Elizabeth Mansfield (5 page)

“No, I
don’t
see. You may pension him off or do anything else you wish, but you will direct him to
leave this house!”

“Ethelyn, I can’t do that. It would be the cruelest sort of blow to the old fellow. You mustn’t ask it of me.”

“I am not asking. I’m demanding. My brother made it clear in his will that this is where I’m to live, did he not? And since I cannot live in the same house with that
depraved
butler, there is nothing for it but to let him go.”

Camilla’s heart sank in her chest. There it was … an ultimatum. And although the impasse had been erected by her sister-in-law, she herself had made it mountainous by eleven years of evasion. Now she would either have to make a complete surrender or attempt to surmount it by having it out with Ethelyn once and for all.

She raised her eyes and met Ethelyn’s cold, inflexible stare. Her spirit quailed, but she warned herself that the security of a beloved servant, the respect of her daughter and the hope of her own future contentment were at stake. She drew in a deep breath, clenched her fingers into tight fists and said firmly, “See here, Ethelyn, I—”

At that moment the door burst open. “Miss
Camilla
!” Miss Townley said breathlessly from the doorway, “the fat’s in the fire this time. Hicks is packin’ to
leave!
”

Dinner that night was a strangely silent meal, in spite of the fact that everything in the household was at sixes and sevens. Ethelyn was not speaking to Camilla at all; Oswald had decided to keep his eyes on his plate and to use his tongue only for tasting; and Pippa, not having been told the details but aware that a crisis had struck, watched everyone carefully from the corners of her eyes but said nothing. Even the servants walked about as if on eggs, terrified that the least mischance would set off an explosion.

Camilla had managed to persuade Hicks (who had been pushed beyond his limit by what he said was “Lady Ethelyn’s wrongful abuse”) to retire to his room for the rest of the day until she could find time to think … and to decide what was best to be done. Ethelyn, feeling that postponement to be “a most dastardly placating of a reprehensible servant,” had fallen into a rage and had ranted at Camilla for almost the entire afternoon. When she’d finally realized that Camilla would make no decision until she could sleep on the matter, Ethelyn had stalked off, declaring furiously that Camilla would get “not one more word from me until the despicable fellow has been sent packing!”

Even Miss Townley had given Camilla a scold. The elderly governess, taking advantage of her life-long intimacy with her mistress, told her roundly that she’d “better show Lady Ethelyn some backbone—and mighty soon!—if you ever intend to call your soul your own,” and had marched off in a huff.

After dinner, Camilla accompanied her daughter to her room and, with Miss Townley’s assistance, dressed the child in her nightclothes. “Aren’t you going to tell me what’s amiss?” Pippa asked when her mother tucked her into bed.

“No, I’m not,” Camilla answered firmly.

“Then I’ll coax Miss Townley to—”

“No, you won’t, my girl,” Miss Townley said briskly, folding away Pippa’s mourning dress. “If your mother doesn’t think you should know, then neither do I.”

Pippa looked from one to the other. “I shall worry all the more if I’m kept in ignorance.”

Camilla sat down at the edge of the bed and stroked her daughter’s silky hair. “There’s no need to worry, love. I promise you that all will be well by morning.”

“I’d surely like to know,” Miss Townley said disgustedly after they left Pippa’s room, “what magic it is you’ll use to get out of this fix by mornin’.”

Camilla smiled with more reassurance than she felt. “Never mind, Ada. You can put off your Friday-faced frown. I shall think of something.” And she walked airily away down the hall.

With Ada Townley thus dismissed, she had only her Abigail to send to bed to be alone at last. When this had been done, she locked her door, took off her shoes and climbed into bed. She would really need an inspiration to solve this vexing problem which she’d avoided for so long. Her avoidance and lack of firmness had enlarged the problem until it had become a true crisis, and she would need a veritable stroke of genius to solve it now. Here, in the comfortable silence of her bedroom, she hoped to find it. She sat back against the pillows, pulled an eiderdown quilt over her legs and tried to concentrate.

The problem was truly a knotty one, with ramifications beyond the obvious one—the antagonism
between her sister-in-law and Hicks. First there was Hicks himself. All day he’d repeatedly declared he would not remain in this house, but Camilla was certain he’d be hurt beyond repair if she permitted him to leave. Even a generous pension would not salve the blow to his pride if she let him go. It would be, in his eyes, an admission that Camilla agreed with Lady Ethelyn’s disdainful assessment of his worth.

