The Headstrong Ward (5 page)

The gentlemen joined them in the drawing room after a short interval. As he walked in, Edward said, “What are the plans for the season, Anne? You are to have a ball, of course.”

“I don't know. We haven't discussed it.” She looked to Lord Wrenley.

“A ball, certainly. In three or four weeks' time. I thought to leave the date to you.”

“And the arrangements?” asked Edward maliciously.

“Will be put in competent hands.”

“Not yours?”

“No, Edward, not mine.” Lord Wrenley eyed his youngest brother with sardonic amusement.

“Well, you can't expect Anne to organize her own ball,” persisted Captain Debenham.

“I'll wager I could,” said Anne.

“No doubt,” responded Charles, “but you will be far too busy to do so. Mrs. Brigham and Fallow are quite capable of handling the household arrangements, and Laurence will compile the guest list.”

The latter looked up in surprise. “I?”

“No, let me do it, Charles,” said Edward, his gray eyes sparkling.

“Laurence,” repeated the viscount. “You are free to offer suggestions, but the final decision is his.”

“But, Charles, I really don't think—”

“I'm sure you'll do a splendid job,” finished Lord Wrenley.

Laurence grimaced, but dropped the subject.

“I'll help you,” said Anne. “There are some friends I want to ask.”

“What else have you planned, Charles?” asked Edward. “Have you thought of Almack's and that sort of nonsense?”

Lord Wrenley sighed, casting a fleeting glance at Mariah, who was still busy with her diagrams. “That must certainly be attended to. I'll speak to Sally Jersey. And I suppose we will have other entertainments.” His tone clearly conveyed his weary distaste for this prospect. “Perhaps the three of you can decide that amongst yourselves.”

Edward nodded. “I know one thing Anne will want—a horse. I will take you riding in the park as soon as you are mounted, Anne.”

“I should like that. Where may I get one?”

“Well, Charles may have something in his stables?” He looked to his brother, who shook his head. “No? I'll take you to Tattersall's, then, and you may choose something you like.”

“Perhaps you could perform that service yourself,” said Lord Wrenley.

“Yes, but I thought Anne might wish to pick her own mount.”

“Indeed, I do!”

Seeing the light of battle in her eyes, the viscount shrugged and turned away. “As you like. But it is unusual for young girls to go to Tattersall's.”

“I'll be with her,” objected Captain Debenham.

“Precisely.”

“I'm sure Lydia will be eager to see you,” put in Laurence hastily. “I will take you to call tomorrow, if you wish. And I know the Branwells plan an evening party very soon. We will all receive invitations.”

Edward groaned, earning glares from Laurence and Anne and a thin smile from Lord Wrenley. “Of course I will call,” answered Anne with a real attempt at enthusiasm.

“But we are to go to Tattersall's tomorrow!”

“Oh, yes. Well, the next day, then, Laurence.”

He bowed slightly. “Of course.”

Anne remembered something. “Is Bishop Branwell in town with his family?” she asked softly, so as not to attract Mariah's notice.

“Why, yes. You will have the chance to meet him when we call.”

She frowned a bit as she nodded.

“He is a very learned man.”

“And a prosy bore,” added Captain Debenham.

“Edward!”

“It's the truth, Laurence. The man's a plague; they say so at his own club.”

“‘They' being your friends, I suppose? I am not surprised to hear that a pack of empty-headed rattles speak of the bishop in those terms.”

“A leveler, Edward,” commented the viscount, looking from one to the other with the air of a man watching a mildly interesting boxing match.

“Lord Alvanley says so,” retorted Edward. “
He
is not a rattle.”

“No, he is one of a set who ought to know better than to behave as frivolously as they do.”

“Charles knows him well!”

“No, no, don't try to drag me into this,” protested Lord Wrenley. “I declare neutral status.”

Edward, who was becoming truly incensed, responded with another gibe, and Anne watched the three of them with astonishment and discomfort. How could they talk so to one another? It was wholly unbrotherly. Yet she also had the sense that it was not uncommon. They all seemed to have fallen into habitual roles, and none appeared disturbed by the pattern. As she listened to their continuing hot debate, Anne nearly winced. This was not right! And later, when the group had broken up and she lay in bed, the girl determined that the Debenhams must be shown the wrongness of their conduct. And since it seemed no one else was available to show them, it was up to her.

