Valerie King (4 page)

Hetty bid her rest as she served her. “Are you exhausted?”

Lucy took a cup of tea and stirred to dissolve the sugar, milk, and lemon. “Not terribly so. I traveled post so that I was spared the difficulties of trying to use the mail coach, and the roads seem to improve each year. Also, my carriage was particularly well sprung. The inns at which I rested last night and the night before were clean, the sheets properly aired, and the food quite good, though I must confess I still do not care for eel and I was offered it twice!”

Hetty laughed. “I quite agree. Dreadful!” She smiled and her smile softened as she took up a seat nearby. “You appear quite content, as always, but you must not have been so these many months and more.”

Lucy shook her head. “When Papa first died, I vow I nearly perished from grief. He was always so robust but I watched in complete despair as the loss of the use of his legs robbed him of his strength. When he took sick, he did not have the will to live.”

“I wish that I could have come to you.”

“And I to you.”

“It is still so odd that we lost our fathers in the same year.”

Lucy nodded and stirred her tea a little more. “Quite odd, indeed, but the very reason I have always thought of you not as just a friend or even a cousin but as a sister. Our families always knew a great rapport.”

“Indeed.” Her smile was warm and genuine.

“But what of you, Hetty? These must be sad times for you as well.”

She shrugged faintly and sipped her tea. “I loved Papa, of course. Who did not, for he was such a jolly man. But I do not think I ever enjoyed so easy a relationship with him as you enjoyed with your father. Only George seems to have had that camaraderie with Papa. Certainly none of us, George included, comprehended his choice of second wife.”

“I do not think he could have chosen a prettier bride.”

“She is beautiful, I will allow her that.” She then smiled. “I am so glad you have come, you have no notion. How I have longed for you.”

Lucy shook her head. “Hetty, I have received half a dozen letters from you in the past twelvemonth. Why did you not tell me what was going forward here? I was never more shocked by the state of the gardens, and half the house is in Holland covers.”

Hetty sighed and sipped her tea. “As for that, I believe I was far too depressed in spirit to mention it. I love Aldershaw. You cannot imagine my own grief and despair that the estate has gone to rack and ruin.”

“Is it merely a lack of funds, as Robert has suggested?”

A cloud descended over Hetty’s face. “For the greater part, yes.”

Lucy sniffed suddenly, for a very strong bouquet of roses had just greeted her senses. She wondered if flowers were blooming somewhere on the estate and the perfume had found its way up to Hetty’s sitting room. She turned her head to look at the window to see if it was open but instead saw in the reflection of a small mirror at her elbow a woman standing in the doorway, clinging to the shadows.

Lucy was so shocked by what otherwise could have been an apparition that she nearly spilled her tea. Whirling back to look at the door she called out, “Lady Sandifort, are you there?”

A soft scratching sounded. “Do I intrude, dear ones?”

Hetty stiffened perceptibly as Lady Sandifort floated into the room.

Lucy nearly spilled her tea again at the sight before her. She had forgotten completely just how lovely, indeed exquisite, Lady Sandifort was. She had large, thickly fringed blue eyes, and a beautiful chestnut-colored hair, which she wore to advantage in the Greek style so that much of it cascaded down her neck in banded waves. Her complexion was absolute perfection. Her brows were arched undoubtedly by design, her chin faintly cleft, her cheekbones marked, and her expression rather devouring. She gave the impression of a creature from mythology, one that could be both angelic and devilish at the same time. She wore purple silk and appeared as though she studied carefully the pages of
La Belle Assemblée
. For a house that was suffering the effects of strict economies, there was no such evidence in the lady before her.

“How do you go on, Miss Stiles? I have not seen you in an age.” Her gaze never wavered from Lucy’s face but rather searched her eyes as though attempting to peer into her soul.

Lucy set aside her cup and saucer and slipped her feet over the edge of the
chaise longue.
She rose and bowed slightly as she offered a small curtsy. “Tolerably well, as can be expected in these sad times. I am very sorry for your loss, my lady.”

Lady Sandifort grunted faintly in response but said nothing more. Instead, she turned to Hetty and lifted a brow.

Hetty, still stiff with disapprobation, rose from her seat and gestured for her stepmother, who was of an age with her, to take her place. “Do sit down.”

Lady Sandifort nodded as one who had power over a slave. “Tea, if you please, Hetty, dearest.”

“Of course, but I shall have to fetch another cup and saucer.”

“There is a good girl. Do go at once. I cannot abide awaiting one of the servants when you have two perfectly good feet of your own, and that will give Lucy and me a chance to have a little
tête-a-tête
before you return.”

“Of course.” Hetty turned on her heel and quit the room, her gait as stiff as a palace guard at attention.

Lucy also turned to regard Lady Sandifort in complete astonishment. “I see you are still mistress of Aldershaw,” she stated, smiling.

“I recall you as a young lady who always speaks her mind.”

“And you were always quite direct as well. I remember liking it very much, but Sir Henry was alive in those days.”

