Lady Elizabeth's Comet (24 page)

My heart had betrayed Bevis, too. The attachment I had felt--indeed, still felt--for Bevis
was tame and safe. I had turned to it to avoid a present danger. I had used Bevis. I cringed
against the pillows. He did not deserve such dealing. How came I to be so heartless? No, not
heartless, alas. So dishonest.

I escaped the next day, towing Alice ruthlessly north in the carriage toward home and
refuge.

I spent the summer fathoms deep in misery. If Jean's calf love had been awkward for
everyone, my grown-up variety must have been much worse.

I tried to put on a civil, if not a brave, front, but my melancholy communicated itself.
Everyone tiptoed about my sensibilities. Alice attributed my state to regret over Bevis--or
possibly to guilt. The girls believed I had taken leave of my senses, as all adults were wont to do
periodically. What Miss Bluestone thought was not clear.

Clanross did not return to Brecon at all. He escorted Aunt to Briarlea and met Charles
there for a last-minute discussion of the plans for the infirmary. Then he rode north with Sims.
The infirmary was now building, and Charles was cock-a-hoop over that and over his coming
nuptials. He told me that Clanross had promised to attend the wedding, so I had something to
live for.

I was not alone in missing Clanross. The girls moped, the Brecon servants drifted among
the holland covers like ghosts, and even Alice occasionally remarked over some trifle that she
was sure would have diverted his lordship. Miss Bluestone watched and held her peace.

The girls at least had letters. They wrote Clanross faithfully every week and he never
failed to respond--with descriptions of the Scots countryside, with comic stories of people he
met, with neat sketches of unusual flora for Miss Bluestone. And, of course, the spelling lists.
The girls took them very seriously.

I ought to have been amused. In fact, I was eat up with envy and would have given
almost anything but my telescope for one spelling list, if it had been addressed to me. All I
received was empty courtesy. "Pray convey my respects to your sister Elizabeth." A ritual
afterthought. If Clanross had once written "Convey my respects to Elizabeth and tell her I miss
our chess games" or even "Tell her I thought of her when I visited Lady Kinnaird," I would have
written him myself. Alas, he did not and I did not. There was no commerce between us.

At least Clanross had not gone to Brighton bride-hunting. Bevis had. Or so Anne
informed me, with malice that flew wide of the mark. I wished Bevis might find someone to
appreciate his quality.

Thanks to the twins' letters, I knew exactly where Clanross was from one week to the
next. I hope my eagerness to read them was not as obvious as my sisters'. He was making a
leisurely tour of Scotland. Kitty wrote me crossly she had been prepared to show him every
courtesy and had even scoured the country for eligible ladies to parade before him, but he paid
her one call, a second, longer one on my small sisters, and she never saw him more.

Like Kitty I had supposed Clanross meant to visit his properties, but as the weeks passed
it became clear that he was more intent on bathing in the lochs and fishing and rambling about
the mountains with Sims than on looking to his accounts.

Kitty picked up on that, of course, and wrote spitefully that she supposed we must
expect a domestic
Childe Harold
from his lordship's pen. I wished I could share her
observation with Clanross, who resembled Lord Byron neither in looks nor in character. The
only fruit of his pen was the twins' letters.

July turned clear and hot. I worked at my telescope nearly every night. I watched my
comet depart on its journey to the black depths of vacancy. My meteor showers commenced. A
year before such activities would have left me merry as a grig. Now I tasted ashes. It was not that
my work appealed to me less but that I wished to tell Clanross of it.

* * * *

Toward the end of the month a sandy-haired, wide-eyed young Scot clutching a large
box and a letter appeared in the guise of Cupid's Messenger. The letter read,

My dear Elizabeth, The bearer of your sisters' box of rocks
is James Sholto. He is the son of one of your father's Lothian tenants whom you
may remember and a budding land agent. I mean him to work under Moore for
the present, and as Moore will probably see a rival in him I'd take it very kindly if
you'd smooth the boy's path. I hope this finds you all in good health and spirits. I
can't see your comet. Am I too far north? Your obt. servt. Clanross.

P.S. It's young Sholto's first venture south of the Tweed. I fancy he was
homesick before he left.

