Carola Dunn (19 page)

She smiled her thanks.

He was tempted to offer to carry her up to her bedchamber, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the liberty in a strange house. She had never spoken of the time he had put her to bed--fully clothed--in Brussels. Either she was embarrassed, or she had been so tired she never realized she hadn’t got there by her own exertions. Naturally, he was too gentlemanly to mention it.

She trudged away with Miriam. Felix repaired to the nursery, where he paid his respects to Hannah and admired a blue and red chalk scribble on a slate.

“It’s Tío Frank,” Anita explained. “Amos drawed a horse.”

She seemed perfectly content to start on a new picture, so he went back to the drawing room and poured himself another glass of Madeira. Miriam soon joined him.

“What an amiable, unassuming young woman Miss Ingram is,” she said. “She is very anxious not to give any trouble, but I managed to persuade her to have her dinner taken up on a tray. She is burned to the socket. In fact, I doubt she will wake to eat. I hope the child will let her sleep.”

“With luck she’ll be satisfied with a goodnight kiss from me. She and Amos are well on the way to being bosom friends.”

“You always were good with children, Felix. You ought to have some of your own by now.”

“Perhaps I shall soon. I’m on my way to propose to Lady Sophia, remember.”

“Ah yes, the Goddess. You will be leaving in the morning, then?”

He frowned. “I was going to, but perhaps I ought to stay for a day or two until Miss Ingram is settled. She finds your magnificence a trifle intimidating.”

“Magnificence! You are bamming me.”

“Not at all. She has had a hard life, Miriam, though she laughs about it. Our dingy lodgings in Brussels were luxury compared to what she endured in Spain. This is magnificence.” His gesture encompassed the pleasant room and the butler, who appeared at that moment with fresh tea for his mistress. “Yes, I’ll stay a day or two if you will have me.”

“Have I not been begging you for years to spend more than an hour or two with us?” she retorted. “Thank you, Samuels. Tea, Felix?”

“Thank you, I’m quite happy with the wine. An excellent vintage.”

“It ought to be, you chose it for Isaac. He will not be home until late, by the way. He had to go up to town. We shall dine tête-à-tête.”

“Would that it were true! I suppose you mean with none but Samuels and a footman or two in attendance, alas.”

“Really, Felix, you are an incorrigible flirt. Now tell me, please, what you know of the captain’s injuries. Miss Ingram was too tired for me to interrogate her.”

He repeated what the doctor had told him.

“Does Miss Ingram know?”

“I was incensed with the doctor for thinking her too weak to hear the worst--but in the end I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that her brother was going to be a cripple.”

“Of course we shall not let him be crippled,” she said briskly. “I have oils and unguents to keep the scar tissue supple, and the proper exercises will restore vigour to his limbs, but first we shall build up his strength with good food. Beef tea and calves’ foot jelly for a start. I must go and consult Mrs Samuels.”

Deserted again, Felix strolled out into the garden. A gardener was weeding one of the rose beds. His dilapidated hat reminded Felix of the inquisitive man who kept turning up on the Ingrams’ trail, and he wondered whether he ought to warn Miriam. He couldn’t conceive of any way the fellow could possibly trace them to Nettledene.

Nonetheless, he mentioned the matter at dinner.

“What does he want?” Miriam asked.

“I’ve not the least idea. He may be a debt collector, for all I know.”

“I cannot have my patient harassed over an old debt, but I rather doubt he will find them. I have already told the servants not to gossip in the village about the Ingrams’ presence, to avoid a lot of fuss over a hero of Waterloo. No one can talk of anything but the victory, as if bloodshed were something to be proud of.”

“Fanny has as low an opinion of military glory as you could wish.”

“She is a woman of sense. I had rather hear about the Duchess of Richmond’s ball. Were you there? Tell me all about it.”

Felix obliged, avoiding the subject of war. He described the splendid decor, the noble guests, the Highland dancers, and Lady Sophia’s taking supper with him and granting him a third dance. Miriam displayed a disappointing lack of interest in the Goddess’s kindness.

She would be more interested when she was acquainted with his bride-to-be, he told himself, banishing a slight unease at the prospect of introducing his friends to Lady Sophia.

