Lord Clayborne's Fancy (24 page)

From the courtyard beyond the wall they could hear Elvira’s Uncle Lawton screaming at her, “How dare you take the bay? How often have I told you that you may not ride him?” There was a resounding slap and a stifled cry.

“If you please, Uncle Lawton, I had to ride for the doctor for the kitchen maid and Marlys is lame. I did not mean to vex you,” her voice came soft and unsteady.

“There is no excuse for your behavior. Bring me the whip!” Rebecca and Constance gasped in dismay and Rebecca made to enter the gate, but Constance stayed her.

“Remember what Elvira said, Rebecca,” she pleaded. “It will only make matters worse for her.”

Her friend stopped and struck her hand against the wall. “I know you’re right, but I cannot bear to stand idly by.”

“You must. We shall see what we can do for the child, but we must not intervene here.” Constance was looking pale.

“Now bend over the trough, miss,” the harsh voice roared from the courtyard. After each of the three blows there was a muffled cry and the sound of sobs. Constance put her hands over her ears but was unable to block out the sounds. Rebecca stood white-faced and rigid.

“You are a hard one to teach,” grated the panting voice. “Get to your room. There will be no food for you tonight.”

There were soft sounds of a hasty departure, and then a roar of ugly laughter, as the man shouted after the departing girl, “You won’t be able to sit for a week!” The laugh continued unabated, and Rebecca felt a chill run down her spine.

“I think he must be mad. To whip her like a boy and then laugh about it. Really, Constance, we must do something to help her.”

“I know, Rebecca, and we shall think of something. Come, we can discuss this at home. I want to be away from here.”

Chapter Seventeen

Clayborne was surprised a few days later to receive a letter from his wife. When he saw it lying on the tray in the hall, his heart gave an unexpected leap which he attributed to his fear that something might be wrong, since he was convinced that she did not intend to write him. He picked up the mail calmly, deposited his hat and gloves, and walked off to the library. Setting the other letters on he table, he proceeded to seat himself carefully, forcing himself to smooth out his pantaloons before breaking the seal.

Dear Jason (Rebecca wrote),

I find that I must write you and call upon the help you offered, though I hesitate to do so for it is a matter not to do with me, really. Nevertheless, it is urgent and I beg that you will give us any assistance you are able.

Yesterday while riding Constance and I came upon a young girl, I should think about fourteen, who is being mistreated by her guardian. He whips her, Jason, and it is not our imagination for we heard the whole! We have spent the morning gathering what information we could in the village. (I will not try to hide where we are now, for you shall need to know in order to help us.) We are in Chipping Campden in the Cotswolds and a mile west of town lies Campden Manor, which was owned until a year ago by Sir John Carstairs and his wife. Their daughter Elvira is our concern. Her guardian is her mother’s brother, Eustace Lawton, and I think from things Elvira said that he not only mistreats her but is also intent on robbing her fortune. He comes to London often and I hope that you can find out something about him there. Please do not think it none of my business, Jason, for I cannot but think of Mary or Meg in such a situation with no one to help her. I await your reply.

Fondly, Rebecca

As he reread the letter, Clayborne felt a twinge of regret, and some fond exasperation for Rebecca’s involving herself in the plight of the young girl, but he determined to pursue the matter immediately. He called for his curricle and made stops at his banker’s, his solicitor’s, and his man of business’s before wandering into White’s for something to quench his thirst, and perhaps a game of cards. To his surprise he found his Uncle Henry there.

“Sir, I did not expect your return until next month,” he exclaimed, shaking the elder man’s hand warmly. “Have you had a pleasant trip?”

“Yes, my boy, but my gout has been flaring up and I thought me of the comforts of my own home. I see you well?” he asked, noting the drawn look about his nephew’s face.

Clayborne professed to enjoy excellent health. When questioned about his wife he replied, “She is not in town just now, but I received a letter from her today and she seems to be in fine fettle.”

Sir Henry frowned thoughtfully and remarked, “You leave your wife alone too much, Jason. She is young and should be enjoying the pursuits of London with you. An admirable young woman, high spirited and of excellent understanding. It surprises me that she is content to stay at Gray Oaks when you are away from home.”

