The Wicked Wager
Page 23
“Is the girl dim?”
“No, Annie, the girl is not dim,” the dowager paused and then added, “at least I hope not.”
Lady Radclyff smiled in triumph. “I cannot wait to meet her.”
“You will be disappointed. The girl will be frightened and will probably utter not a word on her first day here. Besides, I am not sure if Gertrude is not biased. She is the stepmother, and I think she was reluctant to send Esther’s child to me. I had the feeling she would rather I took responsibility for one of her own. I can’t fault her for it, but I am worried that Penelope has been denied her place.”
“Miss Penelope Fairweather,” said Lady Radclyff testing the name aloud. “She will have red hair and black sparkling eyes … a witch with a beauty that shall enthral the ton.”
“She will be mousy with brown hair and brown eyes, a veritable wall flower,” the dowager replied.
“In any case she is dead now.”
“It is not even two hours since her intended arrival.”
“I hope she is not dead. She is my only hope of survival during the season.”
The dowager rolled her eyes and picked up her knitting. They sat in silence, eyes straying every now and then to the ticking grandfather clock. As the minutes went by, the dowager became worried and Lady Radclyff more impatient.
“Shall I ring for some more tea?” Lady Radclyff finally asked.
“As you wish,” the dowager replied, tossing aside her knitting.
Lady Radclyff reached for the bell, but before she could ring it the butler knocked and opened the door.
“Miss Fairweather,” he announced.
“Send her in,” Lady Radclyff said, dropping the bell back in its place.
A hesitant finger nudged the door open and then the rest of Miss Fairweather entered the room. The dowager and Lady Radclyff inspected the new comer with interest.
Miss Fairweather was not pretty nor could she ever be a wallflower. She was rustic, a woodland creature with an aura of something fay. She had brought the mist, rain and the storm with her into the drawing room of the Blackthorn mansion.
She had brown hair and brown eyes, but that was the only thing that matched the dowager’s prediction. Her dark wild hair defied the multitude of pins stuck here and there. Her bonnet was askew and sat precariously on her head threatening to topple at any moment. Her nose was delicate, the very tip round and pink. Her chin was stubborn and her mouth sensitive. Rebellious freckles dusted her flushed cheeks. Her alert, bright eyes darted curiously about the room, the hand gripping her skirt the only indication of her nervousness.
She wore a shapeless, mud splattered dress which made both the women wince, but it was not the dress or the young lady’s appearance that made Lady Radclyff squeal or the dowager scream in terror.
It was the goat that did it.
Miss Penelope Fairweather had bounded into the room followed by a goat. A medium sized white goat with black hooves and a bright peachy nose. It stared around the room through long lashes, its hooves digging into the plush blue carpet.
Miss Fairweather curtsied, aiming her elegant dip not at the dowager or Lady Radclyff but at the butler.
“Thank you, Perkins, that will be all,” the dowager hastily interrupted, just as Miss Fairweather opened her mouth to ask the butler his name.
Perkins scuttled out in relief, carefully manoeuvring himself away from the goat.
The dowager composed herself. “Miss Fairweather, I am delighted to have you here. We were getting worried, the rain and the storm ... you brought a goat,” she finished abruptly.
Miss Penelope Fairweather stood dripping water, a tiny puddle forming at her feet. Her eyes took in the luxury of the blue drawing room, the burning fire beckoning her. Her leather slippers squelched loudly as she hurried forward and bobbed a curtsy aimed in the general direction of the two women.
“Yes, this is my pet Lady Bathsheba. Lady Bathsheba, this is … err … the dowager and …?”
“Lady Radclyff,” Lady Radclyff supplied helpfully.
“… Lady Radclyff and we are to stay with them for a while.” She turned to the dowager, “I had heard that some ladies in London keep tigers and elephants, so I did not think my onliest loneliest goat would cause any trouble …”
The dowager’s right eyebrow shot up at the ‘onliest loneliest’ bit.
Lady Radclyff grinned; she had never been introduced to a goat before.
Penelope continued speaking unaware of the sensation she was causing, “Mary was to take her to the kitchens but the poor thing was distraught over making the wrong sort of impression downstairs. I mean, a lady’s maid arriving with a goat is not impressive. Among servants you have to appear assertive from the very beginning or you end up with the worst of tasks. Mary told me that. She wants to be liked and perhaps find a stablehand to marry. She loves babies … you have to marry to have babies but Lilly our neighbour was shipped off to Dublin because she had a baby without a husband … which was odd… so err … Mary said that a maid with a goat is not desirable. I agreed to keep the goat until she impresses them downstairs and …” Penelope faltered at the disapproving look in the dowager’s eye.
The dowager sank back in her seat. She eyed the nervous girl with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Miss Fairweather’s thoughtfulness towards her maid was commendable, yet her disregard for the impression she herself would make upon arriving with the goat was another matter. Unmarried women having babies … the dowager shuddered. She wanted to clamp a hand over her avidly listening daughter’s ears.
She wanted to scold Penelope but she couldn't, not when the girl had just arrived. She needed to go slow. This one fault could be overlooked. A kind heart was not such a bad thing and appropriate topics of conversations could be taught.
She glanced at her daughter, who looked like she had been given a giant present wrapped in tinsel with bows hanging off the sides, and no wonder. Miss Fairweather had brought a goat and curtsied to the butler.
Things could have been worse. The girl could have been lying dead in a pool of blood.
“You are soaking my dear. Would you like to change? We can’t have you catching a cold on your very first day here,” the dowager asked.
“Thank you, but I think Mary wouldn’t appreciate being put to work after our long trip from Finnshire. Besides, I can see you have not yet had your tea. I don’t want to delay you any further. I will sit by the fire and will be dry in no time.”
“Yes, but … you are dripping!” Lady Radclyff exclaimed.
“I am sorry, are you worried about the furnishing? I didn’t think...”
“Don’t be silly. A bit of water will not harm the cushions,” the dowager said, sending her daughter a quelling look.
“Well then, you needn’t worry about me. I have been caught in the rain plenty of times and never caught a cold. The old hag... I mean, the healer in our village often says that the thunder peals to scare away those weak of heart. Lightning strikes to send people scuttling home, but only the brave stay to feel the happy rain on their skin.”
“Not the brave but fools rather who don’t mind catching their deaths,” Lady Radclyff muttered under her breath.
The dowager helplessly wrung her hands. She wondered if the girl was touched in the head. Happy rain, a goat as a pet and wanting her tea in soggy skirts! And it had not been five minutes since her arrival. She stroked her temple, a headache she was sure was not long in coming.
She nodded to Miss Fairweather to take her seat, her mind racing to come up with a solution on how to present the unpresentable to the ton.
‘Penelope’ will be released this December. If you would like a free copy of the book as an early Christmas present then email anyawylde@gmail.com.
About the Author
Anya Wylde lives in Ireland along with her husband and a fat French poodle (now on a diet). She can cook a mean curry, and her idea of exercise is occasionally stretching her toes. She holds a degree in English lit
erature and adores reading and writing.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
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