The Impossible Ward

by Dorothy Mack

  “No, I would not dislike it precisely for I am very fond of Sophia and I do not desire an advantageous match in the worldly sense for either of my sons, but Andrew is such a volatile creature and Sophia is such a quiet little wren. I cannot quite believe they would deal well together. Are you certain that it is a case with them?”

  “Sophia has said nothing to me of her feelings, nor has Andrew, but he was most interested in seeing the paintings she gave me, and I have noticed that he is always gentle with her.”

  “But I think he does not seek her out, Marianne, as Justin does you. He treats her more as one would a young sister, rather protectively.”

  “Aha!” Marianne ignored the first observation and addressed herself to the second. “He treats me like a sister, and there is nothing protective about it. Do you not see how differently he acts with Sophia?”

  “He treats you like another brother,” corrected her ladyship dryly, “but I do not mean to pull caps with you, Marianne, because I just do not feel competent to judge of Andrew’s feelings, or Sophie’s for that matter. We shall simply have to wait and see. But tell me, did he like the paintings?”

  “I believe he greatly admired them, and I was impressed with his knowledge of art. In general, you know, Andrew is such a madcap that one tends not to credit him with serious interests.”

  Andrew’s fond mama nodded in acknowledgment of this judgment. “My son is rather a surprising person altogether, but his interest in art is longstanding and quite serious. He has acquired some lovely paintings and pieces of sculpture for Chestnut Hill. I have often thought that it was a severe disappointment to him that his own early efforts were not worthy of encouragement, but he has never admitted this. When he was younger he wanted to be just like the twins, and they never sat still long enough to cultivate any artistic or musical accomplishments, though Harry had a pleasant singing voice and Justin was used to whistle accompaniment for him.”

  The two women were comfortably ensconced in Lady Lunswick’s morning room, the elder industriously engaged in putting the finishing touches to a handsome altar cloth that she had not been able to complete before Christmas because of her increased social schedule since Marianne’s arrival. The younger was seated at the large table where she was checking over the household accounts for the marchioness. Watching her covertly, the marchioness concluded that for all her disinclination to talk about Justin, there was a new radiance about her young guest lately that intensified her healthy good looks into a state approaching real beauty. And that was true even when she had the misfortune to be standing within comparison distance of Aurelie St. Clair. Of course this glowing look might not be at all attributable to the attentions being paid her by her trustee; she had not actually denied an interest in some other man. But her trustee’s mother had not been narrowly observing the constantly changing relationship between these two lovable but reticent young people for almost the entire length of their stormy acquaintance (and someday she meant to hear the true story of their first meeting!) without forming some hopeful theories of her own. Though she had long abided by a vow not to interfere in the lives of her children without a specific invitation to do so, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her tongue between her teeth, so consumed was she with the ravenous urge to know just how great a degree of pretending actually existed in this mock courtship.

  “Marianne,” she began, when a peremptory knock sounded at the door. “Enter!”

  Marianne looked up from her figures to see Nurse come quickly into the room, but at the sight of her she laid down her pen and came forward. The calm, unhurried air that was so much a part of Nurse’s appearance was gone. She looked worried and upset, and her hands were clasped tightly together. She sketched a small curtsy to Lady Lunswick and plunged:

  “Ma’am, your ladyship, have you seen Richard this morning?”

  “Why, no. Have you, Marianne?”

  “No, it is my custom to visit the nursery after lunch. What is wrong?”

  At this news Nurse had started to wring her hands. “Oh dear, I had hoped he might have come here to get that dratted dog, begging your pardon, my lady. I haven’t seen him for over an hour.”

  Lady Lunswick cleared away her embroidery silks and patted the arm of the settee. “Here, Nurse, sit down and tell us just what has happened. When did you last see the boy?”

