Clarissa and the Poor Relations (8 page)

The ladies got back to the house a great deal later than usual and got very little done before dinner ushered their friends back again.

‘This will never do,’ chattered Oriana happily, ‘we must ban the gentlemen from our walk tomorrow or we shall never get on with our estate Business.’

‘Indeed, yes,’ said Oriana teasingly, ‘we mustn’t neglect Mr Elfoy.’

Clarissa blushed and ran up the stairs to dress.

The ladies had taken pains in their toilette that evening. Oriana was encouraged to wear one of the dresses that her old butler had sent from home, a light blue silk cut very low at the bodice over an under-dress of muslin, embroidered with tiny white roses. She rearranged her hair letting some of the magnificent curls cluster as they wished around her beautiful patrician face. Grandiston should at least see that she was her father’s daughter still.

Clarissa came in whilst she was bestowing a frothy lace shawl about her shoulders and gasped.

‘Oh, my dear Oriana, you look beautiful.’ she gasped. It was said so naturally that Oriana laughed lightly.

‘Perhaps I need no longer be a school mistress – at least until your brother comes.’ She was quite sorry that she had spoken, since Clarissa’s radiance dimmed somewhat. ‘Forget I said anything. Tonight we are neither of us school mistresses, I think.’

Her black silk, adorned as it was with her mother’s fine lace, looked so well that Clarissa knew herself to be in her best looks. The time was coming to leave off mourning for her mother, but it would be seemly for another few months to wear little colour in respect for her unknown cousin whose heiress she had become.

The ladies left the room in high spirits and found the three gentlemen there (for Mr Elfoy had also been invited) very much at their ease with the ladies. Miss Micklethwaite had distinguished the occasion with the addition of her finest Paisley shawl (present from her wealthy brother) whereas Miss Appleby’s dress was adorned by a multitude of lace and gauze shawls held in place, thought Clarissa wickedly, by every piece of jewellery that she owned.

The entrance of the younger ladies was everything they could have wished. Mr Booth gave a start and said, ‘By Jove.’  He grasped Oriana hand and pelted her with so many inarticulate compliments that she was obliged to laugh.

‘Miss Petersham, you look…you’ve never looked lovelier…that is to say, your gown…your hair…’

‘Your address, Charles, leaves us all standing,’ interjected Grandiston smoothly, ‘however, do surrender the lady’s hand.’ He grasped it himself and bowed low over it, murmuring, ‘Charles says it all for me.’ At his touch, Miss Petersham blushed slightly and uncharacteristically, her eyes glowing. He passed swiftly onto Miss Thorne, however and before Mr Booth reclaimed her, she had the happiness of seeing him say something to her friend that made her giggle. She was very sure that she was glad that two of her dearest friends stood on such easy terms with each other, but she sincerely hoped (for her own good) that Clarissa was not developing into a flirt.

Mr Elfoy greeted the ladies with his customary good manners. He could not but be aware of the change in Miss Petersham and he gave her a simple compliment on her looks, but his demeanour to Miss Thorne was a little reserved, Oriana thought.

Actually, he was in turmoil. Would Clarissa ever stop getting prettier each time he saw her? What did she mean by it? She was too kind to torment him, so why did she smile so and laugh with Grandiston? It seemed his Lordship was growing particular in his attentions and Tristram thought that he should be glad that Clarissa had found such a suitable suitor. He was glad – or would be, in time.

Had either of the young ladies had any pretensions to social climbing, their duennas might have given them embarrassment. As it was, they enjoyed Miss Appleby’s fascinating flirtation with the Earl and his companion. Mr Elfoy had not enough of the town bronze about him to send her fluttering (good gracious, thought Oriana, can that really be a
fan?
) and blushing by turn. The young ladies and gentlemen watched fascinated as Miss Appleby wafted fan and eye lashes in a captivating display of arts from a bygone age of courtship. She was arch and playful by turns and it was only when The Honourable Charles was rapped on the knuckles after addressing to her a perfectly innocent request for the salt that Miss Micklethwaite was moved to intervene.

‘Louisa, strive not to be a fool.’

Much to Grandiston’s chagrin (for he had enjoyed the little spectacle) Miss Appleby promptly collapsed, like a stuck balloon. As the lively dinner conversation continued she recovered under the kind and unalarming gentlemanliness of Mr Elfoy.

