“I have, a little,” Reggie replied stoutly enough, but Cecilia was able to read between the lines to see at once that he was insecure in water.
“There are many other things to do hereâthere is bound to be fishing and soon there will be shooting and then hunting. Should you like to try your hand at those as well as all the other things you wish to do?”
“Indeed I should, Ceci. It is a spanking place, full of exciting things to do.”
“But it isn't half so good as Sawards.” Amelia's chin wobbled a little as she spoke, and Ceci went over to lift her sister into her lap and hold her close.
“It is very different. Much bigger, certainly, but I don't think it any better. We always had plenty to amuse us there. But Lord Dacre has a better selection of instruments, and here there is also Mr. Buchan, Amelia, who has been teaching Ormiston to paint these five years. Ormiston did mention that he might have a pair of talented new pupils to study with him.”
“The views here are very dull compared with Sawards, Ceci, and the garden is full of twiddly bits, not smooth and rolling like our Downs.”
“It is true that the grounds are very ornamental compared with Sawards. Have you seen the greenhouses yet? Dacre showed them to us the other day, and they had the most extraordinary plants and fruit in them, Amy, all ready for painting, not to mention tasting afterwards.”
“I am not to be bought for a bit of exotic fruit. I miss home, Ceci, and I want to go back. We don't know anyone here, and there haven't been any children here since Ormiston was small, and that must have been an age ago, for he is quite old now.”
“He's only twenty-four. That's not so very old.”
“It seems ancient to me.”
Seeing that Amelia was not to be drawn from her fit of the sullens, Cecilia turned her attention to Lavauden, inquiring whether she was being treated well by the staff. Lavauden was able to confirm that her every comfort was attended to, her room was pleasant, and her position in the hierarchy unassailed. The governess then suggested they walk out in the grounds, it being a fine, dry day and the children not yet having had an airing.
As the party of four left the house, a cocker spaniel of Dacre's bounded out, immediately occupying Reggie, who began looking about for sticks to throw. Amelia at first shrank a little from the animal, but then joined in with Reggie in chasing after it as it leapt and barked in its quest for branches and twigs.
The shock of realizing that this was the first
tête-à -tête
that she had shared with Lavauden since her father's funeral inhibited Cecilia slightly. But the Frenchwoman, discreet as ever, did not press her former charge with questions, instead winding her arm with Cecilia's and suggesting they discuss a program of study for the two Marchmont children. In mulling over this neutral topic, Lavauden established to her own satisfaction that Cecilia was prepared to remain at Hatherley for the foreseeable future. Gradually, Cecilia found herself revealing the details of the bargain into which she had entered with the viscount.
“So you have agreed between you to remain married for at least a year. Is this the result of reading too much poetry or too many novels?”
“What do you mean?”
“I am a Frenchwomanâwe are notoriously practical and pragmatic. You are married to a young man who is certainly handsome, and seems to be good. He is still young, and you may have a hand in shaping him, as he will definitely shape you. But here you are, shilly-shallying. Why?”
“He does not love me.”
Lavauden rolled her eyes and murmured in French. Cecilia spluttered, “I am not a crazed dreamer. I think it reasonable that my husband should love me.”
“This is an alliance, not a love match. You haven't made the mistake of falling in love with ... Ah, I see you have.” Lavauden sighed. “I don't know a great deal about such things. I have loved, but it was never returned. I have never had a lover. But I understand that amorous infatuation can often be mistaken for love. Are you sure you are not mistaking desire for love?”
“I'm not sure, Lavauden. I've never loved anyone else.” Cecilia could not conceal a degree of petulance from entering her voice. Lavauden might at least have responded with some sympathy. None could be expected from Aunt Letty, but Lavauden, it might have been hoped, was a little more sensitive and a little less worldly. “Even if I am mistaking my emotions, I feel as though I am in love and he does not seem to care for me at all. He has married me because he could not have the woman he loved, and it is a ridiculous tangle.”
