Elizabeth Mansfield (14 page)

Cassie could scarcely believe it. “But … so loudly?”

“Yes. It’s like rubbing your finger round the edge of a crystal goblet. Didn’t you ever do that as a child? The action of your finger sets the crystal vibrating, and the glass ‘sings.’ The faster you run your finger on the rim, the shriller the sound. Eunice and I used to do it in the nursery. It made the governess frantic. Here. Try it for yourself. As soon as the wind comes up, put your hand on the windowpane.”

Cassie did so. When the wind came up and the wail began to shrill, she could feel the glass vibrate.

“There,” he said triumphantly. “Feel it tremble? That’s what’s making the whine. Now press hard to keep the glass steady.”

She pressed, and the noise ceased at once. “That’s marvelous,” she said in amazement. “I wonder if all ghosts can be so rationally explained.”

“Probably,” he said, relighting his candle with the flame of hers. He took her hand and led her out of the room. “They used to talk about a ghost at the Langstons’ when I was a boy …” He entertained
her with the tale of the “chimney ghost” at the Langston estate as they strolled back down the corridor to their own rooms, relating how he’d become convinced that there was something loose in the chimney that made the ghostly rattles. He’d begged the Langstons to let him climb the chimney, but they’d refused. “I think they, like Mrs. Whitlock, liked believing that the manor house was haunted,” he remarked as they came up to Cassie’s door.

“Yes,” she sighed as she turned to bid him good night, “I think it will be a real disappointment to Mrs. Whitlock when she learns there’s no Rossiter ghost. Do you think we ought to keep our knowledge to ourselves and let the ghost wail at will whenever the wind is in the west?”

“Not on your life. I want to be able to sleep soundly at night. I shall tell Loesby to putty away the ghost first thing in the morning.” He squeezed Cassie’s hand. “Good night, my dear. I was glad to have had you at my side through this frightening ordeal. You’ve been a most intrepid adventurer tonight.”

She gave an embarrassed little nod and whisked herself off into her room before he could see the blush of pleasure that suffused her cheeks. He, on his part, found himself smiling as he returned to his bed. It was the first time in weeks he’d smiled like that. Perhaps Loesby was right, he thought, as his eyes closed. Perhaps he
was
luckier in his bride than he had a right to expect.

Chapter Sixteen

Everything seemed cheerier the next morning. The wind had died, the sun shone and the temperature rose. Kittridge lingered over breakfast with his wife for almost an hour before taking himself off to his study. Cassie hummed to herself as she worked in her sitting room, mending a pair of gold velvet drapes for the drawing room. The future seemed to have promise after all.

But the end of the day changed everything. A carriage drove up to the door through the snowbanks just at sunset, and out jumped Sir Philip Sanford, their first visitor. He had started out for Lincolnshire just before the snowstorm and had been forced to put up at a nondescript hostelry for three boring days. “As soon as I heard that the roads were open, I came posthaste the rest of the way,” he told his host as Loesby relieved him of his greatcoat. “Can’t tell you how glad I am to be here at last.”

“You started out before the snow?” Kittridge asked incredulously. “We’d been here less than a week. Didn’t anyone ever tell you, you gudgeon, that newlyweds should be given some time alone before seeing guests? Have you never heard of a honeymoon?”

“Of course I have. But it’s not as if you made a love-match. I thought, under the circumstances, that you’d be glad to see me.”

“I am glad to see you. I was only twitting you. And here’s Cassie come down to greet you. I’ll wager she’s just as happy to see you as I am. It’s been almost a fortnight since she’s had any face to look at but mine and the servants’.”

Cassie greeted their guest with shy warmth, but in truth she was not as glad to see him as she pretended. She had met Kittridge’s friend only briefly, at the wedding, and felt him to be a stranger. Since strangers always made her uncomfortable, she had to strain to appear at ease. Sandy, however, was not the sort to put a hostess on edge. His moon-shaped face was cheerful, and conversation flowed easily from his tongue. It wasn’t long before he won Cassie’s liking, and within an hour from the time of his arrival, they were all three joking comfortably together in the sitting room like old friends.

