Miss Hartwell's Dilemma

by Dunn

“Oh no. Is he loitering about the school again?"

  “That is what is so odd. He was not here but lurking in the hedgerow near Lord Daniel's house. I did not catch more than a glimpse, but he was very dark and foreign-looking, with a most un-English moustache."

  Amaryllis frowned. “At Wimbish? How extraordinary. Surely it cannot be the same man. Was his dress foppish?"

  “No, very plain. I gained the impression of a servant, not a gentleman, though even the most dandified exquisite must think twice before concealing himself in a ditch in all his finery."

  “I daresay a Spanish gentleman skulking in the wilds of Essex might well have a servant doing likewise, but how could he have discovered that I might go to Wimbish today? No, I cannot believe that there is any connection. Whoever he is, if he continues to hide in hedgerows in this weather he will soon be carried off by a galloping consumption, I wager."

  Mrs. Vaux came back into the room at that moment, and Miss Tisdale returned to their earlier conversation. “Shall I inform the vicar tomorrow that his opinion of Lord Daniel is mistaken?” she asked.

  “No,” said Amaryllis decidedly. “That would lend the matter an altogether excessive importance. Well, Aunt Eugenia? What is Louise Carfax up to this evening?"

  “Nothing worse than inventing the rules of chess as she goes along. Since her opponent is Isabel, who is equally ignorant, their game is peaceful if unorthodox."

  “And since you have never been able to grasp the principles, dear Aunt, you were unable to set them right, I make no doubt."

  That night the cold spell came to an end. A period of grey, damp, depressing weather set in. Everything dripped, brown leaves fell sodden from the trees to lie in soggy piles beneath, and several girls came down with the grippe. Her days divided between teaching and nursing, Amaryllis dropped exhausted into bed at night and was asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. One of the sick girls developed an inflammation of the lungs. A doctor and her parents had to be sent for, and for a day or two her life was in danger.

  By the end of October, Amaryllis had scarce set foot out of doors for two weeks and was looking, as the vicar informed her kindly if unflatteringly, “sadly pulled about.” At this unpropitious moment, Isabel announced that Papa, though unaccountably recalcitrant, had agreed to allow another visit to Wimbish.

  “Shall you come this time, ma'am?” she asked Amaryllis, her dark eyes hopeful. “Papa was quite cast into the dismals when you did not last time."

  “Perhaps,” said Amaryllis tiredly, though smiling a little to hear the slang she had picked up so fast. “Do not tease me, pray, there's a good girl.” She had not seen Lord Daniel since the first Wimbish outing and was not sure whether she wanted to go or not.

  Now that everyone was on the road to recovery, she could spare the time. Indeed, she was ready to seize any excuse to get out of the house. On the other hand, she would be cooped up in a closed carriage for hours. She felt that for her own peace of mind she ought to avoid Lord Daniel, yet she had scarcely spared him a thought in weeks, which was hardly the sign of a developing tendre. And if he, on his part, had found her attractive in spite of her drab apparel, to see her looking “sadly pulled about” must cure him of his infatuation.

  Mrs. Vaux was a poor traveller. The jolting of a carriage made her utterly wretched, so it was out of the question that she should go. Amaryllis asked Tizzy if she should like to return to that magnificent library.

  An expression that in anyone else might have passed for coyness appeared on the governess's plain face, and a tinge of unwonted colour painted her high cheekbones. “I did enjoy the library,” she admitted, “and I should like to spend more time there, but Mr. Raeburn has promised to call on Sunday afternoon while your aunt is with his sister."

  “My dear Tizzy, I do not know that I ought to allow you to receive your admirer in my absence."

  “But he is a clergyman, Amaryllis, and the girls will be there. I shall not see him alone."

  “I am roasting you, Tizzy dear. You may see him alone with my goodwill, and I hope he has the sense and resolution to pop the question."

  “I do not think it at all likely,” said Miss Tisdale dolefully. “His first obligation must be to his sister and I cannot suppose that she will wish to share the vicarage with me."

  Amaryllis was tempted to disclose the plot to dispose of Miss Raeburn, but thought it unwise to raise any hopes that might not be fulfilled.

