by Dunn
“And eating chocolate cherries. I do not know why she never grew plump. I'm sure I could not have eaten so many chocolate cherries without growing as stout as Prinny. The King, as he is now, but that does not make him less fat. Amaryllis must have been contented though, or she'd not have kept Lord Pomeroy dangling after her for two whole years after they were betrothed. Why, she could have been married to the heir to the Earl of Tatenhill and mistress of a fine country mansion had she wished!"
“Perhaps you had best not tell me about Lord Pomeroy,” suggested the vicar diplomatically. “I rather think that is Miss Hartwell's personal affair. We were talking of her father?"
“His lordship dined with us one evening unexpectedly and disappeared overnight, leaving only a brief note advising Amaryllis to consult his lawyer. He had sold Hart Hall to the rear admiral. The proceeds he used to pay off all our outstanding bills, though not his own, I believe, and to run off with the daughter of the Spanish Ambassador."
“Bless my soul, the daughter of the Spanish Ambassador?” The vicar was astounded.
“Henry always preferred dark women,” Mrs. Vaux explained.
“I had thought the gentlewomen of Spain most strictly bred up and guarded."
“Thus when they taste but a little freedom, they are ready to kick over the traces altogether. They have not been taught self-control since their male relatives have expected always to control them.” Miss Tisdale was deeply indignant but displayed her own self-control and continued with the story. “Naturally, Amaryllis was shattered. I shall not discuss the sense of personal betrayal. She adored her father, remember. Our immediate problem was that she had little ready money, we had less, and the lease on the London house had scarce two weeks to run."
“What did she do?” Mr. Raeburn took off his spectacles and polished them vigorously on his blue-spotted handkerchief.
“She went to her godmother, Lady Mountolivet Gurnleigh, who offered her a home."
“Which was amazingly kind of Cornelia, for she is a high stickler for every observance and there was no end of scandal attached to my brother's behaviour. It almost provoked an International Incident,” said Mrs. Vaux, still faintly awed at the thought.
“She did not accept the offer,” presumed Mr. Raeburn.
“No indeed. The dear girl would not for the world have asked her ladyship to accommodate myself and Miss Tisdale, nor would she abandon us."
“Lady Mountolivet Gurnleigh then suggested that she should take this house, which was empty at the time, for a peppercorn rent. I believe her ladyship would have given her an allowance, and though Amaryllis refused it, we must still be profoundly grateful to Lady Mountolivet Gurnleigh."
“You see,” said Mrs. Vaux, bursting with pride in her niece's ingenuity, “Amaryllis had already decided that we should open a school."
“And most successful you have been,” said the vicar. He was itching with curiosity about Lord Pomeroy's absence from the end of the tale, but having prohibited all mention of his lordship, he could hardly ask. “I take it you have not heard from Lord Hartwell until this moment?"
“Not a word,” chorused the ladies.
At that moment a sheet of lightning split the sky. In the ominous pause that followed they realized that while they were talking huge, anvil-shaped clouds had hidden the sky. Then a rattling tattoo crescendoed into a crash of thunder that seemed to shake the ground.
Mrs. Vaux moaned, put her hands over her ears, and scuttled into the house. Miss Tisdale and the vicar followed at a somewhat more dignified pace. They reached the music room and closed the French doors behind them just as “the windows of heaven were opened. And the rain was upon the earth.” Genesis 7, verses 11 and 12.
“Fortunately,” said the vicar, “I brought my umbrella."
Chapter 2
Amaryllis walked slowly up the stairs to the top floor. She had fifteen minutes before her interview with Lord Daniel Winterborne, time enough to tidy her hair and put on a fresh cap.
Her bedchamber was tiny since the larger rooms were generally occupied by her pupils. Nonetheless, it had been her refuge for six years now, and she looked round its sparse furnishings with a sense of coming home. For a moment she felt like throwing herself on the narrow bed and bursting into tears. The resolute common sense that had carried her through those years came to her aid.
What difference did it make in the end that she now knew where Papa was? She had created a life for herself and did not mean to abandon it for an uncertain future in America with a father who had deserted her.
