The Lady Next Door (8 page)

A pained expression contorted Miss Horton’s lovely countenance. “Coffee and tea are ruinous to the body. Although they are not intoxicating, one’s health is as surely destroyed by partaking of them as of spirituous liquors. One’s body is a temple, my lord, and must not be abused.”

“You must have a difficult time keeping servants.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“On principle I suppose you would not make a beer allowance, nor one for tea. Our servants at Ackton Towers would be sorely put out under such hardships.” Finding himself automatically reaching for his glass, the earl let his hand fall motionless to the table.

Miss Horton looked perplexed; she had not the slightest interest in servants and had no idea whether those at Cromwell were allowed beer or not. Rather than turn to her father or mother for enlightenment, she said, “We are removing to our town house in York next week. I trust you and your family will be in Micklegate for the season.”

“Mother and Louisa come in a week or so; Harry and I are already installed.”

A complacent smile did nothing to warm her glacial beauty. “Then we shall meet at the assemblies.”

If the earl was surprised that Miss Horton would partake of such a frivolous pastime as an assembly, he said nothing to indicate it. “Louisa is particularly looking forward to some entertainment. She was to have come out last year, but my father’s death of course prevented that. I fear it has seemed a long year for her, and doubtless I shall escort her to the rooms for the first assembly after they arrive."

“Children,” declared Miss Horton, who was all of twenty years of age, “are all too impatient to fling themselves into the gaieties of society. I myself find within me reservoirs of peace and devotion which sustain me quite happily at home and abroad. Few ladies are so fortunate. They must look to the world for their amusement and diversion—balls, card parties, and plays, are the food on which they nourish themselves. A diet of trivialities, my lord, can only develop a weak mind and a slovenly character. Just so have the county families deteriorated, along with their intemperance, of course. You would do well to speak severely with your sister before she is beyond hope.”

Much to Miss Horton’s astonishment, the earl laughed. “Poor Louisa is unlikely to be swayed by a few harmless entertainments, Miss Horton. She has the steadiest, most easygoing character of any young woman I’ve met; a delightful sense of humor allied with no common amount of understanding.”

Miss Horton was offended. Not only had he laughed at her, but implicitly compared her unfavorably with his sister. She said stiffly, “Levity is not a characteristic I much admire, Lord Latteridge. I fear it shows a want of judicious consideration of the serious nature of life itself.”

“Do you think so? I have always viewed laughter as the most treasured gift bestowed on man, to lighten his burdens and heighten his joys.” As though to validate his argument, in the pause which followed, a soft chuckle was the only sound in the room. All eyes turned to observe the cousin, Miss Sandburn, her face animated with pleasure at William’s droll observations. The two were oblivious alike to the censure of the Hortons or the earl’s approval; left to their own devices, they were finding pleasure in one another’s company. Which was a great deal more than Latteridge could say for himself. He was surprised by a grating sound from Miss Horton’s direction, and turned in alarm to see if she was choking. But, no! Her face was strained into a configuration of merriment, and she was valiantly attempting to laugh, unfamiliar as such an effort was.

“My lord, you have a ready wit," she pronounced, as though quoting from a century-old script. “I shall look forward to renewing my acquaintance with Lady Louisa if she is grown as clever as you say. Seldom do I find someone who shares my tastes. Mark my words, we will become bosom friends.”

A fine array of peaches, nectarines, plums, and pears was set out on the table, enabling Latteridge to question Lady Horton on whether they came from their own orchards. Although Miss Horton intervened to answer the question, the subject was changed and did not return to Lady Louisa. As soon as he was able without positive rudeness, the earl begged to excuse himself and his secretary.

Once they had left the well-named Cromwell in the distance, Latteridge said, “I did not mean to drag you away from Miss Sandburn, William, but another ten minutes in that house was not to be borne. Forgive me for ignoring you at table; I fear I had little choice.”

“The Hortons are not to be your in-laws, then?” William asked impudently, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“The Hortons will be lucky if they ever become anyone’s in-laws. I’m glad you were able to draw Miss Sandburn out. No doubt she has a wretched life there.”

“She’s an appealing young woman. You would do well to get to know her better.”

