The Village Spinster (4 page)

“Of course not,” Lady Aria said stoutly. “But it would be a terrible inconvenience for Miss Driscoll. We couldn’t possibly impose so on her good nature.”

Clarissa laughed. “It’s no imposition at all. You won’t be as comfortable here as you would at the Hall but, on the other hand, William won’t be here to egg you on to mischief.”

“And Alexander won’t be able to ring a peal over my head, either,” Lady Aria agreed. “It sounds perfectly delightful.”

“Hardly that,” Dr. Lawrence assured her. “You’re going to ache like the devil for the next few days. I’ll come by tomorrow to see how you go on.”

In the small music room off the sitting room he explained to Clarissa and the earl that Lady Aria’s remaining at Miss Driscoll‘s cottage was purely a precautionary measure. “Sometimes there’s damage that shows up later. What you have to watch for is disorientation. But she seems all right now and we’ll hope for the best. Laudanum for the pain if needed; a little thin gruel if she gets hungry.”

Reluctantly Kinsford agreed that his sister should stay. It rankled that he would be indebted to Miss Driscoll in such a fashion, but he would not take chances with his sister’s health.

The doctor had barely departed when there was a great commotion outside the cottage. Apparently Mr. Traling had returned at precisely the same time as Lady Kinsford arrived. Clarissa heard the dowager’s stentorian tones demanding. “Who are you? Where is my daughter?”

Once again Mr. Traling explained that he was an acquaintance of Miss Driscoll’s and that Lady Aria was in the sitting room. The dowager appeared instantly in the doorway, where she caught one glimpse of her daughter and cried out, “Oh, my poor child! What have they done to you?”

Lord Kinsford, who might or might not have been the one held responsible, had no choice but to provide some explanation. “Lady Aria has taken a fall from her horse, ma’am. The doctor has seen her and feels she will be fine, though she must remain here for a day or two.”

“Here? Absurd. She must come home at once."

The dowager was not much above five-and-thirty. She was a good-looking woman, and she had a distinct flair for the dramatic. Like a Covent Garden actress she wrung her hands and moaned with despair. “Oh, she has injured her head. My poor, sweet Aria. I must pray she has done no damage to her brain.” Tears welled up in her pale blue eyes. “Oh, I could not bear that. Such a quick, bright young thing as she is."

Meg had drawn a chair near the sofa and the dowager adjusted her lime-green skirts as she sat down on it. When she went to take the girl’s hand, she shrieked, “Her wrist! Oh, her wrist is enormously swollen! There are broken bones. I know there are. She shall never be quite right again and it is all the fault of that wild horse of hers.” She glared at Kinsford. “You should never have given her a wild horse.”

“Firebird is not a wild horse,” retorted that maligned gentleman. “And Aria is an excellent rider.”

“Then how did she take a fall?” demanded Lady Kinsford.

“A dog frightened the horse just as she was beginning to jump. It was a most unfortunate accident.”

Clarissa felt it was time to change the subject. Since it was midday, she offered the dowager something to eat and drink. Lady Kinsford considered her with a frown. “Yes, I will take a cup of tea. China, not black. And perhaps a spot of cheese with my bread. A soft cheese, mind. I can’t tolerate those hard cheeses, nor the strong ones. And a pear. We’re already getting pears from the succession houses.”

“Ma’am, Miss Driscoll may not have any pears,” Kinsford pointed out.

“No, then perhaps a rhubarb tart. Yes, I should quite like that, or a gooseberry tart. Either will do.”

Clarissa grinned at Meg and whispered, “Just bring her anything we have, please. On a tray.” She cocked her head at Kinsford, raising her brows.

“No, I thank you. I’m not hungry,” he said. William and Mr. Traling concurred.

Lady Kinsford held her daughter’s uninjured hand and sighed repeatedly. “The news reached me through the servants. It would have been better if you’d sent a message, Kinsford.” Apparently the earl had learned better than to respond.

Lady Kinsford was curious about Miss Driscoll‘s house; fascinated, in fact, by the tiny size of the room, as if it were a miniature, and she turned quite around to see where the windows faced. Her eye happened to fall next on Mr. Traling, who was doing a pretty good job of keeping himself in the background. “I don’t believe this gentleman is from the area,” Lady Kinsford commented.

“No, I’m from Bath,” he said, bowing slightly to her.

