Carola Dunn (5 page)

“Lady Elizabeth offered to take us for a drive about the countryside. She is going to call in the morning, but if we will not be there I shall write her a note. Lord Welch said he will escort us. They are in love.”

“I do not think so, Angel. It seemed to me that Lady Elizabeth would have preferred to avoid his lordship.”

“Why, how can you say so? He goes to Grisedale every day only to see her, and when he hinted as much, she blushed. You have no feeling for romance.”

“Have you never been pestered by suitors you had rather not see? A sly remark may bring a blush of mortification, not pleasure.”

“I wouldn’t know. I have never been in the habit of blushing,” said Angel coldly. “And why does she receive him if she does not wish to?”

“It would be difficult to refuse a neighbour in this place where there are few, especially as Lord Grisedale favours his suit, I understand.”

“I can see that that odious Sir Gregory has set you against Lord Welch.
He
is the sly one. His lordship is charming and amiable, and you shall not persuade me that she does not love him.”

“Let us not come to cuffs, Angel. We’ll agree to disagree.” It did not seem to Catherine a propitious moment to bring up the subject of her forward behaviour. She did not wish to bear tales to her mother, but Angel must be made to realise that manners acceptable in a lady of large fortune and impeccable lineage were enough to sink beneath reproach a female in more modest circumstances.

She set herself to coax her cousin out of the sullens, not a difficult task. By the time they reached the vicarage, they were friends again. They found Mrs Sutton entertaining two maiden ladies from Patterdale who, though not parishioners, had felt it their duty to welcome the new vicar. Angel behaved with such becoming modesty that Catherine almost thought she had imagined the events of the afternoon.

Angel was silent because she was plotting. It was not in her nature to keep her plots to herself, but the presence of visitors did not permit her to reveal them to Catherine. Though unwilling to admit the possibility of being mistaken, she was anxious not to force her new friend into the company of a gentleman she disliked, if such were the case. She must discover the truth as soon as possible, which meant that she must go out driving with them both on the morrow without fail, even if it involved a little prevarication such as an imaginary headache.

No ruse was necessary. When Aunt Maria heard of the projected outing, she insisted that Angel must go.

“I hope that Catherine will bear me company, however,” she continued. “I cannot abide these brown serge curtains and had planned to go into Patterdale to choose something lighter. Just a cheap print that can be made over when we go home. And I shall take down all the net too. The house is dark enough without blocking all the windows.”

“I will certainly come with you, Mother,” said Catherine. “Angel, did you not wish to buy some material for a riding habit?”

“Yes, but it must be grey or brown if I am to keep up my disguise, so you can choose it for me, if you will. Lady Elizabeth says there is a seamstress in Barrows End who can make it up, and your curtains too, Aunt, I expect. But Catherine, you must have a habit also.”

“I packed one. How is that for forethought? Or perhaps only wishful thinking.”

“There is household shopping to be done too,” Mrs Sutton told her daughter. “Mrs Applejohn does not shop, and cooks breakfast only on Sundays, I have discovered. She does not live in, of course, so I expect she will not bring up water in the mornings either. I certainly hope the fire stays in overnight. At least John Applejohn will drive the gig into Patterdale so that we need not disturb your father.”

Mr Sutton approved their plans.

“I hope you will hold Wednesday free for me,” he added. “I have an introduction to the Vicar of Upthwaite, and I wrote some time ago to tell him that,
Deo volente,
I should call with my family on that day. It will be a pleasant outing if the weather holds fine. I believe he is a
young
gentleman.”

“Why, we have quite an acquaintance in the neighbourhood already,” said his wife. “Miss Weir and Miss Swenster are a little odd but very friendly, and I shall certainly visit them. What a pity Mrs Daventry is so excessively loquacious. I am afraid she is determined upon instant intimacy.”

“We must also pay our respects to Lord Grisedale this week,” the vicar remembered. “You will be obliged to see the chatterbox for once, my dear. I daresay she is lonely and in need of an occasional listener.”

“Poor Lady Elizabeth has to listen all the time,” pointed out Angel.

She was dismayed to find the lady in question seated opposite her friend the next morning, when the landau called for her. Lord Welch, who was riding alongside, handed her in.

