Jane Ashford (2 page)

“I shall spend the night in the innkeeper’s chamber. It is the best I can do.”

Laura’s mouth jerked. “Haven’t you a sword?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Like Tristan.”

Mr. Crenshaw looked blank. The girl must be on the edge of exhaustion, he thought to himself. He fervently hoped he would not be called upon to deal with an attack of the vapors.

Laura shrugged. “Never mind. I didn’t mean anything. My aunts call levity my besetting sin.”

The man looked at her.

“Good night,” she said.

“Good night,” said Eliot, much relieved.

Lying in bed some minutes later, enveloped in one of the landlady’s voluminous nightgowns, Laura listened to the howling wind outside and the scratching of the snow on the windowpanes. She could not help shedding a few tears now that she was alone again. It all seemed so unfair, and she felt so helpless. Various schemes for resuming their journey occurred to her and were rejected. They were trapped for as long as the blizzard raged. If only Mr. Crenshaw were not so angry with her. That, on top of everything else, depressed her immeasurably. She was still thinking of him when the fatigue of the day caught up with her, and she slept.

***

The next day dawned clear and cold. Almost two feet of snow lay on the ground. Looking at it from her window when she woke, Laura thought that in any other circumstances she would have found it beautiful. Such a heavy fall was indeed rare in this part of the country. But today she wished the snow gone to Scotland, for the roads looked quite impassable. No one was out.

When she had put on her rumpled green cambric once again and descended the stairs, she found Mr. Crenshaw wrapping himself in the innkeeper’s greatcoat.

“Good morning,” he said. “I am going to take the cob into the village and see about hiring a vehicle. My driving coat is ruined, but Mr. Jenkins has kindly lent me his.”

The innkeeper, hovering in the background, made an inarticulate noise. The seams of his dun coat were strained to the point of splitting, as Mr. Crenshaw was much the larger man.

“Do you think we shall be able to travel?” asked the girl. “The snow looks so deep.”

“We shall see,” was the only reply.

Mr. Crenshaw started out, the old horse clearly reluctant to make his way through the snow. Laura watched anxiously through the parlor window as he moved slowly along the nearly invisible road. Then a slight noise behind her made her turn to the landlord in the doorway.

“You’ll be wanting some breakfast, miss,” he said. “I haven’t got no chocolate nor any fancy vittles. I ain’t much accustomed to cooking, I have to say. The missus sees to that, would she was here.” He looked acutely uncomfortable.

Laura smiled a little. “Some tea will do nicely… and some bread and butter, perhaps. I do not take a large meal in the morning. How far is it to the village?”

Heartened by her friendly tone, the little man came into the room. “It’s all of three miles, miss. I only hope that old horse of mine makes it. This weather is a marvel, ain’t it? Two feet of snow in March. Why, it’s rare we get so much all winter.”

Mr. Crenshaw did not return for hours. The morning passed, and midday. Laura ate a light luncheon of cold chicken, sat by the window awhile longer, paced about the room, and finally asked the landlord for something to read. An extensive search unearthed only an ancient Bible and three dog-eared back numbers of
The
Spectator
, all of which Laura had already read. With a sigh she returned to the parlor and resigned herself to boredom, but a few moments later Mr. Jenkins triumphantly produced a greasy pack of cards. She set out a game of Patience, thinking it was better than nothing, and managed to become a little interested, though she continued to listen for the sound of a horse outside.

Late in the afternoon, after three games and several cups of tea, the sound came at last. Laura ran to the window eagerly. Mr. Crenshaw was indeed returning, but he rode slowly, head bent, and alone. The only visible change from the morning was the case he carried behind him. He looked wet, cold, and annoyed.

He had found no vehicle for hire in the village. None of the villagers had been willing to brave the snow for any sum of money, and no woman would consent to ride behind him to the inn. His tedious, uncomfortable ride had not improved their circumstances, except that he had been able to pick up Laura’s dressing case from the chaise and have the vehicle hauled into a barn out of the weather. When Laura thanked him for this thoughtful action, his expression remained set. His disgust and ill temper were obvious, and though he could not and did not blame Laura, neither was he feeling in charity with her. However fair he endeavored to be, he could not stifle the thought that if it weren’t for her, he would not have been placed in such an awkward position.