Anne was awakened at an unreasonably early hour the following morning by heavy tramping on the stairs below. She lay in bed for a while, listening, and expecting the noise to cease, but it did not, so finally she rose, put on a dressing gown, and went out on the landing. Looking over the rail, she could see the entire spiral of the staircase; it was empty. But the steady sound continued. “Can it be the back stairs?” wondered Anne. It was very odd that she should hear anything from so far away. But she walked along the corridor to the rear of the house, opened a door there, and walked out onto the landing of the back stairs. The noise immediately intensified.

Peering over this rail, Anne could see two men trudging up the steps far below her. Each carried a large sack over his back. As she watched, the leader reached the first floor and disappeared through the doorway there. But another man appeared to replace him at the very bottom of the stairs, also bearing a sack. “Whatever can they be delivering?” said Anne aloud. “And so early?”

“It's for Miss Pos…Miss Deb… It's for the older lady,” replied a voice above her. Anne looked up sharply and saw a young housemaid leaning over the rail of the upper landing. She held a feather duster.

“They are delivering something to Miss Postlewaite-Debenham?” she asked. “But what?”

“I don't know, miss. My lady, I mean. I heard Fallow speak to Mrs. Brigham. Proper put out, he was. He told her the men would be coming today with the delivery. I didn't hear any more because I had to come up to do the dusting.”

Anne looked over the rail again. The parade of delivery men continued. The bags they carried were really very large, and they looked extremely heavy.

Absently thanking the maid, Anne returned to her own room. She dressed as quickly as possible, not bothering to do more than run a comb through her red-gold curls, and hurried downstairs. On the first floor, she started back toward the rear, where she had seen the men enter, but she did not have to go all the way to the back stairs. From the corridor she saw that the deliveries were being taken to one of the parlors, and she followed them there.

She heard Mariah's voice before she saw her. “Yes,” she was saying. “Empty it there and go for another. We ought to have more help; this is terribly slow.”

Anne came to the parlor doorway and looked in. Her eyes widened, and she stood stock-still. A very large pile of earth sat in the far corner of the room, and the man she had followed in was even now adding to it from the sack on his back. Mariah stood nearby, watching him critically. She wore a worn old muslin gown and a broad apron, and she held a rake.

“Excuse me, miss,” said a diffident male voice behind Anne. She started and turned. Another servant, with a sack, was waiting to come in. She moved hastily into the room and out of his path. He trudged to the pile of soil and began to empty his bag onto it.

“Mariah, what are you doing?” said Anne.

The older woman noticed her and nodded. “Good morning, my dear. You are up early. I am beginning on my garden, as you can see.”

“But…but…” Anne could not seem to frame a coherent sentence. She merely stared at the accumulation of earth. It was nearly four feet high, and the base covered a circle ten feet in diameter.

Mariah was making it larger with her rake. “Yes, dear?” she responded absently.

“A-all this dirt.” Anne gestured. “What are you going…why are you putting it on the floor?”

Mariah stopped raking and turned to stare at her. “I can't grow anything without soil, Anne.”

“N-no. But…I mean…I thought you would have pots with plants in them. Like…like a conservatory.”

“Indeed not. That sort of planting is not at all good for the roots. They are constricted, and very often overwatered as well. No, it is much better to have open soil.” As Anne continued to stare incredulously at her, Mariah frowned. “What is the matter? I had them remove all the furniture, and the carpet, of course. And we have covered the floor and the lower walls with oilcloth.” She pointed. “They won't be harmed. I shall need only two feet of soil throughout the room. And I shall carefully block up the doorway to that height so that none falls into the corridor. I planned this all very carefully, Anne.”

The girl swallowed. “Does…does Charles know about it?”

