The House at Bell Orchard (5 page)

The storm, for all its violence, was comparatively brief, and barely half an hour passed before the sky grew lighter, the downpour slackened to a drizzle and then stopped, and the sun began to break through the drifting clouds. Charmian opened her eyes to find the little parlour full of light, and Sir Piers’ gaze fixed with unexpected intentness upon her. She flushed and sat upright, lifting a hand to her disordered hair, aware of a confusion which was not altogether unpleasant.

It was not long before they heard the sound of approaching hooves and wheels, and the lodge-keeper’s wife came to tell them that the coach was at the door. Lavinia gave a mere condescending nod as she swept past her and out of the house, but Charmian paused to smile at the woman.

“Thank you for letting us shelter in your house,” she said in her soft, gentle voice. “It was very kind.”

Out of the doors the air was indescribably sweet, for though the tattered remnants of the storm-clouds were still drifting away seawards, and the drip and trickle of water could be heard on every side, the sun was already drawing sweetness from flowers and grass and rain-soaked earth. For some reason Charmian’s heart lifted with pure pleasure, the first happiness she had felt since her father’s death, and she said impulsively to Piers, who had followed her from the house:

“How beautiful everything is now! It almost makes the storm worthwhile.”

“Charmian!” Lavinia, already in the coach, spoke irritably. “Come along, child, and do not stand there in the mud! Let us get home, in pity’s name!”

Charmian started guiltily, and then suddenly the absurdity of the anti-climax struck her, and she gave a little gasp of laughter. As Sir Piers handed her up into the coach, her eyes met his for an instant, and she saw in them a rueful amusement that matched her own. The memory of that moment of shared laughter stayed with her as the coach bore her away, and she found it curiously comforting. No one at Bell Orchard, she reflected with faint surprise, seemed to laugh very much except in malice.

Piers stood watching the coach until it disappeared into the woods, and then, after a few words with the lodge-keeper, he mounted his horse and rode thoughtfully up the hill along the avenue of splendid chestnut trees. Wychwood Chase was a stately building, rather less than a hundred years old, with terraced gardens upon either side, and an impressive entrance fronting the broad sweep of gravel before the house. Piers handed over his mount to the groom who was waiting there to receive it, and went quickly up the graceful flight of steps to the front door of the mansion.

He found his mother and sister in one of the smaller drawing-rooms. Lady Wychwood sewing and Miss Dorothy idly fingering the keys of the spinet. Her ladyship, a dignified, grey-haired woman of middle age, with the same firm mouth and blue-grey eyes as her son, looked up with a smile as he came into the room.

“So you are home again, Piers,” she said as he came to kiss her hand. “Surely you did not ride through the storm?”

“No, I have been at the West Lodge,” he replied. “Mrs. Fenshawe’s coach met with an accident at our gates just as the storm broke, and I took her and her friend to the lodge for shelter. There was no time to bring them here.”

“Praise be!” Dorothy put in mischievously as he paused. “Mrs. Fenshawe always makes me feel like a milk-maid—blowsy, buxom and bucolic!”

Piers chuckled, but Lady Wychwood shook a reproving head.

“This liveliness, my love,” she told her daughter, “is a tendency you should strive to check.” She turned to Piers. “Was the accident a serious one?”

He shrugged. “Serious enough, but fortunately no one was much hurt. I fancy that Mrs. Fenshawe’s dignity, and consequently her temper, suffered more than anything.”

He gave them a brief description of what had happened, and concluded by saying to his mother: “I think it would do no harm, ma’am, for you to call upon Mrs. Fenshawe. I have had some differences with the Colonel, but I understand that he has now returned to London, and it will not do to be upon bad terms with our neighbours.” He glanced at his sister, still seated at the spinet. “Take Dorothy with you.”

Dorothy looked up, her blue eyes wide with surprise. “You said I was to have no more to do with the Fenshawes!”

“I said that you were to have no more to do with Harry Fenshawe,” he corrected her, “and I have not changed my mind on that score, I promise you. There is no reason, however, why you should not go to Bell Orchard with your Mama. I should like you to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Fenshawe’s friend, Miss Tarrant, who, so I understand, suffered a tragic bereavement a few weeks ago.”

