A storm raged outside, a storm worse than the good people of St Chapelle could remember, and old Genevieve, nurse to Lord Armand's children, muttered dark prophecies under her breath as she assisted her master's eldest daughter, Heloise, in dressing. The storm portended evil, Genevieve said, and as it coincided with the arrival at the castle of St Chapelle of Heloise's betrothed it was easy to see who had caused the elements to …
"I beg your pardon, Miss Clarke."
Hastily, Lucy Clarke covered her notepaper with a sheet and turned around to face her father's housekeeper.
"Is anything the matter, Mrs Talbot?"
"It is about the henhouse, Miss Lucy. The fox appears to have got in again."
Lucy sighed. "I thought we got Jamison to repair the fence," she said.
"It was not Jamison's fault, Miss. The thing is that Sir Thomas refused to buy the materials; he felt the repairs should be done with what materials we had. Naturally the improvement turned out to be inadequate, though Jamison did what he could."
It appeared as if her father was growing more and more miserly by the hour, Lucy thought. There'd come the day when he'd starve himself to death because he could not be bothered to spend a groat on bread.
"I will talk to my father," Lucy promised.
"Thank you, Miss Clarke."
"Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?"
"We need to make an inventory of the linen, Miss. There is much in need of repair, and frankly I do not know how to make some of the sheets fit for use again. They should be cut up for rags!"
"Mrs Talbot, I will make an effort, but while I am fairly certain that I can coax my father into paying for a new fence I am afraid it will not be easy to convince him of the necessity of buying new sheets. I will do my best, as always, but please don't be disappointed if he does not agree to the necessary purchases immediately. – However, whenever you have his bed made up, be sure to use the most threadbare linen you can find; there is a chance that he will notice that."
"Yes, Miss Clarke."
"I will help you with the linen inventory on the morrow, Mrs Talbot; I am afraid I cannot find the time today."
"Very good, Miss Clarke."
The housekeeper left the room, and Lucy waited for a few moments before she uncovered her notepaper and began to write again.
… it was easy to see who had caused the elements to protest. It was not right, Genevieve muttered, that a beautiful young lady like Mademoiselle Heloise should be married to a man of Lord Bertrand's ilk, and that Heloise's father should have given his consent to such an ill-fated union was beyond anyone's understanding. Bertrand was an ill-tempered man of Heloise's father's age, if not older, and was generally reputed to be a wizard of no inconsiderable power.
The door burst open and again Lucy covered her writing before turning around to see who was intruding on her privacy this time. It was her brother Peter, carrying a huge and ugly toad in his hands.
"Look, Lucy," he shouted, beaming with pride of the capture he'd made. "Have you ever seen such a big one as this?"
"I have not, and I had rather you take it back where you got it from," Lucy remonstrated. "Just imagine what will happen if it gets away. I absolutely refuse to go in search of this revolting animal all over the house."
"It's not revolting," Peter protested.
"I think it is. Now be a good boy and take it back outside. Believe me; it will be much happier wherever it is that you caught it."
Reluctantly, Peter agreed that this was the most advisable course of action, although he insisted that a toad would make a charming pet. Lucy reminded him that he already had a fine collection of pets, and that there was no need to add a toad to their number. Peter argued that toads were very useful animals, but while Lucy did not deny toads had their uses she made it clear to him that she wanted them to be useful outdoors. Pulling a face, Peter took himself off to do as Lucy had told him.
It took Lucy a while before her mind could return to her latest work, "The Sorcerer's Captive", but after a few minutes of quiet reflection she uncovered her notepaper again and continued writing.
Heloise took no heed of old Genevieve's dark prophecies – no, she had used the phrase "dark prophecies" in the same paragraph already, and so Lucy crossed it out and replaced it with sinister foretellings . It was not quite what she was looking for in terms of expression, but for the moment it would do. Her first and foremost goal was to get the story on paper.
It had never occurred to Heloise to be disobedient to her father's wishes, for she loved him dearly and in her eyes he could not do wrong. If it was his wish that she marry the mysterious Bertrand, it was not for her to question his decision; she did not doubt that there was some good reason for it.
This time, the loud clank of the doorbell tore Lucy away from medieval France and the sad fate of the Lady Heloise. Realising that it was impossible for her to accomplish any more writing that morning, she opened the drawer of her desk, put her recently begun novel inside, and locked it. She did not want anyone to find her latest oeuvre; Lucy had taken good care that no one, not even her closest relatives and friends, would ever find out what she did to provide for her family.
It was not that writing novels was a pastime unbefitting a lady; nor was getting published. There were many famous women writers who were highly regarded. But Lucy's novels were different; they were of the kind the Minerva Press usually published, and while they sold well and provided Lucy with a regular income she knew that the censorious would have something to say to the matter of her authorship. It was better to keep this particular part of her life secret and publish under a pseudonym – Eugénie de Léon. She had even developed an entirely fictional biography for her alter ego.
Madame de Léon was a French émigré, who had made it to England by the skin of her teeth some ten years previously, and who was now writing novels in order to earn a living for herself and her children. Madame de Léon's husband had naturally ended his days on the scaffold, nobly sacrificing his own life for that of his wife and children. No one suspected that the amiable French widow did not exist, and that the novels purportedly written by her were the work of a twenty-year-old Englishwoman whose father's stinginess had driven her to desperate straits.
Mrs Talbot came into her sitting room, announcing that Mr Greville was waiting for Lucy in the parlour. James Greville was their neighbour – his land bordered on her father's – and he was also a close friend of Lucy's family. Mr Greville was a very serious young man, with no vices to speak of, and a most dependable friend. He was always ready to help Lucy with whatever difficulties she had to face, and she had found his advice very useful on many occasions. They had known each other ever since their childhood days, and were on first-name terms with each other when in private; a familiarity that would have shocked many of the Tetford town gossips if only they'd known. But James took excellent care of Lucy's reputation; when in company he treated her with a formality that made an odd contrast to the easy camaraderie he displayed when he visited her home.
James and Lucy had some thing in common. Both had been forced to shoulder the responsibilities for their families at an early age. James had lost his father at the age of sixteen, and had managed the Greville family estate ever since. Probably this was the cause of his sobriety, Lucy often thought.
Lucy's mother had died five years previously, and had left Lucy in charge of her father's house and her brothers and sisters. Even without her father's turn for parsimony this would have been too heavy a burden for a fifteen-year-old. Lucy was the eldest of eight children, and at fifteen she had been much too young to tackle her mother's responsibilities.
Luckily her governess, Miss Atterbury, had assisted her as well as she could; Mrs Talbot, too, had been very helpful. But the responsibility had made her grow up very quickly, just as it had made James mature beyond his years. He was twenty-six now, but often gave Lucy the impression of a much older man in all but his appearance.
He rose from his chair and gave her a radiant smile as she entered the parlour.
"Good morning, James," Lucy said. "I am afraid my father is out, so you will have to make do with my company."
"I don't wish for better company, Lucy," he replied.
"Was there anything in particular that you wished to see my father about?"
"Nothing of an urgent nature; it is simply that my gamekeeper has caught one of your brother's dogs on my land, and locked it up in my stables."
"Oh dear! I hope there has been no damage to your property!"
"None at all."
"I'll tell Peter to go and get the dog home at once," Lucy promised. "I wonder why he has not missed it already, but I daresay he was busy catching toads."
James laughed. "Why would he be doing such a thing?"
"I have no idea, but not half an hour ago he brought one into my sitting room and insisted that it would make a famous pet. It took me some time and effort to convince him of the opposite."
"Peter should be in school," James reflected. "I cannot understand why your father expects you to deal with the boys' upbringing, especially since he does not wish to employ a tutor for them."
"He does not wish to pay school fees either," Lucy told him. "He sends them to the vicarage for their Latin and Greek lessons, and his library provides them with the rest. He says paying Miss Atterbury's wages is quite enough. She does her best, the poor soul, but she feels the evils of the situation as much as we all do. But the boys will go to Oxford when they are old enough to do so, and you know William and Robert are doing well there, in spite of never having had a tutor."
William and Robert were the eldest of Lucy's brothers, aged nineteen and seventeen.
"No doubt, but Robert and William are both of a scholarly turn of mind, whereas Peter is not."
"Do you believe a few years spent in school would change his nature?"
"I do not know, but it might be worth a try. At any rate he'd be off your hands. You have enough on your plate as it is."
Lucy laughed. "My father is very fond of you, James, but even you will not be able to persuade him to pay any more for his sons' education than he already does."
James, well acquainted with Sir Thomas and his ways, knew this to be true, and changed the topic. They discussed the weather, the crops, and the dinner party Mrs Langley was hosting that evening. Both James and Lucy had been invited, and were going to attend although neither of them was fond of the social-climbing Mrs Langley. Her husband, however, was universally liked, and it was for his sake that the local gentry allowed themselves to be drawn into Mrs Langley's set.
"Is your father going to come, too?" James wanted to know.
"But of course; after all dining out will reduce his own household expenses," Lucy laughed.
"Do you really think your father cares about nothing but money?"
"He does not give me the impression of one who cares for much more," Lucy told James.
"You need to get out of here, Lucy," James said earnestly.
"But who will look after the little ones when I am gone?" Lucy demanded. "It is not to be thought of."
"Your father cannot permit you to waste the best years of your life on your family. There is Miss Atterbury; surely she is capable of looking after your brothers and sisters."
"She is; I have never doubted her ability to do so, but she is not a relative," Lucy pointed out.
James did not attempt to make her change her mind, for which Lucy was glad. Sometimes she felt James was being rather too solicitous, and trying to take her affairs into his own hands, which she thought rather presumptuous of him even though she knew he meant well, and therefore she did not resent it. But she did take care to make him aware of the limit she had set for his interference. There was only so much meddling she was going to accept even from her oldest friend.
Before Lucy and her father set off to Mrs Langley's house, she paid a visit to the schoolroom to take leave of her brothers and sisters. Miss Atterbury, the governess, was sitting at the large table, overseeing her pupils' progress.
Twelve-year-old Peter was struggling with a Latin text he was to translate until his next lesson with the vicar, while his ten-year-old brother Toby was doing his best to solve a mathematical problem. Elizabeth, a lively six-year-old and the youngest child of the family, had been set to copy a proverb in the neatest copperplate she was able to do, and her elder sisters, Susan and Henrietta, were employed with their samplers. It was quite evident that Susan was in the sulks; she was fifteen and thought it beneath her dignity to be staying at home with her brothers and sisters while her father and eldest sister went off to have fun elsewhere. Her air was one of silent reproach, and had it not been for Miss Atterbury's presence she might have readily expressed her disappointment. Since Miss Atterbury kept a tight rein on her pupils, however, all she could do was gaze at her sister reproachfully and hope that Lucy would catch her meaning.
Lucy did, but she knew better than to remark on Susan's appearance. Her father's rule in this instance was strict; none of his daughters was to take part in social events before she had reached the age of seventeen, no matter how grown-up she might feel. Not even Lucy had had her father's permission to act as hostess and dine with her father's guests before her seventeenth birthday; never mind that by that time she had already planned those few dinners her father hosted.
Miss Atterbury, or Atty, as Lucy's family often called her, looked up from her work and smiled.
"My dear Miss Clarke! How pretty you look!"
Since Lucy was wearing an evening gown she had had for two years at the very least, and altered to suit the current fashion at least three times during that period, she smiled and said, "You must have seen me wear this dress at least a dozen times, Miss Atterbury."
"But it becomes you so well," Miss Atterbury insisted.
Lucy supposed she did it to make her feel more comfortable in her old gown. It was not pleasant to be the only girl in the village who had to take part in social events wearing a gown that others would not even want to see their servants in; and the fact that everyone knew her father could well afford to buy plenty of clothes for all his numerous children did not make it any more enjoyable. Lucy hated to be pitied or ridiculed for something she could not help and had no means of changing. She was going to have to try and coax her father into giving her the money for some fabric, or she would have to use some of her own means to purchase a new gown. In that case her father would want to know where she had got the money to do so, and Lucy was in no mood for lengthy explanations of that kind.
Usually whenever she bought clothes for herself she told her father that her godmother, who resided in London, had sent them, but she took care not to give her father the impression that Lady Walters was sending her gifts too often. He might feel it incumbent on him to remonstrate with that lady, and if he found out that Lady Walters had not sent Lucy a gift these two years there'd be the devil to pay. No; Lady Walters was not going to give Lucy anything before Christmas, when she would be able to send her goddaughter a present with all propriety in this world. But maybe Lucy would have another look at her mother's old gowns, to see whether there was any among them whose fabric would do for an every-day evening gown for herself.
"I think it is a shame Papa does not let you buy beautiful dresses," Henrietta said.
"Papa does let me buy beautiful dresses," Lucy protested.
"But not very often," Henrietta countered. "You should get married, but take care not to marry a miser like Papa or you'll be no better off than you are now."
Naturally this recommendation drew Miss Atterbury's wrath on Henrietta's head. It was not Henrietta's place to criticize her Papa, who provided for their every need. Frugality was not a sin, Miss Atterbury pointed out; surely more families had come to ruin because their fathers had been too liberal in their spending than otherwise.
"Be grateful to have a roof above your head, Miss Henrietta; a fire in your room to keep you warm, and regular meals every day. It is more than most people have."
This was probably so, Lucy had to agree; and within certain limitations Miss Atterbury was right. It was better to have a prudent father than a spendthrift one; while he wished to see her household account book every week and called her to book whenever she had bought something that did not seem necessary to him he was not unreasonable when it came to necessary spending. They did not lack any of the necessities of life; it was the little luxuries that they often got too little of. Lucy knew how frustrating it could be to be forced to wear old clothes; and she had tried for publication partly because she wished to provide her brothers and sisters with the things she knew her father was not going to buy for them. Whenever she gave any of these presents to them, she told them to keep the news from their father – which they usually did – and informed them that she had paid for them with her "savings". Strictly speaking this was not a lie – only none of her brothers and sisters knew where exactly those "savings" had come from.
