Holiday in Bath (21 page)

Lord Rissington was more restrained in his speech but no less so in his approbation. “You look astonishingly like a portrait of my great-aunt when she was a girl, Miss Storwood. Flying in the face of convention, she had her hair shorn just so on the eve of her presentation at court, and she was a great hit. Quite a life she had, too, come to think of it. Buried three or four husbands, all titled and well blunted, and had such a swarm of children that I can’t keep track of half my relations today.” Skirting the music stand with a great deal more dexterity than Bodford, he presented the flowers, his cherubic face beaming in triumph on his companion. “I make you my compliments, Miss Storwood. These poor blooms can but ill compare with your own radiance this morning but I beg you will, out of the goodness of your heart, accept them.”

Desperately searching for his own gift, Bodford muttered, “Shabby bunch of greenery! Not even out-of-season stuff, if you will. I went all the way to Stall Street for the best comfits in town.” His eye lit on the renegade box and he scooped it up, dislodging several sheets of music in his hurry. These fluttered to the carpet before he could retrieve them, and he was so intrigued by the carpet that he paused to exclaim, “Have you ever seen anything like this, Rissington? If you look very closely you can see—” He stopped abruptly and flushed at Mrs. Storwood’s incredulous expression. “Sorry. Pay no heed to me. Just a fancy of mine, to be sure. The weave is a bit irregular, of course, but it could not possibly be of interest. Now where did I put those sugar plums? Ah, here they are. I thought Miss Storwood might like a box for her room. Not that she wouldn’t share them with you, ma’am! There are more than enough for two people, or even more! Mrs. Waplington, I know, has a sweet tooth. Noticed her more than once eyeing the… Well, there, that’s no matter, either. What I mean is, hope you’ll enjoy them, Miss Storwood.”

Stifling a giggle, Trelenny allowed him to place them in the hand that did not contain the bouquet, saying, “Thank you, Mr. Bodford. It’s a great deal too good of you both. Won’t you sit down? I’ll just ring and have these flowers put in water.”

“You see, Rissington?” Bodford whispered aside. “You’ve just gone and caused her a lot of trouble bringing those weeds. Now a box of comfits is just the ticket. Sits right on any table and doesn’t have to have water. All ready for the moment you find yourself sharp set and hours to go till the next meal. You should remember that for next time.”

Ignoring this admonition with superb unconcern, Lord Rissington set himself to entertain Mrs. Storwood, and her daughter when she returned to sit with them. Being possessed of a remarkable memory (not to give the lie to his comment on keeping track of his relations, each and every one of whom he could name, give an age for and a place of residence, together with an astonishing amount of history), he found little difficulty in eliciting the names of those acquaintances Mrs. Storwood had lost track of and, more often than not, bringing her up to date on their whereabouts and recent activities. Knowing everyone was a hobby of my lord’s, and perhaps that reason more than any other had induced him to dance attendance on the Storwoods, though Cranford’s reluctance to speak of them may possibly have piqued his interest. Although Mrs. Storwood’s delicacy of character and high tone of mind were not perhaps duplicated in her daughter, Rissington found Trelenny delightful, and hardly the sad romp Cranford had led him, in his cryptic remarks, to believe. Spirited, certainly, but with a reasonable regard for convention, as witnessed by her efforts to draw Bodford, who, if not precisely sulking, was certainly not in his element in the parlor that morning, into the conversation.

Mr. Bodford’s unguarded and erratic manner did not recommend him to young ladies’ parents, as well he knew, and he resented Rissington’s ease on the present, as he had on past occasions. Unfortunately, they were often attracted to the same females, and Rissington forever won the advantage.

Because of his angelic face and wide blue eyes, no one suspected him of the least guile; and Bodford would be the first to affirm their judgment, though he could have told them a great deal that would have surprised them, nonetheless. And it was not necessarily that Bodford himself was suspected of guile, more often he was presumed foolish, which was just as far from the truth as the presumption that Rissington’s temperament was as open as his countenance. A stocky figure, indeterminate features, nondescript brown eyes and hair all combined to make him an unprepossessing figure; and, when considered in addition to his penchant for saying precisely what came to mind, he was either dismissed as a loose screw, a slow top, or a frippery fellow. Often overlooked were his perpetual good nature (excluding the present circumstances), his expertise in every field of athletic endeavor, and his unfailing courtesy to the highest and lowest of his fellow creatures.