***

In the end they spent three days at the inn. The roads remained impassable until warmer weather returned and the unseasonal snow began to melt. At that point Mr. Crenshaw was able to find a farmer willing to hire out his dilapidated gig, and they resumed their journey through mud and streaming rivulets of slush.

Both were silent as they drove. The time at the inn had not been particularly pleasant. Though he was always polite, Mr. Crenshaw had carefully avoided Laura, making two unnecessary trips into the village and leaving her alone much of the rest of the time. The girl had retreated into brooding on her own concerns, and she felt a vast relief when they were on the road again at last.

Only about ten miles of their journey remained, and they covered it quickly, even in the gig. They drew up before Eversly, Laura’s home, at midday. Almost before the vehicle had stopped, the front door was flung open and several women hurried out. With a sinking heart Laura saw her two aunts, her younger sister, and their old nurse.

A frantic babble arose around her as she climbed down from the gig. Her Aunt Eleanor gripped her hand hysterically. “Oh my dear, we feared you were killed or set upon by highwaymen or kidnapped! We have been beside ourselves with worry. And this storm, the way it seemed to strike out of nowhere. We couldn’t think what to do. We sent two of the footmen out to search for you, but they were forced back by the snow. Are you all right, are you hurt, what happened?”

But Laura could not reply, for on her other side; her Aunt Celia was saying, “Thank God you are home safe. What can Anne Crenshaw have been thinking of, sending you out in this weather? You ought to have waited. When we received your note saying that you were starting, the snow had just begun. Where did you put up?”

Laura’s sister, a confident young maiden of eighteen, added her own bit in calmer accents. “You’ve hurt yourself.” Clarissa reached to touch the scratch on Laura’s cheek. “Whatever have you been doing, Laura? Have you had a great adventure without me? I shall never forgive you.”

Suddenly complete silence fell. Looking up, Laura saw that Mr. Crenshaw had climbed down from the gig and walked around to them. Her aunts were staring at him, openmouthed, and Clarissa was grinning wickedly. Laura flushed. “This is Mr. Eliot Crenshaw,” she said, “Mrs. Crenshaw’s son. He was kind enough to escort me home.” She swallowed nervously.

“How do you do,” said Mr. Crenshaw.

“Laura,” said her Aunt Celia in an ominous tone, “where is your maid?” She ignored the man completely.

“Ruth was hurt in the accident,” replied Laura. “We must send someone to her immediately. I hope…”

“Accident!” shrieked Aunt Eleanor. She leaned heavily on Clarissa. “Oh where are my drops? I feel a spasm coming on.”

Mr. Crenshaw’s expression was stiffly polite. “We had some trouble on the road. Perhaps we should go into the house where we can sit down, and I shall tell you about it.”

Aunt Celia eyed him with suspicious hostility. “Indeed we should,” she said, and turning, she led them all up the steps and through the front door.

When they reached the drawing room, Laura was ordered upstairs with her sister. She protested, but Mr. Crenshaw agreed with her aunts, and she gave in. She had no wish to endure the inevitable scene in any case.

Clarissa took Laura’s arm as they went up to their bedchamber. “What has been happening?” she asked in thrilled accents. “You must tell me everything.”

Laura gave her a quick account of the events of the previous days, and Clarissa sighed ecstatically. “Why am I never so lucky? Nothing exciting ever happens to me. How I envy you, Laura.”

The older girl looked at her in amazement. “How can you say so? This is disastrous. Our aunts will never let us out of the house again.”

A hint of something like shrewdness glinted in Clarissa’s eyes. “Perhaps,” she replied. “One never knows.”

Laura stared at her “I do not understand you, Clarissa. You know how they feel about scandal of any kind. They will never forgive me.”

Clarissa shrugged and turned away toward the window. “All the same, it is very romantic. A storm, a lonely inn. Is Mr. Crenshaw very charming?”

