Madcap Miss Page 4

  Grace looked startled, for it was only eight o’clock. “Where shall I go?” she asked.

  “To your bed, of course,” Lady Healy replied.

  “But it’s only—!” Grace intercepted a look from Whewett and fell silent.

  “I see how it is. Your papa lets you stay up till all hours. It will destroy your looks. Dims the eyes and makes the skin sallow. Young girls should rise with the sun and retire with it. By the time you have cleaned your teeth and said your prayers and changed, it will be close to nine o’clock. I notice your woman did not come with you. Don’t you have an abigail, Gussie?”

  “Miss Invers has gone to visit her family. Her mother is ill,” Grace replied.

  “All the more reason to run along. You’ll have to do for yourself. It will be a lesson in independence.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Grace said, feeling this bold assertion might meet with approval, as indeed it did.

  “I wager you can,” the old lady cackled merrily.

  When Grace went to make her curtsy to her grandmother, the lady said, “You may kiss me good-night, Gussie.”

  With no inner revulsion this time, Grace pecked the sere, lined skin. She turned uncertainly toward Whewett, wondering in what manner she ought to take her leave of him. “Good night, Papa,” she said, and curtsied.

  “Good night, Augusta. Sleep well,” he answered, with a glint of amusement at her predicament.

  “Don’t you kiss your father good-night?” Lady Healy asked. Her tone made it perfectly clear she did not approve of a mere curtsy.

  Not wishing to give offense, Grace said, “Sometimes.”

  “You should always kiss your father good-night. There isn’t enough respect shown to parents nowadays. My father would have laid a hickory branch over my back if I forgot to kiss him goodnight. Don’t forget to brush your teeth and say your prayers, too.”

  “Yes, Grandmama,” Grace answered, her voice becoming strained at all these commands. She turned to Whewett, glowering at him when her back was safely turned from Lady Healy.

  “Come and kiss your father goodnight as you’re told,” he said in a fatherly way.

  She walked to him stiffly. “Beast!” she hissed in a low voice as her lips brushed his cheek. The roughness of incipient whiskers surprised her. At close range a lingering hint of spicy cologne rose from him. It surprised her, too, when he reached out and grasped her wrist in his hand.

  “Sleep tight, dear. I’ll look in on you before I go to bed. We shan’t be staying up late, Grandma?”

  The old dame yawned. “I am dog-tired already. We’ll turn in soon. We have only got the east wing open. I have had you two put in adjoining rooms for company. I have only a handful of servants with me. One of them will show you where to go, Augusta.”

  Grace’s eyes flew to Whewett in consternation at the sleeping arrangements. “How convenient.” He smiled blandly at Lady Healy.

  “I knew you would like to be close together,” she said.

  Grace was shown to a large chamber of faded elegance by the groom-turned-butler. “This here’s where you’re sleeping,” was his sole conversation.

  Dark wainscoting and dark window hangings lent a dismal atmosphere to the whole. In lieu of a proper lamp, there was one brace of tallow candles to lighten the heavy gloom and disperse a rancid smoke. Her new luggage sat on the floor, unpacked. Stowing it away took a few minutes.

  By eight-thirty she was done, stuck in a shadowy room alone, already half-hungry, and unlikely to close her eyes before midnight. There was nothing to read, nothing to do, no one to talk to.

  She flung herself on the lumpy bed to wait till it got late enough to really think of retiring. She would not undress till Whewett came. She reviewed the strange day, which had such unusual happenings that the time passed without tedium. At nine there was a tap at the adjoining door. She ran to open it.

  Whewett stood on the other side, smiling. “You were marvelous, Doll,” he congratulated her, and stepped in with no hesitation, nor much feeling of strangeness.

  “Thank you. It didn’t go too badly, but I am happy it is only a short visit. I do not look forward with any pleasure to being sent to my room at eight o’clock. Even at Bixworths’, I was allowed up till ten.”

  “She shipped me off at nine, not much better.”

  “Will we have to stay all day tomorrow?”