Through the dormer window, she glanced up at the castle on its green hill. For seven hundred years it had looked out over the village, indifferent to heartbreak and rejoicing alike. Her troubles meant nothing to those grey, age-old stones, and in truth those troubles were light compared to many.
Calm and businesslike, Miss Hartwell descended to her office. Sitting at her desk, she sorted through the letters that had arrived that morning. One was from her godmother. She opened it and was trying to decipher the heavily crossed sheet when Daisy knocked on the door.
“There's a lord to see you, miss."
“Show him in, if you please.” She set the letter aside, put on her spectacles, and waited with folded hands.
The sound of Daisy's light step was followed by a firm, booted tread rarely heard in these female precincts.
“Lord Daniel Winterborne, miss,” announced Daisy.
The gentleman who strode in was none other than the tall stranger who had stared at her in the inn. She noted again the coat cut for comfort, not fashion, the carelessly knotted neckcloth, and well-worn top boots. His dark eyes still held the same appraising look as he bowed curtly.
“Good afternoon, ma'am."
“Good afternoon, my lord.” Miss Hartwell inclined her head with regal condescension. “Pray be seated."
“Thank you.” His voice had a curiously controlled quality, as if every word were spoken with care. He pulled a chair closer to the desk and sat down. “As I explained in my letter, I am come to inspect your school to see if it will be suitable for my daughter."
“May I ask why you have chosen the Castle Hedingham Academy?"
“It suits my purpose in being close to my home, but I have not yet ‘chosen’ it."
“I beg your pardon.” Amaryllis was beginning to take a strong dislike to this cold, unsmiling man. She suppressed the feeling and peered at him impassively over the top of her spectacles. “On what criteria do you intend to base your decision?"
“The most important is that Isabel should be happy."
Perhaps he was human after all. “Your reputation is high in the village,” he went on.
He had been spying on her!
“My sister, Lady Carrington, recommended you highly but by hearsay only. I shall require a tour of your premises and a description of the curriculum. If all is to my liking, I shall bring Isabel for a trial period at the beginning of your school term."
Miss Hartwell stood up, eyes flashing with anger at his arrogance. He rose hurriedly. His manners were gentlemanly, if anything but conciliatory.
“I fear I cannot accept a pupil on such terms, my lord,” she said, with careful calmness. “I am sorry your journey was for nothing."
Surprise flickered across his face, the first hint of any emotion that she had seen on those stern features.
“I shall of course pay for the full term in advance. If Isabel decides to stay, I am willing to pay double your usual rates."
“I am persuaded we shall not suit Miss Isabel, my lord."
He gazed at her searchingly, his dark eyes troubled. “I have offended you, Miss Hartwell. I beg your pardon. Will you not be seated?” Reluctantly she sat down, and he followed her example. “Are my requests so unreasonable then?"
“I had supposed them demands rather than requests."
Frowning, he considered her statement. When he spoke, the words seemed to emerge with difficulty, as though he deeply regretted the necess
ity of revealing so much about himself.
“I am not a sociable man. I am to blame if my manner has vexed you. Allow me to explain the situation to you, and perhaps you will reconsider. Isabel is eleven years old, and I fear she is a lonely child. I have been her only companion, other than her nursemaid, of course. My sister has persuaded me that she is in need of friends of her own age and of the guidance of a respectable female who can teach her to conduct herself as a lady. I ... I do not care to be parted from her by any great distance, and Castle Hedingham is the closest seminary I have been able to find, only some fifteen miles from Wimbish."
“You live at Wimbish?” asked Amaryllis absently.
His revelations intrigued her. She had just placed his name. Lord Winterborne was the heir to the Marquis of Bellingham, and this must be his brother. She had moved in the same circles as George Winterborne once. It seemed odd that he had never mentioned a younger brother who must be very near him in age. George had even been one of her flirts for a time.
She saw the resemblance now. The same tousled dark hair, the same patrician nose, sensitive lips, and broad shoulders. Lord Daniel was much thinner than her memory of George, who at thirty had a magnificent physique that was the envy of less well endowed Corinthians. He had been handsome, too. The face before her now was marked by sorrow and, she thought, bitterness. A family quarrel?
