Clarissa and the Poor Relations

by Alicia Cameron

  ‘And are you so obedient to my father’s will?’ she asked, trembling, but bristling too.

  His strong arms snaked around her, turning her shoulders towards him. ‘No, my darling, but when I was away I could not forget my little fighting cock. I could never stop thinking of you Oriana.’ His face was serious now and he bent to kiss her and she found herself responding with a sudden heat. For just ten seconds they were locked together and his ardour frightened her. She jerked away and almost without her will delivered herself of a full strength slap on his face. He reeled then got to his feet, and pulled her back into his arms.

  ‘You firebrand! What was that for?’

  ‘How could you believe I ever agreed to that dreadful engagement?’

  ‘I only believed it for a moment. I assumed it was one of your hot-headed tricks to escape your brother and that you repented before too long.’ This was not the full truth, but Grandiston would not tell her of the doubts he had harboured for such a short time. As soon as he had met her again, he realised that not even her youth could have lowered her pride enough to bare such an engagement and he saw how Petersham had been at fault. For which he would, assuredly, pay.

  ‘No, my hot-headed trick was to answer an advert for a school mistress in Mrs Thorne’s School for Young Ladies.’ She sighed, relaxing against his shoulder. ‘Oh Grandiston, I love you most dreadfully.’

  ‘Well, don’t sound so miserable about it.’ He kissed her again.

  ‘It is just that you will seek to rule me just as much as Fitzroy and I couldn’t bear it.’

  Grandiston rubbed his jaw where she had slapped him. ‘I shall be much too afraid to do any such thing. I shall tremble whenever I see your eyes turn that fascinating colour and shall resort to answering each of your requests with ‘Certainly my love’ just as John Thorne does.’

  He had tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and was leading her towards the path, aware that lingering with a gentleman in the woods was not at all the thing for his lady’s reputation. They had a little way to go and Oriana looked up at him shyly, quite unlike herself. ‘Are we engaged then?’ She blushed – this was not a permissible question.

  Grandiston laughed. ‘I should hope so. I have your engagement gift at home. Bought it in Biddulf’s before I arrived.’

  Oriana recognised the name of a smart London jeweller. ‘You have meant to propose since before you arrived?’ She stopped dead, her eyes a blue storm once more.

  Grandiston gave a crack of laughter. ‘I should think you would be pleased at my constancy sweetheart.’

  She pulled away. ‘Don’t you “sweetheart” me, Grandiston. When I think how you have played hot and cold with me all this time …’

  He pulled her once more into his arms and she gave weak resistance. ‘I wanted to be as sure of you as I was of myself, darling, darling girl. And I must admit, when I saw the way you froze all those others, I was too afraid. They walked away wounded to a man.’

  She hit at him with her small fists, but she was too happy to resist his laughter. ‘Oh my love …’ They were in sight of the front of the house now. Grandiston denied her the kiss she leaned in for and tucked her hand in her arm again, whilst a large coach came bowling along the drive at fast pace dashing past them.

  ‘What the devil?’

  ‘Whose coach was that?’

  They picked up their pace and hurried to the house.

  In the distance another vehicle, the vicar’s pony and trap, was sedately going towards the house, whilst three gentlemen on horseback passed it, going in the same direction.

  Oriana turned, seeing the horsemen in the distance. ‘Oh Grandiston, where on earth can I hide?’

  He held her elbow. ‘Oh, no you don’t. Remember Clarissa. I have a suspicion that this farce is coming to an end quite soon.’

  Oriana sighed. ‘Clarissa. Of course. But don’t look at me Hugo, or I fear I shall not be able to disguise how happy I am.’ She turned back towards the house and entered the Hall to find an unusual number of persons gathered there.

  Chapter 20

  The Denoument

  Clarissa had entered the Great Hall with her guest and visitor. Elfoy said, ‘I must speak to you.’

  ‘Certainly, in a moment. Mr Micklethwaite, this is my agent, Mr Elfoy.’ The gentlemen exchanged slight bows. ‘Sullivan, could you tell Miss Micklethwaite that her brother has arrived?’

  Sullivan bowed, but said in an under-voice, ‘I believe Mr Elfoy is here on an urgent matter.’

  The doorbell rang and Clarissa turned to Elfoy after an apologetic look at Micklethwaite who gestured his patience.

