Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1) (15 page)

Sophy’s puzzlement only deepened. For sure, it was unusual for a gentleman to use the arts of glamours, or at least to own to it; but it did not imply any particular villainy if they did. Nor did it seem all that terrible for them to staff their own household; it was a shame for the locals to lose the prospect of a job there, for certain, but Sophy could see no other harm in it. ‘Is there something in particular that you fear, Mr. Balligumph?’ she asked. ‘For my part, I can see no great harm in anything that they are doing, or said to be doing.’

Balli sighed gustily. ‘Not in so many words, Miss Sophy. Only, I hear as ye’re quite the favourite wi’ that Mr. Stanton, an’ I would be happier to know the household’s all right-and-proper in that case.’

‘I am much obliged to you for your kind solicitude, and I have no wish to dismiss your concerns. If you hear of anything more specific, I trust you will inform me?’

Balli nodded. ‘That I will, Miss.’

Sophy smiled her thanks. ‘In the meantime, I shall not be too alarmed. Mr. Stanton is one of the most agreeable gentlemen I was ever in company with, and I cannot believe anything too awful of him.’

‘Ye’re that impressed?’ Balli said, his thick brows disappearing behind the brim of his hat. ‘I heard the talk, but I didn’t know ye were sweet on him.’

‘Sweet on him! Gracious, no. It is far too early to think of such things. But that I find him very
agreeable
I shall not deny.’

Balli’s blue eyes twinkled down at her, something of his customary joviality restored. ‘I want to like him meself,’ he admitted. ‘If he can see the merits in my Sophy, he must be all right! I’d only be glad to be assured of it on more impartial grounds.’

‘Try not to be too concerned,’ Sophy told him. ‘I feel perfectly easy about it, myself.’

Balligumph eyed her severely. ‘Aye, but bein’ none too concerned about things is your way, Miss Sophy—even when ye
ought
to be thinkin’ differently.’

It wasn’t the first time that Balli had alluded to the difficulties of her situation, and Sophy knew he was right. But she saw no merit in worrying about troubles she had no power to change. If trouble came,
then
she would worry about how to solve it. In the meantime, the only way she knew to get from one day to the next was to fret as little as possible, and take pleasure in the good things she did possess.

‘All will be well,’ she said to Balligumph. ‘I feel it in my heart!’

‘That heart o’ yours is a mighty powerful piece o’ magic, then,’ he told her in a laughing tone. ‘Ah, well. I’ll trust it, ‘till I have reason to think otherwise.’

Chapter Nine

When Sophy arrived at Tipton Wood, she found Mr. Stanton awaiting her in a little clearing near the centre. He was seated upon a fallen tree, with his hat in his hands and the top two buttons of his waistcoat undone. He had the air of a man who had been waiting for some time, but who minded it not at all; he appeared relaxed and in fine spirits. The smile he directed at her when she approached suggested that the one thing that could improve the day for him had now arrived, and her heart beat a little faster.

He said nothing, however, by way of greeting. He merely moved over a little on the tree, making room for her to sit down. After a momentary hesitation, during which she suffered more than a few feelings of awkwardness, she accepted his unspoken invitation—although she did take care to leave a few clear inches of space between herself and Mr. Stanton.

The next few minutes passed away in a companionable silence. Sophy sat quietly, enjoying the warm sunshine, the flourishing greenery of Tipton Wood and the birdsong drifting down from the canopy overhead. She allowed her eyes to rest on patches of spring flowers, and velvet-green moss, and the gleaming feathers of the birds that sailed merrily by, breathing deeply of the delicious fragrance of the woods in the height of May.

The silence was so comfortable that her awkwardness soon faded, and she began to feel as relaxed as Mr. Stanton looked.

At length he broke the silence by saying: ‘Do inform me when your head-ache reaches intolerable proportions, Miss Landon, or I may not be aware when it is time for me to escort you home.’

Sophy smiled. ‘I will be sure to do so. It is not yet an insurmountable affliction.’

