Lord Clayborne's Fancy (25 page)

“Come when you can. We’re often here, since we’re trying to refurbish the cottage and its furnishings. We’ll teach you when you can be here,” Constance assured her.

“My governess said I was quite handy with a needle. Perhaps I can be of some help to you in return.”

“We could use some help,” Rebecca laughed, “but you must not feel obliged.”

It became obvious to Rebecca and Constance as the days went by that their offer meant a great deal to the girl. When questioned as to her friends in the neighborhood, they were surprised to learn that she had few, and none whom she could have to her home, as her uncle had forbidden it, just as he had forbidden her to visit them, saying they were not equal to her in class or fortune and did not make suitable companions.

“And what do I care of their fortunes or rank?” the girl expostulated. “The squire’s daughter is of an age with me and we have been friends all our lives. And though Uncle Lawton can have no objection to her on that score, he says she is a giddy thing and he will not countenance my even talking with her or he will... Well, he does not allow me to see her either, and I am afraid to speak to her even in the village when we meet lest he should hear of it somehow. No doubt she thinks me very rude by now, for I have taken to avoiding her.” She sighed sadly.

“And what does your uncle say of your coming to us?” Rebecca asked grimly.

“He does not precisely know of it,” she admitted. “That is, I have merely said that I am off to my lessons, and if he believes that I go to the vicarage, well, let him.”

Constance frowned. “I do not like to think of your deceiving him, but perhaps in this case it is for the best. You could get in trouble if he finds out, though.”

“Yes, but then I get in trouble for almost anything, so what odds is it?” Elvira asked fatalistically.

“Let us hope he does not learn of it,” Rebecca said mildly, and changed the direction of the conversation.

But Eustace Lawton did learn of it a week later, and his descent upon the cottage was immediate and furious. Constance was out at the shops choosing some material for her bedroom and Rebecca was sewing in the parlor. The day was exceedingly hot and she was dressed in a flimsy, low-cut sprigged muslin with the front window open for a breath of air to pass through the room and cool her. There was a loud, imperative hammering on the front door which startled her into pricking herself with the needle and exclaiming vexedly. Harpert opened the door only an inch to assess the caller.

“I am Eustace Lawton and I will see your mistresses immediately,” he growled.

“I shall see if they are receiving,” she informed him tartly and made to close the door.

“That will not be necessary,” he said as he shoved the door wide and pushed past her. “I have seen one of them in the parlor and I intend to see her whether she likes it or not.”

Harpert was helpless to stop him, and since Rebecca had heard the whole conversation and was now at the door of the parlor, the maid looked imploringly at her.

“All right, Harpert. I shall see Mr. Lawton,” she said coldly, returning to the parlor but not seating herself. Harpert left the door open and did not leave the entry hall, although she was aware that some biscuits were likely to burn.

“Please state your business, Mr. Lawton. I am not in the habit of having gentlemen barge into my house this way.”

“Are you not?” he sneered. “I should have imagined you were. Which one are you, Exton or Clayborne?”

“I am Mrs. Clayborne.”

“I take leave to doubt you are a married woman,” he scoffed.

“Nevertheless, I am. Did you come here to insult me, Mr. Lawton?” she asked frigidly.

“I am here to inform you that my niece will be attending no more ‘lessons’ here. I can just imagine what she learns from two lightskirts in Chipping Campden.”

“Get out of my house, Mr. Lawton, and do not present yourself here again,” Rebecca ordered. When he did not move but stood leering at her heaving breasts, she called, “Harpert, see this person out!”

Harpert, wielding a broom she had grasped from inside the kitchen door, approached the visitor menacingly, whereupon he gave a snarled laugh but took himself off.

“Thank you, Harpert. You are not to admit that person again,” Rebecca shuddered.

“I should think not, ma’am! Can I bring you a cup of tea? You look dreadful pale,” she said solicitously.

“Best make it a glass of wine. I am sorry to have put the burden on you, Harpert, but I could not bear to have that despicable man in the cottage a moment longer. You were very brave and I admire your foresight in arming yourself with the broom. You looked like an avenging Fury.” Rebecca smiled tremulously

“Just you rest a moment, ma’am, and I shall have a glass of wine for you.”

