A Country Gentleman (2 page)

On one disastrous occasion five years before, when she was fifteen years old, she had spent the summer holidays at Thurlby Hall. Lady Thurlby’s soft heart had meant that she had acceded to Lavinia’s request that she might be permitted to bring her friend Isobel Macclesfield with her. The countess had regretted her kindness almost from the first, for Miss Macclesfield had been spoiled, selfish and a little on the insolent side, and her hosts had been obliged to administer more than one reproof.

Between them, the girls had managed to release the bull from his field, kill the gardener’s prized pineapples, lose the fish from the pond, almost ruin Lady Thurlby’s best Turkey carpet, and narrowly escape being shot by their host, all within the course of the first few days.

The girls had declared themselves contrite, although Thurlby had suspected that Miss Macclesfield was only just able to prevent herself from giggling, even while his lordship was raking them down for their folly.

No other day had gone as badly after that. Nevertheless, the earl had quite understandably been on tenterhooks for the rest of the visit, and had been heartily glad to see the back of the two young visitors. Regrettably, Miss Macclesfield had not seemed to think it necessary to send Lady Thurlby a letter of apology. Lavinia had done so, however, and from then onwards,
a regular correspondence had enlivened the existence of both ladies.

The following year had brought dreadful news. Lavinia had been at school in Bath when tidings had been received that the vessel carrying her parents to Portugal had sunk, with the loss of all on board.

It had been a devastating blow. In the absence of the necessary elements for a proper funeral, the earl had arranged for there to be a memorial service in the parish church at Thurlby. He could still recall Lavinia’s small, upright, dignified figure, all in black, standing at the front of the church. Although only sixteen years of age at the time, she had insisted upon attending the service, in company with her maternal aunt and uncle, with whom she was to reside at their home in London.

Mindful of the charge that his father has placed upon him, Thurlby had attended the funeral, prepared to offer what help he could. The news that she was to be given a home by someone else had come as a great relief to him. He would have been the last person to try to wriggle out of doing his duty, but he was glad that this had not meant that he would be obliged to give her houseroom.

Her aunt and uncle had no children of their own, and were willing to take the girl in. He had thought that she would be engaged or even married in two or three years and had supposed, perhaps naively, that his responsibilities, nominal though they might have been, would be over. His mother’s request would appear to indicate otherwise. Her next words confirmed his suspicions.

‘The most shocking mischance! Mrs Stancross – Lavinia’s aunt, you know – has suffered a severe stroke.’

‘Brought on by what?’ asked the earl, his tone ominous.

‘Victor!’ exclaimed his mother reproachfully. ‘That was quite uncalled for.’

‘I beg your pardon, Mama. You were saying?’

‘She is unlikely to regain her former health. Mr Stancross is very anxious, and the last thing they want—’

‘—Is a wilful young miss in the house,’ the earl concluded.

‘Is a young lady in need of chaperonage, I was going to say,’ corrected his mother in dignified tones. ‘Mr Stancross wants to take his wife to the sea. Life with an invalid aunt and her anxious husband will be quite inappropriate for Lavinia.’ She paused. ‘We may have her, may we not, dearest? I should like it so much.’

The earl glanced at her in surprise. Surely he was not so
formidable
a domestic tyrant that his mother was wary of making such a request? At once, he smiled reassuringly. ‘Of course we may,’ he assured her. ‘This is your home. You may have whomsoever you please to stay. She will be very welcome.’

He could not see how they could refuse. What was more, he could see the very real pleasure on the countess’s face at the prospect of entertaining Lavinia. He had never doubted his mother’s love, but he had always known that she would have liked to have had a daughter. When his father and his brother had been alive, it must have seemed to the countess at times that the house was full of men’s talk. To have Lavinia’s company would make a welcome change for her, and give her some company when he was out overseeing his estate.

With an effort, he suppressed a sigh, regretting the disruption to his peaceful existence. Nevertheless, he could not help saying, ‘There had better be some improvement in her behaviour this time. She very nearly drove me to drink, I can tell you.’

