Cuckoo Children
It was late, but Lord Metfield
had not gone to bed yet. He wanted to see Bernadine -- the one person who could
answer all his questions regarding Isabelle and the children, and how they had
fared all that time. He knew, or thought he knew, why Isabelle had left him. In
her letter, Isabelle had also told him why she had not come back. But she had
refrained from telling him what she had done all those years, where she had
been, what kind of friends she had had.... there were hundreds of things he
wanted to know.
Bernadine came immediately when
he sent for her. She still looked very much the same, he thought, although her
hair was grey now. There had only been some grey streaks in her hair when he
had last seen her.
He greeted her, and offered her
a seat. Bernadine sat down, and said, "You haven't changed much."
"Neither have you,"
Lord Metfield said with a laugh. "You will not notice my changes at first
sight, but I am different from what I was. I've grown up,
Bernadine."
"I can't blame you for
changing," Bernadine said. "What that foolish girl did to you was
unpardonable. You did not deserve that."
Lord Metfield had expected
anything but that candid disapproval of what Isabelle had done. Bernadine had
always been loyal to her, after all.
"But perhaps I did,"
he said with a sigh, feeling he ought to defend Isabelle. "Perhaps I
did."
"No," Bernadine said
sharply. "No one should be punished so severely for a word spoken in
anger."
"She was not foolish,"
Lord Metfield said, reflecting what Bernadine had said and finding some truth
in it -- just enough truth to provide him with some comfort.
"Not as a rule, no,"
Bernadine said. "But in that particular matter she was -- more than
foolish. I told her so often enough, and she did see my point."
Lord Metfield, who had often
seen Bernadine scold his wife, did not doubt that. One did not argue with
Bernadine.
"Yet you stayed with
her," he said.
"I couldn't let her down,
could I?" Bernadine retorted. "The poor stupid girl, pregnant with a pair
of twins -- I suspected that long before she did -- in a country she didn't know,
even though her parents had been born and raised there. How far would she have
got, had it not been for me? How long would she have lasted?"
"I owe you the deepest
gratitude for staying with her, Bernadine," Lord Metfield said. "If
there is anything I could do in return for this..."
"There isn't."
Bernadine said matter-of-factly, and Lord Metfield knew this was true. One
could not repay years of devoted service -- not with money, anyway, which was
the only thing he could offer.
"She really did not know
she was expecting?" he asked, after a short pause. "I have been
wondering, ever since I had her letter...that she might have known."
"She had no idea,"
Bernadine said. "As I said, I suspected it before she did."
"Are you sure?"
"I am sure. She had a shock
when I suggested it."
"It is only.... Lord Metfield
stopped for a moment, wondering whether he should tell Bernadine or not, but
then decided that Bernadine was, most likely, well acquainted with what his
quarrel with Isabelle had been about.
"The reason for our last quarrel suggests that she did know, or at least
suspect she was pregnant," he said.
"Be assured. She
didn't." Bernadine said. "It's just coincidence, my lord."
Was it? Lord Metfield had to be
satisfied with never knowing for certain. Their last quarrel had been about
money; Isabelle had accused him of wasting it, of behaving as if he were still
single, of disregarding that he was no longer answerable only to himself. Lord
Metfield, who had always had to answer for every single penny he had
spent, had resented the accusation -- especially since the quarrel had started
because he had given Isabelle an expensive present.
Single men did not spend their
money on presents for ladies -- at least he had never been that sort. He
had not expected a diatribe of such dimensions for buying his wife a gift, and
his reaction to her scold had been only natural -- disappointment, and anger. In
retrospect, he had to admit that a pregnant woman worried about her children's
future would have a valid reason to reproach her husband for wasting money that
would soon be needed. Yet, why should a pregnant woman -- a penniless woman,
too, for her father's savings had not got Isabelle very far -- leave a husband
whose income would have provided her and her children with everything they
needed? He had had two thousand a year, which was no paltry sum. It would have
enabled him to support a family.
"It is late,
Bernadine," he finally said, when he noticed Bernadine was stifling a
yawn. "I am sorry for keeping you up and about for so long. Good
night." He smiled. "We shall talk about Isabelle some more, for there
is much I want to know -- but not tonight."
Bernadine seemed grateful to be
allowed to go off to bed and find some sleep. Lord Metfield, too, went to his
bedchamber, but it was long before he could rest. His children were with him
now -- but what he was to do with them, he did not know.
The next morning made things a
bit clearer. By the time Laurent and Alice had got up, Lord Metfield had
already made some decisions. It was imperative that both his children learned
accomplishments that were demanded of young people of their order. Isabelle had
not owned any horses, so neither Laurent nor Alice was able to ride, let alone
drive. For a young lady and gentleman confined to a country estate, this would
not do.
Laurent's tutor would have to
spend some days with him to find out whether his knowledge was enough to allow
him to go to university yet, or whether he needed some further preparation.
That he would attend university was certain, though which one it would
be, Lord Metfield did not know yet. Perhaps he would leave the choice to
Laurent.
Alice was to make her debut in
London the following year, and she would have to learn many things her mother
had, most likely, not taught her -- the rules of society were strict for young
ladies, and Lord Metfield did not want his daughter to be criticised, pitied,
or made fun of. Alice needed to make a hit -- if only to prove that her mother
had been as much of a lady as those who had looked down on her.
Such were his plans for his
children, but while Laurent was quite happy to go along with his father's
plans, Alice was not. She saw her father had a point as far as her equestrian
abilities were concerned, and expressed a readiness to learn in that particular
field. As far as her accomplishments were concerned, however, she found those
her mother had imparted on her quite sufficient. In her opinion, there was no
reason for her to expand the -- admittedly -- large list of accomplishments she
already had. Matters of precedence, or the correct way to curtsey to royalty,
was not at the top of her list of priorities. Lord Metfield decided to humour
her for a while, and talk the matter over with Mrs. Trevor. He trusted she
would be able to bring her reluctant pupil about.
Alice's first morning at
Metfield Hall did not start well, and so it was small wonder that she did not
cooperate with her father's wishes by the time she met him at the breakfast
table. She had been woken up by a sound in her dressing room, and when she had
got out of bed to enquire what was going on, she had found Nell, taking all her
dresses from her wardrobe.
"Just what do you think you
are doing?" she had asked Nell. The morning was not her favourite time of
day, and she did not relish finding people in her room who had not been invited
-- especially not if they seemed intent on taking her things.
"Good morning, my
lady," Nell had said, curtseying and looking immensely guilty. "Mrs.
Trevor said she wanted to have a look at your gowns, ma'am. She said that your
father was going to take you to a visit at the Dower House, and wanted you to
make a good impression."
"Tell Mrs. Trevor that I
have been in the habit of choosing clothes for myself ever since I was
five," Alice had said angrily, and, when Nell had hesitated, had added,
"Now off you go!"
At breakfast, Alice was able to
keep her temper in check as long as her father, Mr. Blake and Laurent were
keeping them company, but the moment they had left the breakfast parlour to
discuss business and Laurent's academic career, Alice saw no reason to hold
back her anger and confronted Mrs. Trevor with what had happened in the
morning.
Mrs. Trevor did not deny she had
sent Nell to Alice's room to look over her dresses.
"Your father wishes to
present you to your grandmother today, Lady Alice, and naturally he wishes you
to make a good impression," she said calmly. "All I wanted to do was
to discuss your apparel with you -- I did not mean to order you about, merely to
offer my advice. One gets only one chance for a first impression, and since the
Dowager Countess is none too happy about your arrival, we must take pains to
reconcile her to your presence."
"Why do I have to pay her a
visit if she does not wish to see me and I have no desire to make her
acquaintance?" Alice asked. "Why put us all through this?"
"She is family," Mrs.
Trevor pointed out. "One must pay proper respect to one's elders, Lady
Alice. I cannot believe your mother did not teach you that."
"My mother," Alice
said heatedly, "taught me to respect those who deserved my esteem, no
matter whether they were family or not. -- But very well. I will go to
see my grandmother today, to oblige my father."
"Good." Mrs. Trevor
smiled. "Then let us go upstairs and choose your dress, shall we? By the
way, after hearing that your wardrobe consists mainly of mourning clothes, your
father has desired me to take you to Weymouth tomorrow, to purchase some -- shall
we say, less sober - garments for you."
Alice did not see the point of
buying new clothes when she had a set of almost new clothes in her wardrobe,
but decided it was not a matter worth arguing about. Going to Weymouth would
mean getting away from the house and seeing some of the country she was going
to live in, and that prospect made her look forward to shopping for clothes
under Mrs. Trevor's aegis with something like equanimity.
It took Alice and Nell about two
hours until Mrs. Trevor was pleased with the picture Alice presented, and about
an hour more until Alice's curtseys passed muster. Her father's impatience
saved Alice from Mrs. Trevor's well-meant directions -- he sent a servant to
tell her to hurry, for the horses had already been put-to.
"Oh dear, I had no idea it
was so late already," Mrs. Trevor exclaimed and, hurrying downstairs
alongside Alice, gave her some pieces of last-minute advice.
Lord Metfield waited in the
drawing room, and Laurent was with him -- beaming at Alice as she entered the
room. While they got into the carriage, he asked her to walk in the garden with
him later.
"What is it?" Alice
asked, wondering what Laurent wanted. He did not oblige her with a satisfactory
answer.
"No, not yet," he said
with a grin. "I'll tell you what it is when we're among ourselves. Just as
much -- coming here was the best thing we ever did!"
