Lady Lorna

by Joan Smith

  I followed the carriage down the drive, marveling at Acton’s sudden warming up to me, and at this troublesome time too, when we were at daggers drawn over Lady Lorna. Good grief! Was that it? Was he trying to persuade me to his way of thinking by a little bout of romance? Was that why he hadn’t finished what he began, and kissed me? Some remnant of decency refused to take that step. I was mad to think he would ever marry me. He would marry some fine titled, well-dowered lady.

  Just days ago he had spoken of going to London to look over the Season’s crop of potential brides. My first joy dimmed, and soon turned to anger. But I liked Acton. I had known him for years and it was hard to believe he would play such a shabby trick on me. I wished he had not spoken as he had, not at this time. Life was difficult enough without that. And on top of it all, we weren’t invited to Larson’s rout.

  It could not be put off any longer. I turned and walked slowly back to the house, where Mama and Lorna were waiting, all ears, to hear what had transpired. I would keep my shame to myself, the fleeting but ridiculous thought that he loved me.

  Chapter Eight

  “What did he say?” Lorna asked at once. Newly conscious of the possibility that she was keeping something from us, I wondered at that fearful expression on her face.

  “He is going to London for a few days,” I said.

  “What for?” Lady Lorna demanded.

  “Business, he said.”

  “Something to do with those cottages in Saint John’s Wood I expect. That’s all right then,” she said, relaxing.

  “And I suspect to look into the matter of your return as well,” I said, and watched for her reaction.

  Her shoulders tensed up again and her expression sharpened. “What did he say about that?” she demanded. I had the feeling she was extremely worried about his going to London. Was London the source of the big secret she and Acton shared?

  “He didn’t say anything definite, but I got that idea. Is there someone in London you can think of who might be interested? Who might know you? Mama mentioned you had a Season there. There must be relatives, friends you were close to.”

  “Gracious, I don’t know,” she said, tossing up her hands. “That was eons ago. You socialize with hundreds of people for a few weeks and never see most of them again. No one knows me as well as Acton and the aunts, and they refuse to recognize me because of my dowry.”

  “Acton also asked me to enquire about Rusty, Lorna. He wouldn’t tell me what he meant, but he said Lorna would know.”

  A triumphant smile beamed, giving me an idea how attractive she must have been before all her misfortunes. “Good lord, Rusty! I haven’t thought of him for years. Of course he’d be long dead. Dogs don’t live that long.”

  “Your mean Rusty was a dog?” I asked, disappointed.

  Mama and Lucy exchanged a fond look. “An Irish setter,” Mama said. “I swear Lorna was fonder of that old hound than her own family.”

  “He was my best friend — after you, of course, Lucy. Remember how he used to follow me everywhere? Goodness, I had no need of a groom when I rode about with Rusty at my heels. He would always look after me, as long as there wasn’t a rabbit to chase. Whatever happened to Rusty, Lucy?”

  “He died of old age, or perhaps just from missing you.”

  “A pity he didn’t accompany you the night the gypsies took you,” I said.

  “He was sick that evening,” Lorna said. “He just lay quietly and seemed sleepy. I wondered after if the gypsies hadn’t given him something to keep him quiet while they carried me off.”

  “Yes, I remember your Aunt Mary saying something of the sort,” Mama said, nodding.

  If Rusty was meant to convince me Lorna was lying, it had just the opposite effect. How could she possibly know about Rusty and his being sick that night if she hadn’t been there? And if she had been there in some other guise than Lady Lorna — as a servant or house guest, the Actons would know and make short shrift of her claim. But they never accused her of being anyone in particular, just of not being Lorna.

  That afternoon she mentioned that she had forgotten to buy stockings in Colchester. As I could see Mama was bored with no company calling, I suggested that we drive into Kelvedon to get the stockings. “Lucy will lend me a pair,” Lorna said. “Actually I was hoping to have a ride, if Lucy wouldn’t mind lending me a riding habit. I am not used to so much idleness. Driving to Kelvedon is just more sitting, when all’s said and done.” I noted that the habit not fitting her was no reason not to wear it on this occasion. Mama agreed, of course.

