Carola Dunn (12 page)

“Then we cannot go to Porchester?” cried Nerissa, her voice sharp with disappointment.

Miles gave her a warning look. Snodgrass might know everything, but there was no need to make him a present of the fact that Euphemia had set her sister to distract Nerissa while the rest made off with the carriage.

“Where have they gone?” he asked.

“I believe her ladyship intended to pay a few calls, sir.”

“Thank you, Snodgrass, that will be all.”

The moment the butler was out of sight--listening around the corner no doubt, thought Miles cynically--Nerissa said with chagrin, “I wish I might have gone with them to visit the neighbours.”

“Much better to wait until you have new clothes,” Miles consoled her.

“Yes indeed,” Miss Sophie agreed.

“But as I’m not there to deny it, they will tell everyone I’m an actress.”

Miss Sophie patted her arm. “Oh no, dear. Euphemia did suggest it, I confess, but Jane pointed out that to have so disreputable a relative must reflect upon us all. Effie had to admit that people will already be looking askance because we are not to wear mourning. Really, dear Barnabas did become a little peculiar in old age.”

A faint snort made itself heard. Snodgrass suppressing a cough, Miles guessed. “I fear Mrs Chidwell may not be persuaded to hold her tongue,” he cautioned Nerissa. “You’ll forgive me, Miss Sophie, if I venture to remark that your sister is not always entirely amenable to reason.”

“Who should know better than I, dear boy,” she said sadly, then added, brightening, “Why do you not take the travelling coach if you wish to go into Porchester today?”

“There is a coach, too?” Nerissa asked. “Then we can go after all.”

“Ha!” This time the snort was Miles’s own. “That ancient boneshaker! I asked the coachman about it yesterday. It was built before springs were invented; six horses are needed to shift it; and even then it cannot be moved at more than six miles an hour. Always supposing we had six carriage horses, which we don’t, we’d be so long on the road we’d have to turn and come back almost as soon as we arrived.”

“Miles, your curricle! I nearly forgot it. We shall be there in no time.”

He shook his head. “Not mine, alas. As soon as I discovered I wasn’t going to be able to return it to its owner myself, I sent a groom to drive it back to Town. He took a letter asking Gerald to retrieve my belongings from my rooms, before my landlord decides I’ve abandoned them.”

“No curricle,” Nerissa sighed. “Well, at least the groom can bring your goods back with him.”

“There’s little enough worth bringing, since Sir Barnabas has --doubtless by some oversight--permitted us to acquire new wardrobes.”

“If we ever manage to reach Porchester.”

“The gig!” Miss Sophie exclaimed, beaming.

“No room for a maid,” Miles pointed out.

“Oh.” The little lady was crestfallen.

“A maid?” said Nerissa. “I don’t need a maid. Do let us take the gig, Miles.”

“You cannot go without your abigail to chaperon you.”

“Of course I can. I never had an abigail until yesterday.”

“Now you have one, and you must take her,” he decreed.

“I don’t see...”

“Truly, you must, Nerissa,” Miss Sophie confirmed anxiously. “Since you are going into town, and particularly as you will be fitted for dresses, it would be most improper to have only a gentleman for company. If you like, dear, I shall go with you, too, whatever Effie may say.”

“That is excessively kind of you, Cousin Sophie, but who knows when we shall be able to take the landau?”

“I’ll make quite sure it is at our disposal tomorrow,” Miles assured her. “We’ll take a footman as well. Miss Wingate of Addlescombe shall shop in style.”

“Miss Wingate of Addlescombe! Oh dear, I have just thought-- suppose Mama and Papa refuse to let me stay, after all?”

Mr Harwood came into the hall at that moment and heard Nerissa’s words. “Is that likely, Miss Wingate?” he enquired, worried.

“It would not greatly surprise me, though I did not write to them the half of the horrid things Grandfather said in his Will. They were most unwilling to let me come in the first place, especially Papa, and besides, I am needed in the theatre,” she explained, and added wistfully, “I daresay you cannot let me buy clothes until you are sure, sir.”

The lawyer took off his spectacles and peered around with a furtive air. “On the contrary, my dear young lady,” he whispered. “I suggest you order what you wish as soon as may be and have the bills sent directly to me. If we discover at a later date that your parents withhold their permission--well, who could have guessed that they might throw away a fortune for their daughter?”

