CHAPTER 9

In the woods, the pungent aroma of decomposing vegetation mingled with the heady spiciness of the pines. Gently waving meadow grass nearby hinted at a breeze, but here the stillness was unbreached until a solitary rider appeared and set off down the well-marked path. Overhead, leafy branches bisected the sky, revealing small, irregular segments of intense blue where they thinned. The air was pleasantly warm with none of the humidity that had oppressed the area lately. There could not have been a greater contrast to the day of his most recent ride through these woods, but except for an appreciative sniff on first encountering the woodland scents, the horseman’s frowning preoccupation excluded all outside impressions. The perfect summer day was wasted on him.

Mr. Simon Kirkland had returned from Bath the previous evening with his suspicions confirmed and his attendant curiosity more or less satisfied, thanks to the garrulous Ned Fotheringham. Somewhat to his surprise, Randall Briggs had proved reticent on the subject of his old friend, Miss Virginia Spicer. A casual inquiry extracted the unadorned statement that he had not seen Miss Spicer for several months. Gentle probing elicited nothing more than the information that Miss Spicer was believed to be paying an extended visit somewhere in the eastern shires. His friend’s closed expression warned him that another topic of conversation was indicated if he wished to be thought no more than passingly curious.

Nor did the introduction of the name Agnes Greyson produce any information. Randall merely looked blank. He had offered to set an inquiry afoot if his visitor wished to contact such a person, at which point Mr. Kirkland had hastily retreated, disclaiming any personal desire to make the acquaintance of one whom he had understood to be employed as a governess in the household of Lady Mallory. He explained carelessly that he had met someone who claimed to be a relative of Miss Greyson, but he certainly did not plan to inconvenience himself or his host in order to pass along a casual greeting from a mere acquaintance to a person unknown to them both. Randall had admitted that his own acquaintance with Lady Mallory was of the slightest, and the subject had been allowed to drop.

It had taken time to arrange an occasion to pump his other contact, Mr. Ned Fotheringham, but his patience had been rewarded. He could not have said why he was so careful to arouse no curiosity on the part of his cronies, why he did not simply lay his own experience before them and openly request any information they might possess about Miss Spicer. That had actually been his original intention.

Perhaps he had had too much time on the journey to consider the situation from every possible angle, but the more he had compared the personality and circumstances of Miss Spicer at present with her behaviour at their first meeting and recalled the admiration in which her friends held her, the less he believed she had embarked on this adventure for a lark of some sort. If there was a vital reason for her action, he could not jeopardize what might even be her personal safety until he was in possession of all the facts.

Accordingly, he had claimed unspecified business dealings as the reason for his visit to Bath and had determinedly put up at the York House in George Street over Randall’s strenuous objections, ostensibly so as not to inconvenience his friend. This way, he could hope to conceal the fact that his business dealings consisted of finding ways to pass his time between meetings with his friends. In the end, he was thankful he had taken what had struck him at odd moments as slightly theatrical precautions.

Through Ned, who did not share Randall’s scruples about discussing his old friend’s fortunes, he had learned the sorry story of Mr. Spicer’s death and the subsequent revelations of his indebtedness. Like Randall, Ned believed Miss Spicer to be visiting friends outside of London and confided freely that he hoped for her sake it was to be a long visit. Lady Twistleton, her only relative, was a regular fusty mug, very high in the instep, and famed in the area for her abrasive personality, which was held responsible for a continuous parade of servants in and out of Langdon Hall. Mr. Kirkland had expressed his sympathy for Miss Spicer’s bereavement and made delicate inquiries into her financial position.

“Not a groat!” Ned had responded with the relish often displayed by those to whose lot falls the task of conveying disagreeable tidings of a mutual friend. Rumour had it that even her mother’s jewellery had gone to meet her father’s debts.

Mr. Kirkland now knew the reason for Miss Spicer’s employment, though he was as much in the dark as ever concerning her switch in identity. A tentative inquiry at the next meeting with Ned had shed some light on that subject, though the whole story would have to come from Miss Spicer eventually.

“Miss Agnes G-Greyson? Yes, I am slightly acquainted with her, b-but she’s M-Mrs. Denton or D-Dobson or some such now. Lives over in B-Bristol, I believe. Husband’s a Methodist minister.” He confirmed that the former Miss Greyson had indeed been in Lady Mallory’s employment for several years and offered to discover her present direction if Simon wished to write or visit her.

