by Lord Tom
“And, now, let us go in, my dear,” said Lady Mewhinny, briskly sweeping Susan forward. “You will need some refreshment after your journey.”
Susan managed a wistful look back over her shoulder at Tom before she was handed to the housekeeper and guided to her room.
Chapter Five
The walk down the bedroom corridor took longer than it ought because Lady Mewhinny’s housekeeper suffered from rheumatism and could only walk at a snail’s pace. It hurt Susan to watch her and she vowed not to require the poor woman to make the journey again on her account. It seemed to her there was not a person under sixty-five on the staff, although apparently Lady Mewhinny and Vigor had already outlived one entire generation of servants.
Her room, however, came as something of a shock. It was furnished in the height of the rococo style, with the sumptuous curves of that particular style evident in all the furniture. The ceilings were painted in soft pastels edged in gilt. Elaborately framed paintings of pastoral seductions and pink-breasted nudes covered the walls, and as Susan approached them rather fearfully, she detected the signatures of both Watteau and Fragonard. Clearly, despite the outdated fashion of the chamber, Sir William had possessed a considerable fortune.
“Cooo!” came a voice from behind her. Peg had been sent to find her mistress. “Now this is something like.” The miserable girl walked slowly into the room, staring openmouthed at each of the voluptuous canvases. She tittered at the figure of a reclining gentleman who seemed to be reaching out to touch his lady’s breast.
Embarrassment warmed Susan’s face. “Zat will do, Peg!” she said sharply, “You may help me unpack later. For ze moment, I wish to retire. I will ring for you when I need you.”
“Oll right, miss,” Peg said, not unwilling to depart. “But ’oo I’m a goin’ to talk to, I don’t know. Them’s all older ’an me grandfer downstairs.”
“You may go, Peg,” Susan said wearily.
The girl went at that, but not before she had stopped in front of another of the canvases and giggled again. Her hips seemed to sway more pronouncedly as she left the room, as though something in the paintings had acted as an inspiration to them.
Susan lay down gratefully upon the fattened comforters. The bed was so luxurious, despite the age of its coverings, that she had little fear of not being able to rest. The previous day had been exhausting in more than one way. But as she lay there, trying not to think of Peg, or worry about Tom, she could not manage to sleep. Finally, she realized that a strange noise, coming from so far away she had not been fully aware of it, was disturbing her tranquility.
She sat up in bed and listened carefully. Briefly the sound was gone, but soon again she heard a faint shrieking. It was rather eerie. She thought for a moment it might be the wind, but there was no wind to speak of that day. She lay down again and was trying to dismiss it from her mind, when there came a tap upon her door.
Susan jumped and then rose quickly to answer it. Peg, she knew, would not have the decency to knock. To her surprise, it proved to be Lady Mewhinny, whom she had supposed to be laid out on her bed for the rest of the day.
But her ladyship, at Susan’s invitation, stepped into the room with a liveliness Susan could only envy.
“I’ve just come to see how you were getting on, my dear. I hope you are comfortably settled.”
Susan thanked her, assuring her of her perfect delight with the room, but protesting the effort it must have caused her hostess to look in on her.
“Nonsense, my dear!” was her ladyship’s answer. “I am happy to see you installed. This was my room, you see. Sir William had it fitted out for me when we were newly married. I’ve always loved it, but I chose another room shortly after he died. Somehow it seemed the right thing to do,” she added vaguely.
She turned to the dressing table and said, “Did you see the shell mirror and brush he gave me? You must use them if you like. And anything else you have need of while you are here. Bates said you did not have much baggage with you.”
Susan flushed and tried to hide her confusion. “Non... you see, we were not planning a protracted journey.”
“Yes, I see. Well, please use anything you like. There are some clothes in the chest which ought to fit you reasonably well if you run short. They have been kept in good repair, so you need not fear you would look shabby.”
“S’ank you, my lady,” said Susan hastily. “I shall manage quite well.” She had visions of herself dressed as Madame Pompadour with a wig, pannier and patches. “Zere is one s’ing I did wish to ask you, zough. Do you ’ear a strange noise?”