Another ramification of the problem was its reflection on her own character. If Hicks left his house, both her daughter and Ada Townley would be justified in believing that she was completely lacking in backbone. And they would be quite right. Whenever there had been a confrontation with Ethelyn, Camilla had backed down. If she yielded again—especially over something as important as Hicks’s future—they would despise her.

Yet she had to think of Ethelyn too. This
was
the only home that Ethelyn had ever known. Ethelyn had often remarked that it was unthinkable for her to live anywhere else but on the land that her family had owned for generations. Was it fair or just for Camilla to make her uncomfortable in a home to which she really had more right than Camilla?

She sighed again as she’d been sighing all day—helplessly. If only she could make her sister-in-law understand her attachment to the stubborn old butler. But Ethelyn would never understand. Ethelyn had never been poor, and she didn’t know anything of what Camilla’s life had been like twelve years before. Twelve years ago … when her father had died. Camilla needed only to shut her eyes, and the scenes of that dreadful year would come crowding back to her mind …

They weren’t memories so much as a series of sounds—voices, noises, cries. Her father’s voice on his deathbed, muttering brokenly, “I’m sorry, dearest … forgive me.” The solicitor’s voice explaining why the home she’d always lived in was now no longer hers. She hadn’t understood anything about the entail and the debts, but she’d understood, when Miss Townley had held her in her arms and crooned brokenly, “Oh, my little lamb, my poor little lamb,” that at the age of seventeen she was orphaned, homeless and almost penniless
.

Then Hicks’s voice, gentle and optimistic, explaining that the shabby, ugly little cottage he’d found for them was only temporary … that as soon as she turned eighteen, she and Miss Townley could start a school for young ladies and that they would then make out very well. But she’d known that the school was only a dream
.

And there’d been the sound of Miss Townley’s clatter in the smoky cottage kitchen as she banged the pots in anguish over her meager talents in cookery, frustrated beyond words at being unable to turn oatmeal and turnips into a palatable meal. Worst of all had been the scratching of the rats behind the walls of her cottage bedroom as she lay sleepless during the dark, endless hours of the night.

And finally there’d been Desmond’s voice. Desmond, the Earl of Wyckfield, one of her father’s creditors, who’d come to collect an unpaid debt and remained to woo the terrified girl who was twenty years his junior. Oh, it had been a very mellow voice, well-modulated and velvet with promises. She would have everything, he’d said. All her dreams would be fulfilled. She’d be a Countess, with a magnificent home, a stable full of horses, her very own carriage, the Wyckfield Necklace made of emeralds and diamonds, and a cloak lined with sable …

Camilla gave her head an abrupt shake and opened her eyes, hoping to dissipate the sounds of those echoing voices from the past. But no mere movement, no matter how sharp or sudden, could dissipate the gloom that twelve years of painful regret had pressed upon her spirit. It had all been her own fault. It had been she who’d persuaded herself to marry Desmond in the first place. Miss Townley had warned her that his air of cold reserve might run deeper than mere outward manner. But Camilla had been too eager for the security of wealth; those months of poverty had been too terrifying.

She told herself that she would grow to love him, and she’d married Desmond in a self-deluding
glow of optimism. It didn’t take long to discover that the ice in his manner was an integral part of his nature. It took a bit longer to learn that wealth and security make inadequate substitutes for inner contentment, but she’d learned it well. She’d soon realized that she would never find contentment in this house. But when that realization had finally burst upon her, escape had become impossible—she was bearing his child.

The thought of the child immediately cheered her. Little Pippa had been a life-saving gift—a sign of God’s grace. It was as if she’d been forgiven for having married for the wrong reasons. From the child she’d learned that happiness was still possible. Every evening, at the family prayers which Ethelyn’s domination turned into a cold and almost meaningless ritual, Camilla sat apart and gave thanks for the miracle of her daughter’s existence.