She became aware that Lord Daniel had ceased speaking and was awaiting a response.
“I'm sorry,” she said, annoyed with herself for letting her mind drift. “I missed what you said."
“I hope that you have reconsidered your refusal, ma'am. I shall be deeply grateful if you will accept Isabel as a pupil, but I cannot promise to force her to stay if she is unhappy."
“Of course not."
At worst the child would leave, and they would have one less to teach, one fewer mouth to feed without losing by it. It was ridiculous to let her dislike of the man influence her management of the school. Besides, she felt sorry for the poor little girl with such a sombre companion.
“Let me tell you something of our courses of study. I teach history, account keeping, sketching, and music. Miss Tisdale teaches English literature, geography with the use of the globes, French. Mrs. Vaux is in charge of deportment, domestic management, and needlework. Our vicar comes in once a week to teach Scripture, and if any of our girls are interested in learning Latin or Greek he gives them lessons. Occasionally we find one or two of the young ladies display a particular talent for music or art, in which case we have a master come in from Colchester to help them. There are no extras, as we do not believe in making a difference between those who can pay for them and those who cannot, which leads to petty pride and envy. For the same reason we do not take parlour boarders. All the girls are expected to keep their own rooms tidy and to help with such minor household tasks as arranging flowers, mending, and dusting."
Miss Hartwell rattled through this speech at a great pace, having given it many times before. She paused, wondering if she would have to continue with Churchgoing, healthful food, and country walks. Meanwhile, Lord Daniel looked somewhat stunned.
“It sounds perfectly adequate,” he assured her.
“The girls wear blue muslin in summer, blue merino in winter. I shall give you patterns to be made up. And now let me call Mrs. Vaux to show you about the house."
Before she could ring the bell, there was a tremendous rattling crash. Amaryllis glanced up at the ceiling in alarm and Lord Daniel jumped to his feet. Then they both turned sheepish as torrential rain began to drum on the windowpanes. Lightning flashed, and once more thunder boomed.
“On second thoughts,” said Miss Hartwell, “I shall show you myself. My aunt is terrified of thunderstorms and will have run up to hide her head under the counterpane."
She thought he smiled, but the room had grown too dark to see anything with certainty.
“On my own second thoughts,” said his lordship, “I must not stay. This downpour will soon make the roads impassable, and I ought not to keep my horses standing in it. Thank you for your time and patience, ma'am. I shall bring Isabel on the first day of term. Here is a bank draught for the fees."
“Thank you, my lord. I shall expect you on the fourth of September."
He bowed. After locking the bank draught in a drawer, she rose to show him out. He followed her to the vestibule, where they found Miss Tisdale and the vicar looking out at the rain.
“Surely you will not go out in this deluge, Mr. Raeburn,” Amaryllis exclaimed, seeing the umbrella in his hand.
“Indeed I must, Miss Hartwell. As I was just saying to Miss Tisdale, my poor sister does not care for thunderstorms and I must not leave her alone. I do believe the rain has already slackened a little."
Amaryllis and Miss Tisdale exchanged a look. Miss Raeburn kept her brother under the cat's paw without ever raising her voice, by the simple means of suffering an attack of nerves whenever things did not go her way. Since things generally did go her way, she found in thunderstorms and dog-fights and such incidents an excellent excuse for reminding him of her delicate sensibilities. Amaryllis was privately convinced that had it not been for his sister's opposition, the genial vicar would have long since offered for Tizzy's hand.
Lord Daniel stepped forward. “Allow me to offer you a ride, sir,” he said unexpectedly.
Her opinion of him raised another notch, Amaryllis performed the introductions. She thought the vicar looked somewhat flustered when he heard his lordship's name, but the vestibule was almost as dark as her office had been. Indeed, as the gentlemen left, huddling behind raised collars as they dashed towards the waiting carriage, Daisy brought in a branch of candles.