  ‘Is she still here?’ he asked in a lowered voice.

  ‘Who on earth …?’

  ‘Hasn’t Sullivan told you?’

  ‘I’ve been out.’ She was distracted by the sight of a wheezing Sir Montague Holmes entering the house on the arm of an attendant.

  ‘Has she gone?’ coughed the baronet.

  ‘We don’t yet know.’

  Clarissa was beginning to guess. ‘Appleby? Oh, no. Sullivan …’

  ‘Miss Appleby left in a gig from the village a half hour ago. I tried to tell you before your ride that the gig had been summoned.’ Sullivan coughed discreetly.

  A loud voice from the direction of the kitchen stairs interrupted. ‘Clarissa, I must insist that you dispatch this woman from your service. She has been insolent in the extreme. Never have I …’ Cornelia came into view marching indignantly, followed by Mrs Smith, Becca, and two of the village girls who worked in the kitchens. This cortege stopped when Cornelia did. Discomfited to see she the visitors, she drew breath to greet them. Mrs Smith seized her advantage and swept past her towards her mistress.

  Had she had leisure to notice, Clarissa would have seen that Mrs Smith, every bit as stiff and upright with indignation as Cornelia, was looking the healthiest she had been for a long time. Rage had put colour in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye. ‘I hope you know, Miss Clarissa, that I have not been insolent to my betters once in my career. I only informed Miss Thorne that I was not about to surrender the key to the silver cabinet to any but my mistress.’

  Clarissa’s head was reeling and she could only think of dear Appleby, but she must clear the servants away first.

  ‘I understand, Mrs Smith; not now if you please, we’ll sort this out later.’

  ‘Yes – take yourself off,’ ordered Cornelia, recovering herself.

  ‘What’s the commotion?’ Charles, Juliana and the Sowersbys came out of the breakfast room at the same time as Grandiston pushed open the front door and entered with Oriana.

  Clarissa went towards her. ‘Appleby’s gone.’

  Oriana met her and grasped her shaking hands, ‘But how, why?’

  Sir Montague grabbed onto Grandiston’s arm. ‘She sent me a letter. Thought I might catch her …’

  The Earl pulled forward a chair. ‘Calm yourself, sir. Sit.’

  ‘Damned legs!’ said the baronet, and stretched them out. He looked up at Grandiston, ‘I should have spoken more clearly to her.’ The other man’s hand grasped his shoulder.

  Meanwhile Mr Elfoy was pacing. ‘The poor lady - I knew of her plans before but I persuaded her to delay until after the Ball. I didn’t think she’d leave the day after.’

  ‘Why did you not tell me?’ said Clarissa. ‘Oh, let me think … why would she?’

  ‘Because,’ said the stentorian voice of Miss Micklethwaite descending the staircase, clutching a note, ‘Mrs Thorne told her to go.’

  John Thorne, attracted by the sounds, like Booth and company, followed her down the stair and overtook her to stand beside his wife and grasp her shoulder comfortingly. ‘You have no right to accuse my wife of such a thing,’ he said courageously, looking up at his childhood bête noir, ‘I will not stand by and …’

  Lord Grandiston interrupted. ‘Sullivan, who ordered the carriage to take Miss Appleby to the stagecoach?’

  Sullivan, who had been directing the ki
tchen boy to make himself useful and take Mr Micklethwaite’s bags up the back stairs, said passionlessly, ‘Mrs Thorne, your Lordship.’

  Mrs Thorne found all eyes upon her whist her husband said, ‘But Miss Appleby …’

  Cornelia’s cheeks were a little flushed, but she turned towards her husband. ‘We were agreed that these poor relations could not batten on our dear sister forever.’

  John looked genuinely shocked. ‘Well, yes. But she would have left when Clarissa came home with us – not alone.’

  His wife turned to address the others. ‘I have nothing to reproach myself with - Miss Appleby saw that it would be wrong to stay here any longer, sponging off Clarissa.’

  Mr.Elfoy could stand it no longer. ‘If you had any idea what Miss Appleby has done for Ashcroft; what all the ladies have done. Her organisation of the glasshouses alone will help feed the house and many others too. She has helped Miss Thorne tend the sick on the estate, organise the house, set the linen to rights, train the servants, and work out the finer rules of etiquette for dealing with so many. And more than that, she has helped the best landlord this estate has had in many years adjust to her life as the lady of the manor, and did this all simply out of her affectionate heart.’

