No Impediment, page 7
There was a tap at the door. Maggie, the young maid who had replaced Jenny, came in to say that there was a gentleman to see her. She sighed. It seemed impossible to get the girl to deal with callers properly. Either she left them standing on the doorstep or she forgot to enquire their names. But she was only fourteen, and a cheerful, willing little soul, decided her mistress indulgently.
At least on this occasion she had shown the gentleman into the library. ‘Acause ’e cum in a carridge wiv four ’orses,’ she explained, in support of this decision.
It could only be Sir James, decided Pippa, and even for him, four horses was a trifle excessive. But perhaps he was on his way to Town. In any case it would not do to keep either him or his horses hanging about while she changed her gown, so she went down to greet him just as she was in the plain grey merino that she had bought as a sop to convention. Uncle Philip had detested all the trappings of grief, grunting something about crape and black bombazine hiding many a thankful heart, but Pippa knew that she was very vulnerable to criticism. She had not yet found a suitable middle-aged female to live with her and did not dare to flout public opinion still further by wearing colours. She would never choose to wear grey or black which made her look insipid and colourless, but what did it matter?
For a moment, as she went in to the library, the clear, February sunlight dazzled her, so that she did not immediately recognise the tall figure outlined against it. Then he turned. She took one hesitant step, scarcely believing that it was really Quentin, and then seemed to spring towards him, both hands outstretched, her pale little face irradiated by joy and thankfulness. And in her delight she forgot such minor matters as proper dignity and a maidenly reserve. Her welcome bubbled out, stumbling and slightly incoherent, but very sweet to a tired and troubled man.
He caught the outstretched hands, drew her into his arms, and even ventured a light kiss on her cheek as he hugged her warmly and heard her stammered, ‘M-milord! W-we have been s-so anxious. You cannot imagine how good it is to see you safe and sound once more.’ And then, realising the impropriety of his embrace, broke free, holding him for a moment at arms’ length before she covered her confusion by enquiring with due formality if he would not take some refreshment and then, seeing the weariness in his face, asking in a much more natural way how far he had come and when he had last broken his fast.
‘Today?’ he said slowly, as though it was difficult to concentrate on speech. ‘Oh–only from Portishead.’ And when she cried out at that, saying it must be close on a hundred miles, he added pacifically, ‘And we stopped at Stroud for coffee. But I was anxious not to spend another night on the road. Denise is asleep in the chaise. Worn out, poor little wretch. And I didn’t wake her because I wanted to speak with you alone. I don’t quite know how I have the impudence to ask it, but I do ask it. Miss Langley, will you take pity on another waif? Will you help me with Denise?’
Miss Langley felt rather as though someone had dashed cold water in her face, but her mood of thankfulness easily surmounted that small shock. She would willingly grant him any support that he needed, and said so.
The tired lines of his face relaxed. ‘You blessed child!’ he said softly, and without waiting for an invitation dropped into a chair, heaving a great sigh of relief as he stretched weary limbs towards the welcoming blaze. ‘Though you really should not promise so generously without first enquiring what help is needed,’ he reproved her, with some attempt at the old, teasing manner.
Pippa studied him thoughtfully for a moment, glanced at the clock and rang for Maggie. It was past three, and it sounded as though he had eaten nothing since breakfast.
‘Ask Mrs. Waring to make some sandwiches–beef or ham will do. A mug of ale’–she glanced enquiringly at his lordship, who nodded enthusiastically–‘and a plate of Banbury cakes and some tea.’ He would enjoy the meal better, she guessed, if she made some show of sharing it.
He smiled at her contentedly, that smile that inevitably dissipated the defences that she was for ever erecting against him, so that she turned away hastily and said, almost crossly, ‘What about–Denise, did you say? And the horses?’
‘I’m afraid I left Stubbs to deal with the postilion and the horses,’ he told her, on a faint note of apology. ‘As for Denise, perhaps your little maid would keep an eye on her and call us when she begins to rouse. I don’t want her to be frightened by finding herself alone.’