When Harpert had bustled into the kitchen, Rebecca shakily sat down on the nearest chair, despite the fact that it had no seat cover on it. For the first time since had come to the cottage she questioned the wisdom of three women sharing a cottage alone. However, momentarily her anger prevailed, and she realized that they had been doing well enough before meeting Mr. Lawton, and that he alone suddenly made everything appear sordid and distressing. She had not been exposed to anyone of his disgusting nature in her life and she found it hard to know how to handle him.

If only Clayborne would do something about him! But she could not be sure that Clayborne had paid any heed to her letter, as she had not heard from him. That lowered her spirits considerably, and they were further lowered when she realized that Elvira had no doubt suffered for her friendship with the two older women. What a tangle!

When Constance returned and was apprised of the situation by Rebecca, she took a very firm stand. “If Clayborne is not looking into the matter, I shall write to my brother. He is no doubt busy, but if I request it of him urgently, I am sure he will come. And Rebecca, you must carefully avoid Lawton. I would not put anything past him.”

“Nor I,” Rebecca shivered. “Really, he is so intent on bending everything to suit his own demented notions that I cannot but believe he is deranged. To call us lightskirts, Constance! He has not the least claim to being called a gentleman.”

“No, and we must remember that he is not, and cannot be expected to behave as one,” her friend replied worriedly. “I cannot like being here alone with such a villain in the countryside. And we can no longer do a thing for Elvira. I fear she has paid dearly for our acquaintance already.”

“I have just been thinking that myself. Perhaps we had best speak with the vicar and see if he can help us. He seemed a pleasant enough man when he visited, if rather vague. I shall write to Clayborne today and ask if he has instigated any inquiries. If not, we must turn to your brother, I suppose, though I dislike having to involve him.”

When Rebecca had written her letter, the two young women posted it in the village and proceeded to the vicarage where Mr. Andrews lived with his sister and a dozen cats. Miss Maria Andrews was delighted to see the visitors and immediately rang for tea, announcing that her brother would be returning shortly and they should await him with her.

Miss Maria was a tall, angular woman of faded mien and indeterminate years. If she was curious about her visitors, there was no sign of it, for she merely began a long, rambling discourse on the various cats who padded about the room, brushing lazily against the young ladies’ skirts.

“Now Sophia there has had five litters since she came to us, and I have not been able to part with more than three or four of the kittens. Sox and Sother are two of hers, and the striped one on the writing desk, Somat, is also. They were the naughtiest little kittens, but have become quite well trained now,” she proclaimed, as Somat knocked over a vase of roses, and she gently scolded him. Perhaps feeling that the subject had proved infelicitous, she queried the young women on their cottage.

“We are making great progress,” Rebecca informed her. “I imagine in a few more weeks you would not recognize it. I hope you and your brother will come for tea when we finish.”

“That would be delightful. The cottage has been empty for a short while, and the elderly man who lived there before was in no position to care for it as should have been done. I have lived here many years with my brother, and I am sure Mr. Peter was there when we came. He must have been ninety when he died.”

This conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Andrews, who appeared to remember the visitors from his early call at their cottage, even if their names eluded him. He seated himself comfortably in a chair beside Constance and began to speak of parish matters with them.

“We have come to speak with you on a rather serious matter,” Rebecca gently interrupted him after a while.

Miss Andrews immediately excused herself, but Rebecca and Constance assured her that it was not necessary. “We wish to discuss Elvira Carstairs,” Rebecca explained to her, “and you may be of assistance.”

Miss Andrews again seated herself, and murmured, “The poor child.”

Mr. Andrews regarded the two young women curiously. “You have met Elvira?”

“Yes, we met her out riding one day,” Constance replied. “She has come to our cottage several times.”

“I am surprised her uncle allows it!” Miss Andrews exclaimed.

“When he found out, he forbade it,” Rebecca admitted. “We had been giving the child some lessons and, I hope, providing her with some much needed companionship. From what we’ve seen and heard, we’re convinced that her uncle mistreats her.”

“Now, now, I know he is a strict man, but surely not unkindly so,” the vicar said soothingly.

“You do not consider his whipping her over trivialities to be unkind?” Rebecca asked hotly.