Lady Mewhinny opened her eyes widely and cocked her head to one side like a little bird. “No. I cannot say that I do. And my hearing is quite acute.” She looked at Susan expectantly.
“Zen it must be my imagination.” Susan frowned, shaking her head to dismiss it. “Please do not give it anoz’er s’ought, Lady Mewhinny.”
The elderly lady took her hand and patted it kindly. “You must call me Kitty, dear. My name is; Catherine, you know. And I shall call you Susan. We are both widows and, I think, are very like in some ways.
“I remember my own grief after Sir William died,” she continued. “But I did not give into it and I fancy Sir William would have wanted it that way. You must not bury yourself, you know. Life goes on.”
Tears of gratitude and mortification came to Susan’s eyes. “Oh, Lady Mewhinny—Kitty. You’re so very kind.”
“Nonsense, my dear. It is such a pleasure for me to have a new friend—and of the human variety, too. I had best let you have your rest,” she finished cheerily. And with another pat of the hand, she was gone.
Susan was so touched by Kitty’s kindness and at the same time guilt-ridden to be deceiving her that the strangeness of her ladyship’s last remarks did not strike her immediately. When it did, she merely thought that Lady Mewhinny had a rather sharp sense of humour to be referring to her collection of aged servants as if they were a menagerie. What other explanation could there be?
She lay down again upon the bed and managed finally, despite the faint shrieking in her ears, to sleep. Unfortunately, her concerns about Lord Harleston were so much on her mind that her dreams were fitful. She dreamed that she waited and waited anxiously for Tom to return, but when she finally searched for him and found him, he was buried to his waist in mud. She wanted desperately to grasp him and pull him out, but could not bring herself to put her arms around him for fear he might think her forward. It was a most disquieting dream.
When Susan awoke, she found it was near noon. Lady Mewhinny must have left word she was not to be disturbed, for no one had come to bring her breakfast. She leapt from the bed and ran to the window to look for Tom. Her dreams of him were still vivid, and she had some notion of checking to see whether he was stuck in the garden, but all that greeted her eyes were the neat rows of Lady Mewhinny’s vegetables and roses.
Having still some hope of speaking to Lord Harleston before he could leave, she dressed quickly and went in search of the public rooms. The house was straightforward in design and had no twisting corridors to confuse her, so she came rapidly to the central section. Bates, Lady Mewhinny’s butler, was just coming out of one of the rooms with a tray when she rounded the corner.
Stepping quickly to catch up with him, Susan called out, “Bates! Oh, Bates!”
He must not have heard, for he turned away and walked with stately dignity in the opposite direction. Supposing that he might be slightly deaf, Susan gathered her skirt in one hand and ran lightly after him, still calling.
As she closed with him, however, Susan suddenly came within his hearing, and he turned quickly in time to see her running. She halted breathlessly before him, not a little embarrassed to be caught in such a manner.
“Yes, madam,” he said, showing no sign of surprise at being thus accosted.
“Oh, Bates!” Susan breathed anxiously. “I was wondering whez’er someone might be sent to ze stables wiz an instruction for my gr
oom. I would like to speak to ’im before ’e sets out again.”
Bates bowed stiffly, as if with disdain for her inferior intelligence. “To the best of my knowledge, madam, the person you speak of left several hours ago,” he said. “Right after breaking his fast, if I am not mistaken. But I will enquire if you wish.” His tone suggested she would be greatly in error to doubt any information she received from him.
Susan shrank, but did not give in. “Yes, please do, Bates. S’ank you.”
Bates bowed again. This time not so terribly. He seemed to gain respect for someone he could not crush. “I shall see to it immediately, madam. Lady Mewhinny is in the breakfast parlour. If you like, I shall conduct you to her and have something brought up for you shortly.”
Susan released a breath gratefully and smiled. “S’ank you, Bates. Zat would be delightful.”
She was shown into a room which bore the same style as the room in which she slept, although the paintings were, in general, more modest than those in her boudoir. Lady Mewhinny was seated at the table sipping tea and reading a stack of papers at her side. From the remnants on her plate, Susan could see she had a remarkably hearty appetite for one her age.
“Good afternoon, my dear. I see you’ve had your rest.”
