The Roguish Miss Penn (7 page)

“I can well imagine,” Cousin Sophia commented dryly. “Your dear mother seems remarkably well informed about nearly everything.”

Amelia smiled with gratitude at this recognition of her dearest mama. “That she does. So you deemed Lord Ramsey’s theater charming, dearest Katherine?”

“Lovely, quite, quite lovely. You know, Melly, Lord Ramsey must feel the theater all the thing, or else he would never construct one at his home. I daresay he is more fashionable and up to date than are we provincials.” With that little barb planted neatly in Amelia’s peabrain, Katherine gathered up her needlework. “I believe the rain is about to descend. We had best go into the house.”

Drops began to fall as the door closed behind them.

“Join us for nuncheon, Amelia,” Katherine invited as she neatly disposed of the yellow muslin. “We shall be just the three and may continue our coze.”

Miss Amelia Bonner was deep in reflection, for she answered this invitation with the most absent of manner. “Indeed, I shall.” She continued to think, furrowing up her pretty brow in a way to horrify her mama, then said, “I suspect you have the right of it, Katherine. We must be careful not to offend Lord Ramsey with overly pious pronouncements about acting and the like.”

With a supreme effort, Katherine kept her face perfectly calm.

“How clever of you to come to that conclusion. Although the town and the university are forever at daggers drawn, it would never do to add to the problem.”

“What about your papa? How will he accept your interest in the theater? And when do I get to read your play?” wailed Amelia as they strolled to the pretty breakfast room to sit down to the excellent nuncheon prepared by Cook.

“Papa,” Katherine replied with a deal of caution, “presents a problem I still puzzle over. Perhaps he will be so taken up with the Fairfax library I shall not see him for weeks. That would admirably solve the dilemma most neatly.”

She had not been best pleased that Amelia had learned about her writing. Teddy had blurted out the truth of the matter one summer day while the three had strolled along the path by the river. He had been distressed to hear Amelia mildly criticizing his dear sister and had championed her cause a bit too ably. Amelia had protested she would never breathe a word of the secret. Katherine wondered. There had been no gossip yet, but that did not mean the truth might be allowed to slip out at a crucial moment.

“You would never say a word about it, would you, Melly?” Katherine inquired with seeming casualness. “His lordship might not like it.”

“And what does his lordship have to do with it?” Amelia replied as quick as could be.

Katherine bit her lip in vexation. She was no better than Teddy. For a peabrain, Melly was remarkably fast to catch on to some matters. There was nothing to do but reveal just enough to satisfy her. “He intends to sponsor a production.”

“Oh,” Amelia cried, “that will mean you must consult him about the costumes and scenery and everything. Does he have the say about the people who act in the play as well?”

“Why? Do you intend to audition?” Katherine laughed at Melly’s horrified expression. “I tease, dear girl.”

“Well, and I think it a very poor sort. You must know that Mama would never permit such.”

“I think you would do well,” Cousin Sophia commented. “You are a pretty girl and well able to express emotion.”

Katherine choked on a bite of muffin and had to be pounded on the back. She took a long sip of water from her glass before giving her relative a scolding look.  “Enough. I shall have to give some thought to the costumes,” Katherine said at last when she could speak. “Perhaps Mrs. Cheney can assist me. She must be well up on what is in the London theaters.”

“Lord Ramsey would know as well,” Amelia added slyly.

“Amelia, my love, you overstep.” Katherine smiled at her friend with affection, for in spite of the little jealousies shown from time to time, they had been friends since their childhood.

The shower had ended by the time the ladies had concluded their meal. Amelia bid her friends good day with what must have been mixed emotions. She had promised not to reveal the support given by Lord Ramsey to Katherine’s theatrical venture, and that must have made her tongue fairly itch.

When Julian Penn entered the house shortly, he nodded to Katherine as he instructed her to order the donkeys and cart made ready.

“Do you go out to Fairfax Hall this afternoon? I would drive with you, if I may.”

“It is not necessary for you to come along with me,” Mr. Penn protested, looking askance at his daughter.

“Mrs. Cheney has offered to assist me with a dress, Papa,” Katherine replied mildly, hoping her father would not question the notion of a near stranger doing such a thing.

