Patricia Wynn (8 page)

Stepping quickly to catch up with him, Susan called out, “Bates! Oh, Bates!”

He must not have heard, for he turned away and walked with stately dignity in the opposite direction. Supposing that he might be slightly deaf, Susan gathered her skirt in one hand and ran lightly after him, still calling.

As she closed with him, however, Susan suddenly came within his hearing, and he turned quickly in time to see her running. She halted breathlessly before him, not a little embarrassed to be caught in such a manner.

“Yes, madam,” he said, showing no sign of surprise at being thus accosted.

“Oh, Bates!” Susan breathed anxiously. “I was wondering whez’er someone might be sent to ze stables wiz an instruction for my groom. I would like to speak to ’im before ’e sets out again.”

Bates bowed stiffly, as if with disdain for her inferior intelligence. “To the best of my knowledge, madam, the person you speak of left several hours ago,” he said. “Right after breaking his fast, if I am not mistaken. But I will enquire if you wish.” His tone suggested she would be greatly in error to doubt any information she received from
him.

Susan shrank, but did not give in. “Yes, please do, Bates. S’ank you.”

Bates bowed again. This time not so terribly. He seemed to gain respect for someone he could not crush. “I shall see to it immediately, madam. Lady Mewhinny is in the breakfast parlour. If you like, I shall conduct you to her and have something brought up for you shortly.”

Susan released a breath gratefully and smiled. “S’ank you, Bates. Zat would be delightful.”

She was shown into a room which bore the same style as the room in which she slept, although the paintings were, in general, more modest than those in her boudoir. Lady Mewhinny was seated at the table sipping tea and reading a stack of papers at her side. From the remnants on her plate, Susan could see she had a remarkably hearty appetite for one her age.

“Good afternoon, my dear. I see you’ve had your rest.”

Susan greeted her and affirmed it, mentioning that Bates was already seeing to her breakfast.

“I was just finishing a small luncheon,” said Kitty. “I breakfasted earlier and got on with my work. So much to catch up on after a journey from home, you know,” she added at Susan’s look of surprise.

Her ladyship appeared to be completely recovered from her accident of the day before. Indeed, she showed no sign of having had one. It was amazing, nonetheless, thought Susan, that a woman of Lady Mewhinny’s age and fortune should not have a steward to take care of her business. Surely she did, yet the stack of papers before her suggested Lady Mewhinny was quite closely involved with her business affairs.

Susan’s breakfast was brought in on a tray with a number of journals, so she was able to eat in quiet while her ladyship continued her work. But the shrieking in Susan’s ears had not abated; in fact, it seemed rather louder. She was just beginning to wonder whether she had not developed a case of nerves, when the screams increased so sharply as to make her drop her cup and jump to her feet.

Lady Mewhinny looked up curiously. “Something wrong, my dear?”

Susan gazed at her in disbelief. “Surely you heard that, my lady! It was the peculiar sound I was asking about.”

Lady Mewhinny shook her head in perplexity. “I didn’t hear anything peculiar, my dear.”

Susan struggled to maintain her calm as the shrieks grew louder again. “I do not like to suggest it, my lady
—Kitty,” she amended, “But per’aps your ‘earing is not quite what it was, for ze most dreadful shrieking is coming from zat direction.” She pointed towards the farthest wing of the house where she had not yet been.

To her great relief, Lady Mewhinny chuckled. “Oh, I am so sorry, Susan, my love. You are talking about the west wing! Of course I hear it. But I am so used to it, you see, that I do not consider it strange at all. And you did ask if I heard anything peculiar.”

Susan waited expectantly, happy, at least, to know that she was not imagining things.

“Those are my pensioners,” Lady Mewhinny said placidly.

Susan’s eyes widened in alarm. “Your pensioners?”

“Yes, my dear. It is so silly of me. I forgot to tell you about my charity. I care for some one hundred or more unfortunates who have been cruelly abandoned. It is their behaviour, you know. People tire of them when they begin to shriek and bite and tear the curtains and so on. But here they are well cared for.”

Susan swallowed and said weakly, “Zat’s quite admirable,” before looking towards the door in the impossible hope that Tom had returned.

