The Headstrong Ward (3 page)

“Does he often say such things?” inquired Laurence with concern.

“Oh…oh, no.”

Lord Wrenley did not take his eyes from Anne's face, and she reddened slightly again under his amused and speculative gaze.

“Because, you know, it could be dashed embarrassing,” continued Laurence. “And not fit for your ears, besides.”

“Damn your eyes!” exclaimed Augustus.

“Here, now, really. Where did you get that bird, Anne? You must have been grossly deceived. We will dispose of it for you, won't we, Charles?”

Before Anne could voice the protest that rose hotly to her lips, the viscount said, “Dispose of Anne's pet? Whatever can you be thinking of, Laurence?”

“But…but the thing…Anne can't have known…”

Lord Wrenley met the girl's eyes once again. “Oh, I think she did. I believe you underestimate her, Laurence.”

“But, Charles…”

Anne frowned uneasily up at the viscount.

“Blighter!” screeched Augustus emphatically.

The following afternoon, Lady Anne sat alone in the drawing room at Wrenley, her expression profoundly thoughtful. It now appeared to her that she had been inadequately prepared for her homecoming, and she had retired here to order her impressions of the past evening and morning and, if possible, to revise her plan of campaign. Charles was out, and Laurence had returned to his own home at the village rectory. She did not expect to be disturbed.

For some time, the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the mantel. Anne stared blindly up at it, chewing on her lower lip, an aid to concentration which had been repeatedly condemned at Millington, without noticeable effect. At last she rose and began to pace about the room. Her sudden movement startled Augustus in the corner, and he squawked.

The girl walked over to his cage. “That's all very well,” she told the bird, “but I am not certain now that you will serve, you know.”

The parrot gazed at her from one malignant green eye.

“Charles was amused by you,” continued his mistress. “I swear it was amusement. And I am not trying to amuse him. Quite the contrary!”

“Give us a drink, sweetheart,” urged Augustus.

Anne smiled. “Yes, well, perhaps you are comic. But I did not expect Charles to think so. If I am to give him his own again, as I am
determined
to do after the way he has treated me, I must find some other methods. The matter is more complicated than I realized.”

“Lackwit!” screeched the parrot.

Anne grimaced at him. “Unfair! How was I to know anything, after being shut up for years and years at school? It is true I visited the Castletons, but I never met anyone like Charles
there
.” She paced a bit more. “I admit I am at a stand. I don't see just how I should proceed. The thing to do is draw back a little and consider and observe. It will take a bit longer, but I shall find a way to show Charles.” She smiled thinly. “Indeed, I shall.”

Augustus merely croaked in response.

“Laurence is kinder, I think,” mused Anne. “I believed him when he said he would have come to visit me. And he never teased as much as Edward. I shall leave him alone.” She put an elbow on the mantelshelf and leaned there. “He is engaged, you know. He promised to bring his fiancée to call on me as soon as possible. He hoped we will be great friends. Isn't that kind of him? Miss Branwell is going to London for the season also.”

Augustus, profoundly uninterested, was cracking seeds from his dish and scattering husks over the carpet.

“Yes,” finished Anne. “I shall wait until we are settled in London before I make my big push. By then I should know what is best to do.”

Hearing footsteps approaching the room, she removed her elbow from the mantel and went quickly to an armchair. Fallow came in, looking concerned. “Excuse me, my lady, but a, er, visitor has arrived, and I am not quite certain…”

Fallow was never uncertain in the matter of visitors. “Who is it?” asked Anne curiously.

“It is a…a lady. She gave her name as Mariah Postlewaite-Debenham. She said she had no card. I was not informed…”

“Oh, that is Charles's second cousin. She is to be my chaperone. He told me last night. But she is not supposed to arrive until next week. I'm sure he meant to tell you.”

“Indeed. Perhaps she mistook the date.” Fallow was clearly offended by his accidental ignorance.

“She must have. Bring her up here. I shall welcome her alone.”

“Yes, my lady.”

In a few moments, he returned, followed by one of the tiniest women Anne had ever seen. Mariah Postlewaite-Debenham could not have been even five feet in height, and her other dimensions were correspondingly slight. Rising and holding out her hand, Anne felt a giant. Her new chaperone had the Debenham coloring, a bit faded now, but not the nose. She wore a very plain gown of buff kerseymere, and in general looked like the sort of self-effacing, quiet person who is never remembered from one meeting to the next. Her manner as she looked about the room, a combination of vague surprise and disinterest, merely added to this impression.

