Nina Coombs Pykare (3 page)

“I am most sorry,” said Jennifer, carefully keeping any expression off her face. “The children showed me around the park. It is exceedingly lovely. And we took Peterkins along. I didn’t realize that he was your pet.”

What sort of unnatural mother, Jennifer asked herself, preferred the company of a monkey to that of her own children? Actually, the question was not difficult to answer. The center of Mrs. Parthemer’s life was Mrs. Parthemer. Around her every-thing else was supposed to revolve.

  Now she waved a laced handkerchief and a strong smell of scent assaulted Jennifer’s nostrils. “It doesn’t matter. The headache was too much for me and I was forced to lie abed quite late.

“Where
is
Mr. Parthemer?” She cast agonized eyes heavenward in reproach. “He is always so ravenous and he insists on eating at this terribly unfashionable hour. The least he could do would be to be on time.”

“And so I am, m’dear,” boomed a deep voice from beyond the French doors and a tall, stout figure entered the room and approached Jennifer. “You must be Miss Whitcomb, the new governess.” He took her hand in a grip so hearty that it was with difficulty that she kept from wincing. But then she remembered something her Papa had once told her and returned Mr. Parthemer’s vise-like grip with one of her own.

His eyes twinkled as he beamed down on her. “I like your sort. Spunk, that’s what ye’ve got. None of them silly mooncalf misses as goes about shying and fluttering.” Here
Mr. Parthemer gave such a heavy-handed imitation of a coquette that Jennifer could not forbear a chuckle.

“Nauseating bunch, the lot of them,” observed Mr. Parthemer with a smile that showed strong white teeth. “Maybe you can do something with them hellions of ours. Them namby-pamby chits was no use at all. Couldn’t get nowhere with the children.”

“I’m sure that the children and I will get along quite well. It may take us a little time to learn to deal together, but we shall get on famously once we do.”

Mr. Parthemer smiled again and Jennifer found herself returning his smile. She liked this bluff hearty man.

“I believe you, m’girl. I truly do.”

Mr. Parthemer looked about to continue when his wife touched his arm weakly. “Please, Mr. Parthemer, I am faint. Let us proceed with dinner.”

“Of course, m’dear. Come, let me get you seated.”

As Jennifer made her way to the place indicated by her employer she could not help speculating as to what oddity of fate had yoked two such incompatible creatures in a lifelong partnership. Certainly the more she saw of married life, the less she understood what it was that impelled people to form a partiality for each other. Of course, the Parthemers could have married for other reasons, as so many people did.

  Unfortunately for her peace of mind, she found that the exquisite young man was seated on her left and was again ogling her through his quizzing glass.

“Will you put that demned thing down, Ingleton, and act like a human. I take it you haven’t been made known to our new governess?”

“I have not had that honor, uncle,” said the beau elegantly.

“Well, Miss Whitcomb, this fancy bird here is Ingleton, Mrs. Parthemer’s nephew. He lives with us.”

Jennifer gave the nephew a slight nod. He was obviously a hanger-on, a parasite who was using Mr. Parthemer’s riches to enhance his chances of marrying a fortune. Some heiress of a small
nouveau riche
tradesman might mistake his pseudo
ton
for the real thing. But no actual lady, thought Jennifer, would ever believe this creature had been born to the
ton.

It had not been so many years ago that handsome officers, young and old, had flocked to Papa’s house. And Papa himself, though a younger son, was a gentleman born. Yes, Jennifer knew a gentleman when she saw one. And Ingleton, for all his efforts, did not fill that description.

“How do you like Seven Elms?” asked Ingleton. “Isn’t it quite the most fabulous place you’ve ever seen?”

Jennifer resigned herself. It was obvious this little beau was out to prove himself and, since she was the only female present beside his aunt, she was bound to be the recipient of his favors.

“Come,” repeated Ingleton. “How do you find Seven Elms?”

“I find it very - Gothic,” she replied and then, realizing the hazardous position he had forced her into, she fell silent.

But Mr. Parthemer, helping himself to liberal slices of roast beef, chuckled heartily. “Right you are. There ain’t no more Gothic place than Seven Elms. And who should know that better than him as put down the blunt for it. And a pretty sum, too.”

“Really, Mr. Parthemer,” his wife observed plaintively. “It’s not the thing to discuss such matters.”

