“The school is a great project of Sir Thomas’s,” said Mrs Austin.
“There are not many landlords I know who insist that all the children in the district go to school until the age of twelve – and provides the wherewithal to do it,” Mr Austin added.
“Yes, he has built a proper school. It was one of the first things he did when he came of age,” said Mrs Austin. “But I daresay you know that.”
Griselda gave an evasive smile. How could she tell them how little she knew about Tom Thorpe?
He came back into the room now looking distinctly amused, a state which struck Griselda as most becoming.
“It’s quite a deputation,” he said, coming to stand by Griselda’s chair. He glanced at the table, now laden with a glistening profusion of jellies, creams and fruit. “I hope we have enough to go round. Mr and Mrs Austin, I hope you won’t see this as a breach of hospitality, but I may have to ask you to restrain yourself in the matter of dessert.”
They laughed at that, and then Mr Austin signalled to Tom, as the lead of the deputation, a girl of about twelve, had just glanced curiously around the edge of the dining room door. Clearly they were all lined up outside.
Griselda got up from her chair and went to the door, saying, “Please come in, won’t you?”
The leading girl looked a bit startled, then remembered herself, trotted forward a few paces, made her curtsey and presented Griselda with a bunch of flowers.
“Thank you. How beautiful!” And that was the signal for a flood of children to rush in, thrusting their flowers at her in rapid succession, not all of them remembering to bow or curtsey.
The smallest children, five or six years old, were the last in line and Griselda, who had been stooping to address the others face to face, now sank down onto her knees, charmed by them. They were beautiful children, full of a mixture of awkward grace and sheer terror at being allowed into the dining room of the great house. The last little boy gave his flowers to Griselda and then burst into tears, as if it were all too much for him. Griselda, who felt near to tears herself, could not help taking him into her arms and holding him. She was quite surprised that the boy was willing to accept the embrace and even more surprised that she was willing to give it. She was usually ill at ease with children, but this child’s simple confusion echoed something in her own heart.
“Now, Dick….” The schoolmistress was looming over them, fussing, but Dick buried his face against Griselda’s bodice.
“He knows a good thing when he’s found it, Miss Finch,” said Thorpe. Griselda felt her throat constrict at that. “Here, Dick, do you want a piece of candied ginger?”
The child was interested. He looked up at Thorpe and sniffed away his tears, and reached out for the piece of ginger that Thorpe dangled towards him. He nibbled it and, liking the taste, smiled up at Griselda.
“Here, do you want to go for a ride on my shoulders?” said Thorpe.
A delighted nod and a broad grin was the response. Thorpe opened his arms to take the boy from Griselda, but Dick was determined to have the last word. He gave Griselda a smacking kiss on the lips before Thorpe hoisted him away.
“I kissed the bride!” he crowed, as Thorpe took him on a circuit around the dining room.
Still kneeling on the floor surrounded by posies of flowers, Griselda could not help laughing at the spectacle. Thorpe seemed to have the children in his thrall, and when he told them to follow, they followed him around the table, their pockets and their mouths stuffed full with the best sweet nonsense the cook at Priorscote could provide.
Thorpe led them past Griselda, out of the dining room doors, in a snaking, jogging procession, with each child holding on to the coat tails or apron strings of the one in front. Forgetting about her ankle, Griselda could not resist jumping up and joining in, much to the surprise of the solid little lad who formed the rear of the cavalcade.
Thorpe lead the procession round and round the double row of marble pillars in the hall, and Griselda began to wonder if he was going to take the children up the great staircase that lay in the next room. But instead he took them through the double doors into the saloon and brought them to a shuddering halt in which half of them fell over and rolled about on the floor, all laughing hysterically, particularly the little girls, Griselda noticed.
It was a splendid, ridiculous sight and Griselda stood, her hand over her mouth, trying not to give way to same delicious affliction of helpless laughter that had smitten the little girls. And then she saw Thorpe looking at her. He had just deposited Dick on the top of the closed fortepiano, and was standing with his arms folded across himself, looking very pleased with the chaos. And he looked at her and raised an eyebrow as if to say, “So you like this nonsense, do you?” and she found herself smiling back at him, because there was really nothing else to be done.
“Children, children, if you please, remember where you are,” Miss Finch the schoolmistress was looking worried, if not shocked.
Thorpe turned to her.
“Would it trouble you to play some airs for us, ma’am?” he said. “I think dancing is required, yes?” he added to the children. “Will you dance?” They enthusiastically assented. “Then we will dance. Miss Sally Perry, is that you on the floor there? Will you do me the honour of opening the set?” and he dragged her to feet in a kindly but rather boisterous way which made her giggle all the more helplessly.
