Carola Dunn (4 page)

Farewells were said, and promises to meet again, and the Grisedale carriage moved off up the lane. Mr and Mrs Sutton were still busy with their parishioners, so Angel and Catherine walked towards the vicarage, nodding in response to the curtsies and tipped hats of the farm folk. As they approached the gate between the churchyard and the garden, a rather stout and florid young man walked up to them, removed his fashionable beaver, and bowed low, dropping his silver-mounted cane in the process.

They stopped and looked at him in surprise as he picked it up and straightened with a gasp, crimson-faced from the exertion, not, as was soon evident, from embarrassment.

“Beg leave to introduce m’self,” he uttered with cheerful nonchalance. “Dick Burchett at y’r service. Met the Vicar and his missus just now, y’know. Pa owns Beckside Farm.”

Neither Angel nor Catherine could think of any suitable response to this revelation. Fortunately Mr Burchett did not seem to expect one.

“He’s a warm man,” he explained. “Price of wool’s good with the war and all. Sent me away to school and thinks that makes me a gentleman. Keep telling him all I want’s to be a farmer; won’t listen. Wants to send me to London now, find a toff to marry, but I’m courting Betsy down at Meadow Farm in Patterdale.”

Angel dissolved in giggles.

“I’m very happy for Miss Betsy,” said Catherine, “but I cannot guess why you are telling us this, Mr Burchett.”

“Camouflage,” he revealed proudly. “Pa says y’r ma’s a lady, so if he thinks I’m courting you, he’ll let me bide. Don’t mind, do you? Won’t bother you much, but you might like to come up to Beckside one day, see the animals. Know ladies like kittens and calves and lambs and such.”

“I’m sure we’d be happy to accept your invitation, sir. Wouldn’t we, Lyn?” said Catherine severely.

“Oh, yes,” gasped Angel. “Love kittens. Have any puppies?”

“Lots.” He opened the gate for them, bowed again, and went off with a cheerful wave.

“What an odd young man!” Catherine exclaimed, laughing. “There is certainly no humbug about him. The very soul of candour. I rather liked him. Oh, do look, Angel!” She pointed to the northwest.

The churchyard was completely surrounded by tall yews, and not until they were well into the vicarage garden did the newly revealed panorama become visible. Behind the house, a brilliantly green meadow stretched in the sun down to a stream edged by willows and alders. On the far side, a cart track ran parallel, backed by a stone wall, beyond which more meadows climbed to woodland, then bare fell, then up and up to the towering mass of Helvellyn mountain, huge beyond belief, its summit standing out clear-cut against a pale blue sky.

“I want to climb it,” breathed Angel. “Let’s go this afternoon.”

“Oh, Angel, surely it would take a whole day! I believe there are paths, but one should have a guide, I expect, and take food.”

“But it is such a fine day, I hate to waste it. It will probably rain again tomorrow.”

“There are certainly shorter walks we might take today. Think of woods and rocky dells and waterfalls. Let’s follow our own stream down there, and see where it takes us.”

They asked permission over luncheon. Catherine and her mother watched with envy as Angel consumed enough cold lamb and well-buttered bread for two, and finished up with a dish of strawberries drowning in sugar and cream. “May we walk along the stream this afternoon?” she asked between mouthfuls.

No objection was raised to this plan, so after changing their gowns and footwear, the young ladies strolled across the meadow. A pair of brown-eyed cows raised their heads to stare at the intruders, then went back to cropping the lush grass and buttercups.

To Angel’s delight, there were stepping stones leading across the water to the track on the other side. She bounced across, while Catherine followed more cautiously. By mutual consent they turned upstream.

On their left, the clear water chattered over its rocky bed. The drystone wall on their right sheltered a myriad flowers: foxgloves, yarrow, campion, and toadflax, purple knapweed and scarlet pimpernel. Butterflies fluttered by and the air was full of the hum of bees and the distant lowing of cattle.

“What did you think of Lady Elizabeth?” asked Angel, after they had walked for a while in silent contentment.

“I hardly spoke to her,” Catherine answered. “A quiet little mouse, though pretty enough, with that dark hair, if her face had more animation.”