Lady Mewhinny glanced at Susan’s plate and saw she had finished. “Would you like to see them?” she asked brightly.

Susan choked on her last bite of food. “Certainly,” she said when she could.
“Sometime.
Zat would be lovely. But I must not take you from your work.”

“There is no time like the present,” said Lady Mewhinny, rising. Susan thought she spoke in a remarkably cheery tone. She rose to her feet, wondering how she would react to seeing rooms full of lunatics. She knew that others derived considerable amusement from seeing them; Bedlam was quite the tourist attraction. But Susan had never been tempted. The thought of such miserable humanity was always too much for her tender heart and she doubted she could face them without enduring tortured dreams for the rest of her life.

Lady Mewhinny led her briskly down the hall which opened into the west wing. The screams and shrieks grew steadily louder as though the inmates were enjoying a competition of sorts. Susan wondered if any of them were, by contrast, moribund, and if they were, how they managed to survive the noise.

Lady Mewhinny stopped before a room with large double doors. Then, as she directed the footman to open them, Susan said a brief, silent prayer. She pleaded not to be so overcome with pity for the miserable inmates that she would there and then pledge her life to their service.

The doors opened and her nostrils were assailed by an overpoweringly foul odour, which would have added to her horror if she had not immediately caught sight of the inhabitants within.

“Monkeys!” she cried in relief.

They were monkeys. At first, as their shrieks increased in greeting, Susan thought there must be hundreds of them. They were enclosed in enormous cages so big that they hardly seemed to be cages at all, and the creatures were bounding about and hurling themselves against the sides as if crazed with joy.

Lady Mewhinny moved about and among them uttering soothing sounds. She had picked up a basket as she entered the room, and at the moment was dipping into it for small pieces of fruit which she fed to her “pensioners” through the bars. Susan could now see that it was their delight in her visit which had caused such an uproar, for they eventually calmed as those who received their bits of fruit ran off to enjoy them in relative peace.

“Would you like to feed one of them?” asked Lady Mewhinny, offering Susan a rather mushy tidbit.

Devoutly hoping her hostess had not heard her first outburst, Susan hastened to take some food from her and pushed it through the bars. A little brown creature with an elfin face, black hands and feet came shyly towards her along his perch. She was surprised at how gently he took the present from her, but even more so by his subsequent gestures, for he bowed repeatedly and touched his head as if he were removing his hat.

“Oh, look!” she cried. “He’s thanking me! ’Ow darling!” she said, remembering too late to use her French accent. “Did you teach ’im zat, Kitty?”

“Oh, no, my dear,” Lady Mewhinny said, shaking her head sadly. “I would not have time with so many creatures to care for, although I do try to give them each some special attention. They need it, you know. They must have affection or they die. No, this one belonged to a hurdy-gurdy man evidently, for he has been trained to do tricks for his supper. I don’t demand it of him, naturally, but he does not understand that.”

“’Ow did you come by zem all?” Susan asked in a wondering tone. She had completely recovered from her earlier misconception and was now full of curiosity.

Lady Mewhinny explained. “Well, as I told you, these are my pensioners. I am the founder of the Society for Abandoned Simians. I thought I mentioned that to you, my dear.”

“Not precisely,” said Susan, hiding a smile at her own foolishness. “But now I understand. Only why are zere so many abandoned simians? One would s’ink zere ‘ad never been so many in all of England.”

“Oh, but there were, dear,” Lady Mewhinny said. “You have no idea how popular it was when I was a girl to have a monkey of your own. All the most fashionable ladies wanted one. And, of course, it was the merchants who brought them so their daughters had to have them, too. Why, if you didn’t have a monkey from East India, a lapdog from Vigo or a page from Genoa, you were not quite the thing! But then they tired of them, you see, just as if they were a type of fan or periwig that had gone out of style. Besides, they are quite demanding little creatures and they bite if they have a tantrum, which did not suit my lady long. Scores of them were handed about from one owner to another, until eventually no one wanted them. And the poor little monkeys grow morose when they are not wanted. They are quite intelligent; they know, you see.”

“But...” Susan tried to phrase her question tactfully, “do zey live so very long? I should s’ink you must ’ave ’ad most of zese for quite some time.”