"Do not let that nasty Miss Langley provoke you, Lucy," Susan recommended her when she took her leave. "You're worth a dozen of her, and she knows it. That's why she wants to make you feel small."
This was surprisingly mature advice from a fifteen-year-old, Lucy reflected as her mother's old barouche made its way into town with her and her father. Jane Langley was about the same age as Lucy, and was the image of her social-climbing mother. Lucy was pretty certain that if they had met under different circumstances – if Miss Langley had not known that her father was the most prominent landowner in Tetford and a baronet to boot – she would not have bothered to become acquainted with Lucy. As it was, she took great care to be seen in Lucy's company whenever possible, but missed no opportunity to demonstrate to Lucy that she was the superior one.
Where Lucy's father was too stingy, Miss Langley's was too generous. His income, though by no means despicable considering that the entire town of Tetford depended on him to cure their ailments, could hardly provide what his wife and daughter needed for their upkeep. Neither made a secret of the fact that they despised the local dressmakers' services and made regular trips to London, where they rigged themselves out in the first style of fashion. Lucy doubted that they could afford to buy in the really fashionable shops, but they surely acted as if they could.
Mrs Langley's one ambition in life was to marry her daughter to a wealthy man, and as this coincided very much with Miss Langley's own wishes for her future she did not oppose the scheme. She wanted to become a part of the fashionable set, and it would not have mattered to her if the bridegroom who enabled her to do so was old enough to be her grandfather, or in the habit of mistreating women, or as ugly as sin with an equally black character. It was a small price to pay in Miss Langley's opinion. Not that her favourite candidate was any of these things. She had decided that James Greville, proud owner of Ingham Priory and a large income, was the man she wanted to marry. He might not be a member of the fashionable set, but Miss Langley was confident that she would be able to gain her entrée into the Ton once she was married to him.
James was well aware of Miss Langley's ambition, and thanks to his good sense he did not fall victim to her lures. But although he took great care to discourage her advances by never speaking with her more than politeness required, and keeping his distance whenever he could, Miss Langley was not one to be discouraged easily. Mr Greville was not in love with her yet, but, she felt, this was only a question of time. She was convinced that no man was able to withstand her beauty for long. Lucy found her persistent attempts at flirtation with James tiresome, and almost wished James would forget about his upbringing and give Miss Langley the set-down she deserved. Yet she knew that this was not going to happen. James was very much the gentleman in every thing he said or did, and it would take a massive amount of provocation to make him act contrary to his principles, one of which was unfailing courtesy towards members of the female sex.
Unsurprisingly, Miss Langley eyed Lucy's attire with a pronounced sneer, and welcomed her with a cordiality that Lucy as well as everyone else present knew to be false.
"My dear Miss Clarke! How glad we are to have you with us tonight!"
Lucy assured Miss Langley that the happiness was all hers.
"You have made another alteration to your gown, I see," Miss Langley observed. "One must commend your ingenuity in these things; I am afraid I could never be your match when it comes to resourcefulness."
"It is not so much a lack of ingenuity, Miss Langley, I am sure." Lucy replied sweetly. "Given the opportunity I am certain you would turn out to be just as resourceful as the rest of us."
She sat down next to Mrs Macclesfield, the vicar's young wife. Mrs Macclesfield was one of Lucy's closest friends in the village, and also one of her most avid readers although naturally Mrs Macclesfield was not aware of this. But she had discussed Lucy's novels with her at length, and had recommended her to read them, for "they took me far away, quite into another world, and we all need that time and again, don't we?"
Lucy had agreed, and taken Mrs Macclesfield's copies of "The Crusader's Bride" and "The Curse of Whitfield Abbey" with her, returning them the following week and telling Mrs Macclesfield that she had not been able to put them down, and that her hair had stood on end throughout. They both took care not to discuss the novels in public; Lucy knew that his wife's reading habits embarrassed the vicar, and wondered what he would say if he knew that his wife was a close friend of one of Minerva's most popular authoresses. Mrs Macclesfield, at least, would be delighted, Lucy was certain.
They were sitting on the sofa sharing some town gossip. Mrs Macclesfield was always aware of what was currently going on in Tetford and nothing loath to share her knowledge. So Lucy heard all about Mr Richardson and his visit to Bath, which had not had the desired result; Mrs King's new baby who had a remarkable likeness to one of Mr King's closest friends (although naturally Mrs Macclesfield was not going to say a word against Mrs King; a very amiable woman she was, and Mrs Macclesfield was certain it was just a trick of the light), and her brother's luck or lack thereof at the Newmarket races. She had just finished her narrative of how the horse he had betted on had fallen just before crossing the finishing line when James and his mother arrived.
Both mother and daughter Langley made a beeline for them, and amused the assembled company by fawning over both Grevilles. Lucy wondered if Miss Langley was ever going to get the hint; James was quite unresponsive to her attempts at drawing him in but she did not appear to notice. Maybe she simply ignored what was, in her opinion, impossible.
Lucy admired James for the patience with which he endured Miss Langley's advances, and pitied him for being the constant victim of her ambition. The only hope there was for him, she feared, was the arrival of a more affluent marriage candidate. Considering that Tetford was not the kind of town that attracted the cream of Society, this possibility was but a negligible one.
At the dinner table Lucy was seated next to the vicar, and discussed her brothers' academic achievements with him.
"I am afraid Peter is not quite as talented as his brothers," Mr Macclesfield remarked. "He has no inclination to study."
"He does study, though I admit he is not fond of the ancient languages," Lucy told him. "He finds nothing wrong with sitting in the hedgerows for days on end observing the nesting habits of our local robin population, but when it comes to reading the Greek and Roman classics I am afraid he lacks interest; quite unlike William and Robert, who were never happy unless they had their nose in a book."
"Your brother Toby shows promise, however," Mr Macclesfield conceded. "I do not doubt that he may one day equal his brothers when it comes to scholarship, provided Peter does not lead him astray."
Since Toby was always at his brother's heels this was rather likely, Lucy thought but did not say so. Instead she gave Mr Macclesfield her word to speak to Peter, to make him aware of the importance of learning and Mr Macclesfield's kindness in letting them benefit from his wide education. Mr Macclesfield seemed doubtful whether Lucy's intervention would have the desired effect; but he was satisfied when Lucy promised to bring the matter to her father's attention. Lucy did not think her father was going to interfere with the boys' education – he did not take much interest in his offspring – but Lucy had no wish of offending Mr Macclesfield by telling him how little Sir Thomas regarded the service rendered him and his family.
Once the ladies retired from the board boredom set in, just as Lucy had expected. Neither Mrs Langley nor her daughter took any particular trouble to be entertaining when there were no gentlemen around to be entertained by them. They did their best to draw Mrs Greville to their side; no doubt they felt that Mrs Greville's approval was all they needed to make Jane a perfectly acceptable bride for James. It was pathetic, but not without a comic effect, Lucy thought. She chatted idly with Mrs Macclesfield, and wished she was at home so she could jot down some ideas she had had for her novel. By the time she would get home, she knew, she'd have forgotten half of them.
Things became more interesting once the gentlemen joined the ladies in Mrs Langley's fashionable drawing room. Miss Langley immediately offered to play the piano for the assembled company; an offer that was accepted politely but not enthusiastically.
With an air of importance, Miss Langley took her seat at the pianoforte - a new instrument, especially brought up from Town, Mrs Langley took leave to inform Mrs Greville- , and turned to James, fluttering her eyelashes and asking him to turn the pages for her. James, after informing her that he was not a very musical man and therefore in all likelihood the wrong choice for the important task Miss Langley wished to entrust him with, stood next to the pianoforte when she insisted that he was the most suitable person to assist her. He did not sit down on the piano bench next to her, however, which both Lucy and Mrs Macclesfield noted with satisfaction.
"It is positively shameless, the way Jane Langley is throwing herself at Mr Greville's neck," Mrs Macclesfield whispered to Lucy as Miss Langley began her inexpert rendition of a Haydn sonata. "I sincerely pity the poor man – I am afraid this dreadful person will not rest until she has dragged him to the altar."
"Mr Greville has something to say in the matter, surely," Lucy replied. "It does not look as if he feels any inclination to oblige Miss Langley."
"Oh, but she will trap him somehow; mark my words!"
Lucy knew pretty well that Miss Langley was a ruthless creature, and would stop at nothing short of murder to get her way. In this light, the spectacle at the pianoforte did not provide Lucy with the amount of entertainment she had expected before; instead the prospect of seeing her dear friend married to a female who did not deserve him depressed her. Once Miss Langley had finished her performance, James was able to make his escape, and sat down at a card table with Lucy, her father and Mrs Macclesfield to play a rubber or two of whist.
"I have hardly been at leisure to speak to you this evening, sir," he remarked to Lucy's father as he dealt the cards. "You were away from home this morning; or so I was told when I called at Tetford Manor."
"You wanted to see me?" Sir Thomas replied. "That's strange; no one told me you'd come."
"It was not an important matter I'd come to speak to you about; I talked to Miss Clarke about it when I discovered that you were not at home and I believe it has been resolved by now."
"Indeed it is. Peter will take better care of his dog in the future," Lucy said. "I told him you could not always be there to keep your gamekeeper from shooting stray dogs."
"Poor chap! I hope he was not too frightened! You do know, of course, that I have no intention of having his dog shot?"
"I know that, but it will do Peter no harm to think so," Lucy told him. "If it makes him take better care his pet does not stray it will be to the benefit of everyone concerned; including the dog. Not everyone is as fond of animals as you are, Mr Greville."
"This is true, unfortunately," James admitted. "But I shudder to think what a poor opinion of me Peter will have!"
"Oh, he does not blame you. His rage was mainly directed at Barnes." Barnes was James' gamekeeper.
"I sometimes suspect you have a devious mind, Miss Clarke."
"Don't we all?" Lucy retorted. "Some of us are more devious than others, naturally, but I know no one who is entirely free from deceit. Do you, Mrs Macclesfield?"
"I am afraid I do not," Mrs Macclesfield agreed. "But is it not sad that we must sometimes seek refuge in little white lies even in the upbringing of our children, while at the same time we expect them to be entirely truthful?"
James laughed. "I am afraid I cannot be a judge," he said, "not having any children of my own. I guess I will have to take your word for it, ma'am."
Their amicable get-together was soon at an end, however, when Miss Langley insisted on observing the game and sat down next to James. She did her best to draw his attention to her person at all times, and to divert it from his fellow card-players. Lucy, who was well enough acquainted with James to recognise the signs of annoyance even in this most patient of men, noticed that his endurance had reached its utmost limit, and was not surprised when James got up from the card table at the end of their game and suggested to his mother that they return home.
"You must be very tired, ma'am," he remarked, and Mrs Greville, a devoted mother, obliged him by admitting that she was. The Grevilles bore with their hostesses' entreaties to stay but half an hour longer with equanimity, but Mrs Greville was adamant; she had the headache and was looking forward to her bed.
"I do not wonder if she does have the headache," Mrs Macclesfield remarked in an under-voice. "I am sure I'd have one too if I was in her place."
Reluctantly, Mrs Langley and her daughter took leave of the Grevilles, and returned to the assembled company. It became evident to everyone present, however, that the entire party had served one purpose alone – to throw Miss Langley into James Greville's way. Once he was gone, neither Mrs Langley nor her daughter went to any length to entertain their guests; merely Mr Langley was his usual, amiable self and appeared to be enjoying himself. Still, none of the guests remained for much longer once tea had been served.
Since her father was in a rare good mood as their barouche took them homewards, Lucy decided to discuss the henhouse fencing problem with him. Mrs Talbot considered this to be a most pressing matter, and Lucy was fairly certain she could solve it by indicating conversationally that the fox had got another hen and had done a great deal of damage to the fencing in the process. She feared very much that now the fox, known for its cunning, had twice met with success in its attempts to get into Sir Thomas' henhouse, it would return again and again and cause further damage and considerable expense.
"Then why doesn't Jamison make the necessary repairs?" her father demanded. "I thought I'd given instructions for him to do so!"
"So you did, but unfortunately you did not provide Jamison with the necessary means of buying fencing material, Papa. He had to make shift with what he had, and the fence has turned out to be inadequate."
"Only imagine what the cost will be," Sir Thomas pointed out. "I can ill afford it!"
"The more often this happens, the worse the problem will become," Lucy pointed out. "And our prize hens are hard to replace, as you know. The loss of good laying hens will cost you even more than the fencing could."
With great reluctance, Sir Thomas gave his consent to the purchase of fencing materials, and Lucy came home with the feeling that the evening had not been an entire waste of time after all. At least it had put her father in a mood that had made him tolerate having to spend money on something that did not directly contribute to his own comfort. Yet she knew her limits – addressing the question of threadbare linen would have been too much. She would simply have to wait until he put his foot through a bed sheet to be able to buy new ones. Mrs Talbot could be relied on to make sure this happened soon, although, she had told Lucy, it went much against the grain with her to do so. Mrs Talbot was an excellent housekeeper, and had her professional pride to consider.
Lucy retired to her bedroom, and once she had undressed and sent the maid away she took some notepaper out of the drawer of her dressing table and began to write.
A feeling of foreboding stole over Heloise as she first laid eyes on the man who was soon to be her husband. He was a handsome man; it was true; but there was something in his demeanour that made Heloise shudder with apprehension. He stared at her in a manner entirely unbecoming a gentleman, and responded to her obvious repugnance with coarse laughter, telling her that she would soon get used to his caresses. "They all do in the end," were his words, words that made Heloise shudder even more; and wish fervently that there was someone in this world - anyone who could save her from a marriage with this monster. But no one heard her prayers; her father told her that she was to be wed the following morning.
