Jane Ashford (7 page)

“Tired of the ball so soon?” asked a pleasant tenor voice behind her. “It is a rather tedious affair, I admit.”

Laura turned quickly, letting the curtain drop. A handsome gentleman of middle height stood before her. His hair was dark brown and his eyes a clear, dancing hazel, full of laughter and mockery. He was dressed in the height of fashion, but he wore his evening clothes carelessly, as if they were utterly unimportant to him. His mobile mouth quirked, as he raised an eyebrow and said, “I am committing a social solecism, of course. We have not been properly introduced. I hope you do not mind.”

Laura eyed him silently for another moment, then said, “No, I suppose not. I can hardly tell as yet, can I?”

“A wit,” he exclaimed, laughing. His eyes lit, little flecks of gold dancing in them, and his smile was beguiling.

Laura could not help returning it.

“Ah, that is better,” he said. “You looked so very bored, and such an expression does not become a lovely face as does a smile. Where have you hidden yourself all these years? A ravishing creature like you might have had every bachelor in London at her feet.”

Laura was not certain she liked this form of address, but she was not certain she did not either. She raised her eyebrows slightly. “You seem to know me,” she said, “but you have not yet told me your name.”

“Oh yes, everyone has heard of Eliot’s beautiful new wife. And a great many are very eager to meet you. I am shamelessly stealing a march on them. You may be interested to know that you have been set down as a diamond of the first water, Mrs. Crenshaw.”

“Really?” replied Laura. She looked at the man inquiringly.

“You are wondering why I do not tell you my name. To be honest, I am afraid to.” He smiled mischievously and then, seeing that Laura did not laugh, said, “I am Jack Allenby, you see. Scores of people have told you that I am beneath your notice, I wager.”

Laura nearly started when she learned his identity; something cold seemed to move in her stomach again. This was the woman’s husband. She looked at him. “Not scores,” she answered.

He laughed again. “But some have, is that it? Well I expected nothing less. The tattlemongers do not approve of me at all. I am the terror of mothers with young daughters; they frighten them with threats that I shall jump from behind a curtain and say boo.”

Laura was forced to laugh. “Indeed?”

“Well not precisely… but it is true that the old tabbies have no use for me at all. I never bother to speak to them, you see.”

“Perhaps you should.”

He looked scandalized. “What? When I could be talking with you? I am not a madman, Mrs. Crenshaw, only a little unwise, shall we say, at times.”

Laura looked down. “I understand you are a friend of my husband,” she said. Mr. Allenby’s open admiration made her a bit uncomfortable; she had never received such frank compliments.

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Yes indeed. I have known Eliot since we were in short coats. We were at school together, you know.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Eliot was a year ahead of me, of course, and much my superior in the classroom, but we brushed along more or less amiably because of our mutual interest in horses.”

Laura nodded.

“And so, when we came to London, we spent many a convivial evening together, though not often of late. Eliot is becoming quite a settled man, I fear, while I remain shockingly wild. ’Tis a sad thing. But come, let us talk about you. I pushed myself forward to make your acquaintance, after all. How do you like London? You are from the country, I believe?”

“Yes. However, I like London very well. It is an exciting place.”

Her companion nodded. “It is that. Everything can be had here, whatever the taste. What is yours?” His eyes danced as he gazed directly into hers.

“Why, I, I enjoy the theatre,” stammered Laura. Something in the way he spoke made her feel clumsy and young. “And the parties, of course. I have been in town only a short time.”

“Yes. It requires time.” He seemed slightly apologetic for making her uncomfortable.

Before Laura could reply, another voice broke into the conversation. “Good evening, Jack.” It was Eliot, and Laura felt both relief and something like chagrin. Was she being watched over, like a child?

“Eliot, old man,” Mr. Allenby replied. “I was just enjoying a talk with your wife. I congratulate you again.”

Eliot bowed his head. “I am sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but your sister is looking for you, Laura.”

Laura looked up at him. She did not believe this statement, for she had seen Clarissa dancing only a moment ago. She was not certain she was pleased at Eliot’s interference. “Is she?” she answered coolly. “I must go to her then.”

“Foul, Eliot,” said Mr. Allenby gaily. “I cry foul. It is not fair of you.”

Eliot ignored this, and after a moment Laura said, “You will excuse me, Mr. Allenby?” and took her leave.

The two men watched her walk away. “Lovely,” Mr. Allenby said.