It was not usual, but seemed perfectly natural that the topic of Mr Thorne’s imminent arrival and its likely outcome was discussed in front of the gentlemen. Mr Booth was full of easy sympathy and sadness at the ways of the world. Grandiston, however, asked to be told a little bit about the gentleman.

Clarissa obliged. ‘There is not much to tell. He left home ten years ago and was given his portion from my father at that time. I have seen him very occasionally since then,’ she paused and flushed a little, ‘he did not really approve of my mother, you see. She was too free in her thoughts and actions for him. His reaction to her and papa was to become ultra-respectable as I believe his own mother had been. He certainly did not approve of the way they brought me up, free to speak my mind. He often said to father I was educated beyond my sex.’ She stopped here and became a little conscious.

Charles interjected cheerfully, ‘Not at all. You don’t seem at all bookish to me. Not like those terrible women at the literary luncheons my mother gives who creep up on one and ask if I think Sophocles was right. It leaves one completely bug-eyed.’

‘Your conversation, Charles, though always diverting, is not always useful,’ said Grandiston quelling. ‘Won’t you continue, Miss Thorne?’

Clarissa laughed and blushed, ‘I’m afraid, Mr Booth, that we ladies are all frightfully bookish and have even been known to talk about Sophocles over luncheon’ –Mr Booth looked shocked –’but not to young gentlemen who might not enjoy it.’

‘That’s all right then.’ said Mr Booth, relieved.

‘Charles.’ admonished Grandiston despairingly.

Clarissa continued, ‘Now my brother, though not fond of me, I think, wishes to give me a home. He believes that though perfectly surrounded by chaperones, I am not fit to be left alone.’

Miss Appleby interjected clutching Grandiston’s arm, ‘I cannot but think he is also moved by motives of gain. For his offer of a home was never so pressed after her dear mother first died. It was only after her cousin died and left the estate…’

Miss Micklethwaite’s no nonsense tones interjected. ‘Naturally, being an ignorant male of the usual sort,’ - here her baleful eye ran over the assembled gentlemen, in case they should protest; none of them did – ‘he holds that females are unable to run their own affairs. In spite of her superior education, Clarissa’s youth might have inclined me to agree in this case. However, that scheming wench he’s married will make her life a misery if she goes there
and
she’ll find a way to line her pockets, or I’m a kipper.’

Mr Booth felt that this extraordinary statement required some sort of rebuff (to the effect, perhaps, that she left no odour of fish?), made a strangled sound and was relieved when Miss Micklethwaite swept on.

‘They are social climbers, both of them, and I cannot stomach people who pretend to more than their situation in life. That, of course, is why young John could not stomach my dear Mrs Thorne. She was the daughter of a Viscount, brought up in this very house in its heyday and had no need to adopt airs or worry over her respectability. She was a great lady and she could not but show it, even in a schoolhouse.’ Her eyes grew misty, but she shook off the weakness that she detested and continued, ‘If it were better for Clarissa to go to her brother, I can speak for all of us here in wishing for it. We are ready to leave whenever it is necessary. But, my lord, if you have any suggestions to avoid this, I should be pleased if you would speak.’

Every one of the ladies was astounded that Miss Micklethwaite should ask the opinion of the despised sex. Her reliance on Grandiston was unheralded and must be from some instinct that ran deep after such a relatively short acquaintance. However, Miss Appleby was sure such a tall man must have the answers, Miss Petersham had reason to know and trust him and Miss Thorne shared the same instincts, so they turned uncritical gazes on him and awaited his words.

If Grandiston was aware of the irony of the situation, thought Mr Elfoy, he gave no sign. It was his custom to command and Elfoy found himself awaiting his words as hopefully as the ladies.

They had by this time retired to the drawing room and Grandiston stood by the fire, one hand on the mantle above him very much at ease.

‘It seems to me that you need to be busy getting to know your neighbours. Perhaps if you can establish yourself a little in the community it will be that much more difficult to dislodge you. If he feels the acceptance of the local gentry of your position here he may find upsetting them gives him pause.’

‘I have long wished to welcome those of our neighbours who have called, but Sullivan has thus far denied us, until we could put the house and garden a little in order.’ said Miss Appleby.

