The Heiress Companion (8 page)

“If you can complain at the way I treat Lully Ambercot, you
must be mending,” was all Rowena would say to the matter.

“But Renna, he is your friend,” Margaret insisted.

“And your admirer, goose. But Meg, love, if you expect to
heal in time to catch him, you must rest sometime. And you don’t want Lully to
become
too ennuyé
with your company, do
you?”

Margaret protested weakly, but her heart was plainly not in
the denial. “Do you mind, Rowena? I mean, he
is
your friend.”

“He was my playmate ten years ago, Meg. And if he was to
offer for you and you accept him, I would wish you both very happy, and that’s
the end to it. Had you been imagining some unrequited romance between the two
of us? Faugh. Aside from which, think how delighted you will make me if Aunt
Dorothea reacts the way I expect her to, should you betroth yourself without
her explicit consent.”

“I couldn’t do that!” Margaret said in tones of shock.

“If Lully applied to Uncle Cherwood and he gave his consent?”
Rowena suggested. “Only what then would your mamma do with her precious Lord
Slyppe?”

Margaret giggled. “Wait until Susannah is old enough to offer
him!” she replied, cheerfully sacrificing her younger sister. Rowena, watching
the younger woman laugh a little painfully, thought that Ulysses Ambercot’s
presence and this same laughter were probably doing as much as Mrs. Teggetbury’s
salve and Dr. Cribbatt’s sedatives to speed her cousin’s recovery.

The person Rowena found herself wondering about was Lyn
Bradwell. His interest in Margaret had been quite open on his arrival, and he
was a dependable visitor to both the sickrooms, telling Margaret and Jane
stories so outrageous that one or the other was bound to protest that he was
bamming them shamefully. After the first week in the sickroom, Jane fell into
the habit of spending the days with Margaret, so a visit to one became a visit
to both. Mr. Bradwell’s manner to both Margaret and Jane was friendly and
courteous, albeit a trifle amused. Rowena entertained the notion that perhaps he
had simply given up hopes of Margaret in the face of Lully Ambercot’s
persistence, or he was hiding a hurt beneath his facade of good humor and good
manners.

“All of which is nothing to me, in any case,” she told
herself sternly, and went to consult Mrs. Coffee about the orders for tallow
and wax candles.

Eliza Ambercot and her mother were frequent visitors too,
often driving over with Ulysses to spend an afternoon. Anne Ambercot would
usually stay a while in the invalid’s room, visiting with her daughter and the
girl she began to hope to have as daughter-in-law. Margaret, blissfully unaware
that she was being passed upon, exerted herself to be pleasant to Ulysses’
mother (insofar as she
could
exert herself,
flat upon her back and still swathed in bandages) and found herself liking the
lady extremely. But after an hour spent in the sickroom, Mrs. Ambercot was
happy to refresh herself in the company of Lady Bradwell, stating that she was
tired of forever stepping on her son, not to mention over Jack Bradwell. The
two older ladies sat and gossiped leisurely over biscuits and chocolate; if
having two invalids in the house to care for had returned much of her former
energy to Lady Bradwell, having an old friend immediately to hand to talk and
plot with very nearly completed her cure.

Miss Eliza, on the other hand, never seemed to be satisfied
no matter where she was. If she visited Jane it was only for a few minutes, for
Jane would tire of her flutterings and airs, and ultimately would dismiss her.
Then she would flutter over to Margaret, where the good-humored Meg would
listen to her for an hour rather than send Ulysses’ sister away. Usually, it
was Lully himself who sent Eliza off, recommending that she pick flowers and
stay out of trouble, which recommendation did not endear him to the heart of
his younger sister. Again Eliza would visit Jane, in hopes that Mr. Bradwell
might be there. After all, she reasoned, if that odious Margaret was taken up
with Ulysses, perhaps Lord Bradwell or his brother would be found in Jane’s
circle.

