Carola Dunn (19 page)

At least that meant she had succeeded in hiding her unhappiness from them.

That day the sun continued to shine. The boys were outside most of the time, making the most of what was left of their freedom. Lissa let them ride with a groom or ramble alone--Peter had plenty of common sense and Colin, especially, had an excellent sense of direction--while she did her best to prepare a plan for such of their lessons as would still be her responsibility. She explored the library, burying her misery in printed words. Underneath, the ache went on.

The weather changed. Chilly rain fell in ceaseless sheets. Now keeping the boys occupied indoors left Lissa little time to brood.

On the second wet, cold day, Lady Orton and Lord Quentin arrived at Ashmead. The boys had had their supper and were sitting by the fire in their nightshirts, listening to Lissa read from Waverley, when Lady Orton came into the schoolroom.

“Brrr,” she said, shivering and digging her hands further into the fur muff she still carried, “I do not believe I shall ever be warm again. Colin, darling, see what horrible weather your mama has endured to see you!”

“Do come and sit by the fire, Lady Orton,” Lissa invited her.

Her unexpected arrival came as a shock, for Lissa had forgotten that Colin’s future abode was still not settled. What was she to do if Lady Orton demanded their return to Town, thus oversetting her brother’s effort to remove himself from temptation? However much he loved Ashmead, Lord Ashe could not be expected to rusticate when the Polite World was gathered in London and Parliament was in session.

“Yes, Mama, come and get warm and listen to Waverley. It’s a rattling good yarn.”

“Not now, my love. I just came up to say hello before I change for dinner. You may tell me all about it tomorrow. You look very well.”

“I am well. Supergigantenormously well.” Colin and Michael had both adopted Peter’s invention, and applied it indiscriminately. “We can stay at Ashmead, can’t we?”

“As long as Miss Findlay does not mind staying out here in the middle of nowhere to look after you. And she does not leave to nurse a sick mother,” Lady Orton added darkly.

Lissa knew her predecessor, Miss Prescott, had committed that grievous sin. “I have no mother, Lady Orton,” she hastened to assure her employer.

“You may stay, then, Colin.”

So, after all Lissa’s worry, that was that.

“And Lord Quentin and I shall be able to marry at last!”

The prospect no longer disturbed Colin. “You’ll come to see us, Mama, when the weather is nice?”

“Yes, indeed. In fact, I have had the most splendid notion. It is too bad of your uncle to go off to Town when I particularly wished to discuss it with him and your grandmama at the same time.”

“He had to go to find us a tutor,” Peter apologized.

“We have to start doing lessons all the time,” Michael explained, “‘cause of autumn. You can discuss it with us instead if you like.”

“What sort of splendid notion, Mama?” Colin asked cautiously.

“I shall come to Ashmead for Christmas, and invite lots of friends to bring their children! With their nurses and governesses, of course, to take care of them, but Mama is bound to say it will be too much trouble. I counted on Rob to persuade her she need not lift a finger herself. She has Cousin Jane and an excellent housekeeper to organize everything, and I daresay you will not object to helping, will you, Miss Findlay?”

“Not at all, ma’am, if Lady Ashe agrees to the party.”

“If! That is the only difficulty. I must change and go down to talk to her.”

Lady Orton kissed Colin and departed. The boys were far too excited to settle down to Waverley again. Lissa tried to calm them by pointing out that Lady Ashe was highly unlikely to be willing to fill the house with unknown children. Even with nursemaids and governesses galore, the disruption of her peace would be supergigantenormous.

Lissa’s calming efforts were in vain. At last she put Michael to bed, leaving Peter and Colin trying to work out how many children, nurses, and governesses could be crammed into the nursery wing.

As she tucked Michael in and snuffed his candle, he asked in a voice full of foreboding, “Will they bring their own toys, Lissa? We haven’t got enough for lots and lots of children.”

“If they come, which I consider most improbable, I shall make sure they are advised to bring their own toys.”

“Good,” said Michael.

Lissa had noted how, more and more, all the boys spoke of “we,” and “us,” and “our.” Colin had not talked of lending his possessions to the others in an age. It was not so much that he had learned to be more sharing as that he no longer thought of them as belonging particularly to him. He regarded himself as one of three. “You’ll come to see us,” he had said to his mother.