‘And me,’ his mother agreed ruefully. ‘But what else can we do? The poor child has no one else. Besides, she is several years older. She will have outgrown the follies of youth, surely. In any case, I do not see that we can honourably do anything other than have her here.’

‘Yes, I know that,’ her son replied. ‘I can quite see that we have no alternative. There is just one stipulation: Miss Isobel
Macclesfield is not to be allowed within one hundred miles of this place.’

‘I quite agree,’ said his mother, barely repressing a shudder.

Chapter Two

T
he entire Stancross household had been cast into complete confusion by the stroke suffered by Lavinia’s aunt. This was not really surprising. Neither Uncle Seth nor Aunt Betty was a decisive person to begin with. A situation such as this tended to bring out the worst in them. It had been Lavinia who had ordered that Mrs Stancross should be carried up to bed, and who had insisted that nothing should be spooned down her throat until the doctor had been. Even the summoning of the doctor had been a challenge to Lavinia’s ingenuity, for neither her uncle nor her aunt had suffered a day’s illness for years. Before a doctor could be consulted, therefore, it was necessary to find the names of some to whom she might apply.

After the nature of Aunt Betty’s complaint had been
determined
, it had been Lavinia who had suggested that Uncle Seth should take his wife away to Lyme Regis in order to recuperate. The doctor had agreed wholeheartedly with this suggestion.

‘Lyme will set her up for sure,’ her uncle had said, his eyes unhappy and hunted as they had darted first this way and then that. ‘I have known the sea air do wonders.’

‘I am sure she will benefit from it,’ Lavinia had agreed. Impossible to say that she could not see how even Lyme could effect healing for Mrs Stancross’s pitifully lifeless limbs,
stumbling
speech, and crooked face.

‘She will, she will,’ Mr Stancross had replied, clearly grasping at straws. ‘She will be back on her feet in no time, you’ll see.’

It had only remained for him to write to Lord and Lady Thurlby, begging their kindness on Lavinia’s behalf. He had done so, and soon afterwards, the expected reassurance had come that she would be welcome at Thurlby Hall.

She grimaced. She was doubtful as to whether they actually meant it as she had behaved very badly; but that had been years ago, and she had grown up a good deal since then. What was more, she would not have Isobel Macclesfield to egg her on this time. She blushed when she recalled some of the activities that they had got up to during that memorable visit. She could only hope that the earl and his mother had forgotten most of them.

Perhaps it was not surprising that with all his anxieties directed towards his wife, her uncle failed to confirm the travel arrangements for his niece. Lavinia saw Mr and Mrs Stancross off to Lyme, and then waited patiently for her own hired conveyance. It never came. An enquiry sent by one of the few servants left behind revealed that no carriage had been hired.

‘Then I shall go on the mail,’ Lavinia told the caretaker, who had been left behind to lock up the house. This confident pronouncement met with a set-back when she realized that she only had a few shillings to her name. She was by no means
penniless
, but, as she was still under twenty-one, she was dependent upon her uncle drawing money on her behalf. She had been due for some when Aunt had had her stroke, and then, of course, everything else had been forgotten. After he had left, she had gone to his desk in search for funds, and had found a letter that he had begun writing to his bank on her behalf. He had neither completed nor signed it.

‘I’ve not got much, miss, but you’re welcome to it,’ the
caretaker
said, when she had explained her situation.

‘That is very good of you,’ she said with real gratitude. ‘I will go to my uncle’s banker first. Perhaps he might let me have
something
 
on the strength of this letter.’ Lavinia knew where her uncle’s banker conducted his business. Without very much hope, she put the unfinished letter into her reticule and went to visit him in his chambers. She came away feeling that she had not been taken even remotely seriously. There was only one thing for it; she would have to go on the stage.

Lavinia had never travelled on the stage, but she knew that it was much cheaper than travelling by the mail. She made her way to the Bull and Mouth, therefore, in order to make enquiries. But when she got there, she found that she did not even have enough to pay for a seat on the stage. She did toy with asking for a loan from some of her acquaintance in London, but thanks to the quiet way in which her aunt and uncle had always lived, she knew very few people in Town, and those that she did know had left the city for the country. She did not want to ask for help from people she barely knew.