Susan greeted her and affirmed it, mentioning that Bates was already seeing to her breakfast.
“I was just finishing a small luncheon,” said Kitty. “I breakfasted earlier and got on with my work. So much to catch up on after a journey from home, you know,” she added at Susan’s look of surprise.
Her ladyship appeared to be completely recovered from her accident of the day before. Indeed, she showed no sign of having had one. It was amazing, nonetheless, thought Susan, that a woman of Lady Mewhinny’s age and fortune should not have a steward to take care of her business. Surely she did, yet the stack of papers before her suggested Lady Mewhinny was quite closely involved with her business affairs.
Susan’s breakfast was brought in on a tray with a number of journals, so she was able to eat in quiet while her ladyship continued her work. But the shrieking in Susan’s ears had not abated; in fact, it seemed rather louder. She was just beginning to wonder whether she had not developed a case of nerves, when the screams increased so sharply as to make her drop her cup and jump to her feet.
Lady Mewhinny looked up curiously. “Something wrong, my dear?”
Susan gazed at her in disbelief. “Surely you heard that, my lady! It was the peculiar sound I was asking about.”
Lady Mewhinny shook her head in perplexity. “I didn’t hear anything peculiar, my dear.”
Susan struggled to maintain her calm as the shrieks grew louder again. “I do not like to suggest it, my lady—Kitty,” she amended, “But per’aps your ‘earing is not quite what it was, for ze most dreadful shrieking is coming from zat direction.” She pointed towards the farthest wing of the house where she had not yet been.
To her great relief, Lady Mewhinny chuckled. “Oh, I am so sorry, Susan, my love. You are talking about the west wing! Of course I hear it. But I am so used to it, you see, that I do not consider it strange at all. And you did ask if I heard anything peculiar.”
Susan waited expectantly, happy, at least, to know that she was not imagining things.
“Those are my pensioners,” Lady Mewhinny said placidly.
Susan’s eyes widened in alarm. “Your pensioners?”
“Yes, my dear. It is so silly of me. I forgot to tell you about my charity. I care for some one hundred or more unfortunates who have been cruelly abandoned. It is their behaviour, you know. People tire of them when they begin to shriek and bite and tear the curtains and so on. But here they are well cared for.”
Susan swallowed and said weakly, “Zat’s quite admirable,” before looking towards the door in the impossible hope that Tom had returned.
Lady Mewhinny glanced at Susan’s plate and saw she had finished. “Would you like to see them?” she asked brightly.
Susan choked on her last bite of food. “Certainly,” she said when she could. “Sometime. Zat would be lovely. But I must not take you from your work.”
“There is no time like the present,” said Lady Mewhinny, rising. Susan thought she spoke in a remarkably cheery tone. She rose to her feet, wondering how she would react to seeing rooms full of lunatics. She knew that others derived considerable amusement from seeing them; Bedlam was quite the tourist attraction. But Susan had never been tempted. The thought of such miserable humanity was always too much for her tender heart and she doubted she could face them without enduring tortured dreams for the rest of her life.
Lady Mewhinny led her briskly down the hall which opened into the west wing. The screams and shrieks grew steadily louder as though the inmates were enjoying a competition of sorts. Susan wondered if any of them were, by contrast, moribund, and if they were, how they managed to survive the noise.
Lady Mewhinny stopped before a room with large double doors. Then, as she directed the footman to open them, Susan said a brief, silent prayer. She pleaded not to be so overcome with pity for the miserable inmates that she would there and then pledge her life to their service.
The doors opened and her nostrils were assailed by an overpoweringly foul odour, which would have added to her horror if she had not immediately caught sight of the inhabitants within.
“Monkeys!” she cried in relief.
They were monkeys. At first, as their shrieks increased in greeting, Susan thought there must be hundreds of them. They were enclosed in enormous cages so big that they hardly seemed to be cages at all, and the creatures were bounding about and hurling themselves against the sides as if crazed with joy.
Lady Mewhinny moved about and among them uttering soothing sounds. She had picked up a basket as she entered the room, and at the moment was dipping into it for small pieces of fruit which she fed to her “pensioners” through the bars. Susan could now see that it was their delight in her visit which had caused such an uproar, for they eventually calmed as those who received their bits of fruit ran off to enjoy them in relative peace.