He even suggested occasionally that Peter and Michael should take turns at going down to tea with his grandmama. Not that he minded the event, but sometimes he had to abandon something interesting they were involved in.

However, Lady Ashe made it very plain when she wished to see all three boys, as she did now and then. Otherwise little in their daily lives served to distinguish the master’s nephew from the governess’s brothers.

Against all the odds, Lissa had found a happy home for Peter and Michael. The cost to her heart none but she would ever know.

* * * *

Colin was eager to go down to the drawing room. He had not seen Mama for ages, except for a few minutes last night. Besides, he wanted to know more about the children who were coming for Christmas, so he could tell Peter and Michael all about them.

“Don’t forget, your mama wants to know about Waverley,” Michael reminded him, coming into his room as he combed his hair.

“She doesn’t really. Mama doesn’t like books.”

“Doesn’t she?” Michael was aghast. “What does she read, then?”

“Silly magazines with pictures of ladies’ clothes. She used to make me look at them, too, before.”

“Gosh, what a waste of time!”

“Wasn’t it? I hated it.” Colin held out his hands. The rain had stopped at last, and though a cold wind was blowing they had been out for a ride earlier that afternoon. “D’you think my nails are clean enough?”

Michael examined his own. “Cleaner than mine, but I ‘spect Lissa will make you scrub them.”

They both sighed. Colin poured some water from the ewer into the basin and scrubbed his nails, then presented himself to Lissa for inspection. Passing muster, he hurried to the drawing room.

The weather was still horrible, so he was not surprised to find no callers. Grandmama, Mama, Cousin Barbican, and Lord Quentin sat close to the fire, Mama shielding her face with a hand-screen. Though she smiled at him, she looked rather cross. Lord Quentin looked pleased, and Grandmama looked just the same as usual.

Making his bow, Colin wondered what they had been talking about before he came in.

“Come and sit here, darling,” Mama said, patting the footstool beside her.

A footman had followed him in with tea, lemonade, and biscuits and cakes. Colin saw there was cherry-cake, which Michael had finally decided was his favourite. He hoped some had been sent up to the nursery. It wasn’t fair that he got all the best treats just because Peter and Michael didn’t have a grandmother.

As Grandmama poured tea and Lord Quentin handed the cups and biscuits, Colin whispered, “Mama, why are you cross?”

“Grandmama is not well enough to have a lot of children to stay.”

How clever of Lissa to guess! He should have listened to her, then he wouldn’t be disappointed. “But you will come for Christmas all the same?” he begged.

“Yes, darling. I shall just have to think up something else amusing to do.” She put on her thinking face, one step nearer a frown than her cross face.

“Well, young man,” said Lord Quentin cheerfully, “what have you been doing all summer?” He didn’t like children, so he was glad about the Christmas party.

Colin knew he didn’t like books, either, and he nearly decided to bore him with the story of Waverley. But that would be rude, and being rude on purpose wasn’t nearly such fun any more now there were so many things to do that were lots of fun. Colin politely told Lord Quentin about the ponies, and Curly, and picking blackberries, and watching Uncle Rob’s bridge being built.

Lord Quentin wasn’t really very interested. He soon started talking to Grandmama about a summer ball he and Mama had gone to. Colin thought Grandmama looked bored. He certainly was, and awfully hot, too, sitting so close to the fire. He finished his lemonade, but he was still too hot.

“Mama, may I go and look at Grandmama’s china? I’m dying of heat.”

“Your face is very red. Are you sure you have not got a fever?” She felt his forehead.

“No, I’m perfectly well, just hot.”

“Very well, run along, my love, but do not take the china out of the cabinet to play with.”

“I wouldn’t!”

He crossed the room to the glass-fronted cabinet where Grandmama kept her figurines. Most were dull shepherds and shepherdesses, but there were some dogs, a merry-go-round, a Punch and Judy, and even St. George killing the dragon, Colin’s favourite. He put his hands behind his back so as not to be tempted to turn the tiny key and open the doors. One day, when Michael was chattering with Grandmama, Colin and Peter had made up a grand story about the dragon attacking the merry-go-round. It was a pity they weren’t allowed to take them out and play with them.

“Play!” he heard Mama exclaim. “That is it. The very thing!”

“My dear Lady Orton,” said Lord Quentin, “what do you mean?”

“Amateur theatricals, at Christmas.”

Wondering what amateur theatricals were, Colin missed what Grandmama said next, but he realized she sounded disapproving.

