by Mira Stables
She was startled. The blaze in the blue eyes died, and she hesitated a little, shyly, as though she feared his laughter.
“I would like to study the lives and writings of people whom I admire,” she said at last.
“And they are?”
This time the pause was even longer, and the answer when it came surprised him considerably.
“Cobbett and Jeremy Bentham and Elizabeth Fry. Perhaps Mr Owen of New Lanark, though I have not quite made up my mind about him. It seems to me that his scheme, while doubtless well-meant, is yet designed to further the interests of the employer. And the hours that the children must work are still shockingly long.”
“Dear me,” said the Earl, divided between amazement and amusement. “For a female you seem to be remarkably well informed. May I ask who has helped to guide your tastes in social philosophy?”
“My Aunt Clara, my lord, was an admirer of Mr Cobbett, having once heard him declare that the best religion was one that gave all men plenty to eat and drink. Of late there has been much hardship in rural parts, and to my aunt, who would never refuse food to even the most idle and impudent of beggars, this pronouncement seemed to embody a sound and whole philosophy. I have, perhaps, travelled a little further than my aunt upon the path towards liberal reform,” finished the lady sedately.
Amusement won. He could not forbear a little gentle teasing. “I had thought to hear a young lady set up Wellington or, perhaps, since you were bred in the naval tradition, Lord Nelson as your heroes,” he suggested. “Unless, of course, you preferred the high romantical, and worshipped at the shrine of the late Lord Byron.”
“I have little taste for poetry,” said Elizabeth demurely. “And while I must admire the valour of both the Duke and Lord Nelson and truly value their devoted services to their country, yet I cannot like the Duke’s politics, nor approve Lord Nelson’s morals. You must leave me my more homely idols, my lord. I believe them to have the welfare of simple folk more truly at heart than ever had your gilded heroes.”
“Horse, foot and guns!” said the Earl, lost in admiration. “You have rolled me up completely, Miss Kirkley. I can only be grateful that you spared me your views on Lord Byron’s morals, which would undoubtedly have made me blush for my sex. I will acknowledge defeat, and your right to choose your own heroes. Even, since you insist, your right to reject a mere smattering of Italian,” he added wickedly, with straight face and dancing eyes. “You shall learn the language thoroughly, as you wished.”
Elizabeth could not recall having expressed any such desire, but his lordship swept on, leaving her no time to enter an objection.
“And while it grieves me to disappoint your expectations, I do not, in this instance, propose to resort to blackmail. It is tedious, you understand, to repeat oneself, and with all the other arts of villainy at my command your grandmother and aunt may rest secure. This time I shall try bribery.”
She could not help being intrigued. “What bribe will you offer, my lord?”
“One that you will find irresistible, and a compliment to boot. I prefer to practise my villainous arts on the grand scale. In return for your promise to attend your dancing lessons regularly, to submit to Miss Trenchard’s direction of your general studies, and in particular,” with a rueful grimace for the memory of several painful evenings, “to pay careful attention when she instructs you in the rules of card games, I will make you free of my stables. And that, my child, is a compliment which has never been offered to anyone, male or female, until now.”
When Hanson had shown her the horses soon after her arrival, she had indulged a wistful hope that she might occasionally be permitted to ride some of these high-bred beauties. To be given the right to choose any one of them whenever she pleased was beyond her wildest imaginings, and it was hard to contain her delight within decorous bounds. The bribe was magnificent—irresistible, as he had forecast—and for so simple a promise, yet she did not wish to give her opponent the satisfaction of knowing how accurately he had gauged her tastes.
There was an amused twinkle in the grey eyes that watched her more closely than she knew. It was not difficult to guess the trend of her thoughts. While she still sought for words in which to express thanks that would seem adequate without sounding fulsome, he went on quietly, “And one thing more. You have been accustomed to a certain degree of freedom, and will, I fear, find it irksome to submit to the constant attendance of a maid or groom whenever you wish to set foot out of doors. Well—I am not quite the tyrant you choose to believe me. On this head at least I have some sympathy with your feelings. Take your groom at first, until you have learned your way about. When you have done so you have my permission to go alone within the boundaries of my land, provided that you always leave word as to the direction in which you have ridden out. And that is merely a necessary precaution in case of accident.”
