Carola Dunn (12 page)

“Gracious, is it so late? Miss Findlay and I have been having such a comfortable cose, I did not realize the time. There was something I wanted to ask you, Miss Findlay. What could it have been?”

About her stealing her brothers away from their guardian? Lissa prayed not. “Something about Lord Orton, ma’am?” she proposed cautiously.

“Colin, of course! My brother tells me you believe Colin is strong enough to study Latin with a tutor.”

“I believe it will not harm him, and may even help by keeping him quietly occupied.”

“Perhaps. You would keep a careful eye on his health?”

“Naturally, Lady Orton. He is somewhat improved of late.”

“Rob mentioned something about milk,” she said vaguely. “How very clever of you. I am really prodigious glad Rob found you, Miss Findlay. Colin is quite fond of you, I collect, and positively dotes upon your brothers. His manners are vastly better, too, are they not, Lord Quentin? Only yesterday he bowed to you without being reminded.”

“He did,” Lord Quentin admitted, not visibly impressed. “That is a prodigious fetching gown. I see you took my notion of tassels depending from the collar. Charming! Let us go and display it to the Ton.”

Lady Orton put on her bonnet. “I had Marlin sew matching tassels around the brim. What do you think?”

“Hmm.” He stroked his receding chin. “Yes, indeed, a charming conceit, though it would not do to make them any larger. You will undoubtedly set a fashion, my dear Lady Orton.”

Beaming, she departed upon his arm, Lissa forgotten.

* * * *

Lady Orton did not forget to instruct her dresser regarding the half-mourning gowns for Lissa. Disapproving but obedient, Marlin took in and shortened two evening gowns, four morning gowns, and half a dozen walking dresses.

The colours ranged from grey-green lavender to bluish slate-grey and pale pearl-grey, shades quite different from the leaden grey Lissa was accustomed to. The skirts were much narrower and less ornamented than the present fashion dictated. Lissa did not mind.

Nor did she mind when the woman, disparaging her lack of inches, showed her how to pile her hair up on top of her head to lend her height.

The first new gown she wore was a walking dress of what Marlin described as dove-colour, a warm, pinkish grey. The close fit of the bodice embarrassed her, though Lord Ashe had not yet returned from Gloucestershire to see the way it outlined her bosom, grown fuller with good food.

Still, she was glad the abigail had softened to the extent of adding a pelisse to her new wardrobe. Of glossy bronze-hued lustring, it matched none but would go with any of the gowns. There was a Leghorn hat, too, trimmed with a curling white ostrich plume.

With the pelisse over her arm, Lissa went to the schoolroom, where the boys were waiting for their outing to the park. She paused on the threshold, ridiculously shy.

“Lawks!” cried Michael, “you’re the beautifullest lady I ever did see.”

Lissa laughed. “Thank you, pet, but not lawks, if you please.”

“My mama is more beautiful,” said Colin, “but you do look very pretty, Miss Findlay.”

“Thanks to your mama’s kindness.”

“Very pretty,” Peter confirmed, “and like a proper lady at last. I thought you’d have to wait till I grow up.”

“Everything will change when you grow up, Peter dear,” Lissa said softly. “Come, let us go to the park before it decides to rain again.”

She wore her new pelisse to walk through the streets, but took it off as soon as they reached the park. Far from pouring as it had the past few days and even that morning, the afternoon was hot.

Newly rain-washed, the city air smelled near as fresh as in the country. In the cheerful sunshine, wisps of vapour rose from sparkling wet grass and the still spring-green leaves of the trees and shrubberies.

Lissa enjoyed strolling along the paths while the boys ran up and slithered down delightfully slippery hills. The seats of their breeches were muddy in no time. She apologized mentally to the laundry-woman, but did not stop them. The clean air, together with his milkless regimen, definitely agreed with Colin. Almost as tireless today as Peter and Michael, he even had breath to spare for shouts of sheer exuberance.

By the time they turned homeward, Lissa had grown accustomed to the snug fit of her new gown. She was by far too warm to put on the pelisse. As they walked along Piccadilly, no one turned to stare at her, though the boys’ decidedly grubby appearance drew some amused glances and a censorious raised nose or two.

On the well-scrubbed doorstep of 39, Dover Street, small boots deposited a dismaying quantity of mud. Lissa was about to tell her charges to go down into the area and through the kitchen, but Jack opened the front door and they dashed in.

