Miss Hartwell's Dilemma (21 page)

“Pray do not think you must entertain me with conversation about my school when you are not interested in it, sir,” said Amaryllis firmly.

She was disturbed at the evidence that he actually was interested. She still did not know how to find out his business without asking straight out, which seemed unwise, so she turned the conversation to the castle. Don Miguel was properly impressed by its romantic reminder of past glories. In fact, he seemed unnaturally drawn to its bloody history, deeply regretting that England’s days of chivalry and honour had ended, “It is not so in La España,” he told her. “We hidalgos hold up the honour of the family to the death.”

Amaryllis paled as she wondered whether this was a direct reference to her father and the ambassador’s daughter. However, at that moment Don Miguel caught sight of someone over her shoulder and the look of sneering malevolence that she had noticed before crossed his face. She was sure it was not directed at her. She would have liked to warn the Spaniard’s prospective victim, but she still could not tell who it was.

Shortly thereafter the dance came to an end. As Don Miguel bowed to her, he patted the hilt of his sword. “This weapon that you admired, señorita,” he said significantly, “rest assured that it is no ornament. At the duelo I am expert.”

With this alarming farewell, he stalked off.

Amaryllis’s next dance with Bertram was a welcome relief after her battle of wits with Don Miguel Rodrigues de la Rosa. The figures of the dance did not allow for conversation so she could not immediately tell Bertram what she had learned. Meanwhile, it was soothing to exchange smiles and cheerful remarks with someone who had no ulterior motive in seeking her company. As the dance ended, an announcement was made that supper had been set out in the Guard Room below and they joined the general movement towards the stairs.

Amaryllis looked out for Lord Daniel. There was no sign of him, and she hoped he would turn up for the waltz. She had no objection to a brief stint as a wallflower. She’d had a partner for every dance so far, and people would probably think she considered the waltz too fast for a schoolmistress. However, Bertram had not been pleased when asked to relinquish his prior claim, and she did not care to have distressed him for nothing.

The trestle tables had been moved down from the Banqueting Hall and were loaded with delicacies. In spite of her energetic evening, Amaryllis was not hungry. Bertram had danced with Mrs. Vaux, Miss Tisdale, and a number of young ladies whose plainness made it unlikely that they would refine too much upon his politeness, so he was ravenous. He munched his way through a heaped plateful while Amaryllis toyed with a Chantilly cream and told him about Don Miguel’s mysterious inquisition and final threat.

“It sounds to me as if he is more interested in the school than in you,” he said finally. “I’d wager all the schools for young ladies in Spain are convents, so perhaps he expected you to be a nun.”

“He did comment that English ladies are very independent. At least that was what I understood him to say.”

“Even so, he can scarce expect to challenge you to a duel. I am sure his last words were a boast, not a threat. Judging by what you tell me of his opinion of English decadence, he probably thinks Englishmen cannot handle a sword. His contemptuous scowl was undoubtedly directed at British manhood in general.”

“And can you handle a sword?” asked Amaryllis laughing, reassured.

“I used to fence at Cambridge,” said his lordship sheepishly, “but I have not touched one since.”

After supper there was one dance before the waltz. As it drew to a close, Amaryllis saw Lord Daniel standing at the end of the room, watching her. Her partner, a young lawyer, regretfully delivered her to Lord Daniel’s side.

Unfortunately, his expression was not one of pleasurable anticipation. He bowed to her awkwardly and asked in a tight voice if she was enjoying herself.

Suspecting that he was nervous, she did her best to put him at ease. She chattered about the task he was taking on by inviting Louise to his home and even surprised a laugh out of him by recounting one of the child’s exploits that he had not yet heard. However, when the musicians finished tuning and couples began to take their places on the floor, he squared his shoulders as if bracing for an ordeal before he led her out.

After the first few stumbling steps, when she wondered if she had been mad to persuade him, he caught the rhythm. As they swirled about the hall, she was conscious only of his hand at her waist, hers on his arm, her right hand clasped in his left and his dark eyes burning down into hers. She felt the oddest sensation, as if flames raced along every nerve from the points where they touched.

Suddenly he stiffened, his face paled, and his hand began to slip from her waist.