Mr. Kirkland had thanked him politely and accepted this information in due course. Not wishing to lead Ned to make any connection between the two women, he had refrained from asking whether Miss Spicer and Miss Greyson were acquainted. He was amused but unsurprised to learn that Ned’s information on the real Miss Greyson’s present whereabouts had come from Lady Mallory, who seemed not to have journeyed to Scotland after all.

Miss Spicer deserved better than his silent tribute at the memory of her cool nerve under very trying conditions. He had certainly gone out of his way to discomfort her at that dance, and his ungentlemanly hectoring weighed heavily on his conscience.

After some hesitation, he decided against paying the former Miss Greyson a visit. In his own mind, he was convinced of her connivance in Miss Spicer’s masquerade, and it would not do to alert her to his knowledge. She could send Miss Spicer warning by post before he could return to Essex, and heaven knew what the foolish girl might do if she feared discovery was imminent. She had little cause to trust him so far.

The return trip to Thorpe Manor was spent in pondering just what he should do with his new-found knowledge. That his thoughts were engaged with the very same subject on this short ride to Fairhill today was mute testimony to his state of mind. As the back lawns and kitchen garden of Fairhill came into view, he was no nearer to a decision than he had been on leaving Bath two days before.

Somehow, in all his speculation about Miss Spicer before finding out the truth, he had not chanced to consider just what he could do about changing her circumstances. Since piecing the story together, he had thought about little else, but to no good effect. Except to offer her money, which she would refuse even if a way could be found to keep his name out of it, there was no action in his power that could alter matters. With a view toward keeping things on the up and up as far as possible, he had mentioned to Randall in passing that Ned had acquainted him with the essentials of Miss Spicer’s change in fortune. After an annoyed expletive directed at his gossiping neighbour that did him no disservice in the eyes of his friend, Randall had admitted that he wished Virginia had taken him into her confidence before departing so hastily without leaving her direction with any of her friends. The more he had considered her situation, the more he had felt he ought to offer for her. As one of her oldest friends, he had long had a great fondness for her and would as lief marry her as anyone else who had so far crossed his path.

With Miss Spicer’s current location on the tip of his tongue, Mr. Kirkland had paused to reflect that it was surely none of his affair to reveal her hiding place even to one of her dearest friends if she had not chosen to do so herself. His initial relief at hearing what seemed to be an ideal solution did not survive the subsequent reflection that Miss Spicer might not care to avail herself of such a lukewarm offer even to escape severe financial difficulties. Evidently she had refused several offers in the past and might not be ready to trade her independence for security just yet.

On the other hand, she could not enjoy denying her identity and pretending to be a dowdy middle-aged spinster, even if her position in the Brewster household was more or less congenial. Ought he to do something about this aspect of her situation at least — speak to Sir Reginald perhaps, or to Miss Spicer herself and acquaint her with the fact that Randall would like to contact her? Ought he to do nothing, leave the situation as he found it?

But how could he simply ride off in a fortnight as he had planned originally and leave her in this web of her own spinning? Suppose she were to be found out? She might disappear beyond the reach of those who could assist her, as she had once before. This last thought caused him to dismount with more speed than was necessary, earning him a startled look from the slow-witted stable boy who jumped forward to take the reins of his mount.

His footsteps were swift and purposeful as he headed around to the main entrance, but when Penniestone opened the door to him, he found himself asking for Miss Brewster.

“How do you do, sir? May I be so bold as to welcome you back?” Penniestone replied, taking his hat with the perfunctory smile he reserved for close friends of the family. “I regret that Miss Brewster is not at home at present, but Miss Greyson is in the main drawing room playing the pianoforte as she does each day. May I announce you, sir?”

The muted melodies of Bach had already reached his ears. Inclining his head, he allowed himself to be led to the drawing room door, but as the butler’s hand touched the handle, he put his own on the dark sleeve and said impulsively, “No, do not disturb her performance by announcing me now, Penniestone. I’ll enjoy listening until she finishes this selection.”

The butler nodded in agreement and went off to his pantry, where he had been polishing silver, leaving the caller to make a quiet entrance into the room. Once inside Mr. Kirkland remained standing near the door, savouring the sounds of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” played by one who appreciated its beauty. Her back was to him and she remained unaware of his presence, so absorbed was she in the music she was creating.