Another few moments’ silence ensued. Sophy’s mind wandered back to the topic of her recent conversation with Mr. Balligumph, and the doubts he had raised about Mr. Stanton’s household. She had resolved on making some enquiry with him, in order to set Balli’s mind—and her own—at rest, but she was reluctant to break the comfortable mood that existed between them. Nor could she think of a subtle way of raising the topic—some manner of approaching the subject that would give her the information she wanted, but without making him feel interrogated.

She began by asking him questions: perfectly ordinary ones about his family, his background, and his pursuits. He seemed equally desirous of learning more about her, and so for some minutes they engaged in an amicable exchange of information. Sophy learned that, like herself, he had no siblings; that both of his parents were gone; that he had grown up in a small village in Nottinghamshire, and he had hopes of soon making a permanent home for himself through the purchase of an estate.

His lack of relatives went some way towards explaining how he and Mr. Green had come to settle at Hyde Place without a lady to do the honours; though it was undeniably peculiar that both Mr. Stanton and his friend should find themselves with no one to call upon. But she gave this barely a moment’s thought. He was even poorer in connections than she was herself; and as he talked about this, she detected a degree of loneliness in him that echoed her own. He desired to build a settled home for himself; to rectify his solitary state through the happy additions of a wife and children. These, too, echoed her own secret wishes, and she felt drawn ever closer to him.

But Balli’s doubts remained unaddressed, and so she began to turn the conversation towards the topic of domestic arrangements, and the difficulties most households faced in securing suitable help. She led the way with an honest appraisal of her own lack of housekeeping talents, and warmly praised Thundigle’s inexhaustible energy in assisting Mary.

This gambit failed, for he was far more interested in her lack of proper help than the subject of household brownies. He asked her a number of questions about Mary, and her father’s income, and her own inability to assist. His questions became so particular, and he laughed so heartily at her recounting of her own clumsiness, that she began to feel a little offended; but he instantly noticed the fact, and began to praise her fortitude instead.

This was almost as bad. ‘Oh!’ she said hastily, ‘I deserve no such praise, for really, Thundigle makes everything easy. I am sure you are aware of the very great difference a dedicated brownie or two can make to a household.’

‘Oh, well, as to that, I hardly know what to say,’ he said, laughing. ‘I admit, I have always left such matters up to my housekeeper to arrange; but I daresay my friend would agree with you.’

‘Mr. Green?’

‘Yes, for he handles everything of that kind at Hyde Place—as far as it is necessary. I am left with nothing at all to do.’

This was not quite the information Sophy was hoping to receive, but it interested her nonetheless. If Mr. Green was primarily responsible for the house they shared, then he was very likely the person responsible for any unusual arrangements within it—as she had suspected before, though without nearly so substantial a reason. She was pleased, for this news would give direction to any enquiries Balli might wish to make—and that direction would be
away
from Mr. Stanton. His careless statement seemed to absolve him of any collusion in Hyde Place’s peculiarities.

Sophy did not feel inclined to press him any further, and the conversation lapsed. Mr. Stanton soon broke the renewed silence, however, by turning to her with an expression suddenly intense, and saying: ‘Miss Landon! I do wish—that is, if there were some way that I could—if only it were possible to—to assist, somehow, with the difficulties you have just now described! You should not be left with so little assistance—with so many troubles—it is not right.’

Sophy began to feel rather uncomfortable. In recounting her experiences, she had only been seeking a way to draw him out on the subject of his own arrangements; but she now saw that her candour may have appeared to him as a plea for sympathy. His offer was an odd one, given their very new acquaintance, but as a response to her apparent complaints his good wishes did him credit.

Unfortunately for him, they also violated Sophy’s sometimes delicate pride. She stiffened, and said in a cool voice: ‘I am very ably assisted, I assure you. Please do not suppose that I intended to solicit your aid in any way.’

He held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, his expression of warm solicitude turning to mild alarm. ‘Please forgive me: I meant no offence. I am fully convinced of the merits of your Mary, and Thundigle also. I am equally convinced of your own merits in the case, though you did not, perhaps, intend to convey them to me. I only meant to express a general wish that your circumstances might be… a great deal easier than they are at present.’

‘Thank you,’ Sophy said, relaxing slightly. ‘I too wish for that, sometimes.’

