Earl to the Rescue

by Jane Ashford

  “She says that you kidnapped her,” retorted Gwendeline.

  “Oh, that’s what she’s saying now, is it? She came willingly enough before she got her money.”

  “It’s a lie,” cried Rosie. “I never took no money and wouldn’t. I’m a good girl, I am.” She began to cry again.

  “Gwendeline, I really believe you should go,” said the earl. “I’ll see this taken care of. The girl will be all right.”

  Gwendeline looked uncertain, but Rosie grabbed her hand. “Don’t leave me with them,” she said tearfully. “Gentlemen don’t care what happens to the likes of me.”

  “I’ll help you,” Gwendeline promised. She looked around. “Only I don’t know just…” Her gaze lit on Lady Merryn’s carriage.

  “Couldn’t Rosie ride back in your mother’s carriage?” she asked the earl. “We could take her back to Lady Dorn’s.” One of the ladies in the countess’s carriage objected shrilly and insisted they leave at once.

  “Gwendeline,” Merryn began, but he was interrupted.

  “A touching sight,” sneered Mr. Blane. “Like calls to like. Your mother was mistress to half of London; it’s no wonder you feel a bond with a slut like this.”

  “Hold your tongue, damn you,” said Lord Merryn through his teeth.

  “Of course, you come to her defense,” replied Blane. “You had her mother, as did I. And I suppose you mean to put her in Annabella’s place, milksop that she is.” He said no more because Lord Merryn knocked him down with one strategically placed blow. Adele began to scream. Major St. Audley dismounted and went to put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. The earl shook himself. “Yes, I’m all right,” he said.“Sir Randall, perhaps you could aid Miss Greene.” Sir Randall jumped like a man waking from a dream and hurried to comfort Adele. “Mr. Gorham,” the earl continued, “I would be much in your debt if you and Sir Randall would escort the ladies home. My brother I will detain, if I may.” With a jerk of his head he directed Andrew to the inn. Mr. Gorham bowed his agreement, his pale blue eyes bulging nervously.

  “No!” said Lady Merryn and Gwendeline simultaneously.

  “I wish to stay and help,” began Gwendeline.

  “Alex, I shall take that poor creature to town,” said his mother.

  “I shan’t have her in the carriage,” said one of Lady Merryn’s companions. “She can walk.”

  “Nonsense, Helen, she’s exhausted,” snapped Lady Merryn. “And it’s my carriage.”

  “She can ride with me,” said Gwendeline. “I am sure Firefly can carry us both.”

  “Ladies, please,” the earl said. “Trust me to arrange things.”

  His brother returned, and the two men exchanged nods. “We’ve hired a conveyance for Miss Grimes, and if you, Mother, are willing to accompany her, that will be all to the good. If the rest of you ladies will now return to London, all shall be made right. Allow me to help you mount, Miss Gregory.” Reluctantly, Gwendeline let herself be assisted into the saddle. She looked down at Lord Merryn, but the things she had heard moments ago kept her silent.

  Lady Merryn stepped down from her carriage and took charge of Rosie. The rest of the ladies started back to London under the escort of Mr. Gorham and Sir Randall. Gwendeline rode next to Lillian. Looking back, she saw Lord Merryn standing over Mr. Blane. She heard the latter’s hideous accusations again and felt her world tumbling about her ears.

  Back in the inn yard, the earl handed his mother and Rosie into the inn’s vehicle as Mr. Blane was reviving. It drove off as he rose to his feet, looking murderous. “This isn’t the first time you’ve crossed me,” Blane hissed. “First Annabella, now this stupid servant girl. I should kill you, Merryn.”

  “You’re welcome to try.”

  “Here, with your brother behind you to finish me?” jeered Blane. Major St. Audley clenched his fists but remained silent. “I’m not so stupid. Or perhaps you think I’ll call you out?” A sneer made his dark face ugly. “Forcing you to flee the country isn’t worth dying for. But I’ll repay you. Perhaps with our pretty Gwendeline, eh? She’s not quite the innocent she seems, I wager. Not with the mother she had. I daresay you have plans for her.”