  “Over an hour ago in the nursery.” Perched gingerly on the exact edge of the chair, Nurse tucked a wispy strand of gray hair behind her ears and continued in flat tones which didn’t quite conceal her anxiety. “He was playing happily with his soldiers so I decided to mend one of his shirts. I went into my room to get my work basket, intending to bring it into the nursery. But the light was very good by my chair and it is more comfortable for my short legs than those in the nursery so I stayed there to finish the job. The door was open, though, and I could hear Richard singing to himself while he played. I did not pay any attention when the singing stopped, nor did I hear the door open or close, but when I went back in there, he was gone.”

  Marianne said soothingly, “Perhaps he is playing a trick on you, Nurse, and is hiding somewhere.”

  “That’s what I thought at first, your ladyship. ‘Depend upon it,’ I told myself, ‘the little scamp is hiding, hoping to jump out at me, and give me a fright.’ He’s a different lad since we’ve come here, much more playful like, and right mischievous sometimes. Not that I mind,” she added hastily, “I like to see boys active, and he always minds me when I call him, but I’ve searched everywhere and there’s no trace of him upstairs.”

  “Have you tried the kitchens?” queried Lady Lunswick. “Strangely enough I’ve discovered that Christophe is not at all adverse to having Richard around.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. They haven’t seen hide nor hair of him today. The dog was there earlier but he’s not there anymore either.”

  “Does his mother know? Perhaps he’s with her.”

  “No, Ma’am, he’s not. I checked her rooms first and I’ve just come from there. He’s not been there this morning.”

  “What does her ladyship say? Is she alarmed?”

  “I don’t know about alarmed, but she’s annoyed all right, because I asked to have Selwyn help me search for Richard, and Selwyn was doing my lady’s hair at the time.”

  “Have you checked with Selwyn since then?”

  “No, Ma’am, but I’ve told the maids to keep their eyes open. Between us I think we’ve looked in almost every room.”

  Marianne, who had been silently standing near Lady Lunswick listening to the details, now spoke up. “I brought him to the armory once and he was fascinated by the collection of swords and firearms. Let me check there now.” She was at the door on the words but paused to ask, “Are any of his outer garments missing, Nurse?”

  Nurse jumped up from her chair. “I don’t know, Ma’am, I never thought he’d go outside in this damp air, but I’ll look right now.” She hurried through the door after Lady Marianne.

  Both were back within five minutes, slightly breathless, but only Nurse had anything to report. “His blue jacket is missing, my lady, and his gloves.”

  Lady Lunswick pulled the cord summoning Coleman. “I have been thinking since you mentioned that Nuisance was in the kitchens earlier that it is very likely he and Richard have met and gone off somewhere. Nuisance has not appeared whining at the door today as is his custom.”

  When the impassive Coleman appeared, she issued orders for the footman and maids to search the grounds for the little boy. “I do hope the rain will hold off. It is such a dreary day. But he can’t have wandered far.”

  Marianne spoke for the first time. “I am going out to look also. Where are the gentlemen today, Coleman?”

  “They are all out riding, my lady.”

  The marchioness said bracingly, “I am persuaded we’ll have found the culprits by the time the men return.”

  While the maids combed the shrubbery and the footmen headed past the gate house toward th
e road that led to the nearest village, Marianne stood undecided at the main entrance, trying to imagine where a small boy and his dog were most likely to take advantage of unexpected freedom. She frowned in concentration as she buttoned the soft, black woolen pelisse to her throat. A gig coming up the carriage drive caught her attention and she watched as the horse drew closer until she recognized the gray mare from the vicarage with Miss Sophia Huntington handling the reins in capital fashion.

  “Sophia! I am so glad to see you. You are come just in time.”

  “Are you on the point of going somewhere?”

  “Oh, no, that is, yes, in search of Richard who has wandered off. Will you come with me?”

  “Most willingly. Shall we take the gig?”

  Marianne’s forehead creased as she pondered this, but he was such a small boy. Surely he could not have gotten far and the gig might be a hindrance in the woods. “I think not. Here is Coleman. He’ll take care of stabling Bonnie. Let’s go on foot.”

