Elizabeth Mansfield (14 page)

“Yes, I think they would. Arthur certainly would. He could then go away to school, something he very much desires. As for Gil ...”

“What about Gil?”

“I’m not sure about Gil. He’s too young to need or even to think about finances. He’d give it all to you, I suppose. So that you and he could have a home.”

“But that’s just it, don’t you see?” She came back across the room, sat down, and leaned toward him. “I would then have the benefit of the legacy whether I wished it or not.”

“And of course,” he said with heavy sarcasm, “you can’t allow that. It would be accepting charity, which is intolerable even from
Gil.
”

“Mock me if you will, but charity, even when funneled through Gil, is abhorrent to me.” There was a pause. “Of course, I
could
...” Her voice died away as she became lost in thought.

Watching her, his eyes lit with hope. She evidently was seriously considering a compromise. It would not be all that he wished—far from it!—but whatever it was, it was better than nothing. “You could ... ?” he prodded.

“I could permit Gil to stay with Letty. He could pay his way, and I, since I would not be there, would not be beneficiary in any sense.”

“But what about you? Where would you go?”

She lifted her chin. ‘That is no concern of yours.”

“Don’t be a fool,” he snapped. “How could it
not
be a concern to me?”

She would not answer that question, tinged as it was with implications of emotions she would rather not probe. Instead she answered the earlier question. “If you must know, I shall be a governess. I’ve ... I’ve already been offered a post.”

“A post as governess. How splendid.” He got up and crossed to her, grasping her shoulders angrily and pulling her up to her feet. “Damn you, Caro, do you really believe that’s what Uncle Clement wanted for you?”

“We will never know, will we? If he’d wanted more for me, he should have seen to it properly. And as for you, Kit Meredith, you are neither family nor guardian to me, so your ‘concern’ is inappropriate. Furthermore, I’d appreciate your releasing your grip on me. You’re hurting me.”

He lifted his hands from her and held them high. “Very well, go. You’ve put me in my place. Since I’m not family or guardian or ... or anything else, I hereby abolish all my concern.”

“Thank you,” she said, striding to the door.

“But before you go,” he called after her, “let me be perfectly clear on what we’ve accomplished. Arthur may have his legacy and go off to Eton, is that right?”

“Yes, if he agrees.”

“He will, if you will. And Gil may have his, too?” She nodded.

Kit went to her at the door. “You realize, of course, that when you and Arthur are gone from Mortimer Street, Gil will be a very lonely child.”

Caro’s eyes fell. “Yes,” she said, her voice breaking, “I realize that better than you. But oh, dear God, what else can I do?”

“You can do what I’ve been asking all along. Take your bequest and make a home for the three of you.”

She glared up at him. “I thought I’d made it clear that I can’t do that.”

“Then I have one last suggestion. You can give Gil to me.”
 

She blinked. “What?”

“Let me take him with me to the Grange. It was his home, after all. He was happy there. And he does find me a good sort.”

The idea was stunning. Gil, back at the Grange he loved so much! He could run about freely, outdoors and in, ride a horse, receive proper tutoring from Mr. Lutton and proper nurturing from a full household staff who already doted on him. What a blessing it could be!

She gazed up at the man, transfixed. He seemed so different today ... different from the Kit Meredith she’d imagined ... different from the Mr. Terence who never was. Could it be that he really was a “good sort”? Could a man be a liar, a dissembler, a trickster, and a libertine to one person and a good sort to another?

The fact was, though she was reluctant to accept it, that her brothers had taken to Kit Meredith from the first. And there were other things about him that seemed admirable—his instinctive courage when he’d dashed under the wild horses to save her life, for one. But how did one measure the good against the bad in a man’s character? How could she tell if he’d make a proper guardian for Gil? Of course, if she
could
trust him with her brother, it would take a great load from her heart. It would be the answer to a prayer she didn’t know she’d made.

“You are staring at me, ma’am,” he said dryly.

She dropped her eyes from his face. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“No need for sorrys. You were wondering if so dishonest a fellow as I would make a proper guardian for your brother.”

“Yes, I was. How did you guess?”

“Your eyes give you away. Will it help you to feel more secure if I invite Letty to live at the Grange, too?”

Caro’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Would you
do
that?”

“Yes, of course. It would give me a family ... some much-needed life in that big, empty house.”

She not only didn’t know what to say but could barely speak. Her emotions had constricted her throat. She was finding it very difficult to think clearly about this man—a man who she’d made up her mind was a thoughtless, dishonest, selfish reprobate— who could also be kind and brave. “I must think... .” she murmured.

“By all means, think. And discuss the matter with Mr. Halford, or the aunts, or anyone else you wish. But most of all, talk it over with your brothers. Arthur has a great deal of sense, I think. And Gil is nothing if not honest. They will help you to come to a reasonable decision.”

“Blast you, Kit Meredith, I’m quite capable of coming to reasonable decisions on my own!” She stalked off down the hall, head high, but after three steps she paused and turned back. “Nevertheless, my lord,” she said with a touch of conciliation in her voice, “I shall discuss your suggestion with my brothers. And if it is what they wish, I shan’t object to their accepting your offer.”

Kit looked down at her with an unreadable expression. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said softly.

Her throat constricted at the gentleness of his tone, but under no circumstances would she permit him to see that she was moved. “There’s no need to thank me,” she said coldly, putting up her chin. “I don’t want and haven’t earned your thanks. I’m not the same as my brothers, you know. Whatever they may think of you, I shall never be able to think of you as a good sort. Not till my dying day.” And to keep from either saying or hearing another word, she ran off down the hall and did not stop until she’d shut the outside door behind her.