  “I’m afraid so. We’ve been discussing that belowstairs. She wants me to ride over the place and speak to the estate manager she’s been dealing with since her arrival. It will take a few days more.”

  “A few days more! Whewett, you said two days altogether. I thought today was one of them.”

  “We were not here today,” he pointed out reasonably. “She wants to see more of you than that.”

  “Two more nights locked in this dungeon! You must get me some books and some decent lights. And something to eat. I am starved.”

  “Sorry about the apple tart. You must own I tried, but you dumpy girls, you know ...”

  “I am not dumpy. I am petite,” Grace sniffed. “There is a difference.”

  “I noticed but did not think it wise to call the difference to Grandma’s attention. Are you actually hungry?”

  “No, I am actually starved. I had a cup of tea for breakfast, and exactly one thin sandwich for luncheon.”

  Whewett looked uncertain. “I have a box of bonbons I picked up for my housekeeper. You may have them if you promise to clean your teeth.”

  “I promise to clean the box, in any case.” He made no move to get the bonbons. “Oh, of course I’ll clean my teeth. I’m twenty-two years old, not a child.”

  “It’s easy to forget,” he said, glancing at her short skirts. The gown had a loose, smock-type top that concealed her figure.

  Whewett went to his room and returned with the box of bonbons, which he opened to pass to her before selecting one himself. “Revolting, aren’t they?” he asked, chewing without the least sign of pleasure.

  “They are delicious! Try the little round one. It has a cherry in liqueur.” He laid the box aside. “Do you think you should go? I mean, in case she comes,” Grace added.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to eat any more of your candy. As to Grandma’s coming, there is nothing wrong with my talking to my daughter, and while you are in this house, Dolly, you are my daughter. Don’t forget it.”

  “I’m not likely to, with Lady Healy asking me every minute if I remembered to dry behind my ears.”

  “She’s sharp-tongued, but she likes you immensely. She had a dozen compliments the minute you left. This was an excellent idea, bringing you here. It is giving her so much pleasure, it would be a shame to deprive her of it. Augusta would not have done half so well herself. A shy child like Gussie would have been terrified of the old Tartar, but you did excellently. How did you get so brave?”

  “From dealing with Mrs. Bixworth, who is enough of a terror to frighten Lady Healy. I think Grandma is really lonesome beneath her rough exterior. There was a tear on her cheek when I kissed her, Whewett. Did you notice it?”

  “Yes, but it was a tear of joy, I think.”

  “I hope so.” Grace unthinkingly put another chocolate in her mouth and chewed. “Everyone’s lonesome underneath, I imagine. Even you.”

  “Even I? Widows and widowers are more lonesome than most. So lonesome, I deserve another bonbon,” he decided, and popped one in his mouth.

  “They can’t be more lonesome than orphans,” she pointed out with a sad look.

  “Pity we don’t have a couple of violins to back up this threnody,” he said, and passed her the bonbons.

  “I’m worried about being alone with her tomorrow while you’re out. God only knows what she will ask me.”

  “The blessing is that if she asks you, it means she doesn’t know herself. All we have to do is get together and compare notes later so I don’t contradict what you tell her. It seems fairly inconsequential stuff that interests her. Do you ride, by t
he way?”

  “I used to when Papa was alive, but I did not begin hunting when I was ten. Do you believe half her stories?”

  “Yes, I would say I believe half of them. She had the reputation of being quite a terror in her youth. I expect we drop the less glorious memories as we advance into old age.”

  “I hope so.”

  “What memories do you plan to dump?” he asked, regarding her closely. From what he knew of her thus far, he could not think of anything she would want to remember.

  “This job for one. My last for another.”

  “I’ve been so busy telling you all the circumstances and history of the Whewett house that I’ve had very little time to learn about you. How long have you been an orphan, Miss Farnsworth?”

  “A year and a few months. It seems much longer.”

  “Have you been a governess all that time?”

  “No, for six months I lived in a fool’s paradise at home with Thomas. It took that long to straighten out Papa’s accounts and discover I was in the basket. It came as such a shock. Then I battened myself quite shamelessly on Miss Thomas for a few months in a little apartment she had rented, till I got a job and she moved here. I haven’t seen her since, but we correspond regularly. I cannot imagine where she went without letting me know.”