Making full use of the opportunity to write without interruption, Lucy finished the entire chapter before going to bed. She was going to deal with the unfortunate Heloise's wedding the following morning, and fell asleep wishing every difficulty in her life could be dealt with so easily.
As she had promised Mrs Talbot, she spent the next morning making an inventory of the linen in the house, and by the time they had finished their task Lucy was not feeling particularly inspired to continue her tale of the sorcerer's unhappy bride. Even if she had intended to go on writing, she did not find the time to do so. First she took the linen sheets that could still be mended to the schoolroom, where she set her sisters and Miss Atterbury to the task of mending them. Susan grumbled but was immediately silenced by her governess, who told her that no lady was beneath such work, and that the ability to make such repairs was one most gentlemen appreciated in their wives. Although not every man had as strict notions of economy as Sir Thomas Clarke, few were in favour of unnecessary spending.
"It is not that I cannot do it," Susan pointed out. "I just do not see why I should. Why don't we just buy some new linen?"
"Do you wish to discuss that question with Papa?" Lucy suggested.
No further persuasion was needed; Susan set to work, albeit grudgingly. The prospect of facing her father with the suggestion of spending money where no spending was necessary was enough to make her regard having to mend dozens of sheets as the lesser evil. Lucy remained in the school room for two hours, working along with her sisters and Miss Atterbury and listening to Peter, Toby and Elizabeth learning their lessons.
Mr Macclesfield was right, she thought. One only had to see Peter fidgeting on his chair, itching to get outside and continue his studies of the local fauna, to know that he was not made for scholarly pursuits. She needed to find out what other possibilities there were – she wanted her brother to be happy with his position in life. For once her father would have to take an interest in his offspring and actually do his duty by them – who else could advise her?
Lucy had luncheon with her siblings before leaving them to their lessons and going into the garden. Garden work had a beneficial effect on her mind – some of the best scenes in her novels had owed their existence to the fact that she'd had to weed the vegetable patch in her father's kitchen garden. Although she returned to the house without having come up with any horrible tribulations to beset her unfortunate heroine with – nothing worse than an evil husband who was thought to be in league with the Devil, at any rate – she had made some progress with her characterisation of the as yet absent hero; a young man who was kept prisoner in the evil Bertrand's castle and who, once Heloise had assisted him in his escape, was going to return to save her from her husband's wrath and rid the world of the villain. That he was going to fall desperately in love with Heloise was a matter of course.
Back in the house, Lucy washed, changed her dress and then went to her sitting room to put her ideas to paper, but as always when she was trying to get some writing done during the day an interruption occurred. This time it was Mrs Macclesfield, who had come to call on her and share a sensational piece of news. Tetford was to have another inhabitant soon, and his reputation had already preceded him. Old Mrs Trevelyan, an octogenarian widow living in Tetford, expected her grandson to come for a visit and, as Mrs Macclesfield told Lucy, this Mr Broughton was likely to cause some uproar.
"For you know, my dear, he is quite as wicked as Paul de Ruissard."
Paul de Ruissard had been the villain in Lucy's first novel, "The Crusader's Bride", and his character had been so depraved that Lucy doubted any real person could be as wicked as he.
Yet Mrs Macclesfield's announcement tickled her professional interest in Mr Broughton.
"My dear Mrs Macclesfield, no one on earth can possibly be as evil as de Ruissard," Lucy laughed. "What has poor Mr Broughton done to deserve such a reputation?"
"Miss Clarke, you are my dearest friend, but there are some things I'd shudder to tell you," Mrs Macclesfield faltered. "You will just have to take my word for it that that man is not to be trusted!"
"It is most unfair of you to tell me of Mr Broughton's wicked reputation and then refuse to tell me how he achieved it," Lucy protested. "For what other purpose have you come to see me if not to regale me with the history of his misdeeds?"
"I came here to warn you," Mrs Macclesfield said piously. "I wanted to tell you that a respectable young lady like yourself should have nothing to do with him."
"In that case I am most obliged to you I am sure," Lucy said demurely. "Tea, Mrs Macclesfield?"
Lucy's ready submission surprised and almost displeased Mrs Macclesfield; after all she had come to Tetford Manor to share the news without incurring her husband's displeasure. Mr Macclesfield did not approve of gossip, and would soon have put an end to his wife talking about the infamous Mr Broughton. No one was likely to interrupt her in Tetford Manor, however, for Sir Thomas Clarke never stirred out of his library before it was time to dress for dinner. Therefore Mrs Macclesfield only waited until a maid had supplied them with tea and biscuits before launching her history of young Mr Broughton's many sins.
"You know I have a friend in London, a Mrs Tarleton," she announced as Lucy filled her teacup with tea and handed it to her. Lucy nodded – Mrs Macclesfield had provided her with everything there was to know about Mrs Tarleton.
"It was she who wrote to me, asking me if I knew that Mr Broughton was coming to stay with his grandmother in Tetford," Mrs Macclesfield continued. "I had not heard of the gentleman before, but naturally I am always interested in any eligible gentleman coming to our little town, for your sake, my dear."
"For my sake!" Lucy exclaimed.
"Why yes; you must know that your future prospects are a matter very close to my heart. Tetford is all very well, but you must admit that the number of suitable gentlemen of a marriageable age is negligible."
"Perhaps I do not wish to be married," Lucy suggested.
"My dear Miss Clarke!" Mrs Macclesfield was shocked. "You must not even contemplate remaining single!"
"I will certainly not marry the dangerous Mr Broughton, at any rate," Lucy said. "And as you said there are not many suitable young men with whom I could contemplate marriage in this town, so I may be doomed to remaining single."
"There is Mr Greville," Mrs Macclesfield told her. "You appear to be getting along with each other pretty well."
"Mr Greville! Of all people!" Lucy laughed. "Mrs Macclesfield, I do not deny that he is a good friend of my family and that I am very fond of him, but believe me, marrying him would be almost like marrying my brother! Why, I have known him ever since my days in the nursery!"
"I was afraid that this was how you would think, which is why I am keeping my eyes open to find someone for you. You must not dwindle into an old maid, my dear! Anything would be preferable to that!"
"What, even marrying the infamous Mr Broughton?" Lucy laughed.
"With the possible exception of marrying the infamous Mr Broughton," Mrs Macclesfield replied. "His reputation with women is terrible; you'd lead a life of misery as his wife."
"I will keep it in mind," Lucy comforted her friend. "I simply meant to tease you; Mr Broughton is not really my idea of a husband. Rakes do not make good spouses, I am sure."
"I do not know about rakes in general, but Mr Broughton certainly would not make the kind of husband I'd like to see you married to. There are rumours in London that there is no female safe from him! There has been talk concerning him and the serving maids in his father's house, but I must not sully your ears with those tales. Disgraceful, is all that I will say to that! His latest escapade involved an elopement with an heiress; however her father could put a stop to it before anything of a serious nature happened."
"The heiress must consider herself very lucky." Lucy remarked.
"Oh, but her reputation is quite ruined!"
"Depending on the size of her fortune, her ruin will be short-lived," Lucy observed cynically. "Luckily the youngest of Mrs Trevelyan's serving maids is fifty if she is a day; surely they will be safe from Mr Broughton's advances."
"One never knows, with some men," Mrs Macclesfield said darkly. "You mark my words; this man will cause trouble wherever he can. You must promise me to stay away from him!"
"I will do what I can," Lucy promised hesitatingly, although she wished Mrs Macclesfield had not extracted that promise from her. Here was the chance for her to study a real villain up close and she was not to speak to him! Life was most provoking!
Relieved, Mrs Macclesfield turned her attention to the biscuits on the tray. They were discussing the latest fundraising project for new church windows (there was no church as draughty as that of Tetford in the cold months) when the housekeeper announced Mr Greville.
He bowed to Lucy and her visitor, and took his seat opposite Lucy when invited to do so.
"Did you come to see my father?" Lucy asked him.
"Yes, I did. He asked me about a book the other day, and having found it in my library I took it to him."
"I see. He is most obliged to you, I know." James often provided Sir Thomas with reading material, since Lucy's father was too parsimonious to even consider buying books for himself that he could perfectly easily obtain by other means. "Would you like some tea, Mr Greville? I will send for another cup if you do."
"Thank you, Miss Clarke, but no. I cannot stay long; I merely dropped by to ask you whether you had any errands for me to run when I go to London on Monday."
"None that I can think of on the spur of a moment, but I will give the matter some thought. May I send you a list of things to be done on the morrow?"
"You need not trouble yourself. I'll call on you again tomorrow morning to pick it up." He smiled at Lucy.
"There is one thing – Mr Macclesfield told me the other day that Peter is not making as much progress in his Latin as he ought, and I have thought of offering him some kind of reward, maybe, if he makes a proper effort."
"What did you have in mind?"
"I do not know; but it must be something he would really like to have, yet something not too…" Lucy broke off. It embarrassed her to speak of her father's tight-fistedness, but luckily she had no need to continue her speech with James.
"I'll see what I can do," he said. "Knowing Peter the way I do, it must have something to do with natural history. Does he have a microscope – or know how to work with one?"
"He does not; but it surely sounds like the kind of thing that might catch his fancy. – What do you say, Mrs Macclesfield?"
"Anything you think proper, Miss Clarke," Mrs Macclesfield said. "However it seems to me that a treat for scholarly success should not be of the kind to divert the pupil from his learning, and I fear very much that a microscope would have that effect on your brother."
"You do know the proverb about work and play, Mrs Macclesfield?" James asked. "I'd say Miss Clarke is quite right in offering her brother a reward for making an effort."
"I have nothing to say against rewarding the boy," Mrs Macclesfield told James. "I simply think that his reward should be of a different kind."
"I will think of something," James promised. "Something that will appeal both to Peter's preferences and Mrs Macclesfield's strict notions."
James took his leave soon, though his expression betrayed that he'd rather have stayed longer. He was probably in a hurry, Lucy thought regretfully, for her friend's visits usually lasted longer.
"Mr Greville appears to be calling on you pretty often," Mrs Macclesfield observed.
"He calls on my father, mostly," Lucy made sure to point out. "My father has often advised him in the management of his estates when Mr Greville's father died, and by now it has become a habit with them both. My father would miss him a great deal if his visits ceased, and I suspect Mr Greville would miss his visits too."
"I dare say you are right," Mrs Macclesfield said shrewdly. "I'd like to point out to you that there are those in Tetford who suspect that there might be another good reason for Mr Greville's frequent visits at Tetford Manor."
"You are not the first who has mentioned such suspicions to me," Lucy told her friend. "I get all kinds of sly insinuations, and I suppose so does Mr Greville. However, his manner towards me is not in the least lover-like, so I see no reason to share the common suspicions, and I do hope you will not fall into vulgar error, Mrs Macclesfield."
"Oh, whatever you say, Miss Clarke. Whatever you say. But I do think Mr Greville was a trifle disappointed to find me sitting with you."
"He cannot have been; he must have known you were with me," Lucy pointed out. "Mrs Talbot must have told him. I am certain you are wrong in your assumptions."
"In that case I will have to continue looking for a marriage candidate for you," Mrs Macclesfield said, rising from her seat. "Maybe I should invite my brother-in-law to stay with us for a couple of weeks. His estate is not quite as large as Mr Greville's, I am afraid, but his fortune is respectable, and he is amiable and most truly the gentleman!"
Lucy giggled. "Invite him by all means, Mrs Macclesfield, if you wish to do so, but please do not invite him on my account. It would embarrass me greatly to know that he had come here merely to look me over."
"I would not say such a thing to him, Miss Clarke! That thought never even crossed my mind! But if you were to meet and take a liking to each other I'd be most satisfied!"
While Lucy appreciated her friend's concern for her future she wished Mrs Macclesfield would not persist in making such blatant attempts at matchmaking. Not for a moment did Lucy doubt that the elder Mr Macclesfield would soon receive an invitation from his sister-in-law to spend several weeks with his brother's family in Tetford. The only hope Lucy had was that he would not accept it.
Lucy spent the time before dressing for dinner in the attic, pulling her mother's gowns out of the trunks where they'd been stored after her death. There was still a chance that one of them would, with the necessary alterations made to suit the current fashion, become her new evening dress. When Lady Clarke had been alive she had checked her husband's parsimonious tendencies, and therefore there were some very pretty dresses in those trunks in the attic.
Lucy found one; a dove-grey taffeta dress, which would suit her pretty well, and she took it downstairs with her along with a printed muslin frock that would make a suitable day dress for Susan, who was growing quickly and would soon be taller than her elder sister. So far, Susan had been obliged to use up Lucy's old dresses but those days would be over before long. Luckily there was still Henrietta. Lucy occasionally bought fabric for new dresses for her younger sisters; she felt it was unfair that younger children should never have new clothes to wear, but their workday clothes were inevitably hand-me-downs. Sir Thomas would never have permitted anything else, and unlike her late mother Lucy did not have the skill of coaxing him into spending money on fripperies.
Yet she had to broach the matter at the dinner table that evening; she needed to buy trimmings to refurbish the gowns and wanted to keep her savings for more important things, which was why she had to ask her father for the money. He kept a strict watch over her household account books, and had often protested vehemently when she had made similar purchases without consulting him beforehand.
Since her sisters were also at the dinner table, Lucy found it easy to introduce the topic by remarking that Susan's gown did not fit her as well as it had used to.
"You are growing a great deal of late," Lucy said with a smile. "You'll outgrow me before long!"
"I know; it is the most mortifying thing," Susan complained. "Everyone knows gentlemen prefer ladies to be smaller than they are, and here I am growing and growing like a … a tree, with no sign of ever stopping. That way I will never find a husband!"
