This letter had the effect of freezing Clarissa when it was delivered at breakfast that morning. She had been looking at her best again, with her hair dressed by the talented Becky and wearing a black muslin gown cut low at the bosom and kept decent by a gauze kerchief tucked into the bodice. Miss Micklethwaite’s face rarely lost its grim expression but she was well satisfied with the bloom that a busy and useful life had put onto Clarissa’s face and was now shocked to see her face turn pale as she clutched her letter.
Miss Appleby noticed too and flustered, ‘My dear girl, whatever is the matter?’
Clarissa looked distracted and upon Miss Micklethwaite’s blunt interjection, ‘That brother of yours.’ she merely held out the letter for her to read. This Miss Micklethwaite did with deliberation, a darker than ever look upon her face. She grasped Clarissa’s hand firmly; ‘A month is a long time, my dear. Look what we have already achieved.’
Clarissa searched her face for reassurance, but her heart was heavy. These last days when all the ladies worked and laughed together, the plans they had still to realize had become as dear to her as anything she had ever known. It had salved the grief of her parents’ death and she was moreover sure that they would be proud of her. Her mother, influenced by the words of Mary Wollstonecraft, had seen women’s independence as a right and had despised the selling of women into the career of marriage even where there was no equality of intelligence or values.
Somewhere, though, Clarissa had been expecting this. Women’s freedom was not always won even by money. It could all be taken away, even now.
‘Oh dear,’ said Miss Appleby, despairingly, as she read the letter, ‘We are undone. If only you had a husband to protect you, my dear girl.’
‘Louisa.’ rebuked Miss Micklethwaite. But it was too late; Clarissa had run from the room.
Augusta Micklethwaite was a strong woman but she did not underestimate how weak that was when faced by the power of the male establishment. She had previously had employment in a school run by a deserted wife, in order to support her family which had nevertheless had to close when the husband had insisted that it was an insult to him as a gentleman. That his destitute family was not a worse insult was something that Augusta could not understand or forgive. She still sent her late mistress what money she could spare.
Now, she thought that little as she liked to ask for his help, she needed her brother’s advice for Clarissa. He was a fair man and what help he could render he would. Had it not been for his foolish marriage to the merchant’s petted daughter, Augusta might have accepted his offer of a home before now. As it was, Augusta’s tongue and Clara’s false airs did not mix. She wrote to her brother, but she was not hopeful. As her male next of kin, John might claim guardianship of his sister and then he could do as he chose. Clarissa’s age was against her.
All of this she confided to Oriana as she awaited Clarissa in the green room after breakfast. Oriana was wearing her navy velvet riding habit whose severe lines she had chosen for their plainness. Her hair was simply looped as usual and her mannish hat was adorned only with a muslin veil, which could be drawn across her face to shield her from insects. Her attempts to disguise her charms were wasted. The high-necked velvet robe was a beautiful frame for her face and figure. Augusta was quite as concerned for her as for Clarissa. She was a creature made for passionate love, but one who might yet be sold in marriage to an inferior man or live a life of drudgery to avoid the unwanted attention she must forever excite. Yet where could there be an equal to this fabulous creature? Only a man with intelligence and passion to match her own. Miss Micklethwaite thought poorly of the male sex and could not think of a specimen of it that would be equal to the task.
Oriana was saying, ‘Poor Clarissa. I was hoping that her sister-in-law’s jealous humours might be enough to stop Mr Thorne pursuing her. We’ve all been living in a fool’s paradise. Just when we have the new income from the Dower House tenant. Three times the rent we were expecting, Mr Elfoy told me. Do you know who took it? Clarissa did not tell me.’
‘No, indeed, my dear. I fear Lady Staines’ visit discommoded her. Perhaps my brother can help. If we can at least delay, perhaps some worthy gentlemen might come along who supports her object here,’ said Miss Micklethwaite.
Oriana laughed ironically, ‘Waity, not you adjuring a good marriage as well as Appleby and the rest of the world.’