When Felix woke the next morning it was raining. A steady drip-drip-drip-plunk from the tree outside his curtained window suggested a solid drizzle set in for the whole day. His bed was warm and comfortable and after his recent exertions he had every excuse to enjoy a lazy morning. He turned over, closed his eyes, and pulled the covers up to his chin. Drip-drip-drip-plunk. In a while he’d ring for a newspaper and a cup of coffee. A pity Trevor was not here, but Isaac’s man would do for him. Later he’d send for Trevor, since he had decided to stay a few days for Fanny’s sake.

Poor little Fanny, bewildered by the grandeur of the Cohens’ simple country life--he groaned and sat up. She had retired early last night, and she was accustomed to early rising. Was she even now wondering at what hour it would be proper to leave her chamber? She had eaten no dinner last night. She must be famished but he doubted she’d dare ring for breakfast in bed, even if the possibility crossed her mind.

He tugged on the bell-pull. By the time Isaac’s valet came in a few minutes later he had donned stockings, drawers and pantaloons under his nightshirt.

“Hot water, my lord?”

“If you please. Do you happen to know whether Miss Ingram is down yet?”

“I understand, my lord, that miss has already visited the captain and the nursery and is at present taking breakfast with the master and mistress.”

“The devil she is!” Felix muttered under his breath. He should have guessed that Fanny was not one to let herself be intimidated by a novel situation, especially where the welfare of Frank and Anita was concerned. After the tent camps, open-air bivouacs, and Spanish goatherds’ huts she had described to him, she had the sense to enjoy the comforts of an English country manor house. She’d never have survived had she not been both courageous and adaptable.

He cast a longing glance at his bed. A proper nodcock he’d look if he countermanded the order for hot water and tried to go back to sleep.

Washed, shaved, and dressed, he went down to the breakfast room. The Cohens and Fanny were still at table, chatting over tea and coffee. Already Fanny’s face had lost its tautness, though still thin and pale.

Under the influence of Miriam’s warmth and concern and Isaac’s grave kindliness, Fanny was beginning to feel quite at home at Nettledene. She no longer needed Felix as an intermediary between herself and her generous host and hostess, but she was glad of his presence. Miriam had told her he meant to stay several days, an unexpected pleasure due, no doubt, to his finding a rare opportunity to spend some time with his friends. She smiled at him.

“How are Frank and Anita today?” he asked, as he helped himself from the sideboard.

“Frank is very tired, but Mrs Cohen has just been explaining to me what she means to do for him and I know now he will recover.” Fanny found it impossible to doubt Miriam’s calm certainty of her own abilities.

“Miss Ingram will help me this morning in the still room,” said Miriam, “making up the potions we shall need. As for Anita, she and Amos are no longer being scrupulously polite to each other, so they are well on the way to being friends.”

Isaac grinned. “I interrupted a squabble over who was infantry and who was cavalry, but they agreed wonderfully well that Leah was Boney.”

“I fear Anita always wants to play at soldiers,” said Fanny with a sigh.

“She’ll soon stop now she isn’t surrounded by soldiers,” Felix consoled her, sitting down next to her. He no longer showed any sign of envying military glory, she noticed. A glimpse of reality had cured that fantasy.

“By the way, Miss Ingram,” said Miriam, “I have been wondering why it is she calls you
tía
rather than aunt.”

“Her mother was Spanish.” The explanation sounded sadly inadequate, so Fanny added defensively, “Somehow, ‘aunt’ had a ring to it that seemed to me horridly staid and...aging.”

They all laughed. Felix came to her rescue and changed the subject. “Isaac, how did your meeting go yesterday?”

“Very interesting. Ricardo, the economist, talked to us, and then he and Rothschild led a debate on political economy.”

“Spare me the details!”

“Are you a banker, too, Mr Cohen?” Fanny asked.

“Nothing so practical, Miss Ingram. I and others of like mind are working to obtain the vote for Jews, Catholics, and Dissenters.”

“And women,” said Miriam firmly.

“And women, my love. But for women it will take a century, for the rest of us fifteen or twenty years.”

“Why is that, sir?” Fanny was curious, though the ideals of democracy and the excitement of elections had had no part in her vagabond life.

“Listen. Felix, how old is your father?”

“Nearing sixty,” Felix answered, puzzled.