“I don’t care for his being here when my daughter lies insensate and unclothed,” Lady Kinsford said. “It’s not seemly.’’

Clarissa wondered if by unclothed the countess meant that Lady Aria’s boots had been removed. Only the very tips of her toes showed beneath the blankets. Clarissa hastened to tuck them in.

Mr. Traling, however, was not proof against the dowager’s scowl; or he had finally determined that there was no chance of his seeing Miss Driscoll alone on this day. With a rueful grin, he handed Clarissa the bottle of black draught, shrugged and said, “I'll be off then, Miss Driscoll. I certainly hope the young lady won’t be any the worse for her fall.” He bowed to the dowager, dipped his head to Kinsford and his brother, and mischievously squeezed Clarissa’s hand as he shook it. Neither the earl nor his stepmama failed to notice this.

When he had left the room, the dowager suggested, “I believe you have a companion living with you, Miss Driscoll.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Clarissa nodded. “Lorelia Snolgrass. She’s not here at present. A very worthy woman, at the beck and call of her family. I believe it is her younger brother’s wife who was in childbed and in great need of her. Undoubtedly she’ll be back in a few weeks. So very exhausting, travel, don’t you think?”

As Lady Kinsford never traveled anywhere, one might have thought she would agree with Miss Driscoll, but she merely sniffed and returned her attention to her daughter. Lady Aria was making feeble movements with her hands. Occasional low groans came from her throat. She tossed her head restlessly, dislodging the damp flannel.

“I’ll get a warm one,” Clarissa said, and left the four of them alone in the sitting room.

In the kitchen she found Meg preparing a tray of food for the dowager.

“Lady Aria may be pale now, ma’am,” Meg said, “but in no time she could develop the fever. Shall I make up a fever-mixture?”

“Have we any carbonate of potash?”

“Enough for one receipt. I could get more later.”

“Very well. Mr. Traling has brought us a bottle of black draught from Mrs. Luden.”

“Oh, I feel certain we have some.”

“It kept him busy and out of the way,” Clarissa said tartly. “Though perhaps not long enough. I’ll take another warm flannel in.”

When she returned to open the sitting-room door, she overheard Lady Kinsford in full spate. “And I cannot believe that she would entertain a gentleman in the absence of her companion. Imagine! A single woman. A spinster in a small village.”

“Usually I wear a cap,” Clarissa pointed out as she came in. This did not discompose Lady Kinsford, but the earl looked acutely uncomfortable. “You must ask your stepson here. I was wearing one this morning. They’re very effective, you know, in driving amorous intent out of young men. I swear by their efficacy myself, though I know others who champion the dragon companion. Not that Miss Snolgrass is a dragon, by any means.”

She bent down to place the warm, moist flannel on Lady Aria’s head. “Her color looks a little better, I think.”

“We’re grateful for your kind assistance,” Kinsford assured her stiffly.

“Well, I’ve never seen her looking so pale,” Lady Kinsford said. Then she frowned. “What were you doing here this morning, Kinsford?”

In a bland voice he replied, “Discussing Lady Aria’s lessons with Miss Driscoll.”

“That cannot have been at all necessary.
I
could have told you anything you needed to know." Though she awaited further explanation, he did not avail himself of the opportunity. After a very long time, which Clarissa would have described as a battle of wills, Lady Kinsford shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, very well. It’s of no importance. It was your father, after all, who originally arranged the lessons, and Lady Aria is my daughter. I wouldn’t have thought it was any of your concern.”

Clarissa had had enough of the discussion and would have stepped in to interrupt if Meg had not provided the necessary diversion. The maid came in with a tray loaded down in foodstuffs that Clarissa had forgotten were in the larder. There were two cheeses, a Cheshire and a Stilton; a cottage loaf of bread, sliced thin; several warm rolls; a lemon tart; and several pieces of fruit, though no pears.

“How lovely,” Clarissa said, forestalling the dowager. “Perhaps Lady Kinsford would like to sit here at my desk to eat. It’s so uncomfortable to eat from one’s lap, don’t you think, Lady Kinsford?”

“I wouldn’t know,” her visitor declared. “I’ve never done anything of the sort.” But she obligingly made her regal way to the one bit of furniture which Clarissa truly loved and had salvaged from her father’s estate. The little writing desk had inlaid marquetry and a dozen small drawers and cubbyholes for quills and accumulated letters and ink pots.