It was more than generous. In a life that seemed suddenly hedged about with a hundred petty restrictions, a blessed interval of privacy and freedom would be doubly precious. The formal phrases she had thought to utter seemed mean and petty in the face of so royal a gesture, and Elizabeth abandoned them, thanking him with a simple sincerity that was pleasant in his ears.
“And I will do my best to keep my share of the bargain,” she ended solemnly, as he held the library door open for her, and then, with the glimmering of a smile, “At least I can promise industry, if not enthusiasm.”
The Earl laughed, and tapped her soft cheek with one finger. “My dutiful ward!” he mocked lightly. “But I have no fear of your becoming too submissive, Miss Kirkley. Confess now! Do you not enjoy our wordy warfare, and long to annihilate me completely?”
Elizabeth choked on a breath in her surprise, but recovered quickly to retort, “I will confess that I had not expected such perspicacity in you, my lord.”
He flung up one hand in laughing despair at her readiness to resume battle. “Content yourself with a tactical victory, my child. When I am reduced to using bribery to attain my ends, I am tacitly conceding defeat.”
“And I may really ride any of your horses? And drive them, too?” she added hopefully.
“Trust a woman to wring the last ounce out of a bargain! No. You will not drive my horses—not, at least, until I have had an opportunity to judge for myself how well you can handle the ribbons,” he replied, and smiled again to see disappointment quickly succeeded by delighted anticipation on that ingenuous countenance. “You will not of course be wishing to ride Old Warrior, but lest he should feel himself neglected, it would be a kindness in you to give him a word in passing. And when all your duties and delights are done, you may even choose to visit this ogre’s den of mine. No”—with gentle malice, as he saw the flicker of dismay in the blue eyes—“no cause for anxiety. I was not proposing to receive you in person. I am rarely here after noon. But you will find many of the books that you seem to prefer on these shelves. Bentham’s Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation is in the corner there, also several copies of the Westminster Review, if you care to glance at that. Only do not give me away to my sister, who would be bound to deprecate such blue-stocking tendencies and give me a tremendous scold for encouraging them.”
He did not wait for a reply but closed the door on her, having, as usual, had the last word. His shoulders shook with inward laughter as he moved expectantly to the window. Elizabeth was hurrying stableward as he had guessed she would do. He smiled at the occasional impatient little skip into which eagerness betrayed her, and for quite five minutes after she had disappeared from view he remained gazing absently at the parched lawns, the little smile on his mouth for the memory of the brief comical interlude, before he turned again to his work.
Chapter Five
Elizabeth closed the door of the ballroom with care, and looked about her warily. The library door was fast shut. Heaven send that the Earl was too engrossed in business to notice that this morning the pianoforte was silent. Not that she was really playing truant—not after
giving her word. It was M. d’Aubiac himself who had suggested that the lesson should be postponed. It was just that she did not want to be delayed by having to explain matters when the morning freshness was beckoning her out to ride. On soft slippered feet she stole past the dangerous vicinity to the promise of escape held out by the main staircase, but even as she gathered her skirts for the ascent a deep familiar voice bade her a polite good morning and the Earl strolled towards her from the direction of the conservatory, settling a rosy azalea carefully into his button-hole, his cool gaze sweeping her from top to toe with that air of calm appraisal that always aroused her to fury.
“Quite charming, if I may be permitted to say so,” he offered gravely, having employed his glass for a more detailed study of her delicate lavender-blue gown. “My sister is to be congratulated on her excellent taste.”
“For once, my lord, you are sadly at fault,” retorted Elizabeth, “for I chose this gown myself, quite against Lady Maria’s advice. Her choice was a dull yellow, which nothing would have persuaded me to wear.”