Mr. Penn studied his daughter, taking in her plain round gown of green India mull. “You could do with a few new gowns, my girl. Have Mrs. Cheney tell you what the latest fashion might be and order three or four. She looks to have superb taste.”

“And what do I use for money?” Katherine boldly queried. It had long been a sore point that her allowance had not been raised when Teddy got an increase every year on the basis of his needs at university.

“What do you get now?”

Not imagining he had forgotten for a moment, Katherine reminded him.

“Hm. I suppose you must have more. Tell the seamstress to address her bill to me.”

Amazed at this turnabout, Katherine grabbed her pelisse from the peg in the hall and followed her father out of the house to the street, where shortly the donkeys placidly trotted up to them. Gabriel waddled up to the cart, casting inquiring looks at Katherine. She scooped the goose up, placing him in the back, then took the reins, for she had far more patience with the animals than her father, and they set off for Fairfax Hall in high spirits.

“You found Lord Ramsey to be agreeable company?” Mr. Penn inquired, although his tone implied he expected nothing less.

“Yes, Papa,” Katherine replied dutifully. “I admire Mrs. Cheney as well. It must have been a dreadful shock when brigands attacked and killed her husband. It happened in Italy, I believe.”

Mr. Penn nodded sagely. “I have heard the crossing of the Alps into Italy can be most hazardous. She is young to be left alone. There are no children to comfort her?”

“None that I know about, although there might be some away at school. She is nine-and-thirty, Papa, only ten years younger than you.”

“Is that so?” came the thoughtful reply. “She is a remarkably lovely woman for her years.”

“She has a delightful sense of humor as well,” added Katherine, recalling the teasing banter between brother and sister. “How fortunate she has an agreeable brother to support her in her time of need.”

“She has put off her blacks,” Mr. Penn commented as their cart entered the grounds of Fairfax Hall. The donkeys had moved quite smartly for Katherine, as they usually did. Only for Mr. Penn did they balk and prove annoying.

“Lavender becomes her. I am glad you did not prevent me from tagging along. I should hate to miss a tête-à-tête with her.” Katherine omitted mention of Lord Ramsey. Not that she was averse to seeing him again. She dare not reveal it to her father, however. He would think it improper and she would most assuredly have remained at home.

Mrs. Cheney greeted them in the entrance hall, her hands extended. “I was just wishing to see you, my dear,” she said to Katherine. “How obliging of you to come at the thought.” Her eyes lighted up with inner laughter and Katherine’s heart warmed to her.

“I need not tell you where you must go, sir,” she greeted Mr. Penn. “If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to ask. I took the liberty of placing a carafe of lemonade next to the decanters of claret and port in the library, should you become thirsty. I imagine reading can at times be dry work.”

“Indeed, good lady. I thank you for your gracious consideration.” Julian Penn bestowed a look on Gisela Cheney that surprised Katherine. He actually appeared to see Mrs. Cheney as a woman, wonder of wonders.

The two ladies watched him as he marched off in the direction of the library, then Mrs. Cheney took Katherine’s arm and led her to the saloon.

“My brother has taken himself off on a tour of the farms. There is always so much to be done, you know.”

“He is well liked by the people on his land, I have heard. Not all landowners do as well by their people.”

“There, I knew you were a woman of uncommon sense. Come, we shall have a coze by the window that looks out on the folly. It is my favorite view, for it constantly reminds me of what I have escaped.”

“Escaped, my lady?” The odd choice of word startled Katherine into giving voice to her reaction.

“Please call me Gisela, my dear. Although a good deal older than you, I long for a confidante and friend. Say you will do that for me?”

Touched by the thread of sadness that had suddenly crept into Mrs. Cheney’s voice, Katherine immediately nodded. “Of course, Gisela.”

“You may well wonder why I say escape, for it is a most peculiar word to choose. My husband, God rest his soul, became obsessed with those quaint ruins he found in Europe. I rarely saw him following our marriage. Reports by indifferent mail are less than pleasing to a wife. He would not take me along with him, for I lost our only child the very first trip and he never forgave me that. I ultimately came to bless those ruins, for they brought me peace. You see, there was something strangely wrong with his mind. I believe it fortunate we had no children, for the child might have inherited his aberration along with his wealth.”

