Amanda Scott (11 page)

“To tell you the truth of the matter, I was thinking of cooling more than my feet.”

“Then you want to follow that path by the bridge straight into the wood,” said Miss Lavinia, entirely unabashed at having this odd desire expressed to her. “The path follows the brook for about a quarter-mile, and then you’ll come upon a pond where the brook’s been dammed up. As the crow flies, the pond’s not far from the road up the dale, of course, but it’s private enough. The boys swim there from time to time. Do you want me to go along with you?”

“No, thank you. I think I will explore a little.” She explained about her riverbank sanctum at home, adding, “I know one ought never to swim alone, but I have nearly always done so, so it doesn’t seem the least odd to me.”

“Never learned to swim, so I wouldn’t be a particle of use to you that way if I did go,” was the response. “Just thought you’d like the company.”

Emily thanked her and wandered along the shore of the lake to the narrow trail beyond the bridge, which did indeed follow the course of the brook. As she entered the wood, she smelled damp earth and heard the birds chirping to one another. A slight breeze rustled leaves, as a black-and-yellow great tit took wing from a low branch just before her, and the brook sang its merry song as it tumbled over the rocks in its path. Though Emily reached the pond quickly, she was totally out of sight of the house and the lake when she did so. The only sounds she heard were those of the woods around her. Some small creature, a shrew or a little brown wren perhaps, scurried across a flat rock and disappeared into a dark crevice beyond.

Emily glanced around. The water in the pond looked most inviting. Did she dare? What if Oliver and Saint Just had the same notion? What if someone else came along? She was far enough from the road on the other side, she thought, so that no horseman ought to disturb her. And despite her walk through the shady wood, she was still uncomfortably hot.

Finally, casting caution to the wind, she unlaced the bodice of the sprigged-muslin round gown she was wearing and slipped out of it, quickly bending to remove her stockings and sandals. Clad only in her cotton shift, she waded carefully into the pond, shivering deliciously as the chilly water lapped at her calves, then her knees, her thighs, and then her hips. When it reached her waist, she took the plunge, swimming lazily at first, testing the depths beneath her as she went. The pond was deep. There were even, she discovered after successfully essaying a barefoot crossing of the rough dam, flat rocks suitable for diving.

At last, after swimming strenuously for a time, enjoying the sensation of stretching her muscles and trying her strength, she crawled out onto a rock in the sun near where she had left her gown, lay down flat upon her stomach, and let the sun and the breeze dry the back of her shift. The front was not completely dry when she began to feel nervous and to wonder just how long she could count on her privacy. Quickly, glancing about from time to time, she slipped her gown back on and laced the bodice. Her stockings came next, then her sandals. Only then did she begin to relax and even to feel a bit foolish for her worrying.

An idea came to her on the way back to the house, one that she thought might help matters at the Priory on one account at least. She hurried up the front steps and into the hall, intending to find Sabrina at once to discuss the notion.

E
MILY DID NOT HAVE FAR TO LOOK. SHE ENCOUNTERED
Sabrina the moment she entered the hall, in the midst of a tense argument with Dolly. Sabrina fell upon her in relief. “Oh, thank goodness, perhaps you can explain to this idiotish girl that she cannot attend an assembly in York, that such a thing simply isn’t to be thought of.”

“Of course it is not,” Emily said calmly. “What nonsense is this, Dolly?”

“It isn’t nonsense,” retorted Dolly fiercely. “I am going. ’Tis the assembly following the York races, and everyone will be there, and since I was not allowed to have my come-out—”

“For you to attend such an assembly would be most improper,” Emily cut in. “Not only are you not out, my dear, but you are in mourning, or had you forgotten that fact?”

“Of course I have not forgotten. How could I forget when everyone keeps recalling the stupid fact to my mind?” Her voice rose alarmingly, causing Emily to glance warily at the closed doors of the library.

“Lower your voice, Dolly. A lady does not shout.”

“I’m not shouting. I’m
not
! Oh, grown-ups are all the same. I might have known you would take Mama’s side.”

“Yes, you certainly might, when your mama’s reasons are entirely right and proper and yours are merely selfish.”