“Would you like to feed one of them?” asked Lady Mewhinny, offering Susan a rather mushy tidbit.
Devoutly hoping her hostess had not heard her first outburst, Susan hastened to take some food from her and pushed it through the bars. A little brown creature with an elfin face, black hands and feet came shyly towards her along his perch. She was surprised at how gently he took the present from her, but even more so by his subsequent gestures, for he bowed repeatedly and touched his head as if he were removing his hat.
“Oh, look!” she cried. “He’s thanking me! ’Ow darling!” she said, remembering too late to use her French accent. “Did you teach ’im zat, Kitty?”
“Oh, no, my dear,” Lady Mewhinny said, shaking her head sadly. “I would not have time with so many creatures to care for, although I do try to give them each some special attention. They need it, you know. They must have affection or they die. No, this one belonged to a hurdy-gurdy man evidently, for he has been trained to do tricks for his supper. I don’t demand it of him, naturally, but he does not understand that.”
“’Ow did you come by zem all?” Susan asked in a wondering tone. She had completely recovered from her earlier misconception and was now full of curiosity.
Lady Mewhinny explained. “Well, as I told you, these are my pensioners. I am the founder of the Society for Abandoned Simians. I thought I mentioned that to you, my dear.”
“Not precisely,” said Susan, hiding a smile at her own foolishness. “But now I understand. Only why are zere so many abandoned simians? One would s’ink zere ‘ad never been so many in all of England.”
“Oh, but there were, dear,” Lady Mewhinny said. “You have no idea how popular it was when I was a girl to have a monkey of your own. All the most fashionable ladies wanted one. And, of course, it was the merchants who brought them so their daughters had to have them, too. Why, if you didn’t have a monkey from East
India, a lapdog from Vigo or a page from Genoa, you were not quite the thing! But then they tired of them, you see, just as if they were a type of fan or periwig that had gone out of style. Besides, they are quite demanding little creatures and they bite if they have a tantrum, which did not suit my lady long. Scores of them were handed about from one owner to another, until eventually no one wanted them. And the poor little monkeys grow morose when they are not wanted. They are quite intelligent; they know, you see.”
“But...” Susan tried to phrase her question tactfully, “do zey live so very long? I should s’ink you must ’ave ’ad most of zese for quite some time.”
Lady Mewhinny laughed lightly. “Oh, these are not all orphans from my girlhood. Oh my, no. Though they do live longer than most animals their size. Oh, no. Most of these are the children, and grandchildren, of my first pensioners, as I like to call them. They are unhappy if they aren’t with other monkeys, you see, so they do tend to multiply. And I still get the occasional pet who is no longer wanted. I put advertisements in the journals.”
“Ah, I see,” Susan said, though she really did not. To think of this multitude being left free to multiply! How many might there become! And who was to carry on after Lady Mewhinny left this earth? Would they all be allowed to starve?
“Zis society, Lady Mewhinny... Kitty,” she asked, “are zere many members?”
Her ladyship nodded smilingly. “Why, yes. I fancy there must be quite a number of us now. Perhaps you would like to join us, dear?”
Susan started and flushed ashamedly. Then she asserted warmly, “I would love to, Kitty, and I shall—as soon as I can. But my funds are not mine to manage, you see.”
“How irksome for you!” Kitty said, giving her elbow a gentle squeeze. “I should never have forgiven Sir William if he had left me so uncomfortably, but he put everything in my hands. He trusted me to care for myself completely.”
“Zat was fortunate,” said Susan, putting an end to the subject. She did not wish to get into a discussion with Lady Mewhinny over the relative merits and defects of their deceased husbands. Invention was not one of her strongest points, nor was it a pleasure. Instead, they walked on awhile with Lady Mewhinny stroking this monkey or that. After a time, Susan learned that their odour became more tolerable, and she noticed the cages were remarkably clean. A sizable staff was needed to feed the animals and tidy the cages apparently, but Lady Mewhinny did not seem to feel the burden.