Alice was unable to agree with
her brother on that score, but did not say so. During the short drive from
Metfield Hall to the Dower House, nobody said anything. Her father, Alice
thought, looked rather despondent and anxious, though she could not imagine why
he should be so.
Upon their arrival at the Dower
House, they were led to a large drawing room on the ground floor of the
building. Alice liked the Dower House better than the vast Hall -- it seemed
more home-like. It was furnished tastefully, and when the butler opened the
door to the drawing room Alice preferred it to the one where she had spent the
previous evening. It was much cosier, she thought, which was strange, for the
two ladies waiting for their visitors were anything but welcoming.
From the moment Alice first set
eyes on them, she could sense their hatred. Both of them treated the twins with
cold civility, and they did not seem overjoyed with Lord Metfield's visit
either.
Lady Metfield was sitting in a
Bath chair next to the fire, wrapped in blankets and shawls. She allowed her
son to kiss her hand without any comment, and listened to his introduction of
the twins without giving any sign of emotion.
"So your mother is
dead?" she finally asked Alice. "How did it happen?"
Strangely enough, she did seem
to take an interest in Alice's description of her mother's fatal illness -- more
than that. There was something like eagerness and satisfaction in her
grandmother's expression, and Alice wondered just how much Lady Metfield
had hated her daughter-in-law. This did not bode well, she thought.
With a piercing look at Laurent,
Lady Metfield remarked, "At least, no one can call him a cuckoo's
egg. He is the picture of what you were, at his age."
"I quite agree," Lord
Metfield said with a faint smile.
"How old is he now?"
Lady Metfield seemed to have forgotten that the twins were there. She certainly
talked as if she were alone with her son.
"Nineteen," Lord
Metfield said.
"Take care," Lady
Metfield said viciously. "Another two years and he might run off with an
opera girl."
"I hope my son will never
have cause to run off, Ma'am," Lord Metfield said calmly,
swallowing his mother's insult. Alice decided that her grandmother was a nasty
old woman, the kind one better avoided. Not that her aunt was any better.
"I can see you are in
mourning," she said sweetly. "For how long will you be wearing your
blacks, do you think?"
"For as long as I
choose," Alice replied coldly, daring her to say something derogatory
about her mother.
"How ... dutiful." Lady
Victoria smiled. "I suppose you will go to London in next year's Season,
then -- provided someone can be bullied into presenting you." It seemed to
be an object with her to point out that she was not going to be that
person.
Then Lady Victoria turned to her
mother and said, in an audible whisper, "I was wondering, Ma'am -- shall I
go and visit Charlotte in London this year? I am afraid I will not be able to
show my face there next year."
Alice's father, who seemed
immune to insults directed at his person, did not put up with anyone offending
his daughter.
"Considering your manners,
Vic, I would be very much surprised if you could show your face somewhere,"
he said acidly. "Mother, I strongly advise you to think twice before
letting Victoria go to London when she cannot conduct herself even in her own
home."
Lady Victoria gave her brother a
furious glare, but did not dare say anything in reply. They stayed for another
ten minutes, and then left.
"I am sorry I had to put
you through this," Lord Metfield said to his children when they were
heading back to Metfield Hall in their carriage. "I knew it would be an
ordeal, though I did not imagine it would be as bad as that. Can you forgive
me?"
"It was not your
fault," Laurent said.
"In a way it was,"
Lord Metfield said. "My mother hated your mother for being who she was,
and me for marrying her. With such foundations, your chances of becoming her
favourite grandchildren are rather dim." His smile was not a cheerful one.
"At least we have put our ceremonial visit behind us, and I will not force
you to call on her again."
The garden of Metfield Hall gave
Alice a homelike feeling at last. It was beautiful, and Alice resolved to spend
as much time as possible there. The rose garden was wonderful, and Alice wished
her mother could have seen it. Had she ever had the chance to live here, she
would have loved that spot, Alice thought, and mentioned this to Laurent. He
agreed.
"Laurent," Alice
suddenly said, "after that visit at our grandmother's -- do you still think
coming here was the best thing we ever did?"
"Yes, I do," Laurent
said without a moment's hesitation. "Even more so. Can you imagine how
lonely our father was until we came, Alice?"
Alice had to admit that it did
not look as if her father had many supporters in his family.
"He needs us, Alice, just
as much as we need him," Laurent said. "You can't have failed to
realise that."
"You may be right,"
Alice said reluctantly.
"I know I am," Laurent
said. Alice thought he sounded a bit arrogant.
"No need for you to give
yourself airs," she said teasingly. "You're not my Lord Metfield yet,
you know."
"But I'll need to
practice," Laurent said with a laugh.
"Whom are you going to use
as a model?" Alice asked. "Our father does not look as if he were
aware of his consequence."
"He is," Laurent said
earnestly. "He only doesn't set much store by it. -- He told me I might go
to Edinburgh to study medicine, by the way. That's what I wanted to tell you
earlier."
"Edinburgh!" This was
good news for Laurent, indeed, but if Alice's geographical knowledge had not
deserted her completely, Edinburgh was a long way from Dorset, and she did not
like the notion of being left alone in Metfield Hall while her brother went to
enjoy a student's life in Scotland.
"You do not sound too
happy," Laurent said accusingly. "I think it's splendid -- I was so
worried my father would think it beneath him to have a physician for a
son."
"Obviously he does
not," Alice said with a smile. "I think it is a wonderful opportunity
for you, Laurent, only ... I cannot be happy with the thought of you going away,
leaving me all alone."
"I did say so to my father
today," Laurent admitted. "He suggested I should not go before next
year. By that time, he said, you should have settled in -- and besides, he said,
you might be married."
"Married? To whom, I'd like
to know?" Alice asked indignantly. She had not even thought about
marriage yet, but her father had, apparently. "I am much too young to
marry," she said.
"You're nineteen,"
Laurent reminded her. "I should say most girls get married around that
age."
"Next you'll say I am on
the shelf," Alice said laughingly.
"Certainly not,"
Laurent said, grinning. "I believe you still have a year or two before
dwindling into an old maid. -- Shall we go back to the house?"
Their walk back to the Hall took
them a while -- they stopped again and again, admiring the beauty of the park
and the spectacular view of the sea. On their arrival, they found the house in
uproar and the hall full of trunks and bandboxes. None of the servants seemed
to be at leisure to answer their questions, but when Mr. Blake happened to walk
past them, Laurent asked him what had happened.
"Some visitors have
arrived," Mr. Blake said. "Mr. Daventry -- your Uncle Frederick -- and
his family."
"Do we have enough rooms to
accommodate them?" Alice asked anxiously. She felt a vague obligation to
play hostess in her father's house -- had not Mrs. Trevor indicated such a thing
to her the evening before?
"Metfield Hall is large
enough to accommodate a whole invasion of Daventrys," Mr. Blake said with
a smile. "Do not worry, Lady Alice. Mrs. Griffiths is happy to arrange
everything. If you wished to take any part in the preparations, I am sure she'd
only resent it, so do not trouble yourself." Alice was sure Mr. Blake was
right, but she did not think his casual way of speaking about her family was
fitting for her father's secretary.
"Uncle Frederick,"
Laurent said pensively. "Isn't he...." He stopped, not sure how to
express his thoughts. Mr. Blake did not hesitate to finish his sentence for
him.
"He is your father's
brother," he said. "The gentleman who, but for your existence, would
have inherited both title and fortune from your father."
"Then I daresay he will be happy to make my acquaintance," Laurent said grimly. "Though his pleasure can hardly surpass my grandmother's. -- Come, Alice, let's go and welcome our visitors. The sooner we get this done with, the better."
Alice was surprised at the
amount of authority her brother displayed when he stopped a footman about to
carry another trunk upstairs and demanded to know where he could find his
father and uncle. Being directed to the library, he took Alice's hand and
almost dragged her there.
"We had better be done with
the introductions," he said by way of an explanation. "I don't fancy
meeting my uncle above half, but if I do have to meet him, it had better be
now."
Surprisingly, their uncle greeted
them with a well-bred friendliness they had not expected after their
grandmother and aunt's behaviour earlier that day. They both underwent close
scrutiny, but whether Mr. Frederick Daventry felt aggrieved by their existence
or not was difficult to determine. If he harboured any resentment, he did not
show it. Instead, he inquired after their well-being without betraying much
interest in the matter, and observed that they would see a great deal of each
other because he meant to stay at Metfield Hall for a week or two. Her father,
Alice noted, did not seem over-enthusiastic upon hearing the news but did not
object.
Mr. Daventry had travelled to
Metfield Hall accompanied by his wife and his eldest son, whom he wished to
introduce to his nephew and niece at dinnertime.
"Your aunt, you must know,
is very delicate," Mr. Daventry said, and her father's wink did not escape
Alice's notice. She surmised that Mrs. Daventry was not quite as delicate as
she would have her husband think.
"Indeed?" she asked
politely, catching her father's amused glance. "I hope the journey here
has not done her any harm."
"Oh no, she will be fine
once she has had some rest," her uncle assured her.
Alice then took her leave of her
uncle and went to her room to bathe and dress for dinner - and to find out more
about her uncle and his family by asking her maid some questions. Nell was
likely to know a great deal, and would share her knowledge more readily than,
for example, Mrs. Trevor or Mr. Blake would.
When Alice walked into the drawing-room
later, she found her brother in conversation with a boy not much older than
fourteen. Laurent turned to her with a smile.