She realised at once what had happened and managed to link her arm beneath his to support it. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He missed two or three steps until he felt her strength and resolved to rely on it.

They circled the floor more slowly now and with care. Amaryllis concentrated on her left arm, willing all her strength into it and trusting him to guide her. Just when she was afraid she would have to suggest that they sit out the rest of the dance, she felt his hand firm at her back again. She looked up and was surprised to see a gaze of such fervent gratitude that she blushed and lowered her eyes.

They went on dancing without further mishap, but she was uneasy with him now. It was nothing to do with his weakness. The intensity of his emotion frightened her a little, and she withdrew, conscious of the crowd about them, unable and unwilling to abandon herself once more to her own feelings. As they moved to the side of the room, she was glad to see Bertram waiting for his last dance.

She turned to thank Lord Daniel. He bowed silently and walked away.

It was immediately apparent that Bertram was displeased with her. “I should never have given up my waltz had I known with whom you meant to dance it,” he said severely. She raised her eyebrows in haughty interrogation. “To visit Winterborne’s house as chaperone for his daughter was one thing,” he went on. “To take to the floor in what the highest sticklers still consider an improper romp is quite another.”

“Oh don’t be Gothic, Bertram,” she said impatiently. “Just because he is the father of one of my pupils. May I remind you that you are the uncle of another?”

He calmed down. “I forgot that I never told you,” he apologised. “The man is divorced and, for all anyone knows, his wife is still living.”

Amaryllis did not go so far as to feign surprise, nor did she admit that she already knew of the scandal. “Whether his wife be living or no, he is not married to her. And if he were —well, I have danced with married men before without provoking the least frown on the face of the stuffiest tabbies. Pray do not be making a Cheltenham tragedy out of nothing.”

His lordship looked as offended as his good-natured face allowed, but said quietly, “Let us not quarrel, if you please. This is our dance.”

“I am tired, Bertram, and I’ll wager Tizzy and Aunt Eugenia are equally so. We are not used to burning the candle at both ends, remember. I hope you will not mind if we go home now.”

“I shall order my carriage at once,” he said, disgruntled but obliging to the last.

He could hardly argue with her. The company had thinned out since supper. Mrs. Vaux was visibly nodding in her chair, while Miss Tisdale had lost her anchor some time since, as Mr. Raeburn had to be up for early service on the morrow.

With punctilious courtesy Lord Pomeroy walked the ladies down to the carriage and handed them in. The air was icily refreshing, and Amaryllis was touched to find that he had ordered hot bricks for their brief journey down the hill.

She was glad when, as he bowed over her hand, he murmured, “I shall call in the morning before I leave.”

They rumbled down the hill and through the quiet village. Here and there lights shone in windows where those who had served at the party were expected home. A lantern glowed on their own front porch, and in the vestibule stood three candles and a lighted lamp. The house was silent.

Mrs. Vaux yawned a delicate yawn as she lit the candles. “I don’t know when I have enjoyed myself more,” she declared. “Pray let me not be wakened in the morning.”

They started up the stairs. Miss Tisdale’s mouth was curved in a secret smile, and her usually shrewd eyes were dreamy. “‘He giveth his beloved sleep.’ Psalm one hundred and twenty-seven,” she said vaguely when they parted on the top landing. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” echoed Amaryllis and went to her chamber to indulge in a fit of the dismals before falling asleep.

After retiring in the small hours of the morning, she was not surprised to see the sun high in the sky when she woke. She dressed quickly, suddenly remembering that not only was Bertram coming to see her, but Lord Daniel was to pick up the girls. She hurried downstairs. The house was so quiet that she heard Daisy humming to herself in the dining room. The maid turned with a smile as she entered.

“Musta been a grand ball, miss, and all of you sleeping in so late. Shall I fetch you some breakfast?”

“Some tea and toast will do very well, Daisy. Where is everyone?”

“The young ladies is all gone, miss. There’s a couple o’ letters for you in the common-room. I’ll bring ‘em down.”

She bustled out, and Amaryllis sat down at the table. She was facing a window that looked out on the front garden, and suddenly she noticed that the fiowerbeds appeared to have burst into bloom overnight. Curious, she went to the window. Around the brown stubs of the pruned rosebushes spread a riot of colour. Purple and orange and peacock blue, scarlet, peach, primrose, and lavender, two score curly ostrich feathers nodded their heads in the breeze.