There was an appreciative gleam in the grey eyes. “Perhaps she is rather to be congratulated on her masterly strategy,” he submitted suavely. “She seems to have found the easiest method of guiding your tastes even so early in your acquaintance.”
Elizabeth’s chin went up in immediate response to this base insinuation, but before she could utter the impetuous retort that sprang to her lips, the Earl was attacking from another quarter.
“Has M. d’Aubiac been detained this morning? Surely it is the hour for your dancing lesson?”
It was quite maddening to be treated as though she were a naughty schoolgirl. The Earl could not have failed to notice her stealthy retreat, and she was well aware that she must have presented the very image of guilt. Why could not the obnoxious creature have been safely installed in the library, as he usually was at this hour?
“Miss Trenchard has the migraine this morning,” she said stiffly, hating the necessity of making excuses, even though they were true. “M. d’Aubiac thought it better to postpone the lesson, since he could not partner me and play the music at one and the same time.”
“I am exceedingly sorry to hear of Miss Trenchard’s indisposition,” said the Earl kindly. “Tell me—has M. d’Aubiac already left the house?”
Elizabeth thought not. The gentle old man would probably linger over the glass of Madeira and the biscuit that were his chosen refreshment before returning to his quiet lodging.
“Then you need not forego your lesson,” said her guardian pleasantly. “M. d’Aubiac shall play for us, and I will undertake to guide your steps to the best of my ability. If you will so far honour me, of course,” and he bowed politely and offered his arm to escort her back to the ballroom.
Elizabeth had early succumbed to the dreamy charm of the courteous old Frenchman who was her dancing tutor. She suspected that he stood in sore need of the fee that he earned by teaching her, and did her best to make his task as light as possible. Before long she was enjoying the lessons for their own sake, discovering in herself a natural aptitude for the Terpsichorean art. Moreover, M. d’Aubiac did not confine himself to the teaching of mere steps and figures, but expected his pupil to engage in polite conversation with her partner while performing the most complicated evolutions with negligent grace. His talk gave her a glimpse of a lost world, a world where all was smoothly cushioned and comfortable for the wealthy and the well-born, for he was a child of pre-Revolution France. It was a world that seemed artificial and incomprehensible to Elizabeth. She questioned him eagerly about the changes that the Revolution had brought to the oppressed peasantry. M. d’Aubiac shook his silver head. He was too old to care greatly for such matters. She would do better to discuss them with her guardian, who was known to concern himself deeply with the welfare of his dependents.
He rose now to greet his pupil and her escort with such genuine pleasure that Elizabeth could only wonder again at the perversity of men. It was quite clear that this kindly old man shared Timothy’s predilection for the Earl’s society, and when their errand was explained he was wholly delighted to have an opportunity of displaying his pupil’s progress to his patron.
He was to be disappointed. All Elizabeth’s natural grace seemed to have deserted her. She moved as stiffly as any puppet, forgot her steps and once actually stumbled, while her replies to the Earl’s courteous remarks were monosyllabic. Poor M. d’Aubiac could not understand it. Never had the child displayed such gaucherie, even at her first lesson. He brought the figure to an end and humbly awaited the caustic comment that its performance merited.
“I find it surprisingly difficult,” said the Earl in an apologetic tone, “to perform a figure meant for four when there are only two of us. I wonder, M. d’Aubiac, have you by any fortunate chance taught Miss Kirkley to waltz?”
“Yes, indeed,” exclaimed the old man eagerly, “and she shows marked proficiency.”
“Then will you consent to try the steps with me, Miss Kirkley?”
Elizabeth was reluctant, flushed with shame over her abysmal performance, yet anxious to redeem her teacher’s credit. She curtsied a silent consent, fearful lest her voice should break and betray her distress, and permitted the Earl to take her in his hold while M. d’Aubiac played the lilting rhythm, softly at first as he watched the girl’s timidly correct steps and then with increasing verve as he saw her respond to the seduction of the music and her partner’s firm guidance.
