Elizabeth Mansfield (6 page)

“Curse me for a bloody fool! I should have gone to see the deuced solicitor, as I was told to do.”

“What diff’rence would that ‘ave made?” Mickley asked.

“We would have had all this information and been prepared.”

“Prepared to take the lady in, and her little brothers, too? Are ye daft?”

“Damnation, Mick, there
is
such a thing as familial responsibility!”

“She was yer
uncle’s
ward, not yours.”

Kit turned from the window and stared at Mickley through the gathering gloom. “Are you saying I should forget the matter?”

Mickley shrugged. “Fer the time bein’ anyway. Take yersel’ a bit of rest, like you been wishin’ to do. Plenty o’ time later to start facin’ responsibilities.”

“Perhaps. But do you know what I’ve been thinking for the last few minutes, Mick?”

“No. What?”

“That perhaps this inheritance of mine won’t turn out to be quite so fortunate as I first thought.”

SIX

Though Caroline and her brothers tried to put a good face on it, they were not very happy living in Letitia’s little town house on Mortimer Street. They were grateful indeed for her many kindnesses, and fully aware of how much they owed her, but they could not prevent their feelings of misery from showing.

After a fortnight of watching their forced smiles across the dinner table, Letitia—who could be quite discerning despite her tendency to escape from reality into daydreams—admitted to herself that something had to be done. She put on her black bonnet, called for her coachman, and rode the short distance to Hanover Square. “Martha,” she said urgently, as soon as she’d ensconced herself on the sofa in her sister’s drawing room, “we must do something for poor Caroline.”

Martha’s eyebrows rose. “I thought we already had.”

Letitia shook her head, causing the black rose on her bonnet to tremble. “We didn’t think the matter through,” she said, clenching her fingers in her lap. “They are all dreadfully unhappy with me.”

“Nonsense,” Martha declared firmly. “How could you possibly make them unhappy? You are the kindest, most good-natured female in the world.”

Letitia was so startled by this unexpected praise from the sister who so regularly insulted her that she was rendered momentarily speechless. When she regained her voice, she launched into as full an explanation of the situation as she was capable of. But the difficulties Caro and her brothers faced were caused by circumstances that Letitia, with her limited experience, could not fully understand.

To begin with, there was the house itself. It had (as Caroline realized but Letitia could not) an atmosphere that was basically uncongenial to boys. Though they appreciated the good-natured affection with which “Aunt Letty” showered them, the boys found it difficult to live in a house that was pathetically tiny and overcrowded, especially when compared with the huge, uncluttered homestead they’d been accustomed to. They could find no space for games, for exploring, or for simply larking about. What was worse, the small space that
was
available was completely taken up with feminine accoutrements. Every room was full of small ornaments that could fall over and break if a boy merely breathed too hard. Every shelf, every table, every surface of every room herd a profusion of knickknackery—-porcelain figurines, china vases, crystal sculptures, framed miniatures, enameled flowers, and every other sort of delicate decoration. The house seemed to the boys like an overcrowded museum, its fragile contents poised for inevitable disaster.

It took only two days after their arrival for the first disaster to occur. Gilbert, having nothing better to do, decided to examine a Dresden shepherdess on the mantel of the downstairs sitting room. He lifted her up gingerly and turned her about in his hands. Somehow (though he never could explain how) she slipped from his fingers to the brick hearth, where she crashed to her doom. Caro, viewing the remains, was utterly devastated, but Letty, in her kind way, assured them that she had never liked the piece anyway. Both the culprit and his sister knew she lied. “I know they know I lied,” Letty admitted to her sister after relating the incident.

Not two days later, during an insignificant, commonplace, brotherly scuffle, Arthur backed Gilbert into a chairside table in the drawing room. The table toppled with a horrifying crash, bringing to ruin a Chinese enameled bowl, two glazed-pottery cats, and an antique etched-glass vase that Aunt Letty, years ago, had carried all the way from Italy in her own two hands. Though she said not a word of blame, the pain in her eyes as she picked over the pieces of the remains was so obvious that, ever since, the boys tiptoed through the rooms with terrified restraint, their arms held tight to their sides and their elbows tucked in.

