Clarissa and the Poor Relations (3 page)

Cornelia Thorne had, until recently, no desire to house her husband’s orphaned sister, her house having only three guest bedrooms. She had made representations to her husband on this head but he had felt that his father would have expected no less of him. When Cornelia thought that Clarissa would not mind one of the attic rooms, to be nearer to the darling children, it did not cross her mind that her own bedchamber was as far away from her children’s as it was reasonably possible to be. At first, John had no fault to find with this scheme, but upon reflection he thought it might not be thought well of in the village of Little Sowersby if it became known. When his sister, father and stepmother had visited him last, Clarissa had made friends in the village, including Juliana Sowersby, the daughter of the Manor. It would not do, he explained to his wife, to be thought shabby by the Sowersbys.

Though Cornelia complained of her house to all that knew her as cramped, it was larger indeed than in her parents’ home in Warwickshire. Mrs Thorne had taken a step up in the world in marrying John, her solid husband whose small independence allowed them to keep their home in a genteel manner, but forbade the luxuries that her heart craved. She kept a cook-maid, a groom and of course a nurse for her three energetic children, but she decried to her special friends the lack of a lady’s maid. Many felt sorry for the tumble that Cornelia was thought to have taken in life, but many more saw through her and simply thought she gave herself airs.

She was a pretty woman, with an abundance of brown hair, which she kept dressed in the latest mode and a rounded figure hardly affected by child bearing. Her husband could perceive no fault in her, she was petted and indulged by him in every way but since neither of them could bear to be less than respectable, this did not lead them towards debt. In the sudden inheritance of a large estate by his sister (why was
her
mother so much better connected that John’s, in every other way the superior woman.) Cornelia saw a way of introducing much more money into her household with her arrival.

So it was that as she was packing her husband’ portmanteau for his journey she was charging him to deliver sweet messages to Clarissa.

‘Do tell my dearest sister that I shall be in transports to see her again. As will William and Percy and little Bella be to see their dear Aunt.’

Though he doubted that the children would remember their ‘dear Aunt’, John took this speech in the spirit it was meant, ‘You are all generosity, my dear, to one whose pert manners might have given you disgust.’ He regarded his wife with a tenderness that was seen rarely in his eyes. He regarded the world through suspicious eyes, set into a grave face. Inclined to early portliness and not a little pomposity, he looked a good deal older than his thirty years.

Completely forgetting what she had called Clarissa after her last visit, Cornelia smiled in a saintly way. ‘Well, I trust that I would never criticize your late step-mama, but let us just say that Clarissa will no doubt benefit from the
tone
of a well-ordered household and the moral guidance of her older brother.’

Since Clarissa had seldom shown any tendency to follow his moral lead, John might have doubted this. However, his wife’s glowing opinion of him allowed him to ignore this and set off in good heart to bring his sister back to her new home.

In the inside pocket of his greatcoat were certain papers that his lawyer had drawn up for him, wanting only Clarissa’s signature to allow him to sell the estate and bank any other incomes accrued. His lawyer agreed with him that the funds and income had best be handled by themselves, allowing of course the young lady an income of, say, one hundred pounds a quarter. This John had not been inclined to permit, since it gave Clarissa an income for fripperies, which quite outdid his wife’s. The lawyer had been all understanding - it would quite unbalance the household. A much smaller allowance then, with monies due put into the housekeeping, and the large funds invested and a small commission taken by her brother for increasing her profits. His wife agreed with him—for what could a young lady know of business? It would be relief to Clarissa for John to take it out of her hands.

When she signed the papers, Clarissa may never trouble her head with such things again. John rode on his way portentously, thinking of the investments that his man of business recommended, for it never occurred to the young man that any female, even one as unnatural as his sister, could fail to see the advantages to his scheme. He knew himself to be dutiful brother, and was proud.

He arrived at The Academy as Mr Peterkin (who had come to try his luck with Clarissa again) was coming away from the door in great agitation of spirit.

‘Sir.’  He exclaimed, ‘Mr Thorne. Can it be that you have come to visit your unhappy sister.’

‘Do I know you, sir?’ uttered Mr Thorne, removing from his arm Mr Peterkin’s clutching fingers.

‘Indeed - upon your last visit - my name is Hubert Peterkin - the Reverend Mr Norbert’s curate, you know. Can it be that you do not know that your sister has gone?’

‘Nonsense’ declared Mr Thorne and continued on his way to the door confidently. As he approached, he felt that ebb away as he saw all the unmistakable signs of a house that had been closed up.

Peterkin ran after him, talking all the time. ‘This is most ill-conceived, you must agree sir, but indeed it it’s true. Your sister had departed to Hertfordshire, as her cook, Jane, as just informed me. There is no use in looking for the knocker, sir. It has been removed. I had myself to go around to the kitchens to get an answer. Jane is merely waiting for the agent to arrive this day, sir.’

‘Hertfordshire.’ declared Thorne, ‘Can she have gone to Ashcroft alone?’

‘As to that, sir, I believe
all
the ladies have gone. But I do think they should have informed me
. I
, of all people, have a right to know.’

Petersham looked at the balding curate with his face purple from the exertion of following his long strides with outraged bewilderment, ‘
You,
sir.
You
have the right to know my sister’s business. How is this so?’

The curate was aware of having been betrayed by his anxiety into saying too much. ‘Well sir…that is… I have had the honour of asking your sister to be my wife. Left alone in the world as she was, I felt it my duty to…’ He came to a halt under the affronted gaze of Mr Thorne

‘My sister, sir, is not alone in the world,’ he said in frigid accents, ‘and even if she was, I doubt that she would have accepted an offer from one as distant to her as you.’ His raking glance seemed to take in the frayed shirt cuff that Peterkin was hiding up his sleeve and the grease spot that Molly had been unable to remove from his hat.  He shrank, uttering a protest about a clergyman’s position being as high as any in the land but hardly loud enough for the stiff young man to hear him before he had marched past and enjoined his coachman to take him to the nearest inn.