“Good morning, Miss Brand,” Mrs Daventry began. Not awaiting a response, she proceeded to enquire after the Suttons, deplore the humbleness of the vicarage and its usual inhabitants, comment on the weather, and exclaim in ecstasy over the scenery, which was admittedly worthy of remark.

They drove along beside Ullswater, sparkling blue in the sunshine, its further shore lined with trees and meadows and an occasional farmhouse, beyond which rose the steep fells. Ahead, the lake seemed to stretch forever. Angel despaired of being able to talk to Lady Elizabeth, let alone of persuading her to confide. Only when the lane was wide enough to allow Lord Welch to ride beside them did Mrs Daventry cease chattering.

This, in Angel’s opinion, was sufficient reason to appreciate his lordship’s presence. On further acquaintance she found him an amusing companion. He was witty and complimentary in a style she was accustomed to in London beaux, and if not precisely handsome, he was not ill-looking. He dressed with as much attention to fashion as was appropriate to their rural surroundings. All in all, she approved of him and saw no reason why Lady Elizabeth should not love him. Perhaps Catherine had herself conceived a tendre for him, she thought, and had spoken out of jealousy. It was not an emotion with which she was personally familiar, but she had read that it did terrible things to the most sensible individuals.

In that case, she decided, if her new friend was indeed not enamoured of the viscount, she would do her best to see that he turned to Catherine.

At last they turned back. More anxious than ever to discover Lady Elizabeth’s feelings, Angel endured the return trip in absentminded cogitation which led her nowhere. She could think of ways to escape Mrs Daventry, and ways to dispose of Lord Welch, but to rid herself of both at once was beyond her ingenuity.

Fortunately, his lordship left them in Patterdale, to take the lane leading to Upthwaite. This freed Mrs Daventry’s tongue once more, but as she paused to draw breath, Lady Elizabeth steeled herself to interrupt.

“I should like to show Miss Brand the bridge over Grisedale Beck, where I caught a fish once,” she said. “If you do not object, ma’am. It is not far from the road and will only take a moment. There is a track just around the next corner.’’

In no time the two girls were alone together at last, strolling as slowly as they could manage down the cart track.

“Is Upthwaite very far from Patterdale?” began Angel cautiously.

“Three miles, or thereabouts.”

“Then it is six miles from Grisedale Hall. That is a fair distance for a daily ride. Twelve miles in all!”

“There is a bridle path over Dowen Crag which makes it much shorter.” Lady Elizabeth blushed as she said this.

“Is it a pleasant walk?” asked Angel, pleased with the way the conversation was going in spite of her unwonted discretion.

“Delightful. The hill is very steep, but the view from the top is all one could wish.”

“I expect you go there often?”

They had reached the bridge, a small arch of stone with a parapet precisely the right height for leaning on. They duly leant, and gazed down into a pellucid pool where silver glints betrayed the presence of a school of small fish.

“Dom used often to bring me here fishing,” revealed Lady Elizabeth with a sigh. “My brother Dominic, that is. We used string and a bent pin, but once I caught a trout big enough to eat.”

At any other time Angel would have been more than happy to follow up this lead, but now she was not to be deterred.

“You must often walk over Dowen Crag?” she persisted.

“No, rarely. As you see, Mrs Daventry does not like to walk, so I am confined to our own land.”

“That would not stop me!”

“I expect it would not. I fear I am sadly timid. Besides, I should be sure to meet Francis, and I am not permitted to see . . . a certain other person.”

Temporarily ignoring the second half of this confession, Angel pounced.

“Then you do not wish to meet Lord Welch?”

“Oh, if only I need never see him again! I have known him since I was a child, and he was an odious bully then. He was older and bigger than we, but there were no other children nearby so we saw a lot of him. Then he went away to London for three or four years, and when he returned three years ago he asked Papa’s permission to court me. Papa was delighted because I would not need a Season in London to catch a husband, but I was only sixteen so he made him wait. I managed after a while to persuade Papa that I did not wish to marry Francis, and I think he would have let me go to London eventually, only then Mama died so I could not. Now he is quite determined again that Francis shall have me. And though I have told Francis that I love another and will never be his as long as there is hope, he will not stop pestering me.”

“One must make allowances for gentlemen in love,” said Angel largely, fascinated by this outpouring of pent-up feeling. “I will try to distract his attentions from you though. Who is the gentleman you love, Lady Elizabeth?”