‘I work with the world as it is, my dear. I do not believe marriage to be the only rational pursuit for a woman, yet I do not despise the love and family life that a good marriage gives a woman. Elfoy is a fine young man with an obvious attraction for Clarissa, if he but had the connections to protect her - but it is not to be thought of.’
‘No indeed it would be just such a connection that her brother must fear and may even use his power to break…’
Sullivan announcing Mr Elfoy, coming as usual to ride with the ladies and look at the progress of their plans interrupted her.
He bowed over Miss Micklethwaite’s hand and then turned to Oriana, ‘Work has begun on draining the top field and I thought we might begin there today. It was a very good notion of yours, Miss Petersham. My attention was taken too much by the tenant’s troubles to notice the possibility. Muggins has organized the other farmers into a work party. He is a splendid fellow. I do not know where he gets his energy from.’
Oriana blushed at the compliment. ‘It is only that my father made a great deal of money by doing the same at my home. It improved the yields he said. We shall have to find a way to further reward Muggins.’
Mr Elfoy’s face took on a soft look. ‘He can be a difficult man, but Miss Thorne totally won him over. She is a remarkable young lady, do you not think?’
‘I have always thought so,’ said Miss Micklethwaite dampeningly. It would not do to encourage him. Mr Elfoy was aware of betraying himself and looked studiously at the carpet.
At this point Clarissa entered the room, still wearing her muslin dress, her eyes suspiciously pink. She wore a resolute expression, however and she said in an even tone, ‘Mr Elfoy, will you marry me?’
Chapter 8
Hearts and Tenants
There was a stunned silence then Miss Micklethwaite let out a sharp ‘Clarissa.’ in a tone that Clarissa had not heard since she had spilled ink carelessly in the schoolroom. Her heart had been beating fast since she had opened her mouth. It had seemed simple and easy to explain her thoughts to Mr Elfoy who had come to be her friend. She had kept her eyes on his face with a semblance of calm however and saw how stupidly she had been mistaken. His face flushed with humiliation, he looked like a man who had been offered an insult of the most grievous kind. Waity’s voice brought her to her senses—whatever her troubles, how could she expect this excellent young man to give up all hope of domestic happiness for financial gain? Her composure crumpled, ‘I -I’m so sorry.’ she cried as she ran from the room.
Mr Elfoy took up his hat from the side table, stiff as any marionette. ‘Excuse me ladies,’ he said punctiliously, ‘I must be going.’
Oriana grabbed at his arm ‘Please, dear Mr Elfoy. Let us explain. Clarissa is overset. It is all the fault of a letter we received this morning.’
‘Indeed sir,’ Miss Micklethwaite added, ‘You must hear us out.’
And so Mr Elfoy let himself be coaxed to sit down and recovered himself as the ladies explained about Thorne’s orders and Clarissa’s fear of being ousted from Ashcroft. He listened and felt his humiliation recede as his understanding grew- he began to feel pity for the ladies’ plight.
Presently he went and found Clarissa pulling leaves from a rosebush in a distracted way. She was in a little arbour near the house that had been rediscovered as the men had pulled apart the neglected brush around it. She looked at once so miserable and so beautiful that Mr Elfoy had to check the instincts of a man in love and take her into his arms. For such he was, as Clarissa’s question had shown him. He had hidden his true feelings even from himself until that moment when he
was offered what he could never have hoped for and at the same second realized that he could not take it. Now Clarissa sat, pulling at the silly leaves, her large eyes liquid with tears her head drooped disconsolately.
‘Miss Thorne.’ he said gently joining her on the arbour seat. Clarissa started and turned her face so that he might not see that she had been crying. She dashed away a tear from her cheek and said with her usual impulsiveness, ‘Oh, Mr Elfoy, I never meant to ... to ...’
‘Miss Petersham explained ...’
‘I am so sorry, Mr Elfoy, it is my stupid tongue that gets me into these awful scrapes. It is just that my only hope seems to be to marry - and we have become such good friends ... It is not that I wish to marry, though I have never met a gentleman I would rather…But I did not give thought to your feelings, except it would make you master of Ashcroft and I know how you love it and maybe you wouldn’t so much mind being married for that, but I should have known…’
With one hand Mr Elfoy took both of Clarissa’s (which were engaged in pulling apart a rose leaf as she had made her embarrassed speech) and with the other he turned her face towards his. Her eyes lowered but suddenly joined his clear good green eyes when he tilted her chin.
