by Dunn
Momentarily distracted from her worry by the question of whether the cap was ever removed from that hoary head, a matter of perennial interest among her pupils, Miss Hartwell walked slowly back to her class.
The Spaniard again. There could not be two dark-visaged foreigners making enquiries about the school. Six years since Papa had absconded with the Spanish Ambassador's daughter. Could it possible have taken six years for a vengeful relative to find her?
It had taken Bertram six years, she reminded herself. The thought brought no comfort, since it implied that Bertram had not tried very hard, and that the mysterious foreigner might indeed be on her trail. If he was seen again, she had best warn Tizzy and Aunt Eugenia to be on their guard.
By Sunday, there had been no further reports of the Spaniard. Amaryllis decided she had been making a mountain of a molehill and went off to early service in a cheerful mood. Today she would return the bank draught to Lord Daniel. Let him dare to look at her with that cynical expression after that! When she reached home, she left word with Daisy to tell his lordship that she desired a word with him. Shortly after ten, the parlourmaid appeared at the common-room door and announced that he was waiting in her office.
Isabel bounced up.
“May I go down, Miss Hartwell?” she asked eagerly.
“You may come down to the vestibule and wait there, but I wish to speak to your father before you go out with him."
The bright eyes clouded. “Have I done something wrong?” she whispered.
Miss Hartwell gave her a quick hug. “Not at all. You are an excellent student and I was proud of your improvement in church this morning. I have business with Lord Daniel."
“Pray do not let him make you angry,” begged the child, her solemn face still worried.
“Miss Tisdale says he that is slow to anger is better than the mighty,” announced Louise.
“Thank you, Miss Carfax, I shall bear that in mind,” said Miss Hartwell drily. “Come, Isabel, let us go down."
Lord Daniel was pacing the office like a caged panther, his dark hair ruffled, a frown creasing his broad forehead. He swung round as she entered and strode towards her.
“Is something wrong with Isabel?” he demanded.
“No, nothing. I merely wished to return this to you.” She moved past him to the desk and took out the draught. “I told you I should not accept it,” she said, handing it to him.
He looked down at the paper, then at her with surprise in his eyes.
“I cannot suppose that the school brings in enough for you to turn down such a windfall,” he said harshly but with some confusion.
Her chin went up. “We do well enough to make it unnecessary to accept bribes, my lord.” He did seem to have a genius for destroying her composure.
“My apologies, Miss Hartwell. It must be gratifying to see the success of an establishment you have built from nothing."
There was warm admiration in his tone, and it was her turn to be surprised. Before she could respond he spoke again, as if he regretted the lapse in his hostility. “Is Isabel ready to go out?"
“She is waiting for you in the vestibule."
He bowed and was gone. Shaking her head in amused exasperation, Amaryllis watched through the window as he and his daughter went down the garden path and into the waiting carriage. In spite of his unmannerly exit, he left her feeling that he understood her pride in the school.
She recalled Bertram's impatience when she had told him that she could not leave at a moment's notice. He seemed almost to regard it as a joke that she was a schoolmistress. When she was married to him and a countess, would she look back on these six years as if they had been a mere aberration in her life?
The arrival of the object of her musing put an end to her reflections. He sauntered into the office and bowed gracefully over her hand. “Daisy told me you were in here,” he explained. “I said she need not announce me."
It was typical of his charm that he should already have learned the parlourmaid's name. She was probably ready to eat out of his hand.
“All the same, Bertram, it will not do to let the whole world know upon what terms we stand,” she said severely. “As the uncle of one of my pupils, it is proper that you wait to be announced."
“Fustian, my dear! Now go get your bonnet and let us be off."
“Bertram, I wish you will listen to me and understand my position. We are not in London now, where it is perfectly proper for a gentleman to drive a young lady in Hyde Park in an open carriage. I cannot go out with you."
“We shall take Louise along for chaperone."