He did not sound passionately concerned. Just kind. The vague cloud that had threatened Pippa’s new happiness since the mention of the name Denise, receded still further. When Maggie came back with the tray she explained what was required, and the girl bustled off, obviously bursting with mingled importance and curiosity.
When it came to curiosity, her mistress certainly shared it. Who was Denise? How would her coming affect Pippa Langley? She faced what she might hear with courage–but it would not hurt to put off the hearing by insisting that his lordship eat something before he embarked on explanations.
She had her reward. It seemed as though the comfort of the familiar room, the good, plain food, revitalised him even as she watched. When, presently, he replaced the empty tankard on the tray, he smiled at her whimsically and said, ‘Thank God for English beer and English ale. Do you remember how we talked of foreign lands, and how much you regretted that your sex made foreign travel practically impossible? I used to feel quite sorry for you. Not any longer! At this moment I feel I would never willingly quit these shores again.’
‘You have been all this while in France?’
He nodded. ‘And the tale of my travels will satisfy even Cindy’s passion for adventure. But about Denise. Do you think that you could house her and care for her until I can arrange about school or a governess? I know it is asking a great deal, but it would be quite brutal for me to abandon her completely until she has had time to accustom herself to a new way of life. She is beginnnng to trust me and I have talked to her a good deal about you and Dickon and Cindy. I think she could be brought to accept the idea of spending a few weeks with you. She seems to be rather a sickly little creature, but that is hardly surprising after all that she has been through.’
Some hostesses might have felt displeasure at the prospect of having a sickly schoolgirl thrust upon them. Pippa, however, began to feel much more kindly disposed towards her unexpected guest.
‘You can well understand,’ his lordship went on frankly, ‘that I would not dream of taking anything so defenceless to my aunt. My mother would have been the obvious person to take charge of her, but that is what I must explain to you.’
Pippa stared. ‘I did not even know you had a mother,’ she said foolishly.
His lordship was so far recovered that he actually laughed. ‘It’s quite usual, I believe,’ he suggested, mock apologetic. ‘I suppose because I haven’t chanced to mention her. And I can’t imagine why I haven’t because I love her dearly. Perhaps the more so because she is not at all the ordinary kind of mother.’ He hesitated briefly as though picking his words, then went on resolutely, ‘She is an artist. A good one, too. Not that that has anything to say in the matter, except to explain in part why it is an obsession with her. When the painting fit is on she is quite oblivious of other people and their needs. Certainly she would not stop for such ridiculous activities as meals, though failing light does at least oblige her to go to bed at a more or less normal hour. Not the ideal person to have charge of a child who needs cherishing; who needs a steadying routine, a peaceful home and nourishing meals. There is another reason, too, but I will explain that later.’
Pippa smiled at him maternally and assured him of her understanding. She wondered what his own childhood had been like, with such an unusual parent.
‘I shall hope to make other arrangements as soon as possible,’ he promised her. ‘Meanwhile I would like to put you in possession of the true facts. Denise is my natural sister. I have known of her existence for some years, because my father left me a letter telling me the bare facts and enlisting my support for the child should it ever be needed. Do not be thinking him a heartless rake, will you? I cannot judge between my parents. I daresay there were faults on both sides. I know that Mama would never accompany my father when his diplomatic responsibilities took him abroad. In any case, you and I are not concerned with praise or blame. Papa would have acknowledged Denise and assumed responsibility for her, but her mother would not give her up. Unfortunately the poor lady was killed during street rioting last summer, and her brother wrote asking me to bring Denise away. If you saw the state of affairs in France today–the suspicion, the fear, the senseless violence, you would understand his wish to place her in safety. Unfortunately, before I could do so he had been forced into hiding. I have been all these weeks, first tracking him down–which had to be done without betraying his whereabouts–and then seeking out my poor little sister. But there will be time enough to tell you of our adventures. Sufficient for the moment that we came off safe, and that I have a good friend who is willing to help me out of an uncommonly awkward fix. If it is necessary I will divulge the whole to Mama, though I would prefer not to do so. I leave it to you as to how far you admit your uncle to your confidence.’