"This is our cousin,
Reginald Daventry," he said.
The boy bowed, a bit awkwardly,
Alice thought, but that was not surprising in anyone his age. He seemed to be
friendly enough, though. Was she, at last, to meet a family member that did not
think she and Laurent were intruders?
"I am Reggie to my friends
and family," the boy confided with a shy smile. It almost sounded like an
offer of friendship, Alice thought. "That is, my parents call me Reginald
when they are angry."
Alice and Laurent were soon to
see the truth of this statement. Mr. Daventry, upon entering the drawing room
and seeing his son engaged in a lively conversation with his cousin Laurent,
sharply admonished him not to make a nuisance of himself and to leave his
cousin alone. Not even Laurent's intervention on his cousin's behalf seemed to
pacify him, and Alice suspected the reprimand had nothing to do with Reginald's
being a nuisance, but rather with his talking to them.
Alice's aunt was the last person
to join the party in the drawing-room. She was a plump lady in her
mid-thirties, dressed in a style that was fashionable but not at all
flattering. Alice's eye was not yet practiced in the art of discerning what was
fashionable, but even she realised that Mrs. Daventry's taste was expensive
rather than elegant.
Mrs. Daventry treated her nephew
and niece with ice-cold courtesy, and Alice realised that, like most of their
relations, she was not happy with their existence. It was hardly surprising,
Alice thought. The fact that Lord Metfield had a son of his own robbed her of
the chance to be a countess - apart from the fact that the Earl of Metfield was
rich, and by looking at her aunt Alice guessed she would be able to put the
money to good use, should she ever get hold of it.
After dinner, the ladies retired
to the drawing room, and Alice felt compelled to keep up a polite conversation
with Mrs. Daventry until the gentlemen would follow them. Mrs. Daventry did not
seem inclined to oblige her, she only uttered monosyllabic replies when
directly spoken to, and Alice soon found the task she had set herself more
arduous than she had imagined. She had never felt quite at ease when conversing
with new acquaintances, which made it especially difficult for her to deal with
someone not disposed to be friendly with her. Mrs. Trevor turned out to be an
ally to depend on in the venture, but even she was not able to draw Mrs. Daventry
out. At last, just as Alice had determined to give up her attempts at
conversation and have a go at the pianoforte instead, her aunt decided to speak
up after all.
"You grew up in France, I
am told," she said.
"In Switzerland,
Madame," Alice replied. "But one speaks French in Lausanne."
"And your mother - how did
she contrive? How did she make her living?"
"She gave music lessons at
a select seminary for young ladies, and taught some ladies in private
households -- those who were able to afford it," Alice said.
"I see," Mrs. Daventry
said. "So the place was not devoid of polite society."
"Not at all," Alice
said. "There were plenty of genteel families in Lausanne, and we were very
friendly with some of them."
She saw an expression of
disappointment in her aunt's face and wondered what picture her relations had
of their life in Lausanne. No doubt they thought they had lived in poverty and
squalor. Alice tried to imagine their surprise, had they ever seen Alice's
home, or the quiet, middle-class life she had led before her mother had died.
"Strange," Mrs.
Daventry said, sounding displeased rather than relieved that her sister-in-law
had moved in polite circles. "From what I have heard, young Lady Metfield
was not quite the thing. One would expect genteel families to keep their
distance to such people -- but then, perhaps they did not know her for what she
was."
Alice reddened angrily. What
kind of woman did her aunt think her mother had been? A trollop?
"I admit her manners were
not like those I have encountered from truly well-bred people," she
said icily. She saw and understood Mrs. Trevor's warning look, and rose.
"Excuse me, but I find it rather chilly in here," she said stiffly.
"I need to get my shawl."
Mrs. Trevor calmly advised her
to do so, expressed her hope Lady Alice would not catch a cold, and then
offered to entertain their guest until she returned. Alice gave the two older
ladies a polite nod and left the drawing room, glad to be able to do so. She
could not have stayed in the same room with Mrs. Daventry for a moment longer
without trying to strangle her.
In her room, Alice went to look
for her mother's shawl. After all the offensive things that had been said about
Isabelle Daventry Alice wanted comfort, but she knew she would get none. Her
mother's shawl would at least offer an illusion of security. In putting it on
and closing her eyes, Alice could still smell her mother's favourite scent and,
for a moment, everything would be fine.
Having searched her room as well
as the dressing-room to no avail, Alice summoned Nell. The maid, hurrying into
Alice's room almost immediately, was surprised to hear that Lady Alice wanted
"that old and shabby thing".
"I have put it in the
attic, along with some of your old clothes you are not likely to wear any
more," she said. "I thought with all those new things, you might not
want it any longer, my lady. You have some very pretty shawls."
"So I have, but I happen to
be very fond of this one," Alice said wearily. If Nell had removed her
mother's shawl, someone would suffer for it. "How came you to think I
wanted to be rid of it? I am sure I did not tell you so. Had I really wanted to
dispose of it, I would have left it behind in Lausanne and not taken the
trouble to ship it to England, don't you think?"
"Certainly, my lady,"
Nell said, blushing. "I am sorry -- I will go and fetch it immediately, if
you do wish to wear it with that gown." Nell eyed Alice's grey
silk, which, admittedly, would look strange with her mother's shawl -- the shawl
was intended for day wear. But though Alice saw Nell's point, she did not mean
to give in. Nell had put away one of her possessions without having had orders
to do so -- and it was still she, Alice, who decided what she would wear,
and what was fit to be stored in the attic or given to charity.
"Do so," Alice said
coldly. "I will wait here."
With a curtsey, Nell went on her
quest for Alice's shawl, and Alice moved to the window to look outside. The
view of the gardens was beautiful, even now with the sun gone and night setting
in. The branches of the trees were swaying in the evening breeze, and suddenly
Alice felt a longing for fresh air. She unbolted the window and was just about
to open it when a movement in the garden, right below her window, caught her
eye. It was a man, Alice thought, dressed in a long dark cloak and an
old-fashioned hat. As if he were aware of her watching him, he suddenly stopped
and seemed to look up at her. Just at that moment, Nell returned from the attic
with Alice's shawl.
"Here you are, my
lady," she said. "May I assist you?"
"Yes, please," Alice
said. "Say, Nell -- at this time of evening, surely there cannot be any of
the gardeners about?"
"Lord, no," Nell said.
"What use would there be in trying to do garden work when it's dark?"
"Yet I just saw a man on
the lawn, coming towards the house," Alice said. "He is standing over
there, can you see him? .... Oh! He is gone now!"
Nell shuddered, hurried to the
window and pulled the curtains shut. "You must have seen the Metfield
ghost!" she said, in a tone that sounded as if she were offering her
condolences at Alice's funeral.
"Nonsense," Alice
said. "There is no such thing as ghosts, Nell. Perhaps it was just one of
the local lads, trysting with a housemaid."
"Oh no," Nell said
indignantly. "None of our girls would do that, my lady; we're a
respectable sort, all of us. Mrs. Griffiths would not put up with such
goings-on, and any girl caught in such a scheme would be dismissed. Instantly.
No one's going to risk that, my lady. Employers such as his lordship are hard
to find."
"You have to admit that my
theory is more likely than yours, though," Alice said with a laugh.
"Whoever it was, it was a real person, not a ghost."
"Did he ... did he look up
at you, my lady?" Nell asked, sounding alarmed.
Alice nodded. "I think he
did," she said.
"Then it was the
ghost," Nell said in a tone of voice that admitted no doubt. "They
say he ... they say he is always around when there are changes in the Hall, and
they say it is not a good omen if he is seen. He is... he is said to be
malevolent, my lady. You had better..."
"Nonsense," Alice
said. "If you mean to frighten me, Nell, I can tell you that it will not
work. Spare your breath. It may have been someone planning to break into the
house, if there must be sinister forces at work, but surely our footmen
will be able to deal with such an individual."
"But..."
"No more of this,
Nell," Alice said threateningly. "I am not interested in old wives'
tales." Nell still looked doubtful, but did not say anything in reply to
Alice's remonstrance, and so Alice, pulling her mother's shawl more closely
around her shoulders, went back downstairs to face her aunt. By that time, she
hoped, the gentlemen would have joined the ladies and she would be able to face
her aunt again. Something told Alice that Mrs. Daventry would not dare speak
ill of the late Lady Metfield with Lord Metfield sitting by.
It was not the thought of a
phantom lurking somewhere in the grounds of Metfield Hall that kept Alice awake
that night. She did not give the matter much thought -- and not for a single
moment did she believe that she had witnessed a ghostly manifestation. No, the
man outside the house had been a servant, or a young man from the village
waiting to meet his sweetheart, or a poacher, maybe, though why, if that was
the case, he had come so close to Lord Metfield's home she was not able to say.
Perhaps it had been a particularly stupid poacher.
What occupied her much more was
the way she and Laurent had been received by their relatives. Their reaction
had varied from seeming indifference -- in the best case -- to open hostility in
the worst. As far as Alice could tell, they thought her mother the worst kind
of female imaginable, and were surprised to see that her children were able to
conduct themselves with something like good breeding. Perhaps it was true,
Alice thought. It might well be that her manners were lacking refinement, but
theirs were not much better.
She would talk the matter over
with Mrs. Trevor on their shopping-trip the next day, Alice decided, and ask
her what she could do to gain the approval of her father's relations -- or, if
not their approval, at least their tolerance. She did not need their approval,
not really, but she wanted them to stop treating her in that patronising way.