Jack Bradwell very often was, as a matter of fact. Both Jane
and Lord Bradwell, if asked, would have insisted that all they talked of was
the stables, and indeed, as Eliza and Rowena could vouch for, most of their
conversation did seem to center about depth of chest, good hocks, and a showy
coat. If Jane ever tired of the subject she did not say so, and if Rowena, Lyn
Bradwell, Ulysses, or Mrs. Ambercot thought the conversation in Jane’s corner
of the sickroom remarkably limited when Lord Bradwell was a visitor, they were
too well-mannered to mention it. Eliza Ambercot most adamantly thought that the
conversation was a bore, but knew better than to admit it. After all, Lord
Bradwell was
Lord
Bradwell, as well as
being
Mr
. Bradwell’s brother, and a wise
young lady took care of what she allowed the gentlemen to hear. Mrs. Ambercot,
in fact, sometimes wondered why Eliza seemed to be somewhat more restrained in
her manner of late; the answer would not have pleased her.

With her mistress more likely to be up and doing, Rowena
found her position in the house somewhat changed. She still oversaw a good deal
of the householding from necessity, since Lady Bradwell was not, despite her
disclaimers, healthy enough yet to tramp up and down stairs with Mrs. Coffee,
discussing the condition of the green hall hangings, or the plaster in the
maids’ quarters. But frequently Miss Cherwood was left with unaccustomed free
time. She would not haunt the sickroom, feeling that Ulysses and Lord Bradwell
should have some time for their unadmitted courtships. So, when Lady Bradwell
had no use for her and nothing in the house required her attention, she was
likely to take her paints and easel out of doors for a few hours’ sketching. It
was as she amused herself one afternoon that she was accosted by Mr. Greavesey:
Mr. John Greavesey, doctor’s assistant.

At their first meeting some months before, while he was
delivering Lady Bradwell’s drops, Mr. Greavesey had evaluated Miss Cherwood
pretty closely, deciding finally that she was an attractive woman of none-too
extensive means. Nothing else, he was sure, could account for her tenure as a
lady’s companion, or for her unmarried state at the great age of seven and
twenty. She was always elegantly turned out, but this Mr. Greavesey attributed
to a saving disposition and a gift for improvisation, no mean thing in a woman.
She was, of course, a trifle high-spirited, but that, he felt sure, could be
dealt with over the course of time. In short, Mr. Greavesey had quite some time
ago intended Miss Rowena Cherwood for his wife.

He had not yet, of course, apprised the lady of the honor
due her.

Mr. Greavesey was not a vain man, and realized that he
might, perhaps, be said to lack certain points in the way of dress, perhaps
even of etiquette. He readily acknowledged, when challenged, that his chin was
too long, his nose too pointy, and his countenance too lugubrious to stir a
beat in the female bosom. He would even admit to a slight odor of quinine and asafetida
which clung to his person at all times. Still, he flattered himself there were
certain advantages to his suit which would certainly weigh with a woman so
reduced in her own circumstances that she had no alternative to paid slavery as
a lady’s companion.

Coming upon Rowena at her painting was, it seemed to him,
the ideal time for him to practice the charm of address which he felt he had in
abundance.

“Miss Cherwood!” he announced with originality.

Rowena regarded him with irritation. The man was standing
directly in her line of view, smiling his particularly cadaverous smile.

“Good day, Mr. Greavesey,” she returned with as little
enthusiasm as she could decently exhibit.

“Well, well, the artist at work, eh? What a pleasure it is
for me to see the very hand of the artist at — at — at —” he floundered, at a
loss for a word.

“At work?” Rowena suggested.

“Exactly!” Greavesey returned, undaunted. “Might I not see
the painting?”

Reluctantly, but feeling a bit sorry for her brusque tone,
Rowena motioned for Greavesey to approach the easel. She had a certain feeling
of relief that at least it was not one of her better sketches. And
satisfaction, since the doctor’s assistant obviously could not tell a good from
bad piece of work, and was
ahhing
ecstatically.

“A charming piece, Miss Cherwood. Charming!” he announced at
last. “But then, I am sure you do everything in the most charming fashion. I am
come with her Ladyship’s drops, and the sleeping draught for Miss Cherwood.” He
patted his leather bag contentedly. “And the doctor suggested that I might look
in on both the young ladies to see how they went on. Might I hope that you will
accompany me?”

There were very few things Rowena would have liked less to
do. But common courtesy, and a feeling that she ought not to leave Margaret and
Jane to deal with Greavesey’s presence undiluted, made her put away the block
of paper and wipe briskly at her brushes with an old rag.

“You are all goodness, Miss Cherwood.”

“Nothing of the sort. The light is failing,” Rowena lied
ungraciously. “I had as lief go inside now as later.” It was a particularly
graceless speech, which she regretted the moment she made it. Greavesey
appeared quite unaware of her hostility, and chattered on impressively about
his great responsibility to Dr. Cribbatt, and his hopes for his future in the
profession.