Pippa started, for the moment completely taken aback. But of course. If he had come straight to her, he could not know of Uncle Philip’s death. She herself had grown a little accustomed to her loss and was able to tell him the sad news with a quiet composure that masked her sorrow.
It did not deceive him. ‘My poor girl,’ he said slowly, and got up to take her hand in his and press it gently. ‘If I had known I would not have dreamed of adding to your burdens. Why did you not tell me? I can make some other arrangement for Denise. Perhaps Mrs. Wetherby would take her. I’m afraid I never thought of anyone but you.’
Pippa’s heart responded happily to the unintentional compliment. ‘I am glad that you did me so much honour,’ she told him, ‘and beg that you will hold by your original plan. Your sister is just what I need. I had not thought to miss Uncle Philip so much. Now that the children are gone back to school I find myself very lonely. Someone to cosset and fuss over is a positive honey-fall. Do tell me more about her. How old is she?’
SEVEN
Denise had only the clothes in which she had fled from France. Luckily one or two of Cindy’s outgrown dresses could be made to serve for the time being, but Pippa felt that an adequate wardrobe of her choosing would go far towards helping her to settle happily into her new life. For the present she was installed in Cindy’s room because it was next to Pippa’s. She suffered a good deal from bad dreams. Quentin suggested privily that the sights she had been obliged to witness both before and during their escape might easily account for this. He hoped that fresh surroundings and her own youthful resilience would gradually efface the shocking memories. Meanwhile Pippa would go to her when she woke screaming, and comfort her in nursery fashion, plying her with hot milk and biscuits and sometimes taking her into her own bed. Communication between the two was at first more or less limited to such practical kindness, since Denise spoke very little English and Pippa’s French was of the schoolgirl variety and half forgotten at that.
But timidity was vanquished by the delight of choosing new clothes and Denise’s fluency in her new language developed apace by the need to express her views on colour and style, while the first time that she giggled at Pippa’s shockingly ungrammatical French marked a significant advance in their relationship.
The resources of the local shops were soon exhausted. Pippa decided that a visit to Cheltenham was necessary. There they could purchase slippers and gloves and the muslins and cambrics that would be needed for summer dresses. She might even buy one or two items for herself, though she was still in mourning. There was to be no thought of crape and bombazine where Denise was concerned. But Cheltenham lay upwards of twenty miles away, and at this season the roads were not good. There were several respectable inns in the town–which enjoyed some fame as an inland watering place–but Pippa was dubious about the propriety of an overnight stay without the chaperonage of an older lady. Quentin solved the problem by lending his travelling chaise for the journey, which might then be accomplished in one day. The plan would have the added advantage of affording plenty of accommodation for all the parcels that they would undoubtedly acquire.
He was a little surprised to find himself wishing that he had gone with them. They would come to no harm in charge of his reliable coachman and groom, and a day spent trailing round shops and warehouses in search of feminine fal-lals was not his idea of a high treat. But he had fallen so much into the habit of riding over to Doctor’s Lodge to see how Denise was faring, and then, from one cause or another, of lingering till dusk sent him home, that he found himself quite at a loss as to how to fill in the time. He decided that he ought to pay a duty visit to his aunt, an obligation somewhat overdue. She must have heard of his return by now and would certainly take offence if he delayed much longer in calling upon her.
It did not occur to him that she had not only heard of his return but that she also knew a good deal about his movements since that return. He was therefore quite puzzled by the nature of his reception. He was shown into the parlour where he found his aunt snugly ensconced by the fire. Her young relative–what was the girl’s name–Dora–Flora–anyway, the one she had hoped to foist on to him as a suitable wife–had been reading aloud to her from some ponderous tome which she now laid down with an air of relief. Her ladyship returned his greeting in the coldest of voices and addressed herself to her protégée.
‘Would you be so obliging, my dear, as to step down to the Rectory and ask Mrs. Verney if she would be so kind as to lend me the second volume of these sermons? I daresay a walk in the fresh air will do you good.’