Pondering how this end could be achieved, Alice fell asleep, but awoke early
the next morning. She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and realised she
could not expect any breakfast yet. To pass the time until breakfast would be
served, she decided to go for a walk in the park. After two almost sleepless
nights, she felt she could do with the invigorating effect of the cool morning
air.
She wandered around the park for
about half an hour and then decided to inspect the spot where the mysterious man
had stood the evening before to see if she could find any clues regarding his
identity. Arriving there, she was surprised to meet Mr. Blake.
"Ghost-hunting, Lady
Alice?" he asked with an amused twinkle in his eyes. Alice sighed.
"Is the story all over the
house already?"
"You cannot expect your
maid to keep silent on such a vital matter as a sighting of the Metfield
Ghost," Mr. Blake said with a laugh. "She regaled the servants' hall
with an account of what she could see from your window."
"She could see nothing, and
it was not a ghost," Alice said crossly.
"Why, Lady Alice, don't you
believe in ghosts?"
"I see no reason to do so.
I do wonder though how long it will take until the first maid hands in her
notice because she does not want to work in a haunted house."
"So far, there have been
two," Mr. Blake said, grinning.
"Fine! So I have made
another enemy! Mrs. Griffiths will be ready to murder me! Not that she was very
fond of me in the first place, but I did think I had the shadow of a chance there,"
Alice said bitterly. "Why could the silly creature not hold her tongue?
All that fuss over nothing!"
"It will comfort you, no
doubt, that Nell has promised to stay here to protect you from evil," Mr.
Blake said.
"You seem remarkably
well-informed, Mr. Blake," Alice said.
"I had the news from Jack,
the second footman. He thought the joke was too good to be kept from me."
"It amuses him then?"
"To no end. But, Lady
Alice, what did you see from your window?" Mr. Blake asked,
suddenly serious.
"I saw a man, standing over
there," Alice said and moved to the spot where the figure had stood. She
inspected the place, though she did not know what she expected to find there.
"A man? What man?"
"He did not introduce
himself," Alice said indignantly. "He wore a cloak, and a tricorne
hat. That was all I could see -- I did not see his face. Even if I had, I doubt
it would have been to any purpose. I do not know anyone around here."
Mr. Blake nodded. "A man,
then. Since you do not believe it was a ghost -- and I tend to agree with you --
what do you think he was up to?"
"I do not know." Alice
shrugged. "I thought it might be a young man from the village, coming to
see his sweetheart. I suggested as much to Nell, but she was quick to tell me
that this was impossible. Then I thought it might be a poacher -- or a
housebreaker. Or someone means to frighten us away and thought it was a good
idea to make use of the ghost stories connected with this place."
"Good thinking on your
part, Lady Alice," Mr. Blake agreed. "I think I will have a word with
your father's steward concerning poachers and will try to discover if any
houses in the neighbourhood were broken into lately. It will also be a good
idea to ask Nell whether any of the maidservants has a follower -- that might be
worth knowing. Though I suppose you would be more successful in that endeavour
than I would. Nell is more likely to share gossip with you. Shall we go
in?"
Alice nodded, and took Mr.
Blake's proffered arm. She was beginning to feel hungry, and was looking
forward to her breakfast.
Alice was glad to hear that Mrs.
Daventry, though Mrs. Trevor had invited her to come to Weymouth with them, had
declined the invitation and preferred to visit Lady Metfield and Lady Victoria
in the Dower House. Mr. Daventry and Reggie were to accompany her, and Laurent
was going to the village with his father to meet the curate who was to teach
him. Alice was to be alone with Mrs. Trevor, and glad about it.
"I think we shall have a
fine afternoon," Mrs. Trevor remarked when they travelled along the road
towards Weymouth. "Weymouth will be in a bustle -- it is a watering place,
you must know, Lady Alice. Not as popular as Brighton, of course, but
fashionable enough. Many people come here to bathe in the sea."
"Oh! I would like to try
that!" Alice exclaimed. "When we were children, we often went
swimming in the lake -- Maman taught us. Do you think I might go swimming in
Metfield?"
"I do not think so,"
Mrs. Trevor said. "It would be too dangerous, Lady Alice. I doubt your father
would allow it."
Alice sighed. She too feared
that her father would not allow it, but she did not see why swimming in the sea
could be dangerous, and said so. Mrs. Trevor assured her that it was,
and reminded her that the sea was not to be compared to "Alice's
lake".
"Did you grow up near the
sea, Mrs. Trevor?" Alice asked, after a short pause.
"I did," Mrs. Trevor
said. "I was born and raised in Sidmouth. My father was the vicar there.
One might say I spent most of my life near the sea. My husband was a sailor,
you see -- and our home was in Plymouth."
"Did your husband..."
Alice began, but stopped. It was rather inconsiderate to ask a widow how her
husband had died.
"No, he did not perish at
sea," Mrs. Trevor said. "I suppose this is what you wanted to
ask."
"Well, yes," Alice
admitted, blushing. "I am sorry, I know it is none of my business, and I
would not want to hurt you."
"This is very kind of you,
but you did not hurt me at all," Mrs. Trevor said. "It happened a
long time ago. He had contracted an illness while he was stationed in
Naples."
Feeling guilty for having
started a subject that might be painful to Mrs. Trevor, no matter what she said
to the contrary, Alice changed the topic and asked her to assist her in
becoming what Mrs. Daventry might call "the thing". Mrs. Trevor
laughed.
"I am ready to teach you
anything you like, Lady Alice," she said. "But I am afraid I cannot
promise you to perform any miracles. Mrs. Daventry will never think you quite
the thing, but will you be content if most society ladies in London think
you are?"
"Perfectly content,"
Alice said, with a laugh. "Mrs. Daventry will not care to disagree with
most society ladies, I suppose."
Alice and Mrs. Trevor spent a
pleasant afternoon shopping in Weymouth. Alice realised that Mrs. Trevor was a
lady with excellent taste, and in no time learned to depend on her judgement
when it came to suitable attire for a young lady.
"It will not do to put you
in blacks all the time," Mrs. Trevor said. "You are a young lady, and
should be wearing colours. I am not talking about bright colours -- it is too
early for those -- but there are some very pretty darker hues that will make
perfect half-mourning clothes, and they will make you feel much more cheerful
too."
Alice could not help but agree
that black was a colour that had its effect on one's frame of mind, and that
the shopping did something to restore her cheerfulness to a certain degree. As
they walked back to the inn where their carriage was waiting for them, Alice
saw a bonnet displayed in a milliner's shop window that quite took her fancy.
Mrs. Trevor, upon being applied to for her opinion, saw no harm in buying it,
and so they entered the shop with that exact purpose in mind.
A young gentleman was at the
counter, negotiating the purchase of a bonnet for his sister, and Alice was
disappointed to see that he was about to buy the bonnet she wanted for herself.
Her sigh of regret when the milliner took the bonnet from the window and
wrapped it into tissue paper did not escape the gentleman's notice, and he
turned around.
"I am sorry, ma'am,"
he said with an apologetic smile. "I hope I did not steal the hat away
from under your nose."
"Even if you did, it does
not signify, sir," Alice said, forcing herself to smile. "This is
life. You were there before me."
He laughed. "And now you
are trying to spoil my success by making me feel guilty."
"Why should you feel
guilty?" Alice asked. "It is no fault of yours that there is only one
bonnet like that one in this shop."
"You surprise me, ma'am.
Would you buy the bonnet if you knew that there is an exact duplicate of it
somewhere? I doubt it."
Alice laughed. "I admit it
would be an uncomfortable thought."
"I am glad to hear that I
do have some knowledge of young ladies' ways," he said, smiling. "But
if you want me to, ma'am, I shall buy another bonnet for my sister. She did not
ask for this particular one, so I am convinced she will be happy with any
hat I happen to give her on her birthday."
Alice shook her head. "This
is very kind of you, sir, but I am certain I can find another one that will
suit me just as well."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. I am much
obliged to you, but no. Your sister shall have this bonnet for her
birthday."
"Very well." He
smiled, and turned to Mrs. Trevor. "I have not introduced myself yet,
ma'am, I am sorry. Thomas Goodwin, at your service." He bowed.
"Are you related to the
Goodwins at Ilton Court?" Mrs. Trevor asked.
"I am one of them,"
Mr. Goodwin said. "My father owns Ilton Court."
"Oh! We are almost neighbours
then," Mrs. Trevor said. "This is Lady Alice Daventry, Lord
Metfield's daughter, and I am Mrs. Trevor, her companion."
Upon this revelation, the
milliner hurried to her storeroom, no doubt to fetch her most expensive
creations, and Mr. Goodwin bowed.
"I am honoured to make your
acquaintance," he said. "I must say when I heard of Lord Metfield's children
coming to live with him, I expected someone much younger. My mother will be
pleased to hear that there are some young people at Metfield Hall at last --
especially a young lady of my sister's age."
Alice remembered her relatives'
behaviour and took leave to doubt that. Mrs. Goodwin would not wish her
daughter to associate with her. But Mr. Goodwin was very kind and pleasant, and
she did not want to contradict him. He would find out soon enough, she
supposed.
"My mother has been meaning
to call at Metfield Hall one of these days," Mr. Goodwin continued,
"but she wanted to give you some time to settle in before she did
so."
