The Village Spinster (8 page)

She led the way into the sitting room, where the young woman was still sleeping, her cheeks flushed. Dr. Lawrence took her wrist and felt her pulse. Lady Aria came only slightly awake at the movement. Her eyes seemed not to focus right away on the doctor and she frowned. “What is it?” she asked.

“It’s Dr. Lawrence, Lady Aria,” he said, touching her forehead and then her shoulder. “Do you remember where you are?”

“At Miss Driscoll’s.”

“And do you remember why?”

“I’ve had a fall from my horse.”

“Good. Do you know when that happened?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, her voice low and uncertain.

“Right. Don’t be concerned. You’ve been sleeping off and on so that what day it is mightn’t be quite clear.” Dr. Lawrence leaned over to open his black bag. “I’m going to examine her now, Lord Kinsford. If you would wait in the hall.”

Kinsford reluctantly let himself out into the hall and Clarissa heard Meg offer him a cup of tea in the dining parlor. She heard their footsteps retreat to the next room.

Dr. Lawrence proceeded to examine his patient, listening to her chest, palpating her abdomen, checking her wrists and ankles, adjusting the bandages about her relocated shoulder. Lady Aria said very little, responding only to direct questions, and then with monosyllabic answers. Dr. Lawrence spent a long time looking in her eyes and checking her scalp.

“You’ve put some lotion on?” he asked.

“Yes. Her head had been aching intolerably,” Clarissa explained.

“It would be better to shave off a little of the hair, but I won’t insist upon it. I know how awkward it is for a young lady. Still, you must attempt to get as much lotion on as possible. Several times a day. Every few hours, if you can manage it.”

“Certainly we can manage.”

He sighed, stepping away from the sick bed and lowering his voice. “It’s hard to tell if there’s anything seriously amiss. We’ll need to keep a close watch on her for the next few days. I wouldn’t move her. Not even upstairs, if you can handle the disruption of your household.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Clarissa assured him. “I wonder if you would tell Lord Kinsford exactly the same thing. I very much fear he’ll suggest moving her.”

Dr. Lawrence regarded her thoughtfully. “I can’t see why he should, and it would be most unwise. In fact, it wouldn’t be a good idea to distress Lady Aria in any way at this juncture. I’ll have a word with him.”

“Thank you.”

He walked back to Lady Aria and assured her that he would return the next day, sooner if she needed him. He had a comforting way about him, as William had remarked. Confident, competent—just the sort of doctor Clarissa would have wished for her charge.

She stayed with her patient when the doctor left the room. There was already a chair drawn up to the side of the sofa and she seated herself there to rub more lotion onto Lady Aria’s wound. Though it stung momentarily, the girl relaxed when Clarissa continued to massage her temples. Within minutes she had fallen asleep again.

The door opened quietly and Kinsford stood for a few moments regarding the scene. Clarissa met his eyes with a steady gaze. She couldn’t tell precisely what he was thinking, but his frustration was apparent.

“I’ll return this evening,” he whispered. And then, as an afterthought, “If I may.”

“She’ll probably be asleep.”

“I won’t disturb her.”

“Very well.”

Chapter Seven

Clarissa checked on Lady Aria frequently over the next few hours. Her fever seemed about the same, neither reducing significantly nor elevating alarmingly. She was a little less fretful in her sleep, perhaps, and her sleep remained unbroken, since no more visitors insisted on seeing her for the rest of the afternoon.

Keeping country hours, Clarissa ate her evening meal early and then returned to the sitting room. Aria was awake and slightly confused. “Where are my watercolors?” she asked, looking about the familiar room. “I shan’t be able to draw without them. I want to paint the ha-ha behind the Hall. Will was chasing a fox cub and I especially wanted to paint him.”

Disorientation being one of the signs Dr. Lawrence had particularly cautioned her about, Clarissa felt a start of alarm. She seated herself beside the sofa and laid a hand on Aria’s forehead. It was no warmer. “You’ve not been well, my dear. We’ll save the watercolors for later.”

“Oh, yes,” Aria agreed, blinking up at her. “How stupid of me!”

As she had herself awoken from vivid dreams that lingered, Clarissa could not determine whether this constituted disorientation. When Aria declared that she was hungry, Clarissa took it as a very good sign indeed and rang for Meg.