“Bless you, Mr Harwood. You are a dear!”

He blushed at her fervour and started vigorously polishing his spectacles with a large white handkerchief. “I always wanted a daughter,” he mumbled.

Miles heard an odd sort of choking splutter. It must be the eavesdropper, Snodgrass, coughing again, he decided, though it had seemed to come from the opposite direction. He’d have to have a word with the fellow!

In three swift strides he reached the passage to the servants’ quarters. No one in sight.

“Miles!” Nerissa called after him. “We shall drive into Porchester tomorrow, shan’t we? In case Mama and Papa write to bid me return to York?”

“Yes, we shall go,” he promised. Let her have her pretty new clothes. If her parents then summoned her home, he would be relieved of a great responsibility--though just why he felt responsible for her was far from clear--and he’d stand to inherit the entire fortune.

So why did the possibility of her departure from Addlescombe depress him?

* * * *

A week had passed since Nerissa wrote to her parents. Surely their answer must have arrived by now! As the landau pulled up outside the Stickleback Inn, she clenched her hands within her new, down-filled muff. The footman jumped down from his perch behind and ran in to pick up the post for Addlescombe.

Would Mama and Papa let her stay?

At least if she had to go home she had a whole new wardrobe to take with her. She glanced down at her elegant, moss-green velvet pelisse, trimmed with black braid, and at the great heap of packages beside Maud on the opposite seat.

“I have been dreadfully extravagant, Cousin Sophie,” she said guiltily.

“Not at all, dear. Half of those are Miles’s--well, a third, I daresay, but the larger ones, since a gentleman’s garments are so very bulky. Is it not fortunate that he decided to escort us on horseback today?”

“It was something of a squeeze last time, with all the parcels of reticules and fans and stockings and gloves and shawls. I had not intended to buy so much!”

“Pray do not forget, Nerissa dear, that it is your money, after all.”

“Only if I don’t have to go home.”

“But in that case it is Miles’s money, and he has said he is very well pleased to spend a little on tricking you out in style. I believe that was his expression? Although perhaps it is not quite proper for a young lady to accept clothes from a gentleman--but he is practically a relative, you know, and Mr Harwood said you might consider it your money, if only for a few days. Oh, I do so hope dear Anthea will not insist on your leaving!”

“I should be sorry indeed never to see you again, Cousin Sophie.”

As for the rest of her relations, she doubted even absence could make her heart grow fonder. Over the past few days, they had all followed Raymond’s lead in making overtures to her, as Miles had predicted. Not for a moment was she deceived into thinking they resented her presence less or had ceased to hope that she would fail to observe Sir Barnabas’s conditions.

How smug Cousin Euphemia had looked when Nerissa made such a cake of herself in church on Sunday! She had been half way down the aisle when she realized the entire congregation was staring at her. Unable to move, her breath caught in her throat, she had stood like a rabbit mesmerized by a stoat until Miles took her arm and gently led her to the family pew. Two days later, the memory still made her blush.

At home everyone understood about stage-fright. At home no one had any reason to stare at her. A sudden wave of longing swept over her for the close-knit world of the theatre, for the community where she was an accepted and useful--if not highly valued--member.

Perhaps, in her new clothes, Lucian would notice her even if she returned without a fortune. She bit her lip. She wanted to go home!

And then Miles came out of the inn, a tankard in his hand, and smiled at her.

“I thought I’d wait here for you to catch up,” he said. “Can I bring you ladies any refreshment? Miss Sophie, a dish of tea? Or will you step in for a few minutes?”

“So very considerate, dear boy,” twittered Miss Sophie, quite unused to anyone attending to her comfort. “Nerissa, do you care to... But here is Ben with the post,” she interrupted herself as the footman returned to the carriage with a bundle of letters and periodicals. “Ben, is there a letter for Miss Courtenay?”

“Yes, miss, ‘tis come. From York, ‘tis the right one for sure. I put it on top, miss.” He handed the bundle to Nerissa.

Maud forgot she was supposed to speak only when spoken to. “Oh miss,” she cried, “I hope ‘tis good news.”