While life inside the house was difficult, life outside was not much better. Endlessly fascinating as London could be to most inhabitants and many visitors, it was a kind of prison to two lively young boys who’d been bred in the country. Arthur and Gilbert did not find living in London nearly as exciting as living at the Grange. Aunt Letty kept no horses other than the sturdy old pair that pulled her carriage, so the boys couldn’t go riding. And although Hyde Park was not very far away, Caro would not let Gilbert go out without being accompanied by Arthur or one of the footmen. The footmen seemed to resent this extra chore, and Arthur, too, seemed unwilling to toss balls with his brother in the park. “Though you mustn’t blame him,” Letty was quick to explain to her sister. “Arthur is a dear, but he’s fallen into a slough of despond.”

Letty’s diagnosis was quite correct. Before his uncle Clement died, he’d promised that Arthur would be sent to Eton before he turned fifteen. The boy was now well past his fifteenth birthday, yet not a word had been said about his going away to school. Well aware that his sister could not now afford to send him, he tried his best to give up yearning for it, but his spirit was depressed.

“And I believe,” Letty went on, sighing sadly, “that Caro is depressed, too, though she makes a brave show of it. I suspect the poor girl cries herself to sleep at night.”

It was quite true. Caro often wept herself to sleep, tormented by her inability to provide for her brothers the sort of life they’d hoped for. She wished she could supply Gilbert with a tutor, a few friends, and a place in which to fun about freely. She wished she could furnish Arthur with a horse, a wardrobe, and complete tuition for Eton. But she had no money of her own, and her prospects for employment were poor. She had every intention of looking for work as a governess or a teacher in a girls’ school—her only prospects. But such employment would not pay very much. She could never afford any of the things she wanted for her brothers.

Though her disappointment in the move to Mortimer Street differed from her brothers’, Caro, too, was finding London a less than joyful place to be. Most young women who lived in the country yearned to come to London—to feel the excitement of the crowds, to shop at the Pantheon Bazaar, to drive a high-perch phaeton through Hyde Park, to dance at Almack’s, to see a play at Covent Garden, to dress for a ball. But Caro could not take advantage of any of those delights. They all required money, proper clothes, and social connections. Caro had none. “I’d have been overjoyed to do something to cheer her,” Letty told her sister tearfully. “I offered to escort her to Almack’s. I begged her to go with me to the bazaar. I even tried to take the girl to my own modiste and buy her a gown, but Caro is too proud to accept anything but the bare necessities.”

“Yes, I’m beginning to understand,” Martha said. “We should indeed have thought this through more carefully.”

The two sisters discussed the matter for a long time. They considered all sorts of possibilities. Letty was willing to incur the expense of hiring a tutor for Gilbert. Martha reckoned she might, with careful manipulation of her limited income, manage to pay Arthur’s tuition at Eton. But that still left the problem of Caro. They knew the girl would refuse to accept their financial assistance. “She’d guess it would be a sacrifice,” Letty said.

They sat in troubled silence for a long while. Then Martha, with a deep sigh, pulled herself to her feet. “There’s nothing for it,” she declared, “but to pay a call on our dastardly nephew, Christopher Meredith, the new Viscount of Crittenden. And that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“Martha!” Letty gasped, wide-eyed. “You can’t mean you intend to go all the way to Shropshire!”

“That’s just what I intend.”

“But what good would come—”

“That man,” Martha said in a tone that brooked no argument, “needs to be made aware of his obligations!”