Laura shook her head. “No, he is not,” she answered shortly. “He can be polite enough, but I doubt that he likes me. He showed no signs of it. In fact he seemed angry with me the whole time.”

“Oh dear.”

“What is the matter with you, Clarissa?”

The younger girl’s eyes brimmed with mischief for a moment, then she shook her head. “You are too nice, Laura. You have listened too well to our aunts.”

Laura put her hands on her hips and frowned. “What are you up to? Tell me this instant. What have you done?”

Clarissa was the picture of injured innocence. “I?
I
have not been traveling about the countryside with a man.”

Her sister was about to give her a sharp setdown when a maid knocked and entered with a summons to the drawing room. Laura’s face fell. “Yes, I will be there directly,” she said. She looked to Clarissa for sympathy. “It is time for my scold.” But Clarissa only grinned mysteriously and raised her eyebrows, and Laura strode out of the room in annoyance.

Once in the corridor, she paused a moment to think and marshal her arguments. Laura had been dealing with her aunts’ vagaries for most of her life, and she had become expert at compromise. It seemed to her highly unlikely that she would still be permitted to go to London, but she knew that calm rationality was vital in the coming encounter. The events of the past few days had shaken her customary even temperament, but now she made an effort to regain her composure and capacity for tact.

When Laura entered the drawing room, she was surprised to find only Mr. Crenshaw. “Where are my aunts?” she asked.

“They have left us to discuss a matter of some importance,” he answered.

Laura was astonished. Her aunts had never done such a thing before. She looked up at Mr. Crenshaw, wide-eyed.

He smiled. “You have no idea what I am going to say?”

Laura started to shake her head, then stopped as a terrible suspicion crossed her mind. “Oh no, you are not…”

“Yes, Miss Lindley. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” He looked at her quizzically.

“Oh no,” said Laura again. She put a hand to her forehead and sank down onto the sofa in front of the fireplace. “You cannot…
they
cannot force you to do this. I had no notion. It did not occur to me that they would be so utterly gothic as to… Oh but this is outrageous.”

Mr. Crenshaw laughed. “It is that. But do not waste your pity on me. I began to expect something of this sort when you told me about your aunts. I was fully prepared, and I am not easily overborne, even by the vapors.” His lips turned down. “Particularly by the vapors. There is no question of force. I am ready to be married, and I do not doubt but what we shall suit very well when we get to know each other better. So?”

Laura looked at him. “But you cannot wish to marry
me
? You have only just met me. I am not… You do not. Oh this is ridiculous.”

Mr. Crenshaw smiled again. “It is certainly unconventional,” he agreed, “but your aunts think it necessary. I find it acceptable, as I have no doubt you will too, when you have had time to consider properly.”

“But I have not even had a London season,” wailed Laura irrationally.

“You may burst upon the
ton
in full glory as a married woman, however,” laughed Eliot. “A tremendous advantage, though you do not know it yet. And I fear you were right when you said that your aunts would not allow you to go to London. They are set on this marriage.”

“I cannot understand you. How can you be so calm and matter-of-fact?”

He shrugged. “I have never been romantic about marriage. I have seen my friends marry for money, for love, to please their families, and for other less sensible reasons. It is always the love matches that come to grief.” He paused as if suddenly struck by a new thought. “Perhaps there is someone you are attached to and wish to marry? That would alter the case completely.”

Laura shook her head; she was feeling rather stunned.

“Well then, by birth, fortune, and education, we are well matched. I should do my best to make you happy. What do you say?”

She stared at him blankly. “I… I have to think. I am not certain. Can one marry in such a way?”

Within a week it was settled; Eliot Crenshaw had returned to London, and Laura was left shaken and breathless. She was never certain afterward just what had made her agree to the preposterous scheme. Her aunts’ unwavering conviction that unless she married she would be irretrievably ruined certainly had some influence. A visit from Mrs. Crenshaw also swayed her. This kind lady, though full of apologies for the scrape she had unwittingly had some hand in, told Laura frankly that she was delighted. Laura was just the daughter-in-law she would have chosen, she said positively, and just the woman to make Eliot happy.