Eliot turned to him again, eyeing him measuringly. “Take care, Jack,” he said. “You venture into deep waters.”

“Because I talk to your wife, Crenshaw?” he said. “Whatever can you mean? You will make me think she is less the lovely innocent than she appears.”

The lines beside Eliot’s mouth deepened for a moment, and his eyes narrowed. Then, with a shrug, he moved away.

Mr. Allenby stared after him speculatively. “Discomfited you there,” he murmured. “How curious. This could be amusing indeed.” Then he too sauntered off.

Laura rose early the next day despite her late night, and she was finished with breakfast in good time. It was her day to go over the accounts with Mr. Dunham. She went straight to the library and sat down at the desk. The room was now tidy, the books on the shelves at last. As she waited for her husband’s stern valet to arrive, she moved in the chair a bit. She dreaded these sessions.

Mr. Dunham entered the library just at the stroke of nine, punctual as ever. He carried the large brown leather household account book and a sheaf of bills. Setting these on the desk, he bowed and wished her good morning. His usual impassivity was accentuated by the serious expression he habitually assumed for these occasions.

He showed her the week’s entries in the book and the corresponding bills, carefully explaining the cook’s reasons for ordering a larger amount of butter than usual and the various small purchases in other areas. When he came to the question of sheets, Laura nearly giggled. “We have been forced to procure cloth for some new sheets, ma’am,” he said stiffly. “One of the maids was careless. If you approve, I mean to set her to sewing the new ones.”

Laura nodded. “That is a good idea. Perhaps she will be more careful in the future.”

“You knew of this then?”

“Yes. But as she was very sorry, I thought it best to let it pass.”

Mr. Dunham bowed his head. He looked, if anything, stiffer than ever. “I see,” he replied.

Laura heard a hint of reproof. Perhaps the man thought she should have informed him of the incident? Her mouth tightened a bit. “You know a great deal about household management, Mr. Dunham,” she said. “It is quite amazing.”

“I have managed for Mr. Crenshaw since he set up on his own,” answered Mr. Dunham. There was both pride and resentment in his voice.

Laura realized suddenly that the man was jealous of her. It was not that he resented the tasks put upon him, but rather that he feared to have them usurped. She looked at him more closely. His eyes, held rigidly straight in front of him, were stoney. It seemed unlikely that she would ever win him over. Still she said. “You do a splendid job. I don’t know how we would get along without you.”

He bowed. “Thank you, ma’am.” He began to gather up the loose bills into a neat pile. “If there is nothing else then?”

“No thank you, Mr. Dunham.”

He picked up the account book and papers and left the room. Laura sighed a little. Like everything else about her situation, Mr. Dunham was both good and bad. He managed the house superbly—she certainly could not have done half so well without him—but he also made it more difficult for her. She sighed again. Nothing was simple anymore.

She sat for a moment, then rose and went up to the drawing room, finding Clarissa there. “You had a short walk,” she said to her, surprised. The younger girl had been out with Anne Rundgate, and she rarely returned from such expeditions before luncheon.

Clarissa looked up, smiling with suspicious vivacity. “I came back early.”

“Why?”

Clarissa looked at her speculatively. “Do you promise not to scold me?”

“No,” replied Laura. “I dare not promise any such thing. What have you done?”

Clarissa frowned. “I’m not sure I will tell you.”

“Clarissa.”

“Oh very well. It is nothing really. There is a certain young officer, you see, who is much smitten with Anne. He really is a charming boy, and Anne likes him very well. But her mother thinks he is not sufficiently rich. Did you know, Laura, that Anne will have a large portion when she weds? Mrs. Rundgate fears that Captain Wetmore is more interested in the money than in Anne. But she is quite wrong.”

Laura had begun to frown. “What have you done?”

Clarissa pouted. “Nothing, I tell you. Captain Wetmore joined us on our walk in the park, and I simply left them there to talk for a few minutes. It is nothing so scandalous. Anne’s maid was with us, and she stayed.”

“You arranged a clandestine meeting between Anne Rundgate and a man her mother disapproves of. Clarissa!”

“Oh I knew you would be stuffy. And I did nothing of the kind. You make it sound horrid. We met the captain quite by chance. I did not arrange anything. And Mrs. Rundgate does not precisely disapprove. She just…”

“Yes?”

“Well she is just mistaken. And I am sure she will realize it soon. Anne is in a fair way to falling in love, Laura, and she is too timid to do anything for herself. I had to help her, don’t you see?”