Not a love letter nor yet a sonnet. A great deal could be made of the salutation, as "my
dear, Elizabeth" or "Elizabeth, my dear" or "my Elizabeth" or just "dear." I was desperate.
Despite its business-like content, I kept this scrawl among my most cherished mementoes. I
answered it at once, though I had an appalling time keeping my reply brief and cousinly.

I plied Mr. Sholto with a very high tea and introduced him to the wary Moore with every
iota of tact at my command. I think I did ease the boy's way, for I saw him following Mr. Moore
attentively on his rounds, and it was clear that Moore was enjoying the role of mentor.

As for the box of rocks, it was just that--neatly tagged bits of pebble and stone from the
places Clanross had visited, with accompanying sketches and a suggestion that the girls amass a
similar assortment for him to inspect in August. He had gone to a great deal of trouble for them.
There was also a hideous cairngorm broach for Alice. To my stupefaction she loved it and wore
it to dinner for a week.

The
pièce de résistance,
however, was Miss Bluestone's fossil.
This stone bore the imprint of an ancient fern, and Clanross had chipped it out of a rockface
himself. He had wrapped it tenderly in one of his linen handkerchiefs, and it arrived in mint
condition. Miss Bluestone was so delighted she nearly wept. So did I.

There was nothing in the box for me, not so much as a pebble.

Jean and Maggie began at once to scour the grounds for suitable specimens and had to
be restrained from dragging in boulders. They bribed my groom several times to escort them
beyond the walls and would probably have ranged as far as Yorkshire if Miss Bluestone had not
put a stop to their escapades.

How much of this they wrote Clanross I do not know, for they were old enough to be
writing without their elders approving the content of their letters. They must have said
something, however, for they both received separate stern lectures on their want of consideration.
They were cast into the glooms. I'm sure they had expected amused approval. They moped and
left off collecting. Even the dogs did not cheer them.

After a few days of putting up with my sisters' despair, Miss Bluestone sought me in my
room before dinner.

"Is anything the matter, Miss Bluestone?"

"No, my lady. I merely wished to discuss something with you privately." She was
wearing her summer dinner gown, as hideous as her winter uniform but ochre instead of
black.

"By all means." I motioned to Dobbins to leave and pulled out a chair. "Please sit, Miss
Bluestone. What is it?"

"Would you object to my taking Jean and Margaret on a small expedition? They need a
change of air."

"And something cheerful to write his lordship." I sighed. "Very well, ma'am. What do
you suggest?"

"I thought perhaps we might be allowed to take the barouche for an afternoon. I should
like them to see the Weeping Cave, and Jem assures me he knows the way perfectly."

The Weeping Cave was a locally famous limestone cavern full of strange icicle-like
formations. The wolden heath in which it lay had been one of the favoured picnic spots of my
childhood.

"Have they not seen the Weeping Cave? Let's go tomorrow." I rose and paced restlessly
back and forth. The girls had not been away from Brecon since Christmas, except for church on
Sunday. Miss Bluestone had not even had the Christmas jaunt. I was neglecting them all. I felt
horribly guilty.

"You'll join us? How splendid!" Miss Bluestone beamed her approval, and I realised she
must have been thinking me indifferent to the girls. I swallowed my chagrin and nodded.

* * * *

I had seen the cave many times. Whilst the others entered the bowels of the earth, I sat
by myself in the sun and gave my melancholy room to blossom. The heath--starred with
wildflowers and touched by a light breeze--was a delightful spot in which to be lovesick. I
admired the spreading wold, blue in the distance, and wondered how many miles it was to
Lochalsh, which was where Clanross was bound that week.

A twig crackled. Startled, I looked up from my brooding. Miss Bluestone, pale as linen,
stood above me. I leapt up. "What is it, ma'am? Are you ill?"

She let out her breath in a long sigh. "How foolish of me, my lady. I stood it as long as I
could, but I kept thinking of all those tons of rock above me. Oh dear, I feel rather giddy."

I took her arm and settled her on one of the cloths Jem had spread to keep the damp
from our skirts. "A glass of wine?" It was a relief to know Miss Bluestone had at least one flaw,
but I did not smile at her discomfort.