“Naturally. You know he does. He promised me a garden; I should not have come to London otherwise.” Another workman entered, and she added, “Start piling it over there now, please.” She indicated the other corner. “I will rake the piles smooth in the middle.” The man nodded and went to empty his sack of earth; Mariah watched him complacently. “This goes slowly,” she said. “I had not realized how long it would take. But I believe we can finish today. And then tomorrow I can begin putting in the plants. If only there were more light.”

Anne looked up at the six broad windows, three on each of the back walls. With the hangings removed, they seemed to her to let in a flood of sunlight.

“Can't be helped,” Mariah went on. “I'll put the shade plants in the front corner. I do hope it will serve. Was there something else you wanted, dear?”

Anne shook her head slowly.

“Well, then, I must get back to work. I shall be here all day if you need me.” And she took up her rake once more.

Feeling slightly dazed, Anne walked away. At the front stairs, she paused, shook her head as if to clear it, and considered. It was no good going back to her room; she was fully awake now. She might as well have breakfast.

***

Laurence was at the breakfast table. There was no sign of Charles. “Good morning, Anne,” he said pleasantly when she entered. He rose and pulled out a chair for her. “You are up betimes. Are you an early riser, like me?”

“We always had to get up early at school,” replied Anne, avoiding any mention of what had wakened her today.

“Ah, yes. A splendid habit, I think. I am always telling Charles so, but he refuses to leave his room before ten.”

“D-does he?” She glanced at the mantel clock. It was only eight. Charles would not discover Mariah's activities for two hours, by which time she should be well along. She felt a twinge of amusement as well as a nagging apprehension. What would he do? She vowed to be on hand to see his reaction.

“Tea or coffee?” asked Laurence.

Anne pulled her chair closer to the table. Suddenly she was hungry. “Tea, please. And are those scones? I'll have one, and the jam.”

Smiling, Laurence supplied these. “What time do you go to Tattersall's with Edward?”

“At eleven. Uh, Laurence, didn't you notice the noise this morning?”

“Noise?”

“Yes. On the back stairs. I heard tramping.”

He shook his head. “The servants must have been carrying something up. I'll speak to them if you like. But my room is at the front of the house, next to Charles's. I would not hear anything quieter than a gunshot on the back stairs.”

Anne nodded as she spread strawberry jam thickly over a hot scone.

“Do you want me to inquire about it?” asked Laurence curiously.

“Oh, no. It was nothing. Do you go to see Miss Branwell today?”

“Yes. This morning.”

“Please give her my regards, and say I will call soon. When is your wedding to be; have you set a date?”

This diversion was so successful that Laurence talked of nothing but his plans through the rest of the meal, and by the time they separated in the hall, he was feeling very much in charity with Anne. His brothers never asked about Lydia. Indeed, if they spoke of her at all, it was slightingly. It was very pleasant to talk with someone who valued her as she deserved, and did not force one to defend her.

Anne returned to her room, to receive a scold from Crane for leaving it without ringing, and in a state, if one was to believe the maid, of complete and disgraceful disarray. The girl endured a lengthy rearrangement of her hair, a change of footgear, and the retying of the sash on her white sprigged-muslin gown, but then she sent Crane away and sat down at her writing desk to compose a note to Arabella Castleton. She longed to see Bella again, and she wanted to let her know she had arrived in town.

She made sure to finish well before ten, however, and a quarter hour before that time, she walked quietly down the stairs again and slipped into the drawing room, which was just down the corridor from Mariah's parlor. She wanted to be on hand for whatever happened when Charles came down.

She was greeted by a harsh squawk from Augustus. “Oh dear,” she exclaimed. “Poor Augustus, I almost forgot you. Has someone given you breakfast?” She hurried over to look in his cage. “Yes. That's good.”

“How about a drink, lass?” suggested the parrot.

Anne smiled. “You have water right in front of you. And it's far too early for anything else.”

The bird repeated his request, and Anne laughed. “What am I to do with you? I begin to think I should have left you in that shop. I daresay you had more company there.” She looked at Augustus; he stared back from one green eye. “I know. I will put you in Mariah's garden when she has finished it. You will like that. There will be green plants and a great deal of sunshine. I'll hang your cage in the window, where you can look out at the street.”