“She had plenty to say when I asked her the right questions, but she is shockingly shy. Of course she never gets a word in edgewise with that odious woman around. I daresay she is out of practice. Her papa sounds monstrous disagreeable too. Only imagine casting off his only son because he ran away to join the army! I am sure she must miss her brother, and her mama too.’’

“Did she speak of them?”

“No, but she will. I was not with her for longer than ten minutes but already I have her confidence, I think. The poor child has had no friends!”

“Child! She must be quite your age, Angel.”

“She is so little and shy, I feel I must protect her.”

“An unprecedented feeling, I am sure.”

“Well, yes, except that sometimes I try to shield Mama. Only she has Papa to look after her. Of course, there is always Sir Gregory. What thought you of him, Catherine?”

“He is very large and looks sleepier than he is. What is your opinion?”

“At first I thought him fine enough to be your suitor. Do not smile, I told you I meant to look out for a husband for you. He is certainly tall enough! Then I thought him by far too dull, for he just stood there looking bored. But afterward it seemed to me that he was laughing at me, and that I did not like at all. It would be odious to be married to a man who laughed at one.”

“Do you think so? He is certainly a great tease.” Catherine considered warning her cousin that her disguise had already been pierced, then decided against it.

“I think it very likely that he is sly,” Angel suggested, “for he hides behind that bored face and makes you think he is not listening, and then makes fun of you. Of all things, I abhor slyness.’’

“I do not think him sly, but you may have the right of it. One should not judge on such short acquaintance. Look, we cannot follow the stream any further.”

They had walked half a mile or so, and now the track swung to the right and the stream’s course continued through a gap in a high stone wall, which barred their path.

“I shall climb over it,” said Angel at once.

“Pray do not! You will certainly dirty your gown and probably rip it, if you do not fall and break your leg.”

“Oh, very well. Perhaps I can go around the end by the stream.”

“Has it not occurred to you that someone built the wall to keep you out?” protested Catherine as her cousin pushed through a tangle of hazel bushes overgrown with sweet-scented honeysuckle.

“It must be Grisedale Hall. They will not mind.”

“I daresay you are right,” Catherine sighed. “I beg you will not fall into the water.”

She made her way around the edge of the thicket and found Angel contemplating the proposed passage. There was a two-foot drop from the grassy bank onto a jumble of boulders of various sizes, most of them wet with spray. They looked alarmingly slippery, but supposing that one managed to stay upright it would be possible to climb past the end of the wall. Until this was accomplished, it was quite impossible to see how high the bank was on the other side.

Before Catherine could protest again, Angel picked up her skirts in one hand and jumped.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s easy.” Balancing with her unoccupied hand, she proceeded, and heaving another heavy sigh, her cousin followed.

Three minutes later they were sitting on a conveniently fallen tree trunk. Angel took off her shoe and emptied water from it.

“I came off better than you,” said Catherine. “I declare I do not know what comes over me when you propose these adventures. I am by far too old for such pranks.”

“Let us walk a little further.” Angel bounced up, ready to go. “Oh, Catherine, do not turn your head a minute, but guess what I can see.”

“A raging bull.”

“No.”

“Lord Grisedale’s gamekeeper with a shotgun.”

“No, guess again.”

“I cannot imagine.” She looked round. “Angel, a gate! If we had just walked a little further along the track, we might have entered comfortably!”

“It would have been vastly less amusing. Come on.”

They had not walked very far when three figures on horseback rode over a rise a quarter of a mile distant, and they recognised Lady Elizabeth and Sir Gregory, with an unknown gentleman. Angel immediately waved and hallooed.

“We cannot speak to them!” cried Catherine. “I do not know how I look, but you are the very image of a ragamuffin.”

“Then they will not guess that I am the daughter of a marquis. You are a pattern-card of propriety, not a hair out of place, I promise you.”

There was no time for further remonstrances, for already the riders were drawing near.

“Hello,” Angel greeted them sunnily. “I thought this must be Grisedale Hall.”

“I beg your pardon for trespassing,” Catherine added hurriedly, slightly flushed.

Lady Elizabeth was by far too well bred to seem to notice Angel’s hoydenish appearance, but as the gentlemen dismounted, the stranger raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Miss Sutton, Miss, er, Brand, your servant,” said Sir Gregory, at his most languid. “Allow me to present Lord Welch.”