  The two girls set a brisk pace toward the home wood for, as Marianne reminded Sophia, “Richard has grown very adventurous of late, and trees have fascinated him ever since Andrew took him up behind him one afternoon for a ride through the woods. It seems he has a consuming desire to climb a tree, though most of these would be too high. Still there is the occasional low spreading chestnut or oak.”

  “Did he take Nuisance with him?”

  Marianne stopped abruptly and regarded her friend with respect. “Now, how did you guess that? At least, the dog is missing too, so we assume they are together.”

  Miss Huntingdon laughed. “That absurd dog is another of Richard’s all-consuming passions, is he not? He seems a delightful child, though I have not had the pleasure of meeting him often.”

  The girls were out of sight of the Hall now because the terrain was uneven, though basically they had been on a downhill course. They began calling to Richard but with no success. After ten minutes or so, Sophia looked at her friend and said uneasily, “It would be awfully difficult for a small boy to avoid losing his way amongst these paths.”

  Marianne bit her lip. “I know, and it is quite damp and cold in here too. Perhaps he stayed on the lane or headed for the village after all. Let’s go just a little further. There is a large tree by itself at the edge of a field a short distance away. I believe Andrew took him in that direction once.”

  They continued calling to the boy but were answered only by the muted woodland noises. It seemed almost as silent as an empty cathedral in the pauses between their calling. They could see quite a distance now as the trees thinned and could glimpse a field and a row of hedges ahead. They continued to call at intervals, though always unsuccessfully. They were almost out of the trees entirely when Marianne gripped her friend’s arm.

  “I thought I heard something!”

  “So did I. A dog barking, perhaps?”

  Redoubling their efforts, they added Nuisance’s name and were rewarded as the barking sounded clearer. It also sounded frantic, and the girls began to run toward the noise.

  “Richard! Can you hear me? Answer me, Richard!”

  Marianne erupted breathlessly from the edge of the wood and cast her eyes swiftly over the field. As Sophia panted up after her she pointed to an enormous, low-spreading oak overlooking the field.

  “Look!”

  The furiously barking pup left his post at the foot of the huge tree to come running up to the girls. He circled them, wildly barking a sharp welcome until Marianne forcibly restrained his efforts. “Quiet, Nuisance, quiet, I say! Good dog.” She patted his head and gentled him for a moment until he had calmed somewhat.

  Meanwhile Sophia had approached the tree where a very small figure perched at least twenty feet above the ground with his arms wrapped tightly about a branch. So far he had not uttered a sound.

  “Do you think he was treed by an animal?” she asked doubtfully

  Marianne chuckled. “He was treed by overweening ambition. The poor child is paralyzed by fear.”

  She was unbuttoning her pelisse as she spoke and shortly cast it to the ground. “I shall have to climb up for him. Fortunately this skirt is quite full.” As Sophia watched silently and Nuisance whined softly, Marianne bent over and grasped both back and front hems of her red skirt in her hands and drew up its folds between her legs. She unfastened the ribbon sash about her waist, and bringing the skirt hem high, retied the ribbon to bind the fabric tightly at the waist, thus fashioning herself a type of pantaloon to make climbing easier.

  “Richard,” she called in a conversational tone, “can you climb down from that tree?”

  A pause, then a very small voice answered, “No.”

  “That’s all right,” came the cheerful reply. “You have done splendidly so far. Shall I come up and get you?”

  Without waiting for the faint affirmative that eventually drifted down she was already making her careful way up to his perch. It was a perfect tree for climbing, small wonder Richard had felt the challenge too strong to resist. As she attained the branch below the boy she kept up a calm flow of conversation.