“No, I do not. And I forbid you to do anything of the kind again.”

Clarissa jumped up. “Forbid me? You are not my guardian, Laura.”

“You are in my charge,” retorted the other, “and I must see that you do not get into scrapes.”

“You must see?” Clarissa’s hot temper was rapidly getting the better of her. “You? What do you know of London? I can look after myself as well as you can. Better!”

“I am a married woman,” began Laura.

“Married!” exclaimed Clarissa. “Oh yes, and we both know what sort of marriage it was and is.” Both girls gasped at this remark, Clarissa at her own temerity and Laura out of shock. She paled, but before she could reply, Clarissa gathered up her skirts and ran out of the room.

It was a moment before Laura could collect herself. Her sister’s hasty remark had hurt. She sat down on the sofa and took several deep breaths. When she was calmer, she admitted to herself that Clarissa had been right. Her marriage was no marriage, and she could not claim any greater knowledge of the world than her sister. Her husband spent his time with another woman, and there seemed to be nothing she could do about it. This thought hurt even more, and she had to take another long breath. She shook her head to clear it. She had done a great deal of thinking in the last few weeks, and she felt she had aged more than Clarissa, and learned more. Laura gave a quick nod. That was it. She did feel she could give advice, in spite of her inexperience. A quarter of an hour had already passed, and Laura rose to go after Clarissa.

Upstairs, she tapped on the door of Clarissa’s bedroom and opened it slightly, then all the way. There was no one in the room. The dress Clarissa had been wearing was crumpled in a heap by the dressing table, but there was no other sign that she had been in the room since morning. Laura looked about worriedly. Where had her sister gone in her angry mood? She went over to the bell pull and rang for Nancy. After a while she rang again.

Finally Betty, the little kitchen maid, peered fearfully into the room. “Yes ma’am,” she said in a scared voice.

Laura raised her eyebrows. “Where is Nancy? Or Mary?”

“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but they’re out just now.”

“Oh. Have they been gone long?”

Betty gave a nervous curtsy. “I’m not certain, ma’am. I’ve been peelin’ the vegetables, I have, and I don’t know nothin’ about it.”

“Very well. Thank you.” Laura walked back down to the drawing room meditatively. Her first worry was dissolving with the notion that Clarissa was playing a prank. Her sister had been angry and rebellious, so it seemed likely that she had gone out without a word to show Laura that she was not to be ruled. She sighed and sat down. There was nothing to do but wait until Clarissa chose to come home—there never was when Clarissa did something foolish.

The morning passed slowly. Eliot was out, and no one called. The book she was reading seemed to have lost its hold on her. She was by turns angry with her sister, concerned over her, and sad. They had never quarreled so waspishly before.

***

It was nearly two before she heard sounds in the hall below heralding Clarissa’s return. And the noise seemed much louder than necessary. Laura rose and went to the stairs. Halfway down, she paused bemusedly to gaze at the spectacle before her.

Mr. Dunham had just admitted several people to the house. Clarissa, Mary, and Nancy were accompanied by a tall young man, standing with his back to Laura. But odder than this was Clarissa’s dress. She wore what appeared to be one of Nancy’s shabbier gowns, and she had her fashionably cut ringlets tied up in a patchwork scarf. Clogs completed her unusual outfit, Laura saw amazedly, and she had a smudge of dirt on her nose.

At this moment Clarissa looked up and saw Laura. “Hello!” she cried gaily. “You will never guess what has happened.”

Laura had to smile a little. “I am afraid to try,” she replied. “What have you been up to now?”

Clarissa laughed. “Please do not scold me,” she begged. “You have every right to, but I am heartily sorry for my foolishness, I promise you. And this gentleman has very gallantly rescued me, so you see there is no harm done.”

The gentleman had turned at Clarissa’s first words, and Laura could see that he was a pleasant-faced, well-bred man. “I think you had best come up and tell me about it,” she said. And as Nancy and Mary made as if to go to the kitchen, Laura added, “
All
of you.”

The group came upstairs and stood rather sheepishly before Laura, who had seated herself on the sofa. “Clarissa?” she said.

Her sister looked down. “Well, I have been foolish, but I am sorry. I was very angry when I left you, you know, though I had no right to be. When I reached my room, Nancy was there, and I suddenly remembered that she had promised to take me to Bartholomew Fair one day. So I said we should go now.”

“Clarissa!” exclaimed her sister. “You know that is not a proper place…”

“Yes, yes, I know. And for once it seems the old biddies are right. But I was not thinking. I wanted to do something you would not like.”

