Miss Hartwell's Dilemma (16 page)

By the following Sunday, the storms had abated, and the roads were drying out under a fine October sun. When Amaryllis woke, her windowpanes were growing a garden of frost flowers, and the grass outside was hoary white. By the time Lord Daniel’s carriage drew up before the gate, an icy breeze was blowing.

“Shall you be warm enough?” she asked Tizzy anxiously. “Perhaps I had best go instead.”

“Why should you feel the cold less than I? Not that I expect to feel it in the least with nine of us in the carriage!”

They discovered that, on his lordship’s orders, the coachman had provided hot bricks for the travellers’ feet. Amaryllis gave in. She waved farewell and turned back towards the house, impatiently brushing away a tear.

“That wind is cold enough to make your eyes water, I vow,” she said to Mrs. Vaux.

By the time the three ladies retired to the drawing room after dinner, Amaryllis was on tenterhooks to know how Tizzy had been received. She had much ado not to demand an account immediately. Tizzy and Aunt Eugenia seemed to have endless school business to discuss, and she simply could not keep her mind on it.

“So you did not freeze to death in the coach,” she said at last.

“No, indeed. I have not been in so comfortable a vehicle since your father’s carriages were at our disposal.”

“And when you arrived?”

Tizzy gave her an odd look, but answered readily. “His lordship came out to the front steps as we pulled up. He must have been on the lookout. Isabel ran to him. The others followed. As I was descending from the coach, he looked up with a smile of greeting, which turned to shock and then to anger. He strode down the steps towards me and said, in a sarcastic tone, ‘We are not acquainted, madam. My invitation was to Miss Hartwell.’ Naturally I was at a nonplus. I thought to explain that I too was a teacher at the school and quite as capable of chaperoning the young ladies. However, you know how my tongue betrays me. I said, ‘“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”’ Hebrews 13, verse 2.”

“Tizzy! Did you really?”

“I did. His lordship looked me up and down. ‘Angels?’ he said. ‘Now I know where Miss Hartwell learned her wit.’ After that he was perfectly obliging, though distant. He offered me tea in his library, and I greatly fear I must have made my envy plain, for he invited me to stay there and read what I would. I could not resist. So after all, I proved myself less capable than Amaryllis at playing chaperone and was glad I had not boasted.”

 “I was not with the girls all the time I was there either,” admitted Amaryllis guiltily.

“I daresay you were with his lordship,” said Tizzy drily. “I should not have noticed had he abducted every one of them. ‘King Solomon loved many strange women.’ The first Book of Kings, I believe, though my father never used it as a text. One would not choose to hold up such an example to the congregation.”

“I cannot think it in the least likely that he should abduct anyone. Indeed, Godmama told me that she has never heard that he has the reputation of a libertine, so I am sure that Mr. Raeburn exaggerated.”

“I expect he misunderstood, or heard a false report,” put in Mrs. Vaux quickly, seeing that Miss Tisdale seemed to be about to take up cudgels on the vicar’s behalf.

“Oh dear,” said Tizzy ruefully, “there’s the Ten Commandments: ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour.’ Exodus 20, verse 16. And also I Timothy 5, verse 13: ‘Tattlers also and busybodies, speaking things which they ought not.’”

Amaryllis and her aunt rushed to comfort her.

“Gammon!” exclaimed Amaryllis. “He was most reluctant to speak evil of anyone, but thought it his duty to warn me.”

“The commandment is surely against deliberate falsehood, and against malicious gossip. Dear Mr. Raeburn is certainly incapable of either.”

“Besides, it is entirely Lord Daniel’s fault if people invent Banbury tales about him. In general his manners are not such as to recommend him to any person of sensibility, and he can be excessively rude and overbearing. Even Isabel says he has affronted all his neighbours and most of his family.”

Knowing her words to be true, Amaryllis recalled with wistful wonder the delightful day she had spent with him.

Lost in her recollections, she scarcely noticed when Mrs. Vaux trotted out to check on the common-room. Tizzy interrupted her musing.

“I did not wish to alarm your aunt,” she said in a hushed voice, “but I believe I saw the Spaniard you told us about.”

“Oh no. Is he loitering about the school again?”