Remembering his delightful tales of the previous evening, Trelenny was endeavoring to show him to advantage before her skeptical mother, who had conceived the standard impression of Mr. Bodford during his first minutes in the room. “When does your father come to town, Mr. Bodford?”

“He leaves Westmorland in a week. Makes a stately progression, though, and I don’t expect him for some time after that.”

Trelenny felt she had not perhaps given him the most propitious opening, so she tried again. “I heard of a highwayman near Preston on our way here. Have you ever encountered any trouble on the road?”

A gleam appeared in his eyes. “Haven’t I just! Last year I was going into Somerset to visit Thompkins. He lives near this little village called Luccombe and God help me the directions he gave would have lost a military scout. Well, it’s nowhere, I promise you! Pretty country, you understand. Once I found the dratted place even I could appreciate how pleasant it was there, but I kept asking my way and no one had ever heard of it! Fancy that! I dare say there’s not a soul in Westmorland who couldn’t direct you to Kendal! Of course, Luccombe is a village, but I swear I asked this farm lad for the place when it turned out I wasn’t half a mile from it—and he hadn’t ever heard of it!”

Afraid that her mother was becoming restless by this digression, Trelenny asked, “And was it on your way there that you met a highwayman?”

“A highwayman? I’ve never met a highwayman,” he declared emphatically. “Met a footpad once,” with a significant look at Rissington, “but never a highwayman. Well, stands to reason, don’t it? No highwayman’s nag could outrun that pair of mine, could they, Rissington?”

“I shouldn’t think so.”

“But I thought you said you’d encountered trouble on the road,” Trelenny persisted.

“I did,” Tony agreed with the gleam returning to his eyes. “I was about to tell you. Wasn’t but a short distance from the village and I could see the lights gleaming through the trees ahead, when I came around a bend to find a carriage slung right across the road. Whoa, I said to myself, this means trouble. Drew my pair up short, though it was a near thing. Stopped them just a squeak away from the carriage and sent my tiger to their heads before I had time to realize that there was only one horse attached to the landau. Well, I thought, one of the horses has gone lame and they’ve left him and taken the other to get help. But why would they have left the carriage straight across the road, I wondered? Sort of put me on my guard, don’t you know? So I took up a pistol I keep under the seat and walked right up to the door and opened it. And what do you think I found?” He gazed on his audience with bright-eyed eagerness.

Rissington groaned; Trelenny smiled encouragingly; Mrs. Storwood waited rather longingly for the end of the tale.

“A naked woman! On my honor!” Oblivious to the fact that he had shocked Mrs. Storwood, Tony continued with relish. “And not a highwayman involved in the whole affair! First thing I did, of course, was take off my driving cape and give it to the poor woman. Seems her husband had driven her out of the house without a stitch on her back over some misunderstanding. Told his coachman to leave her like a newborn babe precisely ten miles from his estate, but one of the horses went lame and he’d ridden off to get another in the village. When the lame horse heard my carriage coming he tried to bolt, but just threw the carriage across the road. The poor woman didn’t dare to get out and try to right the situation.”

“Her husband did that to her?” Trelenny asked incredulously. “What happened to her?”

“I took her up with me in the curricle and brought her to Thompkins’ place. His sister knew the woman, and eventually she was returned to her parents’ home. They sued the husband; stripped him pretty near as well as he did his wife.”

“I’m glad to hear it! What a despicable thing to do.”

Mrs. Storwood looked as though she needed a whiff of her vinaigrette, but Trelenny was too indignant to notice. Lord Rissington considered it time he and Bodford took their leave, and mercilessly propelled the other man before him to the door. With an apologetic smile, he took his leave of Mrs. Storwood and Trelenny, managing to convey his hope that they would meet again soon over Bodford’s mumbled, “Wasn’t entirely in the right, you know, the wife, but I don’t hold with such villainy as the husband’s myself.”

Before the door had closed after them, Mrs. Storwood dug her vinaigrette out of her bulging reticule and agitatedly waved it under her nose. “Whatever possessed him to tell us such a story?” she asked faintly.

“Don’t be vexed with him, Mama. I think he’s a dear, really. He didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sure, just to entertain us with his escapade.”