“Could you tolerate a toasted muffin? Or more gruel?”

“A muffin, please. And an orange, if you have one.”

Very promising, Clarissa thought. But when the muffin was brought, Lady Aria’s appetite had somewhat abandoned her. She took a bite and then lay back on the sofa, uninterested in anything further. Meg took the toasted muffin away, but left the orange to tempt their charge a little later. Clarissa asked if Lady Aria would like her to read to her a little, and the girl smiled.

“Just as if I were a child again,” she said, but happily. “I should like that very much. Have you a copy of
Evelina?”

Clarissa laughed. “Of course. What would a household be without a copy of
Evelina?”
And for the next hour she read to her patient, who seemed to follow the story with no difficulty, if possibly not quite the total interest that she might have on another occasion. They were about to begin another chapter when there was a knock at the front door of the cottage. Clarissa hadn’t the least doubt as to who it would be. She tried to prepare Lady Aria.

“That will be the earl. He’s very concerned about you and said he would be back this evening to check.” At Aria’s frown, she added, “I cannot very well keep him from you, my dear. He’s your brother and your guardian. I promise you he will not upset you. That’s not the least bit his intention."

“It is never his
intention,”
Lady Aria said. “And yet he invariably manages to do so.”

“Lord Kinsford,” Meg announced, stepping back to allow the earl to enter.

He was dressed rather handsomely, in a coat of blue superfine, and wearing pantaloons that fit his athletic legs very well. On him the Barrington chin looked more determined than aristocratic, though it was likely that with age it would soften. His brown hair was well cut, obviously by a London barber. His neckcloth was modestly but elegantly tied. He was, in fact, a rather striking figure of a man, the one disconcerting element being his eyes. While they were a rich deep blue and well placed under heavy brows, they were the most assessing eyes Clarissa could ever remember seeing. No wonder the children thought them judgmental.

“Miss Driscoll, Aria.” His acknowledging nod was cordial, as if he were determined to make a better start this time. He turned to his sister to ask, “How do you go on this evening, Aria? Your mother has sent another epistle and wishes a full report of you."

His sister took the letter he extended, and tucked it down under the sofa pillow as she had done with the other. Clarissa was not sure whether Aria had remembered to read the last one, and if the same fate were likely for this most recent one.

“I’m a little better,” Aria assured him stoutly. “My head still aches, but not so much, I think. And my shoulder is a great deal less sore than it was. My fever makes me feel a little odd, but that will go away."

“Odd? How so?” The earl placed a hand on her forehead to feel her temperature. A small frown appeared on his brow. “You’re still quite warm. Have you taken the fever draught?”

 Clarissa answered for her patient, since she wasn’t sure Aria would remember. “Every four hours today, according to Dr. Lawrence’s instructions.”

“And the wound?” He held Aria’s chin with his fingers and turned her head so he could better see it. The light was failing outside, however, and he turned to Miss Driscoll. “If I might have a candle, ma'am."

There was a candleholder with candle and flint nearby on the table near the window. Clarissa felt vaguely annoyed with him for his request, but granted mentally that it was just. She struck the flint and when the paper flared she lit the candle. Instantly it threw light and shadows around the room that made it feel less familiar, almost mysterious. How very fanciful of me, Clarissa thought as she held the light up for the earl to see. His face took on a rakish aspect in the glow, reminding her of the young man he had once been.

The earl grimaced at the rawness of the wound. “It might indeed be wise to shave the hair off around it,” he said.

Aria’s eyes fluttered to Clarissa, but she said nothing.

“I’m able to apply lotion through her hair, Lord Kinsford,” Clarissa assured him.

“But how will it heal with all that hair? At least right at the wound the hair could be snipped away.” He turned to his sister. “Aria, it’s not as though you’ll have a great bald spot, for heaven’s sake. The hair above will cover any little patch we must remove.”

“I don’t wish you to do it,” she said flatly, tossing her head. “The doctor didn’t say it had to be done.”

Kinsford suddenly backed off. With a smile he said, “Very well. I’m sure he knows best. Perhaps Miss Driscoll would leave the candle so we can go over your watercolors. I'd like you to tell me about them.”

