Lord Greywell's Dilemma

by Laura Matthews

  Abigail regarded her with the sharp brown eyes. “What makes you think you can do that?"

  "I have a certain amount of experience with the children in my neighborhood. It has been rather a project of mine to see that they have enlightened care."

  "Enlightened,” Abigail scoffed. “The old methods are always the best methods."

  "I'm afraid I can't completely agree with you there.” Elspeth looked to Greywell once again for some support, but he did no more than give her a perfunctory smile. What the devil had gotten into him? Elspeth hoped he didn't intend to act this enigmatically whenever a guest arrived to meet her.

  "Some of the old wives’ tales,” she told Abigail, “are injurious to infants. The bad has been passed along with the good."

  "And you think you can tell the difference?” Abigail demanded.

  Elspeth refused to be intimidated by her companion's outrageous behavior. “I hope so. I've been instructed by an excellent doctor and midwife, back at Lyndhurst. Of course, everything depends on God's will,” she added virtuously.

  "Now you remind me of Elizabeth,” Abigail chortled. “That was the one thing I was going to warn you about, Greywell, but I decided better of it. Elizabeth is a very devout woman."

  Greywell smiled sweetly on the two ladies. “That is a coincidence. Imagine there being two such virtuous women in England, and my being recommended to both of them. I can't think how that came to happen when I'm such an unworthy fellow myself."

  The light mockery in his voice made Elspeth bristle. “I don't know that I would consider anyone who collected snuffboxes by the dozen ‘unworthy,’ but it does denote a certain frivolity which I was surprised to learn of in you, Greywell. There are several of them which I consider unacceptable left lying about. Andrew is, of course, too young to be affected as yet, but there is the morality of the maids and footmen to be considered."

  At first Greywell thought she was teasing him, but, as that did not appear to be a part of her nature, he reluctantly came to the conclusion she was perfectly serious. Abigail's bright eyes had swung from Elspeth to Greywell, eager for his reply, sheer delight emanating from her at the possibility of being witness to their first (she presumed) married quarrel. After all, they'd only been married a day.

  "I'm sure the servants’ morality can withstand the sight of a few artistic snuffboxes,” he replied, seemingly indifferent. Greywell had no intention of arguing with his new wife in front of anyone.

  "Just the same,” Elspeth replied, when you are gone I shall put away the indecent ones until you return, and then I hope you will keep those somewhere where no innocent eye could fall on them."

  He would have liked to nip this sort of prudery in the bud, but Abigail was waiting for just such a scene, and he refused to give it to her. Fortunately, Selsey appeared to announce another visitor just as a footman brought in the tea tray. In the ensuing commotion the subject was dropped. But not forgotten—by either of them.

  The vicar, Mr. Clevedon, was followed by several other neighbors, including Emily Marden, the young matron Greywell had suggested might guide Elspeth in acquiring a suitable wardrobe. She was accompanied by her husband, and was enormously enceinte, which didn't give Elspeth a proper opportunity to decide whether or not she agreed with Mrs. Marden's style of dress.

  The procession continued throughout the morning, concluding with Sir Markham Treyford, his wife, Julia, and their twenty-six-year-old son, Francis. Elspeth was amused by the highly unlikely combination of a florid country squire, a tight-faced, gaunt woman, and a willowy, dreamy young man, but when she attempted to convey her good humor to Greywell with an arch look, he pretended not to see it. For that piece of effrontery, she flirted a little with the son.

  Not that Elspeth would have called it a flirtation, but Greywell, watching her earnest attention to the young man, certainly did. Lord, was there no end to his new wife's ability to put him out of countenance?

  When their visitors had at last departed, and before another onslaught for the afternoon could begin, Elspeth bundled herself in the blue cape and hurried up to her chamber. Andrew was awake, but once again tightly wrapped in a blanket in his cradle, with Bates rocking cozily in a chair beside him.

  "I'm going to take him outside for just five minutes,” Elspeth explained, bundling him in yet another blanket. “He needs an opportunity to fill his lungs with some rich country air."