More for her daughter’s sake than for any other reason, Camilla had to find a solution. Pippa could not be permitted to believe that her mother was a spineless jellyfish. Yet a bitter, recriminative collision with Ethelyn would be horrible. Even if she remained firm and refused to let Hicks go, Ethelyn would never back down, and life in this house would be even more unpleasant.

Camilla winced in self-disgust. Her thinking was as shilly-shallying as her character. Here she was, a grown woman of twenty-nine, and no more capable of handling her problems than a child. Why, a child like Pippa could probably handle it without a blink!

She shut her eyes, wondering what Pippa would do in her place … and suddenly the answer came like a candle flame shining through the mist. Of
course!
How simple and how
perfect!
She threw off the coverlet, jumped out of bed and gleefully danced about the room in her stockinged feet, smiling broadly. She, Camilla Wyckfield, was not such a ninnyhammer after all.

Early the next morning, Camilla leaped out of bed and, without ringing for her Abigail, hurried into her clothes. Halfway through buttoning the back of her mourning dress, she stayed her hands.
If I’m about to play the rebel
, she thought with amusement,
I may as well go all the way
. Quickly she stripped off the black dress and replaced it with a poplin gown of soft lilac. Thus attired, she sped quickly downstairs and hurried into the morning room. But she was not the first to arrive. Miss Townley was already there, setting a pot of tea in the center of the table. “What
is
this, Ada?” Camilla asked, pausing in the doorway. “Where’s Hicks?”

Miss Townley didn’t look up. “He asked me to set breakfast in his place,” she said, her voice cold with disapproval. “He’s packed his things and is all ready to leave.”

“Good,” Camilla said promptly. “Will you ask him to—

“Good?” Miss Townley’s head came up angrily. “Are you backin’ down, then, after—?
Good Lord!
” She gaped at her mistress openmouthed. “Where’s your mournin’—”

“Hush, Ada, hush. Leave the breakfast things, and ask Hicks to come here to see me, will you, please?”

“Then you
do
have a plan!” The governess smiled at Camilla proudly. “I
knew
you’d think of some—”

“You knew no such thing, you humbug. Just a second ago you were ready to eat me whole.”

Miss Townley ignored the chastisement and rubbed her hands eagerly. “You’re goin’ to have it out with her!” she chortled. “I can’t wait to see—”

“Hush, I tell you! Please, Ada, don’t jump to conclusions. Just do as I ask, and get Hicks for me. And don’t say anything to anyone.”

“Not even about the gown?” the governess asked as she scurried to the door.

“Not even about that.”

Miss Townley nodded, gave Camilla an approving wink and left. Camilla seated herself at the table facing the door and, with hands that shook only slightly, filled her cup with tea. Bracing herself with a quick gulp of the steaming brew, she sat back and waited. She was quite ready.

The first to arrive was Pippa, who took immediate note of her mother’s change of attire. “Oh,
my
!” she breathed in amazement, stopping in her tracks and gaping in admiration. “Does Aunt Ethelyn
know?
”

Camilla grinned. “Isn’t it customary to say ‘good morning’ when you first come in?”

Pippa skipped around the table and flung her arms about her mother’s neck. “Never mind the good mornings. You look
beautiful
! May I go up and change, too?”

“Perhaps later. Sit down, love, and have your breakfast.”

Pippa threw herself upon a chair and reached for a biscuit. “I suppose there’s a deeper meaning in this, isn’t there, Mama?” Her eyes twinkled expectantly. “This has something to do with yesterday’s crisis, hasn’t it?”

“It’s not a bit ladylike to speak with your mouth full, you know,” her mother chided as a tactic of evasion.

“Very well, don’t answer,” Pippa said calmly, helping herself to tea. “I shan’t leave your side until I learn for myself just what’s going—”

“Good morning, good morning,” came Oswald’s voice from the doorway. “We have two early birds at the table, I s—” He was about to pull out a chair when he noticed Camilla’s garb. “My
word!
You’ve put off mourning!”

“Yes, I have,” she said, buttering a slice of toast.

“Does Ethelyn … that is, I mean to say … is everything—”

“If you are asking whether I’ve been given Ethelyn’s
permission
, Oswald, the answer is no.”

Pippa gave a little giggle, but Oswald stiffened. “I … er … think I’ll put off breakfasting a little while,” he mumbled, backing to the door. “Perhaps later, when—”