‘You have all done a splendid job of it and it now behoves you to take you place in society.’

‘Yes,’ said Oriana, ‘But will it serve, my Lord? Mr Thorne need not care for the opinions of this restricted neighbourhood when he lives so distant.’

Grandiston smiled. ‘Indeed. Is it so restricted? The son of a Baronet has just leased your Dower House…’

‘And has an Earl to stay.’ finished Mr Booth. ‘Dashed bad form to puff up your consequence, Hugo.’

‘Isn’t it just? But I get the feeling, from what the ladies have said that the more we puff up our consequence in Mr Thorne’s presence the better off it might be. If he sees a way into more elevated company, perhaps…’

‘Trust Sullivan for that.’ interjected Miss Micklethwaite.

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Clarissa, ‘How dreadfully vulgar this all is, but I can’t help thinking you’re right, sir. He’s a dreadful snob. He was so delighted when Juliana Sowersby befriended me when I came to stay with him last year. She’s the daughter of the finest family in his village and a sweet girl. Cornelia was furious because she’d never been invited to the Manor.’

‘Sowersby? Is that old Jonas Sowersby’s heiress? I never met her.’ said Charles.

‘I did,’ said Grandiston unexpectedly, ‘She was at Almack’s a number of times this season. Charming girl.’

‘That explains it. Never go there - devilish dull place. Had to squire my sisters there until they got engaged. Don’t care what you did in the Peninsular, Hugo, braving a night with my mother and sisters at Almack’s and being obliged to dance with m’mother’s friends, well,
I
should get a medal.’

‘Quite, Charles; however, we are considering the best advice to give Miss Thorne at the moment. Why don’t you invite Miss Sowersby to stay? The season is ending and she might be free to visit on her way further north, don’t you think?’

‘What a good idea. If Juliana were to be here when John arrived he should at least take care how he spoke to me. He would not order me to pack my bags at once, which I live in dread of him doing. But, will she come…?’

‘Another thing, my Lord,’ interrupted Mr Elfoy, ‘If Sullivan begins to admit callers then my Lord and Lady Staines will no doubt appear. That may not be to Miss Thorne’s advantage, since Lord Staines had desired to buy the Estate and had indeed arranged something of the sort with Mr Thorne.’

‘You did not tell me that, sir.’ gasped Clarissa. ‘Well, of all the cheek. This house is none of my brother’s.’

‘I think that between Charles and I we can endeavour to reconcile Lord Staines to the inevitability of Miss Thorne’s residence here.’

Elfoy looked sceptical and Booth astonished, but he caught Grandiston’s eye and so said, ‘Oh, quite.’

It was some time later, on the drive home, before Charles was able to vent his feelings, ‘How on earth are we to get Staines to approve of Miss Thorne staying in a place that he has coveted for years? Not like you to give the ladies false hope, Hugo. Come to think of it, I’m not at all sure that your stratagems for fobbing off Thorne will work. If he hopes to profit from his sister’s legacy, then a little local disapproval in Hertfordshire won’t upset him.’

‘The ladies require us to be knights-errant, Charles. They depend on us entirely. I’m sure that we can pull this off. The trick is to give everyone what they want.’

The Honourable Charles’ handsome face took on an exasperated expression. ‘Of course I mean to help the gels, that is, all the ladies of course, but I still don’t see how…’

Grandiston laid a hand on his shoulder in a placating fashion, ‘What would be the least desirable thing for Staines in obtaining Ashcroft at the present?’

Charles looked blank then said, ‘The cost, I’d say. An estate that size, even run down, would cost…’

‘Precisely Charles. You are not as dull-witted as I feared.’ he ignored the young man’s protest and continued, ‘Now, supposing we could show Lord Staines a way to obtain the estate without the cost.’ He paused and looked at his companion expectantly for a depressingly protracted period. Then:

‘He could marry it.’ shouted Charles brilliantly. Grandiston patted him on the shoulder. ‘But I say, Hugo we can’t really expect Miss Thorne to marry the fellow. It was only when we went to stay with him that I realized what a crashing bore he is – wouldn’t foist him on that sweet girl for worlds. Strange that, you meet a fellow in the club and at the races say and he seems perfectly fine, then you go to a house party and discover he collects bird eggs or some such thing. You just never know old man.’