The Miser's Sister (20 page)

“I know what it is,” groaned Oliver. “You are all hungry again. We are coming.”

Chapter 18

The following day, Ruth went to see her aunt and Letty. She had seen very little of them since removing to the Pardoes and was ashamed to admit to herself that she had not missed her sister at all.

Lady Hadrick asked after Lord Sarbury.

“He drops in quite frequently, aunt, and I am forever meeting him at parties,” said Ruth evasively.

“Your attitude is monstrous cool, miss! If you are not careful he will not come up to scratch, and then where will you be? Already you have lost one admirer to Mistress Rose. You cannot expect an endless procession of suitors.”

“I do not, ma’am, nor do I wish for such a thing. I beg you will not concern yourself for me. How does my sister?”

“It is very shocking that you should prefer the company of Cits to your own family,” complained Letty. “How do you think I can tell people when they ask where you are? You were always selfish and never thinking of me.”

“I am sorry you should feel that way, Letty dear. I am afraid you will not be pleased with the errand I am come on today. Aunt Hadrick, it was settled, was it not, that I should return to Curzon Street on Friday? I must ask you to allow me to stay with the Pardoes until Rose’s wedding. I am to be her maid of honour, you know, and there is a great deal to be done at such short notice.”

“I am sure there is nothing that Lady Pardoe’s servants cannot accomplish better than you, Ruth,” said her aunt in irritation. “Your place is here with your sister. I am quite worn out with taking her about, and you now know enough people that you can chaperon her yourself. You are sufficiently advanced in years to make it quite unexceptionable.”

“But not yet in my dotage, aunt,” warned Ruth quietly. “Certainly Letty must have enough friends to keep her company for a fortnight.”

“They are all stupid and mean,” Letty objected. “I do not wish to go out with that ugly Amelia Vaughn, who is always moaning that she has no beaux.” She looked at her sister’s forbidding face. “However, if you mean to be cross about it, I do not want your company either, I vow.”

“That is just as well, Letty. Lady Pardoe has particularly requested that I stay, and I should not disoblige her for the world.”

“Hoity-toity, miss! And what of disobliging your aunt, may I ask, who has been so kind as to offer you a home and to introduce you into the highest society?”

“I am grateful, Aunt, and I mean no disrespect when I say that the Pardoes have been equally kind, and I had no claim whatever on their generosity. I shall stay until the day after the wedding. Now, Letty, tell me about your new gowns and the parties you have been to.”

Lady Hadrick recognised defeat and went off muttering about stubborn, ungrateful, ill-bred paupers. Ruth spent a tedious hour listening to Letty boasting of her wardrobe and her conquests, and complaining about her sister’s treatment and her friends’ insipidity and disloyalty.

She found she was weary to death of Letty’s affairs. It seemed that a constant stream of admirers was attracted by her looks, but her ill-tempered outbursts quickly alienated the well-brought-up young ladies with whom she was expected to associate. Letty was inclined to blame the loss of her friends on her sister’s sojourn in the city, “quite beyond the pale.” Ruth’s mild remonstrances and suggestions met only with further complaints.

More fatigued by a morning with Letty than by a week of constant occupation, Ruth decided guiltily to wash her hands of her until after Rose’s wedding. After that, she would devote herself to remedying the deficiencies in her aunt’s tutelage. A sneaking hope crept in that by then she would be affianced to Oliver and might legitimately abandon the responsibility to him. She did not think he would be willing to include Letty in his household.

With relief, she took her leave.

The afternoon was much more enjoyable. Oliver had just completed the construction of one of his machine models, and he invited Ruth to be present while it was demolished by the words of Sir Marc Isambard Brunel, the famous engineer.

“You should not be so certain that he will not like it,” Ruth told him severely. “Why, one day you will invent something vastly important, and you will be so discouraged that you will not show it to anyone for fear of ridicule.”

“I shall show you, and you will tell me how very clever I am. That will be sufficient to persuade me to cry it from the rooftops.”

“What is it you have made this time?” she asked, following him down the dimly lit corridor to the workshop.

“It is a machine for knitting stockings, which I expect I should not mention in your presence. The Lee machine has been in use since Elizabethan times, and Strutt added great improvements sixty years ago, but something I saw in Yorkshire last month suggested a new line of thinking.”