"There is no need for you to worry about your marriage prospects just yet," Lucy laughed. "What is more important for now is that you will need a couple of new dresses soon."
Her father stared at Susan, horrified. "I do not see why she should," he stated.
"Why, Papa, there is only so much we can let a dress out," Lucy informed him. "I am sure I do what I can, but sooner or later Susan will need a new one. – I have taken one of Mama's dresses from her trunks in the attic; it will do well for a workday dress if I alter it for Susan, but I will need threads and trimmings. With your permission I will see to it, sir."
Sir Thomas, though not exactly happy with the idea of such extravagance, evidently felt that matters could be worse and gave his permission.
"I am also going to make a new evening gown for myself," Lucy continued. "Another of Mama's gowns will provide me with the necessary material, but I will need trimmings for that dress as well. I am afraid it is quite necessary; Mrs and Miss Langley's sneers have become too much for me to bear."
"Did they sneer at you?"
"I am afraid so – they often do. My old gown makes me a laughing stock among the genteel people in Tetford – I am using the word genteel in the widest possible sense, for I am afraid Mrs and Miss Langley are quite vulgar. If it were not for poor Mr Langley's sake I would not bother to be on more than greeting terms with them."
Sir Thomas, with considerable difficulty resigning himself to the fact that his daughters were planning to go on some kind of spending spree, merely nodded.
"Mrs Langley is not a very agreeable woman," he remarked after a few moments. "Her daughter can scarcely be better than she. I do not think Miss Langley has had the benefit of a governess' teachings, has she?"
"No; but Mr Langley sent her to some expensive school or other."
"A waste of money," Sir Thomas said; a remark exactly suited to his prime character trait, Lucy thought ruefully. She often wondered why he had not turned Miss Atterbury off after his wife's death, but supposed that his wish not to be left alone with household and childrearing matters had been the reason why Miss Atterbury had been allowed to stay. She was doing excellent work with Lucy's brothers and sisters – just as she had done with Lucy herself, and her eldest brothers who were now continuing their schooling in Oxford. This reminded Lucy of her intention of speaking to her father about Peter's future.
"Mr Macclesfield spoke to me about Peter yesterday," Lucy began tentatively. "He feels Peter is not making as much progress as his intelligence would merit."
"I am sure Mr Macclesfield has ways and means to make the boy mind his book," Sir Thomas said forbiddingly.
Undeterred, Lucy replied, "No doubt; we all know that Peter and Toby are not the first boys he teaches, nor will they be the last. But it has made me think whether it would not be better for Peter to embrace a career that does not involve too much study."
"What would you suggest?"
"I do not know," Lucy admitted. "The church and the law will demand a great deal of learning from him, and I am afraid Peter does not have his brothers' scholarly turn of mind. But what else can he do?"
"I'm sure I do not know," Sir Thomas said. "I will not buy him an army commission – do you have any idea what they want for one of those? It's highway robbery!"
"I was not thinking of buying Peter a commission in the army," Lucy said. "But what about the navy? Peter would like travelling all over the world, and only think of the fauna he could study!"
"He'd be happy to do that," Henrietta added. "He's never happy unless there is some revolting animal or other that he can lock up and watch."
"Peter is too old to join the navy," Sir Thomas said.
"He is only twelve!" Lucy cried.
"Most boys join the navy at a much younger age," Sir Thomas insisted. "Besides I know no one who could take him under his wings. Surely you do not suggest that I should leave him in the hands of a man I do not know? Apart from that, life in the navy is not all travel and tropical islands. It is a hard life, and one which I would not wish one of my sons to lead."
While Lucy privately thought that her brother Peter was a tough lad and one who would adapt to shipboard life quite easily she did not say so. It was not for her to decide what Peter was to do with his life, but she wished he would find something that would appeal to his interests and make him content with his lot. Maybe she should ask James for his opinion – if there was one man in the world who could persuade her father to give his son's future some thought James was that man.
Lucy's sisters were in a fever of anticipation the following morning. They were looking forward to paying a visit to the local haberdashery shop as if they were about to shop in one of London's most fashionable warehouses. There was no way Lucy would have been able to persuade Henrietta to stay at home; she wished to take her part in the decision and Lucy decided to let her buy a ribbon or two as well. Miss Atterbury had told Lucy that Henrietta had made a great deal of progress with her musical skills, and if Peter was to have a reward for exerting himself in his studies there was no reason why Henrietta should not have one as well.
As they walked along the main street of Tetford Lucy had to check her sisters' exuberance; they were in high spirits and it showed. Lucy had shown Susan the dress that was to provide her with the fabric for her new gown; since her colouring was similar to that of her late mother it became her very well, and while the cut was not of the latest fashion Susan knew that this was as close to a new gown as she could get and did not repine too much. Her father, while he might be coaxed into letting her buy a new evening dress for her coming-out, did not condone such extravagance when it came to a mere morning dress. Her mother's old gown would have to do.
Lucy was a regular customer at Mr Taylor's haberdashery shop, although she seldom made large purchases. She loved looking at the fabrics on sale there, and dreaming about how they would look on her. It was not that she could not afford new dresses – her savings were large enough to permit her to spend a modest sum on her attire, but Lucy preferred to spend her money on more important items. If she did indulge herself in a new dress, she dispensed with the services of a dressmaker and made it herself – she was a skilled needlewoman, and had no difficulty in sewing her own clothes. But she did not often do so– her family's needs were more important to her than her own, and she often sacrificed her wishes in order to be able to fulfil one of theirs.
Susan and Henrietta took their time in choosing their trimmings; Lucy would have been surprised had it been otherwise. The girls did not often get the opportunity of spending a morning on Mr Taylor's premises being able to take some of his merchandise home with them afterwards. They were going to make the most of it, and luckily Mrs Taylor, the shop owner's wife, did not object to their lingering over their purchases although she knew that there was not going to be much profit for her husband once they'd made their choice.
"Only have a look at these, Lucy! Aren't they beautiful?" Susan asked, taking her eldest sister's hand and pulling her to some bonnets Mr Taylor had on display in his shop window. "Do you think I could have one?" she asked.
"I am afraid Papa would not permit it, Susan," Lucy replied. "You know he only gave us the money for some ribbons, and maybe for a fichu for you to wear with your new dress. Not a lace one, however, I am very much afraid."
"I know." Susan hung her head. "And I really should not be ungrateful; you are doing so much for us, but sometimes I wish Papa was just a little more generous than he is. I do wonder how Mama managed."
"When Mama was still alive things were not as bad," Lucy told her sister. "But when she passed away he thought I was too young to keep house for him, and tried to do it on his own, and always feared people were trying to take advantage of him. He felt sure he'd soon be ruined, being cheated out of his fortune by his servants; and this was how it all began. I fear he does not trust me very much either; he still thinks I am too young and inexperienced to keep house properly, but since he trusts Mrs Talbot even less than he trusts me he must make do with my poor abilities or find himself a new wife, which he will never do."
They allowed Mrs Taylor to show them all the ribbons she had in stock, and took their time over making their choice. After all, Henrietta pointed out, it had to be something they could still bear to look at many years from now – a remark for which Lucy rebuked her although she silently agreed with her.
Just as they had decided on their trimmings and Lucy was paying their moderate bill, Miss Langley entered the shop, with a young man following in her wake. Lucy had never seen him before, but since there were not many elegantly clad strangers who found their way to Tetford she could make a shrewd guess as to who he must be. Mr Broughton, old Mrs Trevelyan's grandson, must have arrived. Lucy wondered how Jane Langley had come to know the gentleman, but then it was probably not surprising that Miss Langley lost no time in becoming acquainted with someone who, by the look of him, was not only fashionable but also well to do. Lucy wondered whether Mr Broughton's reputation was unknown to Jane Langley of if she simply did not care. It was none of Lucy's business, of course. Miss Langley had a mother whose duty it was to make sure her daughter's reputation suffered no damage. If Mrs Langley found nothing wrong with her daughter being seen in the company of a notorious rakehell it was not for Lucy to utter any protest. She was neither a relation nor a friend of Miss Langley's, and Miss Langley was not going to listen to anything she might have to say in the matter. If anything she'd assume that Lucy was merely being jealous and trying to spoil her budding friendship with Mr Broughton.
As they left the shop they had to pass the couple, who were admiring – or rather sneering at – some of the fabrics Mr Taylor had on display. Lucy noticed Mr Broughton's eyes on her; and heard him ask Miss Langley who they were. Miss Langley's reply was typical of her, and she did not even bother to lower her voice so Lucy would not overhear.
"Oh, it's Miss Clarke and her sisters." Miss Langley tittered. "Our village dowds."
Her face reddening with humiliation, Lucy ushered Susan and Henrietta out of the shop before either of them could think of a retort. It was embarrassing enough to be the target of Miss Langley's biting witticisms without having to deal with the humiliating spectacle of her sisters starting a quarrel in public as well. Susan and Henrietta were seething with rage.
"How could she say such a thing?" Susan cried. "Heavens, how much I'd love to box her ears!"
"I sincerely hope you will not give in to temptation, Susan. Only think of the scandal!"
"Never mind about the scandal! Miss Langley deserves to be kicked right into next week and back again! The cheek! Why, she is just a vulgar, social-climbing…"
"Exactly, and she has demonstrated to the entire world that this is what she is." Lucy tried to soothe her sister. "Do not let the world think you equally ill-mannered, I beg you. Let us try instead to show everyone that we are miles above such spiteful behaviour."
"I'll tell Peter to play a trick on her," Henrietta said darkly. "Just you wait. We will do something really nasty to her."
"You will not. Her conduct has put her in the wrong; and the story will be all over Tetford before the day is out. This is the nastiest trick she could have played herself; she does not need any retaliation from us."
They returned home, and while Henrietta and Susan went into the schoolroom to regale Miss Atterbury and their brothers and sister with the tale of Miss Langley's iniquity, Lucy went downstairs to the kitchen to confer with Cook about provisions to be ordered in London. Since James had offered to run errands for her in Town she would make use of his offer, knowing full well that there was no chance for her to go to London herself.
Having written her shopping list which James was to hand over to Fortnum & Mason, she had another task for him to perform, but knew that she could not tell him what exactly it was. She needed money. Luckily, the Minerva Press was not only a publishing house but also a bookstore. If she gave James a note for her publisher, disguised as an order for a book, Mr Lane would be able to hide a banknote between the pages of the novel before making up his parcel. So she wrote the letter to her publisher, sealed it, and left it in her desk to give to James when he came back for her orders. If there was one man she could trust with a ten-pound banknote, James was the one, even though he would not know that he was going to carry money for her from London.
Another domestic crisis had arisen during Lucy's absence, and Mrs Talbot lost no time in informing Lucy of it. Peggy, a young servant maid who had only started to work for Lucy's family two weeks before, had handed in her notice that morning. It was not a big surprise for Lucy; the surprise was that Peggy had endured her fate for as long as she had. Peggy was not a local girl; thanks to the notoriously low wages Lucy's father was willing to pay they were no longer able to find any local servants willing to take a post in their house, and those who might be willing due to a lack of alternatives were not of the kind Lucy wanted to employ. It was hard to find trustworthy servants as it was; it was even harder to find honest servants willing to work for the meagre wages Sir Thomas Clarke was willing to pay. Therefore Lucy had taken Mrs Macclesfield's advice, and had taken recourse to recruiting servants from the poorer areas of England, where employment was scarce and people were happy to find a job anywhere. The method worked pretty well, but they did suffer the occasional setback. Peggy's situation was typical of what often happened in the servants' quarters – the poor girl was feeling desperately homesick, and after two weeks of bravely trying to get the better of it, she had finally given up the attempt. All she wanted was her two weeks' pay, and a ticket for the mail coach back home. Lucy, after having spoken to a tear-stained Peggy, promised her both and recommended her to book a seat on the next morning's mail coach as soon as possible.
"I am sorry to lose you," Lucy told her. "Mrs Talbot has spoken highly of you, and indeed I have been very impressed with your work. But if you cannot bring yourself to stay here there is nothing I can do to hold you back. I will have your reference letter ready for you tomorrow morning, and there is nothing left for me to say but to wish you the very best for your future."
"Thank you, miss," Peggy sobbed. "I'm really sorry to leave, but the thought of my poor dear mother, and the children…"
"I quite understand," Lucy said, trying to soothe the girl. "There's no need for you to cry; you will be with them before long."
Peggy curtseyed, thanked Lucy for her understanding and left the room. Only then Lucy allowed herself to vent her feelings. Peggy's going away left her in quite a quandary, for it was obvious who was going to have to do her work – or at least part of her work – until another parlour maid had been found. How she was to find the time to continue her novel Lucy did not know. She wondered whether menservants were as troublesome as female ones, but knew she would never have the opportunity to find out because her father would never employ one. Jamison, who did all the outdoor jobs around the house and the stable hands did not count, naturally. Just once Lucy had suggested they employ a footman to wait at table, feeling slightly embarrassed that every genteel family in Tetford had one while they did not. Her father had let her know that he, for one, did not object to having a female serve him his dinner, and why should he pay hideous taxes for keeping a manservant if he could pay two women the same amount to do his job? There was a certain amount of reason in Sir Thomas' arguing, and Lucy had given up trying to remonstrate with him.
Having uttered a shriek of frustration, and having thrown her account book onto the floor, she calmed down sufficiently to sit down and write her shopping list. She had almost finished when the clanging of the doorbell heralded James' arrival.
Lucy did not take much notice of it at first; she expected James to pay a visit to her father in the library before coming to see her, but she was wrong. Mrs Talbot ushered him into Lucy's sitting room. James waited until Mrs Talbot had left the room before saying, "You look upset, Lucy."