“Good day,” said Anne. “I am Anne Tremayne. Welcome to Wrenley.”

Miss Postlewaite-Debenham raised pale gray eyes to hers. “Thank you, dear,” she replied in an unexpectedly collected tone. “I am earlier than I said I would be, but the blight killed my pansies, and I saw no reason to linger.”

“Oh. Ah…of course. Sit down, please.”

“Well, for a moment, perhaps. But I want to walk around the park before teatime. Lord Wrenley said there were some remarkable perennial beds. Indeed, he assured me one was at least fifty years old.” She drifted over to the front windows and looked earnestly out, as if in search of this fabulous bed.

“D-did he? I take it you are interested in gardening, ma'am?”

Miss Postlewaite-Debenham waved this aside as if unanswerable. “Call me Mariah, dear. You will have to. Postlewaite-Debenham is such a ridiculous mouthful. I always thought poor Mama misguided when she insisted upon it. And now I think I will go out, if you will excuse me.”

“But…that is…wouldn't you like to see your room, or…or anything?”

The older woman seemed to really look at Anne for the first time. “What is the matter, dear?” she asked kindly. “You seem uneasy.”

Anne, utterly disconcerted by this time, merely stared at her.

“Didn't Lord Wrenley speak to you about me?” continued the other.

“Oh, yes. He told me you would be my chaperone for the season, and that you were his cousin.”

“Tch. He promised me that he would explain my position before I arrived. It was clearly agreed upon.”

Fascinated, Anne could not stop staring at her diminutive companion. “Perhaps he meant to do so. We did not expect you until…”

“Yes, I see how it was. Well, it is vexing to have to repeat it all again, but I suppose it can't be helped.” With a regretful glance out the window, Mariah walked over to the sofa and sat down. “Now, you mustn't be offended by what I am about to tell you, dear, because it has nothing to do with you, but as I told Lord Wrenley, I was very reluctant to leave my own house and come to stay with you in town. Indeed, I refused, until he insisted he could find no one else. I do understand that you must have a chaperone, and I am prepared to do my best for one season—no more. I am not fond of company; my garden is enough to content me, as I think it might anyone. And I came only on the understanding that I should be free to bring some of my plants and things along and tend them for part of each day.”

“In…in London?” managed Anne.

“Lord Wrenley promised to set aside a room for my plants in his town house. It is very awkward, of course, but I must do my duty to the family. I have made arrangements for some of my things to be taken there after we arrive.”

“I…I see. I apologize for being the unconscious cause of…”

“No, no. You mustn't feel that way. But it is best to have everything clear, is it not?”

Anne nodded. “Do you mean to accompany me to parties and…and that sort of thing?”

“I shall do whatever is necessary,” replied Mariah Postlewaite-Debenham in the voice of a much-tried martyr.

“Th-thank you.” Anne was by now exerting every effort not to laugh.

“But as I told Lord Wrenley, I will not spend half my days primping and trying on gowns. You must take me as I am.”

With this, at least, Anne was wholly in sympathy. “I shall certainly do that,” she replied.

Mariah surveyed her approvingly. “There! We shall get on very well, I'm sure. You seem a sensible girl. Are you at all interested in gardening?”

“I fear I have never done any.”

“Yes, but would you like to, that's the point?”

The fanatic light in her eye made Anne cautious. “I really think I prefer riding,” she answered meekly.

“Horses? I see.” Her tone implied that she saw a great deal, and did not much care for the vision. “Well, I must go out to the park. If I don't return in time for tea, send someone after me, dear. I am always forgetting the time.”

Thinking this an ominous trait in a chaperone, Anne nodded. “Shall I ask Fallow to summon the head gardener to show you about?”

“The head gardener?” tittered Mariah. “No indeed! I haven't yet come to
that
.” And before Anne could do more than wonder what she could possibly mean, she was gone.

The girl sat down with a bump. “Well, Augustus, what do you think of my chaperone? It will be an interesting season.”

The parrot, uncharacteristically, said nothing.

By teatime, Anne was feeling rather bored. Charles had not come in, and there had been no further sign of Mariah. For a girl accustomed to having a large group of young ladies to talk to, it seemed a very slow afternoon. Anne resolved to ask Charles about a mount as soon as possible. She would not mope about in this foolish fashion another day. And immediately after tea, she would take a brisk walk.