“Ridiculous, certainly, but not a tangle, as far as I know. He is both obliging and complaisant, characteristics not shared by many husbands. He is capable of inspiring considerable loyalty. Mr. Buchan has spoken to me of his travels and it is clear that he holds the viscount in affection as much as in esteem. I believe that it is your duty to your brother and sister to suppress your own emotions if they lead you to interfere with your judgement. Try to rub along with your husband. If you are a good wife to him, he will come in time to love you, I am sure of it.”
With this small consolation Cecilia had to content herself, but it left her resentful and dissatisfied. This was not a state of affairs she could long endure, she knew.
Twelve
Less than a week after the wedding, Lady Ketley was on her way back to Paris. With her departure, the weather broke, and what had been a fine June turned dismal. The clouds, perpetually gray and lowering, forced the household to use extra candles and the temperature was so low that fires were lit every evening in the dining room, music room, and all bedrooms. The trees perpetually dripped with rain, the ground was sodden, and forgotten springs began to well in lower-lying areas of the extensive Dacre lands.
With the rain came Lazenby. He rode over one afternoon to consult with Dacre about a shared land boundary and stayed for tea with Lady Ormiston, accompanied by her sister and the French governess. He renewed his flirtation with the viscountess and charmed her small sister. When Ormiston turned up, he was playing the piano while Lavauden and Amelia sang a pretty little French air. He looked very fine in his riding boots, black jacket, and
eau-de-nil
waistcoat, his still-damp curls swept back from his high forehead, his merry eyes twinkling with mirth as he speeded up the tempo of the song until Amelia burst into a fit of giggles. It was the first time Cecilia had seen Amelia relax and laugh since their arrival at Hatherley.
Lazenby did not outstay his welcome, leaving a few minutes later. As he rode home, he thought of when he should visit again, and how pleasant Hatherley would become with the ladies residing there, and what a shame it was that a dour block like Ormiston had managed to leg-shackle himself to the only intelligent filly to have come out these five years. She was reputed to be warm in the pocket, tooâMarchmont had never been a lavish fellow, but everyone knew that his lands were well-managed and he had had other interests, tooâcoal and cotton in the Midlands, it was said. It seemed hard that the Dacres, who had always had plenty of money, should have nabbed one of the finer heiresses.
Money had always been a trouble to the earl, and what was the use of being an earl without any spare blunt to splash around? His financial woes were the main reason he was rusticating this Season, although perhaps he should have followed his aunt's advice and found a nice little child with a decent dowry and married himself off instead of retreating to the countryside. And the other reason was that rash dalliance, which had ended with Moberley threatening to horsewhip him the length of Pall Mall. The lady had assured him that her husband was complaisant, but that was the last time Lazenby intended to trust a wife's judgement. He had been lucky that Moberley had not taken a pistol to him.
There would be no more flirtations. He was now in the business of finding himself a wife. Lady Ormiston had some charming young friends, and it was no hardship to keep company with her, though it was clear enough that she was besotted with Ormiston. It certainly was unfair when a chap with address and
savoir-faire
such as himself should be pipped by a silent, brooding type with no notion of how to please the ladies. It was clear that the sensible course of action was to keep in with the viscountess and persuade her to invite a party to Hatherley composed of her wealthier available acquaintance.
Lazenby knew better than to turn up too often, but he did manage to call at times convenient enough for wangling further invitations for luncheon or dinner. It was his intention to become a fixture at Hatherley, even if it did mean buttering up Ormiston and his Scots amanuensis, Buchan. He assimilated some of the vocabulary of appreciation and managed to make eloquent noises about their daubs; he amused Amelia and Reggie with juggling tricks and romps and he demanded tuition in the nuances of the French language from Lavauden. He was always game for a round of cards with Dacre and he found himself reading poetry with Cecilia. Meanwhile, the rain kept falling, which made the ride over from Edenbridge deuced uncomfortable.