  “What an awful time you have had,” he said, shaking his head in sympathy. “Now to cap it off, you are all but abducted to perform a masquerade under the most harrowing circumstances. Have you no relatives you might go to?”

  “I have some cousins, but I don’t know them well and dislike to be dependent on others.”

  "I'm sure they would be charmed to have you.”

  She flashed a sharp eye at that. “They none of them asked me, and they knew I was alone.”

  “You could have asked them,” he said reasonably.

  “You mean go begging! Pride is a bad trait for one in my circumstances, but—”

  “Let us call it by its other name, self-respect, which is a good trait in anyone. I had thought you would be closer to your extended family.”

  “No, I hardly knew them. Well, here it is nearly nine-thirty. Time for me to turn in.”

  “To what?” he inquired with a lazy smile. “A princess? Your sad tale calls to mind Perrault’s Cinderella.”

  “No, that would require a prince, I believe.”

  Whewett shrugged, trying to lighten her morose mood. “And our Prinney doesn’t even care for slender young ladies. He prefers more bulk, preferably with a touch of silver hair. Good night, Augusta. I haven’t the heart to remind you to brush your teeth,” he said, rising to go toward the door.

  Grace went with him to bolt the door. She stopped with an exclamation of surprise. “There is no lock!”

  He looked down, then at the other side of the door. “I’m safe. There’s one on my side.”

  The door silently closed behind him, and the bolt was drawn. Grace frowned a moment, but soon began to undress. Not a single fear for her safety came into her head. Her only concern was for the morning, and what new unpleasantness it might bring.

  But really, it had not been so bad. She was no longer afraid of Lady Healy, and any small misgivings as to Whewett’s respectability were long past. She was soon in bed, and before long, deep peaceful breaths filled the chamber.

  Chapter Four

  Grace was not quite up with the sun, but she rose not much after it. A country servant, younger than Grace herself and pretty in a robust way, came and shook her awake. “Time to get up, missie,” she said gaily. “Your grandma is up and wants me to do your hair.”

  Grace rubbed her eyes as she looked around the strange room. The brown walls of the preceding evening had softened to a faded yellow, with lighter spots that might, perhaps, be roses. The sunlight streaming through the dusty panes picked out heavy mahogany furnishings from a past era.

  Memory returned, causing her to look in alarm at the servant. Grace got out of bed and turned toward the window to scramble into her dress, to prevent the girl’s discovering she was not a child. Once the concealing dress was on, she felt safer. The servant took a brush to her hair, yanking it hard, then pulling it into two tails, with a part down the back.

  “My name’s Molly,” the servant said as she worked. “This here is how I do my sister’s hair.”

  As Molly stuck two large blue bows on the ends of the braids, Grace glanced in the mirror and felt she was looking at a veritable youngster. If ever she had to pass as a minor again, she’d know how to accomplish it. “Thank you,” she said in a voice strangled with suppressed laughter.

  Whewett’s lips twitched in amusement when she appeared in the breakfast parlor. “A new style, Augusta?” he asked.

  “Yes, Papa. One of the servants did it. Do you like it?”

  “Very pretty,” he said, inclining his head over his coffee cup to conceal his smile.

  “No it ain’t, it’s ugly as bedamned,” Lady Healy declared loudly. “But it’s neat and tidy, and no one but ourselves will see it. I have had porridge made for you, Augusta.”

  “Thank you,” Grace replied, with a longing look at the gammon and eggs the adults were consuming.

  “Gussie has the same breakfast as myself,” Whewett said. “There is no need to put the servants to the extra work of making gruel.”

  Lady Healy shook her head at such folly. “Grease has destroyed more young ladies’ complexions than you would credit. It causes spots and those ugly black pores. It does well enough for mature systems. They can handle anything, but you will have Gussie blossoming into spots if you feed her lard.”