‘I would advise you sir, not to speak of my sister’s business abroad, for it can be no concern of yours.’ Then he bethought himself of another matter.

‘What did you mean
all
the ladies?’

Mr Peterkin recovered and in a failing voice told him who had accompanied his sister.

As Thorne drove away he was both incensed and relieved at this news. It was just like Clarissa to take on a parcel of poor relations but at least she was sensible enough not to damage her reputation by racketing about the countryside unattended. Though he could ill afford the extra expense, he was tempted to post onwards to Ashcroft and call a halt to whatever foolish and ungrateful scheme Clarissa was hatching. Over a warm nuncheon at a cosy inn, he considered further

Upon reflection, he thought that the papers in his pocket were unlikely to be signed by a young lady at outs with her brother. He did not doubt his will over hers in the long-term, but he wished to expedite matters.

The state of Ashcroft, the neglect of the house and grounds, and the general disorder of the estate would not be the home that Clarissa and her four companions might hope for. Even
he
did not have the expertise needed to revive such a big estate, so he almost laughed when he thought of what Clarissa’s feelings might be. His man of business had advised him that making the estate profitable would cost a great deal of time and money; and when he had visited it he had believed him. Much better to sell it to one of the newly rich merchants, with a
penchant
for an historic house in the country and with the wealth to do something with it or to Lord Staines from a neighbouring estate who had declared a flattering interest when he had been in Hertfordshire.

He would drive home and hope that by allowing Clarissa a month in that miserable place she would see what she was up against and return home with her brother a chastened young lady, ready to sign the papers. He trusted that the ladies would find, on their travels, that they were very unwise to have set out without a man to guide them.

Had he but known it, the posting inn at which they had stopped for the night had offered them a small adventure - one that might not occurred if he had accompanied them.

It’s taproom had been occupied by a crowd of young gentlemen who had no doubt come to witness some sporting event in the area but now had nothing better to do than drink the landlord’s excellent brandy and gin. Miss Micklethwaite took in the situation at a glance and made sure to stand guard at the door whist the rest of the party were ushered upstairs by the landlady. She was perceived to be to be an honest countrywoman who appeared honoured by the ladies’ visit and bobbed so many curtsies to them that Clarissa laughed under her breath and whispered to Miss Petersham, ‘See what attentions a sable muff will bring you.’

Oriana was reminded that she had left her muff in the carriage and broke away from the others to retrieve it. As she came back, one of the young bucks that had just left the taproom set eyes on her and exclaimed, ‘Miss Petersham.’ The gentleman in the shadows behind him raised his head quickly, as did the redoubtable Miss Micklethwaite.

Oriana was so startled that she dropped her reticule. Her voice had its icy cool, however when she replied, ‘Mr Booth. How strange to encounter you,’ as she recognized a young admirer from her London season.

Mr Booth was about twenty-four years old and his eyes were red and glittering from the spirits that he had imbibed, ‘How strange, ma’am, for me to encounter an
angel
.’ he countered, with a distinct slur in his voice. He proceeded to remove his hat and sweep a magnificent bow before her, quite barring her way from entering the inn. It seemed that the other, older gentleman must have moved forward but before he did, Miss Micklethwaite swept forward knocking the young man’s hat into the mud (perhaps accidentally) and desiring him to stop making a cake of himself. ‘Goodnight to you, sir.’  She said, drawing Oriana forward, ‘and if you were a gentleman you would know better than to go about addressing young ladies in common inn-yards.’

‘But ... I am acquainted with this young lady…’ Protested Mr Booth in vain, for the ladies had entered the inn.

‘Alas, Charles, you should not address young ladies - even if acquainted with them - when you are three parts drunk.’

Mr Booth turned to look at the gentleman who had thus addressed him. He was a man in his early thirties, his height of over six foot enough to draw attention as did the elegance of his attire, even in his topboots and buckskins, making it evident he was both wealthy and fashionable. His face was not handsome, but dark and saturnine, giving him a dangerous look that both thrilled and terrified many ladies of his acquaintance.

‘Grandiston. Did you see who that was? Miss Petersham. I thought her brother had said she was abroad with some relatives after the scandal when she cried off from old Charteris’

‘No doubt he did. If her brother is not given to dissembling we must assume that she has but lately returned. But I fear for his immortal soul.’ he said smoothly, returning Mr Booth’s hat to him. His tone was light and honeyed, but always there was a hint of menace in his tone when he spoke like this.

‘Why do you say so?’ said Booth, and turned to re-enter the taproom.

‘In a moment, my boy, in a moment.’ he strode off abruptly and had a brief conversation with a post-boy in the yard. Booth saw coin change hands as the Earl of Grandiston returned with a satisfied smile on his face. ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘look what chance flings my way.’ He put her arms on the young man’s shoulder and drew him into the taproom. ‘But you wished to know why I doubt her brother-- merely knowledge of his character. It
may
have been true but it may not. As a young cub he was wont to say whatever would best serve him. Most unlike his father or sister whose bluntness, as I have cause to know, was not always in accordance with modern manners…’ Grandiston paused and smiled as though at some wicked reminiscence, ‘…but refreshing all the same.’

‘You were a friend of Petersham’s, were you not, before you went off to the Peninsular?’

‘I was, my young sot, but have another drink and strive not to start another conversation about my military career - you know I find it a dead bore.’