“Yes,” Lady Sandifort said, smiling happily. “So he was.”

Lucy remembered something her papa was always used to say.
When you approach the enemy, do so without a particle of feeling that you might always have the upper hand.
She was surprised that these words came back to her now, not just because they embodied a fine piece of sage advice but because she had in this moment identified Lady Sandifort as the enemy. There could be no two opinions on that score.

So it was that she took up her seat once more, stretching out her legs quite comfortably on the
chaise longue,
determined to come to know just what manner of person held sway in Robert’s home. Of course she had known Lady Sandifort for a long time, but she had not been in her company in recent years. She began, “I was surprised to find that you were still here. I should have thought you would have long since left for London, for you always spoke of the metropolis as your favorite place in the entire world.”

Lady Sandifort admired one of several rings on her fingers. “I have my reasons for staying, although I must say I adore London.”

“As do I,” Lucy responded without the smallest pause. “One of my greatest regrets in being situated in Somerset all of my life was the unfortunate distance from London. Papa was never one to travel for the sake of amusement. He always said he could ride fifty miles a day on horseback in pursuit of the French but not one in pursuit of pleasure.”

A very sly smile overtook Lady Sandifort’s features. “I always enjoy the military mind but I think such men must be more interesting on the eve of battle than hanging about a ballroom floor.”

“I believe you may be right. Did you never see Sir Henry in his regimentals?”

“On occasion he wore them for me. In his case, however, I humored him in permitting it, although somewhere in his parading about and pretending to be a great warrior I saw a little of his youth.”

“I believe Sir Henry in a red coat would have charmed all the ladies. His manners were quite engaging, a little like his namesake in that respect, I think. How I loved him. I knew him from the time I was a child. He was used to take me for rides around his estate several times on the back of Dragoon.”

“Ridiculous name for a horse,” she said impatiently.

“He always loved horses. You did not?”

“I cannot abide the beasts. At best they are stupid and at worst, the meanest animals in all creation. A horse bit me once.” She rubbed her arm in recollection.

Lucy noted that her ladyship’s shoulders were not so squared to her seat as they had been and that she had slipped down a little in her chair.

Lucy immediately picked up her tea and began to sip anew. She understood that something about their discourse had taken Lady Sandifort off her guard. “Henry loves horses as well,” she stated.

“That he does.” Lady Sandifort giggled. “Poor Henry. I never knew such a foolish man. He could have whatever he wants, instead he scratches out poetic lines in that book of his and waits for God knows what here at Aldershaw. Of all the Sandifort men, he is the greatest mystery and completely impervious to any attempt to gain his confidence.” She seemed to be speaking to herself.

Lucy glanced at her, meeting her gaze once more. “Do you know I have the very same impression of him? I cannot make him out and I do not understand his delay in taking orders.”

“My dear Miss Stiles, I beg you will not play the simpleton. Henry has not taken Holy Orders because he would be miserable as a priest. I have seen it in his eyes. He longs for something greater than preaching to the poor in spirit and offering succor to the poor in pocket.” She then smiled quite warmly and in this moment was more beautiful than any lady Lucy had ever seen before. “You know, I generally do not like women overly much, but I could like you. Indeed, I do believe we could be very great friends.”

“I am of a similar mind,” Lucy said. How odd it was to tell whiskers so easily to Lady Sandifort.

The aging beauty again trilled her laughter just as Hetty entered the chamber, winded from her long run to the dining room and bearing a cup and saucer in hand. Upon seeing Hetty, Lady Sandifort rose and shrugged slightly. “I do believe I have lost my interest in your tea, but I thank you for making such a sweet effort on my behalf. I shall retire now to prepare for nuncheon.”

“Of course,” Hetty said, dropping a curtsy.

Lucy had a dozen questions for Hetty, but refrained on the simple premise that she knew quite well Lady Sandifort would be waiting in the hall just beyond the doorway in order to hear what would be said next. She made a decision in that moment never to say a disparaging word about Lady Sandifort unless she knew for absolute certain her conversation could not be overheard. Presently, she had but one object: to endear Lady Sandifort to her.

“How I despise her,” Hetty said vehemently, moving into the chamber and dropping onto the seat Lady Sandifort had just vacated. Lucy turned to look into the small mirror and saw that what she suspected was true. Lady Sandifort was still listening, and having heard Hetty wore an expression of complete satisfaction.

“I do not know why you should,” Lucy said. “I have always found her quite charming.”

Hetty’s expression was wholly shocked, as though Lucy had just slapped her across the face. Lucy gave her a meaningful look and swept a finger over her mouth by way of indicating she should remain quiet. Hetty understood at once, glancing toward the door, her expression suddenly full of chagrin.

Lucy continued easily, “I am come to believe your stepmama is one of those rare creatures which is frequently and completely misunderstood.”

“Indeed?” Hetty queried, this time with a frown pinched between her brows.

“Indeed, very much so, only I must ask, Hetty, where are the twins? I have not yet seen Anne and Alice. You have written of them so often, of how wonderfully they have grown into beautiful young ladies, that I find myself agog to see them for myself.”