  Whewett cast a brief glance across the table at the petal-like complexion of Miss Farnsworth. “We certainly wouldn’t want that. Eat your gruel, Gussie.”

  “It’s lumpy,” Grace said, putting her spoon into the unappetizing mess in her bowl. The spoon stood up straight.

  “Rubbish! No one can make oat porridge like the Scots. My own cook prepared it specially for you. Now eat it up,” Grandma ordered.

  As Grace was extremely hungry, she ate it, while the tantalizing aroma of toast, meat, and coffee hung over the table. It was the coffee that nearly undid her.

  Lady Healy ruled the conversation, telling Whewett where to ride, what to check—the state of the fields for water, fences, crops. “You can take lunch at the inn you will come to a mile beyond the west pasture. No need to come all the way back here. Augusta and I can amuse ourselves. We take dinner at six. Be sure you are home in time to change.”

  “Yes, Grandmama,” he said, in the same submissive tone as his “daughter.”

  When breakfast was over, Lady Healy announced, “You will go to the stable with your papa, Augusta, to see him off. Then come back. I want to test you on the Bible. I wrote you a dozen times to study your Bible.”

  “Yes, Grandmama.”

  The two escaped to the stable, oblivious of the sun shining on verdant fields and the hint of a breeze stirring the leaves above. “Sorry about the gruel,” Whewett said.

  “It was the coffee I regretted more. It smelled so good.”

  “It was bitter. The Scots may make a good lumpy batch of gruel, but they have no talent with coffee. How are you on the Bible, Doll?”

  “Not terribly well versed. Is Doll a dab at it?”

  “Nope. Try if you can beguile her with other things. You ride—get her into stories of her riding days. She’s as proud as a queen of her prowess in the field.” Entering the stable, he said, “Now, let us see what John had in the way of horseflesh.”

  The stalls were mostly empty, save for his own carriage horses. John Brougham had not been much younger than his sister. What he rode on those rare occasions when he rode at all was an ancient nag that should have been sent to the pound years ago.

  “Good God! Is that what I am expected to make my rounds on? I shall be a week completing the circuit.”

  Grace laughed to see the elegant Lord Whewett throw his leg over such a jade. “You would do better to go
on foot.”

  “Let us hope the inn has something for hire. Well, I’m off, Augusta. Run along, and be nice to Grandma.”

  “Yes, Papa.” She made a curtsy for the benefit of the few stableboys who gaped with interest at the visitors.

  Grace returned to the house at a lagging gait, dreading the ordeal before her. As Whewett had suggested, Lady Healy was easily distracted from the Bible to boast of her skill in the saddle instead. She told tales, surely exaggerated, of hunting while hardly out of pinafores, of jumping and riding and other feats of unusual prowess. From this she went on to give advice on fomenting a wounded leg, curing colic, and such other matters as might be new to a child but were as familiar as an old ballad to Miss Farnsworth.

  They took lunch together, another insufficient meal, in Grace’s opinion. At its conclusion, Lady Healy announced she always took a nap in the afternoon and suggested Gussie do the same. She did not insist, however, and the time was spent much more gainfully in scouring the house for candles to lighten her room at night, books to help pass those three or four hours of confinement, and most of all, food.

  Cook’s presence in the kitchen made household food difficult to obtain. Apples were garnered from the orchard to augment the bonbons. At four, Lady Healy returned belowstairs, bearing a brown bag.

  “I have a little present for you, Augusta.”

  “How nice, Grandma!” Grace smiled.

  The bag was opened to reveal a skipping rope with spindle handles. The toy looked old enough to be an antique. “My own skipping rope, used by me when I was a child,” Grandma said, then stood waiting for gratitude.

  “Thank you,” Grace said, trying to hide her disappointment.

  “I knew you would be bored to flinders here. I remember my youth. Take it out in the garden and play. I shan’t go out; the sun gives me a headache. I’ll watch from the window. I like to see the kiddies play.”

  “Yes, Grandmama.” Grace opened the French doors into the garden, trailing the rope behind her. She dutifully skipped, with Lady Healy smiling approval, till she was exhausted from the demanding game.