  "But it's freezing out of doors,” Bates protested.

  "No, it's warmed since this morning. He'll be perfectly comfortable, I promise you. I'd like to see a little color in his cheeks."

  Bates muttered something about frozen lungs, congestion, and runny noses, but not so loud that her comments need be considered as an address to her new mistress. She sat with her hands folded firmly in her lap, as though to prove she had nothing to do with the dangerous expedition Lady Greywell proposed.

  Elspeth never stopped talking to the child, which was another thing Bates objected to. The new mistress had some very strange notions, if one of them was that a child of less than four months could understand a solitary word she spoke. The poor lamb, in Bates’ opinion, was not going to enjoy the cold air one bit, either, as her ladyship assured him he would. The purpose of having a nice warm fire in each of the rooms at this time of year was that it was cold if one didn't.

  Outside the air was crisp and snow crunched under Elspeth's boots. Almost as much for her sake as for the child's, she welcomed the opportunity to be away from Greywell and his house and his household staff. Talk about tradition! Everything in the place was rife with it, and here he'd told her that wouldn't be the least problem. All their patterns were established, their rituals and superstitions firmly in place—Bates, Mrs. Green, Selsey, all of them.

  Elspeth knew they didn't want someone else taking Caroline's place, and she didn't blame them, but she missed the kind of affectionate respect in which she'd been held at Lyndhurst. There the servants had mostly known her since she was a child; they knew she would be demanding but fair, that they could come to her with their problems, that she was concerned with their illnesses. Here she doubted anyone would ever give her a chance to be more than a stranger.

  Elspeth heard a carriage on the drive, denoting yet more visitors. Her five minutes were up; she must take the baby directly back to the nursery and freshen herself up for more company. Somehow things weren't working out exactly as she'd expected. She braced her shoulders and marched back into the house to meet yet another of Greywell's curious neighbors.

  Chapter Eight

  "Andrew does seem improved since you came,” Greywell admitted one evening when he was sitting with Elspeth in the Saloon. They had spent an hour there together each evening since their arrival six days before. Aside from their meals together, and the times when people called, it was the only time they had spent together. Neither of them regretted the shortness of this exposure.

  "Yes, I think he is. He's eating better and not spitting up as much. His color is much healthier and he's been more active, according to Bates. She'd like to resent me, but she's devoted to the child and she can see the improvement, too.” Elspeth tried to suppress a yawn. Her days had been full and exhausting—taking care of the child, acquainting herself with Ashfield, greeting visitors, going over routines with the housekeeper and several other members of the staff. Tonight she really should spend more time with Greywell, since he was leaving for Vienna in the morning, but her nights were always disrupted by Andrew's cries and murmurs; she was bone-weary. “Was there anything you especially wanted me to know before you leave?"

  "I think we've gone over everything at one time or another.” Greywell was aware that most of their conversation had consisted of his passing along information (which Elspeth considered strictures) and her long-suffering acceptance of his instructions. Surely there was no more martyred expression than the one she wore when he merely pointed out some way in which she could better adjust to the routine of this household.

  There was
the instance of the dairy maids, a totally unnecessary interference. It had been the practice at Ashfield for literally centuries for the dairy maids to milk the cows, but Elspeth had insisted they had quite enough to do with emptying and cleaning the milkpails and, of course, supplying the milk, cream, and butter to the household. She had insisted the cowkeeper could quite as easily take over this share of the burden, since he was, after all, in charge of the cows and had to be there anyhow. Elspeth had said, “What in the name of heaven is the use of his standing there and watching those poor girls work their fingers to the bone? At Lyndhurst we did it differently, and there was a fair division of labor.” Greywell hadn't wished to hear how they did things at Lyndhurst. All she was managing to do was cause disruption among his staff.

  Elspeth was a little surprised now to find he'd exhausted himself on subjects regarding the sanctity of Ashfield procedures. She'd begun to think there was no end to the things he intended to make sure she adhered to. “Well, in that case,” she said, stifling another yawn, “I think I'll go to bed now. Of course I'll join you for breakfast in the morning and see you off."