“Beg pardon, miss,” she said breathlessly, “I'da brung ‘em sooner only Cook were that startled she dropped the best teapot. Smashed to smithereens, it were, and bits all over the kitchen floor. I did tell her as you won't turn her off wi'out a reference, miss, but you know how she is."
Miss Hartwell knew. Every time there was the slightest mishap in the kitchen, Cook was sure she would be dismissed without notice. She sighed.
“Tizzy, would you mind reassuring Cook, or we shan't get any dinner. I must run up to make sure Aunt Eugenia is all right."
As she mixed a glass of hartshorn and water, she pondered the unlikely romance between Mr. Raeburn and her governess. Tizzy had certainly never been pretty, with her pale blue eyes, long, narrow face, and decided chin. Her hair was a nondescript brown, now greying, and so determined to be straight that no quantity of curling papers could put the least wave in it. Besides, Tizzy's ineradicable habit of quoting the Scriptures, with chapter and verse, on all occasions was enough to dissuade most gentlemen from pursuing the acquaintance. That she quoted with a certain disdain for appropriateness and frequently followed the quotation with a witty but sceptical disclaimer must eliminate most clergymen from consideration as suitable spouses.
Amaryllis carried the restorative to her aunt's chamber. Mrs. Vaux was curled up on her pink, frilly counterpane with the pillow over her head and pressed to her ears. She peeped out as her niece sat down on the edge of the bed, then cautiously emerged.
“There is only a faint, distant rumble now and then,” Amaryllis reassured her. “Come, drink this hartshorn and you will soon feel more the thing."
“I am sorry to be such a fool,” said the widow faintly but with dignity. “Only it does give me such a megrim.” She swallowed the potion.
“And of course you are not frightened in the least,” teased Amaryllis. “I confess that first thunderclap terrified me as well. I looked up expecting to see the chimneys crash through the ceiling, and Lord Daniel jumped from his seat like a scalded cat."
“It was very loud, was it not? And so sudden! Yet Miss Tisdale scarce even blinked, I vow."
“She has more backbone than any half-dozen gentlemen of my acquaintance. I wanted to talk to you about her if your headache is abated."
“It is nearly gone, my love, th
anks to the hartshorn."
“And to the retreat of the storm.” She plumped the pillows behind her aunt and moved to a chair. “I should like to see Tizzy married."
“To the Vicar?” said Mrs. Vaux doubtfully. “I cannot think she will like to live with Augusta Raeburn."
“Precisely. Nor will Mr. Raeburn ever brave his sister's vapours to pop the question."
“I wish you will not use such vulgar expressions, Amaryllis."
“You know I guard my tongue in front of the girls and their parents. I have decided that we must dispose of Miss Raeburn."
“Surely you do not mean to murder her!” gasped Mrs. Vaux. “I cannot think that justified, however cross-grained she may be."
“What an odd opinion you have of me, Aunt Eugenia. No, I shall not stoop to murder unless all else fails. She must have other relatives on whom she might inflict her presence. I believe the vicar has mentioned a brother in London."
“But what should we do if Miss Tisdale did marry? We cannot run the school without her. I never did perfectly understand the use of the globes."
“Nor I."
“Are you ... Are you going to close the school and go to America?” The widow's lips trembled and she looked suddenly old and frail.
Amaryllis hugged her and laughed. “No, indeed. I had a thousand times rather teach—even the use of the globes—than sell nails and whatever else ironmongers sell. If we manage to install Tizzy in the vicarage, I expect she will not be too grand to help us still. And if she has not the time, why, I daresay there must be dozens of unemployed governesses who would jump at the chance."
“Oh yes. I am sure you are right. But I do think it very noble of you, my love, to promote Miss Tisdale's happiness when you rely on her so."
“Fustian, aunt. I rely on both of you, but I hope I shall not stand in your way when you choose to look about you for a second husband. Now I will leave you to rest, for I have a hundred things to do.” She went to the window, flung up the sash, and breathed deep. “I do believe we shall have a fine evening after all. The air is fresh and clear as a mountain spring, and Ned is out already tying up the plants the rain battered down."