“Louise!” exclaimed Miss Hartwell, not for a moment at a loss to know who to blame.

“Isn’t it downright pretty?” said Daisy, coming back with a tray. “That there sourpuss Ned wanted to pull ‘em all up, but me and Cook assuaded him to leave ‘em till you seen em.”

“Very pretty,” agreed her mistress, “but we shall be the laughing stock of the village if it gets about that we grow feathers in our garden!”

“Let ‘em be till the miss and the madam’s seen ‘em,” begged the maid. “‘Sides, ‘tis market day and all the world’ll know by now.”

The accuracy of her prediction became obvious as a group of small boys ran up to peer over and through the fence, laughing and pointing. With a sigh and a shake of the head, Amaryllis turned to her breakfast.

There were two folded notes beside her plate, each carefully inscribed “To Miss Hartwell.” She opened the one in Isabel’s writing first.

“Dearest Miss Hartwell,” it said, “Thank you for letting Louise come to my house. I hope you have a happy Christmas. I shall miss you. Love, Isabel.”

Louise’s was longer, though her writing was more laborious. “Dear ma’am, Please forgive me I skipped Scripcher last week to go to the market to buy the Osterch Fethers. Mr. Raybern is to good to scold or tell tails. I hope you think they are pretty. I do. They will remind you of Me and you may scold when I return. Your obed’t servant, Louise Carfax. PS They are Artifishul so did not cost to much.”

Amaryllis was still laughing when Bertram strolled into the dining room.

“Is your gardener run mad?” he demanded.

She handed him Louise’s letter and, while he was reading it, pocketed Isabel’s.

“I might have guessed,” he groaned. “That child will be the death of me.”

“I doubt it. Her pranks are never harmful or malicious. I suspect she saw this one in the light of a farewell gift, for she hopes that I may find the feathers pretty.”

“You are very forgiving, my dear.” He sat down beside her. “May I hope that you will forgive me for my carping last night? I had no excuse to find fault. I must confess that I was jealous.”

“How can I not forgive when it arose from such a flattering cause?” She avoided telling him he had no reason for jealousy. “But I must ask your pardon too, for I ought not to have responded with such heat, and it was excessively rude of me to leave before the last dance.”

“You were tired, I could see it. And I gather Mrs. Vaux and Miss Tisdale are still abed? When we are married I shall dance every dance with you.”

“Now that will in truth create a scandal,” said Amaryllis with a smile.

He took her hand. “I wish I might stay,” he said, “but I am expected at Tatenhill tomorrow and must not delay. I shall be back in January. You will have an answer for me then?”

“I shall,” she promised.

Chapter 16

Having missed the morning services, the three ladies all went to Evensong at St. Nicholas’s. Mrs. Vaux had a lifelong habit of regular churchgoing. Amaryllis felt it necessary to counteract the frivolous impression her behaviour of the previous evening must have produced on the local populace, and Miss Tisdale needed no reason beyond the stars in her eyes.

Mr. Raeburn insisted on escorting them back along the dark street. Amaryllis and her aunt dawdled a little exclaiming loudly over the brilliance of the stars. They caught up with the others at the gate, in time to overhear the vicar bemoaning the fact that the school holiday would deprive him of his usual Monday visit.

“It is dreadfully lowering to sit down only three to dinner when one is used to a crowd,” said Amaryllis mendaciously. “Perhaps you and Miss Raeburn would dine with us tomorrow?”

The vicar brightened. “That will be delightful,” he assured her. “At least, I must enquire whether Augusta has any prior engagement, but I believe we are free.”

“Then we shall expect you unless we hear from you. Do not stand about out here too long, Tizzy, or you will catch a chill,” added Amaryllis in governess-like tones as she and Mrs. Vaux went on into the house.

Having taken off her pelisse, Mrs. Vaux hovered at the window, peeking between the curtains. “He is holding her hand,” she reported. “Oh, he has kissed her cheek! Amaryllis, I do believe they have come to an understanding at last.”

“Come away from the window, do, Aunt Eugenia. They will see you. Come and tell me how to seat five people, four of them female, about a table intended for thirty.”