  It would have been easiest just to let her go, but Greywell was suddenly determined to make one last effort to instill a little caution and respect in her for his home and his inheritance. “Before you do,” he said, lifting one elegant hand in a gesture of restraint, “I want to thank you for your efforts on behalf of Andrew. If you will just concentrate on his development, everything else will flow along smoothly as it always has. There's no need for you to concern yourself with making changes at Ashfield. I'm sure Andrew will absorb a great deal of your time. To add any further burden to that fatiguing one would be excessive. You will need some time to your own devices, and I hope you will take it. Let Mrs. Green handle household matters and enjoy yourself as you can."

  "Oh, I shall enjoy myself. Don't fret about me." Elspeth's tone held just a hint of mockery. “If I find myself with time on my hands, after I've read the latest book or ridden my mare, I shall see what I can do for the vicar. And of course I will wish to go shopping for a new wardrobe. Mrs. Marden said there are two quite acceptable shops in Coventry. How long do you expect to be gone?"

  "It's impossible to say. Rest assured it won't be any longer than necessary. If an emergency should arise, send a private messenger. I very much doubt negotiations will be completed by Christmas, so I hope your father will visit as he promised.” Greywell watched as she covered her third yawn. “Off to bed with you, my dear. You're always up early with Andrew. We'll say our goodbyes in the morning."

  Because be had eaten particularly well the previous evening, Andrew slept until seven-thirty in the morning. This would have been ideal, except that Elspeth knew Greywell intended to leave fairly early and she had expected to join him in the Breakfast Parlor a little after seven. She leaped out of bed and tossed on a dressing gown just as a light knock came at the door. Thinking this would be Bates, worried at the baby's lateness, she called, “Come in,” as she stooped to pick up the child. Her braid of hair had fallen forward over one shoulder and loose wisps of hair curled about her ears and forehead.

  "It's all right, Bates,” she said as she cuddled the child against her shoulder. “He's only just now woken.” And she turned to find Greywell standing immobile in the doorway, staring at her. “Oh. I didn't know it was you. I'm afraid I've overslept."

  "So I see. I didn't mean to disturb you. May I hold him?"

  Elspeth handed the wide-eyed Andrew to his father. The baby, who had been fussing, immediately stilled in Greywell's arms, blinking curiously up at the face so far above him. Greywell's expression was hard for Elspeth to decipher: it was tender and yet sad, hopeful and yet touched with despair. How awful to feel such conflicting emotions when you looked on your child, she thought, feeling a wave of reluctant affection for Greywell. Really, he only wanted to do what was right for his son.

  "I'll take good care of him,” she promised. “By the time you return, he'll be strong and healthy."

  He believed her. Somehow he had no trouble believing Elspeth would accomplish just about anything to which she set her hand. Greywell told himself he should be grateful to her for his being able to leave everything in her capable hands. And he was grateful, as far as Andrew went. As for the rest of it ... Well, there was no more he could say now. She would do as she wished when he was gone, of that he was as certain as he was of his own name. The startling and traitorous thought that she looked adorable with her sleepy eyes and the clinging tendrils of hair he pushed firmly from his mind.

  "You'll want to take Andrew up to Bates,” he said. “They're bringing my carriage around, so I'll say farewell to you both now. I'll write to you, and I hope you'll send me word of Andrew's progress. And of your own, of course,” he added, belatedly.

  "I shall. Don't worry if you haven't time to write often. I understand how busy you'll be.” Elspeth accepted the baby back from his arms and smiled up at him. “I hope your mission will be wonderfully successful, Greywell. Godspeed."

  "Take care of yourself.” He bent to kiss her forehead. “I'll be back as soon as possible."