With Fallow and the tea tray came diversion, however, in the form of Laurence Debenham, his fiancée, Lydia Branwell, and Lydia's mother. Anne was at first delighted. Laurence had painted a glowing picture of Lydia at dinner the previous evening, and Miss Branwell initially seemed to justify it completely. She was a fine-looking girl, not as tall as Anne, but above medium height and with a better figure. Her hair was a lustrous black and her skin very pale. She held herself well up, a habit that her arched brows and aquiline nose seemed to emphasize. Her eyes were an alert hazel.

They all sat down, and Anne moved, a bit uncertainly, to pour the tea. Indeed, she had almost asked Mrs. Branwell to perform this service, but the older woman sank into her chair with such self-effacing timidity that she changed her mind. Laurence, after a quick glance about the room, was at once up again and striding toward Augustus's corner. “Is this the cover for the cage?” he asked after a moment's search.

He looked so uneasy that Anne had to suppress a smile. She nodded.

“Laurence tells me,” said Miss Branwell, “that your parrot has been taught some, ah, indelicate expressions.” Her voice was low and musical, and she spoke slowly, carefully enunciating each word.

“I fear he has,” agreed Anne. “I…I hope I may wean him from them.”

Lydia Branwell shook her head sadly. “I
so
disapprove of that sort of thing. Men have a duty to treat dumb animals with consideration and restraint. I think there should be laws against abusing them; those who do so deserve prison.”

“You are always so tenderhearted, Lydia,” said Laurence, coming back to his chair. The two exchanged a tender smile.

Anne looked from one to the other. Laurence had told her that Lydia was the daughter of the bishop in the neighboring cathedral town. Certainly the Branwells' clothing, along with other remarks Laurence had made, showed that they were a wealthy family. It was in all respects a fine match. And Laurence seemed to care for the girl. But Anne was beginning to feel certain doubts. “Do you think it brutal,” she asked, “to teach a bird a few warm phrases?” She smiled slightly.

“Indeed, yes,” replied Lydia, leaning earnestly forward. “Both brutal and malicious. Not only is one corrupting an innocent creature; one is thereby making it an instrument for the corruption of mankind. That is very, very wrong.”

“But a parrot does not understand what he says,” argued Anne, becoming a bit interested in the subject. “How, then, can one call him corrupted? He speaks in all innocence, whatever he says.”

Lydia smiled pityingly at her, then looked at Laurence with wide eyes. “We poor women must admit our ignorance of these complex ethical questions,” she said sweetly, “and appeal to one who can settle the matter. What do you think, Laurence?”

“I think you are perfectly right,” responded Reverend Debenham.

Lydia turned back to Anne with a triumphant smile.

The corners of Anne's mouth turned down. “How far is your house from us?” she asked Mrs. Branwell, pointedly turning away from the others. “I have not yet visited the town.”

Lydia's mother looked almost frightened at being addressed. “Not far,” she managed to reply. “About six miles.”

“You had a lovely day for a drive.”

Mrs. Branwell merely nodded, without raising her eyes again.

“What have you done this morning, Anne?” asked Laurence. “Have you found it difficult to amuse yourself at Wrenley? It is very different from school, I suppose.”

“I have been a little restless,” admitted Anne. “I mean to go riding tomorrow.”

“It is strange,” put in Lydia Branwell, “but I have never been bored in my life. I have heard people talk of boredom, but I really do not understand it. There are always a thousand useful tasks ready to hand. Or one can read.”

This effectively stopped the conversation.

“Are you fond of reading, Lady Anne?” added the other girl after a short silence.

“Not particularly. My friends at school were always passing around some novel or other, but I never found them very interesting.”

Lydia looked shocked. “I did not mean… That is…”

“Lydia does not read novels,” explained Laurence.

His fiancée shook her head. “No, indeed… I would never… I was referring to
improving
books.”

“I see,” said Anne dryly.

“My father has just published a volume of his sermons,” continued the other eagerly. “It is a truly uplifting work. I will send you a copy if you like.”

“Oh, ah, thank you.”

Miss Branwell smiled complacently. “I think you will find it far more useful than any novel.”

“I'm sure I shall.”

Something in Anne's tone made Laurence turn sharply to look at her. She saw it from the corner of her eye, but made no sign. However, her initial happiness at having visitors was fading rapidly. “I wonder what has become of Mariah?” she said. “I sent a footman after her a quarter hour ago.”