Wilful Impropriety (16 page)

Walter tried to keep his face impassive, but it must have registered some of the shock he felt. Mary noticed it, and gave a bitter half smile.

“I were shocked too, sir. But Ma weren’t there to look after me, and the lady seemed kind enough. It meant a clean place to sleep, and food to eat, and—well, I didn’t have to think too long, is all I can say.

“There were more than two dozen of us, boys and girls, and we got trained up in all manner of picking pockets. I started as a looker-out, following along of the others to make sure there were no police about, nor anyone taking too much notice. But the looker-out doesn’t get as big a share, ’cause of not taking much of the risk, so I tried my hand at the picking, and found I was good at it, on account of being quick with my hands. I worked at this with two lads, but they took to spending more and more on gin, and once they started in on their drinking they didn’t want to work anymore of an evening. One night when they’d been drinking more’n usual they tried to have their way with me, and I fought back and got away. I didn’t dare go back to the academy after that. I’d been thinking of coming here—or someplace like it —for a time. I’ve been lucky up to now, as I’ve never been caught, but most everyone does get took, sooner or later. That means prison, or transportation.” She shivered.

“So you came here to make a new start?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Audley said that if I worked hard and stayed out of bad ways I might train up to be a servant and get a place at a respectable house.” She looked thoughtfully at Walter. “Is that why you’ve come here, sir?’ she asked shrewdly. “To find a girl to work for the gentleman in the country you talked of?”

Walter gave a small smile. “You are quite right, Mary. What I am offering is the opportunity for you to make a fresh start—an
honest
start—far from here, at a good house, in the country in Gloucestershire. My employer has a daughter, who is inclined to be somewhat—wayward, shall we say. Her mother died two years ago, and no governess has been able to keep control of her. The Colonel is now looking for a companion for her, someone close to her own age, who will not be shocked by her behavior, but who will be able—perhaps—to temper her excesses.”

“A fresh start,” said Mary thoughtfully. She looked toward Mr. Audley.

“It is a good offer, Mary,” he assured her. “You are being given a rare opportunity.”

Mary eyed him for a moment, then turned again to Walter, who felt that he had seldom undergone such searching scrutiny. She obviously trusted what she saw, however, for she gave a sharp nod of her head.

“It’s done then,” she affirmed, holding out her hand with a sudden movement that took Walter by surprise. He found himself returning the handshake, reflecting as he did so that he had never, in all his days, struck a stranger bargain.

•   •   •

Walter felt—not without some justification—that he was a good judge of character, but it was with some trepidation that he introduced Mary Daniels to the Kingsley household. It was true that the Colonel had given his secretary carte blanche to act as he best saw fit, but on the journey to Gloucestershire he could not help but wonder how the old soldier would react when he was told of Mary’s history. And Constance—what of her? How would she take to this unusual girl?

When they arrived at the house, Mary was put in the charge of the housekeeper, whose first task was to find the girl some decent clothes. “I can alter them if needs be,” Mary announced, as if pleased to be able to demonstrate her worth straight away. While this was being sorted out, Walter met with the Colonel, and explained the situation.

“My brother-in-law is an excellent man, and I believe him when he says that the girl wants to put her past behind her,” he concluded. “Nothing I have seen of her in the last four-andtwenty hours leads me to think he is wrong.”

“At this stage I have very little choice. I have already given Miss Martin her notice, and I have neither the wish nor the inclination to search for yet
another
governess. The one thing I am not sure about is how much of the girl’s history I should tell Constance at this stage. What do you think, Somers?”

“I would advise you to wait, Colonel,” said Walter. “Miss Constance will decide matters for herself. If she takes to Mary, then her history will not matter one jot, whereas if she takes against her—well, the girl could be the Duchess of Devonshire, and it would make not a bit of difference.”