Dorothy made a little grimace, raising her brows and pursing her lips, and ran fingers across the keys of the spinet to produce a mocking, tinkling ripple of melody. Lady Wychwood said mildly:

“If the young lady is in mourning, Piers, it is not likely that she will be receiving company.”

He had been regarding Dorothy with a faint frown, but at that turned back to his mother.

“In ordinary circumstances I would agree with you, but I have a curious impression that the circumstances are not ordinary. Moreover, Miss Tarrant appears to be alone in the world, since if she had relatives she would scarcely be staying with Mrs. Fenshawe at such a time, and if she is treated with no more consideration than was shown her this afternoon, her situation cannot be a happy one.”

Lady Wychwood looked puzzled. “Do you mean that she finds herself, as it were, in the position of a poor relation?”

“No,” Piers replied slowly, “for she was dressed as fashionably as Mrs. Fenshawe herself, and appeared to be upon terms of equality with her. But, knowing that household as I do, I cannot imagine her receiving a great deal of comfort or sympathy there.” He laid his hand on the back of her chair, looking down at her with a smile. “Will you do this for me, Mama?”

She still seemed slightly puzzled, but returned the smile and reached up to pat his arm.

“Of course, my dear, if you wish it. I will go to Bell Orchard tomorrow.”

Dorothy, still coaxing a lilting melody from the spinet, had apparently lost interest in the conversation, but her eyes were thoughtful, and presently, when Piers had gone out of the room, she jumped up and ran with a swirl of petticoats to seat herself on a low stool at her mother’s feet.

“Mama!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Piers seems to be excessively interested in this Miss Tarrant Do you suppose—?”

“I suppose nothing, my love,” Lady Wychwood replied firmly, “and neither must you. You are too fanciful, Dorothy!”

“But how wonderful if she could divert his mind from Selina Grey,” Dorothy persisted, “for you know, Mama, that you have been as worried as I have that he might offer for Selina. I vow I have been in a quake of fear ever since he rode out this morning, in case that was the reason for his visit to General Grey.”

Lady Wychwood sighed. “Selina is an admirable young woman,” she said despondently, “but I will own that I have not the smallest desire for her to become my daughter-in-law. But it is your brother’s concern, Dorothy, and not yours or mine. We must not make any attempt to interfere.”

“Well,
I
would interfere very happily if I thought it would do the least good,” Dorothy reported. “Piers is the dearest brother alive, and I
do
want him to be happy. And that he could never be if Selina were here, poking that long nose of hers into everything—”

“Dorothy!”

“But it is long, Mama! You know it is, and she is for ever prying into other people’s concerns and trying to make them behave as
she
thinks they should, and saying spiteful things about them in that horrid, self-righteous way she has. Oh, it would be too dreadful if Piers married her!”

“We do not know yet that he has any such intention.”

“Why else would he go so often to call upon General Grey?” Dorothy demanded bitterly. “Mama, we
must
prevent it, and if becoming acquainted with Miss Tarrant is the way to do so, then I, for one, will spare no pains to be kind to her. To be sure, I cannot imagine our sober, practical Piers doing anything as adventurous as falling in love at first sight, but he does seem excessively concerned about her.”

“Dorothy, you must endeavour to conduct yourself with more propriety,” Lady Wychwood protested. “You have no business to be talking in this fashion. Moreover, when you meet Miss Tarrant, you may like her no better than you like Selina Grey.”

“No one could be worse than Selina,” retorted her irrepressible daughter. “I am sure I shall like her very well, and so will you. Why, the accident to Mrs. Fenshawe’s coach was the greatest good fortune imaginable! Just wait and see if I am not right!”

5

Wychwood Chase

Lady Wychwood was as good as her word, and the next day saw her carriage making its way down the long, winding drive to Bell Orchard. Dorothy, seated beside her mother, had already convinced herself that her brother’s concern for the unknown Miss Tarrant betokened an interest far deeper than their brief, casual meeting justified, and was dwelling gleefully on the disappointment which this would cause the detested Selina Grey. Dorothy had a shrewd suspicion that it was Selina who had carried tales to Piers of his sister’s liking for the company of Harry Fenshawe, and she would not readily forgive this deliberate sowing of discord between her and Piers. The incident had provided a foretaste of what might be expected if Selina became Piers wife, and Dorothy felt that she would go to any lengths to prevent such a thing.