  When he turned and walked out the door, Elspeth felt the slightest bit of regret, for which she could not account. After all, she knew him only slightly better than anyone else at Ashfield. Well, she decided with a sigh, it's all for the best he'll be away. When he's here, we're at odds, and by the time he returns I'll be so entrenched there will be nothing for it but for him to get accustomed to me. She had every intention, too, of getting accustomed to him, when the time came. Accustomed to his various moods, that is.

  * * * *

  As Andrew's health progressed, Elspeth took more interest in the world outside Ashfield. She was a little disappointed to find that the parish was a prosperous one, where the vicar required little assistance in the way of making clothing for the poor or ministering to the sick. The only project she could think of to put in motion was one to teach some of the illiterate how to read and write, and she had a difficult time drumming up enthusiasm for it among the people she'd met.

  Emily Marden, for instance, thought it unnecessary. “Why would they want to learn to read, my dear Lady Greywell?” she asked as she and Elspeth headed into Coventry one day on a shopping expedition. “If they had wanted to learn, they would have learned as children. We have a perfectly wonderful dame school here, you know. Your husband's grandfather helped to establish it eons ago, and each of the Greywells since then has taken a personal interest in it. Very few of the children leave school without knowing how to read and write."

  "But there must be adults who don't know,” Elspeth insisted. “Surely any number of them come from other parts of the country, where they didn't have the opportunity as children."

  "You don't know much about the area yet,” Emily said with a tinkling laugh. “There never was such a place for people staying put. Of course, there are a few people who've come from outside, but if they're smart enough to settle in the village, they probably already know how to read!"

  "Well, perhaps I'll just ask around."

  Emily patted her hand. “Yes, do. There may be people I don't know of, though the question once came up at Crawley and it turned out every one of the servants knew at least the basics. That would be most unusual in some parts of the country, wouldn't it?"

  "It certainly wasn't the case at Lyndhurst.” Before I undertook my little project, Elspeth could have added, but didn't.

  To Greywell she wrote:

  Andrew is thriving these days. His new crib is ready (you will recall I thought the old one too dark and gloomy), so we have set it up in the original nursery next to Bates’ room. I've had new curtains made, light, airy ones, but have saved the old mauve hangings in the attic as you requested I do with the furniture. Andrew seems to like the crib and bats at the little cloth animals which dangle from a band across the top. You aren't to worry that he can get them in his mouth! We've given him safer things to chew on. Bates is delighted with his
progress, as I am.

  Emily Marden and I went shopping in Coventry the other day and I've ordered five new dresses. One of them is jaconet muslin over a peach-colored sarsnet which she insisted upon, though the weather is far too chilly for it now. She has the most incredible taste in headdresses! You will be surprised to hear she talked me into a leghorn hat with a large brim and a crown ornamented with four rouleaux of peach-colored satin twined with white cord. It makes me feel exceedingly frivolous!

  The question of the dairymaids has been settled. The cowkeeper will milk half the cows.

  I am interested in undertaking a project of teaching illiterate adults in the neighborhood how to read and write. Mrs. Marden says there aren't any. I find that difficult to believe! I shall look into it further.

  By all accounts things progress slowly in Vienna. I hope you are not discouraged.

  Your obedient servant, Elspeth

  When Greywell received this missive, he was tempted to write her that he would prefer she not call herself his “obedient servant” if she had no intention of following any of his instructions, but he forbore. With so many of the British delegation to the Congress seemingly more intent on attending parties than to the matter in hand, he found himself overworked as one of the few who were determined to find a long-range solution to the division of Europe.

  So he wrote back:

  Your report on Andrew's progress is encouraging. I should like to see him right now in his new crib batting at the cloth animals. Thank you again for your care of him.

  The Regent should have come himself instead of sending Castlereagh. He would have appreciated the balls and petits soupers, the operas and the promenades a great deal more than Castlereagh does. Besides, most of the Allied sovereigns are here, and it is something of a slight that he should disdain appearing. Nonetheless, I have hopes that progress will be made sometime soon, my fear is that it will be the wrong sort of progress. I press for something which will be less disastrous and not bring so much misery.