"Oh, with one thing and another there is always something to upset me in this house," Lucy said, trying to make light of the affair.
There was a short pause; obviously James was waiting for Lucy to confide in him. Only when she did not he said, "I know what happened at Taylor's, Lucy."
"You and everyone else in Tetford I dare say. Mrs Taylor has lost no time, I see."
"I admit it was Mrs Taylor who told my mother, who told me the moment she got home. Needless to say she was most upset, and I agree with her that Miss Langley has crossed the line of what is proper once too often. Her remark was not only grossly improper; I do not doubt she meant to hurt your feelings by saying it, and that I find hard to forgive."
Sometimes James reminded Lucy of those preux chevaliers of the olden days. He even rode a white horse, though he'd probably laugh at the notion of wearing shining armour. Or non-shining armour, for that matter.
"It is not only that," Lucy murmured. "I do not say that her remark did not upset me – of course it did, even more so since my sisters took it very much to heart, and it has spoilt their treat for them. That's the one thing I cannot forgive – the poor dears have so little to give them joy, spoiling one of their treats is almost as bad as kicking a newborn puppy."
"They have a sister who takes their well-being very much to heart however, and that is something that must give them joy."
"Not as much as one might think," Lucy said with a forced smile. "More often than not they think I do not support them as much as I ought."
"That's nonsense; you are devoted to your family and they know it. – What else has happened to upset you, Lucy? You look positively worn-down!"
"Why thank you," Lucy said wryly. "Our new parlour maid has just handed in her notice, so I will have to work like a slave to keep the house tidy until we have found someone to replace her – which may well take us ages."
"Do you want me to take a letter from you to one of the London agencies?"
"It won't be any use; the wages my father is willing to pay his maidservants will not induce a London parlour maid to leave the Metropolis and move into the wilds of Berkshire."
"You may be right. I could ask my mother to assist you in finding someone; I am sure she would be delighted."
Lucy was by no means convinced of that, but James seemed so eager to help her that she acquiesced to the scheme. If Mrs Greville knew of an honest girl willing to work at Tetford Manor, Lucy would be happy to take her on.
"You know my mother would be most happy to advise you whenever you need assistance," James told Lucy. "So would I; you only need to say the word."
"Thank you; this is very kind of you both, but you have responsibilities of your own and it would be unfair of me to add to your burden," Lucy replied firmly.
"What are friends for, Lucy, if not to share each other's burdens occasionally?"
"I know you mean well, James," Lucy sighed. "Still, I've got my pride. As long as I can manage by myself…"
"Very well." James sounded hurt, but he did take her hand. "Only do not hesitate to ask when you do need me. I promise that no request of yours will ever meet with deaf ears."
He did not refer to Lucy's problems any more as he sat with her for maybe half an hour; Lucy explained his errands to him and gave him both her shopping list and the letter to her publisher, and was grateful for his attempts at cheering her up. He patiently listened to her account of what she meant to do with her mother's old dresses although Lucy knew that he neither knew anything about needlework nor did he take any interest in ladies' fashion. He commended Lucy's taste when she showed him the purchases she had made at Taylor's shop, without once referring to the insult Miss Langley had provoked her with, and finally told Lucy that in spite of what Mrs Macclesfield had said he still believed a microscope would be a proper gift for Peter, and offered to purchase one in London.
"With your permission, naturally," he added. "I think he will enjoy working with it, and it might induce him to take up scientific work in earnest."
Lucy did not doubt that Peter would be delighted with the present, and James smiled as she told him so.
"Then we need not worry, do we? You need not tell Mrs Macclesfield if you fear her disapproval. – As for Miss Langley, Lucy, do not let her provoke you. She will find out before long that she has gone too far this time. Tetford is buzzing with indignation, not only because of the things she said to you but also because she has been seen walking all alone in the company of a man whose reputation…" He broke off; obviously unwilling to discuss Mr Broughton's reputation with her.
"Mrs Macclesfield told me all about Mr Broughton's reputation," Lucy therefore said.
"She cannot know all about his character or she would not have told you," James retorted. "That is I'd be quite shocked if she had. I'll just say that he is not at all the kind of man I'd like to see you associate with."
"You need not fear that I will, or that he would even want me to," Lucy laughed. "Sometimes it is a good thing to be the village dowd."
Heloise lay awake in her bed for hours, listening to the horrifying wailing and screaming of the storm outside, and pondering her fate. The thought of her betrothed filled her with repugnance, yet she knew that early the next morning her hand was to be joined with his in matrimony. As tradition demanded it, the event was to take place in the ancient chapel on her father's estate. Many a wedding there had been, but none of the brides saying their vows therein could have felt as miserable – as desperate to escape the inevitable – as Heloise. The window of her bedroom seemed to beckon her, it dared her to end her sufferings by putting a period to her existence. Her bedchamber was situated high above the courtyard; a fall from her window could not but end in the destruction of her person. But Heloise could not bring herself to do it; she still had some hope of deliverance. She offered fervent prayers to the Lord, begging Him to put a stop to this marriage before the marriage rites were performed. Yet, in the morning, after but few hours of unquiet slumber, Heloise was roused from her bed and clad in her wedding clothes.
Highly satisfied with what she had written so far, Lucy put down her pen and thought for a moment. That Heloise's marriage was bound to end in a disaster had by now been firmly established; Madame de Léon's readers expected nothing less. Yet Lucy felt that something was missing, and decided to add a touch of drama to Heloise's wedding – even more drama than the night before the wedding had offered.
As the priest joined their hands, and pronounced them man and wife, a crash of thunder drowned his words – lightning had struck the chapel tower, and the sound of masonry raining onto the pavement outside startled the assembled congregation. Only the bridegroom was unperturbed by this omen that boded nothing good for his marriage. His laugh resounded in the chapel, and with a thundering voice he said, "The Devil gives his consent to our marriage, do you hear, my sweet wife?" Heloise shuddered and crossed herself, as did everyone else who had heard Bertrand's declaration, which made him laugh even more.
Lucy finished her account of Heloise's wedding by a minute description of the bridegroom dragging his unwilling bride to a waiting carriage and tearing her away from her beloved home. She then continued to draw a picture of the scenery they travelled across, which she knew her readers loved and wished to read in her novels. Mrs Macclesfield had once told her that "no one had the knack of describing the South of France as Madame de Léon had", and had argued that this must be due to Madame being French. Lucy had agreed with her friend, but had found it hard to keep her countenance; after all no one knew better than she that the author of "The Crusader's Bride" had never even set foot in France. This time the description of French scenery did not quite live up to Lucy's usual standards, but it would do for the moment; she could edit it later. For the moment she decided that she had written enough, and locked her novel into her writing table before going to bed.
Like Heloise, she could not sleep, though her outlook for the following day was not as dreary or threatening as Heloise's was. She was not going to marry a man who was known to be a follower of evil. Instead she was worried about the tasks she was to perform the following day, and how she was going to manage without a second parlour maid. She hoped Mrs Greville would indeed be able to help her find someone to replace the girl, and that she would find someone soon. Hopefully it would be someone who'd stay for longer than a couple of weeks; it was most vexing to lose a servant just as they had been trained and were becoming useful at last. The smooth running of a household depended on continuity among the servants, a fact Lucy had learned long ago.
Lucy awoke early the next morning, dressed quickly and succeeded in getting a great deal of housework chores done before sitting down to breakfast with her family. She informed them of Peggy's leaving their household, a piece of information that did not appear to worry Lucy's father excessively. To say the truth, it did not seem to worry him at all.
After breakfast Lucy joined Miss Atterbury and her siblings in the schoolroom. While Elizabeth was reading, under Miss Atterbury's watchful eye, from a book of fables, the boys were tackling their mathematical problems and Susan and Henrietta helped Lucy cut up her mother's dresses, and pin the fabric to the patterns for their new gowns. Susan was enthusiastic; after all she was to get one of the new dresses, while Henrietta was less so. Yet she knew that the moment Susan had her new gown Lucy would change one of Susan's for her, and while it would only be a hand me down dress from her sister it would be something new as well.
Lucy was pinning the pattern to the fabric when Mrs Talbot came into the room to inform her that Mr Greville was waiting for her downstairs.
"Oh! I thought he was in London," Lucy exclaimed, genuinely surprised at receiving another visit from James when he ought to be on his way to Town already.
"He did not want to leave before having seen you once more," Susan said. "How romantic of him!"
"You are talking nonsense, Susan," Lucy remonstrated, took off her apron and went downstairs to the parlour where, according to Mrs Talbot, James was waiting.
She found James standing in front of the fire, admiring one of Lucy's drawings on the mantelpiece. He turned around to face her, with a smile hovering on his face.
"I am sorry to disturb you," he said. "I daresay you are very busy this morning, but my mother has asked me to deliver this note for her before I start my journey to London."
"Is it something urgent?" Lucy wanted to know.
"It is merely an invitation," James told her. "Since I am going to spend the night in London she will be alone tonight, and is hoping that you will keep her company for a while. – But you had best read her letter; she is much better at explaining herself than I can ever be." He gave Lucy a sealed letter.
"Would you like something to eat or drink before you go?" Lucy asked.
James laughed. "No, thank you. If I do not start my journey soon I will not reach London before nightfall. I merely dropped in to deliver this note and must be on my way now. I will be back by tomorrow evening; though I may not be able to visit you before the day after that."
In spite of Susan's – and everyone else's - suspicions, Lucy did not think James had a tendre for her. If he was indeed in love with her, Lucy felt, he would hardly be in such a hurry to leave her now that he had contrived to be alone with her. So she did not put any meaning to his visit apart from the obvious – he had come to deliver a note for his mother, nothing more. She sat down at the writing desk by the window, read Mrs Greville's note, and after having composed a suitable reply she went to the library to ask for her father's permission to dine with their neighbour that evening.
Sir Thomas did not withhold his consent, although he usually depended on Lucy to keep her sisters in order during dinner. In Lucy's absence Miss Atterbury was going to take her place, Lucy told her father, and this arrangement appeared to suit him. So Lucy dressed in her best evening gown once again, and got into Mrs Greville's carriage that had come to pick her up.
James' estate, Ingham Priory, was situated some three quarters of a mile outside Tetford, and was the largest estate in the vicinity of this town. One of James' ancestors had acquired the Priory during the dissolution of monasteries, and the family had lived there ever since. Not much was left of the original monastic structure; generations of Grevilles had made additions and alterations over the centuries, and now the Priory was a family home that lacked none of the modern amenities. Mrs Greville was awaiting her guest in a large, comfortably furnished parlour at the back of the house.
"My dear girl! How kind it is of you to take pity on me," she cried, rising from her chair to shake hands with Lucy. "How is your father?"
"He is very well, Mrs Greville, thank you for inquiring."
"I did debate with myself whether or not to invite him, but then he would be rather bored with no host to keep him company after dinner. Besides my son told me that you wished to discuss a domestic problem with me, and you know how boring gentlemen find this kind of thing."
"Even your son?" Lucy asked.
"Even my son," Mrs Greville admitted. "James is an excellent man in many respects, but he does not take much interest in household concerns. On the other hand this leaves me with the freedom to do whatever I like with the house, safe in the knowledge that he will never object to anything I do."
"An admirable virtue," Lucy said, smiling.
"He has many admirable traits. I hope you will forgive me for singing his praises in your presence; please make allowances for a mother's feelings. When you have children of your own you will be able to sympathise with me, I am sure." Mrs Greville laughed, before she said, "We shall deal with your problem after dinner; it would be most unfitting to discuss such weighty matters on an empty stomach."
The dinner was an excellent one, as usual. Mrs Greville was a genial hostess and kept a generous table at all times. Lucy, who only rarely enjoyed a dinner of such excellent quality, genuinely enjoyed every bite she took and was content to restrict her conversation to such topics as could be discussed in the presence of servants. Besides having a butler, Mrs Greville also had two footmen who waited on them at table. Lucy was not used to such luxury; especially during a private dinner such as this it seemed almost excessive. Yet she could not even imagine Mrs Greville being content with anything less.
Once they had repaired to the drawing room, and sat down at a card table, Mrs Greville told Lucy that she had already found a solution to her problem.
"So soon?" Lucy said in disbelief. "I thought servants were scarce at the moment!"
"They are, but I am in a position to assist you. My housekeeper has a niece who is dissatisfied with her present position and who would be happy to alter it. She is currently employed in Mrs Langley's household, and apparently Mrs Langley does not have the skill of endearing herself to her dependants, nor does she wish to do so."
Lucy could readily believe that. However she was pretty certain that the maidservant in question would be unable to leave Mrs Langley's service at a moment's notice. Mrs Langley would insist that she stay until replacement could be found, and Lucy made a remark along these lines.
"I am sure the girl can leave within two weeks, which will be sooner than any other servant you may have from other sources," Mrs Greville told her. "From what my son told me I assumed that you wished for a quick solution to your problem."
"Absolutely, and I am very grateful for your assistance, Mrs Greville. If your housekeeper's niece wishes to work at Tetford Manor I shall be happy to give her a try. I am afraid, however, that the wages she will receive for her services will not be the same as Mrs Langley paid her. You are no stranger to my father's character, ma'am – do you think she will be satisfied with what he will give her?"
"Her new employers will be much more amiable than her present ones," Mrs Greville pointed out. "Believe me, considering the state the poor girl is in she would prefer to work for nothing to having to remain with the Langleys."
They decided that Lucy was to visit Mrs Greville again the day after tomorrow, to interview the girl who was willing to exchange a well-paid position in Mrs Langley's household to a less profitable one in Lucy's, and to see whether she would suit Lucy's requirements.
Mrs Greville being a lady who turned in early, the tea tray was brought in at nine o'clock, and after tea Lucy took her leave of her hostess, greatly appreciating the assistance Mrs Greville had offered her.