It was while she was deep in thought, contemplating this awkward predicament, that she became aware that someone was hailing her, and, looking round, she saw her schoolfriend, Isobel Macclesfield, on the arm of a very rakish-looking man, perhaps as much as twice her age. Lavinia had never been introduced to him, but she had had him pointed out to her, and knew that he was Lord Riseholm, often referred to as ‘his rakeship’.

Vernon James Murray Hawkfield, third Earl of Riseholm was tall, lean and handsome. His jet-black hair was straight, and usually tied at the back of his neck in a queue. There were lines riven between his nose and his mouth, and around the corners of his charcoal-grey eyes, which often held a world-weary, cynical expression, as if he had seen everything that the season could ever offer and found it wanting.

He had been married, but his wife had died some ten years before, and he had shown no inclination to repeat the experiment, choosing instead to enjoy more temporary arrangements with actresses and the like. Clearly, ladies in society found him charming.

Lavinia was glad of the distraction from her troubles, and she allowed Isobel to present her to Lord Riseholm, who, after one or two remarks uttered in a caressing manner which Lavinia did not care for at all, took his leave.

‘Is he not heavenly?’ murmured Isobel, tucking her hand into Lavinia’s arm. ‘But he’ll be my ruination, I fear.’

Had Lavinia been asked to ascribe some kind of supernatural quality to Lord Riseholm, heavenly was not the one that she would have chosen, but she did not say so, simply murmuring something non-committal as she glanced around. She could not see the slightest vestige of a chaperon. ‘I thought you would have left Town by now,’ Lavinia remarked.

‘No,’ Isobel replied in an airy tone. After the girls had left school, they had not met frequently, although they had kept up a desultory correspondence, and were always pleased to see one another. ‘I am living with Mrs Wilbraham while my father is in Portugal. She is fixed in Town, and there is nowhere else for me to go, I’m pleased to say. After all, Town has its attractions.’ She glanced briefly in the direction in which Riseholm had gone. ‘And what of you?’

Lavinia explained about Mrs Stancross’s stroke, and how the anxious couple had left London without making any provision for her. ‘I have an invitation to go to Thurlby Hall to stay with my godmother, but no means of getting there,’ she explained. She paused briefly. ‘I don’t suppose you…?’

‘Oh yes, yes, of course,’ Isobel responded hastily, and with a slight air of abstraction. ‘You must come to Mrs Wilbraham’s with me, and I will sort everything out. Indeed, my sweet life, you might even prove to be my salvation.’

She began to look about her for a hackney and Lavinia, glad of a reprieve from thinking about her own concerns, lent her aid. They were in St Martin’s-le-Grand in the shadow of St Paul’s, only a stone’s throw from Newgate gaol. It was hardly the place for a fashionable young lady to promenade.

‘Come on,’ said Isobel, a hackney having most fortuitously become available when a young clergyman had stepped down from it and shown himself delighted to help two young ladies to get in. ‘You don’t want to linger in this part of Town, do you?’

‘No, I don’t,’ Lavinia answered when they were both seated inside the hackney. ‘Why exactly were
you
here, come to think of it? I have the excuse of enquiring about the stage, but what of you? What were you doing, Izzy?’

Isobel’s eyes met hers briefly before glancing away. ‘Oh, this and that,’ she answered carelessly. ‘Nothing to interest you. But fancy your having to deal with that lady falling ill, you poor thing. Was she ill before? Did you get to see anything much of the season, or were you shut inside all the while?’

‘I did get to one or two events,’ Lavinia answered, rightly concluding that Isobel would not tell her what she had been up to in this part of Town. ‘I was at Vauxhall a few weeks ago – on the night of the masquerade ball.’

‘Oh really?’ replied Isobel. ‘I was there too; with a party, you know.’