Alice commended Mrs. Goodwin's thoughtfulness, and added that a visit from Mrs. and Miss Goodwin would be most welcome. Then Mr. Goodwin left, taking his purchase with him, but Alice was too taken with his affability to resent it. She turned to the counter and realised that there were plenty of bonnets for her to choose from, and when she left the shop she had not bought one, but three.
As their carriage reached the
main road, Mrs. Trevor perceived dark clouds gathering on the horizon and
admitted to feeling slightly apprehensive. Alice, who had only seen one storm
during her short stay in England, and that one from the safety of Metfield
Hall, tried to calm her companion, but even she hoped they would reach Metfield
before the storm broke loose. She did not fancy travelling in inclement
weather.
By the time they stopped in
front of Metfield Hall, it had begun to rain heavily. Through the carriage
window, Alice could see her father and Laurent running towards the house from
the stable yard, but they stopped at the front door, no doubt to welcome her
and Mrs. Trevor. The wind tugged at their hair and overcoats, and had they not
taken off their hats, they'd probably have had to chase them across the yard.
The carriage door was opened,
and the steps let down. In alighting from the carriage, Alice happened to look
up and froze. Her shriek conveyed a warning to Laurent, who, following her
gaze, saw the danger he was in and pushed his father aside, moments before two
roof-tiles smashed onto the floor only inches from him. Alice ran to her
brother.
"Laurent, are you
hurt?" she asked him. Laurent was standing there, considerably shaken, and
staring at the broken tiles on the floor. He shook his head.
"I am fine," he said
quietly. "Only a bit ... a bit stunned." He turned to his father.
"And you, sir? I hope I did not hurt you, but there was no time to ask you
to step aside."
Lord Metfield laughed, but it
was a nervous laugh, not capable of hiding his alarm. "You did not hurt
me," he said. "As for that, I'd rather be bruised than dead. - Let us
get inside, who knows what other dangers are lurking out here. - I will send
someone up there tomorrow to see whether there are any more loose tiles, and to
fix them if there are any. Meanwhile, no one is to use the front door." He
turned to the footman who had handed Alice and Mrs. Trevor out of the carriage.
"Make sure of that," he said to him.
The footman bowed, and left, no
doubt to regale the servants with an account of the accident that had almost
befallen his lordship and his heir. That it had happened, only shortly after a
sighting of the Metfield Ghost, was certain to interest everyone. Alice was
sure that the house would be buzzing with gossip before dinnertime.
Once inside the house, Laurent
announced he would go up to his room to change his wet clothes, though Alice
suspected he did so to recover from his shock. Mrs. Trevor and Alice followed
Lord Metfield into the library, where he offered them a glass of sherry
"to calm their nerves".
"Have you had a pleasant
afternoon, Alice?" he asked her, handing her a glass.
"It was very pleasant,
thank you," Alice said. "Until...well, until now."
"You came home just in
time," her father said with a smile. He looked quite unperturbed now, or
at least made an effort to appear so. "You may have saved two lives
today."
"If it had not been for
us," Alice said, "you would not have stopped outside but would have
gone in immediately. You might just as well say I almost cost two lives
today."
He smiled. "You sound
almost like your mother," he said. "She was a bit of a pessimist
too." He did not sound disparaging, he had just made a matter-of-fact
statement, and Alice knew that he was right. "I prefer my way of seeing
the matter, however," he continued. "So should you. -- Now, has your
shopping excursion been a success?"
Alice, still pondering his
comment on pessimism, did not answer, and so he passed the question on to Mrs.
Trevor. She favoured him with a precise description of what they had bought,
and Alice noted that he was listening with a great deal of knowledge and
interest -- a novelty, in her opinion. None of her male acquaintance had ever
taken any interest in female attire. Her father was an extraordinary gentleman,
it seemed.
"I have arranged for the
bills to be sent to you, as you asked me to," Mrs. Trevor ended her
report. "I hope you will not think we have spent too much."
"I doubt I will," Lord
Metfield said. "Whatever my daughter needs, she will get. I am not going
to grudge her a single thing. But this talk about money reminds me -- Alice will
need some pin-money too. Won't you, Alice?"
"Pin-money?" The
notion of having money for herself was a completely new one to Alice. "I
do not think I need any."
"Of course you do,"
her father replied with an air of absolute confidence. "I don't suppose
you want to ask for my permission every time you want to buy a yard of ribbon,
or a book, or any of those little things a young lady might want to have.
Besides, I -- and the contents of my pocket book -- may not always be close at
hand when you want to make a purchase. How much do you think you will
need?"
"I have no idea,"
Alice said. "I never had any money to myself. When I needed something, I
told Maman, and she bought it -- or maybe she didn't, if she could not afford
it, which happened quite often."
The expression in her father's
face told Alice that he was not comfortable with the reduced circumstances his
wife and children had lived in, and did not like her to talk about it. She
blushed, and whispered, "I am sorry; I should not have told you
this."
"Why not?" her father
said with a lightness in his tone that sounded false even to Alice, who did not
know him well. "I can well imagine what life must have been like for you.
You did not exactly tell me any news."
Not wishing to discuss the topic
any further, Alice moved away and walked to one of the windows, to watch the
rain and the storm raging outside. With a sigh, her father turned to Mrs.
Trevor.
"Do you happen to know how
much Lady Fontley's daughters had, ma'am? I cannot for the life of me remember
how much my father gave my sisters, and I do not want to ask them. I do
remember that whatever sum it was, it was never enough."
"A common affliction among
young ladies," Mrs. Trevor said with a smile. "The Miss Fontleys
often complained about their father's tight-fistedness, but they could not
expect me to commiserate -- their annual allowance was much higher than my
salary. As far as I remember, each of them had a hundred pounds a year, but
since they were constantly short of money and extremely good at coaxing their
Papa into giving them whatever they wanted, I daresay they spent much more than
that."
"A hundred pounds?"
Astounded, Alice turned away from the window and looked at Mrs. Trevor.
"How could I possibly spend so much? How could anyone, I
wonder?"
"You'd be surprised if you
knew how many people manage to spend much more than that," her father said
with an amused smile. "I'd say we shall start off with a hundred and fifty
-- I do not fancy being a stingy father, it does not fit the picture I have of
myself -- and see how far you get with these."
"A hundred and fifty? This
is by far too much!" Alice exclaimed indignantly.
Her father shrugged. "You
may save the money you do not need," he said. "Or spend it on
charity. But you must admit it is very convenient to have more money than you
may require. Much more agreeable than the opposite situation, I'd say."
On her way to her room, Alice
walked past Laurent's door, and heard him play the violin. She smiled. Despite
having promised his mother not to give up his music, Laurent had not practised
ever since they had left Lausanne. That he had taken it up again was a good
sign -- it showed he was feeling quite at home in Metfield Hall. On the other
hand, he had been shocked by his near-accident. He might simply have taken
refuge in an occupation that was familiar to him, to calm his nerves. The
thought made Alice stop and want to go into his room to talk to him -- but then
she decided against it. It was better to let Laurent deal with this by himself.
He was not the person to keep silent if he needed help, and a female relative
foisting her assistance on him had been repugnant to him from his earliest
childhood days. He had called Alice an interfering nuisance on more than
one occasion, and Alice was not inclined to being an interfering nuisance at
the moment. Laurent knew where to find her, should he need her, and would not
hesitate to do so.
In her room, Alice found
Bernadine. She had helped Nell to put away Alice's new clothes, and was now waiting
to share an important piece of news with her. Lord Metfield had made her a
generous offer.
"I'll finally have a house
of my own," she announced proudly when Alice asked her what the news was.
It was obvious that the prospect made Bernadine very happy, but it had the
opposite effect on Alice.
"You are going to leave
us?" she asked, her heart sinking. Though she had never actually thought
about this before, she now realised that she had always expected Bernadine to
stay with them. The thought of Bernadine going away -- of her childhood friend
and surrogate grandmother being out of reach -- frightened her. With Bernadine
and Laurent gone, she would be left to the mercy of strangers, and she had
already found out that not all of her new acquaintances were pleasant.
"Not exactly leaving
you," Bernadine said soothingly. She knew Alice too well to be fooled into
believing that she was happy on her account. "Lord Metfield is going to
give me a cottage to live in -- halfway between here and the village -- and I hope
you will come to see me sometimes once I have moved there."
"Every day, if you want me
to," Alice said. She did not manage to hide her relief that Bernadine was
not quite out of reach.
Bernadine laughed. "Not every
day," she said. "That would be too much to ask for. But I'd be very
happy if you'd think of me sometimes and paid me a visit now and then."
"As if I could ever forget
you, Bernadine," Alice said, hugging her. "When are you going to
leave? Soon?"
"Not so very soon,"
Bernadine said. "Your father said the place must be put in order first -- I
am to live there in the first style of elegance, you know. At least he said so,
he said he wanted me to have every comfort money could buy. He is even going to
pay a girl to keep house for me. I am growing into quite a fine lady in old
age, even employing my own servant! I'll have to take care it does not go to my
head."
Alice wondered why her father
was doing all this for Bernadine. Something in her expression must have
betrayed her thoughts, because Bernadine continued, "He said it was about
time someone took care of me instead of me looking after other people, and he
said I'd better start being looked after while I could still enjoy it. Your
father is a wonderfully kind-hearted man, Alice."