“Purely a child’s imagination,” the vicar protested condescendingly, “which adults should listen to with the proper incredulity.”

“It is no such thing,” Constance asserted. “We have heard him whip the girl quite shamelessly. He has denied her any contact with children her age, has rid the manor of all the servants she knew and loved, including her governess, and has sold off her father’s stable for the most part. Surely that is not a child’s imagination!”

The vicar regarded her sadly. “If what you say is true, nonetheless there is nothing that can be done. Elvira must learn to bear the burden God has seen fit to lay on her shoulders.”

“God has not laid it on her shoulders,” Rebecca said scornfully. “Her uncle has done so, and certainly there must be something that can be done.”

Miss Andrews cast a reproving look at Rebecca and said, “My brother’s concern is with the souls of his parishioners, Mrs. Clayborne. When Miss Elvira comes to us infrequently for lessons, as some of the village children do, my brother instructs them in the words of the scriptures, and a very elevating time it is. I would that some of the adults in the village took such heart from his words,” she said meaningfully.

“I am sure Mr. Andrews is quite noted for his uplifting services,” Constance replied soothingly. “It did in fact occur to Mrs. Clayborne and myself that if he were to visit Campden Manor occasionally and speak with Mr. Lawton, it might ease Elvira’s situation somewhat.”

Mr. Andrews’s face became flushed as he said quietly, “Mr. Lawton has indicated to me that my visits to Campden Manor would not be welcome. I did try going there when first he came, you understand, and he allowed that the child might attend my scripture classes occasionally if she were not required at home.”

“And has Elvira attended many?” Constance asked.

“Not above half a dozen in the last year,” he admitted.

“But when she came did she not give you some idea of the situation at Campden Manor?” Rebecca pressed.

“What she said was most distressing,” Miss Andrews sighed.

“Did you not believe her?” Constance asked coldly.

“She is not a child given to fancy,” Mr. Andrews allowed, “but she is young, and her parents’ death was a shock to her. I daresay she is unused to being other than indulged, as only children often are,” he replied pompously.

“So in fact you are well aware of the situation at Campden Manor and intend to do nothing about it,” Rebecca said sadly.

“There is nothing I can do except give her the benefit of my guidance and my faith,” the old man pointed out self-righteously.

“She will grow accustomed to her uncle’s ways and learn to accommodate him,” his sister assured them.

“There is no accommodating him,” Rebecca retorted. “He uses the flimsiest of pretexts for punishing her severely and allows her no companion with whom she may share her troubles, or even her joys, if she has any. Thank you for your time, Mr. Andrews. We need not trouble you further.”

Chapter Eighteen

From London to Oxford Clayborne made very good time on his journey to the Cotswolds; he drove his own curricle with his groom up behind. After Oxford, however, he made frequent stops and detours to the towns and villages in the area, using the letters of introduction his solicitor had thoughtfully provided.

In Chipping Norton, Long Compton and Shipston he was unable to gain any information, but his inquiries were more rewarding in Broadway and Evesham. There Eustace Lawton was well known and, which Clayborne found not at all surprising, heartily disliked. Clayborne had been referred to a particular solicitor in Broadway, a young man who seemed clever and honest, and to him he confided the whole of the matter concerning Lawton and commissioned him to investigate further. After passing the night at an inn there he at last turned toward Chipping Campden.

Clayborne passed Campden Manor on his way to the village, but he saw no activity there and did not pause. When he arrived at the Lygon Arms he entrusted his curricle and pair to his groom and went in to bespeak a room. He was soon on friendly terms with the landlord who, fortunately for Clayborne’s purposes, was a very talkative, confiding fellow.

“Ay, I knows Eustace Lawton, but I misdoubt your honor be a friend of his. More like he be a friend of the devil. Never seed such a mean man in me life. Your lordship would hardly credit the way that man treats a horse! Once he tried to hire a horse here when his was lame, but never would I allow it. Told him meself ‘twasn’t a one not spoken for. Nor did he believe it. But what odds is that, I ask you? I couldn’t care less for his custom. Took it out on the groom he handed his own horse to, would you believe it? Very nasty fellow. Steer clear of him I would were’n I you,” the landlord cautioned.