“Cranford would never have told us anything so improper! Imagine discussing unclothed women with us.”

No, Cranford doesn’t discuss it, he just does it, Trelenny apostrophized mentally with an embarrassed toss of her head. Gone was the long silken hair he had released from its pins that night, and she was glad it was gone!

Cranford had spent a disturbed night. Sleep proved elusive, so he rose from his bed, wrapped a dressing gown around himself, and struck a flint to light his bedside candle. Restlessly pacing about the room, an elegant chamber with an alcove containing two Hepplewhite cabriole chairs flanking a draw table, he noticed the copy of
Emma
and decided he would begin reading it to make himself drowsy. Before opening the first volume, however, he stared off into the shadowy room, unable to pinpoint what was discomposing him so. Trelenny, of course, he thought, running a hand distractedly through his hair, but this was not his usual state of mind concerning her. Ordinarily he would experience a moment’s irritation or more sustained doubts of her behavior which lurked at the back of his mind. Was he too hard on her? This evening, for instance, he need not have ended their evening by impugning her. Surely it was cruel to depress her soaring spirits after so successful an evening for her. Three men at least had been more than pleased to share her company, had laughed and talked with her with evident enjoyment. Both Bodford and Rissington had questioned him about her after their sets, expressing delight in her freshness and enthusiasm.

And it was true that Trelenny was not just in the common way. Her own special charm was her eagerness and optimism about life and everything in it, her fascination and sympathy with other people, her ready adaptability to both good and bad fortune. They were not necessarily merely characteristics of youth, either, Cranford realized. A certain amount of caution would be acquired in time to blunt the edge of her frankness, but the joyous celebration of each day seemed unlikely to change, barring any disaster.

So why had he tried to spoil her evening? Perhaps because of her accusation earlier in the day that he wouldn’t own to reading
Emma
. No, for all his irate behavior, he knew almost for a certainty that that was only a prank of hers, played in revenge for his perpetually pinching at her. He smiled ruefully at the memory of her haughty demand to be taken home, but another scene eclipsed that almost immediately—her laughing face raised to Mr. Rowle and again to Rissington and Bodford. Cranford had intended, if Trelenny lacked a partner for any dance, to solicit her himself, but there had been no need. She had managed perfectly well without his assistance, and somehow that rankled. Not that she had enjoyed the early part of the evening; Cranford knew her well enough to understand that she had been uneasy with her first partners. Even then she had not turned to him for support, though he realized, with chagrin, that he had given her no encouragement to do so, rather the opposite.

With an exasperated shrug, he decided that it was futile to delve further into the day’s uncomfortable occurrences. Tomorrow he would treat her more kindly. Better yet, tomorrow he would avoid her, as she seemed to wish. Mr. Wheldrake could stand escort to the Storwoods, and Cranford would have an opportunity to do precisely what he wanted, though nothing occurred to him offhand. He unconsciously rumpled his hair and opened the book on his lap, forcing any further thoughts of Trelenny from his mind. Not once, until he encountered the note tucked in the third chapter, did he give a thought to Lady Babthorpe.

Cranford dear, when you doze over this book, dream of me. My lord spends Tuesday night in Wells. I am forbidden to go out in the evenings save in his company, so I shall be at home alone. Clothilde will be at the rear entry at midnight. There is no risk. Don’t fail me.

Cranford took the note to the grate and lit it from his candle, watching impassively at it flamed and turned to ash. The room was cold now and he shivered. Thoughtfully he retraced his steps to the alcove and placed a leather bookmark in
Emma
before discarding his dressing gown and climbing into bed. He did not dream of Lady Babthorpe.

Lord Barlow’s house in Queen Square reflected his daughter's taste as well as his own. When Cranford arrived he was shown into a drawing room in such contrast to Mrs. Waplington’s eclectic rooms that he almost smiled. Instead of the clutter of furniture, paintings, and mirrors, there was a refined simplicity ornamented by classical motifs and objects, which held no small interest for an antiquarian. Lady Jane and her father were entertaining a woman and her daughter unknown to Cranford but obviously on easy terms with the host and hostess. They soon took their leave, and after conversing with Cranford for a few minutes, Lord Barlow did likewise because of a pressing appointment.