“I thought Sir Marc was a naval engineer?”

“He has done a great deal of work for the Navy, but he is interested in machines in general. He is talking now of building a tunnel under the Thames.”

“That seems a far cry from the manufacture of hosiery!”

“It is, of course. However, I try to spread my favours impartially among the engineers I know, and Sir Marc has not been expected to pass judgment on any of my toys for some time. Besides, he is an interesting fellow, and I think you will enjoy meeting him.”

They entered the laboratory and very soon a knock on the outer door heralded the inventor’s arrival.

“Well,
mon ami
, what have you to show me now?” he greeted Oliver. He had a fascinating blend of accents, the native French overlaid by a patina of American twang.

Oliver introduced him to Ruth and led the way to his machine, which he demonstrated. Wheels turned, tiny bobbins clicked up and down, and a strip of cloth appeared as he pressed with his fingers on the miniature treadle. Ruth was most impressed.

“Aha,” said Sir Marc. “You put zis t’rough ze
...
yes, I see, and
...
very good. But Oliver, see here. You cannot do zis. On a full-size machine, ze t’read will break, ze strain will be too much, far too much. Could you perhaps put an eyelet
...
no, zat will pull here.”

“What did I tell you?” Oliver asked Ruth with a wry grin. “I simply do not have the eye for it.”

“I think it is amazingly clever,” Ruth consoled him. “To produce cloth on such a tiny thing.”

“All we need now is tiny people.”

“Wait,” interrupted Sir Marc, still poking at the inside of the frame. “Now zis is an excellent improvement here, and if you
...
yes,
mon ami
, as always you have given me ideas. You will not mind if I work on it?”

“By no means, Sir Marc. I shall not make anything of it now. May I offer you a glass of claret?”

The engineer assented, and Oliver went to dig out a bottle from a dusty cupboard on the other side of the room.

“Is Mr Pardoe’s machine really unworkable, sir?” enquired Ruth.

“Just like all ze ozzers,” Sir Marc answered with an all-embracing wave of the hand and an expressive shrug. “My young friend likes to dabble in such t’ings, but his real
génie
lies elsewhere. He knows what is being done in such matters all over England, and he carries ideas from one engineer to anozzer, always knowing what will be useful to whom. Now, zis knitting machine, he found ze idea in Yorkshire,
n’est-ce pas
? And ze stockings are made in Nottinghamshire. Now when will I go to Yorkshire and Nottinghamshire? Maybe never. But zis machine
inutile
of Mr Pardoe, it gives me ideas of my own. Who knows what will come of it?”

“So you see,” Oliver explained, returning with a bottle and three glasses, “my toys are not quite useless. The only trouble is,
I
get no benefit from them.”

“Ah, if it is glory you want, no. But, milady, Oliver has anozzer genius, and zat is to know where to invest. If he says an invention will make money, I will put my fortune on it.”

“I knew he was a genius,” sighed Ruth, satisfied. She sipped her wine and pulled a face. “Have you some lemonade hidden away somewhere, Oliver? I cannot think how you gentlemen can actually like this stuff.”

“I shall invent a machine to make lemonade!” cried Oliver, inspired.

“And I suppose we shall have to find miniature lemons to put in it,” Ruth teased.

Sir Marc soon took his leave. Oliver was intent upon poking at his unsuccessful stocking frame, so Ruth found a heap of cloths in a corner and began dusting, carefully avoiding the various experiments set up on the long tables. Heaving a sigh, Oliver abandoned the inquest and joined in the housekeeping. Between them, they made the dust fly in clouds, and when they realised it was past time to change for dinner, they were both filthy.

“Forget lemonade,” said Oliver, removing a smudge from Ruth’s cheek with a corner of his handkerchief. “My next effort will be a dusting machine!”

* * * *

No one who had seen Ruth and Oliver at that moment would have recognised them the next evening when they entered Almack’s Rooms with Rose, Theo, and Lady Pardoe. Oliver was resplendent in the requisite knee-breeches and a blue coat perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders. Ruth was wearing white gauze over sunset-orange satin, one of the dashing confections that the Ton had come to expect of her. The prospect of waltzing with Oliver made her eyes sparkle with more than their usual brilliance. She quickly attracted a crowd of hopeful partners, but Oliver was no longer worried that there would be no room for him. Even Lord Sarbury’s constant attendance had no power to disturb him.