  A vein stood out on Merryn’s forehead. Otherwise, there was no visible reaction to these words.

  “And I’ve already put a spoke in those plans,” Blane added with an ugly laugh. “She’ll not likely follow her mother of her own will.”

  “I have only this to say to you,” replied the earl evenly. “Stay away from me and my friends, for the next time you annoy any of them, I’ll see that you pay.” He turned on his heel and went to his horse. The major followed, keeping one eye on Blane as he went. They mounted and rode off, leaving Mr. Blane standing in the inn yard, a bruise forming on his jaw. Swiftly, they caught up to the inn’s carriage, then slowed to escort it back to town.

  Farther ahead, Gwendeline found the ride home endless. Her mind was in turmoil, and Adele Greene’s laments over her shocked sensibilities were no help. Thoughts of her mother, of the earl, of Mr. Blane, and of what she was to do now revolved in her brain. It was as if a nightmare had become real, and she wanted nothing so much as to fling herself down on her own bed and cry. Lillian reached over and pressed her hand sympathetically, but nothing could comfort Gwendeline now.

  They reached London at last, and Gwendeline ran up the stairs of Lady Merryn’s house to her room. She sat on her bed, covering her mouth with her hand, trembling. Then she jumped up and pulled a bandbox from the wardrobe. She stuffed some of her things into it and started out the door. The long skirt of her habit tripped her, and she looped it up impatiently. She had to get away from this house, from the man who had been her mother’s lover. She ran back down the stairs, out the front door, and through the streets, heedless of the stares of passersby, heading for Miss Brown and sanctuary.

  Ten

  When she woke the next morning, Gwendeline was bewildered. The dawn light fell across a coverlet of gray silk and struck a wall papered in gray with pink roses. The furniture and pale pink curtains were unfamiliar, and she felt a moment of panic. Then memory returned, and she realized that this was “her” room in her own house. With that realization came the events of the previous day. Again, she heard Mr. Blane say that her mother had been the earl’s mistress, and again she realized that here was a reason for his aid to her. But more important, even worse, she acknowledged that she loved him. The feeling had been growing outside her conscious knowledge, and this crisis had revealed it. And the realization that followed this one shocked her most; she didn’t care about his relationship to her mother. She wanted him to love her regardless of the past. This was what had driven her here and what made her now leap from her bed and dress hurriedly to go in search of Miss Brown.

  The older lady was also up early, drinking tea in the breakfast room. She looked up with a worried frown when Gwendeline came rushing in.

  Gwendeline allowed her no time to speak but blurted, “Brown, how much money have we?”

  “What?”

  “How much money, in the household account? I know money was put there, how much is left?”

  “About five hundred pounds,” Miss Brown answered automatically. “Gwendeline, please tell me what’s wrong.”

  “So much,” said Gwendeline. “That should do. I’m leaving London, Brown.”

  “What? But where are you going? Why?”

  “I’ve learned some very unpleasant things, which make it necessary for me to go away. I must leave immediately.” Gwendeline paused for breath. “I’d like you to come with me, if you will.”

  “I must have some explanation first, Gwendeline,” the older woman replied. “What exactly is going on?”

  “I won’t repeat it,” she said. “I’m very unhappy, and I will go alone, if I must.”

  “Of course, I will go with you, but…” Miss Brown began.

 
“Good. We must leave immediately.”

  “But where are we going? How do we travel?” asked her old governess.

  Gwendeline sat down abruptly opposite her. “Where shall I go?” she said to herself. “Oh, what shall I do?”

  Three hours later, Gwendeline had poured out her story to Miss Brown, and though Miss Brown felt they should wait for explanations, she finally gave in to Gwendeline’s frantic denials. She’d suggested a small seaside town she knew in the south. The inn there was run by friends of hers. This settled, Miss Brown was sent out to withdraw the money from the household account and purchase tickets on the stage. Gwendeline informed the servants that she was going on a visit of indefinite length. Miss Brown returned, packed her things, and they departed by ten o’clock.

  The journey was long and tiring, and Gwendeline remembered little of it later. As the distance from London increased, her tension lessened, though she was more miserable than ever. She still believed she’d done the right thing, but the future looked empty and bleak as she rested her aching head in the corner of the coach.