  “If he loves you,” she said bracingly, “and I am convinced that he does, then he will let nothing stand in his way. I shall go to Wimbish then, and leave you to your wooing."

  Chapter 12

  By Sunday, Amaryllis was ready to change her mind about going to Wimbish. A feeling of mounting anticipation warned her that she would be unwise to see Lord Daniel, and on top of that, she felt distinctly under the weather. However, a single look at the faces of Tizzy and Isabel made her steadfastly ignore her doubts. She took her seat in his lordship's carriage, Grayson urged on the horses, and they were off.

  Before they reached Finchingfield, Amaryllis wished she was at home. It was a mild day but wet, with a light drizzle falling, and the damp seemed to have invaded her bones. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the well-padded seat. One of the girls Isabel had invited had a raucous laugh, the despair of Mrs. Vaux, and was easily amused. The noise slashed through Amaryllis's aching head like a broadsword.

  At last they pulled up before the old brick house. Feeling fragile, Amaryllis followed the girls out of the coach. Preceded by the excited golden spaniels, Lord Daniel was coming down the steps towards her. There was a joyous welcome in his eyes, replaced almost at once by wariness. His first remark was not encouraging.

  “You do not look at all well."

  “I do not feel at all well,” she snapped. “I believe I must be coming down with the grippe. You had best not come near me or you will get it too."

  Undeterred, he took her arm. “Come in out of the rain, he urged gently. “There is a fire in the library, and you will feel more the thing after a cup of tea."

  Tears filled her eyes at his sympathetic tone. She forced them back, biting her lip. “If tea cured the grippe, I should not have been nursing half the school these three weeks,” she said waspishly.

  He raised his eyebrows with a quizzical look but said nothing and continued to lead her into the house. He waited while, feeling utterly miserable, she gave her cloak and bonnet to the housekeeper, then he ushered her into the library.

  If possible, the room was still pleasanter on this murky day than when the sun shone beyond the windows. Beneath the marble mantelpiece a fire burned briskly in the grate, where well-polished brass andirons shone. Lamplight glowed warm on gleaming wood and glossy leather. The dankness outside emphasised the comfort within.

  “Sit down.” Lord Daniel indicated a chair by the fire.

  Unable to summon up the energy to cavil at his peremptory manner, she sank into the chair, which was as comfortable as it looked, and closed her eyes.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord,” she said pettishly. “I ought not to have ripped up at you when you meant to be kind.” She heard him moving about the room.

  “Indeed you ought not,” he responded. “I so rarely mean to be kind that I require every possible encouragement. So pray encourage me by drinking this glass of Madeira. We shall see if it is a better remedy than tea."

  Amaryllis opened her eyes. He was standing before her, offering the glass of wine with a smile that made her heart turn over. She took the goblet with a murmured word of thanks, sipped at it, and set it on the table beside her.

  Then, possessed by an inexplicable spirit of contrariety, she said, “But I should have liked some tea."

  “I should never have put you down for a capricious female.” He rang the bell. “It must be a symptom of the grippe. Prosser, some tea for Miss Hartwell."

  The housekeeper had appeared so promptly that Amaryllis suspected she had been listening at the door. “Yes,
my lord,” she said, her face sour. “Will your lordship take tea also?"

  Amaryllis was sure he would make some excuse to leave her and her megrims alone. That had always been Bertram's strategy when she was feeling cross-grained, and her father's also. To her surprise, Lord Daniel stayed and drank tea with her.

  “Do you feel more the thing now?” he asked, regarding her critically. “Your colour is better."

  “The tea was refreshing, but now I am stupidly hot. I had best move away from the fire.” She struggled to rise from the enveloping chair.

  He was beside her in a moment, his hand on her shoulder. “No, stay there,” he ordered in his autocratic way. “I shall bring a screen to shield you from the heat."

  From one corner of the room he fetched a folding screen of canvas painted with charming landscapes, carrying it under his left arm. She watched with a frown as he set it up, fumbling awkwardly with his right hand. In general his movements were quick and sure, but sometimes he seemed to lose control of his right arm.

  “Is that better?” he asked, turning to her. “The devil! I believe you are running a fever.” He laid his cool hand on her forehead. “Yes, you most certainly are."