Quentin felt quite sorry for the poor girl. The prospect of having to read such dry stuff seemed a heavy price to pay for half an hour’s freedom. Politely he held the door for her as she went meekly on her errand. He bore her no ill will, scarcely knew her in fact. His aunt had described her as such a sweet, biddable girl. He would have phrased it differently and could guess very well what her ladyship had been about. With that spiritless little mouse installed as mistress of Merland, the dowager would never have been away from the place.
He acknowledged the girl’s curtsey with a bow and a friendly smile and turned back to his aunt. That lady said icily, ‘Really, Quentin! You are quite impossible! How dare you come calling here when you must have known that Flora would be with me? The child is to make her début this year. Are you determined to ruin her chances? She is such an innocent that she is quite capable of letting slip the fact that she is pretty well acquainted with you.’
His lordship stared at her in amazement. ‘Well here’s a new come-out!’ he said indignantly. ‘Was a time, if memory serves me aright, when you’d have liked to see me a dashed sight better acquainted with her. Why am I suddenly become such an outcast that you must invent a ridiculous errand to remove the wench from my contaminating presence?’
‘Do you really imagine that your scandalous behaviour has gone unnoticed?’ demanded his aunt, on a note of genuine incredulity. ‘How naive! Permit me to inform you that what may be commonplace in London or Paris is food for delighted speculation in these rural parts. There was talk enough about your liaison with the Langley girl before you went abroad. But when, upon your return, you visit her before you have so much as removed the dust of travel; when you repeat your visits daily–and in the absence of a chaperon; and when, to crown everything, you have actually persuaded the girl to house the French doxy whom you brought home with you, in order, no doubt, that you may visit the pair of them the more conveniently, you can scarcely wonder that our bucolic neighbours are shocked beyond measure. Why! Only yesterday Mrs. Saxton said to me that the place is no better than a–a bagnio.’
By a quite admirable exertion of self control, his lordship kept his temper. He said steadily, ‘If, by the term liaison, you wish to imply that there has been anything of an improper or clandestine nature between Miss Langley and myself, you are mistaken. Liking grew out of gratitude for her kindness, and I would do a great deal to oblige her if the need arose. My first visit after my return was paid in ignorance of Dr. Merchiston’s death. I wished to engage Miss Langley’s sympathies for a fifteen-year-old orphan–the child whom you so pithily described as a French doxy. She was entrusted to my care by her uncle, an old friend of my father’s. Certainly I have visited her frequently, and shall continue to do so until she has grown a little accustomed to English ways and until I have decided whether to place her in a school or to engage a governess for her.’
Lady Merland shrugged, and permitted herself a small satyrical smile. ‘Most commendable,’ she told him. ‘But I fear you will find that our neighbours prefer their own more highly coloured version. To disabuse their minds will prove a difficult, if not an impossible task. Meanwhile I must ask that you do not call here for the present. Flora and I plan to remove to Town at the end of the month, so the prohibition should not subject you to any undue hardship.’
His lordship bowed. ‘As you wish,’ he said indifferently, and took his leave.
Inwardly he was far from indifferent. There had been an air of smug satisfaction about her that gave cause for concern. He suspected that she had done all she could to foster the spread of those unpleasant stories, even if she had not actually started them. And the stories themselves could do untold damage. Never having been obliged, himself, to pay much heed to the dictates of convention, and conscious–if he had given the matter a thought–of his unimpeachable motives, he had taken no account of the scandal-mongers. Now that their existence had been so forcibly brought home to him, he cursed himself for such criminal carelessness.
His chief concern was for Pippa. Denise was too young for the tittle-tattle to harm her. In any event she would soon be seen to be exactly what he had stated. Pippa was in very different case. Her life might have been unexciting but she had always held the liking and respect of her acquaintance. Her family made no pretensions of grandeur but they could hold up their heads with the best. Was he, who owed her so much, to be the one to rob her of her fair reputation?