On this point Laura had been most doubtful. But Mrs. Crenshaw’s insistence, along with her son’s calm assurance that he was well pleased with the match for his part, unsettled her. And the final straw was her sister’s attitude. Clarissa was the most vehement of all. She nearly begged Laura to accept. In fact the only surprise Clarissa showed during the whole affair was when she heard that her sister might refuse. This, she thought, was madness.

“If you do not marry now, we are lost,” she had told Laura. “They will never let us go to London, or anywhere. We will never meet any eligible gentlemen. We will become spinsters like our aunts, Laura. You will run the household with great fortitude, just as Aunt Celia does, and I shall have to take up the vapors to conquer my boredom.” She sighed comically. “I suppose I should get some smelling salts and begin to practice. I do believe I feel a spasm coming on now.” She clutched her throat dramatically.

Laura had laughed. “You never could have the vapors, Clarissa; do not be ridiculous.”

But Clarissa was not to be fobbed off so easily. She looked squarely into Laura’s eyes and said, “
Now
I could not, of course… but after twenty years shut up in this house with you and my aunts? Who can say? You must take this chance to get us free, Laura. I love Aunt Celia and Aunt Eleanor, but they do not understand… oh anything.”

After this conversation Laura had thought long and hard. She knew very well what her sister meant; she too had sometimes felt hemmed in and desperate at Eversly and had longed to escape and live a different kind of life. Here, it seemed, was her chance, but what an unnerving chance it was. Could she marry a complete stranger? What did she know of the man, after all?

In the end she gave in. The pressure from her family, the urge to adventure, and the longing to escape all combined to make her throw caution to the wind and accept Eliot’s offer. He set off for London to put an announcement in the
Morning
Post
and find them a house, and Clarissa and her aunts plunged eagerly into the question of wedding clothes. The event was to take place in the country, at the church near Eversly, in a month’s time, and then the couple was to go down to London for the season, accompanied by Clarissa. Some might find this an odd honeymoon plan, but it was one of the things that had reconciled Laura to the scheme in the first place.

***

The weeks passed rather more quickly than she wished. In her quiet moments Laura often had second thoughts; several times she nearly summoned the courage to change her mind. But each time, she was stopped by the very considerations that had led her to accept the proposition. What lay ahead for her, and for Clarissa, if she did not go through with it?

And so she did. The Right Honorable Miss Laura Lindley, spinster, of St. Andrew’s Parish, Lincolnshire, was married to Mr. Eliot Crenshaw of London and Melton Mowbray on a blustery day in April. Her sister stood up with her at the small ceremony, and the three of them set off in a chaise directly after the wedding breakfast. A house had been hired in town, and all was in readiness for the new Mrs. Crenshaw to burst upon the
ton
and make her place in society—all, excepting perhaps the lady herself.

Clarissa, however, was delighted with everything that occurred and all she saw. What might have been an awkward journey in the closed carriage was enlivened by her constant flow of chatter and her intense interest in the landscape and the villages they passed. She had no doubts of the wisdom of Laura’s course, and though this was not much comfort to her older sister, Clarissa’s high spirits soon affected them all.

All the talk over dinner at the inn where they stopped for the night and the conversation in the coach the next day concerned what the sisters would do in town and what delights awaited them. By the end of the journey, Laura was feeling almost reconciled to her new state, all the more because her bridegroom had shown himself most solicitous of her comfort. Laura had felt some nervousness when they entered the inn, but Eliot had bespoken a bedchamber for himself and one for Laura and Clarissa without any sign of awkwardness. And when her sister refrained from teasing, Laura began to relax for the first time since she had said, “I will.” Perhaps this would not be as difficult as she had feared.

They pulled up at the house in Regent Street about teatime, and the front door was flung open by a smart young footman almost before they could climb down. Eliot offered Laura his arm.

“I hope you will approve,” he said. “There was very little time to furnish a house, but I think I have not done so ill. You may change anything that does not take your fancy.” With that he escorted her up two steps and into the hall.