Hetty glanced at the small clock on her bedside table. “At this hour, Miss Gunville permits the twins to take the children for a very long walk.” She rose and moved to the window. “Yes, there they are, at the outskirts of the orchard, for I see the tip of Alice’s walking stick. She has a very tall one, you know.”

“Is she as bookish as ever?” Lucy asked, moving to the window as well. In the distance she could see the bouncing tip of what must have been a very tall stick, indeed.

“Oh, yes,” Hetty responded, sighing deeply. “Of late she has been saying that when she gains her majority she intends to take up a cottage in Cornwall and reside there permanently, that she might study the effect of the ocean tides on the seashore.”

“That sounds rather ambitious.”

“So it does,” Hetty said cheerfully. “Alice has a very firm mind of her own and I predict will never live an ordinary life, at least so long as she has command of her future.”

“Shall we go in pursuit?”

“Yes, of course.”

By the time Lucy and Hetty reached the orchard, the entire group, seven in number, which included the youngest Sandifort children, Eugenia, the twins, and Miss Gunville, had already circled behind what was a dense undergrowth beneath a variety of apple, cherry, peach, and apricot trees. Lucy noted that a great number of dead branches needed to be removed along with young thickets of encroaching shrubs and even a few seedlings of beech and blackthorn.

“So tell me, Lucy,” Hetty said, before they had reached the group, “was Lady Sandifort eavesdropping? I can only presume she was hidden behind the door by the manner in which you spoke and indicated I must remain silent.”

“She was. I saw her reflection in the mirror on the table next to me.”

“Oh, dear,” she murmured. “Do I also apprehend that you did not mean all that you said about her?”

Lucy whirled in a circle all the while pretending to look at the hapless garden. In truth, she was searching for the smallest sign of Lady Sandifort. Satisfied that she would not be overheard, still she whispered, “Of course not, but I am come to believe it would be best were I to appear to befriend her.”

At that, Hetty chuckled. “You always were notorious for getting up schemes. I suppose you have something in mind already, although when you were younger they were designed to overset Robert.”

“Indeed, they were,” Lucy cried, laughing with her. “However, now that I am a little older and hopefully have grown up a trifle, I generally extend my peculiar taste for intrigue to more exalted objectives.”

“You have your father’s military mind.”

Lucy giggled. “I suppose I do!”

“Oh, Lucy, you must miss him dreadfully.”

She was so caught off guard by the remark that her throat began to ache quite without warning. Tears bit her eyes. “More than I can ever say. He was my best and dearest friend.”

Hetty slipped an arm about her waist, gave her a quick hug, and walked with her in that manner until they finally came upon the adventurers.

The group had collected by a stream. The children huddled together just at the muddy bank.

“Got it!” William cried.

His younger sisters drew close. Lucy noted that Violet held her new doll tightly beneath her arm. “I think it horrid!” Violet cried.

Hyacinth wrinkled her nose.

Anne also grimaced. “You do not mean to keep it, do you? Pray, William, put it back. It will not survive in the house.”

“If it dies I shall feed it to Tess.”

The youngest Sandifort girls shrieked in despair that William would do something so truly wretched, but Lucy watched in some amusement as Eugenia and Alice exchanged despairing shrugs as if to say,
how horrid little boys can be
.

Eugenia, having turned, caught sight of them. “Hetty! Lucy!” With that the magic of the frog disappeared, William even lost his grip, and the little creature plopped back into the water.

Anne approached Lucy immediately and offered her a hand. “We are so glad you are come, Miss Stiles.”

“Pray, call me Lucy.” Hetty was right. Anne had grown into a considerable beauty. She was in Henry’s mold and had lovely wavy blond hair and large green eyes. Her face was the shape of a perfect heart, her teeth very white and even, her smile perfection. She then addressed the younger twin. “And you must be Alice.”

Alice took her outstretched hand. “How do you do, Lucy?”

“Very well, indeed.” Were there never twins so less alike? Lucy wondered. Alice more nearly resembled both Hetty and Robert, for her hair was very straight and black and her eyes were brown. The family was a great curiosity, that some of the children resembled so nearly their father while the others took after the first Lady Sandifort. She glanced at Alice’s tall, crooked walking stick. “I have never seen anything so fascinating. You must have found it in the woods.”

“Yes,” Alice said, moving the stick in a small upright circle. “We had been walking in the home wood, nearly two years past now, and I came across a fallen limb and this was one of the smaller branches. I particularly loved its shape, going off first in one direction and then another but always returning to form a straightly line. Mr. Quarley fashioned it into a proper stick, stained it, then rubbed it thoroughly with beeswax.”

Hetty said, “Lucy, do you recall Miss Gunville?”

“Yes, of course. How do you do?”

Miss Gunville, a very thin woman perhaps somewhere betwixt forty and fifty in years, dropped a slight curtsy. Her peppered brown hair was smoothed into a tight knot on top of her head. “Very well, I thank you,” she responded in a crisp manner.