“Boys, stop!” she cried. “Shoes off before you take another step.”

All three dropped to the marble floor. Lissa hoped no guests would come down the stairs at just the wrong moment.

“My bootlaces are all knotted, Lissa,” Michael complained. “They won’t come untied.”

“Leave it to me, miss,” said the footman, kneeling. “‘Twould likely be me as had to clean up if you’d’ve let ‘em go on. There’s one done, Master Michael.”

Peter and Colin were already in their stocking-feet. Peter took a step towards the staircase and was struck with a splendid notion.

“Look!” He slid across the polished marble with a whoop.

Colin promptly followed suit. The domed vestibule resounded with their cries of glee, soon joined by Michael’s piping note. As they whizzed about, Lissa could not help smiling, and Jack laughed aloud.

“Times I’ve wanted to do that!” the young footman admitted.

“But you did not, and they ought not. Peter! Colin!” she called belatedly.

Too late. Michael flew across the floor, lost his precarious balance, and was caught up in the arms of Lord Ashe.

Lissa hurried forward. “I beg your pardon, sir, I should not have let them....”

“Don’t blame Lissa, my lord,” Peter interrupted. “It was my idea. You must punish me.”

“I did it too,” Colin chimed in. “It was a famous idea. It was fun, Uncle Robert.”

“Are you going to beat us?” Michael whispered, pale faced, as his captor set him on his feet.

“Beat you?” Lord Ashe’s nascent grin gave way to a frown and he sought Lissa’s eyes. She remembered telling him of Mr. Exton’s harsh treatment. “Good gad, no! As I recall, it was famous fun.”

“You used to slide on this floor?” Michael asked disbelievingly. Colin and Peter gathered around.

“Well, once or twice. I spent most of my childhood in the country. The hall at Ashmead is floored with the most splendidly slippery parquet. But you are fortunate that Colin’s mama is not at home and receiving visitors. She would have had every right to be annoyed had you disturbed them.”

“‘To every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven,’“ Peter quoted.

“Exactly.”

Lissa intervened. “And now is the time for you all to go upstairs and change your clothes.” They scampered away. Turning back to thank Lord Ashe for his forbearance, she saw on his blue Bath-cloth sleeve the print of a small muddy hand. “Oh no, Michael has dirtied your coat!”

He glanced down. “Mills will easily brush it off when it dries. Colin seems well.”

“He is.”

“And you look well.” He smiled at her.

Blushing, Lissa gabbled something about his sister’s kindness and hastily changed the subject. “Was your business in Gloucestershire successful, sir?”

Lord Ashe grimaced. “Telford advised a slightly different site for the bridge, which will involve revising some calculations.”

“Will it delay the construction?”

“Not by much, if I just buckle to and get it done.”

“Shall you?” Lissa ventured.

He laughed. “I shall. I want it well under way before winter weather complicates matters. Rather the reverse applies to the boys’ studies. Voss has found a man who sounds suitable, and I shall interview him this evening, but I am inclined to put off hiring a tutor until the autumn, to allow them a summer of leisure. I am in hopes that Daphne will allow Colin to go down to Ashmead under your aegis.”

“Summer in the country would be pleasant, but I doubt Lady Orton would be willing to trust him entirely to my care after so short a time. She stays in Town?”

“She remains more or less in residence here, dashing off hither and yon to various house parties. Family life in the country does not suit her.”

“And Lady Ashe is not well enough to take charge, I understand?”

“My mother is frail,” he acknowledged, “no longer robust enough to contend with boyish high spirits. Not that Colin has shown any sign of high spirits before now.”

“Oh dear!” Lissa said guiltily.

“My dear Miss Findlay, I am congratulating you, not blaming you.”

“Still, perhaps I had better go and see what they are doing.”

As she moved towards the stairs, he called after her, “Don’t, I beg of you, put it into their heads to slide down the bannisters!”

She glanced back. “Did you...? You did! They will think of it soon enough themselves, I fear!”

Climbing the stairs, she was aware of a curiously warm feeling inside her. Lord Ashe had approved her looks in her new dress without making her feel threatened by his attentions. Nor had he frightened her with any reference to her stepfather. Instead he had treated her as a respectable and respected governess--yet there was more to it than that.