Laura found nothing to criticize as they proceeded up to the drawing room, where the tea things had been set out. Though small and narrow, the house was extremely elegant, and the furnishings were in perfect taste. Clarissa exclaimed over everything, calling on Laura to admire the charming little table in the hall, the exquisite blue hangings in the drawing room, and so on and on.

Laura poured tea rather unsteadily; she could not echo her sister’s easy admiration, not because she did not admire, but because she was oppressed by the sense that while this was now her home, she felt a total stranger here. What was for Clarissa a novel adventure was for her far more serious. She still could not be certain that she had done the right thing.

After tea the ladies went upstairs to their bedchambers. Laura’s was charmingly hung with dark green satin and flowered paper on a straw-colored background. It had the feeling of gardens and springtime, and she was enchanted with it. A dressing room off it held wardrobes, large mirrors, and a hip bath, and when she unbolted a door on the further side, she found that it connected with Eliot’s dressing room and his bedchamber beyond. She looked around his rooms with some curiosity. Neither was much decorated, but the furniture and ornaments appeared to be well-worn and familiar objects, and the overall impression was of comfort. Walking back into her own suite, she paused a moment over the bolt on the connecting door. It was obviously newly installed. Laura smiled slightly, considered, then returned it to its original position.

Someone had begun unpacking her valise and had left a can of hot water on the washstand, so she was able to change and make herself tidy. They were to go out to dinner and a play that evening, both to satisfy Clarissa and to spare the staff on their first night, so Laura got out an evening dress. She chose one of her two old ones, a primrose crepe with simple puffed sleeves and one flounce about the hem. Though it was countrified and more suited to a young girl just out than to a married woman, she felt at ease in it and a little less strange to herself. She had put it on and was sitting at the dressing table brushing her hair when there was a hurried knock and a plump young maid rushed in, looking anxious.

“Oh there, ma’am, you’re dressed and all already,” she said breathlessly. “I just ran down to the yard to see the trunks bein’ carried in. I only meant to stay a minute. I am sorry. Here, let me help.” She took the brush from Laura and began rather inexpertly to dress her hair.

Laura smiled. The girl was obviously not used to acting as a lady’s maid. Sandy-haired and freckled, she looked entirely good-natured but rather heedless. “Who are you?” asked Laura.

The maid started guiltily. “Oh I beg your pardon, ma’am. I’m Mary, Mary Holworth. Mr. Dunham said I was to wait on you, seeing as how your maid is took sick. I’m not too handy with such things as yet, but he said it made no matter because it’s just temporary, until your own maid is better.”

Laura’s smile had broadened. “Mr. Dunham?” she asked.

Mary nodded. “The master’s valet, you know. He is quite a gentleman, he is. Why, if he was to become angry with me, I’d, I’d…” Words seemed to fail the girl, and she shrugged. “Well I’m not rightly sure what I’d do, but it would be bone-chilling, I can tell you that. When Mr. Dunham cuts up stiff, he has a rare sharp tongue, ma’am.”

“Does he?” replied Laura, much amused. “I must take care not to offend him.”

Mary looked shocked. “Oh he wouldn’t scold
you
. But he is in charge of the servants, you know, and a stern one he is.”

“What of the butler? Does he not object?” Laura wondered if she would find herself managing a rancorous household.

“Well, there ain’t, beg pardon,
isn’t
a proper butler in the house, ma’am. Mr. Dunham, he oversees everything.”

“I see.”

Mary returned to the task of brushing out Laura’s hair. “How shall I do this, ma’am? Mr. Dunham said I was to be quick and not chatter. My tongue does run away with me sometimes. Mr. Dunham says I’m a regular gabblemonger and must mind it. I do try.” She pulled rather hard at a tangle, jerking Laura’s head and making her eyes water. “Oh I’m so sorry, ma’am. Did I hurt you? I’m all thumbs this evening, I’m that nervous. I’m just not used to doin’ hair.” The girl looked as if she might burst into tears.

“It’s all right, Mary. Let us just twist it in a knot here.” Taking the brush once again, Laura deftly pulled her hair up onto the top of her head and fastened it, leaving several curls hanging above her ears. “There. That will do, I think.”