When she turned her head slightly, he was permitted a glimpse of the lovely clear line of throat and neck and was astounded that her disguise had not been penetrated long since. She was a capable actress, of course, and was careful to maintain a brisk, rather flat delivery, eliminating girlish mannerisms from her voice. But at times her movements betrayed her youth.

Although he had met Miss Spicer only once in her own character and that briefly, he would be willing to describe her with the utmost confidence as a vibrant, physical individual who delighted in a variety of active pursuits. He had been riding with Miss Brewster in company with Miss Greyson on one occasion and had observed in passing that the older woman appeared to be controlling, very admirably, a simmering impatience. At the time, he had attributed this to annoyance at his flirtatious overtures to the lovely Juliet, which he always maliciously intensified in Miss Greyson’s presence, having guessed from the start that she looked upon his friendship with her charge with deep suspicion. In the light of recent discoveries, he was inclined to believe now that her impatience had stemmed from a desire to be done with the dawdling pace of the ride and to enjoy a good gallop.

A softened expression came into his dark eyes as he studied the performer still lost in her music. What a monumental task she had set herself, and what a demeaning experience! It would be difficult enough for a proud young woman to place herself in an inferior position, but to have to submerge her entire identity, lose herself as it were, must be galling in the extreme. From his short experience with the confident and slightly arrogant Miss Spicer, he would not have thought it possible, but his better acquaintance with Miss Greyson made him regard the seated figure with a new respect.

She repeated a phrase once, twice, and then brought the selection to a close, dropping her hands into her lap.

“Thank you for the private concert. I have enjoyed every moment I was privileged to hear.”

The figure at the pianoforte had started at his first words, and she turned toward the speaker, but not, he was quick to note, before her left hand darted out to pick up the spectacles lying on the instrument. She replaced them on her nose and faced him primly.

“You startled me, sir. I did not hear Penniestone announce you.”

He grinned at the implied censure in her tones and started forward. “Don’t blame Penniestone, Miss … Greyson. I would not allow him to interrupt a beautiful rendition of one of my favourite works.”

Miss Greyson rose from the bench and met him midway in the room, laying her hand reluctantly in his extended one before gesturing toward a chair, her pique at being unknowingly observed submerged by the necessity to perform the duties of a hostess.

He smiled at her blandly, perfectly aware of her reaction, and waited till she was seated herself before taking the chair she had indicated.

“I regret that Miss Brewster is not at home at the moment, sir.” Her annoyance at his perception found its way into her voice and infuriated her. What was there about this man, she asked herself helplessly, that always set her teeth on edge and caused her to behave in an ill-bred manner she was certain to regret later? The very first time she met him, all her defences had sprung to life, almost as though alerted to some danger, and she had responded by denying his simple request for a dance in a manner that still covered her with shame when she thought about it. Something in his smile challenged something fundamental inside her to resist him — she didn’t understand it, but she still responded to it, because here she sat, unrelaxed and determined not to speak again until he asked a direct question.

“It seems a great deal longer than eight days that I have been away,” he offered, still with that challenging smile.

Miss Greyson directed a look of polite inquiry at him before letting her gaze come to rest on the bowl of yellow roses on the Pembroke table between them. She heard his quiet laugh but kept her eyes on the flowers.

“I daren’t ask you if you missed me, lest I lay myself open to a repetition of the treatment I suffered at Miss Brewster’s hands when last we met.”

This did bring her troubled gaze around to his face, and she answered with quick earnestness, “She was abominably rude to you, sir, but she is very young, you know, and had, or thought she had, good cause.” Too late she realized where her automatic defence of her young friend was leading, and her voice trailed off. “May I offer you some refreshment, sir?” she asked with an assumption of brightness, heading for the bell that would summon Penniestone.

Mr. Kirkland caught her wrist as she passed him. “I don’t want anything, thank you. Won’t you tell me what I did to offend Miss Brewster?” He had turned her toward him with his other hand on her arm between elbow and shoulder, and after a second or two when she seemed on the brink of struggling to release herself, she met his serious look. For a moment, green eyes stared frankly into brown and made the surprising discovery that they trusted the owner of those eyes despite the basic antagonism that existed between them.

“Do you recall,” she began slowly, “the last rehearsal before the actual production?” Her eyes questioned him, and he frowned slightly in concentration.

“Of course, but I don’t recall anything of an unusual nature, certainly not an upset that would cause Miss Brewster to nurse a grievance.”