“Ah, but, William, you have stolen a march on me and after my unfortunate inability to include her in the conversation, she would have every right to look on me most unfavorably.” The earl regarded his secretary speculatively. “Have you a mind to pursue the acquaintance?”

William met his eyes with perfect candor. “I believe I do. I trust you have no objection.”

“None. You may find some difficulty in seeing her, however. They will probably bring her to York with them, but I would hazard a guess they treat her as an unpaid servant, and would be astonished to see someone pay attention to her. If I can be of service . . . short of involving myself with that family,” Latteridge hastened to add, “let me know.”

William sighed. “And here I’d thought to simply accompany you on all your calls to Miss Horton. A sad letdown.”

“Hogwash! And one other thing, William. If you hear that that woman has come to call on my sister, I am not at home. Louisa may decide for herself, of course, but I imagine one visit should answer that purpose. Now then, did you think Hardwick’s proposal for the drainage was excessive?”

* * * *

By noon Aunt Effie was breathing a little easier and Dr. Thorne was greatly encouraged by her progress. “The compound peony water seems to have brought some relief. I’ll send you another bolus of powdered Peruvian bark to administer this evening.” He noted Marianne’s drawn face and shook his head disapprovingly. “You’re not getting enough rest, Miss Findlay. Have the maid sit with her and get yourself to bed.”

“I will, I promise you, as soon as she falls asleep again. Do you think she’s out of danger now?”

“I’m optimistic.”

“Just like a doctor,” Marianne complained, rubbing a weary eye. “Never a straight answer.”

Dr. Thorne laughed. “That’s because we know so little, and the human body is so complex. Remind me to tell you one day of the astonishing things I saw with Mr. Kelly’s microscope when I studied in London. I’ve sent an order to Benjamin Marten for one of my own. Through the microscope I have seen the circulation of globules of blood in a frog’s toe web. Imagine! And not a thing could I see with my naked eye. Mr. Kelly holds that disease comes from without and is not an excess or lack of one of the vital humors. A fascinating theory, but one for which he can give little substantiation. Still . . .“ The doctor grinned. “Here I am running on when what you need is sleep, Miss Findlay. I’ll come again tomorrow.”

Valiantly attempting to stifle a yawn, Marianne offered her hand. “I should like to hear more about the microscope sometime, doctor, when Aunt Effie is better.” She watched him out and turned to speak with her aunt, but Miss Effington, unable to overhear their discourse, had succumbed to sleep once more. The maid Beth was called to sit with her and Marianne, as promised, wearily laid down on her bed and immediately fell asleep.

When Harry Derwent called, he was informed that Miss Findlay was unavailable, but that Miss Effington was improving. He was about to leave his card and depart when a commotion arose from the sickroom and, assuming a turn for the worse had occurred, he impulsively followed Roberts, who hastened in that direction. Instead of the expiring old lady he had expected, Harry found the invalid sitting up in bed commanding, “Well, find them! How am I supposed to read without my spectacles? I had them only a few days ago. Look on the table in the drawing room.”

Miss Effington at this point noticed Derwent at the door of her room and asked sharply, "Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom? Where’s my niece?”

In a persuasively mild voice Roberts tried to reassure her. “Miss Findlay is resting, ma’am, and this is Harold Derwent from next door come to inquire as to your health.”

“I don’t know him. Why should he care about my health?”

Harry stepped forward to explain." I met Miss Findlay yesterday. That is, apparently we had met before, years ago, but I didn’t recall.”

“A Derwent, are you?” Aunt Effie asked suspiciously, and gave a snort. “And you don’t remember my niece? How convenient for you.”

At a loss to understand, but thinking the old lady’s wits were wandering from her illness, Harry was conciliating. “Apparently Miss Findlay knew my sister Susan.”

Aunt Effie sniffed. “Little good it did her. But I will say nothing against Lady Susan. A charming, well-behaved girl she was, there’s no denying it, and the question of filial obedience is a mare’s nest. I certainly am no one to cast aspersions on it. Though in both cases it proved infelicitous, as a rule I respect the theory. Abuses of parental authority abound, God knows, but overall one should be able to look to the wisdom of elders.”

Now thoroughly lost, poor Harry murmured, “Yes, ma’am.” Miss Effington was eyeing him as though she expected a great deal more, and he was mercifully saved by the return of Beth, who shook her head and proclaimed her inability to find the spectacles.