Meanwhile, James Greville was dining in a friend's lodgings in Brook Street. Upon having discovered that his old school friend was coming for a brief visit to the capital, Mr Reynolds had been adamant that Greville dine with him, for one rarely got the opportunity to catch up on each other's news otherwise. James had gratefully accepted the invitation, for he knew that if he'd been obliged to spend the evening by himself all he would have done was worry about Lucy. That way he could keep his mind occupied with other things – at least until he returned to the inn where he was going to spend the night.
James' friendship with Lucy was of many years' standing, for although Lucy's eldest brothers were several years younger than James he had often associated with them, as boys who were roughly of the same age and living in the same neighbourhood would. When his father had been carried off in his prime, not yet forty-nine years old, James had been deeply touched by his neighbour Sir Thomas Clarke's offer of assistance in business matters, and grateful for his valuable advice. James' mother, while she had many excellent qualities as a housewife, had no notion of managing an estate; and young though James had been he had not wanted to depend on others to see to his interests, having a shrewd notion that anyone doing so would value their own interests rather more highly than his. Sir Thomas, while a very eccentric gentleman, could not be accused of having a selfish purpose in the assistance he rendered James for there was nothing for him to gain by it. James had often followed Sir Thomas' instructions to find that they'd made perfect sense. Yet James did not approve of Sir Thomas' excessive ideas of moderation and household management; and he doubted that his mother would have submitted to these ideas if he had ever considered introducing them in his household at the Priory.
Lucy had always been there; first as a rather annoying little girl who always bossed her younger siblings around and later, after her mother's early death, a young girl with much more on her shoulders than she could possibly carry. James did not know when he had begun to see her as more than just a friend; when his friendship had grown into love.
Looking back, he suspected he'd been in love with her for two years at the very least, but not being the kind of man to rush a woman he'd decided to keep an eye on her, and to see how she reacted to his tentative advances. So far she had not reacted to them at all but had ignored them or, James feared, had not even noticed them for what they were. Lucy was much too busy to waste a moment on reflecting on the state of her own heart, or that of an old friend's. She seemed to be happy to leave everything as it had been all her life, and James was content to let her have her way, at least for the moment. But he knew that sooner or later he would be unable to keep his feelings to himself any longer. He was not going to wait until she had worked herself into the grave for her selfish father and her younger brothers and sisters; a thing that he very much feared was going to happen if she did not have someone to take care of her. James was perfectly willing to be that person; he wanted to offer her a home at the Priory, and to share her burden as far as she would let him. The question was whether she would permit it; whether she would accept the offer he was going to make her.
Luckily Reynolds was well able to take these thoughts temporarily from James' mind. His account of the many outrageous scrapes he had got into was highly entertaining, and although James silently wondered how a man at the ripe old age of six and twenty could still behave like an adolescent schoolboy he did not say so. His life was really very different from Reynolds', who lived for nothing but his own amusement and whose only concern was whether settling day at Tattersall's would run him off his legs this week or next. Reynolds often teased James about his sober lifestyle, but this teasing was of the good-natured kind that had never done any damage to their friendship.
Broughton's latest escapade was one of the things that Reynolds had regaled him with, and being much better acquainted with the minutiae of the case than Mrs Macclesfield, and not obliged to keep to the dictates of propriety, Reynolds told James much more than anyone in Tetford knew about the affair. It was a worrying story indeed, and James very much wished he had the right to protect Lucy from the advances of one of the basest of scoundrels. James did not doubt that Broughton would continue his lecherous way of life in Tetford; and from what Mrs Taylor had told his mother James knew that Lucy had already caught his eye. Maybe it was time for James to act, to make his feelings known to Lucy and to claim her as his bride. While James was not really convinced that this would stop Broughton he was fairly certain that it would give him pause, at any rate.
As he performed his errands in town the next morning James' mind was rarely away from Lucy. He had never feared that anything might happen to her in his absence, but then there had never been a man like Broughton in Tetford before. In fact, Broughton had always taken good care to stay away from his grandmother's home. Only now that he needed to lie low for a while and wait for the scandal to abate, he had had no other choice but to retreat to his formidable grandmother's home. James was quite sure that Broughton would be looking for amusement of the kind he'd enjoyed in Town, and Lucy, sweet, innocent Lucy, would fall a victim to that rakehell's schemes quite easily. She did not know how to deal with men like him.
There was some hope of Broughton settling for Miss Langley instead, but James was uncertain whether this was going to happen. Miss Langley was anything but sweet, nor did she possess Lucy's innocence of manner. She was shrewd enough to know that Broughton's reputation would reflect on her if she did not keep him at arm's length; that her chances of making an advantageous marriage would be non-existent if it became known that she had encouraged the advances of someone of Broughton's ilk. Besides Miss Langley had no more heart than a dressmaker's dummy; she was not going to fall in love with anyone unless it suited her purpose. James knew that Mrs Macclesfield had warned Lucy, but whether Lucy was able to fully understand what Broughton had done James doubted.
Once James had visited his man of business in the City and discussed with him some investments he wished to make, he set about the errands Lucy had entrusted him with. His first stop was at William Lane's Minerva Library in Leadenhall Street, where he presented one of the attendants with Lucy's letter and was surprised at the polite reception he encountered there. The proprietor of the establishment himself, no doubt a busy man, left his study to attend to James's wishes, and was most attentive. To all appearances Lucy was a favoured customer, which was strange, for as far as James knew she had never been to Town before, and even if she had she could hardly have spent a fortune at the Minerva Library. But Mr Lane told him that Miss Clarke was a good customer, and James was obliged to believe his assurances.
James also stopped outside Rundell and Bridge's premises, and for a moment he contemplated buying an engagement present for Lucy – only to decide against it. James was not superstitious, but for all he knew it might be bad luck to buy a betrothal gift before a betrothal had actually taken place. Besides, if Lucy really wanted to marry him – and he was not at all sure that this was going to happen – one of the first things he'd do was take her to London and buy her everything she could possibly wish for, and there was no reason why she should not select her own betrothal gift at Rundell and Bridge's.
Having performed his business in Town, he took a post chaise and four to Tetford. The temptation was great to stop at Tetford Manor and give Lucy the things he'd bought for her, but that would have left him without an opportunity to see her the next day. Until he had declared himself, he had better not arouse her suspicion by calling on her too often. There were probably many people in Tetford who already did suspect something – James was not always able to restrain himself in order to throw them off the scent, and so for the sake of Lucy's reputation he still kept up the pretence of paying regular visits to her father – and only seeing her if he had a good reason for doing so. Finding excuses was not easy, and James needed to be economical with them. Declaring himself would solve that problem too, at least, but James did not want to confess his feelings to Lucy before he could be fairly certain that she would consent to be his wife. And so he waited, spending a good part of every day thinking of an excuse to call on her, to see her, if only for a couple of minutes.
His mother knew of his intentions; she knew him like no one else did, and had noticed where the wind was blowing several months ago. She approved of his choice – she liked Lucy, thought her a sweet-tempered, hard-working girl, one who knew how to hold household and who would not find it difficult to manage the servants at the Priory. Both James and the Priory would be in good hands, Mrs Greville had said, and that outweighed Lucy's lack of fortune by far. It was not that Sir Thomas Clarke was a poor man, but one had to consider that he had eight children to provide for, which naturally made Lucy's marriage portion a genteel rather than generous one; and everyone knew Sir Thomas was not one to be parted from his money easily.
As James arrived at home, his mother was in her room dressing for dinner, and James followed her example, knowing that she did not like being kept waiting. After a quick wash – there was not enough time left for a proper bath – James slipped into his evening clothes and arrived in the drawing room only shortly after his mother had entered it.
"Well, my dear boy," she said once he had greeted her with a kiss on her cheek and a brief hug. "How was your visit to London? Did you get everything done?"
"I did," James told her. "Poulton thinks it is a good idea to invest my money in this scheme of Hillyard's in India, and so I have given him leave to make the necessary arrangements. There is little to no risk attached to it he thinks, and you know Poulton has always had a shrewd head on his shoulders when it came to business matters."
"I still hope you have not wagered all our fortune," his mother teased him. "No doubt workhouses are admirable institutions, but I much prefer the Priory."
James laughed. "I'd never put your comfort at risk, Mama, as you well know," he said. "Besides there is someone else's comfort I'd rather not hazard."
"Your own?" his mother guessed.
"You know exactly whose comfort I am talking about, ma'am," James said. "When I heard about Miss Langley's piece of impertinence at Taylor's I was determined that such a thing should never happen to Lucy again. She'll never lack anything once we are married, even if I have work my fingers off in order to achieve it."
"Let us hope then that this will not be necessary and that Mr Hillyard's India scheme will prosper."
At the dinner table, James' mother informed him that Lucy was coming to see her the next morning, to interview a maid that was to take Peggy's place.
"I thought this was preferable to the girl calling on Miss Clarke in her own home, which is something Mrs Langley might not like."
"But if the girl takes the position in Sir Thomas Clarke's household the circumstance will come to Mrs Langley's ears before long, and I am afraid she will not take kindly to having someone act behind her back and engaging her servants."
"Mrs Langley is not the kind of woman I go out of my way to please," Mrs Greville said coldly. "If she treated her servants better they would not be compelled to go to such lengths in order to get away. – You will escort Miss Clarke home, naturally."
"Certainly, ma'am." There was nothing James would rather do than spend some time alone with Lucy. He wondered if he'd have an opportunity to propose to her, and spent a very agreeable evening devising his speech for the occasion. Knowing himself the way he did, however, James feared that his courage would leave him at the last moment, and that the only things he'd be able to say to Lucy would be some meaningless polite phrases, and civil replies to whatever remarks she chose to make. At this rate, he was afraid, he'd never have a chance of winning her as his wife.
Lucy felt slightly heavy-eyed when she put on her spencer and bonnet and set out towards the Priory to meet Mrs Greville's housekeeper's niece. She'd spent nearly half the night writing a minute description of her hero and heroine's first meeting – the hero, a knight by the name of André de Courant, being locked up in one of the dungeons in Heloise's husband's castle and her happening to discover the dungeon in question. In spite of his rugged appearance, Heloise had recognised him as the young man who had won her heart the year before and had mysteriously disappeared soon afterwards. The meeting had everything Lucy's readers could possibly want – she kept them in constant fear of Bertrand discovering his wife's whereabouts, and the mutual confessions of love and offers to sacrifice one's own life for the other's safety were such as would bring tears to the eyes even of the most cynical of London matrons. Lucy was pleased with herself – her novel was progressing nicely, and she fully expected to finish it well before the deadline Mr Lane had given her.
As usual, Lucy was walking by herself. She'd always done so, and no one had ever censured her for doing so. Tetford was a small town, and a respectable one. While Lucy conceded that it would not do for her to walk in London without an attendant of some kind to escort her, she dispensed with a chaperon in her hometown, simply because there was no one at leisure to escort her. Miss Atterbury, who would have been the most suitable chaperon, was busy in the schoolroom and it would not do for her to leave the children without supervision. Her father, though easy-going in many things regarding their upbringing, did not tolerate them neglecting their lessons. Miss Atterbury received her wages for teaching his offspring, and he expected her to perform her lessons at regular hours every day except Sunday.
The housemaids were busy too, and so was Mrs Talbot. They had to take over Peggy's chores until Lucy had found replacement for her; taking them on a walk with her when they were already up to their necks in work was not a wise course of action, Lucy thought.
Unfortunately for her, walking on her own turned out to be an equally unwise decision, for as she passed Mrs Trevelyan's house Mr Broughton came out of the front door and immediately accosted her. Lucy tried to ignore him, but to no avail. Mr Broughton was not only an unsavoury character, he also lacked proper conduct. He insisted on escorting her, ignored her protests that she did not want him to, and made himself so odious that Lucy had to give up her plan of calling on Mrs Greville for the time being and seek refuge in the Vicarage. With some difficulty she succeeded in convincing Mr Broughton that she did not need his escort for her walk back to her father's house; no doubt Mrs Macclesfield would accompany her. Mrs Macclesfield was fond of walks and would go with Lucy with the greatest pleasure on earth, thank you very much all the same.
Mrs Macclesfield, upon perceiving who had escorted Lucy to her door was more than indignant; she had taken it into her head that being seen alone with Mr Broughton would do Lucy's reputation a great deal of harm, and she would not hear of Lucy continuing her walk to the Priory unattended.
"You need a maid to keep you company," she said. "I'd love to go myself, but I am afraid I cannot – you know my husband is expecting a visit from the Bishop, and the house is such a mess I dare not leave it even for a moment!"
"In that case you can ill spare a maid," Lucy protested.
"I do not doubt that Mrs Greville will provide you with an escort for your return journey," Mrs Macclesfield pointed out. "Or Mr Greville will drive you home in his curricle. At any rate they will make sure you come to no harm, and I entreat you, Lucy, since Mr Broughton appears to have taken a fancy to you, take heed! He is not to be trusted, and I think it is a most unfortunate circumstance that he should have taken a liking to you! There is no saying what he will do!"
While Lucy did not share Mrs Macclesfield's apprehensions regarding her reputation she agreed that Mr Broughton's attentions were not of the kind she meant to encourage. If she continued her walk alone, he might take this as some kind of encouragement to pester her with his attentions, and this she did not want. She therefore accepted Mrs Macclesfield's offer of sending one of her own maids along with her, and arrived at the Priory only a few minutes after she had meant to be there in the first place.