“Sir Thomas,” said Mr Austin, “isn’t it usual for the groom to open the dancing with the bride?”
“Oh, but I have a partner here,” said Griselda grabbing the hand of the little boy whom had been last in the line. “If you will do me the honour?”
“Master Jones will be glad to, I am sure,” said Sir Tom. “Yes, Sam?”
“Oh yes sir, of course sir,” said Sam Jones.
“Then we two couples will open the ball,” said Tom with an inclusive grin at Griselda that made her light-headed.
As they all took their places for the dancing, with Thorpe pairing off the couples and showing them where to stand, Griselda could not be more sure what impressed her more – the fact that Thorpe had taken the trouble to learn all these children’s names, or the readiness with which he obliged them with all the graces of his household. It was true generosity: warm and genuine, not motivated by duty but out of pleasure in the act of hospitality itself. He was no ordinary man, that was certain.
“What are we dancing, Miss Finch?”
They started with a very boisterous versions of ‘Lilly Bulero’, and then went onto such delights as ‘Gathering Peasecods’ and ‘The Hole in the Wall’. In the fourth set, ‘Jenny Pluck Pears’, Griselda found herself standing at the bottom of the room opposite Sir Thomas, watching the couples at the top of the line move delicately through the figures.
“They dance very well,” Griselda remarked.
“I send a dancing master from Stamford to them once a week,” said Tom. “I am sure he thinks I am a fool trying to teach country children town graces, but he takes his guineas from me just the same.”
“No, he is the fool – and impertinent,” Griselda said. “I never saw anything more delightful in my life.”
“I am glad it pleases you,” he said.
“It does, very much,” she said.
The measure changed and he began to clap, as the others were doing, while the lines moved up. Griselda joined in herself.
Then it was their turn to danced again. She took Thorpe’s hand and they walked through the necessary steps together until it was time for them to separate again. As they did, Griselda felt a sudden slicing pain in her lower leg and her ankle gave way, sending her to the floor in an ungainly heap.
Thorpe was instantly crouching at her side, his face tender with concern.
“If you could just help me to a chair,” she murmured, trying to get up.
“You are not even going to try and stand on that,” he said firmly and scooped her up into his arms, as if she were one of the children.
Griselda thought he would deposit her on the nearest couch and felt herself flushing crimson as he took her out of the saloon and up towards the stairs.
“This is isn’t really necessary…” she began.
“I’m taking you upstairs where you can’t do yourself any more damage,” he said and began to climb the stairs. “I shouldn’t have let you dance in the first place, if I’d thought about it for a moment. But when it comes to you, I never think – that’s the problem.” He said it so matter of bluntly that Griselda was for a moment lost for words.
“It really is the tiniest sprain, Sir Thomas, and I wish you would not fuss so,” she said, wriggling a bit, trying to get free.
“Hold still, you silly child,” he said, holding her more firmly. “Do you want to send me tumbling down the stairs? I haven’t recovered from that last crack on the head you gave me.”
He pushed open the door to her bedroom and deposited her on the bed, and then sank down beside her, a little breathless from the effort.
“Now, I will go down to Stamford and get Hepburn the surgeon for you,” he said after a pause.
“Not tonight. It is not so bad as that.”
“If you were one of my horses I would not let this pass.”
“Well, I am not,” said Griselda.
“No, you’re my wife and I ought to take more care of you than of my horses,” he said.
“There is no need to get the surgeon. Hannah can make me a poultice for it, and if I rest it properly…”
“If you are sure?”
“Quite sure. Perhaps Mr Hepburn might look at it tomorrow.”
“Very well,” he said, and got up. He reached under the counterpane and extracted a couple of pillows, and having gently lifted Griselda’s leg, tucked them underneath her ankle. Then he untied the ribbons of her evening sandal and took it off.
“Shall I take your stocking off?” he asked. “The poultice will work better if I do.”
Griselda was now lying flat on her back, staring up at the silk canopy above her. She was trying to think of nothing, but she was all too aware of his fingertips brushing across the top of her toes.
“Shall I?” he asked again.
“Er, yes,” she managed to say, but was not quite sure she would be able to bear it if he did.
He turned back her skirt and she felt him fumble slightly as he unfastened the garter. And then he touched the bare skin inside her thigh as he rolled the top of her stocking down. She closed her eyes and lay almost paralysed with a mixture of delight and horror as he pushed it down to her ankle.
“I’ll try not to make it worse,” he said, and slipped it over her heel. She gasped. There had been a little pain in moving it, but that was not what was uppermost in her mind. She lay there breathing heavily and she could hear him breathing too, as if he too were tempted again.
Then he gave a slight cough and stood up. She opened her eyes and saw him standing there, rolling up her stocking.