“In a short while I must begin to think about marriage, my
dear Miss Cherwood. After all, for what does a man rise in the world if not in
order to enable himself to pursue the absolute bliss of domestic happiness?”

Good God!
Rowena
thought. “I have often wondered myself, Mr. Greavesey,” she said drily. “No
thank you.” He had reached out to take her paints and paper from her. “I prefer
to carry them myself. I am perfectly able to do, you know.”

“Of course you are,” Greavesey agreed. “It is only one of
the courtesies which any gentleman feels due to a woman of charm and breeding,
no matter what her station.” He gazed upon her with a particularly fatuous
expression, and Rowena strongly repressed the urge to hit him. Something of her
feelings must have been expressed in her eyes or mien, for he abruptly stepped
back.

“Miss Ambercot does very well. I expect by the end of this
week we shall see her leaving Broak. As for my cousin, I think she gains
strength each day. Do you think that Dr. Cribbatt will be able to come out to
Broak some time in the next week to see her progress?”

“I am certain he will do so,” Greavesey assured her rapidly.
“Of course, if his other duties prevent him, then it will fall to my happy lot
to come to Broak. Happy Broak, where I am always afforded the chance for some
delightful conversation! So condescending, so gracious! And of course, the
opportunity to pursue these delightful chats with you, my dear Miss Cherwood.”

Happily for Rowena, they were rapidly drawing up on the
garden. She once again resisted the temptation to box the man’s ears. “Well,
sir, I am going to go and put my paints away. I will join you in the sickroom.
Yes, I believe that Drummey can show you the way.”

By the time Rowena made her way to the sickroom, Greavesey,
rather chastened, was already half way through his interrogation of Jane
Ambercot, and his
amour-propre
did not
sufficiently reassert itself for him to do more than wish Miss Ambercot and the
Misses Cherwood a very good afternoon.

Two weeks after the disastrous affair of the ginger nuts,
Jane Ambercot was informed that she could prepare to return to her mother’s
house. Strangely, this idea was strongly resisted by Margaret Cherwood, Ulysses
Ambercot, Lord Bradwell, and even Miss Eliza Ambercot; after some consultation
Jane began to feel that in truth it might be for the best were she to stay
awhile longer — if only to amuse Margaret, with whom she was becoming quite
close. Rowena on her part smiled obscurely when informed by Lord Bradwell that
despite the advice of that damned nuisancy doctor,
he
felt Miss Ambercot still too frail to
withstand the drive of three miles. She smiled, said nothing, and reported to
Lady Bradwell that Miss Jane would be a guest with them yet another while.

“At Jack’s expressed command? Rowena, you witch, I begin to
think you might just pull it off!” Lady Bradwell crowed with delight.

“My dear Lady B...” Miss Cherwood defended herself
laughingly. “What on earth can you imagine?”

“I imagine nothing, my dear,” the older woman said flatly. “You
have set yourself the task of reuniting Jack with Jane, and I swear that if I
see them happily wed I will consider you a wonder-worker of great dimension.”

“You flatter me, ma’am.”

“And you take me for a numbskull, girl. Now, how does your
cousin go on today?”

“The doctor has said that she may sit up this afternoon for
a while if it is comfortable for her. She will take her tea from the sofa in
her room, and we shall see how she does afterward.”

“With Ulysses Ambercot on one arm and Lyn on the other, I
make no doubt,” Lady Bradwell said with satisfaction.

Rowena felt a small nudge of annoyance. “Probably, ma’am.”

“Well, if she weren’t such a sweet child, I should say that
she was a very sly puss.” Lady Bradwell eyed her companion surreptitiously. “Which
do you think she’ll have?”

“To be honest with you, ma’am, I believe there’s no contest.
She’s been moon-mad for Lully since they met. I hope — I do hope that Mr.
Bradwell has not attached too much importance to Meg, for I fear he’ll be in
for a disappointment if he has.”

“Would you tell him so?”

“Me? Why, ma’am, I am — as he has reminded me on several
occasions — your companion. Even if Meggy
is
my cousin, what earthly right have I to speak to him on such a subject? I’m
certain he would consider it a great impertinence on my part.” Rowena busied
herself in rearranging flowers by the bedside.