‘If I could help you by…’ Clarissa put up her hand to hush him, overcome with embarrassment, ‘…but I could not. I wish ... that is…it is not possible…’
The tears spilled over Clarissa’s eyes as she looked into his grave eyes, too spellbound to look away.
‘But it won’t do Clarissa,’ he said, unconsciously using her name, ‘Marriage to such as me is exactly the thing your brother would despise and just such a marriage as he could dissolve. You have done me the great honour to say you have not met another gentleman whom you would rather marry…’ he said gently while she blushed and uttered an inarticulate sound ‘…but your acquaintance is not large. Soon you will meet many gentlemen and you will find one to love who can offer you that equality of position that I cannot. We will speak no more of this. It would not serve for either of us.’
‘Yes, it was appalling of me. Please let us forget it,’ murmured Clarissa, with a semblance of calm returning. She raised her hand to his in a gesture of farewell and as he held it and stooped over it, she looked shyly at his face, trying for her old good humour. But her hand trembled at his touch; he flushed and moved away swiftly.
Clarissa sat, radiant and alive where she had sat so dejectedly before. He too had trembled and in a different way to that of a shy young man. She hardly dared to think why or the reason for her own beating heart. No doubt proximity to a young gentleman like Mr Elfoy was enough to overcome any young lady so untutored in the ways of the world as she. But the power of knowing that she had affected him.
‘For someone whose offer of marriage has just been refused, Clarissa, your spirits are bearing up well.’ she said to herself. Then she laughed a pure clear laugh that brought Miss Appleby running towards her.
‘I have just been trying to find you child. Why, whatever is so funny.’
‘Nothing Appleby, only, I’ve just had an offer of marriage refused.’ and she was led away by her concerned friend, unable to stop herself from smiling and quite unable to explain why.
Meanwhile, Tristram Elfoy was riding away in a turmoil of emotions, a state of affairs unusual for him. He was the only son of a devoted mother who had been brought up to esteem his noble heritage (his uncle was a baronet) and understand the realities of his position in the world. He had accompanied his cousin on a trip to Europe (sadly truncated due the troubles on the continent) and felt himself to be fortunate in his relatives, without the least bit of resentment at his lack of funds. He had taken the job of estate manager with the intention of supporting his mother more comfortably. Indeed, his annual wage provided a variety of comforts to his respectable cottage home. He was a good son, a hard worker and of temperate habits. He enjoyed his life and had henceforth dealt with the challenges of his life with cheerfulness, resolution and acuity; but though he liked himself well enough he knew that he had no right to dream of the mistress of Ashcroft. His heart was repelled by so uneven a match, for he would seek to take care of his wife not to be her pensioner. Yet here he was with the vision of Clarissa’s mouth burned into his soul and the fire of his love coursing around his veins in a way that his head was seeking to throttle unto death.
What is it about her that has me spellbound, he asked himself. Her face and manner, so impish and impulsive, so different from his own placidity; her gentle goodness in all her dealings, especially with those beneath her, her swift intelligence that met his equally, all these things had made her haunt his dreams.
‘Oh, Clarissa.’ he cried to the wind as he rode through Ashcroft park. He felt himself to be in the grip of a passion that burned with all the fire of his heart and that must as swiftly be quenched. ‘I must not think of her.’
Thus it was that he was unaware of the carriage coming through the gate of the park until he was hailed, ‘Mr Elfoy, well met.’ called The Honourable Charles Booth, ‘Hold up.’
Tristram pulled in his horse and touched his hand to his hat respectfully. ‘Gentlemen, can I be of assistance?’ He hoped that his flushed countenance and his beating heart were not apparent to Mr Booth and his noble companion, Lord Grandiston.
‘You said there will be stabling enough for the carriage horses and the hacks—give directions to my man will you?’
‘Certainly, sir. I've had the house made ready for you. I believe your valet took charge, My Lord, he arrived last night.’