“Oh yes, ma’am,” breathed the maid. “It looks beautiful. ’Course it would on you.” She gazed admiringly at Laura.

At that moment there was another tap on the door, and Clarissa burst into the room. She was wearing a dress of deep rose pink, with pink ribbons in her hair. “Are you ready, Laura?” she said. “Come, let us go. I am dying to see the play.”

“One moment,” answered her sister. She clasped a bracelet on her wrist and draped a gauzy evening wrap over her arms. “There, now I am ready.”

The sisters stood together before the full-length mirror. Clarissa, slightly taller than her older sister, was also slender and willowy. Their coloring was the same, and they looked much alike. Clarissa’s face had perhaps more vivacity than Laura’s, but the older girl possessed the more classic beauty. The vibrant hues of their gowns accentuated their striking looks, and altogether they were a very attractive pair.

Mary breathed a sigh behind them. “Lud, what a picture you two do make,” she said. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but you and your sister are beauties and no mistake.”

Clarissa’s eyes lit with amusement. “Thank you…”

“Mary,” put in Laura.

“Thank you, Mary,” continued her sister. “Do you think we shall pass in London?”

Mary’s eyes bulged. “Pass, miss? Why, you’ll set ’em all on their ears, you will.”

Both sisters laughed. “I hope so,” added Clarissa, surveying her reflection once again.

There was a sharp knock at the dressing room door, and a harsh voice called, “Mary?”

“It’s Mr. Dunham,” whispered the maid, looking a bit scared.

Clarissa raised her eyebrows. Laura stepped over to the door and opened it. A spare man of medium height stood without. His hair was iron gray, and deep lines beside his mouth suggested an uncertain temper. But when he saw Laura, he bowed respectfully. “I beg pardon, ma’am,” he said. “I came to see whether Mary had come up to you.”

“She did,” answered Laura, “and I am ready, thanks to her. Is Mr. Crenshaw?” She felt suddenly awkward under this man’s noncommittal gaze.

Mr. Dunham bowed again. “He awaits you in the drawing room.”

“Thank you. Shall we go down, Clarissa?”

Her sister agreed eagerly.

Eliot was leaning on the drawing room mantel, but he straightened when they came in. He looked austerely magnificent in a black evening coat and pantaloons. His tall slender frame was admirably set off by this dress, and his dark skin stood out against a snowy neckcloth, whose intricate folds were ornamented by a single emerald pin. He nodded approvingly as they stopped before him.

“You look lovely this evening,” he said. “Both of you.”

Laura found that her heart beat a little faster as her eyes met his cool gray ones and saw admiration there. “Thank you,” she said. “I hope we have not kept you waiting long?”

“Not at all. The carriage is ready. Shall we go down?”

Cloaks were fetched, and they set out on the short journey. Soon they were seated in a private room at the eating establishment Eliot had chosen. Clarissa was enchanted. She gazed avidly at the mirrored walls, the branches of candles, the potted palms set in the corners, and the haughty servitors. She was full of questions, and Mr. Crenshaw seemed to gain some amusement from answering her. He ordered a splendid dinner, beginning with soup, beef and oysters, and roasted capons, and continuing through duckling with cherries, a Chantilly cream, and more side dishes than Laura had ever seen at one table. The waiters treated him with marked respect and greeted his choices with admiring nods. Despite being a bit overawed, Laura had to restrain a giggle at their exaggerated obsequiousness.

When the second course was cleared, Eliot turned to her and caught a flash of her amusement. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

Laura put down her wineglass hastily. “Yes of course,” she replied. “This is splendid.”

Eliot smiled down at her. “After tonight you will be receiving quite a number of bride visits, I imagine. Our trip to the play is by way of letting people know we have settled in town, you see.”

“And your friends will call on me now?” Laura was not sure whether this made her happy or apprehensive.

“Not
my
friends only, or even chiefly. That would not do. But my mother has written to her acquaintances in London, and I daresay your aunts may have done the same.”