“I am not selfish,” wailed Dolly, her blue eyes filling with tears, “but if no one else will ever consider my feelings, then surely it is not odd when I try to make them do so. You simply don’t want to understand.”

Emily had given up trying to make Dolly keep her voice down, so she was not surprised when the library doors opened and Meriden appeared on the threshold, looking annoyed. “What’s all the row?” he demanded.

“Oh!” exclaimed Sabrina nervously. “’Tis the merest nothing, nothing at all to signify. Indeed, Jack, we are sorry to have disturbed you.”

“
Nothing
!” shrieked Dolly. “Is that how you choose to describe an event that is of the utmost importance to me?”

“Please, Dolly,” Emily begged, casting a quick glance at Meriden. She was not the least bit reassured by the ominous glint in his dark eyes. “Remember who you are, my dear, and try to speak in a more becoming fashion.”

“I know who I am,” snapped Dolly. “I am never allowed to forget that fact either, though what purpose it serves to know that I am the sister of Baron Staithes, I cannot tell you, for all that ever comes—”

“Stop that childish ranting and come into the library at once,” Meriden said, cutting Dolly off mid-sentence in a tone that brooked no disobedience.

She stared at him as if she had only just that moment taken note of his presence.

Sabrina twittered, “Oh, dear, I am persuaded we need not disturb you further, Jack. Indeed, we must not, for my carriage must be at the door. I distinctly told them three o’clock.”

“You were going out, ma’am?”

“Only to pay a call at Bennett Manor. But Dolly was to go with me and, indeed, she is out of countenance now, so perhaps it ought not to be thought of, after all.”

“Dolly will stay here,” Meriden said calmly, “but you need not change your plans. Merritt, is her ladyship’s—”

“At the door, sir,” the butler replied promptly. “And the horses are fresh, m’lord.”

“Then we will not keep them standing,” Meriden said.

“Oh, but—”

“No, Sabrina,” Emily said, taking her tone from the earl. “I will look after Dolly. You go along to Helmsley.”

“But I want to go too,” Dolly said. “Lettie is expecting me to arrive with Mama.”

“Then next time,” Meriden said smoothly, “you will remember to control your emotions as a lady should. Now, say good-bye to your mama and come into the library. I wish to speak to you.”

Emily gently pushed Sabrina out the door and into the care of her waiting footman, then turned to follow the others. Glancing up at Meriden, who stood patiently, holding the door open, she said, “I am glad to see that you did not think to exclude me from this interview.”

“Not a chance,” he said with a tired smile. “For once, I’ve a notion we may be allies.”

She nodded, moved to take the leather chair she had sat in on her previous visit to the room, and waited to hear what he would say.

Dolly had not heard their exchange and was looking a little scared, but as soon as he had shut the door she said on a note of bravado, “You cannot wish me to be unhappy, Cousin Jack.”

“No, Dolly,” he said quietly.

“There, I knew it.” Relaxing visibly, she smirked. “Then you will help me to convince Mama and Aunt Emily that there is nothing in the least amiss in my attending the York assembly after the race meeting.”

Meriden was silent for a moment. “So that’s the bone of contention,” he said at last. “Sit down, Dolly, and do not be so foolish as to enact any tragedies for my benefit. You have certainly seen enough of me to know how I will respond to them.”

“I won’t,” she said, smiling sunnily at him as she dragged a straight-backed chair closer to the library table, “but you will help me, won’t you?”

“I will not.” He sat on the edge of the table near Emily, but since he was looking at Dolly, his nearness didn’t affect her the way it normally did. She was able to examine his profile, to decide she approved of his firm chin and the straight, aggressive line of his nose.

“You must help me,” Dolly begged. “Mama will listen to you, and if you say I may, even Aunt Emily—”

“That’s enough,” he said sharply. “I will not allow you to ruin your reputation before you’ve even developed one. You are in mourning—”

“Six months is enough!” cried Dolly. “That’s more time than I spent with Papa in my whole life. He never cared a fig for any of us, except perhaps for Oliver, on account of his being the heir, and I do not see why the rest of my life must be ruined just because he caught a cold and died of it!”