‘And if there should ever be any way in which I might assist you—’

‘Pray, don’t,’ Sophy interrupted. ‘There can be no way in which a gentleman such as yourself, so wholly unrelated to my father or to me, can be of assistance to us.’

She had meant to put a stop to his embarrassing solicitude, but the moment these words left her mouth she regretted them. To him, her statement may appear as a coy way of saying that he must first render himself a close relation before he could seek to assist them, and she would not have him think her encouraging any such notions for the world.

‘I feel a head-ache approaching,’ she said abruptly, jumping to her feet so fast that she almost toppled herself. ‘And my father will be expecting me soon; I must return home at once.’

Mr. Stanton rose likewise, though with considerably more grace, and offered his arm. ‘Allow me to escort you home, Miss Landon,’ he said softly, and judging from the concern in his eyes, he was quite convinced that her head-ache was not real.

Sophy was not convinced of it, either. She felt tense, and pressure beat behind her eyes. If she did not altogether have a head-ache yet, she would soon.

But why? Having begun so promisingly, the comfort of his company had gone, giving way to a disagreeable awkwardness. That tended to define their relationship, Sophy reflected with an inward sigh, at least on her part: she went from quiet pleasure to awkward self-consciousness in an instant, and it took very little to effect the change.

Perhaps it was merely her awareness that a handsome, agreeable and highly eligible gentleman appeared to be interested in
her.
She still found it impossible to reconcile this fact with her knowledge of herself, her life, and her circumstances, and so she expected at any moment for the flattering signs of interest to disappear. And then she would lose not only the brighter prospects which his particularity began to suggest, but also a friendship: for she had begun to think of him as a friend, though she knew not precisely when.

‘I did not mean to appear ungrateful,’ she said as they walked. ‘I am fully sensible of your kindness, and I do thank you for your friendly concern.’

‘It is not the concern of a friend,’ he began, and then stopped. ‘Not the concern of a friend
only,
I should say.’

This statement seemed to augur something serious, and Sophy was at a loss for a reply. She waited in silence for more; but he seemed paralysed by some inner turmoil, made a few further attempts to speak, cut himself off repeatedly without managing a full sentence, and finally lapsed into silence. They walked back to the parsonage without any further conversation, and Mr. Stanton left her on her doorstep with only a mumbled platitude by way of parting.

He did, however, kiss her hand before he departed.

Sophy watched him go in a tumult of conflicting feelings. What could he mean by such strange behaviour? Did he intend to offer for her, or had he meant something else entirely? In some ways, she fervently hoped he might: for he was, without doubt, the most agreeable man she knew. In other ways, she was equally fervent in hoping that he would not, for their acquaintance was so new—and she herself had so little to offer—that she struggled to understand on what his regard might be based.

A moment later, she progressed from wondering to berating herself for her absurdity. He might never make the offer; if he had been thinking of it half an hour ago, he had apparently changed his mind; and until he did, there was no sense in wondering about whether or not she might accept him. It would be far more reasonable, more practical, and more logical to bend her thoughts in the direction of those prospects which did not rely upon the interest of a man, however slim they might appear.

She made a mental note to visit Mr. Balligumph again very soon. She wanted to relay Mr. Stanton’s comments on the subject of his household, and she made a resolution of asking him some more questions about Grenlowe at the same time. Try as she might, she could see little future for herself in England, after the passing of her father; but Grenlowe might offer her an entirely different set of prospects. It was, at the very least, worth the enquiring.

***

Aubranael arrived home to find that Grunewald had company.

He was sitting at his ease in the study, smoking something that smelled strangely sweet. In an oversized chair to his left sat Mr. Frederick Winbolt, eldest son of the Winbolt family. His slight frame was half buried in the enormous chair, and Aubranael could only see the top of his blond-curled head. In a rather less comfortable-looking chair to his right sat Mr. Edward Adair, his dark hair immaculately arranged—putting Winbolt’s tousled locks rather to shame—and his handsome face fixed in an expression of discontent. All conversation ceased as Aubranael walked in, and three heads turned to regard him.