Like his sister, he had never before set foot in the exclusive Assembly Rooms. He was not very impressed with what he now found. Not for nothing was Almack’s known as the Marriage Mart: its chief purpose was the display of marriageable damsels, and even the refreshments took second place, there being no drink stronger than orgeat.

To his surprise, Oliver found himself in demand as a partner. Lady Cowper, daughter of that great Whig Lady Melbourne, had been responsible for admitting the Pardoes to the august portals, and now she introduced Oliver to a number of young ladies, all of whose mamas had mercenary gleams in their eyes. Fortunately, there were also present several gentlemen with whom he was already acquainted, and after a while he escaped from the predatory hordes to the card room—not that cards were much more to his taste than dancing with titled but penniless maidens.

Before he was completely petrified by boredom, it was time for his waltz with Ruth, from which nothing could have kept him. She was waiting, surrounded by a group of gentlemen who were trying to persuade her that her partner was not going to turn up in time.

As they whirled about the crowded ballroom, Ruth remembered their first waltz, at the Christmas party, when she had been full of vague hopes. Then had come the Owingtons’ ball and despair, and now here she was again in Oliver’s arms, as certain of his love as she could be without a declaration. She was sure he would ask her to marry him after talking to her brother, but suddenly that was too far away. How many things might happen in a week to interrupt the expected course of events! It even seemed possible that after seeing Godfrey his feelings for her would change.

The musicians on the balcony closed the dance with a flourish. Ruth clung to Oliver’s arm, looking up at him searchingly.

“What is wrong?” he murmured in alarm. “You look as though you had seen a ghost, Ruth. Come and sit down quickly, my dear.”

Reassured by his instant solicitude, comforted by his strong arm supporting her, she told herself she was being silly. By the time he seated her and bent over her, she was able to smile and say, “It was nothing, Oliver. I was a little dizzy from all that twirling around. I think I shall sit out the next dance.”

Lord Sarbury, her next partner, was more than happy to sit it out with her, until he discovered that Oliver had no intention of leaving them to a tête-à-tête In fact, Ruth’s usual court quickly gathered, and she soon regained her spirits. Oliver was not completely relieved from anxiety until he took her in to supper and found that she had not lost her usual excellent appetite. It was always a source of amazement to him that she managed to remain so elegantly dainty when she enjoyed her food so much. He supposed it to be due to early deprivation and vowed that never again would she go without.

The Pardoe party did not stay until the end of the dancing, but even so it was the small hours of the morning when they arrived home. Oliver arose later than usual the next morning.

He was giving his valet orders about packing for his journey when there was a knock on the door of his chamber. A young footman handed in a sealed letter.

“It’s from Cornwall, sir,” he announced. “Mr Bartlett thought as y’ought t’r’ave it right away, case it’s from the airionot.”

Oliver looked at the cover. He did not recognise the hand. Breaking the seal, he scanned the message quickly.

“I must see Sir John Hadrick at once,” he said grimly. “Ask Bartlett to send someone to find out where he is. He’ll probably be at the House at this hour. Then I want the curricle ready as soon as I know where to find him.”

Sir John, for once, was at home. Within the hour, Oliver was closeted with him in his study.

“You have heard from Trevelyan, I take it,” opened the baronet, as grim-faced as Oliver. “Did he tell you the whole? I suppose he did, as you came here at once.”

“Yes, sir. I cannot agree that it is necessary for Lady Ruth to be there in person.”

“I must suppose Trevelyan has his reasons. He is the investigating magistrate, and I cannot go against his will, loath though I am to subject my niece to such an ordeal. Unfortunately, I shall be unable to accompany her to Cornwall until the end of the month. There is business in the Commons from which I cannot absent myself.”

“There would seem to be some urgency. You know that I myself leave for Cornwall tomorrow. I should be more than happy to escort Lady Ruth to Boscastle. The Trevelyans have offered me hospitality, I take it they have done the same for Lady Ruth?”