Miss Hartwell's Dilemma (2 page)

The terrace at the back of the house was in the shade by the time they had finished, so they repaired thither to drink tea. Miss Hartwell left the others after a few minutes. She had an appointment with a prospective parent. As she disappeared through the French doors, Mr. Raeburn turned to his remaining companions. “Well, ladies,” he said encouragingly, “are you going to tell me what is troubling you?”

“Oh Vicar, how did you guess?” squeaked Mrs. Vaux. “I’m sure I did not speak a word of it.”

“Amaryllis has received a letter from Lord Hartwell,” said Miss Tisdale in a grim voice.

“Lord Hartwell?”

“Her father.”

“Lord Hartwell her father? Bless my soul. Of course she is clearly a lady, but her father a peer! What in the world is she doing running a seminary for young ladies?”

“‘Thereby hangs a tale.’ Hamlet, act 2, scene 5,” said Miss Tisdale, who had no objection to Shakespeare if an apposite Biblical quotation did not spring to her lips. “It is not mine to tell, but if Mrs. Vaux has no objection I believe you should hear it. Perhaps you will be able to advise us.”

“My brother, the viscount, was prodigious extravagant,” said the widow dolefully. “Or perhaps I should say he is, though if he has a thriving business in Philadelphia perhaps he is not anymore.”

“Your brother?” asked Mr. Raeburn, understandably confused.

“Lord Hartwell. He brought an abbey to a grange and then rented it out.”

“His lordship was forced by pecuniary embarrassment to let his country house to a rear admiral,” explained Miss Tisdale. “Amaryllis was very much shocked to have to leave her beloved home.”

“Gambling?” ventured the vicar.

The ladies looked at each other and nodded. Mrs. Vaux took the plunge.

“No. At least, he did gamble, of course, but he was by no means addicted to gaming.” She looked around nervously and then, with a significant look, whispered, “Muslin company!”

The Viscount Hartwell, though approaching fifty, had been a fine figure of a man. His life of dissipation had not blurred his features, dimmed his eyes, nor slowed his step. This he readily attributed to drinking nothing but the best Burgundy and never more than a bottle at a sitting. Neither gamester nor sportsman, he had squandered his fortune on expensively casual liaisons with high flying Birds of Paradise, whom he treated with the same reckless generosity as he did his daughter.

As the vicar did not appear to be excessively shocked, the widow went on, “My sister-in-law died when Amaryllis was only five, and Henry never married again. I lost my dear Mr. Vaux soon after, so I went to live at Hart Hall. Miss Tisdale and I brought up Amaryllis.”

“Her Papa was generous with money and affection, though not with his time, and she worshipped him,” the ex-governess took up the story. “I believe she had a happy childhood. Certainly she was always busy and cheerful.”

“A sad romp, and merry as a grig.”

“Of course she had expected to go to London for the Season when she reached seventeen, but she did not expect to have to live there year round. Mrs. Vaux and I were quite worried about her.”

“She pined for Hart Hall, for the country way of life. We feared she would make herself ill. Then she made her bow to Society, and she did enjoy the balls and assemblies and routs. She was always dressed in the height of fashion, quite the most elegant young female...”

“Thanks to your exquisite taste, ma’am,” interrupted Miss Tisdale.

Mrs. Vaux beamed and blushed. “...But she had changed,” she finished.

“Changed?” prompted Mr. Raeburn.

Miss Tisdale pondered. “She lost her enthusiasm for life,” she said at last. “She enjoyed balls and routs and masquerades, but in a...a sort of careless way, as if it was all meaningless. ‘The fashion of this world passeth away.’  I Corinthians 5, verse 31, and one of my father’s favourite texts. She used to sit for hours doing nothing, dreaming.”

“And eating chocolate cherries. I do not know why she never grew plump. I’m sure I could not have eaten so many chocolate cherries without growing as stout as Prinny. The King, as he is now, but that does not make him less fat. Amaryllis must have been contented though, or she’d not have kept Lord Pomeroy dangling after her for two whole years after they were betrothed. Why, she could have been married to the heir to the Earl of Tatenhill and mistress of a fine country mansion had she wished!”

“Perhaps you had best not tell me about Lord Pomeroy,” suggested the vicar diplomatically. “I rather think that is Miss Hartwell’s personal affair. We were talking of her father?”