Lavinia did not answer. She had enjoyed her visit to Vauxhall, escorted by Mr and Mrs Stancross on one of the last outings that they had had together before Mrs Stancross had been taken ill. Her aunt and uncle were very kind, but their party had been a sedate one, and she had looked about her with a certain amount of envy, wishing that she was with a livelier group.

She had caught sight of a young woman whose appearance had seemed familiar, and she now suspected that it might have been Isobel. The young lady had been in company with a gentleman who had boldly slid his arm around her waist, and had appeared to receive no rebuke for his effrontery. Lavinia was now almost certain that the gentleman to whom she had just been introduced and the man who had been with the young woman at the masquerade were one and the same.

‘Have you known Lord Riseholm for long?’ Lavinia asked,
then wanted to snatch the question back because she feared that it almost betrayed that she had noticed Isobel and the earl at Vauxhall, if indeed it had been they.

‘Lord yes,’ Isobel answered with a laugh. ‘I don’t take him
seriously
, of course. No woman does; or should.’

‘No, I’ve heard that,’ Lavinia answered. Every woman in London knew that his rakeship was a man to be avoided if one’s reputation was to be kept intact. Clearly, Isobel had been playing fast and loose with her reputation. Did Mrs Wilbraham know?

The street to which the hackney took them was a fashionable one not far from Hyde Park. Lavinia noticed how hastily Isobel climbed down and paid the driver, glancing surreptitiously about her as she did so. Evidently, she did not want it to be known that she had returned in such a vehicle. Lavinia’s suspicion was confirmed when, instead of entering the house that was nearest to them, Isobel tucked her hand into Lavinia’s arm. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It’s such a lovely day that I thought we could have a little stroll before going in.’

Lavinia glanced up at the leaden coloured sky. There had not been a hint of sunshine all morning. ‘Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, Izzy,’ she said. ‘Does anyone know you went out in a hackney today?’

‘I didn’t go out in a hackney,’ Isobel replied defensively, ‘I came home in one.’

‘Then how did you get as far as St Martin’s-le-Grand?’ Lavinia asked reasonably. ‘Don’t tell me you walked because I won’t believe you.’

‘I don’t care what you believe,’ answered Isobel with a flash of temper.

‘Well in that case, you won’t worry whether I “prove to be your salvation” or not, will you?’

‘And you won’t worry about not having enough money to get to Thurlby.’

They stood glaring at one another on the pavement, until
Isobel caught hold of her friend’s arm. ‘Oh, come on, Lavvy. All right, I took the opportunity of having a little flirtation with Riseholm, but no one need know about it. There’s no harm done.’

Lavinia allowed herself to be pulled along, but in truth, she was starting to feel an uneasiness that was all too familiar. She very well remembered more than one occasion when she had been pressed into service in order to cover Isobel’s tracks in the past.

At the age of fourteen, Lavinia had been sent to a select school in Bath where Isobel, a wealthy heiress and already flirtatious at the age of fifteen, reigned over an admiring court. Lavinia’s arrival had occasioned very little remark. She was a pretty girl, fair-haired and with a neat figure, but no prettier than any other girl there. Her fortune was too small to attract attention, but not so small as to make her that most despised of females, a poor relation. She was good enough at her lessons to keep pace with the others, but not so clever that she made them feel stupid. She had no fixed home to miss, but she regretted leaving her parents, and was beginning to feel lonely.

It happened one day, when the girls were enjoying some leisure time, that a chance remark made by Lavinia had revealed to Isobel that her parents were in the diplomatic service. As Isobel’s own father was abroad for the same reason, her mother having died some years before, and as no other girls at the school were in that position, a connection was established and Isobel had allowed Lavinia to become part of her court.

After this, loneliness had been at an end, as Lavinia was invited to take part in all kinds of expeditions which included shopping, visits to friends, and even, when the girls were judged to be old enough, the occasional card party.

This had been Lavinia’s downfall. Invited to the house of a friend of Isobel’s, with the approval of Miss Hackett, the
headmistress
, she had never had any intention of playing cards. But everyone else was doing so and, when she kept refusing, she had
begun to feel that she was in some way being a spoilsport, and preventing other people’s fun.