“Even if Louise were sufficient chaperone, which she is not, I have five or six girls expecting to go walking with me this afternoon. We do not get so many fine days at this season that we can afford to miss the opportunity for exercise."
“Miss Tisdale or Mrs. Vaux might take them."
“They have duties of their own."
Lord Pomeroy inspected his glossy, spotless Hessians and sighed. “I daresay it is not out of reason muddy where you intend to go?” he asked hopefully. “I shall come with you. In fact,” he cheered up, “this will do much better than taking that inquisitive little brat with us. The others will serve to keep her out of our hair."
“I fear,” said Miss Hartwell, “that Louise is not one of our more vigorous walkers. She will not be among the group, and since you are come ostensibly to see her, it will not do."
“Not a vigorous walker, eh?” said his lordship grimly. “I've never seen a child with as much energy in my life. Let me have but one word with her and we shall see if she is not a vigorous walker."
Laughing, Amaryllis gave in. Nor did Louise put up much of a fight, when told that Uncle Bertram would take her into the village for luncheon first.
When word spread that Miss Hartwell's group was to have a dashing male escort, its numbers doubled instantly. For the first quarter mile across the flat, green meadows Lord Pomeroy was inundated with blushes and giggles, but he had a decade of experience in damping the pretensions of schoolroom misses. They soon gave up and left him in peace.
With the girls walking ahead, his lordship made several efforts to draw Amaryllis away from the path they had taken. She avoided this as neatly as he had avoided the snares of her charges, and they all returned together to the village some two hours later. Suffering from varying degrees of weariness, they ambled through the narrow, winding streets between pastel-washed cottages of wattle and daub, the larger brick houses of the merchants, and crooked black-and-white Tudor buildings, until the party came to the tiny triangle of open space known inaccurately as Falcon Square.
Lord Pomeroy took one look at the façade of the Falcon Inn, one of the oldest and crookedest of the timber-framed buildings, another look at Louise's hot face, and suggested tea all round. His popularity instantly restored, he led the way into the cool, dim interior. Bowing, he invited the young ladies to seat themselves and went to consult the landlady.
Pots of tea and pitchers of lemonade appeared, followed by platters piled high with hot muffins and cream cakes. Bertram sat down with Amaryllis at a small table to one side, took a deep draught from his tankard of ale, and leaned back in his chair to watch the devastation.
“You must starve them,” he exclaimed.
“Not at all, only we do not have cream cakes on the menu unless someone has a birthday. We give them healthy foods like brollycolly.” Half against her will, she told him about her interview with Ned.
“That settles it,” he said firmly. “I shall move to Castle Hedingham this very evening and propriety be damned."
“Then you think it likely that the Spaniard will create some sort of mischief?"
“Not at all likely.” He grinned. “But it gives me an excellent excuse to see you every day."
She was unable to dissuade him, though she tried once more when they returned to the school. In spite of herself, she was relieved to have him nearby, so she felt doubly guilty when she realised she had not told him she would
marry him.
It was too late for today. He had gone back to Halstead to arrange the removal of his gear, his valet, and his groom to the Blue Boar. By spreading his largesse among the various hostelries, he hoped to win to his side the innkeepers who were probably the village's greatest gossips. With luck they might scotch any scandal for fear of losing his custom.
Not that he cared if the yokels talked about Amaryllis. It could not make the slightest difference to his intention to marry her. But it would make her uncomfortable and so was best avoided, just as long as the avoidance did not cause him any inconvenience.
Chapter 7
Miss Hartwell, feeling unaccountably tired, went upstairs with the intention of lying down on her bed until it was time to change for dinner. She was halfway up the last flight when Daisy called to her from the landing below.
“Miss, miss, it's Miss Isabel's Pa asking to see you."
“Drat!” said Miss Hartwell in an unaccustomed outburst of vulgarity. “What ails the man now?” The thought of going all the way down to the ground floor, and later climbing all the way back, made her legs ache. “Where are Miss Tisdale and Mrs. Vaux, Daisy?"