  They reached Penwyn on the third day, very late. Gwendeline scarcely knew how she got up to a cozy bedroom and into bed. She could hear the sea from her window, and as she fell asleep, she thought that the murmur sounded melancholy.

  Staring at the waves some days later, the same thought was in her mind. She sat at a writing desk before the window of the neat little parlor set aside for their use, a book open in her hands. Today, the water was gray and lashed with rain and wind.

  She looked down at her book. It was a French grammar. Gwendeline had decided that Miss Brown should tutor her in all the subjects she’d neglected as a schoolgirl and thus prepare her to make her own living. But the harder she tried to master them, the more facts seemed to elude her. As now, she found herself spending more time gazing out the window than learning. She sighed, closed the book, and went to stand in front of the fire.

  Gwendeline caught herself thinking of Lord Merryn. She recalled the way his eyes lit when he was amused and the smile he showed only to his friends. Secretly she’d begun to think that Miss Brown had been right to suggest they wait for explanations. She wanted to make excuses for the earl, and excuses for herself to return to him. But what reasons were there? What could Lord Merryn say to her after Mr. Blane’s accusations, and worse still, what could she say to him? All society must know by now what had happened. There would be sneers and laughter wherever she went, whatever she did. No. She straightened; she couldn’t go back. She turned to the desk and sat down again, opening the grammar. I’ll make myself learn it, she thought fiercely, setting her jaw.

  Miss Brown came in. She’d gone out walking earlier in the morning. “A fire,” she said. “Just the thing. The rain came on so suddenly that it caught me before I had half finished my walk. I was wet through and had to change.” She took the armchair in front of the fire.

  “I’m sorry,” Gwendeline replied listlessly.

  Miss Brown looked at her. “And guess what I found when I stopped to shelter in the circulating library? All of Lady Merryn’s books!” She paused, but Gwendeline turned away toward the window. “I nearly brought you Terror at Wellwyn Abbey to read, but I couldn’t through the rain.”

  Gwendeline burst into tears.

  Miss Brown rose and went to her. “Gwendeline, my dear, I’m so sorry. You’re too sensitive; I meant only to amuse you.” She knelt and put her arms around her.

  Through her tears, Gwendeline said, “I-it’s no u-use, Brown. I l-love him. I sh-shall never be h-happy again.”

  “You love Lord Merryn?” Miss Brown asked gently. Gwendeline nodded and began to cry harder, her head on Miss Brown’s shoulder. Her old governess patted her back, saying over and over again, “There. It will all come right,” but her expression was sad.

  When Gwendeline had cried herself out, she felt exhausted but oddly relieved, though there was still nothing to be done as far as she could see. “So I have resolved, Brown, that I’ll study very hard,” she said. “I’ll force myself every day. Then, by the time our money is gone, I’ll be ready to find a position and support myself.” Miss Brown said nothing. “I could teach very young children, couldn’t I?”

  Miss Brown seemed abstracted. “I’m sure you could.”

  “I’ll start immediately,” Gwendeline said. “I’ll study all day very, very hard. You’ll see, Brown. I know you don’t think I can do it, but I will.”

  Miss Brown nodded. “I believe I’ll write some letters then, Gwendeline.”

  “You can quiz me at tea.”

  Gwendeline’s resolution lasted longer this time, and for several days she studied conscientiously. But the length of her reading periods shortened. She spent more and more time outdoors, and got into the habit of carrying an easel and sketching materials with her, drawing and painting for hours. Her room at the inn gradually filled with studies of the sea and cliffs about Penwyn and of the countryside near the inn. She even tried a sketch of Miss Brown, but her skills didn’t run to portraiture.

  She’d set up her painting things on the beach one day when she met one of their neighbors. “It’s really quite good, you know,” said a voice behind her. “You’ve caught the waves, and that’s difficult.”

  Startled, Gwendeline turned. Standing behind her, surveying her canvas critically, was a small man of about fifty. His hair was white, unkempt and bushy, and his coat was of a loose baggy cut that Gwendeline found odd. But his blue eyes twinkled.