There also came disquieting rumors about wild groups of travellers roaming the county. Local farmers began to report the loss of livestock, then a lawyer riding between Thrapston and Kettering was set upon, his horse stolen and, to his outrage, his documents burnt. The local militia once again began to train, although they were equipped chiefly with pitchforks and scythes. On investigation, the lawyer's claim to have been attacked by a horde of fifteen men had to be reduced to five, but the furor did liven up the conversation of the stream of callers curious to inspect the viscount and his new wife. Ormiston ordered two grooms to accompany Amelia and Reggie on any excursions by horseback, but the weather imposed a far more effective prohibition on any rambles.
Reggie was less affected by the restrictions imposed on him by the incessant damp than Amelia. Both Buchan and Ormiston were happy to instruct him now that he was moving beyond the rudiments in the art of the small sword, and they managed to practice most days in the ballroom. But this was not regarded by Lavauden as suitable exercise for a young lady, so Amelia was perpetually condemned either to spectate or to practice more ladylike pursuits elsewhere. Gradually there built up in her heart a bitter resentment that she had been wrenched from her home to sit here while everyone paid attention to everyone else and none to her, at all, ever. Even Lavauden bustled about the place, her skill in smoothing ruffled feathers and her direct access to the viscountess's ear placing her much in demand above and below stairs.
While Cecilia tried to spend as much time with Amelia as possible, the demands on her as chatelaine of Hatherley mounted daily. It was clear that while Dacre's household had run perfectly smoothly, now there was a lady of the house the staff was determined to restore to her an abundance of tasks which they had carried out but which they felt more properly belonged to the mistress. There were numerous petitions for a series of improvements and the purchase of sundry gadgets that had been long desired, from new mangles to fresh preserves pans, which could not be sanctioned by anyone other than Lady Cecilia.
Then there were the visitors, as relentless and regular as the rain. Hatherley was the greatest house in the area, superseding even Edenbridge, particularly now that it looked as though its inhabitants were settling permanently there. Following the actual bridals, the local ladies were keen to lay claim to the viscountess. Once the immediate calls had been received, Cecilia was then obliged to return them, whereupon followed requests to attend supper parties and musical soirees. There may have been a Season in London, but most of the genteel families in the area were quite content to remain within the county, travelling cheerfully from Market Harborough to Kettering, Corby, and sometimes even as far afield as Stamford and Oakham for their entertainments.
So it was that Amelia's general discontent was missed by all those close to her, the first anyone realizing its extent when Lavauden went in to wake her one morning some three weeks after the wedding. Her bed was empty and uncreased, a crumpled but legible note resting on the pillow. It revealed that she missed Sawards and had amassed four guineas which she was sure would be enough to take her there, for though Hatherley was all very fine, it was not home and there was no one left to put flowers on Mama and Papa's grave.
Lavauden went immediately to the master suite, knocking furiously at the door. Dorcas opened it.
“Is Lady Cecilia up yet? We must rouse her immediately, for Amelia has run away.”
Although Lavauden was doing her utmost to remain calm, she felt by turns deeply guilty and enraged with her small charge. Within seconds, she was swept into Cecilia's dressing room, where the newlyweds were sitting over their breakfast. To Lavauden's relief, she found them both fully clothed.
“When do you think she left?” asked Cecilia after she had read the note.
“She does not appear to have slept in the bed, but I do not see how she could have left the house without notice. It was locked up very early last night, for we had no visitors for once. And she seemed so cheerful and happy, happier than for some time, I thought. I imagined she was getting used to her new life.”
“Do you think she would have been able to saddle up her pony?”
“Not without rousing the grooms, surely.”
“Let us go down to the stables without delay. At the very least, they can saddle up my gelding and I can start a search for her. We will get the footmen to search the grounds.” Ormiston dropped his hand on his wife's shoulder. “We'll have her back in a trice, Cecilia.”
“I cannot sit while you search for her. I will go out with the footmen. Or Buchan, perhaps. He has showed her one or two paths where she might find pleasant views for a study or a sketch. She might have followed those.”
The whole house was roused, and the search commenced. Most of the grooms and footmen were enlisted in the search. A tinder box and lantern had gone missing and one of the French windows in the music room had been unbolted. The hunt fanned out from that point. Grooms were sent out to the local towns in all directions to see if by any chance Amelia had succeeded in reaching a point where she might find a stage to take her to London.