“Miss is in the common-room, and Madam is laid down on her bed, miss."
“Then pray show Lord Daniel to the private drawing room. We shall not be disturbed there."
A fire had been laid in the drawing room, but not yet lit. Though the afternoon had been warm, autumn announced itself in the chill of approaching evening. Miss Hartwell sank onto a comfortably overstuffed sofa and wished she could put her feet up. A moment later Daisy ushered in Lord Daniel.
“Will I light the fire, miss?” she enquired.
“Not on my account,” said his lordship. “I shall not stay more than a moment."
“Light a pair of candles, Daisy, if you please. Pray be seated, my lord, even if it is for two minutes, because I am tired and I do not wish to have to crane my neck to see you."
He laughed and sat down. Again she wondered at the change wrought in his face by the alteration of expression. His laugh sounded rusty from disuse, and she was glad to have provoked it.
“What a charming room this is,” he said, glancing around.
Surprised, she followed his gaze. She had grown so accustomed to the furnishings she scarcely noticed them. The flowered chintzes and apple-green carpet, though faded, were certainly cheerful; and the pale yellow walls made it seem sunny on even the dreariest days. How odd in him to comment on it. She looked at him with suspicion. Was he trying to turn her up sweet?
She dismissed the possibility. From what she had seen of his character, it was more that he was simply making an unwonted effort to be pleasant. “Thank you,” she said hurriedly, in some confusion. “It is our favourite room, though we do not often have time to sit here during the school year. What can I do for you, sir?"
“I think it proper to inform you that I am sending Isabel's pony over to be stabled in the village. She greatly misses her daily ride. Naturally, you cannot be expected to provide mounts for your pupils."
“Nor do I have time to accompany her. You will not wish your daughter to ride unsupervised."
“No. I had not thought. However, one of my grooms may ride over to take her out."
Amaryllis phrased her next words carefully. He was obviously in a conciliatory mood and she had no desire to offend him.
“I am sorry, my lord, but I believe I should be wrong to permit this. I told you at our first meeting that we do not have extras or parlour boarders. Isabel is already favoured in that you visit her weekly. Some of the girls receive no visitors at all. I cannot think it fair that Isabel should be especially privileged, and I do not care to see her singled out as an object for envy and spite.” Seeing that he was bewildered, she added gently, “I know that you love her very deeply and want only the best for her. It is not always easy to know what is best. I admire your willingness to send her to school. I hope you will agree with me that her relationship with the other girls is more important than her riding."
The bitter look was back on his face. For a moment, remembering what Isabel had said of his quarrels with neighbours and relatives, she wondered if he would tell her riding was more important than friendship. However, he assented without demur.
“Is Isabel a good student?” he asked hesitantly.
“Excellent. She reads extremely well for her age, and what is more significant in the long run, she is interested in everything and studies hard. Her manners are also much improved."
He flushed, but nonetheless looked proud. “And she has made friends? You described her as a retiring child, I remember."
“She is still quiet, but she is on good terms with the other girls. One cannot expect her to suddenly become sociable when she has been used to solitude. However, Louise Carfax is still her bosom-bow. Indeed, you would have thought me to have windmills in my head to call her retiring had you seen the pair of them the other day.” She described the anti-rain dance. To her delight, it drew another laugh from him.
“Miss Carfax sounds like an enterprising young lady,” he remarked, then added thoughtfully, “You say that some girls receive no visits? Should you object if I asked Isabel to invite a few of her friends to Wimbish for the day?"
“What a kind notion,” exclaimed Amaryllis in amazement.
“I can send the carriage over early,” he went on, oblivious to her relief or her surprise. “The apples are ripening in the orchard. Perhaps they will like to pick some to bring back to school. I daresay you will wish to chaperone them?"
“Someone must go with them. Miss Tisdale, or perhaps Mrs. Vaux..."
“I hope you will choose to come yourself. You are Isabel's favourite teacher."