  “You can take Mama’s mount. I’ll go with you on Jezebel,” I said.

  “Oh, I was hoping you’d let me ride Jezebel, Katie,” she said with a coaxing smile. “Lucy has been telling me her Lady is a slowpoke. I am out of practice to be sure, but I feel I can do better than a slowpoke. You don’t mind? I am so looking forward to getting in the saddle again.”

  Mama gave me the sort of look that meant I was to agree, though I disliked the notion of someone who wasn’t accustomed to riding taking Jezebel out. I didn’t want her mouth ruined. “Kate won’t mind at all,” Mama said at once.

  “Just a little jog, to get the feel of it again,” Lorna said. “You needn’t come with me. You’d be bored to flinders on a slow goer. I’ll be careful of Jezebel. Don’t worry — I’ll not job her, Kate. I was used to be a pretty fair rider after all.”

  “Of course,” I said, trying not to show my reluctance.

  She and Mama went upstairs to find a suitable riding habit and I did a little work on the household accounts, thinking Mama and I might go into town to buy Lorna’s stockings. I joined them when they came down. Lorna looked a fright in a habit that showed her ankles and bagged about her waist but she dismissed it, saying she had worn worse, and no one would see her as she didn’t mean to go beyond the estate.

  I asked her how long she’d be but she suggested we go to town without her. I accompanied her to the stable to see if she remembered how to ride at all, and to suggest a pleasant route, through the spinney to the meadow. When I saw she had no difficulty getting aboard Jezebel and seemed to be a fair rider I returned to the house, relieved.

  Mama had settled down with the tea tray and the latest issue of a little known tract devoted to superstitions that Signora Rossini sometimes lent her. I joined her for a cup of tea. She said, “Lorna was born on Good Friday, Kate. And you know what that means.”

  I knew from her lugubrious tone what it meant to Mama. “Bad luck?” I said.

  “Any Friday birth is doomed to misfortune,” she replied in a special voice she used for proclaiming ill omens, then continued in her own voice. “It stands to reason Good Friday, that awful day of death, would be the worst. I remembered reading of the ill luck of a Friday birth and asked her when she was born. She knew the date, of course, but didn’t remember the day of the week. We got out Charles’s old perpetual calendar and looked it up. Pity. On the other hand, the old saw says Friday’s child is loving and giving, and Lorna is certainly that — was, I mean, in the old days. I must consult Signora Rossini about this Friday business when we are in town. She will know what’s best to do. Thank God you were born on a Monday, Kate. You see how accurate the saying is, for Monday’s child is fair of face.”

  I blame boredom and Signora Rossini for Mama’s adopting superstition as her guiding light. She could not go into society after Papa’s death, but it was acceptable to have her palm read by the local wise woman, which led to having her horoscope cast.

  From there it was an easy step to the world of superstition. Signora Rossini came, she talked, she conquered. She is said to know the secrets of the universe, but as she was plain Bessie Hudgins before she married an itinerant Italian stone mason who was working at the Abbey, changed her name, put a black veil over her head and a sign in her front window, I take leave to doubt that she has tapped into some well of universal omniscience, even if she did foretell Mrs. Haliburton’s death. The woman was eighty after all, a
nd had been ill for months.

  “There is not much she can do about being born on a Friday,” I pointed out.

  “There might be some cure,” Mama insisted. “Salt, for instance, keeps away evil spirits. Let me just see what the book says.” She began flipping the pages of her little tract.

  After a little more discussion of that sort, I had to get out of the house. I went out for a walk in the park, annoyed that I had been deprived of both a trip to the village and a ride on Jezebel. And I didn’t even have the Larson’s rout party to look forward to. I realize how petty it sounds, but here in the countryside we nubile ladies look forward to our spring season as eagerly as the debs look forward to their much grander London Season. It is our little local marriage mart. People come from as far as forty miles away, greatly increasing the supply of eligible partners. I had a new gown hanging in my clothespress and nowhere to wear it.