Lady Mewhinny laughed lightly. “Oh, these are not all orphans from my girlhood. Oh my, no. Though they do live longer than most animals their size. Oh, no. Most of these are the children, and grandchildren, of my first pensioners, as I like to call them. They are unhappy if they aren’t with other monkeys, you see, so they do tend to multiply. And I still get the occasional pet who is no longer wanted. I put advertisements in the journals.”

“Ah, I see,” Susan said, though she really did not. To think of this multitude being left free to multiply! How many might there become! And who was to carry on after Lady Mewhinny left this earth? Would they all be allowed to starve?

“Zis society, Lady Mewhinny... Kitty,” she asked, “are zere many members?”

Her ladyship nodded smilingly. “Why, yes. I fancy there must be quite a number of us now. Perhaps you would like to join us, dear?”

Susan started and flushed ashamedly. Then she asserted warmly, “I would love to, Kitty, and I shall
—as soon as I can. But my funds are not mine to manage, you see.”

“How irksome for you!” Kitty said, giving her elbow a gentle squeeze. “I should never have forgiven Sir William if he had left me so uncomfortably, but he put everything in my hands. He trusted me to care for myself completely.”

“Zat was fortunate,” said Susan, putting an end to the subject. She did not wish to get into a discussion with Lady Mewhinny over the relative merits and defects of their deceased husbands. Invention was not one of her strongest points, nor was it a pleasure. Instead, they walked on awhile with Lady Mewhinny stroking this monkey or that. After a time, Susan learned that their odour became more tolerable, and she noticed the cages were remarkably clean. A sizable staff was needed to feed the animals and tidy the cages apparently, but Lady Mewhinny did not seem to feel the burden.

After they had visited the inhabitants of another room down the hall, Lady Mewhinny turned to Susan and said, “I must leave you now, my love. I have a meeting with the local grain merchant. I fear he has been passing off some inferior grain on my monkeys and I must take him to task for it. Feel free to wander about if you wish
—any attention you give them can only do them good—and I shall see you at dinner. We dine at six.”

Susan released her immediately to her business and tarried awhile longer amongst the chattering inmates. Their tiny hands reached out of the cages to touch her and she gave them her fingers to hold, much as she would to a baby. It was easy to see how someone as loving as Lady Mewhinny could become devoted to these endearing creatures. But it was a little mad, surely?

Susan had asked tactfully and had learned that her ladyship had no children. Perhaps if she had, she would not have developed her odd passion for monkeys. Susan tried not to think about their eventual end when Lady Mewhinny would not be around to support them. There would be some heir, she supposed, who would do away with them all or sell them to a commercial menagerie. They would be found places in a circus or a zoological garden, but of course, they would not be so well treated there... Susan stopped herself with a shake.
I must not let myself be caught up with the welfare of these animals!
she told herself sternly.
I
must concentrate on maintaining this ridiculous pose until Tom can come to fetch me.

She sighed, wondering how Lord Harleston was doing and how long it would take him to see to the carriage and return. At least he would not have to keep up the pretense of being a groom while he was not with her, so he might, at this very moment, be resting while lackeys from the smithy’s shop righted the ancient vehicle.

Susan comforted herself with this thought the rest of the day. At dinner she learned more about Lady Mewhinny’s charitable institution and found herself growing more and more fond of her ladyship. Kitty, in spite of a long day of attending to matters, was no less concerned with Susan’s comfort than she had been at the start of the day. It was a strange feeling, and a wonderful one, Susan found, to be the object of so much tender concern. No one save Miss Irons had ever shown her such affection, and nothing could exceed Lady Mewhinny’s eagerness to see her happy. What a wonderful mother she would have made, Susan could not help thinking. Even her eccentricity could not diminish the effect of her kindness.

In the course of that day and the one which followed, Susan forgot, at times, to sound French, but Lady Mewhinny did not seem to notice. The one flaw in her intelligence seemed to be that she did not have an ear for languages, as she confided to Susan the next evening at the dinner table.

“I am so glad you speak English as well as you do, Susan,” she said, “for I was never much good at French. My French master despaired of ever teaching me a single word, and as for Italian...” She left off with a laugh.