“His lordship dined with us one evening unexpectedly and disappeared overnight, leaving only a brief note advising Amaryllis to consult his lawyer. He had sold Hart Hall to the rear admiral. The proceeds he used to pay off all our outstanding bills, though not his own, I believe, and to run off with the daughter of the Spanish Ambassador.”

“Bless my soul, the daughter of the Spanish Ambassador?” The vicar was astounded.

“Henry always preferred dark women,” Mrs. Vaux explained.

“I had thought the gentlewomen of Spain most strictly bred up and guarded.”

“Thus when they taste but a little freedom, they are ready to kick over the traces altogether. They have not been taught self-control since their male relatives have expected always to control them.” Miss Tisdale was deeply indignant but displayed her own self-control and continued with the story. “Naturally, Amaryllis was shattered. I shall not discuss the sense of personal betrayal. She adored her father, remember. Our immediate problem was that she had little ready money, we had less, and the lease on the London house had scarce two weeks to run.”

“What did she do?” Mr. Raeburn took off his spectacles and polished them vigorously on his blue-spotted handkerchief.

“She went to her godmother, Lady Mountolivet Gurnleigh, who offered her a home.”

“Which was amazingly kind of Cornelia, for she is a high stickler for every observance and there was no end of scandal attached to my brother’s behaviour. It almost provoked an International Incident,” said Mrs. Vaux, still faintly awed at the thought.

“She did not accept the offer,” presumed Mr. Raeburn.

“No indeed. The dear girl would not for the world have asked her ladyship to accommodate myself and Miss Tisdale, nor would she abandon us.”

“Lady Mountolivet Gurnleigh then suggested that she should take this house, which was empty at the time, for a peppercorn rent. I believe her ladyship would have given her an allowance, and though Amaryllis refused it, we must still be profoundly grateful to Lady Mountolivet Gurnleigh.”

“You see,” said Mrs. Vaux, bursting with pride in her niece’s ingenuity, “Amaryllis had already decided that we should open a school.”

“And most successful you have been,” said the vicar. He was itching with curiosity about Lord Pomeroy’s absence from the end of the tale, but having prohibited all mention of his lordship, he could hardly ask. “I take it you have not heard from Lord Hartwell until this moment?”

“Not a word,” chorused the ladies.

At that moment a sheet of lightning split the sky. In the ominous pause that followed they realized that while they were talking huge, anvil-shaped clouds had hidden the sky. Then a rattling tattoo crescendoed into a crash of thunder that seemed to shake the ground.

Mrs. Vaux moaned, put her hands over her ears, and scuttled into the house. Miss Tisdale and the vicar followed at a somewhat more dignified pace. They reached the music room and closed the French doors behind them just as “the windows of heaven were opened. And the rain was upon the earth.” Genesis 7, verses 11 and 12.

“Fortunately,” said the vicar, “I brought my umbrella.”

Chapter 2

Amaryllis walked slowly up the stairs to the top floor. She had fifteen minutes before her interview with Lord Daniel Winterborne, time enough to tidy her hair and put on a fresh cap.

Her bedchamber was tiny since the larger rooms were generally occupied by her pupils. Nonetheless, it had been her refuge for six years now, and she looked round its sparse furnishings with a sense of coming home. For a moment she felt like throwing herself on the narrow bed and bursting into tears. The resolute common sense that had carried her through those years came to her aid.

What difference did it make in the end that she now knew where Papa was? She had created a life for herself and did not mean to abandon it for an uncertain future in America with a father who had deserted her.

Through the dormer window, she glanced up at the castle on its green hill. For seven hundred years it had looked out over the village, indifferent to heartbreak and rejoicing alike. Her troubles meant nothing to those grey, age-old stones, and in truth those troubles were light compared to many.

Calm and businesslike, Miss Hartwell descended to her office. Sitting at her desk, she sorted through the letters that had arrived that morning. One was from her godmother. She opened it and was trying to decipher the heavily crossed sheet when Daisy knocked on the door.

“There’s a lord to see you, miss.”

“Show him in, if you please.” She set the letter aside, put on her spectacles, and waited with folded hands.

The sound of Daisy’s light step was followed by a firm, booted tread rarely heard in these female precincts.

“Lord Daniel Winterborne, miss,” announced Daisy.

The gentleman who strode in was none other than the tall stranger who had stared at her in the inn. She noted again the coat cut for comfort, not fashion, the carelessly knotted neckcloth, and well-worn top boots. His dark eyes still held the same appraising look as he bowed curtly.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“Good afternoon, my lord.” Miss Hartwell inclined her head with regal condescension. “Pray be seated.”