Alice felt guilty for her
suspicions -- and her selfishness. Her father was right. Bernadine had spent
most of her life looking after other people, without ever regarding her own
well-being. For more than forty years she had been much more than a servant, a
loyal friend and confidante to Isabelle Daventry and her children. She deserved
to enjoy her old age in tolerable comfort, and Alice felt ashamed that the idea
of providing her with a comfortable home had never occurred to her.
"I am happy if you
are," Alice finally said, hugging Bernadine once more. "Have you told
Laurent already?"
"Yes, I have."
"What does he think of
it?"
"He likes the idea of me
having my own home, where I can bake him my tartes whenever he fancies
them," Bernadine said laughingly. "You know him."
"I do. He is an incurable
glutton," Alice said, smiling. "But I understand him. I have been
missing your tartes, too."
"You shall have one every
time you visit me," Bernadine promised, and then took her leave, reminding
Alice that she had to dress for dinner and was not likely to be ready in time
if she kept chatting with the servants.
"Do not forget you are a
fine young lady now," she said.
"Not too fine to talk to
you, I hope," Alice said, and Bernadine laughed and left.
Alice had looked forward to
dinner with a great deal of apprehension -- she remembered the previous evening
only too well and did not care to repeat the experience.
To Alice's surprise, her aunt
behaved much better than she had the evening before, even when Lord Metfield
was out of earshot. Besides, Mrs. Trevor took care that Alice and her aunt did
not spend any more time with each other than was strictly necessary. The moment
the ladies retired to the drawing room, she asked Alice to entertain them with
some music, and Alice was only too happy to oblige. Glad that she was not
expected to make meaningless conversation with someone she detested, Alice
hurried to the pianoforte, flicked through the music sheets, chose a Haydn
sonata, and began to play. She had put up the music sheets to shield herself
from Mrs. Daventry's appraising glances, and not because she needed them. Alice
had often played this particular piece when her mother had entertained guests
in Lausanne -- guests she had wanted to impress. Having played it so often, Alice
knew the piece by heart.
Still, when the gentlemen joined
them, Laurent went to her and offered to turn the pages for her. Alice realised
that what he really wanted was talk to her, and thanked him for his kind
offer.
"Showing off?" Laurent
asked, with an amused twinkle in his eyes.
"Certainly," Alice
said. "I need to demonstrate we did not grow up like savages."
Laurent laughed. "At war
with Aunt Daventry?" he asked.
"Among others," Alice
said.
"Our relatives are really
none too happy to have us here," Laurent said quietly. "I had not
expected it to be quite as bad. They behave as if we were to blame for
our being born."
"They certainly do not want
us," Alice whispered back.
"Though I suspect they
resent your existence less than they resent mine," Laurent said.
"You are the heir,"
Alice said. "Naturally my uncle does not relish the thought of having an
earldom snatched away from him."
"He can have that earldom
for all I care," Laurent said. "I don't want it. Though I am glad to
have my father. He is a decent sort, you'll have to admit. Did Bernadine
tell you about her house?"
"She did."
"What do you think about
it?"
"She seems very
happy."
"She is very
happy," Laurent said. "But I'll miss her."
"So will I," Alice
said. She continued playing, and Laurent turned the pages for her. Only when
Alice had finished her piano piece, he said, quietly, "Thank you, Alice.
You know ... you know for what, don't you? Without you, I'd be ... I'd be
dead."
"You're welcome,"
Alice said with a forced smile. "But that was pure self-interest. I need
my brother to look after me. Especially now, with Bernadine gone." She
tried to sound cheerful, but somehow did not manage. The idea of losing Laurent
was too painful to contemplate, especially now, when almost everyone around her
seemed so hostile. But although she did not say so, Laurent seemed to guess her
thoughts.
"We'll look after each
other," he said, giving her arm an affectionate squeeze, and then went to
watch his father and uncle play chess, while Alice was required to play whist
with her aunt, Mrs. Trevor and Mr. Blake.
The next morning, Alice was
introduced to Metfield Hall by the housekeeper, Mrs. Griffiths. In England,
even servants were snobs, she thought. Mrs. Griffiths' attitude could only be
called superior, and Alice longed to give her the set-down she deserved. She
was not familiar with English ways yet, but she was certain of one thing -- no
housekeeper was supposed to look down on the daughter of the house. Mrs.
Trevor, who accompanied them on their round, seemed aware of what was going on,
but did not interfere. Only when they were back in the morning room and Alice
asked her, with a sigh, what she was to do about Mrs. Griffiths, she told her
to assert herself.
"You are much too kind to
her, Lady Alice," she said. "You act as if you needed to gain her
favour! You should make her try to gain yours instead."
"But I want people to like
me," Alice protested.
"A vain hope, Lady
Alice," Mrs. Trevor said. "As the lady of the house, you will need to
step on people's toes now and then -- metaphorically, of course."
Alice laughed. "I did not
suppose I should do so literally, Mrs. Trevor. But I do not like the notion of
acting like a spoilt brat."
"No one will think you are
just because you want your servants to work well and treat you with respect,
Lady Alice," Mrs. Trevor said. "Be civil, but do not put up with any
nonsense. Make sure to commend them if they have done well, but also make sure
to let them know if you are dissatisfied. They are paid a handsome sum to
please you -- so make certain they do."
Alice soon had an opportunity to
assert herself, as Mrs. Trevor had called it. Mrs. Daventry had just
joined them in the morning room, when a footman appeared in the doorway and
announced Mrs. Goodwin, Miss Goodwin and Mr. Thomas Goodwin. This was a
pleasant surprise -- Alice had looked forward to seeing Mr. Goodwin again, but
had not expected to meet him again so soon.
Once the introductions were made
and the guests comfortably seated, Alice rang for refreshments. A maid brought
tea and cake for the ladies, but when Alice handed some pieces of cake onto the
plates she realised that the cake did not look very fresh. She gave the first
piece to Mrs. Trevor -- a faux-pas, she knew, for she should have served her
visitors first -- and asked her, in a whisper, "Do you think I can give
this to my guests?"
Mrs. Trevor, after trying a tiny
bit of the cake, shook her head, almost imperceptibly. Alice rang for the maid
again, and when she arrived, said coldly, "Please take the cake back to
the kitchen with my compliments and inform the cook that there must have been a
mistake. I am sure she did not intend to damage her reputation by sending up
yesterday's cake."
She turned to her guests with an
apologetic smile. "It will only take a minute, I am certain. I am very
sorry this had to happen."
The maid reappeared several
minutes later, and this time the cake left nothing to be desired. Still, when
the Goodwins had left, Alice decided it was time to set a few things right, and
summoned Mrs. Griffiths and the cook. It was about time they found out who they
were dealing with.
They both arrived in the
morning-room, apparently expecting to face an inexperienced young girl whom,
between them, they could handle easily. They were to learn their mistake.
"Explain yourselves,"
Alice said icily, after a few minutes of silence which had made them feel more
and more uncomfortable. The cook was the first yield.
"One of the girls sent up
the wrong cake," she said. "I was too busy to check it was the right
one."
Mrs. Griffiths was made of
sterner stuff. "Lady Metfield would not have objected," she said.
"She is not fond of the Goodwins."
"And therefore feeds them
stale cake when they come to see her? They cannot come to see her very often
then," Alice said. "But, Mrs. Griffiths, you will soon notice that
some things have changed around here. For one, Lady Metfield is no longer the
mistress of Metfield Hall, but has taken up residence in the Dower House. So,
unless you wish to join my grandmother there, you will have to do things the
way I want them done. Have I made myself clear?"
None of the women answered.
"I expect to be answered
when I ask a question," Alice said coldly.
"You have made yourself
very clear, my lady," the cook said, her eyes lowered.
"Mrs. Griffiths, do you
have any problems in understanding my meaning?"
"None at all, my lady,"
Mrs. Griffiths said. Her look was poisonous, but she did not dare oppose Alice
openly.
"I am glad to hear
it," Alice said. "I have a great aversion to misunderstandings. - I
do not know what my grandmother's housekeeping was like, but I do know the way
my mother used to handle things, and I intend to follow her example. She
knew the meaning of the word "hospitality", and she never made any distinction
between her guests. Everyone was treated with the same civility, and my mother
would have died rather than give her guests stale food. In her house, every
visitor received the best we could give. I want things to be the same in
Metfield Hall from now on. Mrs. Smith, make sure you are not too busy to check
on what is leaving the kitchen when we have guests in the future." She
gave the cook a pointed look. "Should there be a reprise of what happened
today, I shall hold you responsible."
"I will personally check on
everything that leaves the kitchen," the cook said meekly.
"As for you, Mrs.
Griffiths, from today on I expect you to report to me personally at ten o'clock
every morning. Is there such a thing as a household inventory?"
"There is one," Mrs.
Griffiths said, barely suppressing her anger.
"Good. Bring it with you
tomorrow, and we shall have a look at it. Apart from that, I want a report on
what is going on in the household every day. -- You need not fear that I shall
meddle with your duties, Mrs. Griffiths. As long as you treat me with proper
respect, I won't interfere. If not ... well, I believe a word or two to his
lordship might be in order then. Good day to you."
The two women curtsied and left the room, no doubt impatient to vent their indignation at the cavalier treatment they had received. Alice sat down at the writing table, her hands trembling. How she had managed to rein in her anger, she did not know, but she had, and felt that her mother, could she see her, would be proud of her. There was still a long way to go, Alice knew, but she would assert herself, just as Mrs. Trevor had suggested. She would show everyone that Isabelle Daventry's daughter was fit for the position she was going to take.