  Clarissa’s placed a hand on her chest which swelled with pride. Mr.Elfoy stood facing Cornelia across the hall, his curly locks falling over one eye.

  ‘That’s telling her!’ said Booth in a stage whisper to his party. Mrs Thorne winced.

  Clarissa moved forward to grasp Mr Elfoy’s hands passionately. ‘Could you not go after the stage - might we catch her still?’

  Elfoy grasped her hands and looked passionately down at her, ‘I only delayed in case she should still be here …’

  ‘That’s it boy,’ Lord Montague encouraged from his seat behind, ‘get going.’

  At the same moment Thorne’s outraged voice rang out. ‘Clarissa. How dare you?’

  The couple sprang apart. The doorbell rang.

  ‘Sullivan, deny us.’

  Reflecting that they had better move out of the Hall if they wished to be denied, Sullivan opened the door a little then said with undiminished solemnity, ‘The ladies are not at home.’ The gentlemen left their cards, although Clarissa heard Sir Piers voice sounding a little put out.

  ‘Perhaps we are too early. We shall call later.’

  ‘As you wish sir.’

  The sound of the gentlemen departed, and the crowd in the Hall breathed as one. Before they could resume talking, the door sounded again and Sullivan opened it a little, then pulled it back. In walked Mr Elfoy’s mother supporting a distressed Miss Appleby, who seemed to be having the vapours.

  Clarissa ran forward and threw her arms around her friend, ‘Darling Appleby.’ The rest of the ladies were hardly a beat behind her and Miss Appleby was hidden in the throng.

  Mrs Elfoy moved towards her son, smiling. ‘The landlord at the inn sent for me since Miss Appleby was in rather a state. She had been crying ever since she got in the gig apparently, and when she reached the inn she was in so much overcome that the stagecoach driver would not consent to sell her a ticket. I resolved to bring her home.’

  Sir Montague struggled to his feet, ‘Dear lady,’ he said, regarding Miss Appleby, his handkerchief dabbing at his eyes, ‘dear lady.’

  The calm voice of Mrs Sowersby, still standing with her family by the door of the blue salon intoned, ‘Now that Miss Appleby is found, would it not be better to retire to somewhere a little more comfortable to continue this?’

  But Cornelia moved forward to the centre of the hall, whilst Sir Montague aided Miss Appleby, smiling through her sobs, to his seat. Grandiston, with the silent spirit of Sullivan, had already placed another beside it onto which the baronet gratefully sank. Oriana smiled at the earl and moved to his side without thinking. Cornelia’s fulminating eyes took it all in.

  ‘After that disgraceful show, Clarissa, it is obvious to me where your affections lie.’ Clarissa turned full towards her, glancing over at Elfoy briefly, but he had turned his head lest he betray himself. She held her ground and looked her sister-in-law in the eye, but couldn’t say anything.

  John Thorne came to join his wife. ‘I don’t understand. Do you not favour Lord Grandiston?’

  Grandiston tucked Oriana’s hand in his arm and sauntered forward. ‘Doesn’t matter if she does, I’m afraid. I’m going to marry Miss Petersham.’

  ‘Oh, wonderful.’ ‘Congratulations.’ ‘You’re a dark horse,’ said Clarissa, Miss Micklethwaite and Mr Booth simultaneously.

  Miss Appleby had stopped sobbing. ‘Oh, did you hear it sir? Oriana will be a Countess.’

  Sir Montague kissed the little hand he had been patting. ‘Not before I make you a Lady, my dear. These youngsters have time to wait.’

  Only Miss Micklethwaite, standing by her chair heard the gruff old man make his plea. With a squeeze of Louisa’s shoulder, she moved across the hall to her brother.

  Miss Appleby found that she could not talk. Instead, she let out a sigh that was so long that it let go all the disappointments of her past and she lifted his hand to her cheek, dropping her head and resting it there as an answer.

  Cornelia was beside herself with rage. ‘It is my belief this whole thing was just some plot made up by you and your sponging attendants…’

  ‘Madame!’ began Mr Micklethwaite, outraged for his sister’s sake.