“I’ll go and tell Hannah to see to a poultice.”
“Yes, and then you had better go back to our guests.”
He smiled briefly.
“You have made many friends there, I think,” he said. “For a moment I worried that you might think our customs strange here. A little improper, perhaps.”
“How could I?” she said, raising herself on her elbows to look at him properly. “When I thought everything was just as it ought to be.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Very glad.” There was another pause. “I’ll send Hannah to you.”
“Thank you.”
“Rest well, then. I don’t want you lame,” he said and then added, with a touch of emotion. “I could not bear it if you were.”
“I will rest, I promise.”
“Good,” he said, going towards the door.
“Sir Thomas,” Griselda said, wanting to stop him.
“Yes?”
“About the shawl,” she began. “I was wrong, very wrong in what I did. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Of course. If you will accept the shawl?”
“Yes. It is very fine.”
“Good,” he said. “Good. Well, I must get Hannah for you.”
The door closed behind him and Griselda sank down onto her back again. Outwardly she might have been still, but inwardly she was far from at peace. Her ankle was throbbing but it was nothing compared to the aching of her heart. How desirable he was – and yet how impossible it was to desire him, at least not without tearing her conscience to shreds like a piece of worn-out linen.
***
Tom closed the door, and stood on the landing for a moment, his back to the door, half-crazed with temptation. Why should he not go straight back into her room? She did not need a maid and a poultice as urgently as he needed her. She had been enchanting that evening. The moment the children had come, she had seemed to forget her grudges. He thought of her kneeling on the floor, in a pool of black velvet, smiling and putting them all at their ease. She had known exactly what to do and had done it perfectly. And to see her laughing – it was like drinking a glass of rare tokay. He felt completely intoxicated and bewildered.
“Is everything all right, Sir Thomas?”
Mrs Austin was coming up the stairs towards him.
“Yes, she’s resting.”
“Well, I shan’t disturb her.”
He came down the last few steps to meet her.
“How are they doing downstairs?”
“Miss Finch is sending them home. Some of the little ones are falling asleep.
Tom smiled. “Sugar plums and custard tart often have that effect.”
Chapter 17
Griselda slept longer and later than she had intended. Hannah had brought up a poultice and a glass of some foul-tasting powder dissolved in brandy. Mr Gough, apparently the resident amateur apothecary of the house, had mixed it up for her especially. Whatever was in it, Griselda did not know, and hesitated for a moment before drinking it. However it did a great deal of good – she slept deeply because of it and woke up feeling refreshed. She realised she had not slept well in weeks, not since she slept in a ditch on the way to Cromer. All the grand and comfortable beds she had occupied since then had not brought any relief to her.
She dressed in her old habit which after a thorough brushing and mending by Hannah looked a great deal more respectable than Griselda could have imagined. It was a crisp and misty autumn morning and she was determined to be outside, and although her ankle was still sore, there was nothing to stop her riding. She hoped Thorpe would not interfere.
She had been told he was in the stable yard, which fortunately for the sake of her ankle lay within easy distance of the house. She strolled through the pleasant service court, which looked like an Oxford quadrangle with its honey-coloured walls covered in late-flowering roses. A handsome archway opened into the stable yard where she found Thorpe in conference with his head groom.
A boy was leading a delectable milk-white and grey mare up and down the yard, while Thorpe and the groom discussed her finer points.
“Well, sir, you may ask the lady herself about it,” the groom said, catching sight of Griselda. “Good morning my lady.”
“Good morning,” Griselda said.
“Should you …?” Thorpe began.
Griselda put up her hand.
“I will sit down directly, I promise,” and she went to the mounting block and sat down on the second step. “And my ankle is very much better. But I must have some exercise and I thought if I might ride…”
Thorpe nodded and came and sat down beside her.
“What do you think of this mare? I bought her from a neighbour but she’s not used to a woman on her back. She might be a little ungovernable – but then I imagine you are experienced?”
“I have only ever had a pony to hack about on,” Griselda admitted. “My father’s purse did not run to such beauties as this.”
“You like her? She’s large for a woman, of course, but you
are taller than most. I can’t think there is anything about her that you could not manage. You might hunt with her, if you were inclined.”
“Do women hunt here?” said Griselda.
“No, not usually. But you may set your own rules,” he said, getting up and going to the horse, and taking the bridle from the stable lad. He patted and muttered something affectionate to the horse before leading her over to Griselda. “Her name is Bellefleur. She’s yours, if you’ll have her.” Griselda hardly knew what to say. Her confusion must have shown, because he continued, “You had better try her first. Jack, please go and get a side saddle for Lady Thorpe. And bring out Juno for me.”
Reckless Griselda Page 17