“Thank you.” His voice had a curiously controlled quality, as if every word were spoken with care. He pulled a chair closer to the desk and sat down. “As I explained in my letter, I am come to inspect your school to see if it will be suitable for my daughter.”

“May I ask why you have chosen the Castle Hedingham Academy?”

“It suits my purpose in being close to my home, but I have not yet ‘chosen’ it.”

“I beg your pardon.” Amaryllis was beginning to take a strong dislike to this cold, unsmiling man. She suppressed the feeling and peered at him impassively over the top of her spectacles. “On what criteria do you intend to base your decision?”

“The most important is that Isabel should be happy.”

Perhaps he was human after all. “Your reputation is high in the village,” he went on.

He had been spying on her!

“My sister, Lady Carrington, recommended you highly but by hearsay only. I shall require a tour of your premises and a description of the curriculum. If all is to my liking, I shall bring Isabel for a trial period at the beginning of your school term.”

Miss Hartwell stood up, eyes flashing with anger at his arrogance. He rose hurriedly. His manners were gentlemanly, if anything but conciliatory.

“I fear I cannot accept a pupil on such terms, my lord,” she said, with careful calmness. “I am sorry your journey was for nothing.”

Surprise flickered across his face, the first hint of any emotion that she had seen on those stern features.

“I shall of course pay for the full term in advance. If Isabel decides to stay, I am willing to pay double your usual rates.”

“I am persuaded we shall not suit Miss Isabel, my lord.”

He gazed at her searchingly, his dark eyes troubled. “I have offended you, Miss Hartwell. I beg your pardon. Will you not be seated?” Reluctantly she sat down, and he followed her example. “Are my requests so unreasonable then?”

“I had supposed them demands rather than requests.”

Frowning, he considered her statement. When he spoke, the words seemed to emerge with difficulty, as though he deeply regretted the necessity of revealing so much about himself.

“I am not a sociable man. I am to blame if my manner has vexed you. Allow me to explain the situation to you, and perhaps you will reconsider. Isabel is eleven years old, and I fear she is a lonely child. I have been her only companion, other than her nursemaid, of course. My sister has persuaded me that she is in need of friends of her own age and of the guidance of a respectable female who can teach her to conduct herself as a lady. I...I do not care to be parted from her by any great distance, and Castle Hedingham is the closest seminary I have been able to find, only some fifteen miles from Wimbish.”

“You live at Wimbish?” asked Amaryllis absently.

His revelations intrigued her. She had just placed his name. Lord Winterborne was the heir to the Marquis of Bellingham, and this must be his brother. She had moved in the same circles as George Winterborne once. It seemed odd that he had never mentioned a younger brother who must be very near him in age. George had even been one of her flirts for a time.

She saw the resemblance now. The same tousled dark hair, the same patrician nose, sensitive lips, and broad shoulders. Lord Daniel was much thinner than her memory of George, who at thirty had a magnificent physique that was the envy of less well endowed Corinthians. He had been handsome, too. The face before her now was marked by sorrow and, she thought, bitterness. A family quarrel?

She became aware that Lord Daniel had ceased speaking and was awaiting a response.

“I’m sorry,” she said, annoyed with herself for letting her mind drift. “I missed what you said.”

“I hope that you have reconsidered your refusal, ma’am. I shall be deeply grateful if you will accept Isabel as a pupil, but I cannot promise to force her to stay if she is unhappy.”

“Of course not.”

At worst the child would leave, and they would have one less to teach, one fewer mouth to feed without losing by it. It was ridiculous to let her dislike of the man influence her management of the school. Besides, she felt sorry for the poor little girl with such a sombre companion.

“Let me tell you something of our courses of study. I teach history, account keeping, sketching, and music. Miss Tisdale teaches English literature, geography with the use of the globes, French. Mrs. Vaux is in charge of deportment, domestic management, and needlework. Our vicar comes in once a week to teach Scripture, and if any of our girls are interested in learning Latin or Greek he gives them lessons. Occasionally we find one or two of the young ladies display a particular talent for music or art, in which case we have a master come in from Colchester to help them. There are no extras, as we do not believe in making a difference between those who can pay for them and those who cannot, which leads to petty pride and envy. For the same reason we do not take parlour boarders. All the girls are expected to keep their own rooms tidy and to help with such minor household tasks as arranging flowers, mending, and dusting.”