It wasn’t until dinner time that the mood changed. They had just finished the first course, a modest offering of cabbage soup, filet of sole and buttered carrots that Mrs. Whitlock had concocted at the last minute, when Sandy remembered that Eunice had sent a packet of letters that had been delivered to her brother at the London address. He withdrew the packet from his coat pocket and tossed it across the table to his friend. While they waited for Loesby to serve the second course, Kittridge flipped through the envelopes. When he spied two large, square buff-colored envelopes, his expression changed. Without a word of explanation, he excused himself, picked up the envelopes and left the table. He did not return to the dining room. Cassie and Sandy were forced to conclude the meal without him.

By the time he did return, more than an hour had passed. Cassie and their guest had repaired to the sitting room and were making desultory conversation while Sandy sipped at a glass of port. Kittridge seemed not the same fellow that he’d been earlier. While his remarks to Sandy were friendly enough, his attitude toward his wife was formal and distant. Cassie couldn’t understand it. What had happened to make him angry with her? She could only surmise that she’d committed some blunder that had earned
his disapproval, but what that blunder was she couldn’t imagine.

She lowered her head and sat in silent misery as Kittridge and Sandy conversed. They spoke of political events, discussed the illness of one of their mutual friends and reminisced at length about life in the Dragoons. Occasionally Sandy directed a remark in Cassie’s direction, which she answered with a monosyllable, but her husband never turned his head in her direction. She endured his unkindness as long as she could, and then she excused herself and went to bed. She cried for several hours before she fell asleep.

Kittridge appeared in the breakfast room the next morning before Sandy came down. Cassie, heavy-eyed and miserable, was poking desultorily at a coddled egg. “Good morning, my dear,” her husband said in an ordinary voice as he helped himself to the eggs and hot muffins that Loesby had set out on the sideboard. “I hope that Sandy’s unexpected arrival did not discompose you.”

“No, not at all,” she murmured. “He is an easygoing guest. I … enjoyed his company.”

“Yes, so did I.” He took his place opposite her and began to eat. “I only asked because I thought you were unduly reticent last evening.”

“Was I?” She looked across the table at him and took a deep breath. “If I was,” she ventured bravely, “it was because I had the feelings that … that I had angered you.”

His eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. “Angered me? You? Why on earth would you think so?”

She fixed her eyes on her egg. “Because you seemed … short with me.”

“You’re imagining things, Cassie. I don’t remember being short with you, ever.”

“It seemed so to me. You left the table before finishing your dinner, if you remember, and when you returned, you … you …” Here her courage failed her.

“Yes?” he prodded, studying her with a frown.

“Never mind,” she muttered, reaching for the teapot. “It’s not important.”

“But it must be important. If my behavior offended you, you must say so. It won’t do to keep silent on such matters.”

“Well, Robert, if you insist on it, the truth is that you scarcely said a word to me all evening,” she burst out bluntly.

“Oh. I see.” He put down his fork, his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, Cassie. I’d had some letters that … well, that spoiled my mood. But they had nothing to do with you, I assure you.”

“Was that it?” she asked, shamed. “Now
I’m sorry
.” She’d made a fuss for no reason. His letters had brought him bad news, and she’d thought about nothing but her own feelings. Now her sympathy was all for him. “I should not have taken offense. Forgive me, Robert. Was your news very troublesome?”

“No, nothing worth speaking of. Will you pass the teapot, my dear? I wonder if Sandy intends to sleep the morning away.”

Recognizing that he had purposely turned the subject, she had no choice but to let the matter drop.

For the rest of the day, Kittridge went out of his way to be kind to her. Her company was requested for every activity the gentlemen engaged in; they even invited her to watch them play billiards. By evening they were so cozy together that Cassie could hardly believe her own ease of mind.

After dinner, the two friends insisted on teaching Cassie to play Ombre, a perfect card game for their circumstances, because it was three-handed. Her innocent enthusiasm for the game delighted the gentlemen, and when, at the end, she so far forgot her shyness as to give a loud curse when she lost, crying out, “Blast it, I should have played the six!” they all had a hearty laugh.