Mr. Parthemer shrugged. “It’s me as spent the blunt and it’s me as’ll talk about it if I’m so inclined. But eat up, m’dear. You’re getting far too thin.”

The invalid nibbled delicately at the food he served her and kept her peace. Mrs. Parthemer might run the rest of the household, however haphazardly, but it was evident that she could not curb Mr. Parthemer’s tongue.

  “Did you get about much in London?” asked Ingleton. “To the theater or the opera?”

Jennifer shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Governesses seldom attend such things. I do hear that the Italian, Madame Catalani, is still singing as beautifully as ever. She is quite a lovely woman. Very dark hair and dark eyes. I heard her sing once at a gathering that the Earl gave. Such a marvelous voice. But I’m afraid there is little more that I can tell you about London. I spent most of my time in the nursery.”

“I’m returning there soon,” said Ingleton, with such a look of longing that Jennifer wondered that he was not in the city at that moment.

But Mr. Parthemer soon stopped her speculations on the matter by announcing bluffly, “If ye hadn’t visited them hells so often, ye’d still be there. But ye gamed away your substance and so it’s here in Dover ye’ll have to stay. I’ll feed ye and the like, but no more allowance till quarter day.”

So, thought Jennifer, the beau was a gamester and had lost his allowance. He looked the type who would fasten leech-like on his richer relatives. And there was a decided weakness in his chin, she observed as he presented her his profile, that boded ill for his future.

But Mr. Parthemer seemed to have the matter in hand, for he continued, “Aye, I’ll feed ye until next quarter day, but not a tuppence will ye get out a me. A man’s got to stand on his own two feet, make his own way in this world.” And Mr. Parthemer gave forth a satisfied sigh that signified that
he
had indeed done just that and was now entitled to the enjoyment of his labors.

“Do ye ride, Miss?” he asked suddenly.

Jennifer nodded. “I used to, Sir. But it has been some time.”

“I like the looks of ye. Ain’t going to up and run like them others. I see it in your eyes. And ye’ve got a stubborn chin.”

“So my Papa used to tell me,” said Jennifer with a small smile.

“I like ye,” repeated Mr. Parthemer. “I’ve got a nag in the stables don’t nobody ride. I got her for Mrs. Parthemer here, but she’s too sickly. Whyn’t you take her out now and then? Nice little mare she is. With white stockings.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir. I’d be glad to exercise her for you.” Jennifer could not mistrust the motives of this bluff hearty man, but her years as governess had taught her caution. She could not afford to let it look like her employer was doing her favors.

“You do that.” Mr. Parthemer nodded. “I’ll leave ‘em orders out at the stable.”

He turned to his wife’s nephew. “You see anything unusual on your ride this afternoon?”

The beau looked surprised. “No, uncle. Should I have?”

“Can’t  rightly  say,”   replied  Mr. Parth-emer. “Been hearing some rumours about spies hereabouts sending messages to old Boney.”

“Spies!” Ingleton looked aghast. “In Dover?”

“Ye needn’t be so frighted, m’boy. There ain’t none under the table.” Mr. Parthemer chuckled at his own joke. “I suppose it’s just talk.”

Ingleton looked thoughtful. “Perhaps not, uncle. Haverford is down from London. I would not put anything past that man.”

“Don’t know him myself,” observed Mr. Parthemer, washing down his beef with a great mouthful of ale. “But them lords are a strange kind. Viscount, ain’t he?”

Ingleton nodded.

“Yes,” Mr. Parthemer continued. “Them lords is not to be understood.”

  “I understand Haverford perfectly well,” said Ingleton with such venom that Jennifer glanced at him in surprise. “Haverford is the biggest rake-shame in London. And he cheats at cards.”

“What the boy means,” remarked Mr. Parthemer to Jennifer, “is that some bit of muslin preferred the Viscount to him. And
if
he cheats at cards, it’s mighty strange you nor no one else’s found him out and proved it. Especially you, who’s played with him so often and lost so much.”

The beau made no reply but Jennifer saw him bite his lip in vexation. He did not like his uncle’s remarks, but he lacked the courage to fight back.

For just a moment Jennifer’s heart warmed toward him. But her feelings of warmth were not of very long duration; she heard Ingleton murmur under his breath, “I’ll get Haverford. Yes, I will.”