  “If I could suggest,” he continued, “just a touch of the green, here,” he moved closer and pointed at her painting, “and even a bit of red there. It sounds strange, I know, red in the sea, but it would be a marked improvement.” He appeared completely engrossed in the question of color as he surveyed the painting with narrowed eyes, but he slowly realized that Gwendeline was staring at him. “Oh, I beg your pardon, young lady, but I noticed your drawing as I passed, and I was much taken with it. You have some real talent.” He tapped the top of the canvas. “I had to stop and comment.”

  “I…I see,” said Gwendeline, still mystified.

  “I’m an artist myself, you see,” the man explained, as if that made all obvious. “Live up there.” He pointed to a house perched on the edge of the cliffs north of them. “This part of the country is just right for a painter. The sea, you know, and the rocks.”

  “They are very beautiful.”

  “Beautiful, yes, and a sight more interesting than Lady This, or the Countess of That. I can’t abide portraits. Used to do ’em, you know. Painted a dashed gallery of such rubbish. But I’ve given it up. The sea, now, there’s a subject for a painter. The Greeks knew that, young lady, the sea.” He smiled down at her and seemed to recollect himself. “Oh, my name is Ames, Carleton Ames.” He looked at her. “You’ve heard of me perhaps?” Gwendeline shook her head. “Ah, well, some pieces in the Royal Academy, you know. Nothing too important. Keep the best ones myself.” He winked. “Say, you must come to tea. I’ll show you my pictures, and you can criticize them. Turn about, you know. My wife will be happy to see a new face. Are you visiting near here, Miss, Miss?”

  “Gregory,” replied Gwendeline mechanically.

  “Miss Gregory. Are you staying hereabouts?”

  “At the inn.” Gwendeline felt a bit dazed by this flow of talk.

  “Ah, with your parents, perhaps?”

  “No, with Miss Brown, my old governess.”

  “Well, splendid, bring her along. Four sharp, mind. I’ll tell my wife.” He started off down the beach, swinging an ivory cane.

  “But I—” Gwendeline stammered.

  Mr. Ames waved cheerily. “Four sharp,” he repeated and walked on.

  “I had no chance to refuse,” Gwendeline said when she told Miss Brown of the encounter. “He hardly gave me time to say anything. What an odd creature! Shall we send a note round with our regret
s?”

  “Why not go?” Miss Brown replied. “You say he was a gentleman?”

  “Oh yes, though a strange one,” answered Gwendeline.

  “It might prove interesting. I’ve never met an artist.” Miss Brown looked at Gwendeline. “And it would be good for you to go out. You’ve been moping about far too much.”

  “Perhaps I have. Very well, then, we’ll go.”

  Accordingly, at half past three, they set out to walk across to Mr. Ames’s house. Miss Brown had asked her friends, the Wilsons, who ran the inn, about him, and they assured her he was perfectly respectable, though considered odd by many of his neighbors.

  The walk up the cliffs took more than twenty minutes, for the path was narrow and steep, and they had to go slowly. The clock in the church tower below was striking four when Miss Brown knocked on the door of the small white cottage and was greeted by Mr. Ames himself. “Hello, hello,” he cried. “Miss, uh, Gregory, yes. Delighted to see you. Come in.” He ushered them into a narrow hall.

  “This is Miss Brown,” said Gwendeline.

  “Delighted,” said Mr. Ames. He guided them through an archway and into the parlor. The chief features of this chamber were walls covered with pictures, and the view, a breathtaking vista of ocean and sky. “My wife,” said Mr. Ames. “Here is Miss Gregory, my dear, whom I mentioned, and her friend Miss Brown.”

  “Good afternoon,” said the small, fluffy white-haired lady seated behind the teapot. “I’m so pleased you could come.”

  Gwendeline hardly knew where to look first. The paintings attracted immediate attention, but there were so many of them that she could attend to none. And Mrs. Ames, too, drew the eye. In general appearance she was like her husband—small, with a great deal of white hair and twinkling blue eyes—but her costume was decidedly original. It seemed to consist wholly of pale blue ruffles. Gwendeline couldn’t see how they all held together, and each flounce appeared to move gently of its own accord.