"Th-thank you. My word! I don't know what came over me."

"Yours is a frequent sensation in caves, I believe. My sister Anne could never abide the
place. She said it stifled her. She couldn't breathe."

Miss Bluestone took a gulp of the wine. "That's it. I couldn't draw a breath. How very
odd. The girls seemed perfectly at ease."

"No imagination." I refilled her glass and poured one for myself. I let her sit for a time
quietly.

Soon her colour improved, and she looked over at me, smiling, "You're very kind, my
lady."

"I'm not such an ogre as to expect you to stay there."

She began to look anxious. "The girls..."

"They're safe with Jem and Harris, and they'll stay in the cave until the torches begin to
burn low. Take your ease, Miss Bluestone, and enjoy the sunshine. We have a perfect day for an
alfresco feast."

"So we do." She relaxed her stiff pose with deliberation. "I had looked forward to this
expedition, too. I meant to try for a trilobite for his lordship."

"Good lord, what's a trilobite?"

She explained in earnest detail.

"I see," I said doubtfully. "I daresay Clanross would be delighted with a trilobite."

"He would," she replied, composed. "We have talked at some length as to the age of
such relics. Indeed, we almost came to cuffs, for he is convinced they must be hundreds of
thousands of years old. That is nonsense, of course. All the best authorities agree the Creation
occurred only four or five thousand years before Our Lord's birth. Such apparent contradictions
must have been placed here merely to test our faith."

"No doubt." I suppressed a smile at the thought of Clanross and Miss Bluestone in
theological debate.

Miss Bluestone sipped at her wine. "His lordship has a well-informed mind, but sadly
secular."

"Did he send you your fossil to test your faith?" That was unkind, but I couldn't resist. I
envied her her fossil.

"Very likely. It was good in his lordship to recollect our discussion, however, and it is a
particularly handsome specimen. I writ him so."

My melancholy swept back. Even Miss Bluestone could share her thoughts with
Clanross, but I could not, and it was my own stupid fault that Bevis stood between us. I said,
rather crossly, "Clanross certainly spoilt the twins' joy with his last letters."

"Oh, they'll make a swift recover when his next ones come."

"It cannot be right that they should depend so greatly upon his approval."

"Whom else have they to depend upon for masculine approval? Their father and uncles
are dead and they have no brothers." She added cautiously, "My lady, may I ask what it is that
disturbs you in your sisters' friendship with Lord Clanross? It has troubled you before, I
believe."

I did not roar, "I'm jealous of their friendship!" which was the truth. As I could think of
nothing else to say I must have looked quite blank.

"There's nothing at all improper in it, my lady, I assure you."

I stared.
That
thought had not crossed my mind.

She went on, earnest, "Indeed, if you'll reread his letters to them you'll see for yourself
how careful he is to write nothing at all that might make them self-conscious."

"That must be rather difficult in Jean's case," I snapped. "She fancies herself in love with
him."

Miss Bluestone said tranquilly, "Oh, that's nearly over. I thought you must have noticed.
The next object of her affections will be the new curate. So it is with calf love, my lady."

"I know," I muttered. "I remember."

"His lordship enjoys Jean and Margaret because they remind him of his own sister."

I drew a startled breath.

"He told me he finds it very hard to think of his sister at five-and-thirty, for she died
when they were ten, but when he sees your sisters' antics he can imagine what his twin might
have been like at fifteen. It gives him great pleasure."

I burst into tears.

I wept for Clanross and his lost sister, but after the first generous outburst I fear I wept
mostly for myself--because I felt like weeping. I couldn't stop. I buried my face in my hands and
blubbed like a baby, completely oblivious to the sunshine, our startled groom, and Miss
Bluestone.

She was very wise. Beyond handing me one of her large useful handkerchiefs, she did
not attempt to intrude on my grief until it had exhausted itself and I sat shaken by an occasional
hiccough and sniffling into the square of linen.

"Jean and Margaret will be returning very soon, my lady," she ventured at last. "Come
for a walk with me. I'll direct John here to tell them where we've gone and to ask them to prepare
our nuncheon. That will allow you time to compose yourself."