  Vengeance was an emotion foreign to Jennifer’s nature. She supposed this Haverford to be another, younger. Earl of Linden. Quite probably attractive, although it appeared to her that a “bit of muslin” might easily prefer any number of men to the stilted Ingleton. At any rate, if Ingleton decided to get revenge on another womanizing lord, that was hardly any of Jennifer’s business. And in fact, consider-ing the weakness of Ingleton’s chin, it was quite likely that this Haverford could more than hold his own. And so Jennifer would quite willingly have let the man slip from her mind.

Ingleton, however, had other ideas. “She was not a bit of muslin,” he said for her ears alone. “She was an actress. A good one. And she was listening to my suit, too, until that... showed up! He’s mean as sin, you see, but he’s got the blunt. Oh, he’s extremely well-larded, all right. And Great Oaks is all his.”

“Do not fuss yourself so,” replied Jennifer, hoping to soothe his ruffled feathers. “If he is such a great gamester, he will undoubtedly come to ruin soon enough. A few years will find him penniless and propertyless.”

Ingleton shot her a glance of scorn. “Not Haverford. He always wins. And besides, he never wagers against Great Oaks. He made some addlepated vow to his father that he would never risk his patrimony. A monstrous man. Everyone loathes him.”

A certain bit of muslin evidently did not, thought Jennifer, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Actually, a man who cared about his patrimony and who kept a vow to a dead father might be considered rather unusual these days.

  She had often heard Papa discussing those nights at White’s or Brooks’s when great lords lost sums of ten or twenty thousand pounds. Such figures had seemed unimaginable to her. Papa’s pay from the Navy had been just enough for them to live comfortably. And Papa would never gamble away their substance. He had been an exceptional man, Papa, though in all his care for them he had not foreseen that the man in whose hands he left his family would cheat them out of what he had so carefully provided for them.

“I wish I may not have to see him,” murmured Ingleton angrily. “Why can’t the man stay in London? Why must he come down to Dover to harass me?”

This seemed strange to Jennifer. Why should a viscount, who had obviously bested Ingleton in each of their encount-ers, bother to harass him? Such an insig-nificant mushroom as Ingleton - for in spite of his fancy clothes he was in reality still lower class - should be clearly beneath the notice of a viscount. Assuredly there was a mystery here.

But Jennifer, wise in the ways of survival, judged that such mysteries were better left unsolved. And then, because there was little else to do and Ingleton could easily be repulsed should he get out of hand, she put herself to jolly him out of his dismals.

In a short while even Mrs. Parthemer was laughing. And, Jennifer noticed, Mrs. Parthemer had managed to nibble away the quite considerable portions that Mr. Parthemer had deposited on her plate. When the dessert was brought in, she realized with rather a shock that she had actually been enjoying herself. Perhaps life at Seven Elms would be much better than she had expected. Mr. Parthemer was a dear jolly soul who in many ways reminded her of her Papa. Mrs. Parthemer, when she could be distracted from her illnesses, could be a lot of fun. And even Ingleton, in his ridiculous starched cravat, had contributed to the conversation.

The girls, Cassie and Cammie, were definitely won over to her. Of course, Mortimer remained to be moved, but sooner or later he would respond. The only person in the entire household that Jennifer foresaw would cause her trouble was the sour-visaged Gibbons. But Gibbons, Jennifer was quite sure, would feel put upon and displaced no matter what the circumstances. However, she promised herself, since she preferred to live in peace and contentment, she would do what she could to alleviate Gibbons’s jealousy.

Yes, she told herself, spooning up apple tart, life in the domain of Mr. Parthemer looked to be considerably less hazardous and considerably more fun than it had been in the purview of the Earl of Linden. She was well satisfied. Just let all the rake-shames like Haverford keep their distance from Seven Elms and she would count herself most fortunate. Most fortunate indeed.

Chapter Three

Several days later Jennifer was not quite so optimistic. Mortimer proved to be a rather stubborn child. Just when she thought she had reached him, he would pull away, in fear almost. In fact it seemed that the better behaved the girls were, the more rebellious and stubborn Morti

mer became. But Jennifer refused to despair. She had cracked harder nuts than Mor-timer in her time. And she would crack
him.

On this warm spring morning she had promised to take the children for a pony ride. Now, on their way to the stables, Jennifer had strong misgivings. Several years ago she had been an accomplished horsewoman, but she had not done much driving. Well, she told herself, probably Mr. Parthemer had bought a well-gentled pony. She would simply do her best.