“That is what is so odd. He was not here but lurking in the hedgerow near Lord Daniel’s house. I did not catch more than a glimpse, but he was very dark and foreign-looking, with a most un-English moustache.”

Amaryllis frowned. “At Wimbish? How extraordinary. Surely it cannot be the same man. Was his dress foppish?”

“No, very plain. I gained the impression of a servant, not a gentleman, though even the most dandified exquisite must think twice before concealing himself in a ditch in all his finery.”

“I daresay a Spanish gentleman skulking in the wilds of Essex might well have a servant doing likewise, but how could he have discovered that I might go to Wimbish today? No, I cannot believe that there is any connection. Whoever he is, if he continues to hide in hedgerows in this weather he will soon be carried off by a galloping consumption, I wager.”

Mrs. Vaux came back into the room at that moment, and Miss Tisdale returned to their earlier conversation. “Shall I inform the vicar tomorrow that his opinion of Lord Daniel is mistaken?” she asked.

“No,” said Amaryllis decidedly. “That would lend the matter an altogether excessive importance. Well, Aunt Eugenia? What is Louise Carfax up to this evening?”

“Nothing worse than inventing the rules of chess as she goes along. Since her opponent is Isabel, who is equally ignorant, their game is peaceful if unorthodox.”

“And since you have never been able to grasp the principles, dear Aunt, you were unable to set them right, I make no doubt.”

That night the cold spell came to an end. A period of grey, damp, depressing weather set in. Everything dripped, brown leaves fell sodden from the trees to lie in soggy piles beneath, and several girls came down with the grippe. Her days divided between teaching and nursing, Amaryllis dropped exhausted into bed at night and was asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. One of the sick girls developed an inflammation of the lungs. A doctor and her parents had to be sent for, and for a day or two her life was in danger.

By the end of October, Amaryllis had scarce set foot out of doors for two weeks and was looking, as the vicar informed her kindly if unflatteringly, “sadly pulled about.” At this unpropitious moment, Isabel announced that Papa, though unaccountably recalcitrant, had agreed to allow another visit to Wimbish.

“Shall you come this time, ma’am?” she asked Amaryllis, her dark eyes hopeful. “Papa was quite cast into the dismals when you did not last time.”

“Perhaps,” said Amaryllis tiredly, though smiling a little to hear the slang she had picked up so fast. “Do not tease me, pray, there’s a good girl.” She had not seen Lord Daniel since the first Wimbish outing and was not sure whether she wanted to go or not.

Now that everyone was on the road to recovery, she could spare the time. Indeed, she was ready to seize any excuse to get out of the house. On the other hand, she would be cooped up in a closed carriage for hours. She felt that for her own peace of mind she ought to avoid Lord Daniel, yet she had scarcely spared him a thought in weeks, which was hardly the sign of a developing tendre. And if he, on his part, had found her attractive in spite of her drab apparel, to see her looking “sadly pulled about” must cure him of his infatuation.

Mrs. Vaux was a poor traveller. The jolting of a carriage made her utterly wretched, so it was out of the question that she should go. Amaryllis asked Tizzy if she should like to return to that magnificent library.

An expression that in anyone else might have passed for coyness appeared on the governess’s plain face, and a tinge of unwonted colour painted her high cheekbones. “I did enjoy the library,” she admitted, “and I should like to spend more time there, but Mr. Raeburn has promised to call on Sunday afternoon while your aunt is with his sister.”

“My dear Tizzy, I do not know that I ought to allow you to receive your admirer in my absence.”

“But he is a clergyman, Amaryllis, and the girls will be there. I shall not see him alone.”

“I am roasting you, Tizzy dear. You may see him alone with my goodwill, and I hope he has the sense and resolution to pop the question.”

“I do not think it at all likely,” said Miss Tisdale dolefully. “His first obligation must be to his sister and I cannot suppose that she will wish to share the vicarage with me.”

Amaryllis was tempted to disclose the plot to dispose of Miss Raeburn, but thought it unwise to raise any hopes that might not be fulfilled.

“If he loves you,” she said bracingly, “and I am convinced that he does, then he will let nothing stand in his way. I shall go to Wimbish then, and leave you to your wooing.”