Lavinia Fenshawe was by no means pleased when her butler announced Lady Wychwood and her daughter, but succeeded in hiding her feelings. She welcomed the visitors graciously, made Miss Tarrant known to them, and assured her ladyship that she had recovered completely from the shock of the accident.

“Though it was my poor Charmian who suffered most,” she added lightly, “for I was flung quite on top of her, and the poor child struck her head a severe blow. But Sir Piers came most gallantly to the rescue, and made all right in a trice, did he not, my love?”

Charmian nodded, and looked with a shy smile at Lady Wychwood. “He was very kind,” she agreed. “I am exceedingly grateful to him.”

Her ladyship regarded her kindly, for her first impression of Charmian Tarrant was a favourable one. “I am happy to think that my son was at hand to offer his assistance,” she replied. “Is this your first visit to Sussex, Miss Tarrant?”

Charmian’s eyes clouded. “Yes, it is,” she said in a low voice. “I lived in Richmond until—until my father died.”

Lady Wychwood uttered a civil expression of sympathy and tactfully turned the conversation to other topics, and Mrs. Fenshawe responded eagerly. She seemed unwilling for them to speak of personal matters, and though this might have been prompted by a desire to spare Miss Tarrant’s feelings, Dorothy did not feel that this was the case.

She remembered Piers saying the previous day that he felt the circumstances of Miss Tarrant’s presence at Bell Orchard were not altogether ordinary, and, for Dorothy, this was more than enough. She had a vivid imagination and a tendency to let it get the better of her, so that she was for ever dramatizing the most commonplace incidents, and seeing mystery and drama where neither existed. Having already cast Charmian Tarrant in a romantic role, it was not difficult to picture her as the victim of some sinister plot, from which it would, of course, be necessary for Piers to rescue her. The fact it might be exceedingly difficult to persuade her practical and levelheaded brother to enter into the adventurous spirit of such an undertaking was something which, for the present, Miss Wychwood was disposed to ignore.

It was obvious, however, that she would be carrying out his wishes by establishing a cordial relationship with Miss Tarrant, so she made every effort to be pleasant to her, and followed this up, as she and her mother were leaving, with an ingenuous suggestion that perhaps Mrs. Fenshawe and her guest would care to visit them at Wychwood Chase in the near future. Lady Wychwood, who had found Miss Tarrant sufficiently to her liking to wonder secretly whether there was any foundation for Dorothy’s outrageous suggestion the previous day, at once confirmed the invitation, but Mrs. Fenshawe, giving Charmian no chance to speak, said quickly:

“It is most kind of your ladyship, but since Miss Tarrant is in mourning, it cannot be thought proper for her to go into company.”

“My dear Mrs. Fenshawe, I would not dream of suggesting that she should,” her ladyship replied in shocked tones. “There can be nothing amiss, though, in you and her spending an hour or so with us one day, if you would care to do so.”

“Oh, Lavinia, may we not go?” Charmian said eagerly. “I do not wish to seem lacking in respect for Papa’s memory, but I would so much like to accept Lady Wychwood’s invitation.”

Mrs. Fenshawe realized that she was fairly trapped. To persist in a refusal would seem churlish, and might even arouse unwelcome suspicion if Lady Wychwood mentioned the matter to her son. With a smile which successfully masked seething anger, she said lightly:

“Of course, my love, if you feel yourself equal to paying calls we can most certainly go. You know that I am willing to do anything that will give you pleasure.”