The stranger made his bow.

“You are visiting in the neighbourhood, ma’am?” he asked Catherine in a pleasant, well-modulated voice. His tightly fitting blue coat, exquisite fawn unmentionables, and glossy, white-topped boots made Sir Gregory look downright casual.

“My father has taken over the parish for the summer, my lord.”

“And I am her cousin,” broke in Angel. “We walked up from the vicarage.”

“It is a beautiful day,” volunteered Lady Elizabeth.

“One of my shepherds promised a fine week, according to my bailiff,” remarked Lord Welch. “These yokels are amazingly accurate about the weather. I shall probably ride over from Upthwaite daily to pay my respects to the earl.” He looked smilingly at Lady Elizabeth, who blushed.

“I am sure there is no need for such diligence,” said Sir Gregory, frowning. “My uncle was unable to see you today, and I do not suppose he will do so soon. You would do better to inspect your land while the weather permits.”

Angel had noted the blush, but missed the grateful glance from Lady Elizabeth which followed it, directed at the baronet. Scenting opposed romance, she made up her mind to lend her assistance.

“There are a thousand pleasanter things to do on a sunny day,” she declared. “We must have a picnic, at least, and go sketching. Do you sketch, my lord?”

“No, Miss Brand, but I am a great admirer of young ladies’ talents. Perhaps I might serve to carry your easels?”

“That will be delightful, will it not, my lady?” Angel prattled on, making plans enough for a month of fine weather. Lord Welch obligingly agreed with her every suggestion, and she scarce noticed that Lady Elizabeth uttered not a word except for an occasional faint and unheeded protest. They rambled on, the gentlemen leading their horses; Angel walked between her ladyship’s pony and his lordship, and Catherine brought up the rear with Sir Gregory.

“What a minx she is!” that gentleman commented drily. “Angel by name, but no angel by nature. If I had not guessed her secret, I should think her a most encroaching female.”

“I am very glad you did guess, or I should be covered in confusion to an even greater extent than I am. Papa had warned me that Uncle Frederick allowed her a great deal of freedom, and that I must watch out for her, but I cannot tell what she will do next, and she does not heed me unless she chooses. There is no malice in her, though.”

“I daresay the acquaintance will be good for Beth. She has been too much penned in. I hope they will take to one another.”

“Angel declared she was in a fair way to win your cousin’s confidence. However, if she continues to press my lord’s suit, I fear she is like to lose it fast, is she not?” asked Catherine with a grimace.

“‘Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.’ Can you not explain to her that your more experienced eye has discerned his company to be unwelcome?”

“I can try, and will if you wish it. And I wish you will not call me Kate. It is not at all proper.”

“‘Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee,’”  he said, grinning. “I find it well nigh irresistible, but I am running out of suitable quotations, so I will try to be good—if you will persuade the headstrong Miss Brand not to invite the viscount on all her expeditions. It is deuced difficult to exclude him, with the best will in the world. Perhaps I should explain that there are objections quite apart from Beth’s dislike of the man. He has sold off most of his land, and still finds himself in need of her dowry, nor do I think him a man of principle in other matters. Unfortunately, my uncle sees only the advantage of disposing of his daughter without further effort. He is a sick man, and never was inclined to put himself out for his womenfolk.”

“You should not be telling me this, sir, I am sure,” said Catherine in some confusion.

“Why, Catherine’s the sweet soul of discretion! No, I cry pax, and admit that Shakespeare never wrote that line. I think it true, though. Now, shall you turn around and tell Lord Welch what I have said of him?”

“Of course not. But still, you should not tell me. And it is quite unfair to make up quotations. Oh, dear, I really must take Angel away before it is too late. How she ever manages not to be shunned by the Ton, I cannot guess. Lyn! It is time we turned homeward.”

‘‘Must we?’’

“Yes, Mother will be looking out for us. Good-bye, my lady, my lord.”

“Good-bye, everyone!” Angel echoed. “We will see you tomorrow!”

Chapter 4

Leaving the park decorously by the gate, Angel and Catherine turned down the track towards the stream.

“I hope you have not made definite plans for tomorrow,” Catherine said. “Papa may have arranged something.”