  “I am going to help you down, Richard. It is a very easy thing, but you must do exactly as I say. Is that understood?” Again came the faint affirmative, but when Marianne put her hands on his hips and told him to let go of the branch so she might guide his feet downward, his grip tightened, if that were possible. Thoughtfully she noted the tear-stained cheek and trembling lip. “Cousin Andrew will be so pleased to know you are big enough to climb trees like ... like a soldier, but soldiers have to follow orders, you know. If you can follow orders I’ll show you the best way to get down from a tree. That is much more difficult than climbing a tree, of course, and then you may tell your cousins and your mama that you know how to go up and down a huge tree.” Her soothing tones became brisk. “Now, the first order is to take one hand from your branch and put it here.” She indicated a slightly lower hold and was relieved to see that Richard was attending at last to her words as well as her voice. Slowly he loosened his clutch and did as she requested. She guided his feet as she cautiously backed down the tree. Sophia had moved into position at the foot of the tree to assist.

  They had managed about half the descent when the faint but increasing rumble in her ears resolved itself into hoofbeats. Glancing through the bare branches, Marianne could see three riders coming through the field. The gentlemen from the Hall, of course, returning from their ride. She knew her bright red dress would be highly visible and was glad that Richard would be able to ride home. She could see Lord Andrew out in front. Evidently he had seen her and veered from his course. Suddenly she was seized with a brilliant inspiration. She had both hands on Richard’s waist now and, since he was obeying her, she brought him down onto the same branch on which she was located.

  “Sophia!” she called urgently, “Can you get Richard? I feel so dizzy.”

  Instantly the younger girl climbed into the lowest branch and reached up for the next, unmindful of her hampering skirts. Richard had frozen again, but Miss Huntingdon’s voice was as soothing as Lady Marianne’s had been, and he relaxed once more and obeyed her.

  Marianne was watching the horsemen galloping closer, hoping Lord Andrew would stay out in front and wondering if she dared go any higher to give credence to her story. She decided she had best remain where she was and, imitating Richard, locked her arms around the branch and clung, though she turned her head for as good a look as possible at what was happening below.

  Lord Andrew arrived at the tree and flung himself off his horse in time to assist Sophia.

  “I’ll take him now, Sophie; pass him to me.” Miss Huntingdon, trying to guide Richard’s feet and feel where to put her own with the encumbrance of her skirts, was most relieved to be able to stay put and hand the boy down into his cousin’s arms. On Lord Andrew’s orders she waited patiently while he set the child on his feet before returning to assist her down from the last two branches.

  Lord Andrew was gripping
her tightly above the elbows, eyeing her with concern. “Good girl, Sophia, love. What happened?”

  Miss Huntingdon went a becoming pink at this form of address, but managed to stammer, “Marianne ... she ... she felt dizzy.”

  Lord Andrew looked up, startled, having completely forgotten the silent girl ten feet above. “I’ll get her.”

  The marquess and Sir Martin had arrived and the former was already setting his foot on the lowest branch and swinging himself up. “Do not move, Marianne! You are perfectly safe.”

  Safe! In her consternation Marianne had never felt less safe in her life! She had not looked for this complication when formulating her brilliant scheme to test Lord Andrew’s feelings for his childhood friend. Irrelevantly she wondered if she had appeared just so anxious when climbing up after Richard as Justin did now. If so, then it was little wonder the child had not immediately responded to her calm tones. After the one look she averted her face and clung to her branch while her brain hastily proposed and rejected possibilities and explanations. With an interested audience just below she could explain nothing. She would have to brazen it through. She was appalled to realize that a wild desire to succumb to hysterical giggles was fast overcoming her. Fiercely biting her lip, she concentrated on the rough brown-gray bark of the tree three inches from her nose, fighting back the laughter that would rise in her throat. At this rate he’d consider her a prime candidate for Bedlam. The thought sobered her momentarily.

  “Are you all right, Marianne? Has the dizziness passed?” Justin’s voice at her side, slightly below hip level.

  “Yes.” Slowly she turned her head but avoided looking directly at him. “Yes, I am quite recovered now,” she gasped. “I’ll be able to get down by myself. Do you go down and I’ll follow you.” Her voice shook with the effort required to choke back the laughter.

  Justin had been taking in the delightful expanse of ankle and leg left exposed by her hastily contrived “breeches.” Now he looked up and his voice, though low, was absolutely compelling.