Spared the necessity of answering these remarks only by the arrival of several of Sir Henry’s cronies, Clayborne greeted them cordially, but was soon lost in abstraction, vaguely contemplating his wine glass. The older men fell into a discussion of Egyptian rituals and customs which ordinarily would have interested Clayborne, but he was concerned with Rebecca’s request and annoyed that he had just deliberately avoided telling his uncle that Rebecca was no longer living with him at Gray Oaks or anywhere else.

His attention was only claimed by the discussion around him when he heard his uncle saying, “Damned finicky the Egyptians are about virginity. Their young women are intolerably coddled, to my mind. No bareback riding, no strenuous activity which might conceivably break the maidenhead. Excessive caution, I call it. And some of their other rituals on the same subject are absolutely grotesque, I assure you.” His cronies were absorbed in this diatribe and did not notice Clayborne’s arrested look. They were, however, somewhat startled when Clayborne abruptly took his leave of them, pressing his uncle to take dinner the next evening at Clayborne House.

“Certainly, Jason. I shall look forward to it. Just remembered a pressing engagement, have you?” he asked quizzingly.

“You have put me in mind of something, Uncle Henry,” Clayborne grinned ruefully. “Excuse my hasty retreat. I assure you it bears no bad reflection on your singularly interesting discourse on Egyptian customs. I was fascinated.”

“As you say,” Sir Henry returned dryly, but shook his nephew’s hand and watched him stroll purposefully from the room.

Clayborne emerged from the club into the cloudy street and surprised his groom by asking, “You were employed in Mr. Winter’s stables when Mrs. Winter was confined, were you not, Thripps?”

“Yes, my lord,” Thripps replied.

“Do you recall what doctor they had for her confinement and where his house is situated?”

“Yes, my lord. Sir John Bradley in Cavendish Square,” the startled groom replied.

“Good lad. Hop up.”

When Cavendish Square was reached, the groom indicated the doctor’s house and Clayborne, looking impatient and hesitant at one and the same time, climbed the stairs and used the knocker firmly. The groom, who watched circumspectly as he walked the horses, saw his lordship admitted immediately.

Proffering his card, Clayborne remarked apologetically, “I have no appointment but if Sir John is available I would be most grateful for a few moments of his time.”

The butler ushered the distinguished visitor into an elegant drawing room and hastened off, returning shortly to lead Clayborne to the library where Sir John Bradley rose to greet him.

“A pleasure, Lord Clayborne. Will you take a glass of wine?”

“Thank you, I will,” Clayborne said, beginning to wonder how he was to broach such a delicate matter. He sat down when his host did and cleared his throat, attempted to speak, but decided instead to take a sip of the wine.

Sir John regarded him with some amusement, and after waiting a moment for Clayborne to speak, asked encouragingly, “Was there some matter on which I might help you, Lord Clayborne?”

“Hmm. Yes.” Clayborne got no further for a moment, but finally said irrelevantly, “It was something my Uncle Henry said, actually. Sir Henry Davert, you know.”

“I am indeed acquainted with Sir Henry,” the doctor admitted, his eyebrows quivering with suppressed laughter. “May I ask what it was your uncle said which brought you to me?”

“He said that... at least he intimated that a woman could appear... uh... unvirginal merely from bareback riding or some other type of strenuous activity.”

“Did he? And you have come to me to ask if that is true?” Sir John’s eyebrows, magnificent in their bushiness, lifted in query.

“Exactly so,” Clayborne replied, fascinated by the individual hairs of those eyebrows, which stuck out at a multitude of angles. Rebecca could draw a marvelous cartoon of Sir John, he thought.

The doctor regarded him with wonder. “An easier consultation I seldom enjoy,” he murmured, the eyebrows quivering again. “Yes, it is true. There are a number of means by which a maidenhead may be destroyed, other than intimacy. It is rare, you understand, but by no means unknown. Occasionally a female is born without. Again, unusual but possible. Does that answer your question, Lord Clayborne?”

Clayborne was regarding him with a stunned look, slowly shaking his head as if to clear it. “Is this something I should have known? That is, I always understood...”

“It is an unusual situation, therefore seldom thought of or discussed. I should think most people are not aware of it. I have myself, however, known authentic cases.”

