The Miser's Sister (7 page)

“Tremaine, Tremaine! Whose carriage is that in the drive? I vow it is too bad that no one tells me when we have visitors!”

She burst into the room.

Without Ruth’s care, her long blond hair was somewhat dishevelled, and there was a rent in the hem of her gown. In spite of these disadvantages and a petulant expression, she was a pretty girl. The privations of life at Penderric, whatever their effect on her temper, had not destroyed her youthful bloom. Ruth was proud of her looks.

Seeing that the unknown visitor was male, young, and handsome, Letty composed herself and smiled charmingly. Then she saw her sister, squealed, and threw herself on her.

“Ruth! You’re back! How could you leave me like that! I declare everything has gone to rack and ruin since you have been gone. It was too selfish in you to go jauntering off without me!”

Ruth kissed and hugged her.

“I am glad to be back, my dear, and I shall soon set all to rights, you shall see. Let me introduce Mr Oliver Pardoe to you, Letty.”

Letty was only too happy to turn her back on her newly restored sister and present her hand to be kissed. Oliver, unsmiling, ignored it and bowed slightly. Ruth was afraid Letty had already ruined herself in his estimation by her ill-judged complaints.

After a few minutes of Letty’s prattle, Oliver rose to take his leave. He pressed Ruth’s hand.

“May I have a word with you in private, my lady?” he asked.

Letty scowled but did not follow them out of the room. They walked in silence to the front door. There was no sign of Tremaine. Oliver picked up his hat and stood turning it in his hands, then suddenly he put it down and took both Ruth’s hands in his.

“Ruth, let me take you away from this mausoleum.”

She looked up at him with tears sparkling in her eyes.

“I cannot go, they need me. You can see that they do. Do not press me, I beg of you. And then, there is Walter.”

That made him pause, but he did not release her hands.

“Promise me,” he said at last, very seriously, “that if your life here becomes unbearable, you will send for me. Your uncle would be happy to have you, I know, and I will come to escort you to him at a moment’s notice. And if you wish to leave before I can reach you, go to my friend Robert Polgarth in Port Isaac. I shall tell him to expect you.”

She smiled quaveringly. “I promise.”

Pulling her hands from his clasp, she busied herself opening the door.

Mr Trevelyan’s coachman, having received scant hospitality in the kitchen, was grumbling to himself as he prepared to leave. Oliver’s hired horse was standing patiently with its reins thrown over a cracked stone balustrade. Oliver kissed Ruth’s hand, mounted quickly, and was off.

Ruth watched him into the distance, but he did not turn. With a sigh, she reentered the house.

* * * *

It took Ruth ten days to make up for her week’s absence. She was too busy to have time to repine. To start, she had to send Will to find a new maid in Launceston, as no local girl would take the post. He returned with a slatternly trollop, the only creature he could come by who would accept the miserable wage Ruth had extorted from her brother.

Will was so insolent that she felt he had only accepted her commission out of regard for his own comfort. He had never been any friendlier than the Tremaines, but now his sneering impertinence was so marked that she decided to mention it to Godfrey.

“Do you want to go look for another manservant?” he asked sulkily.

“Could you not speak to him?” she insisted. “He no longer obeys my orders. You were not used to excuse disobedience in a servant.”

“He obeys me, curse you!” shouted Godfrey, and threw his inkwell at her, spattering her dress. As she retreated, frightened, he burst into raucous laughter.

A Tuesday passed without Ruth making any effort to go to St Teath. It was raining heavily, the track would be impassable on foot, and she did not dare request the gig. By the following Tuesday, the mud had dried somewhat and she was desperate to leave the house and see a friendly face.

Picking her way along the grassy verge wherever possible, she reached the church at last. Mr Vane greeted her stiffly.

“I had heard you were returned from your jaunt to Plymouth,” he addressed her. “I confess I fail to understand how you could bring yourself to leave without informing your betrothed of your intentions.”

Ruth hastened to tell him the true story. As he listened to the tale of her abduction, he could not restrain the expression of his sympathy. However, when she described the arrival of Mr Pardoe and that gentleman’s heroic part in her escape, his manner grew cold.