Thus, two days later, with her traveling hat firmly pinned in place, her bags packed, and her carriage ready at the door, Martha descended the stairs to embark on the trip to Shropshire, the longest trip she’d undertaken in over ten years. Her sister, who’d hovered over her all morning offering advice on how to deal with Kit Meredith (“Remember, now, Martha, don’t let yourself become contentious, or you’ll find yourself in a dreadful argument with the boy—”), followed her down the stairs. “Promise you’ll not to lose your temper,” she repeated worriedly as they were about to round the final turning of the stairway.

It was at just that moment they came face-to-face with the butler, who was making his way up. Martha frowned at the man in annoyance. “What is it, Kaynes? Must you bother me now? You know I’m determined to be on my way by noon!”

“I’m sorry, Your Ladyship,” the butler said in a voice that barely hid his excitement, “but you have a visitor.”

“Dash it, Kaynes, I have no time for callers now! You know I’m ready for departure. Why didn’t you send whoever-it-is away?”

“But, ma’am, when you hear ... you would not wish ... that is, I believe the visitor is the very gentleman you’re traveling to Shropshire to see!”

Both sisters gaped.
“Wh-what?”
Letty asked breathlessly.

“What
are
you babbling about?” Martha demanded in disbelief.

The butler looked nervously down over the banister before replying in a hissing whisper, “The gentleman—he’s waiting downstairs in the drawing room—he said his name was ...” He paused and gulped.

“
Who
,
dash it!” Martha barked. “
Who?
”

“Meredith,” the butler answered, goggle-eyed. “Christopher Meredith. The Viscount Crittenden himself!”

SEVEN

Kit had spent the day before in Mr. Halford’s chambers in the City. It had been an edifying time. He’d learned that he had an income in excess of ten thousand a year from a long list of small properties and investments. Kit was overjoyed. Though from the point of view of some of Britain’s peers it was not great wealth, to Kit it was a fortune, large enough to do all that was necessary to keep up—and even improve—his beloved Grange.

The solicitor, however, had kept him from flying into alt. “You must be aware, my lord,” he’d warned, “that the income will decline if these properties are not supervised nor the investments watched.”

“I’m ready to do whatever I should,” Kit assured him. “I admit that I’m completely ignorant in business matters, but I’m eager to learn.”

“Good,” Mr. Halford said with an encouraging smile. “One should not postpone business decisions, as the late Lord Crittenden was wont to do his last years. I did my best during that time, but I shall be relieved to have your guidance on a number of matters.”

They spent many hours going over papers, checking figures, making choices. Kit, completely inexperienced, let himself be guided by Mr. Halford’s advice. But he found himself learning quickly and very much enjoying the process. And at the end of the day, when Mr. Halford said that “Your Lordship has shown a remarkable affinity for finance,” he was not a little pleased with himself.

But pride ever goes before a fall. Kit enjoyed barely five minutes of self-satisfaction before Mr. Halford took him down with a harsh reprimand, scolding him at length for neglecting what he considered the most important matter of all—the problem of the late Lord Crittenden’s wards.

“Why are they my problem?” Kit asked, instantly defensive. ‘They are no relation to me. In fact, I never even heard of their existence until my uncle’s butler told me of them.”

“But it is my conviction that the estate owes something to them. Your uncle often expressed the intention of making provision for them in his will, but—I hope you’ll forgive my frankness, my lord—he was a dreadful procrastinator.”

Kit felt the weight of responsibility fall upon him like a stone. He had no wish to be saddled with a pair of irksome little boys and a spinsterish female, but it seemed he’d inherited them along with the estate. He had to accept them with the rest. “What had my uncle intended to do for them?” he asked with a sigh.

“What any parent would do. See to it that the boys receive a proper education and that Miss Caroline is properly settled.”

“Properly settled? Married off, you mean.”

The solicitor shrugged. “Yes, if that should come to pass. I believe your uncle would have provided her with a generous dowry. Or an adequate competence if she should not wed.”

Kit rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The woman’s an ape-leader, I suppose.”