  “I am perfectly all right. What does a gentleman know of fevers?"

  “As much as a schoolmistress knows of agriculture, or more. I nursed Isabel through all the usual childhood ailments. Here.” He hooked a footstool with his toe and pulled it towards her. “Put your feet up on this, lean back, and close your eyes. I shall go and see what Isabel and your girls are doing, and I hope you will manage to sleep a little."

  When she made no move to obey, he bent down, lifted her ankles, and deposited them on the stool. She felt too weak to protest, so she contented herself with glaring at him before she leaned back and closed her eyes. She heard him chuckle, and then the door closed softly. Bertram never laughed at her or ordered her about, she thought with drowsy indignation.

  When she woke, the brass clock on the mantel said ten past two. On the table beside her a tray held a glass of lemonade, an apple, a pear, and two slices of chicken. Consumed with thirst, she drank the lemonade at a draught before she realised that Lord Daniel was standing near a window, watching her.

  “Definitely feverish,” he said, moving towards her. “I shall have several rooms made up and you shall all stay here until you are recovered. One of the grooms may take a message to Castle Hedingham."

  “Quite impossible. I feel very much better."

  “If you are concerned about propriety, I shall take a room at the inn in Wimbish. Now, will you eat something?"

  Disarmed by his calmness, she admitted that the pear looked singularly succulent.

  “Let me core it for you."

  Picking up the silver fruit knife and fork, he neatly cut it into quarters. Amaryllis watched his hands, the long, strong-looking fingers with their neatly trimmed, immaculate nails. He cored one piece, and was about to start on the second when he dropped the knife with a clatter. As he tried to retrieve it, his fingers refused to obey him. For a moment he looked very young and utterly vulnerable.

  “What is wrong with your arm?” Curiosity and compassion overcame Amaryllis's good breeding. A moment later she cursed herself as a painful flush mantled his lean cheeks and he scowled at her.

  “That is none of your business, ma'am. The fact that I have placed my daughter in your care does not give you leave to pry into my personal affairs."

  “I have no intention of prying.” Knowing herself in the wrong, she spoke coldly. “I merely meant to express my sympathy."

  “I have no need of your sympathy, Miss Hartwell. I beg you will keep it to yourself."

  “You may be sure that in future I shall.” He was detestable. She had been right to resist coming to this place. She stood up. “It is time we were leaving. May I request that you order the carriage and inform the girls that they must get ready to depart?"

  “By all means, ma'am. I shall send Prosser to you immediately, and the coach will be at your disposal in fifteen minutes. Good day, ma'am.” He bowed curtly and strode out of the room.

  As her annoyance faded, Amaryllis shivered. It was most fortunate that they had quarrelled, she thought, or she would have been seriously tempted to accept his invitation to stay. She felt wretchedly ill, and all she wanted to do was to retire to bed and sleep forever.

  However, she roused herself to speak cheerfully to the girls. She asked them what they had found to do, and half-listened as they described the bonfire they had managed to have despite the rain, the guy dressed in Lord Daniel's old clothes, the roasted chestnuts and delicious half-raw potatoes. She had forgotten it was Guy Fawkes’ Day.

  Settling in the carriage, she braced herself to endure the journey. Grey afternoon was merging into dusk when they reached the school. As the coachman helped Amaryllis down from the carriage, she leaned heavily on his arm. He peered at her from under his bushy eyebrows.

  “If ye bain't sick, miss—Here's a fine to-do! Let me help ye to the house now. Whatever possessed ye to go ajauntering about in sich a state?"

  “Thank you, Grayson.” She cut off the flow of soothing words as they reached the door and fumbled in her reticule for a shilling.

  He put his weather-tanned paw over her hand. “Never ye mind now, miss. Get ye inside and warmed up. Miss Isabel, fetch someone to yer teacher right smart now."

  Amaryllis stumbled across the threshold and stopped short as Bertram strode into the vestibule.

  “I hear you've been visiting that fellow Winterborne again,” he said, his face unwontedly grim. “What the devil do you mean by it?"

  Amaryllis slapped his face, burst into tears, and headed on leaden feet for the staircase.