“No, no, it was nothing like that. You may remember that I was not present at that rehearsal, but when Juliet came home I noticed that she had a … well, a very self-satisfied air about her that I could not account for until later when she was going over her wardrobe and said … or perhaps implied is a better choice … implied that she expected to…”

He waited for an instant, then prompted, “Yes? Expected what?”

“To hear something of a particular nature from you at the dance after the performance.”

He gazed at her blankly. “Hear what, for pity’s sake?”

She remained silent, looking steadily back at his impatient face.

“Of what particular nature?” Sudden comprehension flashed across his countenance, followed instantly by rejection. “Good Lord! You don’t … you can’t mean she expected a marriage proposal?” As she still watched him in silence, he dropped her arm, which she had forgotten he still held, and raked his fingers through his hair. He made an impatient gesture with his other hand. “This is preposterous! How could she possibly have been in the expectation of hearing an offer of marriage following immediately on the heels of a … a draining experience like that play? ”

Miss Greyson took pity on his perplexity. “Girls of seventeen do not necessarily see things in the same light as men of thirty,” she stated sagely.

“But presumably girls of seventeen have the same mental equipment to reason with as men of thirty,” he objected drily, “and two ears to hear with.”

“Mr. Kirkland, did you tell Juliet at that last rehearsal that you had something to tell her — to say to her — after the performance of the play?”

Again the hand raked through the hair. “I don’t know. I suppose I may have done. I intended to tell you all that I was going to Bath for a time; in fact, I did tell you at the dance.”

The sympathy she felt for his consternation dried up instantly as she recalled the manner of his announcement to herself, and her expression stiffened. He had the grace to look discomfited for a second and took a hasty step forward, but something in her face stopped him in his tracks. “I informed Miss Brewster I was leaving for Bath also, in a perfectly ordinary conversation,” he added, trying to switch her thoughts back to Juliet.

She nodded, her expression under control again. “I saw you. You told her during a waltz, and she missed her step. When next you invited her to dance, she refused you even though it meant dancing a third time with Lord Hampton.”

His eyebrows, which had shot up at the beginning of this detached recapitulation, contracted and his mouth tightened for a moment before he sighed in defeat.

“I … see. Perhaps you are correct. At least, I cannot think of any other explanation for her sudden coldness, but it still seems incredible.” He sought her eyes and saw not accusation but understanding there. After a moment he said heavily, “You must know that I would not have hurt the child or wounded he r pride for the world, but I must hold myself to blame nonetheless because I did seek her out in the beginning, and there’s no denying I did flirt with her. She seemed older than her years at first, and she’s an accomplished flirt, of course, but there is no excuse for my conduct.” There was no doubting his sincerity, but surprisingly, Miss Greyson laughed out spontaneously.

“There is no need to be so abject. No slightest damage has been done to Juliet’s heart, I assure you; in fact, her heart should be all the better for having had her pride slightly bruised. It may make her kinder to the scores of suitors she is bound to have before she marries.”

“I am relieved to hear it, naturally,” Mr. Kirkland replied, sounding rather more irritated than relieved at the brisk cheerfulness exhibited by his comforter. “You do not believe then that her heart is at all involved?”

Miss Greyson hid a smile at this surprising manifestation of a tender male sensibility and produced more of her offensive cheerfulness. “Oh, no. You were nothing but a romantic fancy; the child knows nothing of love yet.”

“And you, what do you know of love, Miss … Greyson?” The mockery was back in his eyes, but Virginia was not to be caught so easily. Her countenance remained unclouded.

“I personally, do you mean? Nothing at all, but I have seen Lady Mallory’s two daughters through various affairs of the heart, so I feel fairly confident of my ability to assess Juliet’s state of mind.”

“Then perhaps you can tell me how long I am to remain in purdah?”

Miss Greyson had returned to her chair during the last of the exchange. For the first time, she looked a bit uncomfortable. “Well, I fear you may find Juliet a … a trifle cool until she is co nvinced no one could possibly think she ever expected or wished to be singled out for attention on your part.”

“Don’t bother trying to wrap it up in clean linen to spare my feelings. I gather I am to be decisively snubbed on every occasion that offers, even if her majesty has to contrive the occasions herself in a manner public enough to draw just the sort of attention to us that she should most wish to avoid.”

“I … I am afraid this could indeed be the case for a time.”

“Ah, the female mind is a wondrous thing!” He abandoned his sardonic manner and asked seriously, “For her sake should I play least in sight for a time, do you think, or would that be equally obvious — as well as depriving young madam of her opportunity for revenge?”