“No, no, assure you, ma’am,” said Lord Quentin, “quite the thing. In fact, I’d go so far as to say, all the rage. Dashed if we don’t find ‘em putting on plays everywhere we go these days. In fact I know at least half a dozen people--best of ton, I assure you--who have constructed private theatres in their houses, or at least put up stages.”

“Such as?” Grandmama asked in her disbelieving voice.

“Oh, Mount Edgcumbe, for one. The earl’s never happy unless he’s strutting about playing a bumbling Cornish mayor or some such, making people laugh.”

“Truly, Mama, it is perfectly unexceptionable. Some people even hire a professional actor or actress to improve the performance. Oh, I have just thought--Miss Findlay will be able to help us, having been on the stage.”

“Miss Findlay?” Grandmama was shocked. Colin’s heart sank at her tone. “An actress!”

“Opera dancer,” said Lord Quentin. “Don’t take much acting ability, I’m afraid, Lady Orton.”

“Disgraceful!” snorted Cousin Barbican. “I knew from the first the girl was up to no good.”

“An opera dancer?” Grandmama said faintly. “Ashe’s light-o’-love, I collect.”

“Don’t think so, ma’am. He swore she wasn’t his ladybird.”

“I did wonder at first,” said Mama, “but as Rob pointed out he would never introduce his chère-amie to his sister, still less to his mother.”

“Bad ton,” Lord Quentin agreed. “Not that sort, Ashe.”

“I hope you are right, but if not his then someone else’s. I cannot--will not--have an opera dancer in the house. She must go. I shall send her, all three of them, away first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Quite right,” Cousin Barbican confirmed.

“How could you let her take charge of your son, Daphne! She will corrupt his morals and--”

“I say, ma’am,” interrupted Lord Quentin, catching sight of Colin as he turned, recovering from the paralysis that had struck him at Grandmama’s dreadful words, “child present, don’t you know. Daresay he won’t understand, but....” He shrugged.

Mama jumped up and hurried over to Colin, looking flustered. “It is time you went back to the nursery, my love.”

“But, Mama--”

She swept him towards the door. “Run along now, Colin darling. And remember, pray, it is very wrong to repeat what you overhear.”

His world shattered, Colin plodded up to the schoolroom. He told the others about the children not coming for Christmas, and they thought that was why he was so quiet and mopish. They tried to console him. As though he cared a fig! Christmas would be just as much fun without a lot of people he didn’t know. More fun, probably, with just Peter and Michael. And Miss Findlay, of course. But without them....

He couldn’t go back to the lonely life in the London house. It would be better to live in that nasty house in the dirty street in Lambeth, with Lissa and Peter and Michael. He wouldn’t mind being poor, he wouldn’t even mind being ill, if he was with them.

Uncle Robert would come and visit them there, even if Lissa wasn’t his light-o’-love, which was a pity. It sounded such a nice thing to be. Colin imagined a candle set in a window to show the way to the person you loved. Being a ladybird would be fun, too, having red wings with black spots. He wasn’t sure what a Jeremy was, but of course Lissa wasn’t one because it was a man’s name and she was a lady, so Uncle Robert couldn’t possibly introduce her as Jeremy to Mama.

Mama wouldn’t like to visit him in Lambeth, he thought, but perhaps he could go sometimes and visit her. She would probably marry Lord Quentin if Colin went to live with Lissa. That wouldn’t be so bad, just for visits. Lord Quentin wasn’t a monster like Michael’s papa.

Colin couldn’t remember his own papa very well. He had been sad when Papa died, but perhaps it was lucky, because when he was twenty-one Papa’s estate would be his. The Findlays could go to live with him there and not be poor any more.

Maybe Uncle Robert would go on giving him pocket money--which was really his own money, after all--when he went to live in Lambeth. Then they wouldn’t be quite so poor, and Lissa wouldn’t have to work so hard.

The trouble was, Mama and Grandmama would never let him leave with Lissa and Peter and Michael tomorrow morning.

So he must be gone by then. He must take himself to Lambeth. If he was waiting at the house when Lissa arrived, she would take him in, and hide him if they came to get him. She was good at hiding people. Michael’s papa had never found him and Peter. If Lissa was a man, she’d be a gallant knight like St. George, galloping around rescuing people. Sir Jeremy, Colin thought, and smiled.