Buchan led Cecilia and Reggie behind the house and into the thickening woods to the east of the house, which blended imperceptibly with Rockingham Forest. They walked with sticks, calling Amelia's name from time to time, Cecilia increasingly worried for her sister's well-being. The wood was dense with beech and sycamore trees, its floor carpeted with bracken which concealed rabbit holes and other hazards. Cecilia could not dispel from her mind the image of Amelia trapped in some gamekeeper's deterrent to poachers, or nursing a broken ankle from slipping into some animal burrow. The forest floor undulated, and the rainfall had made bogs of any low-lying dells. They heard the faint cries of other searchers in the distance. Then Cecilia caught a glimpse of a flash of red. She moved toward it silently, forgetting to call to her companions. She quickened her pace and found a scrap of fabric caught on brambles. It was unmistakably from Amelia's warmest dress, which brought a little comfort. She clutched it as she forged blindly on, fighting her way through thickets of blackberry bushes and tangles of ferns, her feet sinking into muddy hollows, her face and hands scratched by thorns, her dress and petticoat dragging as they soaked in moisture from the leaves and ground.
She paused. She had lost Buchan and Reggie. Gradually, her breathing stilled and she became conscious of the deep silence surrounding her. Then just to her right, a twig cracked. She glanced toward the sound, but saw nothing there. A rustling just behind her had her whirl around. And then a hand clamped across her mouth and an arm swooped across her waist, hauling her backwards against a huge chest. She was picked up and turned bodily around and around until she was dizzy and disoriented. Then she was dropped.
When she looked up, she saw three men, their hats drawn low over their eyes, scarves muffling the lower halves of their faces, their coats worn and shabby, missing buttons and frayed at the sleeves, their legs and feet wound in rags above great nailed boots.
They spoke, but she could barely make out their meaning, their speech obscured by thick dialect as well as the woollen mufflers. One lost patience and grabbed a handful of leaves and threw them in her face.
“Art thou lookin' for the young lass?” shouted the largest, enunciating each word.
“Yes. You'll be paid for your trouble. And given shelter and a meal.”
They laughed at that, but one of them started wheezing and then a racking cough bent him double. When he was finally calm, another held out a hand to her to help her to her feet.
“Come.” One led the way, the other two flanked her. She now had no idea where she was being led. She only hoped that they would leave a trail sufficient for one of the Hatherley keepers to track them down. But the men were moving quite quietly and easily through the forest. It was only she who made any noise, she noticed.
The walk seemed endless, but cannot have lasted more than thirty minutes. Finally, the little group reached a clearing where a narrow drift of smoke signalled a small fire on which sat a dented kettle. There was a makeshift shelter of a couple of tarpaulins tied between several trees. Beneath it sat a woman nursing a baby, a toddler fiddling with a pile of buttons, and Amelia, looking bedraggled, grubby, and woebegone, tear-trails streaking her muddy cheeks. The little girl clambered to her feet and ran toward her sister.
“Ceci, oh Ceci, I'm so glad to see you.” She started sobbing as she reached her sister and threw her arms about Cecilia. “They've been as kind as they can, but they've nothing to eat and the little baby is so hungry, it keeps crying. And I don't understand a word they're saying.”
“What did you think you were doing?”
“I don't know. I wasn't thinking at all, and I'll never do it again. I was so frightened, and I didn't know what they were going to do with me.”
“I'm here now, and everyone at Hatherley is out looking for you, so it is only a matter of time before we are found and we can thank these people properly.”
“That's just itâI don't think we will be found. We've moved already from where they found me last night. I believe they are fugitives, Ceci, and they don't want anyone to know of us. They made me walk for ages this morning.”
“Perhaps now I'm here, they will leave us and just disappear. Or take us somewhere closer to a road and leave us far from their camp. I confess, Amelia, I have no idea where we are or how to get back to Hatherley. But there is such an army on the hunt for you that I am sure that we'll be home by nightfall.”