  As I approached the main road, I was surprised to see my Jezebel, without her rider. I blush to admit my first fear was for my mount, but as I hurried forward, I worried that Lorna had been thrown and Jezebel had left her in the meadow. Before I got to her, I saw that Lorna was there, holding the reins, apparently unharmed as she was smiling. A tree had been blocking my view of her. I soon noticed that she wasn’t alone but had dismounted and was talking to a man. I didn’t recognize him at first, but he looked gentlemanly enough. She looked up and saw me as I drew nearer. She said something to the man, he lifted his hat, hopped into a little gig and drove off.

  “Who was that?” I asked her, for while I didn’t know his name, I had soon placed him. He was the man I had seen recently in Colchester, the man in the jacket with the too big buttons who had been looking at Lorna, or possibly me.

  “His name is Chalmers. He tells me he’s a drapery salesman. He is on his way to Kelvedon and stopped to ask directions,” Lorna replied, with no air of guilt. “He says he saw me in Colchester the other day. Odd, I didn’t see him.”

  “You did see him. I pointed him out to you, remember?”

  “Is that who he is? I didn’t recognize him. I’m surprised he recognized me in this outfit. He said he saw me there, but I thought he was just angling for an excuse to call on me as men do. Well, the sort of men I used to know. I didn’t encourage him of course, but I admit it was a pleasant surprise to see a man still find me attractive.”

  “You are attractive,” I said at once.

  She laughed the compliment away. “No, no, my child, past thirty-five the best a lady can hope for is ‘handsome’. I’ll walk home with you. I find the riding a little hard after all these years, but I didn’t harm Jezebel. She’s a sweet goer, Katie.”

  “I thought you were going to ride in the meadow.”

  She gave me rather a sharp look, and I blushed. “I’m sorry. I sound as if I’m quizzing you, but you set off for the spinney. I was worried when I saw Jezebel with no rider.”

  She smiled to show she wasn’t offended. “I find I am not so familiar with your land as with my own — the Abbey, I mean. I took a wrong turning as I came out of the little woods and found myself on the road.” She looked around as we walked slowly back up through the park. “It’s lovely here in spring,” she said. “How I missed all this sort of thing, the trees and hedgerows and parks of England. Of course the war devastated the parts of Europe I was in — some of them. Paris is lovely. We should make our trip there in the spring. Do you think we can get Lucy to come?”

  She chatted on about the Seine River and Notre Dame and all the places we would visit until we were home. I took Jezebel around to the stable and Lorna went inside. As it was still early, I suggested we had time for a quick visit to Kelvedon and back in time for dinner.

  “I’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Lorna said. “Could we go tomorrow?”

  “Yes, let’s,” Mama agreed at once. “You’ll want to get to work on your gown, Lorna. Here, I want you to use my thimble for good luck.” Another attempt to counteract the ill fortune of being born on a Friday. I wondered where Mama had sprinkled the salt.

  It was the first time Mama had seemed glad to be rid of her guest. Was she finding Lorna’s company less enjoyable now that she wasn’t able to give her the entree to a more exciting social life? Indeed she had robbed us of our own simple pleasures. Mama had taken it hard that the Larsons had not invited us to their party. I told her when Lorna was not around, and she asked me not to tell her, as she would only feel bad.

  It was another evening of the three of us sitting together, talking about the old days, while Lorna stitched at her gown and I put new lace on my second best gown, for spring usually required not only one new gown but the refurbishing of older ones. By ten o’clock the nightly tea and toast had been consumed and Mama began yawning. She soon retired but Lorna said she would remain belowstairs a while. I hoped for more plans for our trip to Paris, but that was not her subject that night. She seemed more interested in Acton, quizzing me about every word he had said to me that morning. I hinted that I suspected there was some secret but she just laughed. “No doubt he has secrets, but I assure you I have none.”

  Frustrated, I rose and said, “I believe I’ll go to bed now.”

  She set the sewing aside then and stood up. “I want to ask you to do something with me, Katie,” she said.

  “What is that?” I asked, curious.

  “Sneak into the Abbey,” she said. “I had to wait until Lucy retired. I fear she wouldn’t like it.”