“'I ... Thank you, that will be delightful.” To her annoyance she felt herself blushing, which was utterly unjustified by his tone. He had sounded detached, as if he did not care who went except insofar as it affected his daughter. Not that there was the least reason to suppose that he had any other motive.
He stood up, an ironic gleam in his eye. “Next Sunday then. Will half past nine suit you?"
“Y—yes. Yes, that will do very well."
He bowed and took his leave.
Windmills in the head indeed! Amaryllis scolded herself. How could she have allowed a noted rake to talk her into accompanying a group of young ladies to his lair? She must at least make sure that Isabel invited the youngest possible, though she had heard alarming tales of libertines with a taste for little girls. Had not the notorious Harriette Wilson and her sisters joined the muslin company at an amazingly early age? She must keep her wits about her and not let any of them out of her sight. Yet apple picking sounded a thoroughly innocent pastime...
Heavens! she thought suddenly, sitting bolt upright, Bertram expected to see her next Sunday. What on earth would he think when he learned that instead of spending the day with him, she was going to traipse off across the county to call upon another gentleman? And that gentleman a notorious rake!
The moment had come, she decided as she once more climbed the stair to her chamber, to consult Tizzy and her aunt. Immediately after dinner, she hurried them up to the drawing room.
“I cannot imagine why you are in such a rush,” complained Mrs. Vaux as she settled into a chair by the fire. “I did not have time for a dish of apple charlotte, and you know it is my favourite. Cook makes a very fine apple charlotte."
“I'm sorry, Aunt Eugenia.” Amaryllis hugged her. “I will ask Daisy to fetch you some when she brings the tea. I have a great deal to discuss with you."
“'Nothing is secret which shall not be made manifest.’ Luke 8, verse 17. I expect Lord Pomeroy still wishes to marry you?"
“Yes, he does. How did you guess, Tizzy? Though I suppose it is unlikely that he should have stayed in the neighbourhood only to see Louise."
“Highly unlikely,” observed Miss Tisdale drily.
“Bertram has offered for your hand again? How splendid!” Mrs. Vaux clapped he
r hands. “At last I shall see you Lady Pomeroy, with your own house and carriage and no duns at the door. Lord Tatenhill is as warm a man as any peer in the country, I daresay, and he is no nipcheese. La! You will have more pin money than we spend in a year."
“If I marry him, the world will call it creampot love,” said her niece slowly. “I had not thought of that. And the scandalmongers will all be raking over Papa's conduct."
“If? Never say you have not accepted, Amaryllis? Indeed you must not play fast and loose with him again. A gentleman cannot be expected to come up to scratch time after time."
“What is the sticking point?” asked Miss Tisdale. “The old scandal? If his lordship does not regard it I am sure you need not. Or is it concern for myself and your aunt? There are always governesses in want of employment, my dear, and now that you have everything running smoothly we may easily find someone to take your place, though naturally we should miss you."
Since Amaryllis had urged this to her aunt when they were discussing Tizzy marrying the vicar, she could hardly demur.
“Those objections are not so easily dismissed,” she said with a frown. “However, the main problem is that I am not at all sure I wish to be married to Bertram!"
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Vaux was now near tears with vexation. “He is charming and good-looking and wealthy and complaisant and he loves you to distraction. What more can you possibly ask for in a husband? If I ever heard anything so chuckleheaded."
“It is indeed difficult to argue against such a list of virtues, Aunt. Perhaps I am being goosish. But I have promised that this time, if I accept his hand, I shall immediately set the date and not tease him with delays. It would be the outside of enough to throw my cap over the windmill while I have doubts."
“You have been long too independent to decide easily to commit yourself to the care of another,” agreed Miss Tisdale. “I am sure you will do what is best. Is Lord Pomeroy fixed in the country indefinitely?"
“That he is willing to bear the tedium for my sake ought to be enough to persuade me,” said Amaryllis gloomily. “However, he has insisted upon removing from Halstead to Castle Hedingham, so I expect I shall see him more often."