“I don’t wish Lord Westwood any harm, but in the natural course of things you are likely to take his place in the House of Lords in the next decade or two. Will you vote to extend the franchise to Jews, Catholics, and Dissenters?”

“Certainly, as you know very well.”

“And to women?”

“Good Gad, no!” he said incautiously.

“Shame!” cried Miriam, and she and Fanny glared at him.

He hastened to make amends. “If all females had the courage, intelligence, and practical common sense of those present, it would be a different matter.”

“Fair words butter no parsnips,” Miriam snapped. “If women received the same education as men...” She was obviously off on one of her favourite subjects. Fanny listened in fascination. Such ideas had never come her way before.

After breakfast, she went with Miriam to the stillroom and learned to mix salves and lotions. Felix, meanwhile, went with Isaac to the library. He learned a great deal that he didn’t want--but doubtless ought--to know about the probable effect of Napoleon’s defeat on the British economy. He tried to concentrate. If Lady Sophia accepted his hand, he’d settle at Westwood and learn to manage the estate. The price of corn would become a matter of more than abstract concern.

Nonetheless, he was far from vexed when Fanny interrupted Isaac’s disquisition. “Lord Roworth, if you please, when you can spare a moment will you come with me to see Frank?”

“At once, Miss Ingram.” Avoiding the mocking gaze of his host, who was quite aware of his reluctant attention, he leapt to his feet with gallant alacrity. “Isaac, you can explain the wages of farm labourers later. Is anything wrong?” he asked Fanny as he closed the door behind them.

“Frank is being pigheaded. Just like a man! Can you credit it, he questions Mrs Cohen’s competence only because she is a female and he wants a male doctor to approve her remedies. I cannot insult her by sending for another physician!”

“Lord, no, I shouldn’t dare. Never fear, I have personal experience of her methods. I’ll persuade him.”

“I’m sure you will, because he trusts you. As do I.” She laid her hand on his arm and looked up at him earnestly. “How could we not when you are the best friend we ever had?”

She had proved her trust by coming with him to England, yet to hear her say it was an unexpected joy. To hide his delight, he said quizzingly, “Even though I am not a member of your regiment?”

Dimples danced. “Even though you are not a member of the regiment.”

Chapter 14

June slid into July and the sun shone again. Felix walked with Fanny in the gardens and orchards and rode with her through the countryside. He played with the children, discussed weighty matters with Isaac, and constantly reassured Frank that the exercises Miriam was beginning to torture him with were worth the pain.

Colour returned to Fanny’s cheeks and the spring to her step. She helped Miriam massage her brother’s scars with rose-scented oils that made him complain he smelled like a flower garden, though her fortitude failed at putting him through the exercises. With Anita’s needs taken care of by Hannah, she had leisure aplenty to stroll abroad with Felix. She also discovered the pleasure of reading--to carry more than a very few books about in the army’s train had been impossible. She was often to be found in the library with Isaac.

Miriam had metamorphosed from a benefactor into a dear friend. Working together in the stillroom, or sitting with the baby on the terrace, watching the children play, they talked of household and nursery matters. Fanny spoke of travels with her father’s and then her brother’s artillery unit. Miriam reciprocated with tales of her wanderings about Europe with her doctor uncle, ending with her dash across France with Isaac and Felix.

“How Felix has changed since that day we met at Jakob Rothschild’s house in Paris!” she remarked one day, shaking her head with a smile. “To be forced to consort on equal terms with commoners was bad enough, but to add to his horror, we were Jews.”

“Oh, he has changed, then,” Fanny came hotly to his defense. “Right from the first he was perfectly amiable, never the least bit condescending. He even walked in the park with Anita and me, though I did think the first time would be the last when Lady Sophia...” She let her voice trail away. Though she couldn’t imagine the haughty Goddess on intimate terms with the Cohens, if Felix married her he would want to make her aquainted with his friends. It was not for Fanny to prejudice Miriam against her.

“You have met Lady Sophia?” asked Miriam, her tone casual.

“Only in the sense of coming face to face with her in the park.” Fanny’s good intentions crumbled under the assault of jealousy and remembered indignation. “She gave Felix the cut direct! He was sadly cast down, yet he apologized for her. He said that as daughter of a marquis she was entitled to hold herself on high form and in general her manners were perfection.”