Mrs. Griffiths knew better than
to set up Alice's back. At the appointed time she appeared, bringing with her
the household inventories and cashbooks, and followed Alice around the house as
she checked whether the linen, silver and china listed in the inventory was
where it was supposed to be. She did not look into the cashbooks too closely --
she had not yet mastered the peculiarities of English currency, and decided to
ask either her father or Mr. Blake to teach her before she ventured doing so.
She only remarked that Mrs. Griffiths was, apparently, good at managing her
household expenses, which seemed to please the housekeeper. Once Alice had
acknowledged Mrs. Griffiths' integrity, the housekeeper began to thaw. Alice
made it clear to her that her authority would not be questioned, as long as she
showed Alice the respect that was due to her as the new mistress of Metfield
Hall, and when Mrs. Griffiths went off to resume her duties Alice felt that
some kind of peace had been established between them.
When her tour of Metfield Hall
was finished, Alice decided to call on Mrs. Goodwin. Her aunt and uncle had
gone to pay a visit at the Dower House and her father and Laurent had gone to
the stables to select suitable horses for their first riding lesson, which was
to take place the same afternoon. Mrs. Trevor was to be Alice's sole companion.
"Do you think I appear too
eager?" Alice asked Mrs. Trevor as they sat in the carriage that took them
to Ilton Court. "Should I have waited for a couple of days before calling
on the Goodwins?"
"I do not believe Mrs.
Goodwin will think ill of you for calling on her so soon. If anything, she will
be highly gratified that Lady Alice Daventry shows her such civility,"
Mrs. Trevor replied.
"I am afraid I am not
familiar with the niceties of English courtesy," Alice said. "I would
not wish to give offence."
"No one can give offence by
wishing to be on good terms with her neighbours," Mrs. Trevor said.
"You need not worry."
"It is only that the
Goodwins were the only people here who seemed to be happy to make my
acquaintance." Alice explained.
"Surely you do not suppose
that Lord Metfield was not happy to have you here," Mrs. Trevor said.
"I never saw a man more anxious to please anyone than your father was to
please you."
"Oh, I believe my father is
happy to have us to stay with him, but I think the situation is very awkward
nevertheless. As for the rest of my family, I am not foolish enough to believe
any of them wants us here." She sighed. "All the more I long for some
friends, and I have to say I have developed a liking for the Goodwins."
"All of them, or one
Goodwin in particular?" Mrs. Trevor asked with an amused twinkle in her
eyes.
"I do not know them well
enough to decide which of them I like best," Alice said, blushing
slightly. She had understood what Mrs. Trevor was getting at - but her
companion was entirely wrong. She had only met Mr. Goodwin twice, and on both
occasions they had not conversed much. Although she liked him, her chief object
in visiting his mother and sister was getting acquainted with them, not
him. She could not help feeling lonely, and wishing she had a friend her own
age. Miss Goodwin had given her the impression that she was not averse to
becoming friendly with Alice, and Alice, longing for a friend to replace those
she had lost due to her relocation to England, was more than willing to give
her a chance. That Miss Goodwin had a charming brother was of no consequence
for Alice, though she had to confess it did not repulse her either.
There was no fault to be found
with Mrs. Goodwin's welcome as they were ushered into the drawing-room at Ilton
Court. She received Alice and Mrs. Trevor with a mixture of courtesy and
genuine pleasure to see them. Miss Goodwin was with her mother, and though she
kept herself in the background at first, she soon took part in the conversation
and seemed quite happy to find out more about Alice. She was very interested in
Alice's previous life, and Alice told her as much as she could without
providing the entire neighbourhood with gossip.
"Did you have many friends
in Lausanne?" Miss Goodwin asked.
"I did," Alice said.
"My mother was well-liked and respected in town, so we were a popular
family." She laughed. "There were two girls who were particular
friends of mine - Jacqueline Clairmont and Marie-Claude Duprés. We were in the
same school. I am not exactly sure though which of us interested Marie-Claude
more - my brother or myself."
Miss Goodwin laughed. "Did
you attend school then?"
"I certainly did. Maman
said she preferred this to our being educated at home. It was important to her
that we should meet other children, children of the "right sort", as
she chose to express herself, so she sent us to the best schools in
Lausanne."
"What was the right sort of
children?" Miss Goodwin asked.
"Well-bred ones,"
Alice said with a laugh. "I believe every mother wishes her offspring to
mix with well-behaved children rather than others, as they seem to be rather
inclined to take after bad examples."
"Indeed they are,"
Mrs. Goodwin remarked. "I have heard there are some good schools for young
ladies in the vicinity of Geneva. Did you attend one of those
boarding-schools?"
"No, I didn't," Alice
said. "My school was attached to a convent in Lausanne and provided
lodgings for its pupils, but I only went there for my lessons. It was more
popular with the local citizens than with English families who wanted their
daughters to be educated in Switzerland."
"A convent school? Are you
Catholic, Lady Alice?" Mrs. Goodwin sounded almost scandalized.
"No, I am not, but the nuns
did not object and neither did I." Alice laughed.
"You must miss your
friends," Miss Goodwin said feelingly.
"Very much," Alice
said. "But I hope to hear from them soon."
"No doubt you will,"
Miss Goodwin said. "In the meantime, I am sure you will make some new
ones.
"I hope I will," Alice
said.
At that moment the door opened
and Mr. Goodwin and his father joined them. Once the introductions were made,
the elder Mr. Goodwin took his leave while the younger seated himself next to
Alice and his sister and took part in their conversation. The topics varied
from books to fashion and, finally, they discussed horse riding. Both Mr. and
Miss Goodwin owned to being partial to the sport, and were greatly surprised to
hear that Alice had never even tried it.
"How did you get to places
if you did not ride?" Miss Goodwin asked.
"I walked," Alice said
with a smile.
"And if it was too far to
walk?" Miss Goodwin inquired.
"In that case I asked
Monsieur Chaillot to take me - or some other friend. Someone was always at my
service."
"I daresay there were
plenty of young gentlemen only waiting for such a chance," Mrs. Goodwin
observed shrewdly.
"None that I knew of,"
Alice said coolly, thereby frustrating Mrs. Goodwin's clumsy attempt to find
out whether she had left any suitors in Switzerland. Mr. Goodwin gave her a
smile, and brought the conversation back to the original subject.
"Now that you are in
England and have plenty of horses at your disposal, will you try to learn
riding?" he asked.
"I will, if only to please
my father," Alice said. "In fact, I am going to have my first riding
lesson this afternoon. My father is going to teach us."
"Lord Metfield is an
excellent horseman," Mr. Goodwin said. "I have yet to see a better
one."
"Indeed he is." Miss
Goodwin smiled. "I am certain you will be able to join us for an outing
before long. That would be delightful, wouldn't it, Thomas?"
"Nothing could please me
better." Mr. Goodwin said with a pleasant laugh.
Alice was glad that Mrs. Trevor
chose that moment to put an end to their visit. She liked Mr. and Miss Goodwin
very much, but she did not know yet how to deal with Mr. Goodwin's half
teasing, half flirting ways. She would have to get to know him better first.
After a quick luncheon, Alice
changed into her new riding habit and followed Laurent and her father to the
stables. There she made the acquaintance of Rogers, the head groom, who
assisted her in getting into the saddle. Once on horseback, Alice felt slightly
apprehensive - at the moment the horse, a docile-looking mare, was behaving
herself, yet Alice feared she would be unseated once the horse moved.
She became even more afraid when
Rogers took the horses' bridles and led them to a meadow. The horse was moving
slowly, still Alice wished she had not subjected herself to those riding
lessons. She hated the thought of providing every inhabitant of Metfield Hall
with amusement by making a spectacle of herself. The longer her lesson lasted,
the more confident she felt, until Rogers allowed the horses to trot. Alice
almost panicked, feeling that she would surely fall down - until she found her
father riding next to her. His calm instructions did much to reassure her, and
his presence had a soothing effect. Alice had to admit, though, that she felt
greatly relieved when they returned to the stables and her father assisted her
in getting out of the saddle.
"How did you like your
first riding lesson," he wanted to know.
"It was ...
frightening," Alice said with a nervous laugh.
"You were doing very well,
in spite of being frightened," he said. "Still it does not surprise
me that you were afraid. It is very difficult for a grown-up person to put the
dangers out of her mind. Children do not think of danger, which is why one
should learn to ride a horse at an early age."
"How old were you when you
were taught?" Alice asked. There were not many things she knew about her
father, she thought, and would do well to try to find out more about him.
"I cannot remember,"
her father said. "We'll have to ask Rogers, he taught me." Upon
enquiry, Rogers said he rather thought his lordship had been three years old
when he had made his first attempts at horse-riding.
"You did look like someone
who grew up on horseback," Laurent said to his father. "I wish I'd
look so elegant on horseback. - When can we have another lesson?
Tomorrow?"
"Did you enjoy
yourself?" his father asked with a smile. Laurent's eagerness to learn
seemed to please him well.
"Very much," Laurent
admitted. "So, when can I try again?"
"Not tomorrow," Lord
Metfield said. "It is Sunday tomorrow, which is Rogers' day off. But you
will be back on horseback on Monday if you want to."
Laurent lamented the fact that
Sunday was not a suitable day for riding lessons, but expressed his wish to try
his hand at riding again on Monday. Alice was not certain whether she wanted to
repeat the experience, and was glad to have a brief respite.