“I’m sure this Pardoe is a worthy fellow,” he declared, “but it will not do to lend him qualities that cannot possibly be possessed by a Cit. It is most unfortunate that you should have spent two days alone with him.”

“Mr Pardoe was all that is chivalrous and gentlemanlike,” cried Ruth, angry.

“I am happy to believe you, my dear. It is certainly my Christian duty to forgive your involuntary lapse from the highest standards of propriety.”

“How dare you, Walter!”

“My dear, pray do not put yourself in a pelter. Naturally your nerves are overset. I will admit that this fellow’s actions have done us all a good turn by making it unnecessary to squander your fortune on a gang of thugs.”

“How can you speak so? They nearly drowned me and had threatened to
...
assault me first. And you talk of squandering?”

“Dear Ruth, compose yourself, I beg. It is most unladylike to refer to such a subject. I daresay it comes from too much hobnobbing with the lower orders.”

“Do not call me dear! I am not your dear!”

“Ruth!”

“Mr Vane.” Ruth was suddenly calm. “I have come to the conclusion that we shall not suit. Pray consider yourself released from our engagement. Goodbye.”

Seeing his great future vanish in the wind, the hapless Walter made a final effort.

“Lady Ruth, a moment! I can see I have been too hasty. Of course, I did not mean to belittle your danger, and had the ransom been paid, we should have lived happily together in a cottage, should we not? But you must expect me to rejoice that the woman I love has not after all been reduced to a life of penury.”

“It would have been nothing new to me, I assure you. Goodbye, Mr Vane.”

Deaf to his pleading, she walked out.

Feeling as if she had been relieved of a great load, Ruth almost skipped on the way back to Penderric Castle. It took several hours in that gloomy abode to reduce her to her usual state of silent endurance.

She did not tell either Letty or Godfrey that she was no longer planning to marry the curate. Neither ever expressed the slightest interest in her affairs, and she was content now to have it that way.

November passed with rain and icy winds. Letty came down with a chill and had to be nursed. She was at best a crotchety patient, but Ruth was glad of an excuse to stay out of Godfrey’s way. Whenever he saw her he cast malevolent looks in her direction, and several times shook his fist.

It was growing more and more difficult to run the household. Previously Godfrey had given Ruth a weekly sum, which though meagre had allowed her with careful management to pay their bills. By the end of the first week in December, she had had nothing for a fortnight and more. The local tradesmen were beginning to grumble, and one or two had refused to deliver any more goods.

One foggy evening, Ruth summoned up her reserves of courage and went to the library to tackle her brother. To her surprise, for he rarely left it, he was not there, nor could she find him elsewhere in the house. At last she consulted Tremaine, who rather thought his lordship and Will had gone off in the gig, he could not say whither.

Ruth sat up late, but finally gave in and retired to bed before she heard them return.

Godfrey did not emerge from his chamber until after noon, and then went straight to the library without a word to his sisters. Ruth soon followed him, determined to get the unpleasant business over as soon as she could. She found him seated at his desk as usual, languidly sharpening a quill with his penknife and looking like death.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Godfrey,” Ruth apologised. “You do not look at all well. Should you not be in bed?”

He glared at her with glittering eyes. “Giving orders again, sister?” he snarled through clenched teeth.

“Of course not,” she placated. “You know your own health best. Godfrey, I must have some money or we shall all starve. The butcher—”

“It’s all your fault, bitch!” shrieked her brother and lunged at her with his knife.

Ruth threw up her arms to protect herself The dull blade gashed the palm of her hand and spun from Godfrey’s loosened grip to clatter to the floor. Petrified, she watched him scrabble after it, then coming to her senses she turned and ran.

There was no sign of pursuit. Outside the parlour she paused to catch her breath, then entered.

“Letty,” she said quite calmly, “I have hurt my hand. Pray help me bind it up.”

“Oh, Ruth, how clumsy of you. However did you do it? See, it is not very deep, I daresay it will heal soon.”

Between them they contrived a bandage. The wound was indeed not serious, though painful.

Ruth’s mind was clear as a bell. She had come to a decision and was determined to let nothing stand in her way, but she did not wish to frighten her sister.