The fact that one of the vicarage maids had escorted Lucy did not escape Mrs Greville's notice, and once Lucy had finished her interview with the new maid – a girl named Rose – to the satisfaction of both, Mrs Greville wanted to know exactly how she had come to have a vicarage maid as an escort. Mrs Greville was not the kind of person to be lied to; she was one of those people who detected even the slightest fib in an instant, and being the kind lady that she was Lucy would have felt eternally ashamed of herself for even trying to deceive her. So Lucy had no choice but to tell her the truth, and Mrs Greville approved of Mrs Macclesfield's quick wit in sending one of her own maids along with Lucy to prevent further unpleasantness.
"It is most unfortunate that this man's arrival has made it impossible for a respectable young lady to go for a walk unmolested, but it seems that for as long as he is here you will have to change your habit and take someone with you when you go for your walks, Miss Clarke," Mrs Greville advised her. "As for today, my son will take you home."
"But Mrs Greville," Lucy protested. "Surely Mr Greville has more important things to do!"
"I hope I shall never see the day when my son has anything more important to do than helping out one of his friends," Mrs Greville replied. "Last night he seemed quite happy to oblige me when I asked him to drive you home in his curricle today; I trust he has not changed his mind. He meant to visit you anyway; I understand there was some business in Town that he had to deal with on your behalf."
This argument was indisputable, and so Lucy had no choice but to accept the offer. Mrs Greville rang a bell, told her footman to ask Mr Greville to join them in the drawing room, and to send word to the kitchen that they were going to have some tea.
"This Rose appears to be a trustworthy girl," Lucy said as they waited for James to come to them. "One who knows her work too. Naturally it is early days yet; we will see what she is really worth when she starts her work at the Manor. But it looks as if we will get along fairly well. I am much obliged to you for your help, Mrs Greville."
James came into the drawing room at that moment, and greeted Lucy with every sign of pleasure at seeing her.
"I hope you had a pleasant stay in London," Lucy said.
"Pleasant enough, Miss Clarke," he replied. "A successful one too – at least as far as your errands were concerned."
"Indeed? Have you found a gift for my brother then?"
"I did get a microscope for him. There is a small shop in Fleet Street whose merchandise would interest Peter if only he got to see it. If ever he comes to London it will be difficult to get him out of the place."
"He is not likely to be offered the treat," Lucy said sadly. "Papa disapproves of young men going to London. It teaches them extravagance, he says."
"Sir Thomas' fears are not unfounded, I must admit. Many young men have embarked on a path to ruin as soon as they came to London. Temptation is rife in the city, and not every man is able to resist it."
The earnestness in his tone of voice made Lucy smile. Sometimes James sounded much older than he was.
"I take it that you are able to resist it, Mr Greville," she said jokingly.
"Most of the time," James said, answering her smile with one of his own. "Depending on the temptation, naturally. But as far as temptation goes, Troughton's is harmless."
"Do you mean that you do not find its merchandise tempting, or that giving in to that particular temptation does not cause any harm?"
"The latter," James told her.
"In that case I will agree with you. – But as I said, I do not think Papa will ever allow Peter to spend any considerable time in London; he is much too worried he would find himself in bad company before long."
"There is a great deal of riotous behaviour going on among the students in Oxford and Cambridge," James told her. "Yet your father did not object to sending William and Robert there."
"But that was different," Lucy pointed out. "Where else can they receive proper education if not at university?"
"Very true; I presume however that a visit in Town is also a necessary part of a gentleman's education."
"Have you told my father so?"
"Frequently. We often discuss topics such as this one; I rarely succeed in convincing him however. Sir Thomas is very firm in his opinions."
Lucy suppressed a grin. It did not sound like criticism of her father's character; yet she feared that it was so. Sadly, Sir Thomas Clarke was a very stubborn man, and not likely to accept a younger man's opinions no matter how reasonable they were in comparison to his own. It was virtually impossible to make him move even an inch from his viewpoint; however she had often witnessed James doing just that. In fact, James was the only person she'd ever known to do so.
"I sincerely hope your visit to London offered you some amusement too," Lucy remarked. "It would be a sad thing if it had been a mere business visit, with no entertainment to relieve it."
"A friend invited me to dine with him," James told her. "So I had a pleasant evening with Reynolds in his lodgings. As you know I only stayed for one night; there is not much entertainment to be got during such a short stay I am afraid."
"Poor Mr Greville! You must stay longer the next time you get to London."
James laughed. "Do you wish to be rid of me, Miss Clarke? How horrid of you!"
"I am a horrid person," Lucy retorted.
"It goes against the grain with me to contradict a lady, but you are not," James said, looking rueful. "Nor should you ever say so. Horrid persons do not look after their families the way you do. When, I ask you, was the last time you did something simply because it gave you pleasure, and not because it was necessary for you to do it, or because some member of your family wished you to do it?"
He sounded earnest, and deserved a proper and honest answer, but Lucy found it difficult to answer his question. She simply did not know, and after thinking for what seemed half an eternity she told him just that.
"You must learn to be more selfish, Miss Clarke," James recommended.
"I second that notion," Mrs Greville said. "You are doing your duty by your family, which is most laudable, but your family would not suffer if you did occasionally forget about being dutiful and just be the young girl that you are. Act your age, Miss Clarke; you'll have plenty of time to act like a middle-aged matron when you are one."
Lucy laughed. "Thank you, Mrs Greville," she said. "Do you think I lead such a drab existence? I do not, I assure you. I am content with the way things are going – for the most part, that is," she added when she saw James's expression of disbelief. "Do not tell me that you are always happy with your life – surely there are things to vex you too, sometimes."
"At times, yes," James admitted.
They drank their tea, and then James sent word to the stables to have the horses put to and the curricle brought to the front door. He dispensed with his groom's services, assisted Lucy in getting into the carriage and then took his seat next to her, taking the reins. Lucy watched him drive; he was very skilled at handling the reins and Lucy envied him his skill. The most she could aspire to was driving her father's gig, but even that was something she did not often do, mainly because her father only rarely allowed her to drive. He did not think ladies should drive, and usually objected when Lucy wanted the gig for herself. Most of the time she walked, or, if she had to cover a greater distance and did not wish to trouble the coachman, she rode her horse.
"Something is troubling you, Lucy," James remarked.
"Nonsense," Lucy retorted. "Nothing is troubling me."
"How long have we known each other?" James asked her sternly. "Do you really think you can fob me off like this? What is it, Lucy? What worries you so much?"
"It's Peter," Lucy told him, not wishing to tell James about Mr Broughton's attempt to become acquainted with her.
"Is he ill?"
"No; he is his usual hale and hearty self. All the children are, thank God. But I have been worrying what is to become of him; he is so very different from William and Robert and I am not sure he will do well in university. He is not much of a scholar, I am afraid, and will be bored, and instead of minding his book he will get into trouble and enrage Papa."
"Peter is twelve; he will not go to university for a while yet," James pointed out.
"I know, but do you think his problems with learning will improve until he does? I have little hope that this is going to happen, and I am beginning to doubt that this is the path he is meant to take. Only I do not know what he could do instead, or what profession he might be interested in, or whether Papa would approve of it if Peter thought of some profession he might like."
"Have you spoken to Peter about this?" James wanted to know. "What does he have to say to the matter?"
"I have not yet brought the matter up with him; I fear he'd take it for granted I'd support his ambitions if I asked him about them, and I do not want him to be disappointed if Papa then tells him that there is no way for him to achieve them. I did mention the matter to my father, of course, but our discourse was disappointing to say the least. Papa does not mean to buy Peter a commission in the army, and he knows no one in the navy who could be persuaded to take Peter along with him, and he more or less ordered me to leave the matter to him and not to meddle. I am afraid my father wants Peter to turn to the law, and I fear there is nothing that would bore him more."
"No, the law will not do for Peter," James agreed. "What he needs is an occupation that suits his scientific interests. What about medicine? There are some perfectly respectable practitioners in Town; I do not think Sir Thomas would object to Peter becoming one of them."
Lucy had never thought of that possibility, but she admitted that James' idea had merit. Peter, though not much of a classical scholar, took much interest in everything that had anything to do with science; medicine might be a line of study that appealed to him. The question was whether her father would agree with that notion. Was the medical profession genteel enough for a son of Sir Thomas Clarke's? Lucy was not sure that her father would seriously consider the idea if she brought it up. While he trusted her – well, almost trusted her – to keep house for him, he did not credit her with much intelligence beyond that. Lucy suspected that he'd object to her interfering with her brothers' upbringing.
"Maybe I should mention it to your father next time I visit him," James remarked.
"Would he listen to you if you did?"
"He'd listen to what I have to say, but I'm not certain whether he will follow my advice. It is worth a try, however."
It was, Lucy had to admit. If her father listened to anyone, that person was James. Coming to think of it, James had often intervened when Lucy had been particularly exasperated by something her father had said or done. It was odd, really. For a moment Lucy wondered whether there was anything behind James' solicitude on her behalf, but banished the thought from her mind immediately. James was an old trusted friend; it was no wonder that he did his best to assist her. She'd do the same for him at any time. He was just being kind; that was all.
James stayed to see how Peter liked his gift, and Peter's reaction to the present James had bought for him left nothing to be desired. He was delighted, leafed through the book on microscopy James had brought him from his own library, and exclaimed at the quality of the pictures. He promised Lucy to work hard on his Latin lessons in exchange for some opportunities to use his new microscope, and thanked James for having procured it for him. Then, with Miss Atterbury's permission, he retired to the window seat in the school room to read, and no doubt would put his new toy to good use before long. Lucy then went downstairs with James, and offered him some refreshment which he declined. He had some business with his steward to attend to, he told her, and had better return home as soon as possible.
"Will I meet you at the assembly the day after tomorrow?" he asked, stopping at the door and looking at her almost pleadingly.
"Mrs Macclesfield has invited me to accompany her there, so yes, we will meet," Lucy promised.
"Good. Will you dance the first two dances with me then?" he wanted to know. "Or has some other fellow stolen a march on me and already asked you?"
"No, there is still room on my dance card for you," Lucy laughed. "The first two dances are yours."
"I'm looking forward to the dance then," James said earnestly, and took his leave of her.
Lucy returned to the schoolroom, where she sat listening to her brothers and sisters' lessons and working on her evening dress. Her new one would not be finished for some time, but she had found some lace on one of her mother's old gowns which she could use to furbish up her old one. It would have to do for the assembly, but Lucy was heartily sick of the sight of it and could not wait until the new evening gown was finished. She would not admit it even to herself, but deep inside she knew that Miss Langley's malicious comment had injured her more than she cared to admit. It had almost made her consider buying some new fabric for a dress at Taylor's shop; only she did not want Miss Langley to think that her opinion weighed with her in the least, and apart from that she did not want to spend hours explaining to her father how she had contrived to save enough money to do so without him reducing her housekeeping money the next quarter. Whoever had said that men did not know one gown from another had never made Sir Thomas Clarke's acquaintance.
After dinner, when her father had retired to the library and her younger sisters had gone to bed, Lucy was at leisure to work on her novel again. She created an affecting farewell scene between her hero and heroine. Heloise, willing to give up her own life, heart and peace of mind in exchange for her lover's safety, tried to persuade him to leave her before her husband discovered that his prisoner had escaped from the dungeon. André, however, disliked the notion of leaving his love behind, in the hands of a villain, and would not hear of leaving Bertrand's castle without Heloise.
"But I have a duty to my husband," entreated Heloise. "Nothing will be more certain to bring his wrath upon your head than my following you! We will never be safe from him if I go with you!"
"Oh why was I not there to fly with you before this dreadful marriage ceremony took place," André lamented. "Must I really leave you thus, in the hands of my worst enemy? Must I never hold you in my arms, my sweet love?"
"Alas, I am afraid it is so," Heloise wept. "Never will there be another in my heart; you are my one and only love – may you be thousands of miles away! Now go; leave this place and forget I ever lived!"
"Forget you ever lived!" André stared at Heloise, scarcely believing the testimony of his own ears. "But how can I?"
"You must, for your sake as well as mine! My future is decided; there is nothing you can do to render my fate less miserable! My only comfort is that you shall be living somewhere safe, far away where my cruel husband cannot reach you! Do not deny me this comfort, I beg you!"
Heloise's anxiety could not fail but touch André's heart; he took her hand and pressed it fervently. "If this is what you wish, oh noblest of women, it shall be so!" he cried, with tears in his eyes. "Farewell, then! Farewell, my love, but do not expect me ever to forget you! Can a man forget about the sun, the light of his life?"
The sound of hoof beats in the outer bailey made Heloise almost swoon with apprehension; she urged André to go before Bertrand returned to the castle; indeed she feared he had already done so; would find them and render André's escape impossible. She led André to the entrance of the secret passage leading to the monastery in the valley, where she knew Father Antoine, her confessor, would receive André and make sure he found his way to safety. Another gentle squeeze of her hand, and André was gone, while Heloise made use of the secret stairs to return to her own apartment, praying that Bertrand would not discover the absence of his prisoner before André had reached the safety of Father Antoine's abode.
Lucy did not doubt that this scene would appeal to her readers; it was what Madame de Léon's audience wanted, and Lucy was most willing to give it to them. A satisfied audience was one who kept buying her novels, and would give her a constant source of income. She wondered what Mrs Macclesfield would say once she read this passage – Lucy did not doubt that her friend would read it; Mrs Macclesfield was one of Madame de Léon's greatest admirers.
The question now was how Bertrand would react to his rival's escape. This question kept Lucy awake for a while, but she fell asleep without finding an answer to it. She would just have to wait until Bertrand himself offered a solution to the problem; sometimes her characters were quite active in her imagination and told her exactly how they wanted the story to continue. Not that she wanted Bertrand to have his way; her hero and heroine would get their happy ending, it was what her readers expected of her. No one wanted the villain to stay married to the heroine, with the hero dying of a broken heart. Nor, Lucy felt, would it be fitting for the hero to kill the villain – there were some moral objections to the hero marrying the heroine after having murdered her husband. Bertrand must meet his end at someone else's hands, not André's. Lucy wondered how to accomplish that, without making matters too easy for Heloise and André.