The Earl was an excellent dancer, as behoved an officer who had served under Lord Wellington. Waltzing with him was quite different from waltzing with Miss Trenchard, or even with M. d’Aubiac. It was strangely pleasurable to relax and allow the man and the music to take command. When the dance came to an end Elizabeth looked up at her guardian and for the first time in their acquaintance smiled at him with genuine warmth. Nor did she need her teacher’s prompting. “Thank you, my lord, that was most enjoyable,” she said, rather shyly, but with clear sincerity.
His face was inscrutable as ever. He did not return her smile, rather studying her face as though trying to identify a resemblance dimly perceived. Then he said, almost absently, “You are very like your father when you smile, Miss Kirkley,” and as he relaxed his hold and offered his arm to escort her back to M. d’Aubiac at the pianoforte, added quietly, “It was a great pleasure to me, too. I do not know when I have enjoyed a waltz so much. Your pupil is a credit to you, Monsieur. When my nephew arrives we must invite some of our young neighbours for one or two informal dances. In that way Miss Kirkley may become at much at home in the quadrilles and the country dances as she is in the waltz. And she waltzes beautifully.”
It actually seemed possible that the erstwhile antagonists might subscribe to a truce, but unfortunately this promising situation was interrupted by the entry of the butler.
“Mr Christison has called, my lord, and is very urgent to speak with you. I have shown him into the library.”
“Thank you, Harrison. Say that I will be with him almost at once. Miss Kirkley, shall you be riding out this afternoon?”
Elizabeth admitted that this was her intention.
“Then I wish that you will ride out by the South Lodge and enquire if there is anything that we may do for Sarah. John tells me that she is growing very feeble.”
Though perfectly willing to lend her assistance, Elizabeth was a little surprised at the request. She had met old Sarah only once, and it seemed to her unlikely that the crabbed ancient would confide in a stranger. She could not help feeling that Lady Hester would have been a more suitable messenger. However, she made no demur, and the Earl went off to confer with his anxious neighbour.
Mr Christison’s normal good-tempered expression was under a cloud this morning. He looked hot and harassed, and upon the Earl’s entry he burst into speech without wasting time on commonplace courtesies.
“That noddy of yours has been up to his tricks again, Anderley. He was for opening the sluices last night, and if I�
�d not had a man on guard, the lot would have gone. You’ll have to do something about him or there’ll be bad trouble. The men won’t stand much more. It’s not even as if he were a local lad.”
Having unburdened himself of his complaint, his humour seemed to improve. He eyed the Earl’s grave countenance with some sympathy, and went on more temperately, “I’m sorry for the man. Don’t doubt he was all you say until he took that head wound at Waterloo. But there’s no gainsaying he’s a menace now and ought to be shut up. If he gets at those sluices my mill must stop, and there’s forty men thrown out of employment, and no hope of starting up again until this confounded drought breaks. I’ve doubled the guard on the dam and, believe me, if they catch him again they’ll not be gentle.”
“Was there violence last night?”
“Naught to speak of. Just a bit of a turn up. He went off quiet enough when he saw it was no good, but he was muttering threats about not being done with them yet, along with a lot of stuff about streams of living water on the thirsty land.”
“Poor devil!” said the Earl soberly. “I’ll get him away as soon as I can, but he’ll have to be watched. John can manage him better than most, but I can’t spare John for a day or so. There’s this murderous business of culling the deer to be got over with, and he’s the best marksman on the place. Can you manage to guard your sluices till I’ve dealt with that? We’re making a start today, and you can imagine we’ll try to make short work of it. Then I’ll get John to take poor Garrett over to Coldstone. If he could be settled there it is isolated enough to solve several problems.”
Mr Christison nodded. “Ye’re too soft-hearted, Anderley,” he grunted. “Time you learned you can’t carry all the world on your shoulders, even if they did serve in your old regiment. As for the deer—well—it’s a damnable business, but a quick clean death is better than dying of thirst, and God knows there’s little enough water for human beings, let alone the brute beasts. Who’s doing the job?”