  “Neither do I!” I said at once.

  “It’s the only way, Katie. It’s not right, Acton barring the door of my home to me. I feel sure if I could go home, I could find something to prove once and for all that I am Lady Lorna. We can’t do all the exciting things we have planned until I am established.”

  “But what do you hope to find?”

  “Letters, mementoes, little things to jar my memory. After twenty long years, I have forgotten so much, and if he actually means to drag me into court I must be prepared.”

  “Do you think those things will still be there?”

  “Why would anyone take them? They’re not worth money. That is the Actons’ only interest in not recognizing me. This is our chance, with Acton in London, and only those two old ladies there. They’d be sound asleep by now.”

  “There are the servants though.”

  “They won’t be in the east wing, where my room is, and I know how to get in without a key. I used to do it often.”

  I tried to talk her out of it, but she kept saying it wasn’t fair that she couldn’t go home, and what harm would it do? She didn’t plan to steal anything. Who but Lorna herself would know how to sneak into her room at night? It was her only chance. I thought of her having her Mama’s ring, and of knowing Rusty and a hundred memories she and Mama shared.

  Surely she was Lady Lorna. I thought too of Acton’s trying to con me by talking of love. If there was some deep, dark secret, perhaps the key to it was in Lorna’s room at the Abbey. I wanted to match my heroine in bravery, and in the end, despite my better judgment, I let her talk me into it. And lived to regret it.

  Chapter Nine

  By the time Lorna had changed into Mama’s riding habit and I had changed into dark clothing and checked to see Mama was asleep it was after eleven o’clock. The Abbey is nearly two miles from Oak Hill by the road, but I suggested a short cut through the spinney and meadow. I was glad we had wrapped ourselves in old shawls, for the breeze was chilly. It carried the spring scent of wet earth, just tinged with a mouldy undertone of winter’s decay.

  It was an eerie walk, with trees blotting out the moonlight and whispering sullenly overhead. In the darkness we could not see the lower branches reaching out like black skeleton arms to grab at our clothing. Twice Lorna emitted a little scream of terror when a wayward twig pulled at her shawl. Night creatures rustled around, disturbed by our struggling through the long grass. Lorna uttered a few very unladylike complaints, but knowing the sort of people she had been living amongs
t, it was not surprising.

  The trees thinned out as we left the spinney. It was easier walking from there. Ahead we could see the ghostly walls of the Abbey soaring in the distance, spotted at intervals with the black rectangles of tall, narrow windows. Those in the upper story shone dully, reflecting the moonlight. A gibbous moon seemed to be perched on the edge of the chimney pot, as if it had just flown out into the black sky, scattering a handful of stars around it. I was relieved to see there wasn’t a light inside at any window. It must have been getting close to midnight by then, and I knew the aunts retired early. “This is the east wing. Which is your room?” I asked Lorna.

  “Third from the left, there where the vine is growing.” Ivy climbed like a monstrous, branching vein up the wall, and around the window. The dormer window looked very far above. It would be a perilous climb, even for me, but especially for an older, somewhat stout woman like Lorna. She was aware of it herself as she stood, looking up uncertainly.

  “My, it looks higher than I remember,” she whispered. “I’m not so young as I was. I thought nothing of shimmying up and down in the old days.”

  “Do you know how to open the window? It might be locked.”

  “It doesn’t lock properly. I used to jiggle it loose.”

  It seemed the ladies from the Abbey shared certain traits. From time to time I used to sleep at the Abbey as Sukey’s guest. She also used to sneak out at night and jiggle a lock to sneak in. Sukey used the library door. Her nighttime adventures involved men too, but not lovers, or not her lover at least.

  We were only ten or twelve at the time. It was servants we used to spy on. Meg, the downstairs maid, used to sneak out and wait behind the stable to meet her beau from the village. We would watch him kissing her, holding our hands over our mouths to keep from laughing out loud. Then back in her room, we would discuss what it must be like, to kiss a man. And for one whole season we watched a badger sett as well, but that was less exciting.