Nerissa’s eyes met Miles’s in a look of shared amusement and suddenly she prayed she’d be allowed to stay. The servants wanted her, if only because the alternative was Cousin Euphemia. Miss Sophie wanted her. And Miles needed her support and friendship through the long months ahead in a house full of ill-wishers. He watched anxiously as she fumbled with the seal.

“Here’s my pocket-knife.”

“Thank you.” Her hands shook. The sight of Mama’s writing made her realize how much she missed her. She no longer knew what she hoped for.

Chapter 9

Sir Barnabas glared in disgust as Nerissa entered the drawing room in her new evening gown. To be sure his granddaughter was pretty as a picture in the deep rose sarcenet, modestly trimmed with blond lace, but modesty was the word for the style, too. With its high neck and long sleeves, it displayed no more of her shape than the most wishy-washy of present-day fashions allowed. Waists right up under their bosoms! In his day a woman’s waist was where it belonged, and well-stayed into the bargain.

The jade was cleverer than he had allowed for. He’d been certain the purchase of new finery would tempt her to a display of garish vulgarity but there was nothing in her appearance for the highest stickler to cavil at.

Still, all was not lost. That good-for-nothing godson of his was gazing at her like a star-stricken mooncalf.

Well, she was pretty, the late baronet admitted grudgingly. Candlelight glimmered on her hair, done up on top of her head in a fanciful knot. Her ingenuous, hopeful smile would have graced the most blameless damsel. Pretty--and a superb actress!

Her hopefulness merged into contented relief as Miles came forward and bowed over her hand, his admiration evident. He was well and truly hooked, Sir Barnabas exulted.

“Delightful,” Miles said. Enchanting, he thought. The gown showed her slender figure curved in all the right places, and the smooth, shining topknot of hair gave her an air of graceful dignity. He wondered if her mother had dressed her dowdily on purpose to disguise her charms and keep her safe. She was safe from him. As a delicate colour rose in her cheeks, he grinned and added, “What excellent taste I have!”

She laughed. “And you are very fine in your new coat. I cannot thank you enough for your help, Miles. I’d have been sadly at a loss without you. As it is, even Cousin Effie has found nothing to criticize except the quantity of my purchases.”

“You don’t still feel guilty over the cost, do you? Since your mother sent you permission to stay, the money is as good as your own.”

“It is as much Mama’s and Papa’s as mine, though Mr Harwood will not let me send them any yet. Still, it seems horridly selfish to spend so much on frivolities for myself when Mama’s letter is full of plans for all of us. She wants to take a house outside the city, with a proper garden, and to hire a wardrobe mistress for the Playhouse so that I need not sew any more. And, most important, to refurbish the theatre so that audiences will not stay away because of its shabbiness. It needs...”

A sort of growling howl drowned her words. Miles swept the room with a wild glance. He was hearing things again. He turned back to Nerissa just as she exclaimed, “Oh, what was that?”

“You heard it too?” he asked in relief.

At that moment the drawing-room door opened and Mr Harwood came in. Miles and Nerissa both stared at him. His round face was as artlessly cheerful as ever. He turned slightly pink under their united gaze.

They glanced back at each other and shook their heads. The fearsome noise had not emanated from the inoffensive little lawyer.

“Then what...?” Nerissa faltered.

“Did you hear a peculiar sound just now, sir?” Miles demanded.

“A peculiar sound?” Did Mr Harwood look just a trifle shifty? “What sort of sound?”

“Like a dog that has been trodden on and can’t decide whether to snarl at the offender or whine at the pain. A cross between fury and anguish, wouldn’t you say, Nerissa?”

“Yes, that’s a very good description.”

“Good heavens!” The lawyer was definitely embarrassed. “No doubt one of the grooms has fallen over one of Miss Philpott’s dogs in the stables. My dear Miss Wingate,” he went on hurriedly, “may I say how charmingly you look this evening?”

Miles let him change the subject, though the stables were much too far off to hear a dog. If he was surer of his inheritance, he’d get himself a dog, he thought, but one could not keep a country dog in London.

Nerissa, blushing, was thanking Harwood for his compliment. “And I must thank you for letting me purchase this gown and so many others,” she said. “I wish you were able to let me send money to my parents. I have just been telling Miles of their plans for improving the York Playhouse when funds are available.”

“Ah!” With an air of enlightenment, Mr Harwood turned towards one of the chairs by the fireplace and frowned at it, a minatory frown.