“Damn your eyes!” replied Augustus.

“I must say I can see his point of view,” added a voice from the doorway. “It sounds like a wearisome sort of existence.”

Anne whirled to face Lord Wrenley. Clothed in impeccable town dress, he lounged against the doorjamb.

“I wager he would be far more content here,” continued the viscount, “where he can shock the company. I do believe he enjoys that.”

“I thought you would be glad to have him out of the way,” answered Anne somewhat defensively.

“Ah, you were moving him for my sake? I am touched.”

She glared at him. Charles's sarcastic tone never failed to anger her. Its careless mockery made it so clear that he did not care a straw for the person he spoke to. “I was thinking of Augustus,” she retorted, “not you.”

One side of his mouth turned up, and he bowed slightly. It was almost too easy to provoke Anne. But before he could speak again, they were both startled by a great thump which shook the very floor of the drawing room. “What the devil?” said Charles. He turned to look down the corridor as Anne hurried toward him. “What are you doing, man?” he added.

Peering around the door, Anne saw one of Mariah's workmen on his knees in the center of the hall carpet. He had dropped his burden, the sack had split, and moist earth now covered a sizable portion of the corridor. “B-beg pardon, sir,” muttered the workman miserably. “It…it slipped out of me hands.”

“What the deuce was it doing
in
your hands in my house?” asked Charles. “That is dirt, is it not? Good God!”

The workman cringed. “It is for Mariah's garden,” put in Anne, hoping to spare him any further berating.

“I beg your pardon?”

The girl merely pointed to the parlor where Mariah worked. Charles strode toward it, a set expression on his handsome features. Anne followed more slowly. She watched him reach the parlor doorway, pause, then clench his fists and disappear inside. She hurried to the door and stationed herself there.

“Cousin Mariah,” said the viscount, “what in God's name do you think you are doing?”

Mariah did not even stop raking. “I am preparing my garden, of course,” she answered.

Anne saw Charles's back stiffen alarmingly; his fists grew even tighter. When he spoke, his voice held such exaggerated control that she was almost frightened. “You are planning to spread earth over this entire room?”

“Yes. I cannot have proper plantings without that.” Mariah seemed to catch something of his mood. “You agreed that I should have a garden, Charles. It was a condition of my coming here.”

“I had no idea you intended to fill my house with filth!” he exploded.

Mariah leaned on her rake and raised her slender blond brows. Charles towered over her. “That is fortunate, for you would have been quite mistaken. I have no such intention. Once this is planted, you will see nothing but green in this room.”

“I shall see nothing but what was here before,” snapped Lord Wrenley. “I want all of this…this”—he gestured, at a loss for words in his rage—“out of here at once. Do you understand me?”

Mariah nodded, unimpressed. “Clearly. I shall pack my bags at once.”

Charles glared at her.

“That was our agreement,” added Mariah placidly.

At this moment, Laurence came in, attracted by the shouting, and stopped beside Anne. After a wondering glance around the room, he said, “What is it? What is happening?”

“Mariah was making her garden,” whispered Anne, “and Charles doesn't approve.”

“I daresay he doesn't,” replied Laurence feelingly.

“Our agreement is ended,” said Lord Wrenley. “If I had known what you meant to do, I should never have made it. This is intolerable. Do you realize that the weight of this earth could damage the floor or even the supporting structure of the whole house?”

“I calculated the weight,” responded Mariah, “and asked a builder about it. He said it would not.”

The viscount made a peculiar sound, like a seltzer bottle about to burst. “I don't care what he said. I want this
ou
t
!”

Mariah nodded. “I will see that it is removed before I leave.”

Laurence went over to his brother. “Charles,” he murmured, “you told us that Mariah was the only suitable chaperone you could find. I know she is not precisely what we would wish. But—”

“You are a master of understatement,” interrupted Charles, “as well as a damned nuisance. I don't care what I said. I'll find someone else.”

“Yes…but, Charles, you told us that your man of business had searched everywhere, and there was no one else.”