Clayborne gulped the rest of his wine, rose to his feet and shook hands enthusiastically with Sir John. “Most enlightening,” he mumbled. “My thanks, sir.” He precipitately strolled from the room wrapped in his own thoughts, leaving Sir John to the enjoyment of his long suppressed amusement.

Decidedly unsettled by this interview, Clayborne took himself to Jackson’s Boxing Saloon to work off a bit of his vexation. Even if it were possible, it was not necessarily so. In fact, in an effort to stem a rising tide of hope, he told himself firmly that it was not in the least likely, to be sure. Gentlemen Jackson was impressed with his pupil’s ferocity, though he felt it incumbent upon him to suggest a trifle more concentration. But when Clayborne left No. 13 Bond Street he knew the first peace of mind he had felt in almost a year.

It was several days before Clayborne received any information from the inquiries on Lawton he had set in motion and he was not at all pleased with the intelligence he gleaned. The Eustace Lawton portrayed by his informants was not attractive—a man of perhaps forty who in London led a dissipated life of drinking, gambling and bits of muslin, yet maintained without estates or visible means of income. He seemed to disappear frequently from London at low ebb, only to return to his dissipation within a month or so, apparently well-heeled once again. Lawton was known for his disagreeable temper and was not received socially in even the most modest circles.

What alarmed Clayborne most was a rumor that Lawton had once abducted a young heiress with the intent of forcing her to marry him, though he had not succeeded, the girl’s family having discovered them in time. Clayborne could not verify this information, but, in light of the other facts he had obtained, this totally unscrupulous behavior did not seem out of character.

Clayborne’s solicitor informed him that it was a very serious matter, and usually unsuccessful, to bring an action against a guardian for mistreatment of a ward. He suggested that Clayborne concentrate on the charge of mishandling estate funds, which could be proved more easily and agreed that the indications clearly warranted further investigation. Determined to get to the heart of the matter himself, Clayborne left London.

* * * *

Elvira shyly presented herself at the cottage a few days after they had met and the young ladies welcomed her enthusiastically. “We are just in the middle of a cookery lesson,” Rebecca informed her, patting her floury hands on a sparkling white apron, “for Constance is determined to learn how to make cakes and stews and such things. Do you know, it is quite fun?”

“When my mama was alive and Mrs. Troobles was in the kitchen she let me help her sometimes. It was one of my favorite things,” Elvira confessed.

“Good. Then you can help us. Come along,” Constance urged.

Since Rebecca and Constance had spent the previous afternoon under Harpert’s supervision beating sweet almonds with loaf sugar and the yolk of an egg, and fashioning rout cakes in numerous fantastic shapes, this afternoon the cakes were baked and then were ready to decorate. They ornamented them with nonpareils, candied peel and icing, spilling more on the whitey-brown paper than perhaps was strictly necessary, but enjoying themselves all the same. Casting aspersions on the mucilage of gum arabic needed to make the nonpareils adhere, Rebecca assured Harpert there was no need to rush out and purchase a brush for spreading it. “We’ll do very well with our fingers. They couldn’t get any stickier than they already are.”

“I was once,” Rebecca told Elvira, “at a party where they made the most remarkable structure out of rout cakes and barley sugar. I think it was supposed to be a miniature of the host’s castle in Kent but it bore quite a noteworthy likeness to Westminster Abbey, so perhaps the chef had not been out of London. There is an amusing account of such an edible model in Headlong Hall, only it is of a mountain with milk punch flowing down miniature rocks. Have you read it, Elvira? If not, I shall lend it to you, for it is vastly diverting.”

When the cakes were ready and tea had been made, Harpert served them in the parlor. Rebecca could not help but notice that Elvira seated herself gingerly on the sofa, and a flash of anger went through her. Giving her a warning look, Constance proceeded to discuss the neighborhood with their visitor.

Elvira, who had had a governess until the death of her parents, now occasionally received some lessons at the vicarage, but for the most part did not receive any instruction at all. Constance was indignant about this and urged that the girl come to them for some studies, as they were already teaching Harpert and would be glad to include her.

“You are very kind, ma’am, and I should like it of all things. I cannot be sure when I can get away, though, and I should not like to be a nuisance,” she said.