Chapter 12

By Sunday, Amaryllis was ready to change her mind about going to Wimbish. A feeling of mounting anticipation warned her that she would be unwise to see Lord Daniel, and on top of that, she felt distinctly under the weather. However, a single look at the faces of Tizzy and Isabel made her steadfastly ignore her doubts. She took her seat in his lordship’s carriage, Grayson urged on the horses, and they were off.

Before they reached Finchingfield, Amaryllis wished she was at home. It was a mild day but wet, with a light drizzle falling, and the damp seemed to have invaded her bones. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the well-padded seat. One of the girls Isabel had invited had a raucous laugh, the despair of Mrs. Vaux, and was easily amused. The noise slashed through Amaryllis’s aching head like a broadsword.

At last they pulled up before the old brick house. Feeling fragile, Amaryllis followed the girls out of the coach. Preceded by the excited golden spaniels, Lord Daniel was coming down the steps towards her. There was a joyous welcome in his eyes, replaced almost at once by wariness. His first remark was not encouraging.

“You do not look at all well.”

“I do not feel at all well,” she snapped. “I believe I must be coming down with the grippe. You had best not come near me or you will get it too.”

Undeterred, he took her arm. “Come in out of the rain, he urged gently. “There is a fire in the library, and you will feel more the thing after a cup of tea.”

Tears filled her eyes at his sympathetic tone. She forced them back, biting her lip. “If tea cured the grippe, I should not have been nursing half the school these three weeks,” she said waspishly.

He raised his eyebrows with a quizzical look but said nothing and continued to lead her into the house. He waited while, feeling utterly miserable, she gave her cloak and bonnet to the housekeeper, then he ushered her into the library.

If possible, the room was still pleasanter on this murky day than when the sun shone beyond the windows. Beneath the marble mantelpiece a fire burned briskly in the grate, where well-polished brass andirons shone. Lamplight glowed warm on gleaming wood and glossy leather. The dankness outside emphasised the comfort within.

“Sit down.” Lord Daniel indicated a chair by the fire.

Unable to summon up the energy to cavil at his peremptory manner, she sank into the chair, which was as comfortable as it looked, and closed her eyes.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” she said pettishly. “I ought not to have ripped up at you when you meant to be kind.” She heard him moving about the room.

“Indeed you ought not,” he responded. “I so rarely mean to be kind that I require every possible encouragement. So pray encourage me by drinking this glass of Madeira. We shall see if it is a better remedy than tea.”

Amaryllis opened her eyes. He was standing before her, offering the glass of wine with a smile that made her heart turn over. She took the goblet with a murmured word of thanks, sipped at it, and set it on the table beside her.

Then, possessed by an inexplicable spirit of contrariety, she said, “But I should have liked some tea.”

“I should never have put you down for a capricious female.” He rang the bell. “It must be a symptom of the grippe. Prosser, some tea for Miss Hartwell.”

The housekeeper had appeared so promptly that Amaryllis suspected she had been listening at the door. “Yes, my lord,” she said, her face sour. “Will your lordship take tea also?”

Amaryllis was sure he would make some excuse to leave her and her megrims alone. That had always been Bertram’s strategy when she was feeling cross-grained, and her father’s also. To her surprise, Lord Daniel stayed and drank tea with her.

“Do you feel more the thing now?” he asked, regarding her critically. “Your colour is better.”

“The tea was refreshing, but now I am stupidly hot. I had best move away from the fire.” She struggled to rise from the enveloping chair.

He was beside her in a moment, his hand on her shoulder. “No, stay there,” he ordered in his autocratic way. “I shall bring a screen to shield you from the heat.”

From one corner of the room he fetched a folding screen of canvas painted with charming landscapes, carrying it under his left arm. She watched with a frown as he set it up, fumbling awkwardly with his right hand. In general his movements were quick and sure, but sometimes he seemed to lose control of his right arm.

“Is that better?” he asked, turning to her. “The devil! I believe you are running a fever.” He laid his cool hand on her forehead. “Yes, you most certainly are.”

“I am perfectly all right. What does a gentleman know of fevers?”

“As much as a schoolmistress knows of agriculture, or more. I nursed Isabel through all the usual childhood ailments. Here.” He hooked a footstool with his toe and pulled it towards her. “Put your feet up on this, lean back, and close your eyes. I shall go and see what Isabel and your girls are doing, and I hope you will manage to sleep a little.”