Clarissa was amused to be so handsomely dismissed. She placed the candle on a table and handed him the sketch book which lay hidden under the open copy of
Evelina.
As Clarissa slipped out of the room, she heard the earl make a handsome remark about the uniqueness of subject and spirit in Lady Aria’s work.

Ready for the pot of tea Meg would have prepared, Clarissa moved to the dining parlor. For a while she could hear a low murmur of voices from the sitting room. As she drank her tea she worked out on a sheet of foolscap just where she would plant the herbs in the kitchen garden next week. The weather was getting finer by the day and the chances of a late frost were low. If the lemon thyme were kept close to the cottage, if would do better; the sweet marjoram and basil could stand more exposure. When the earl spoke behind her, Clarissa started, so deep was she in her plans.

“Excuse me,” he said stiffly. “I thought you must have heard me come out of the sitting room.”

She pushed aside the sheet of foolscap. “No, but it is of no importance. Is Lady Aria in need of something?”

“She’s fallen asleep.”

He didn’t seem to know quite how to proceed and Clarissa waved him to a seat at the table. When he hesitated, she said, “Please. We should discuss matters. I fear you’re vexed with me.”

He did not deny it. Meg had set two cups on the table and Clarissa lifted the pot with a query in her eyes. He nodded. “No milk, thank you. We got used to tea without milk on the Peninsula and I continue to drink it that way.”

After she had poured his tea, she offered him the plate of biscuits that she herself had ignored. Meg had obviously put them out for the sole purpose of tempting Lord Kinsford, and she succeeded. He helped himself to one of the soft molasses treats, tasted it and his brows lifted. “If your maid serves these to the children, it’s no wonder they so much enjoy coming here.”

“That must be the secret,” Clarissa said, her eyes dancing. “There couldn’t be any other excuse for their enjoying their time in my home.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you, Miss Driscoll. Merely to praise the biscuits.”

“I know what you meant.” She forced herself to meet those intense blue eyes. “For a man of your experience, you are sometimes less than successful in dealing with the young members of your family. Both William and Lady Aria seem to expect nothing from you but scolds and discipline. I realize you are unaccustomed to handling such spirited young people, but somehow I think you might manage it better.”

“This is plain speaking,” he rejoined. “I had no idea we were on such terms as to admit of your dressing me down, Miss Driscoll.”

His set-down was lost on her. “My concern is not with protocol, nor with preserving your more tender sensibilities, sir, but with the integrity and happiness of my pupils. I am not even concerned with your allowing them to remain my pupils,” she said, forestalling him. “I have already achieved a great fondness for them, and am perfectly prepared to champion their cause whether or not it drives you to remove them from my tutelage. Though, to be honest, I should very much dislike running a dame school.”

Startled, he asked, “A dame school? What has that to say to anything?”

“Nothing, I dare say. It was merely an aside, Lord Kinsford. Just now you dealt with Aria fairly well, so perhaps you could clarify something for me. Is it ordinarily your
intention
to upset her, or do you merely feel it is your
duty?”

“Miss Driscoll, I do not have to answer to you for my behavior toward my siblings. Your own behavior, it seems to me, is not above reproach.” He regarded her closely, leaning slightly forward in his chair.

Clarissa refused to honor this remark with an acknowledgment or a defense. She regarded him with mild interest, and said nothing. There was a long, pregnant silence between them before he finally said, “I am, of course, referring to your entertaining a gentleman without proper chaperonage."

Still Clarissa said nothing. Her cheeks did not color up, and her hands did not twitch with agitation. She sipped from the teacup and awaited further developments.

“My younger brother noted that he himself had provided chaperonage this morning.”

Clarissa’s eyes sparkled and a trill of laughter escaped her. “I did wonder why he hung about us and talked so astonishingly of going into a profession.”

Kinsford was surprised into saying, “Going into a profession? Will?”

“Yes, that’s what I thought. The military, he decided, as none of the others were particularly eligible. Mr. Traling did mention that they might not be in need of officers at just this moment.”

The mention of Mr. Traling’s name brought Kinsford back to his grievance. “It is no good saying you have chaperonage from your companion, since by all accounts she is rarely with you. I can’t think what you’re about, entertaining a man in your home under those circumstances.”