In the days that followed, Kittridge, busy making plans to renovate the farm buildings, expand the sheep herds and build new housing for tenants, found it necessary to go out with his land agent, Mr.
Griswold, for several hours at a time, leaving Cassie to entertain their visitor. This task proved to be more pleasant than she expected. Sandy was always boyishly open and cheerful. And when he discovered that she’d been spending her days exploring the unopened rooms, looking for whatever small treasures of art or furnishings she could find, he eagerly requested permission to join her on her rambles.

They spent many agreeable hours exploring the house together. They dusted old paintings, peeped under Holland covers, and studied old vases for identifying marks. When they found many of their discoveries to be in an alarming state of disrepair, they decided to make a workshop of one of the third-floor rooms, where they could touch up the gilt on shabby picture frames, glue broken bits of porcelain together and refinish old pieces of furniture. The
ton
of London might have found such activities eccentric for a viscountess and a peer of the realm to indulge in, but, as Sandy pointed out, there were many among the
ton
whose eccentricities were much more reprehensible. “Besides,” he added, “who in London would ever know?”

The indispensible Loesby installed a large wooden slab on two sawhorses as a worktable for them and supplied them with paints, brushes, sandpaper and tools. The two spent many hours contentedly laboring at restoring the many treasures the household contained.

During these explorations and restoration activities, Cassie found Sandy so easygoing and companionable that she forgot to be shy. On his part, Sandy discovered that the girl he’d thought too mousy and colorless for his friend was, instead, intelligent, witty and charming. Very soon, he completely forgot that he had ever thought otherwise.

One evening, after he’d spent a week in their company, Sandy announced to his friend Robbie that he’d decided to extent his stay another fortnight. “Might just as well,” he explained. “I have no pressing engagements in town this month, and I’d as soon spend my evenings here quietly as dash about town escorting insipid females to operas and balls and such.”

Kittridge nodded in acquiescence. Cassie had already retired, but the two men had remained in their easy chairs at the sitting room fire. Their feet were propped up on the hearth, and they were contentedly drinking brandies from large snifters. “Stay as long as you like, old man,” Kittridge said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome for as long as you can endure this dull, bucolic life.”

“I don’t find it dull. Surprising, isn’t it, that after the excitement of those long years of army life and then months of living in town, I can still enjoy the utter peace of the country?”

“No, not surprising. It’s your nature, Sandy. You always see the best in everything.”

“Are you saying that you don’t?” Sandy studied his friend with sudden concern. “I thought you were beginning to find contentment, Robbie. Am I wrong?”

Kittridge shrugged. “I’m not discontent. I enjoy the challenge of estate management, at least so far. The days are not dull.”

“But … ?” Sandy prodded.

His friend lowered his head. “But this is not the life I’d dreamed of.”

“I know that. But, Robbie, you should consider yourself lucky. Cassie has turned out to be a gem, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Kittridge took a melancholy sip of his drink. “At least you and Loesby are agreed on it.”

“But not you?”

“I said yes, didn’t I? My wife is a pearl beyond price.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “And with a forty thousand pound dowry, I must consider myself fortunate indeed.”

Sandy’s genial face contorted into an unaccustomed glare. “She don’t deserve that tone, Robbie. I think she
is
a pearl beyond price.”

A shadow of pain darkened Kittridge’s eyes. “Yes, I suppose she is. But you see, Sandy, I thought, once, that I would wed a diamond.”

Chapter Seventeen

The weather warmed, the snow melted, and the inhabitants of Lincolnshire emerged from hibernation. Wagons again rolled on the roadways, and tradesmen appeared at the kitchen door with foodstuffs and supplies. Cassie began to interview candidates for staff positions in the household, and, with Loesby’s help and Sandy’s good-natured meddling, hired two housemaids, a scullery maid, an assistant cook to help Mrs. Whitlock in the kitchen, and a laundress. She left it to Loesby to engage footmen and stable help.

With the staff thus amplified, Cassie set about enlarging their living area. In addition to arranging for pleasant housing for the staff, she brightened up the dining room, readied a second guest room, ordered the new maids to clean and refresh the library and had the breakfast room repainted a sunny yellow. The only room she left untouched was the drawing room, explaining to Sandy that, since she’d taken out the best pieces for their sitting room, she was waiting for the opportunity to buy new furniture for the drawing room with the “pin money” her father had given her on her wedding day.