Grandiston brushed his sleeve with a languid hand and said, ‘Yes, I know. I had to dress myself this morning. I wonder whether I dare meet his fastidious eye?’
Mr Elfoy found himself grinning appreciatively as his eye ran over Grandiston’s immaculate person, ‘I think you’re safe, sir.’
‘I should say so,’ said his companion, ‘Elegant as Bond Street Beau.’
‘Do you think so, Charles?’ said Lord Grandiston hopefully, ‘The height of my ambition. I’m sure we must all bow to your judgement. And yet….’ And he raised his quizzing glass to look balefully at Booth’s waistcoat. At his friend’s inarticulate objections, Grandiston turned his singularly sweet smile on Mr Elfoy; ‘You must ignore my young friend, sir. He is given to sartorial delusions of grandeur. We’ll see you in the park no doubt.’
Mr Elfoy directed the groom and then rode on, chuckling at the new Dower House residents. Mr Booth he thought of as a likeable young cub (although he was but a few years his junior.) but Grandiston was more difficult. He affected boredom and lethargy, but Elfoy saw the steel and energy behind the pose. Not a man to cross, his lordship, but he had warm, humorous eyes that showed no height of manner. A man born to command - but one who led with light reins.
‘An excellent fellow, Elfoy, don’t you think Hugo? I only wish my father’s agent were as efficient. He’s a doddery old fool; been around since doomsday, so we can’t fob him off.’
‘Isn’t it time you set about running Fenway yourself.’
Charles flushed but recovered his insouciance, ‘M’father thinks it inappropriate to accept the help of Bond Street wasters such as m’self, old fellow, so I keep well clear, except when my mama and sisters are at home.’
His lordship laid a delicate arm on the younger man’s shoulders, ‘Your father says a great deal more than he means, Charles. A libertine, yes - but not yet a waster.’
Mr Booth gave a crack of laughter, ‘Well, if you’re going to give me the name of libertine then I’d best get started. I hope the cellar is decent in this place.’
The coach had arrived at its destination. McIntosh, his lordship’s valet was awaiting the gentlemen on the steps. His eye travelled Grandiston’s person, but he did not shudder, a sign that bode well.
‘Mr Booth is inquiring about the claret, McIntosh. Is it tolerable?’ he drawled as he languidly mounted the stairs.
‘Unfortunately sir, the lady who was in residence here for many ye
ars was of an abstemious nature. She had everything but ratafia removed from the cellars, sir.’
The Honourable Charles stopped dead, ‘Ratafia. Good God, Grandiston. Why did you bring me to this god-forsaken place?’ he exclaimed in horror.
Macintosh’s dour Caledonian features lightened slightly, ‘I anticipated some discrepancies in the cellar, my lord, and brought an extra coach for the wine. I trust you have no objection to the extra expense, sir?’ he inquired of his master.
Charles cut in, ‘No, no, McIntosh. ‘He said expansively, ‘Think nothing of it.’
Chapter 9
Old Friends
The ladies were in the morning room after breakfast. Clarissa had slept like a baby and felt herself to be repressing a burst of happiness such as she had seldom known. All rational reflection of the difficulties that now confronted her could not extinguish the hope that lay beyond sense. Everything was possible, everything. None of the representations of logic that her more serious side put forward could cloud the joy of one thing. Mr Elfoy had trembled.
There had been no reference made to Clarissa’s absurd behaviour of last night – highly-strung nerves, thought Miss Appleby. The dearest girl had been through so much. She looked doubtfully at her this morning. Her hair was dressed in the new way that she had adopted, she wore the dove coloured muslin with an air, trimmed as it was with the fine white gauze fichu tucked into the low cut bodice and held with her mama’s round pearl circlet. Her eyes sparkled and her curls shone in a way that transformed the colour from mouse to dazzling melee of hues in blonde and chestnut. Why, if she had not been aware of the facts she would have thought Clarissa looked quite, well, happy. She could not forbear exclaiming, ‘Why Clarissa my dear, you look quite radiant today. I thought that the letter from your brother might bring you down.’
Clarissa and the Poor Relations Page 6