“Then you shall read to me from Sir Charles Grandison,” the old lady declared.

Beth flushed. "I don’t read at all well, Miss Effington.”

To prevent another crisis, Harry interposed. "I would be delighted to read for you, ma’am.”

"I won’t ask any favors of a Derwent,” Aunt Effie said stubbornly. “My niece will read to me.”

“Miss Findlay is resting just now, and I dare say needs some sleep after her long attendance upon you." Harry strode to the bedside table, picked up the book which rested there and purposefully drew a chair up to the bed. Before Miss Effington could utter another word he asked, “Are you only starting it? Good. I much prefer reading from the beginning.”

Beth and Roberts shared a glance and slipped from the room as Harry’s voice poured forth the adventures of Sir Charles Grandison and his companions. By the time Marianne arrived, his throat was beginning to tire, but he refused to pause, lest the old lady start a new tirade. He had failed to notice that she was fast asleep, and only raised his head when Marianne’s gurgle of laughter caught his attention. Sheepishly setting aside the book, Harry rose and made his bow. “We couldn’t find her spectacles,” he explained as he .followed Marianne into the drawing room.

 “I have both pairs in my bedroom. How very thoughtful of you to read to my aunt. I fear we are putting you to a great deal of trouble, and we never meant to. Will you stay for some tea and cakes?”

“With pleasure. My throat is parched.”

“Would you prefer wine? We have a fine claret from Mr. Bottoms.”

"If you’ll join me."

Over the cakes, Harry confessed, “I thought your aunt was a bit dotty for a moment there, Miss Findlay, but she seemed all right when I read the book. Perhaps the illness makes her mind wander.”

Marianne studied his frankly puzzled face and asked with trepidation, “What did she say?”

“Oh, a lot of jumbled nonsense about filial obedience and parental authority. I thought for a moment it had something to do with my sister Susan, but then it seemed she was talking about her own past. She’s not . . ."

Marianne laughed. “No, she’s not the least unstable. Crusty, yes, but crazy, no. She liked Lady Susan.”

“So I gathered, but for some reason she seems to have no affection for the Derwents. She was very put out when she learned who I was.” His gray eyes regarded her with unbounded curiosity, but he was too well-mannered to ask any questions.

“I think it’s silly to hold grudges, don’t you?” Marianne asked calmly. “I mean, how many biographies have you read where Mr. So-and-So after a period of time no longer spoke to Mr. Such-and-Such? Feuds look so ridiculous from a distance. I think if there is one vice from which I would most like to be spared, it is pettiness.”

Harry regarded her with exasperation. “Spare me from obscurity, Miss Findlay. I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about. Did your aunt have a quarrel with someone in my family?”

“Not a quarrel, exactly. A misunderstanding. And it was not my aunt but myself. Your mother . . . Well, something happened, and your mother no longer wished me to be your sister’s friend. My aunt resents that. I suppose I do, too, but I shouldn’t. It was a very long time ago, and best forgotten. But I must tell you that your mother would not approve of your calling on me.”

His face spread in a wide grin. “Shall I tell you a secret, Miss Findlay? No one in my family pays the least heed to Mother’s whims. If you were to read her biography, you would find that there is not a soul living with whom she has not quarreled, sooner or later. Usually sooner. Keeping a staff at Ackton Towers is a chore of Herculean proportions. Her companion, Madame Lefevre, for years hasn’t spoken to her more than was strictly necessary. I’m not at all sure why she stays; perhaps for the opportunity to needle Mother when she can--she’s very good at that. So you see, you are in excellent company and mustn’t give another thought to the matter.”

Consoling as this information might be, it had little bearing on Marianne’s case, but she had no intention of telling Derwent so. “You relieve me, sir, and Aunt Effie will be delighted! She had a cousin once, a Miss Snapply, whose neighbors had her declared a common scold, and it quite made my aunt’s day when she received a letter informing her.”

Harry found the conversation turned to Mr. Geddes and his inventions with hardly a pause, but he had the uneasy feeling that he had not set Miss Findlay’s mind at rest. Although he was not given to deep thought, he left her house so perplexed over the mystery that he failed to notice his brother, until the earl, stepping down from his carriage, said, “I thought you were not acquainted with Miss Findlay, Harry.”