“Well you certainly did that.”

Clarissa looked guilty. “Yes. Well… and so Nancy brought me these clothes. She said I could not wear my own without attracting undue attention. And she fetched Mary, and we sneaked out.” Her face changed. “And oh Laura, it was such fun at first. It is in a great field, and there are booths everywhere and so many people. It was very exciting. But then…” She paused and looked down.

“Yes?” prompted Laura sternly.

“Then a very unpleasant man began to speak to us and walk along with us. I told him to go, but he paid no attention. And then he tried to take my arm, and I pushed him away. It was a little frightening.” She brightened again. “But Mr. Redmon came along just then and rescued me. You should have seen it, Laura. He knocked the man to the ground with one blow. It was heroic.”

Laura turned her full attention to the young man for the first time. “Mr. Redmon,” she murmured, trying to recall where she had heard that name before. Then, as she looked at the man more closely, she recognized him as the one who had opened the ball with Anne Rundgate. “But you’re…” she began.

“I’m very happy to have been of service,” he interrupted quickly. “It’s very lucky I happened by.” His eyes looked into Laura’s intently, as if asking something of her.

“It is indeed, ah, Mr. Redmon. We are very grateful to you.”

“My pleasure,” he said.

Frowning, Laura surveyed him. Yes, it was definitely the same man, the
Marquess
Redmon. He was tall and stocky, with brown hair and forthright blue eyes. His complexion was ruddy and his hands somewhat calloused. He looked exactly like a country squire rigged up in town dress. There was nothing to show that he was in reality the eldest son of a duke.

“I should leave you now,” he continued. “But I hope I may call tomorrow to see that you have fully recovered, Miss Lindley?”

“That would be very kind,” answered Clarissa.

He bowed. “Mrs. Crenshaw?”

“What? Oh yes, I should like to talk with you.”

“And I with you.” He bowed again and took his leave.

Dismissing him for the moment, Laura turned back to the others. “Now,” she said.

“Oh isn’t he wonderful,” exclaimed Clarissa before she could speak. “Like a hero in a novel.”

Laura raised her eyebrows a bit at this exaggeration. “He seems quite nice. But I wish to talk about you.” Her gaze included the maids. “All of you.”

With the departure of the gentleman, Mary and Nancy found their tongues again. A torrent of apologies and justifications for their escapade tumbled out. “Lor, ma’am, we never meant no harm. I never would ha’ thought anyone would bother Miss Clarissa. Please, ma’am, don’t tell Mr. Dunham.” And so on.

Laura held up a hand for quiet. “Enough,” she said. The maids fell silent, and she looked at them. “You know you have done wrong, and I shall not scold you anymore, especially since it was as much Clarissa’s fault as yours. But see to it that no such thing happens again. Is that clear?”

“Oh yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am,” said both girls.

“We was only trying to show Miss Clarissa a bit of fun,” put in Nancy. “Our sort of fun, you know, ma’am.”

Laura nodded. “You had better return to your duties now.” They curtsied quickly and hurried from the room. Laura turned to Clarissa, whose eyes were far away. “As for you,” she said, “I know you were angry with me, and I apologize for speaking hastily to you, but it was very foolish to try to get even with such a silly prank. You might have been hurt, Clarissa.”

“What?” replied her sister dreamily.

Laura looked at her sharply. “What is the matter with you?”

“I was just thinking. Isn’t he handsome?”

“Who? You mean, ah, Mr. Redmon? Clarissa, you are being silly.”

This got the girl’s attention. “Silly? Because I think Mr. Redmon is handsome? But he is.”

“He is well enough, but that is beside the point. I am trying to bring you to a sense of the foolishness of what you have done.”

Clarissa smiled mischievously. “But if I had not done it, I would not have met Mr. Redmon, and I am persuaded that that will be a very important happening in my life.” She looked abstracted again. “Yes, I am sure of it,” she murmured.

Laura stared at her sister. The sight of Clarissa acting like a mooncalf was a new one. “Well you might have met him somewhere else, I should think. Whatever must he think of you, after such an introduction?”

Clarissa looked up sharply. “He thinks I am unaffected and very adventurous,” she retorted. “He told me so.”

Laura sighed. “Indeed. Perhaps he was being polite.”

“No,” insisted her sister. She said it again, more softly. “No. He meant it. I could tell. I think he likes me, Laura.”