“My father always said it was best to get over difficult ground as quickly as possible,” Miss Greyson replied with a whimsical twist to her lips. “So I would advise you to continue your normal schedule. Naturally I will do my utmost to prevent Juliet from going her length, but she can be wilful at times, and the fact that she has confided nothing of her feelings in this matter to me makes me feel the blow to her pride was severe indeed.”

“She has said nothing of this to you?” His keen eyes detected a very faint rise of colour under whatever stuff she used on her face to disguise her complexion.

“Well … no. She is growing up, you know, and though we go along nicely together in the ordinary way, she has known me for less than a year. I cannot hope to be accorded the same confidence a mother might receive.”

“Or that she might accord to a female friend near her own age?”

“That is true also. It’s unlikely she would confide problems of a romantic nature to a spinster long past her own youth. ”

“And do you consider yourself a spinster long past your youth, Miss … Greyson?”

Behind the spectacles green eyes flickered, wrenching away from the hypnotic power of that dark, enigmatic stare, and for a moment her tongue rose to the roof of her mouth, unable to assist in forming the matter-of-fact reply the question demanded.

“Aggie, Staro and Emily are going to stay for lunch. Oh, I beg your pardon, I did not realize you had a visitor.” Juliet entered the drawing room in her usual impetuous manner, followed by two of the Penrose youngsters.

While greetings were exchanged, Miss Greyson eyed her young companion consideringly. Juliet had shaken hands with Mr. Kirkland and echoed the others’ welcome in an offhand manner that put an end to her duenna’s hopes that a week of flattering attentions from about every young buck in the county who could find an excuse to call at Fairhill might have softened her attitude toward her former favourite.

“It’s good to be back among friends,” Mr. Kirkland replied now to Miss Penrose’s softly murmured welcome.

“No doubt you will find it sadly flat in Essex after enjoying the more sophisticated company to be found in Bath,” Juliet remarked.

Mr. Kirkland turned the full force of his brilliant smile in her direction. “Bath, like London, is always thin of company in the summer and in any case cannot compete with the attractions to be found in Essex at the moment.”

“Ah, yes! I understand that Lady Eugenia is to remain at the Manor for another few weeks.” Juliet deliberately misunderstood the implied compliment and immediately turned away from him to address a question to Mr. Penrose .

Miss Greyson sighed soundlessly. The foolish child obviously intended war to the teeth. As had happened on other occasions, it thus became her task to slide into the breach in hopes of obscuring whatever impression the girl was making on their young guests. “Juliet, my dear, did you remember to advise Penniestone that we shall have guests for lunch?” she asked, and when the girl jumped up to remedy the oversight, she invited Mr. Kirkland with a smile, “You will remain and lunch with us, too, will you not, sir?”

To her relief, since she did not look forward to refereeing a quarrel at table, that gentleman rose at her words and said easily, “I thank you, ma’am, but I am expected at the Manor for lunch today. I shall hope to give myself the pleasure of accepting just such an invitation one day soon.” He made his smiling adieux and bowed himself out of the room in the wake of the butler, who had appeared in response to Juliet’s pull on the bell rope.

The ride back to the Manor was spent in a similar mood of frowning concentration to the one that had enveloped him an hour before on his arrival, with the difference that now he had two problems to bedevil him instead of one. He had all but forgotten the snub Juliet had administered on the day before his departure for Bath, until he had mentioned it himself quite by chance in his tentative casting around for an approach to Miss Spicer. He hadn’t found one, but had complicated his life still further with the subsequent discovery of the delicate situation existing between himself and Juliet. He experienced a sensation of unreality, disbelief even, as it struck him forcibly that his demeanour toward these two ladies in the immediate future was almost bound to be more false than all the playacting he had indulged in on the stage recently. For the time being, he must pretend to be unaware of Juliet’s active hostility while trying to keep her from creating gossip, and in his relations with Miss Spicer he must pretend to be unaware of her real identity, at least until he could be sure such a revelation would not hurt her. The smooth path of his life seemed to be developing some mighty rough stretches all of a sudden, and he did not enjoy the feeling that matters were in danger of slipping out of his control.

Those assembled around the luncheon table at the Manor that afternoon found the generally convivial houseguest a bit less communicative than was his habit. In fact, for the remainder of that day more than one individual discovered the necessity of repeating a question or observation addressed to Mr. Kirkland in order to gain that gentleman’s attention.