Meg set the tray on a table which she drew close to the desk and Lady Kinsford helped herself, frowning all the while. “No pears?” she asked.

“I’m afraid we had none, my lady,” Meg replied.

“And it’s a lemon tart, isn’t it? I’m not particularly fond of lemon tart. But I shall eat it.”

Gracious to the end, Clarissa thought with amusement. Kinsford offered a half-apologetic shrug and, to Clarissa’s decided relief, made sure that the dowager’s visit ended as soon as she had finished her repast.

Chapter Four

Kinsford Hall was an imposing structure, dating originally from the sixteenth century. Additions had been undertaken by most of the Earls of Kinsford, some to good effect. The rough-hewn stone of the walls and battlements was contrasted by finely carved lighter stone for the window and door embrasures. There were finely carved stone chimneys with detailed chimney pots, all entirely too short to effectively remove smoke and reduce drafts.

The original interior of stone, stone, and more stone had given way to wood and plaster and rugs. Lady Kinsford’s suite of rooms had actually been added by the fourth earl for his first wife, the present Lord Kinsford’s mother. It was a charming, airy portion, with multitudinous windows and romantic flights of fancy in the ceiling decoration.

The present Lady Kinsford had added to the fanciful architecture her special touch of habit: She seldom left her suite. For that reason, Alexander Barrington, fifth Earl of Kinsford, presented himself there when she summoned him, though he would have preferred neutral territory. His stepmother’s behavior at Miss Driscoll‘s had heightened his fears about her adequacy as guide to her own two children.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he said as he took the seat she indicated. “I trust your excursion has not unduly tired you.”

As Lady Kinsford was lying on a reclining chaise, with a cool cloth on her forehead, her wrists recently bathed in lavender water by her maid, this was spoken only as a pleasantry.

“I am as well as can be expected, Kinsford.” She waved a hand in the direction of the village. “I think you made a mistake in allowing Aria to stay at that woman’s house, Kinsford.”

“I had little choice, and I’m sure she’ll be perfectly fine. Miss Driscoll has known her for years and has explicit directions from the doctor as to her care.’’

“Aria said the doctor spoke of shaving her head. You don’t think they would actually do that, do you?”

“No. Not unless it were totally unavoidable. You mustn’t worry about such things, ma’am. Her hair would grow back in any case.’’

“But she’s fifteen. This is not a time for her to be looking freakish.” Lady Kinsford toyed with a lavender-scented handkerchief, pressing it briefly to the tip of her nose. “It was at fifteen when young men began to notice me. It’s a precarious age for a girl. I should hate for her to suffer from this accident.”

Kinsford felt a little impatient with the focus of her concern, but he forced himself to remain easy in the straight-backed chair to which she’d relegated him. “She’s a healthy young thing,” he said. “I’m sure she’ll recover physically and mentally without any harm done.” He was not unaware of the possibilities for damage, but he did not intend to alarm Aria’s mother with such worries. “Dr. Lawrence seemed satisfied with her condition.”

“And what do you think of Miss Driscoll?” the dowager asked, peering up at him with a dubious frown.

“She strikes me as a trifle eccentric, but of no danger to the children. I promise you I will keep an eye on her.”

“Then you’re going to be around for a time?”

“Yes. A week or two at least.” It was not what he’d planned, but there was nothing for it now but to stay. “Please don’t distress yourself, ma’am. The situation is under control.”

When he had escaped from his stepmother’s overheated room, he sat for some time in his study considering what was best to be done. His brother, Will, had managed to avoid an encounter with him since the earl’s return to Kinsford Hall and, since Will was the reason for Kinsford’s coming, should doubtless be dealt with promptly.

The matter of the damaged field had only come to his attention through running into Mr. Olsen that morning. His subsequent discussion with Aria had prompted his visit to Miss Driscoll. Everything remained at loose ends. It was not a situation with which Kinsford was comfortable.
Something
needed to be settled definitively. He sent for Will.

But Will was not to be found. Kinsford left instructions that Will was to be brought to him at whatever hour he returned to the Hall, be it the middle of the night. He remained in his study, stretched out in his father’s old leather chair, his feet up on the fender. There was a small fire against the chill of the early spring evening, and the flames glowed in his glass of brandy.