She dared to think that, in his manner as much as his words, he had treated her almost as a friend.

He had joked with her, congratulated her, talked of his work as well as of Colin’s welfare. But she had been the first to mention the bridge, she remembered. She must not let herself be misled by his charm. Noblemen did not make friends with governesses.

Nonetheless, the warm feeling remained.

The weather also remained warm, or rather excessively hot, and dry. No breeze stirred the sweltering air. Foul stenches drifted into Mayfair from the slums and the river. Soot from a hundred thousand coal cooking fires begrimed streets and houses, and dulled the green of grass and foliage in the parks and squares.

After three days of increasingly smoky air, Colin could no longer run more than a step or two before he started wheezing. Soon Lissa had to stop even taking him to the park: the walk was too much for him. Letting Peter and Michael go alone, she stayed at home with Colin. Though she tried to keep him quietly occupied and amused, he forlornly envied his friends’ freedom.

Then he developed a dry cough. Coughing fits made breathing difficult even when he kept quite still.

Lissa discovered that frequent sips of warm barley-water at least soothed the cough, so she kept some over a spirit lamp. Lying down made him worse. That evening, Lissa sent her brothers to sleep in her chamber and sat up with Colin in the night nursery, soothing him as he struggled for air.

“Don’t tell Mama,” he begged. “She will only send for Dr. Hardin...and he will bleed me and give me nasty medicine...which doesn’t do any good. Even Miss Prescott...said it’s no good for me.”

Convinced what was making him ail was the foul city air, Lissa hesitated. She had heard nothing from Lord Ashe, and if he could not overcome his sister’s resistance to sending the boy to the country, Lissa was bound to fail. Lady Orton, just returned from a few days in Brighton, had not yet sent for Colin. Lord Ashe had not visited the schoolroom in several days.

Yet Lissa felt herself lamentably young and ignorant. She could hardly rely on Colin’s judgment of the efficacy of Dr. Hardin’s unpleasant remedies. Perhaps the physician had some new treatment to try. Suppose she did nothing and Colin fell seriously ill?

In the course of the next morning even speech became a struggle for him. By midday Lissa knew she could no longer cope alone. When Peter and Michael left for the park, she sent the nurserymaid with a message to Colin’s mama.

The girl returned to say Lady Orton had gone to a picnic at Richmond and was not expected to return much before dinner.

“Then pray go down again and inform Lord Ashe that his nephew is ill.”

“‘Is lordship’s gone to the ‘Ouse of Lords, miss. There’s no knowing when ‘e’ll be back. ‘Pends if there’s somefing going on ‘e’s interested in partic’lar, like.”

Lissa had not known Lord Ashe took an interest in the business of government. She should have guessed when he spoke of Colin taking his seat in the House of Lords. To interrupt him there seemed impossible; to send a messenger in search of Lady Orton was useless.

Should she take the responsibility for calling in the physician? Suppose he prescribed cupping again? Lissa did not think Colin was strong enough to be deprived of several ounces of blood.

She glanced at him. Leaning against his heap of pillows, for lying down made him worse, he looked far too small and pale to be bled. Hollow-eyed, he gave her a game but pitiful smile and her heart went out to him.

He wheezed a plea. “Not Dr. Hardin, Miss Findlay!”

His fear of the doctor was agitating him, the worst thing for his condition. “No, I shall not send for him,” Lissa said. Not yet, she said to herself and prayed that Lord Ashe would come home soon.

Peter and Michael returned home first. They entered the night nursery with anxious enquiries as to how Colin felt.

“Not well,” Lissa said, setting down the book she had been reading him.

“We’ll cheer you up,” Michael told him. “We saw such a funny thing in the park! There was a big dog. He was nice. We played with him, throwing his ball, didn’t we, Peter?”

“Until he saw the cows and decided they were more fun to chase than the ball. They galloped all over the place with their tails in the air, and the dairymaids were all shrieking and jumping up and down. Then one sat down in her milk-pail and got stuck!”

Colin started to laugh. He doubled up, gasping. His face took on a bluish tinge.

Chapter 10

Ashe had tailored his speech, on the benefits of sanitary housing for the rural poor, to his audience of noble landowners, lamentably thin since many had already gone into the country. He dwelt on the inefficiency of sickly labourers and the profit to be expected of improvements in their health.