•   •   •

Their meeting took place the following morning, for Mary, exhausted after the events of the last few days, had fallen asleep over a meal of bread and butter and warm milk in the kitchen, and the housekeeper had put her to bed. “She’s not in a fit state to meet anyone right now,” she’d told Walter. “But she’s a dab hand with needle and thread, I’ll say that for her.”

Constance was summoned to the library at ten o’clock. Impressed by the solemnity, and novelty, of the occasion, she arrived promptly, and was waiting when Mary was brought in. Walter had expected the girl to look nervous, but she seemed quite calm. He was also impressed by the change in her appearance. Freshly scrubbed, wearing new clothes, and with something approaching a tinge of color already brightening her cheeks, she looked a far cry from the girl he had met in London.

The Colonel wasted no time. “Constance, this is Mary Daniels, who’s been brought from London to be a companion to you. Mary, this is my daughter Constance. She can be somewhat headstrong, but I hope the two of you shall get along.”

For a moment neither girl spoke, and Walter sensed that they were trying to get the measure of each other. Constance was the first to break the silence.

“So, Mary Daniels, you’re from London, are you? I don’t expect you’ll know any of the same people I do.”

“I don’t suppose I will, miss,” replied Mary in a steady voice. “I daresay a few of them might have passed me in the street, but they wouldn’t have taken any notice of me.”

“No, they wouldn’t.” Constance darted a sideways look at the Colonel. “My father says I’m headstrong. Does he expect you to tame me, then?”

“No, miss. A body can’t be tamed unless she wants to be. I expect I can keep up with you, though, better’n a governess could, and keep you out of some trouble.”

“We shall see. I don’t expect you know much about horses, being from the city.”

“I wasn’t always from the city, miss. Me da was a groom, and I used to help him sometimes, when I was younger.”

“Where is he now?”

Walter drew in his breath, ready to intervene. Before he could say anything, however, Mary shrugged and said calmly, “Don’t know, miss. He got kicked by a horse and took to drink and run off on Ma and me. And my ma died two years ago, when I was fourteen, and I’ve been living by my wits for the last year, doing things as a proper young lady like yourself shouldn’t hear about.” Mary tossed her head, in a manner that would have befitted Constance herself. “Anything else you’d like to know about me, miss?”

Constance stared hard at her for a moment. “My mother died two years ago. Did they tell you that? And you know something about horses. So we have two things in common, Mary Daniels.”

With a sudden movement she stepped forward and tucked Mary’s arm under hers. “I think we shall get along splendidly. You’re certainly an improvement on Miss Martin, and all the other Misses who came before her.” She glanced toward her father, then said in a conspiratorial whisper, “And I do want you to tell me about those things I shouldn’t know of.” Then, more loudly, she added, “But first I want you to come with me to the stables. We have a new horse, Regulus, and I want you to see him.” A beaming smile lit up her face. “Oh, we’re going to have
such
fun—I just know it!”

•   •   •

The late-September sun cast a mellow glow through the library windows, revealing a scene which would have been almost unthinkable only a few months earlier, but which was now increasingly commonplace. Constance was curled in a capacious armchair, a book on her lap, while Mary sat at the desk, diligently practicing her handwriting. Peace hung over the house, which made the sound of Constance snapping her book shut all the more startling. Mary looked up.

“Oh, it’s all right, Mary, it’s simply that I’ve no patience for reading just now, when hunting season is so close to hand. The first meet is only a fortnight away. Oh, it’s so exciting! And such a house party that’s planned. It will be the best thing that has happened since you came to live with us. Aren’t you excited too?”

Mary put her pen down. “Not so much as you, Miss Constance, for I shan’t see much of it. But I’ll come and watch you ride out with everyone. I said I would.”

Constance frowned. “It would be
so
much better if I could go astride. That way I could ride Regulus. Perkins had to concede the other day that I’m
still
the only person who can manage him properly. Father said that I could ride him astride if I contrived to keep my legs decent, but there is simply no way I can manage that in my habit, as Father knows.”