  ‘… to enable you to stay on your big estate until all the money is gone and you are once more a pauper. And then you’ll come begging to your brother.’ She paused, but Clarissa did not speak. ‘I’ll wager you have very little of the legacy from your mother left.’

  Clarissa flinched. The ladies did not know how close she was to having used up her mother’s bequest. ‘And on top of this you wish to marry a man who doesn’t have two shillings to rub together to support you and will just be yet another hard luck story designed to part you from your wealth.’

  A gasp ran around the room. Cornelia’s rage had spilled over dangerously. She had insulted half the room. ‘I have always said,’ Mr Sowersby whispered loudly to Mrs Elfoy, leading her towards his group by the salon, ‘that Mrs Thorne is a dashed unpleasant person.’

  Cornelia had shocked herself and now she was quiet.

  ‘What my wife is trying to say, sister, though I admit her concern for you has led her to speak a little heatedly, is that any unequal match is not to be thought of and that rather than wasting your time at Ashcroft any more, you must return with us for your own protection.’

  ‘He’s said it. The very words we’ve all been dreading,’ Miss Micklethwaite said aside to her brother. ‘The jig is up. I suppose you’ve come to take me home with you.’

  ‘Not quite. There is another errand I must perform,’ he returned.

  ‘You speak of an unequal match,’ said the languid tone of Grandiston, leaning against the bannister, ‘but I don’t think it so. Mr Elfoy’s family is just as ancient as Miss Thorne’s. The stumbling block is of course, the means.’

  Clarissa gave a tiny squeal. ‘Would everyone stop talking about a match? Mr Elfoy has never even asked me to dance, never mind marry him.’

  Booth slapped Elfoy on the back, ‘That’s because of the dratted mullah. If he was the gold digger you think him, Thorne, he’d have stopped just drooling over Clarissa and proposed long ago.’

  Thorne looked daggers at Booth.

  ‘Or accepted when she proposed to him,’ offered Miss Micklethwaite.

  ‘Clarissa!’ John’s outrage was close to causing him to burst a button on his handsome waistcoat.

  ‘He doesn’t drool - I’m the one who pines. It’s not his fault at all.’

  Elfoy, who had been avoiding Clarissa’s eye since the hand clasp had shaken him, now turned to her fully, catching her gaze. ‘I do drool. Often.’ His voice held a laugh and she smiled back at him. ‘I didn’t know if you did. You seemed to enjoy his Lordship’s company so much.’ His voice was soft, intimate.


  ‘Grandiston? He’s old enough to be my …’

  ‘Uncle.’ Grandiston interrupted suavely. ‘The money … Once upon a time, Thorne, this estate was a rich one indeed. And in perhaps three or more years, it can be again. There will be more cultivation, more habitable cottages for the workers, and this will lead to more rents. It will take hard work, creativity, passion and know how. Miss Thorne can supply her share of the first three, but it’ll take Elfoy to supply the latter.’ John Thorne wore a stubborn look. ‘Would it really be better having Clarissa with you?’ Grandiston’s tone changed to his old familiar one, ‘… a happy home is contentment for life and I think it is safe to say that your sister and your wife will often be at each other’s throats. Do you really wish to live amongst that?’ He moved and put his hand under Cornelia’s chin tipping it up. ‘And you Mrs Thorne. Think of the house parties that you can tell your friends about. I’ll bet there are few of your acquaintance who will be able to boast a sister with a home of this size to visit. Not to forget the other guests. Why, when next you visit London, you’ll be invited everywhere, I’ll wager.’

  John Thorne stepped forward doggedly. ‘You make a strong argument, my lord, but I am still Clarissa’s guardian. And after the way my sister has deceived us I have no confidence in her judgement or her ability to make this wealthy estate you speak of. My sister needs moral guidance, whatever the sacrifice to my home life.’

  ‘John ...’ protested Cornelia, for Grandiston’s vision had drawn a pretty picture in her head.

  ‘No my dear, I am her guardian and I forbid it.’ John said stoutly.

  There was a deathly pause. Clarissa found Elfoy’s hand and clasped it tightly in the folds of her dress. Her eyes filled.

  Mr Micklethwaite gave a cough. ‘I’m afraid that isn’t so …’ he said apologetically.

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’