“Good heavens,” exclaimed Katherine in a soft, sympathetic voice. “I am sorry.”

“I rarely speak of it, but I wanted you to understand why I happily remain here in the country. In London there are too many who recall and gossip.”

Katherine thought of Mrs. Bonner but said nothing.

“Tell me about your plans for your production of the play during the fair,” Mrs. Cheney said with a bright smile.

An eruption in the hall brought their heads around. Through the open door Katherine could see her brother and Lord Ramsey in conversation as they entered the house together.

“The separate copies are done and the play ready to cast,” Katherine replied while trying to keep her mind on the matter and not look at his lordship. “Most of the performers will be local. Theodore believes he might be able to obtain the talents of Miss O’Neill for the heroine. He plans to take a copy of the script to Norwich for her to read. I suspect the offer of ample money will have a greater result.”

“What about costumes?” With great interest Gisela watched Katherine’s delicate rise of color as Philip entered the room.

“Costumes,” echoed Teddy. “I just mentioned that to Lord Ramsey, and he said something about his attics.”

“Famous,” Gisela declared, clapping her hands together with delight. “I gather this is one of those plays that occur in the obscure past?”

“Naturally, for it has castles and specters, not to mention veils that sway most mysteriously.” Katherine chuckled at the grimace that crossed Lord Ramsey’s face.

“Skulls and weird moans as well?” Gisela laughed up at her brother. “This promises to be spine-chilling indeed. We shall have to station several stalwart young men with a generous supply of vinaigrette for the vaporish.”

“It has a sensible ending,” Katherine was prompted to say. “Have you read Mansfield Park by Miss Austen? It was released in May this year. I believe she pokes a bit of fun at these gothic novels in her book. I do the same in my play, for you must know they are so very silly. All these goosish damsels crying buckets of tears and jumping at the very least noise. Not to mention those fantastical castles with more weird things happening than one can credit.”

“Oh, to be so sensible,” Gisela declared. “Let us hope there are sufficient people who want to be terrified.”

“This is supposed to be a moneymaking venture, I trust,” Lord Ramsey said dryly.

“Costumes,” reminded Teddy, eager to leave a subject fraught with potential difficulties.

“We had best make our way to the attics, I suspect,” Gisela inserted smoothly. “Katherine, since you know the characters, you shall have to dictate the choices and we can only hope to alter as needs be.” Rising from her chair by the window, she took Katherine’s hand and led her toward the entrance hall. “Come along, gentlemen,” she commanded in a very nice way. “We shall have need of your assistance, for costumes can be very heavy.”

“Not to mention dusty,” Lord Ramsey said in an aside to Teddy that was clearly heard by the ladies who marched up the stairs ahead of them.

When they reached the attics, Katherine thought she had never seen such a well-ordered place of storage. Neat trunks lined part of one wall and stored furniture was arranged in another area. Leather hatboxes intrigued her, as did a large box labeled “feathers.”

While Lord Ramsey and his sister discussed which trunk might be the best to open, Katherine sought out her brother.

“Teddy, how do you happen to turn up here?” Katherine inquired in a dulcet tone that did not fool her sibling in the least.

Theodore Penn had been most aggrieved when he found himself left out of the visit to Fairfax Hall. More than anything he longed to make the acquaintance of his lordship. He had heard Lord Ramsey was a splendid rider to the hounds. Teddy had contemplated an invitation to join that select group that Ramsey rode with, and had cast caution to the winds. Never one to stand at formalities—at least not outside the university—he had saddled his horse and ridden off to seek his sister and the
entrees
he desired.

“Well, you see, I thought you might have need of me,” he replied with an ingenuous smile.

“See that you say or do nothing to give his lordship a disgust of you,” she admonished, not having the heart to scold Teddy when she knew full well how he enjoyed anything to do with the theater and production.

“Papa is safely occupied in the library, is he not? We must contrive to keep this from him if we can.” Teddy may have intended to speak softly. He failed.

Ramsey had overheard this last remark and frowned. “Do you anticipate trouble from that quarter?” He knew the attitude of the university all too well; he had to listen to the prosing of the various professors far too often.