The next trial awaited Alice in
the form of divine service on the following day. She had the impression that
the entire congregation in Metfield church was staring at them as her father
led them to the Daventry family pew. The looks people gave them were curious at
best, but Alice encountered a few hostile ones as well. Opinions on the topic
of Lord Metfield's children appeared to vary widely.
Her head held up high, Alice took her seat next to her father. The seats next
to her remained empty until her aunt and grandmother made their appearance.
Lady Victoria hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to Alice, careful
to leave some empty space between them. Alice was sure that Lady Victoria's
actions had been observed closely and would serve as a conversation topic among
the parishioners once the service was over.
Alice felt her aunt's eyes were
on her during the entire ceremony, which did not add to her comfort. She was
feeling uneasy as it was - most of the hymns were unfamiliar to her, and
although her father kindly shared his prayer book with her, Alice had some
problems with following the service.
Upon leaving the church, Alice
was introduced to the curate and his wife. Mr. Holroyd was to be Laurent's
tutor and was already acquainted with his future pupil. He was a young
gentleman, very friendly, and both he and his wife treated Alice with becoming
courtesy. Of course, Alice thought bitterly, Mr. and Mrs. Holroyd would act
like this - ten to one it was her father who had given Mr. Holroyd his post.
But the curate's behaviour set an example to the parishioners, and the
inhabitants of Metfield village appeared to warm to Alice and Laurent's
presence.
Just before they got into their
carriage to return to Metfield Hall, the Dowager Countess' coachman informed
Lord Metfield that his mother wished to speak to him and his children.
Lady Metfield awaited them
sitting in her barouche, with her daughter sitting next to her. She graciously
extended her hand for her son and grandchildren to kiss and then announced, in
a voice that forbade any contradiction, that she expected them to dine with her
on the following day.
"How did you like your
first proper Church service?" Lady Victoria asked sweetly once her mother
had uttered her invitation.
"I have never attended an
improper one, ma'am," Alice countered.
"Have you not? I thought
your mother was a Papist, and had brought you up accordingly," Lady
Victoria said maliciously.
"You are quite wrong, Vic,
and besides it is no business of yours," Alice's father said, forgetting
his customary good manners. He turned to Alice and Laurent. "Let us go
home," he said and, with a slight bow, took leave of his mother and
sister.
"Why is it so important to
some people whether we are Catholic or not?" Alice asked her father. She
remembered how Mrs. Goodwin had reacted when she had heard about Alice's
school.
"Because not too long ago
Catholicism would have barred your brother from his inheritance," her
father replied. "Which would suit some people perfectly well," he
added bitterly.
It did not take an ingenious
mind to guess who those people were, Alice thought.
"Why did my grandmother invite
us?" Laurent asked. "She did not look too happy to see us when we
called on her, and now it seems she cannot wait to see us again."
"She had no audience
then," his father said caustically. "Today she invited us to show
everyone what a doting mother she is. She must be furious that I have accepted
her invitation. I am certain she wanted me to refuse -- in which case she would
have made a scene and everyone would have pitied her for having such an
unfeeling son."
Back in Metfield Hall, Alice
wanted to be alone for a while, so she took a book from her father's library
and went into the garden. She found a bench in the rose-garden which looked
particularly inviting, and sat down to read. Some time later, she looked up
from her book and saw her father's secretary striding purposefully towards her.
"Are you looking for me,
Mr. Blake?" she asked. Since their discussion of the true nature of the
Metfield Ghost, she had not had an opportunity to address more than a few civil
remarks at him, and became aware that she had missed talking to him.
"I am, in fact," Mr.
Blake said with a smile. "I hope I am not disturbing you, Lady
Alice."
"Not at all," Alice
said and invited him to sit down next to her. After a moment's hesitation, he
did as she had told him.
"I hope you were not
avoiding me," Alice said with a little laugh.
"Why should I?" he
asked, giving her a puzzled look.
"I do not know," Alice
said. "Because of something I said or did?"
"Your behaviour ever since
you arrived here has been almost faultless," he said. "I merely was
very busy. So were you, I am told."
"Not so busy, really,"
Alice said. "Did you get a chance to make an enquiry regarding ... my
late-night visitor?" Alice did not want to call the apparition a ghost.
It had not been a ghost, she was certain.
"I did speak to some
people, but to no avail. According to the gamekeeper, the Metfield estate has
never had a poaching problem, there were no houses broken into in the past ten
years, and though one of the housemaids is going to marry the blacksmith I do
not think your strange visitor was him. There is one more possible explanation,
but one I believe to be highly improbable."
"Which is?"
"Smugglers." Mr. Blake
said gravely. "Dorset is smuggling country, and many of the ghost stories
around here only serve to keep people indoors at night. I never heard of any
free-traders operating from Metfield, however. This stretch of coastline is
rather dangerous; it does not suit the smugglers' purposes. Even if they'd be
willing to risk their lives, I do not think they'd risk their cargoes."
"So you think we can rule
out that possibility?" Alice asked.
"I need to inquire in
Weymouth before I can be sure, but I'd say so, yes," Mr. Blake said.
"Which leaves?"
"Nothing, I am afraid.
Perhaps you saw a ghost after all?" His playful smile told Alice that he
was not serious.
"I do not believe in
ghosts," Alice said. "Which is almost a miracle, considering I grew
up with someone like Julie in our house."
"Julie was your housemaid,
if I remember correctly," Mr. Blake said. Alice nodded.
"She was most accomplished
in the art of seeing bad omens that kept her from working," she said with
a laugh. "Once she told us she never answered if someone called her name,
because it might be someone from Beyond, and if she replied to the summons
she'd have to die. My mother told her that if she did not react to her
summons she'd have to leave. The thought of having to go somewhere else and
actually work seemed to frighten her more than death."
Mr. Blake laughed.
"But she kept coming up
with the oddest superstitions to avoid doing what she was told. I daresay she
made up most of them."
"I do not doubt it,"
Mr. Blake said. "Why did your mother put up with this?"
"Julie was a hard
worker," Alice said. "Despite her odd beliefs. Once she got started,
that was. Besides, Maman was good at managing her."
A fresh breeze was coming in
from the sea and made Alice feel cold. "I think I had better go in,"
she said, looking up at the sky and watching the clouds. "It amazes me how
quickly the weather can change around here. Do you think there is going to be
another storm, Mr. Blake?"
Mr. Blake shook his head.
"No, but it may start raining," he said, offering Alice his arm and
taking her book. As they walked back to the house, the sound of the wind
whistling in the branches of the trees reminded Alice of Laurent's
near-accident, and she turned to Mr. Blake, asking him whether the workmen had
found any more loose tiles on the roof. Mr. Blake looked rather startled, and
did not answer her question immediately.
"Well, did they or did they
not?" Alice demanded impatiently.
"No... no, they
didn't," Mr. Blake said, hesitantly. "You need not worry, Lady Alice.
Such an accident as your brother's is unlikely to repeat itself."
"Only two tiles on the
entire roof were loose?" Alice asked disbelievingly. "And those two
almost dropped on my brother's head! A strange coincidence, would you not
agree, Mr. Blake?"
"It has been known to
happen," Mr. Blake said calmly.
Alice nodded. Accidents like her
brother's had occurred before, no doubt. But if those tiles had fallen down by
pure coincidence, why had Mr. Blake not told her so right away? Why had he
looked so alarmed when she had asked him about the roof? What was he trying to
keep from her?
She wanted to be alone, to
think, to concentrate, and so she went into the drawing-room, sat down at the
pianoforte and started to practise, while Mr. Blake went to his room to write
some letters.
Robert Blake was not planning to
write any letters. His main objective was to speak to Lord Metfield as soon as
possible. Luckily, his employer was not busy at the moment and quite ready to
listen to him. What Mr. Blake told him did not please him.
"You told my daughter what
was found on the roof?" he asked.
"No, I just told her what
was not found," Mr. Blake said. "She seems to have drawn her
own conclusions."
Lord Metfield swore. "How
can I prevail on her to stay if she believes her brother's life to be in
danger?"
"I do not think her
suspicions go as far as that, my lord," Mr. Blake said.
"Let us hope so," Lord
Metfield said. "I wish I could take my children to London, but it is
easier to keep an eye on them here." He sighed. "I hope I'll find out
who did this before..." He stopped. "You will do what you can to reassure
her, won't you Blake?"
"Certainly, sir," Mr.
Blake said. "But I will not lie to Lady Alice - I am sure she'd find out
if I did."
Lord Metfield laughed. "She
is quite perceptive," he said. "I don't know if I should be proud or
afraid of her." Then he became serious again. "Laurent suspects
nothing, I hope," he said.
"No, he does not," Mr.
Blake said. "He never mentioned his accident, at least, and I do not
encourage him to do so."
"Good," Lord Metfield
said. "You will help me to watch over them, Blake - and I'll invite
Drummond to come here too - in case anything should happen."
"Your son will be delighted
to meet him," Mr. Blake said blandly.
Lord Metfield sighed. True,
Laurent would be delighted to meet Mr. Drummond, but Drummond would be anything
but delighted to come here. In his opinion, he could do much more good in his
hospital than in Metfield. On the other hand, if those tiles falling from the
roof had been an attempt to murder Laurent, a doctor in the house might
well be needed, and Lord Metfield could not think of a better one to tend to
his son.
He would have to be very careful, Lord Metfield thought -- but he still hoped his suspicions would turn out to be wrong, and those tiles almost dropping on their heads had been an accident and nothing more.
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