“You are being impertinent,” Meriden said coldly, “and if I hear another word of that nature from your lips, you will find yourself confined to your bedchamber until I find it expedient to release you from it. You are not going to York, and that is the long and the short of it. If you cannot understand why you are expected to mourn your father’s passing, then understand me when I say that I utterly forbid you to attend any parties or assemblies until your year of mourning is completed. If you disobey me, the consequences will not be pleasant.”

Round-eyed, Dolly stared at him. “But that is not fair, Cousin Jack. Why, Lettie Bennett and her brother and Mr. Saint Just and Oliver are going to attend the assembly, and although Harry Enderby did say it would not be the thing for me to go, he did not say that Oliver must not, and if my own brother has agreed to take me with him—”

“Do not try my patience any further,” Meriden warned her. “Such things are different for men, I’m afraid, but I will certainly speak to Oliver. He will not be going to York.”

When Dolly subsided, scowling, Emily would have spoken up in an attempt to soothe her, had she not caught Meriden’s steady gaze upon her just as she had opened her mouth.

He shook his head, then said sternly to Dolly, “You have behaved very badly, and I think that despite all your airs and complaints to me, you know that much perfectly well without my telling you. Among other things, you have upset your mother badly. I want you to go to your bedchamber now and think over the manner in which you have conducted yourself. I will expect you to apologize to your mama before dinner.”

Dolly looked at her hands from beneath beetled brows.

“And, Dolly”—he waited until she glanced up—“if you intend only to sulk, I suggest you seek out Miss Brittan and ask her to lend you a book describing the conduct expected of a gentlewoman, so that you may study it carefully. You may go now. I have said all I mean to say to you.”

Still glowering, Dolly got up and left the room.

Meriden looked at Emily, practically daring her to criticize his handling of the situation, but she smiled sympathetically instead, for she had no wish to stir his temper further. Not, in any case, before she had had a chance to speak to Oliver.

Learning from Merritt that the young man had gone out shooting on the moor with his friends Saint Just, Enderby, and Bennett, Emily was certain that she had at least an hour or more before she would have to look for him. Certain, too, as she was, that the earl would employ his usual heavy-handed methods in dealing with Oliver, she was determined to have a word with the young man before Meriden did, to show the earl that just as much good could be accomplished with sweet reason as with sternly issued commands. In order to accomplish her purpose, however, she knew she would have to intercept Oliver before he received Meriden’s orders to attend him in the library.

In the meantime, she returned to her bedchamber, where she had promised to help Martha sort through a pile of clothing Sabrina had set aside for Mr. Scopwick’s poor box. Items to be mended had to be sorted from those that needed cleaning. The task occupied half an hour. When they had finished, though she had not yet had an opportunity to broach to Sabrina the idea that had occurred to her earlier, she decided to speak to Melanie.

She found the little girl in the schoolroom with her governess, but they were not engaged in schoolwork. Miss Brittan, dressed in the plain stuff gown of her calling, was knitting a bright, varicolored woolen scarf while Melanie stitched a colorful floral border in crewel work on the hem of one of her white muslin frocks.

Emily greeted the governess and walked over to look at the pattern of Melanie’s border. “What exquisite work, my dear,” she said a moment later. “I particularly like the lavender roses and the way you have blended pink and yellow together in your daisies. The design reminds me of Miss Lavinia’s knot garden.”

Melanie looked up, pushed wisps of fine flaxen hair out of her eyes, and it seemed for a moment that she would smile.

“Reply to Miss Wingrave properly, Melanie,” her governess said with quiet firmness.

“Thank you, Aunt Emily.”

“If you have finished your schoolwork for the day,” Emily said, “perhaps you would like to come out for a walk in the garden with me. I’ve taken a notion into my head that I should like very much to discuss with you.”

Melanie glanced at Miss Brittan, who nodded, whereupon the child tied off and snipped a French knot, set her work aside, and followed Emily downstairs and out into the garden. She remained silent, and Emily did not attempt to make conversation until they had crossed the wooden footbridge and walked some distance along the lakeshore path.

“I was wondering,” she said at last, speaking thoughtfully, “if you know how to swim, Melanie.” She looked down in time to see the little girl’s eyes widen as she turned her head to look up at her. “Well, do you?”

Melanie shook her head but continued to gaze expectantly at Emily.