It was arranged that the visit should take place three days later, and as the time approached, Charmian realized that she was looking forward to it with an eagerness out of all proportion to so small a diversion. This was not merely because she had taken an instant liking to the Wychwoods, or even because she was lonely and unhappy at Bell Orchard. At the back of her mind, like a threatening shadow darkening all her days, was the thought of the disclosures which Colonel Fenshawe had made to her before returning to London. These had profoundly shocked and frightened her, and raised in her mind numerous unanswerable questions. Was there any real danger to the peace and security of England in the activities of which he had spoken, or were he and his associates deluding themselves into believing that they could further a cause already lost? Was it her duty, in spite of the Colonel’s veiled threats, to inform the authorities of what she had been told? Would they believe her, and what punishment would she suffer at Fenshawe’s hands?

It seemed to Charmian that every attempt she made to solve her problems merely created others, more formidable than those which had gone before. The things which Fenshawe had told her cast a new and sinister light upon his desire to see her married to his son. Her father’s fortune had been swallowed by the insatiable demands of the Stuart cause; was her own destined to go the same way? Harry might be firm in his refusal to marry her, but she could not forget that he had a brother, who had already proved to be her most persistent suitor. If the Colonel failed to browbeat his elder son into marriage, he might well do all in his power to make her the wife of the younger.

It was in vain that she reminded herself that the ultimate decision, now that her father was dead, rested with her alone. Her present situation offered no encouragement to such thoughts, and she began to sense a devious purpose behind the suggestion that she should visit Bell Orchard. She felt herself isolated there, cut off from the few friends she had. She had written to Mrs. Brownhill soon after her arrival in Sussex, but had received no reply; now it was plain that Lavinia was averse to her striking up a friendship with the Wychwoods, and that knowledge fostered in Charmian a desperate determination to pursue the acquaintance at all costs. She was growing increasingly certain that danger of some kind lurked at Bell Orchard, and she must have friends to turn to in case of need.

The day chosen for their visit to Wychwood Chase was warm and bright, thus depriving Lavinia of any excuse not to go, and this put her into an ill-humour at the outset. She complained incessantly as they drove along the dusty road, past farm and cottage and into Wychwood End. Crossing the old stone bridge that here spanned the sleepy river, they left the village behind them and presently passed into the shade of the woods. Here the road began its gradual ascent of the hill, and soon they were passing the scene of the accident and entering the avenue of chestnut trees. Charmian’s thoughts went back to the last time she had seen this place, and she found herself wondering whether Sir Piers would be at home that day. Apparently Lavinia’s thoughts had been led along similar lines, for she remarked peevishly:

“Heaven grant we are spared young Wychwood’s company this afternoon, for though I can occasionally tolerate his mother and sister, him I find unendurable at any time! I do not know why I allowed myself to be persuaded into this visit at all!”

“Why do you dislike him so?” Charmian asked curiously. “I thought he was most kind.”

“Kind?” Lavinia gave a short, angry laugh. “What kindness is to be found in that sort of patronizing civility? The trouble with Sir Piers, my dear Charmian, is that he can never forget for an instant that he is Wychwood of Wychwood, the great man of these parts. He fancies that gives him the right to ride rough-shod over everyone, and has the impertinence to look down upon any who do not conform to his narrow, countrified standards of behaviour. Oh, I detest the man, and there’s an end to it!”

Charmian said no more, but she thought she now had the answer to the puzzle of Mrs. Fenshawe’s dislike of Sir Piers. It had its roots in jealousy and resentment. The Wychwoods were undoubtedly the most important local family, and that was galling to anyone who, like Lavinia, must always hold the centre of the stage. Even more galling must be Sir Piers’ very evident lack of interest in her as a woman. In London she was always surrounded by admirers; she thrived on masculine admiration, and it must be infuriating that the only personable young man within reach, outside her own family, should remain unmoved by her charms.

When they reached the house and were conducted to the drawing-room, they found only Lady Wychwood and her daughter awaiting them. Mrs. Fenshawe was clearly relieved, but Charmian, responding to her ladyship’s warm welcome and Dorothy’s eager greeting, was conscious of a feeling of disappointment. She overcame it, and forced herself to take part in the somewhat stilted flow of conversation, but Dorothy soon began to show signs of restlessness. Presently, when Charmian commented politely upon the exceptionally fine views afforded by the elevated position of the house, she jumped to her feet and said impetuously:

“Yes, but they are much finer from the terraces! Come outside with me, Miss Tarrant, and I will show you.” Charmian accepted this invitation eagerly, paying no heed to Lavinia’s look of disapproval, and followed Dorothy out into the sunshine. There were three terraces upon either side of the house, and Dorothy, choosing those which looked towards the coast, led the way to the balustrade bordering the highest level.