“Letty,” she began, “how should you like to go to London to live with Uncle Hadrick?”

“Ooh!” squealed Lady Laetitia, “Can we really? But Godfrey will never give us the money to go. He has been saying so forever, and he grows more and more bad tempered, I vow. You are always vexing him, Ruth. Oh, do not say that he will let us go?”

“My dearest, I do not mean to ask him. I am sorry to tell you that today our brother has forfeited every claim to my obedience or consideration, and he will have to learn to go on without us.”

“You are on your high ropes again, Ruth, I can see. But I do not mind if we can go to Town. Only, who is to pay for the journey?”

“You remember Mr Pardoe, who brought me home after
...
after I was in Plymouth? He is a friend of Sir John, and he told me when he left that he would be happy to escort us to our uncle’s house at any time. I shall write to him and to Sir John at once.”

“Pray do. I will fetch ink and paper. Do you think Aunt Hadrick goes to many balls?”

“I cannot say, my dear. I hope so for your sake, for I feel I should be sadly out of place at a grand assembly.”

Provided with writing materials, Ruth began her letters. The one to her uncle was soon done, but she struggled for some time over Mr Pardoe’s. Eventually she was sufficiently satisfied to fold and seal the epistle. She had doggedly resisted the temptation to tell him of her dismissal of Walter Vane.

The cold feeling at the pit of her stomach, caused by her brother’s attack, was being displaced by a sense of anticipation, of having taken control of her own fate. This was somewhat dampened when she realised that she could not possibly entrust her letters to any of the servants. She must walk to St Teath to see them safely dispatched.

And St Teath was nearly halfway to Port Isaac, where Oliver’s good friends had been advised to expect her. To continue thither would not be much farther than to return home, and she would be able to feel herself quite safe there from Godfrey’s strange fury.

That possibility was dismissed out of hand by Lady Laetitia who did not see any urgency in the matter.

“What can you be thinking of, Ruth? Why should we walk eight or nine miles in the mud to stay in a poky cottage with people we don’t even know? You are quite run mad, I am sure!”

Unwilling to disclose her brother’s terrifying actions, Ruth sighed and agreed. She thought Letty quite safe, as Godfrey had never displayed any animosity toward her. For herself, she would strive to keep out of his way and would certainly not speak to him of money, though they all should starve. She prayed Oliver might come quickly.

To that end, she donned her shabby pelisse and worn jean boots and walked down to St Teath with the letters.

For two days, Godfrey behaved in his normal, unsociable manner, and Ruth began to think she had acted prematurely.

On the morning of the third day, wintry sunshine drew the sisters out to exercise in the overgrown shrubbery. They were returning to the house by way of the terrace at the rear when there was a crash behind them. Swinging round, they saw that one of the massive stone windowsills had fallen from the ruined wing of the castle.

It had missed them so narrowly that Ruth, instantly suspicious, glanced up. She was almost certain she saw a pale face at a third floor window directly above them.

Hurrying Letty into the house, she declared positively that she would not stay another moment to watch her home falling apart about her head.

“Better a straw pallet in a cottage than a broken head,” she pointed out. “I am going to Port Isaac immediately, Letty, and you must come with me.”

Letty was too frightened by their narrow escape to argue. Within half an hour they had packed their scanty belongings in a pair of band boxes and set out.

Chapter 7

Long before the sisters reached St Teath, Ruth was carrying both bandboxes, and Letty was complaining of weariness.

“We should have asked Godfrey for the gig,” she said crossly. “I am surprised you did not think of it.”

“Do you wish to return and ask him?” queried Ruth.

Faced with retracing her steps and confronting a bad-tempered brother who might well refuse her request, Letty subsided. Ruth realised with dismay that she had been overly optimistic in expecting her sister to walk all the way. She must hope they might meet a farm cart that would give them a ride for a few miles.

They passed through St Teath without seeing a soul, let alone a helpful carter. However, before they had walked far down the narrow, high-hedged lane to Port Isaac, they heard the rumble of wheels behind them.

“Ho, my pretties!” shouted a jovial voice. “Hop up along and ride with me. ‘Tis a powerful steep hill for a pair o’ dainty wenches.”