  When she woke, very late the next morning, she was much improved. Aches and fever were gone, and a huge bouquet of red rosebuds on her dressing table did a great deal for her state of mind. She assumed they were from Bertram. Where he had found them in the depths of the country in November was a mystery, but surely it meant he had forgiven her for her imprudent visit to Wimbish and her behaviour last night. There was a note propped against the vase. She started to sit up to go and get it, but a sudden dizziness overwhelmed her. She lay back lethargically and breathed the roses’ perfume.

  A few minutes later, Daisy peeped round the door. “Are you awake, miss? How do you feel?"

  “Lazy. I should be glad of some tea, Daisy, and will you pass me that letter, if you please."

  “Right, miss. You got a light dose of the grippe if you're better a'ready."

  “Yes, thank Heaven.” She opened the note as the maid slipped out.

  Bertram offered his profound apologies for his Turkish treatment of her when she was ill. He knew very well that her visit to Wimbish had been perfectly innocent and unexceptionable, and his only wish was to remove her from a situation where her duties included such undesirable acquaintances.

  Unreasonably irritated, Amaryllis tore the paper in half and dropped it on the floor.

  Mrs. Vaux appeared, bearing tea and shortbread and a bowl of something she referred to as “a strengthening broth.” Amaryllis drank it with docility and ate a piece of shortbread when informed that Cook had made it specially. Mrs. Vaux then went to the dressing table and brought back a box, tied with a red velvet ribbon, that Amaryllis had not noticed.

  “From Bertram, my love,” she said. “He was shockingly distressed to find you absent when he arrived yesterday. He is on his way from Tatenhill to London and can stay here only a few days."

  Amaryllis opened the box. It held chocolate-covered cherries. She offered them to her aunt, then popped one into her mouth. The sweet, juicy stickiness took her back to London days, to the handsome, dashing young Corinthian she had fallen in love with.

  Of course she loved Bertram! She ate another bonbon, then closed the box. They were sweeter than she remembered, a trifle sickly. She drank some tea.

  “Shall you allow Bertram to come and see me here, Aunt?” she asked
. “I believe I shall not go down today, if you can manage without me."

  “Of course we can, and of course you must stay in bed until you are perfectly recovered, and no, I shall certainly not allow Bertram to visit you in your bedchamber."

  “I thought not. I should like something light to read, if you please, though I daresay I shall sleep again presently. If Bertram comes, pray give him my thanks for the flowers and the chocolates. Is Mr. Raeburn here?"

  “Yes, and wearing a prodigious long face. Miss Tisdale too is not happy, I think, though it is hard to tell because she is never precisely full of fun and gig. I need not tell you that he did not come up to scratch yesterday. However, I believe I have discovered a weak spot in Augusta's armour."

  “You would not have been telling a bouncer these past weeks if you gave her to suppose we had opened a fever hospital."

  Mrs. Vaux brushed this aside impatiently. “No, no. I decided it was time to learn why she does not care to live with her brother in London. Amaryllis, her brother is butler to Lord Langston! I was never more shocked in my life. He is something of a black sheep in the family, for they are of gentle birth of course. Augusta is quite ashamed to have a close relative in service, even in so respectable a position."

  “You must be on terms of great intimacy for her to have admitted to such a thing, which is very clever of you but I cannot see how that will help us."

  “No, and I was quite cast down into the dumps when she said it, for she cannot possibly make her home with a butler. Only think what they would say in the servants’ hall, even if Lord Langston were to allow it, which is not in the least likely. I daresay the brother has no more than a room or two to himself. But then I mentioned that I was well acquainted with dear Millicent, and I claimed to have noticed that her household was particularly well run. Augusta begged my pardon and asked if I was referring to Lady Langston. I saw she was impressed at my speaking so familiarly of a person of such consequence, so I went on chattering about all our London acquaintance and the people I knew when dear Mr. Vaux was alive. Her eyes grew quite round and she did not interrupt me once. She has a vastly overrated idea of the superiority and exclusiveness of the Ton, my dear, and I have raised myself several notches in her estimation simply by telling her I once spoke to the Prince Regent. The King, that is."