“Bell Orchard lies yonder,” she remarked, “though we cannot see the house itself, even from here, because it stands in a hollow.”

Charmian followed the direction of her pointing hand, and frowned. “There?” she repeated in astonishment. “I supposed it to lie much farther to the left.”

Dorothy laughed. “That is because the road curves inland to cross the river at Wychwood End.” she explained. “You had to travel nearly four miles to get here, but in reality the two houses are little more than a mile and a half apart. There is a shorter way between them, a bridle-path which leads down through the woods to a ford, and then continues across Colonel Fenshawe’s land. The river marks the boundary between the two estates from a point half a mile above the ford to the sea.”

“I see,” Charmian said slowly. “Yet at Bell Orchard we are much closer to the sea.”

“Yes, that is because of the line of the coast Sometimes in winter, when the weather is stormy and the wind blowing from the sea. it seems almost as though the house .were on the shore itself. I do not think I would care to live there.”

They were walking along the terrace cow. Charmian said casually: “You have known Colonel Fenshawe and his family for a long time?”

“Yes, all my life, though not as well, of course, as my brother knows them. He and Harry Fenshawe were close friends as boys. They are the same age, you know, and they went to the University at the same time and then made the Grand Tour together.”

“Oh?” Charmian could not conceal her surprise, for she would not have supposed that a serious young man like Sir Piers had much in common with Harry Fenshawe. “I did not realize that there was such a degree of intimacy between them.”

“Well, there is not, nowadays,” Dorothy replied frankly. “The Fenshawes are in London a great deal, and we have not lived there since my father died, so naturally we all meet less often. Mrs. Fenshawe does not care for Bell Orchard, or for our quiet country ways, but, of course, you are aware of that.”

“Yes,” Charmian agreed in a low voice, “I am aware of it.” She paused, considering her next words. “Forgive me, Miss Wychwood, but I have the impression—a mistaken one, perhaps—that there is an awkwardness, almost an antagonism between the two families. Pray do not think that I am prying into matters which do not concern me, but I am in constant dread of doing or saying something which may give offence in one quarter or another.”

There was a pause, and then Dorothy said slowly: “Yes, I can understand that you should feel it to be so, for there
is
a coolness between us. My brother holds strong views upon the duties of a landowner towards his estates and his tenants, and he is occasionally very outspoken. He and the Colonel have disagreed more than once on that score.”

They had reached the steps of the terrace and descended to the lower level before she spoke again. Then she said abruptly, as though having had some difficulty in reaching the decision to speak at all:

“I had better be completely frank with you, Miss Tarrant. A little while ago Piers quarrelled very violently with Harry Fenshawe, and I was the cause of it. I suppose I did behave thoughtlessly, but there was no harm in it—after all, I have known Harry since I was a baby. But Piers can be prodigiously strict at times, and when he found us alone together, he said that Harry was not a fit person for me to associate with and I was to have no more to do with him. I had never seen him so angry, for in the ordinary way he is the most even-tempered man alive. Harry, of course, has a quite dreadful temper, and I thought that they were going to come to blows there and then. However, they did not, but that was the end of any semblance of friendship between them. I must say it seems foolish to end it so, for such a paltry reason.”

Charmian, listening to this artless recital, found that it did not pain her as it would have done only a short time before, though it puzzled her a good deal. If there was this coolness between the two families, why were the Wychwoods exerting themselves to offer friendship to her? Was Sir Piers’ absence today an indication that, in doing so, his mother and sister were going against his wishes? The thought caused her to feel a totally illogical pang of dismay.

“I trust,” she said carefully after a moment, “that your brother does not, for that reason, look with disfavour upon this visit to his house by Mrs. Fenshawe and myself. I would not wish to be the cause of any further differences between you.”