“I am forbidden to mention his name, or even to think of him. Miss Brand, I wish you will call me Beth. Lady Elizabeth is such a mouthful.”

“I will then, and you will call me An . . . Lyn. My name is Evelyn but I abhor it, and Lyn is quite pretty, is it not? Beth, will you not tell me?”

“Pray do not ask, Lyn, for I promised Papa not to speak of him—though Papa cannot control my thoughts. We must go back or Mrs Daventry will call after us.”

Deep in speculation, Angel was silent as they walked back to the landau, and had she so desired she could not have fitted a word in during the short drive to the vicarage, as Mrs Daventry was apparently making up for lost time. As the coachman let down the step, Lady Elizabeth took her hand.

“I hope you are not offended with me?” she whispered anxiously.

“Of course not, Beth,” Angel assured, kissing her cheek. “Shall we sketch tomorrow if it is fine?”

“Oh, yes, please let’s! Will you come up to the Hall? At two o’clock, say? I have a spare easel, or I can send the carriage for you.”

“I shall walk. Till tomorrow then. Good-bye, ma’am.”

Mrs Daventry had half a mind to step in and see dear Mrs Sutton, but Angel hurried to assure her that her aunt was from home. This she soon discovered to be the truth, and Uncle Clement was also absent. Coaxing a luncheon out of Mrs Applejohn, she ate it in the kitchen and was almost done when the gig was heard in the drive to the side of the house.

She dashed out to the stableyard, and embraced Catherine.

“You were quite right,” she admitted. “About Beth and Francis. Lord Welch, I mean. The poor man is suffering from unrequited love, which is excessively uncomfortable for Beth. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

Aunt Maria’s purchases were unpacked and examined, and last of all appeared the parcel with material for Angel’s riding habit.

“I do not call this precisely grey!” exclaimed Angel, spreading out a length of shot silk.

“It is if you look at it this way. And the blue going the other way is exactly the colour of your eyes.

“Well, it is very pretty, anyway. Will you come with me to the dressmaker?”

“What, at once? Let me sit a little to catch my breath, and a cup of tea would not come amiss. Then I’ll come.”

The dressmaker’s patterns were all at least two years old, but Angel decided that was just as well, as the silk was less sober than she had intended. She had already found her resolution unequal to wearing caps in the warm July sunshine, and instead had pinned her hair up in the least becoming style she could imagine. Being inexpert in the art, she had a tendency to lose several hairpins every time she moved her head, and after sitting on one Aunt Maria suggested that Catherine might help her.

So when the young ladies set off to walk to Grisedale Hall the next day, with the sun still miraculously shining down, Angel’s golden locks were pulled severely back behind her ears and confined in a net which she declared, giggling, to be positively spinsterish. The whole was hidden under her plain straw bonnet, which made Catherine’s modest fawn ostrich feather look almost frivolous.

Catherine had not wanted to go on the sketching party.

“I was not invited,” she pointed out, “and besides, I cannot draw worth a farthing.”

“I am sure you are expected, and if you come perhaps Mrs Daventry will not consider it necessary to chaperone us, even if Lord Welch comes. And he probably will, so you can draw him off and it will not matter that you cannot sketch. Please come!”

Catherine was not best pleased to be asked to distract the viscount. She had disliked him mildly at first sight, and Angel’s revelations, coupled with Sir Gregory’s, did nothing to contradict her opinion of him. However, she resigned herself with a good grace to playing chaperone, and shortly before two o’clock they approached the Hall.

It was an impressive mansion, built chiefly of local stone but with an added portico of marble brought in at great expense from Italy by the previous earl. The great hall of Tudor days had been partitioned into apartments of a more modern size, and the drawing room into which the two young ladies were ushered was comfortably, if not elegantly, furnished in the style of the last century.

From Angel’s point of view, the afternoon was every bit as successful as the previous morning’s work. She and Beth set up their easels on a knoll overlooking a small lake, or “tarn” as she was told she must call it. She had nobly decided not to press her friend, at least as yet, for the identity of her secret suitor, though she might have been less reticent had she not been certain that she had guessed it. The mention of “a certain person” in relation to Upthwaite village, accompanied by a blush, she added to her uncle’s description of the vicar of that parish as a “young gentleman,” and the answer was undoubtedly four.