No solution to the problem had presented itself until the following morning. Lucy continued to work on her evening gown, and after luncheon went into the garden for a stroll in the sun before sitting down with her household accounts, which she knew her father would wish to see at the end of the month, as usual. It was in the garden that her friend Mrs Macclesfield found her, and together they were making their way to the shrubbery at the end of the parterre.
"I have done it," Mrs Macclesfield announced once the latest village gossip had been dealt with.
"You have done what, Mrs Macclesfield?" Lucy replied, laughing at the sudden air of importance in her friend's demeanour.
"I have invited my brother-in-law to visit us for a couple of weeks," Mrs Macclesfield told her. "I sent him the letter this morning."
"Mr Macclesfield will be glad to see his brother again, I am sure," Lucy said.
"Oh, but is not for him that I have invited Charles," Mrs Macclesfield protested. "I have invited him because I want you to become acquainted with him!"
"My dear Mrs Macclesfield, I did tell you not to invite your brother-in-law for my sake!" Lucy told her. "I am sure you mean well, but knowing you have invited him for no other purpose than to meet me I will die of embarrassment once he does arrive!"
"You need not; I did not mention a word of it in my letter to him," Mrs Macclesfield soothed her. "I know better than that. Charles Macclesfield is a confirmed bachelor, and does not take kindly to any matchmaking attempts of mine."
Mr Charles Macclesfield appeared to Lucy to be a man of considerable sense. "I do not blame him," she said.
"But only think, Lucy! We could be sisters! Would it not be lovely if he fell in love with you?"
"I dare say it would be, but please do not try to bring it about, Mrs Macclesfield! You have invited your brother-in-law; now let nature run its course! If he does take a fancy to me, and I take a fancy to him, very well, but I do hope you will not try to interfere if we do not act according to your plans."
"You would make such a charming couple," Mrs Macclesfield insisted.
"It is very kind of you to think so, but please promise me not to make any further attempts of throwing any eligible bachelors in my way! As I told you, I find it most embarrassing!"
"This almost sounds as if you do not wish to be married!" Mrs Macclesfield cried.
"I am twenty-one years of age; I'd say there is plenty of time for me to find a husband for myself," Lucy said.
"Not as much as you might think! If you went to London for the Season you would find that most debutantes are younger than you; in fact at your age you must be considered to be on the shelf already!"
"A lowering thought," Lucy admitted. "Yet I do not despair of finding someone to marry one day."
"Who knows? It might be Charles!" Mrs Macclesfield said.
"Who knows indeed? If it is so, I shall be eternally grateful to you, but if it is not I hope you will accept my decision and refrain from trying to press another candidate on me."
"I promise," Mrs Macclesfield said. "If you should happen to dislike Charles, which, frankly, I do not think possible, I will refrain from further attempts at matchmaking. – We will come and pick you up tomorrow at eight o'clock. Will this suit you?"
"This will suit me perfectly," Lucy assured her friend.
However, early the following morning, just as Lucy was getting out of bed, there was a knock on her bedroom door, and Nurse came in, bearing grave news. Both Toby and Elizabeth had developed a fever during the night, and while Nurse indignantly asserted herself to be the most suitable person to take care of them, the children wished Lucy to attend to them, for they were fond of Lucy's stories. Perceiving that she would be needed to take turns with Nurse, apart from the fact that she could not enjoy herself at an assembly knowing that her two youngest siblings were sick, Lucy wrote a note to Mrs Macclesfield informing her of this fresh domestic disaster, and excusing herself from attending the ball with her. She then went to the nursery, to look in on the patients and amuse them with a long story involving a dashing knight named Sir Toby, and a princess – her Royal Highness naturally bearing the name of Elizabeth – who depended on the gallant Sir Toby to rescue her from various perils too dreadful to name. Maybe, Lucy thought ruefully, she might even be able to come up with a solution to her plot problem during the long night watch by her brother and sister's bedside.
James arrived in Tetford's Assembly Room at the local inn early; he was looking forward to dancing with Lucy, and even had some hope of taking her outside after the dance, to tell her how he was feeling about her. He had talked to Sir Thomas, who had given his consent to the marriage, and who had promised not to speak to Lucy about the offer until James himself had made his intentions known to her. In fact, Sir Thomas had been very happy to hear that James wanted to marry Lucy – although, James reflected, his reasons for being so were mostly of a selfish kind. It would be convenient to have his eldest daughter comfortably established not far from her father's home, Sir Thomas had said – convenient for the father in question, James assumed, for he doubted Lucy would find it convenient as well. Besides, James suspected, Sir Thomas relished the match for his daughter because he knew James was well off and would not press him for Lucy's dowry. James had no need of Lucy's money, and Sir Thomas was confident that James was not going to insist on immediate payment of her fortune if Lucy married him.
Ever since he'd spoken to Sir Thomas about his matrimonial plans, James had been rehearsing what he was going to say to Lucy. He was planning to take her outside to catch a breath of fresh air after the first two dances, to confess what had been on his mind for the past months, to tell her that he loved her and, finally, to ask her to become his wife.
A shower of rain as his carriage took him and his mother to the Royal Oak Inn put an end to that particular ambition of his; he could hardly take Lucy out of doors for fresh air into the pouring rain. He wanted to propose to her; he was not planning to give her a cold, or worse, an inflammation of the lungs.
James' disappointment was great when, upon entering the assembly room at the inn, he found that Lucy was not there. He only waited until he'd found a comfortable chair for his mother before he went in search of Lucy, and finding Mrs Macclesfield sitting in one corner talking to one of her neighbours he approached her immediately. Luckily Mrs Macclesfield did not need much prompting on his part – too eager was she to make known her grief of having been robbed of her companion.
"It is not right that Miss Clarke should be obliged to attend to these matters," she complained. "Indeed, she should be enjoying herself!"
"I doubt Miss Clarke could enjoy herself knowing that her brother and sister are suffering from an illness," James remarked. "The children are not seriously ill, I hope?"
"A feverish cold, according to Miss Clarke," Mrs Macclesfield told him. "Too troublesome; I know the poor dears cannot help it, but they do choose the most inconvenient moments for falling ill!"
James agreed with Mrs Macclesfield. Like that lady he deplored the fact that Lucy's brother and sister should be falling ill on this of all days, but unlike her he did not blame Lucy for staying at home to look after them. Yet his evening was more or less ruined – the only purpose he had had in mind was impossible to achieve now; he'd have to bear with Miss Langley's intolerable toadying instead. Life was not fair. James knew of course that Lucy would be in no mood to listen to his professions of love the next day; he would have to defer his proposal until later, when Toby and Elizabeth had recovered. Although, James thought bitterly, by then they had probably managed to pass on their illness to their siblings, and Lucy would wear herself to skin and bone looking after them. She would make an excellent mother one day, although James hoped she would have some time to relax and just be herself before she would be called on to perform that duty.
The evening was just as insipid as James had feared when he had discovered that Lucy had been obliged to stay at home. He took care to dance with as many of the young ladies as possible, even with Miss Langley, if only to allay the suspicions of some of the town gossips – Mrs Macclesfield was not the only inhabitant of Tetford who took a lively interest in her neighbours' concerns – and was all solicitude when his mother wished to return home shortly after midnight, claiming fatigue.
"Thank you, ma'am," James said as their carriage took them back to the Priory. "The evening was becoming insupportable, don't you agree?"
"It was not as bad as that, although I perceive why you may have thought so," Mrs Greville said, smiling. "Never mind, James. There will be other dances, and you will be able to speak to her sooner or later."
"Mrs Macclesfield mentioned her brother-in-law," James said bitterly. "And something she said makes me fear that she has invited him for no other purpose but to make a match between him and Lucy Clarke."
"It will not be possible for her to do so unless Miss Clarke feels an inclination to marry Mr Macclesfield," his mother pointed out to him. "In which case I dare say you are better off without her."
It was not quite what James wished to hear, but he had to admit that there was a great deal of good sense in what his mother had said. Much though he loved Lucy, and although he feared her marriage to another man would break his heart, he knew that unless it was her own wish to marry him he did not want her to do so.
Too bad that she had not been at the dance, he thought – if she had been he might have been able to draw her aside, and propose to her, and if she'd said yes she would have been betrothed to him before Mr Charles Macclesfield's arrival in Tetford. In that case James would not have had anything to worry about. As it was, James could only hope that this Charles Macclesfield would turn out to be either highly unattractive or disagreeable; preferably both. James did not overrate his own charms; he was afraid that a handsome and charming stranger might well turn Lucy's head and leave him without a chance to win her. Mr Charles Macclesfield was welcome to stay at the Tetford vicarage for as long as he liked, provided he either took no interest in Lucy Clarke or was so unattractive as to leave Lucy's heart untouched. Broughton was enough trouble to deal with in James' opinion.
James Greville was not the only one for whom the assembly at the Royal Oak had not lived up to their expectations. Jane Langley shared his opinion of the evening, though for different reasons. She had hoped to charm Mr Greville, but he had been most unresponsive to her charms. To say the truth, his manner towards her had been cold and distant; as had been the conduct of most people present. Miss Langley resented this; she was the undoubted leader of fashion in Tetford and deserved better treatment than this! She had noticed a change in people's attitudes towards her of late; ever since she had run into Miss Clarke and her odious sisters in Taylor's shop. Mrs Taylor, that incorrigible gossip, must have regaled the entire town with the tale of the set-down she had given the Clarkes, and for some reason or other the gossips of Tetford had disapproved of her conduct. Jane found nothing wrong with it; the Clarkes were dowdy creatures, all of them; she had said nothing but the truth. One could trust the gossips to twist the occurrence out of all recognition, just for the sake of a good story to be shared with one's neighbours. So while Miss Langley knew she had been perfectly right in saying that the Clarkes were the Tetford village dowds, it must have made the townspeople turn against her. It was that horrid Miss Clarke's fault, of course; Miss Clarke with her prim and proper manners, and her oh so devoted care for her family was just the kind of person whose side people would take. Was Jane Langley the only one who saw Miss Clarke for what she really was?
Miss Langley did not care much for public opinion; the only person whose opinion of her really mattered was Mr Greville, for Jane had decided for herself that he would be the man to take her out of that dull village. Her mother had told her that she had no chance of ever being allowed to join the fashionable set in London; a lowly physician's daughter would never be accepted – unless, of course, she married a man whose position was one of the first respectability; a man like Mr Greville. He would be able to give her what she craved – a life in London, among Polite Society. There'd be balls, theatre and opera visits, rout parties, card parties; she'd be able to shop in all the fashionable warehouses and become a leader of fashion, but most of all, she would be able to leave Tetford and its dullness behind her and live. All this might happen, if it were not for Miss Clarke.
It had not escaped Miss Langley's notice that Mr Greville's face had fallen considerably the moment Mrs Macclesfield had informed him of Miss Clarke's absence at the ball. He had obviously expected to find her there; or even worse – he had wished to see her there. After that he'd been quite listless, which had made Miss Langley almost fear that he had taken Miss Clarke's absence very much to heart. Mr Greville was known to be fond of the Clarke family – was he especially fond of the eldest daughter? Something had to be done to change that before Lucy Clarke bagged the largest prize the Tetford matrimonial market had on offer. Miss Langley had to find a way to turn James Greville's attention away from Miss Clarke and towards her instead.
If only she could discover something derogatory about Miss Clarke, something that would make it impossible for a respectable man to even think of marrying her. Maybe she should set Broughton on to Lucy Clarke – he had shown some interest in her; he possessed good looks and considerable address. It was not impossible that Miss Clarke would fall victim to his charms, and ruin herself in the process. However, Miss Langley placed no great amount of confidence in the scheme. While Broughton might not lack willingness to start an affaire with Miss Clarke it was doubtful whether Miss Clarke would oblige him. There had to be something else – if only Jane knew how to find out about Miss Clarke's secret failings; something that was sure to disgust Greville and make him abandon any plans he might have in that direction. Once that was done, Jane Langley would be there and offer him comfort – in return for marriage naturally. She'd soon make him forget Lucy Clarke, as much was certain. No one, absolutely no one could prefer Miss Clarke to her, Jane Langley. It was just not possible.
Luck would have it that her mother offered her an excellent opportunity to keep an eye on Lucy Clarke and everything she did. One of their maids had handed in her notice, Mrs Langley complained, and the worst of it was that the creature was about to work for Sir Thomas Clarke instead. Sir Thomas, who, as everyone knew, paid his servants beggarly wages, was to be preferred to the Langleys, who were the most generous and considerate employers alive! Whatever the villagers would say once word got around! It was not to be borne!
That evening, when Anne, the maid, assisted Jane in getting ready for bed, Jane made use of the opportunity and expressed her regret at losing so invaluable a lady's maid. She lamented the fact that Anne had not previously told her about her intentions, stating that surely she would have been able to remedy whatever it was that Anne had been discontented with. Anne made no reply to this; Jane did not expect her to.
"I do not believe your wages in Sir Thomas' household will be equal to what my mother paid you," she said after a pause. "I have always been highly satisfied with your work, and I think there is an errand or two which you may perform for me now and then if you are at all interested in improving your income."
Just as Jane had expected, Anne was most interested. While she had not really got along with Jane's mother, she had never had any problems with Miss Jane, and said, "If I can be of service I should be glad to, Miss."
Jane was not going to put her cards on the table just now, but she told Anne that she would let her know as soon as she needed anything, and wished her good fortune with her new position. In cases like this, one needed to tread warily so as not to rouse suspicion. But a spy in the Clarke household was just what she needed, and it would not be long until she made use of Anne's presence in Tetford Manor.
© 2010 Copyright held by the author.