“I have had a thought about that, miss.”

“Really? Oh Mary, tell me!”

“Well . . .” Mary paused. “I thought that if you could find me out an old pair of riding breeches from one of your brothers, I could alter them to fit you. Then you’d be decent.”

Constance laughed in delight. “You
are
clever!” Then her face fell. “But Father would never allow me to wear trousers in public.”

“Now, the Miss Constance I met in April would never have let that stop her,” said Mary, with mock severity. “But I thought of that too. If I take one of your habits, I can sew the two together, with the breeches inside, and then make a slit up one side of your habit. That way the breeches are hid, in a manner of speaking, but you can still ride astride and be decent.”

Constance clapped her hands together. “You think of everything, Mary. Now if only there were going to be some young men here, to see me! Apart from my brother Charles and whatever friends he brings, who will all be stuffy bankers like him, the youngest man is likely to be Arthur Pemberton, and he is nearly
thirty
.” She made it sound as if he might as well be nearly a hundred. “And he’s to be married anyway, it was in
The Times
not long ago. She is the daughter of Sir William Warren, the Cabinet Minister. I met her once, at one of the schools I attended. Her father was a Director, and she came down with him on Prize Day.”

“What was she like?”

“Oh, rather pretty, I suppose, in a frail sort of way. She seemed one of those dreadfully prim and proper girls, who probably think that a morning spent looking at prints and doing needlework, followed by a round of visits and good works in the afternoon, and then playing piano in the evening, is an exciting day. Father says that she is ideally suited to being a politician’s wife, as she will never cause Mr. Pemberton any scandal whatever.”

“Is Mr. Pemberton a politician, then?”

“Oh, no, but his father is one of the richest men in England, and Mr. Pemberton is marrying a politician’s daughter, so Father says that the whole matter is as good as arranged.”

Mary shook her head. “It seems a very odd way of deciding things, Miss Constance. If it’s all settled in that way, what’s the good in women asking for the right to vote? Seems as if we’d have no say in the matter anyway.”

“I don’t pretend to understand these things, Mary, any more than you do. But if Mr. Pemberton is content to marry that ninny, then I’ve no use for him, whatever his age.” She leaped up from the chair. “Let’s go find those breeches, and see what can be done.”

•   •   •

By the time of the hunt weekend, Constance could barely contain her excitement, and her high spirits could be felt everywhere in the house. Mr. Somers, passing Mary in the hallway, commented on it.

“It’s rather like the old days, Mary, before you came. It does make me realize what a difference you’ve made. And it’s made a difference in you, too.”

Mary blushed. “I have you to thank for that, Mr. Somers. You’ve been very good, taking time to help me with my reading and writing and sums.”

“It’s been my pleasure, Mary. To be honest, it makes something of a change for me. There is only so much I care to hear about the Siege of Sebastopol in the course of a day, and at the rate the Colonel is going I shall be hearing about it for a long while yet.”

He was interrupted by the sound of running feet, and then Constance appeared, somewhat out of breath. “There you are, Mary! My aunt wants you to see about repairing her gown—she’s torn it somehow, and is in such a flutter about it. Will you come?”

They hurried along the hall in the direction of Mrs. Millington’s room, Mary laughing in Constance’s wake. “There’s no need to rush so, miss, the gown isn’t going anywhere!”

“I know, but I don’t want to miss anyone’s arrival.” They were at the top of the main staircase, and both girls stopped, drawn by the sound of activity in the entranceway. The Colonel was greeting a tall, dark-haired man, quietly but fashionably dressed, with an air of authority tempered by a quick smile, which was directed at his host.

“Ah, Mr. Pemberton. So pleased you could come. My sister—your hostess—is not here to greet you, I am afraid, and I’ve no idea where my daughter has—Ah, there you are, Constance!” He had turned at the sound of his daughter descending the stairs, while Mary hung back, watching. “Mr. Pemberton, may I introduce my daughter, Constance.”