to your brother-in-law, Lucy, desiring him to take you away,” he said, glowering at her.
“Of course, uncle,” she said meekly, and then went at once to her room to write a letter of her own to Rosamund, explaining all that had happened, and her expectation that her services would be required again for the next ball, and imploring that Robin would not rush to collect her.
Of Mr Audley’s proposal, his foolishness that morning and the intense way he looked at her that turned her inside out, she said nothing at all. Rosamund was sensible and would not make too much of a kiss. Fanny, on the other hand, would be in raptures if she heard of it, and if she knew he had proposed, she would be half way to Shropshire already to cry at the wedding. Best if Fanny knew nothing of it.
Lucy rather wished she knew nothing of it herself. Her shameful behaviour at Stoneleigh was hard to forgive and impossible to forget, but that was as nothing against the memory of that kiss, so astonishingly thrilling. To be so close to a man, so entwined with him that she could feel his heart throbbing against her, the solidity of his leg next to hers, the firm pressure of his hand at her back. She could quite understand why such encounters were forbidden to young ladies who might be carried away by the excitement. Lucy had not been carried away, but she could not quite get the memory of it out of her head, either.
As a result, she was rather subdued for some days, and made a point of behaving with uncharacteristic meekness. She spent her days in the morning room, mostly alone, walked only in the gardens close to the house, and eagerly ran whatever errands her aunt required of her.
One such errand took her into the town, and as she returned she spied the Tilford children playing in the garden. The sight made her smile, and she stepped aside off the drive to hide behind an overgrown shrub, from which vantage point she could watch without disturbing the children. The two eldest girls, the one with fiery red hair, the other with a head as black as night, were playing the game of graces with some elegance. Two younger girls were trying to emulate them. Two boys played battledore and shuttlecock, while the younger children sat beside the two nurses sitting under a tree playing bilbocatch, or else ran around squealing.
Lucy was seized with such longing for her own sisters that a tear found its way down her cheeks. Such happy times they had had, playing in the garden in just this way, Fanny and Lucy always involved in some game, while Margaret watched silently. Annabelle and Jeremy always had their books open, of course, and Rosamund — dear, motherly Rosamund — picked them up when they fell, and chided them when they misbehaved, and smiled at their childishness.
Now they were all scattered about. Rosamund was married with children of her own, Annabelle was teaching an earl’s daughters, Fanny was a lowly seamstress and Margaret— who knew what Margaret was up to, now that Aunt Letty was dead, for no word had been heard. And Jeremy, he of the floppy hair and laughing eyes, was at the bottom of the sea. There was a boy of much his age in the Tilford family, although scrawnier and less handsome than Jeremy.
Lucy wiped away a tear, and the movement must have attracted the attention of the red-haired older girl, for she dropped her hoop and sticks and said something to the others. With sly glances towards Lucy’s hiding place, they gathered up their toys, and the nurses quickly ushered them away out of sight.
There was no point trying to follow them, so Lucy went inside to find Aunt Laurel and give her the cloves and mace she had bought in town. She was not to be found, but the spices would perhaps be wanted in the kitchen, so Lucy made her way through the servants’ door and down the stairs. The warmth dre
w her to the kitchen, where she found Aunt Laurel deep in conversation with Mrs Combermere, while two kitchen maids chopped and sliced and stirred.
“Good morning! I have brought the spices you asked for, Aunt Laurel,” Lucy said cheerfully. “Are you making a spiced pudding for our dinner, Mrs Combermere?”
Aunt Laurel gasped, hand to mouth, but Mrs Combermere turned to Lucy with a smile and a deep curtsy. “Why, that is kind of you, Mrs Price. Yes, I plan to make a bread pudding.”
“Excellent,” Lucy said. “I hope you will make it with lots of currants, for there is nothing like fruit to set off a pudding, is there?”
“I could not agree more, madam,” Mrs Combermere said, laughing. “There will be trifle and syllabub, too, and some pyramid creams if there is time. Mr Tilford is very fond of my creams.”
“As am I,” Lucy said. “May I help? There is nothing I enjoy more than putting on an apron and making jellies. Or cakes, if you wish. I have a good stirring arm, and my cooking is far superior to my needlework.”
Aunt Laurel gave a squeak of alarm, but Mrs Combermere said, “Now, there is a kind offer. Jane, fetch a clean apron for Mrs Price, and show her where we keep everything she will need for the pyramid creams.” Then to Aunt Laurel, she said, “There now, madam, there is nothing amiss in a guest helping out in the kitchen if she likes to, although I know it offends your sense of propriety. Mrs Price and I will get along just fine, and I shall be sure to send her back upstairs if she gets underfoot, or if there are callers. Better here than sitting all alone in that morning room. Go on, time you were back in the schoolroom.”
White-faced and silent, Aunt Laurel turned and slowly made her way back up the stairs, but as Lucy put on her apron, she wondered greatly at a cook who spoke so to her employer. She noticed, too, that Mrs Combermere sounded like a lady, and not at all like any other cook Lucy knew. Another little oddity about West End House.
But now Lucy was in the kitchen with the intriguing Mrs Combermere, who had known her face and her name when they met in the town, the same Mrs Combermere Uncle Arthur and Aunt Laurel seemed not to want her to talk to. The opportunity was too good to miss. So as she poured and stirred and mixed, Lucy chatted in what she hoped was a guileless way about this and that.
The Chaperon (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 2) Page 21