EIGHTEEN

Matters concerning the bequest were settled very quickly. Once the boys understood that Caro would make no objections, they eagerly agreed to the arrangements Kit had made for them. Kit himself had departed for Shropshire, but his presence wasn’t needed to make matters official. All that had to be done was for the boys to pay a visit to Mr. Halford’s office, sign a number of documents, and shake the lawyer’s hand. Less than a week later, an exhilarated Arthur, promising his tearful sister that he would write often, departed for Eton. Gilbert was due to leave for Crittenden a mere week after that. Everything was happening so quickly that there was no time for Caro even to entertain second thoughts.

Meanwhile, she paid a call on Mrs. Duckett to see if the post of governess had been filled. After all, two weeks had elapsed since her interview. Mrs. Duckett received her in her drawing room and, after hearing Caro explain that she was willing to accept the post, studied her through narrowed eyes. “The conditions’re still the same,” she said. “Seventeen pounds per annum, an’ ye live in.”

“Yes, I understand,” Caro said bravely,, swallowing her revulsion for the woman and her conditions.

Mrs. Duckett gave her a broad smile. “Then go home an’ get yer things together, missy. Ye start on Monday.”

What Caro could not know was that the position
had indeed
been filled. As Mrs. Duckett explained to her husband at dinner that night, “As soon as Miss Whitlow left, I ran upstairs an’ gave Miss Fain three days’ notice. An’ a real pleasure it was to do it, let me tell ye.” She chortled in glee as she added, “I exchanged ‘er for a woman with a deal more style, an’ I saved us five pounds o’ salary in the bargain!”

Mr. Duckett, a successful manufacturer (he made brass Argand lamps, a very popular device for lighting the sitting rooms of the well-to-do), had little interest in his wife’s miserly methods of household management. He merely grunted from behind his newspaper. It was not until he caught his first glimpse of the new governess, many days later, that his interest was captured. But, at this early stage, that dramatic moment was still far off.

Caro, ignorant of Mrs. Duckett’s machinations or of the problems lying in wait for her in the Duckett household, returned to Letty’s house. It was Friday. Gilbert would be leaving on Sunday. She had two days left of her familiar life—two days to pack up Gilbert’s belongings and her own, two days to enjoy the company of what remained of her family, two days to accustom her mind to her dreary prospects. Major changes were occurring much too rapidly. How in this short time could she fully grasp their significance? But there was nothing she could do to slow things down.

Mickley came for Gil early on Sunday afternoon. Everyone in Letty’s household, including Melton the butler, the cook, and both maids, came crowding out on the doorstep to see the boy off. Caro could not keep her tears from falling. Gilbert, giving Caro a last embrace, begged her not to cry. “I’ll be fine, Caro, really I will,” he assured his sister. “Aunt Letty will be moving up to Crittenden next month. And meanwhile, Kit will take the best care of me, I know he will. After all, he’s really a very—”

“I know,” Caro said, wiping her eyes. “A very good sort.”

The next day there were more tears shed as Letty and Caro said their good-byes. “I
wish you didn’t find it necessary to do this, Caro,” Letty sobbed, repeating the words for the hundredth time.

“But it
is
necessary,” Caro said firmly. “For my pride, if nothing else.”

And so, loaded down with a bulging portmanteau, a stuffed bandbox, and her pride, Caro waved a last good-bye to Letty and marched away from Mortimer Street to her new life.

NINETEEN

Caro looked round the schoolroom with a small sigh of satisfaction. It had taken a month, but the Duckett children were at last beginning to show signs of acceptable behavior. Jackie, aged eleven, the eldest of the four Duckett children, was sitting at the schoolroom table struggling with his sums. Though his attitude was resentful, he was at least doing them. Florrie, ten, had read through half of
Dick Wittington and His Cat
with a semblance of enjoyment, although she was now standing at the window, pouting. Peter, seven, sat on the floor playing quietly with his toy soldiers, and Sally, the baby, not quite four, had fallen asleep in Caro’s lap. It was a peaceful scene, out of the ordinary in the Ducketts’ noisy household.

Caro had struggled hard, in the month of her employ, to achieve this sort of peace. She’d had to use all her firmness of character to make Jackie attend to his studies, to keep Florrie from throwing tantrums, and to prevent the younger children from following their bad examples. But she’d achieved some success. Every time they lapsed back into their unruly habits (which they did with discouraging frequency), she fixed them with a disapproving frown and warned them there would be no bedtime stories. Firmness, common sense, and control of her temper had helped, but the stories were her best device. No one had ever told them stories before, and they loved hearing them almost as much as they loved the candy treats their mother showered on them.

Florrie turned from the window. “I don’t see why you have to go away this afternoon,” she whined. “Jackie always teases me when you’re not here, and pushes me about, and steals away my toys.”

“Then why not take your reader to your own room and shut the door?” Caro suggested. “You know that I go to visit my aunt on Thursday afternoons.”

“I wish you didn’t have an aunt,” the girl sulked.

I won’t, after today, Caro thought with a stab of pain. This would be the last visit before Letty moved to the Grange. Caro could hardly bear the thought of being so alone. She’d had occasional letters from her brothers that cheered her—they both sounded quite happy in their new lives—but there was little else in her days in the Duckett household to nourish her soul. Her Thursday afternoons with Letty were the most pleasant hours of her week. Except for her brothers’ letters, they were the only events she had to look forward to.

Florrie, however, was only concerned with her own wishes. “Mama says she didn’t promise you that you could go away
every
Thursday,” she said, beginning to sniffle.

“That is a matter best left to your mama and me,” Caro replied, outwardly calm but inwardly irked that Mrs. Duckett had not only discussed such matters with the child but had also denied the terms she’d explicitly pledged. (
Three hours on Thursday afternoons,
she’d promised,
unless an emergency requires your presence.
Florrie’s tantrums, being such commonplace occurrences, could scarcely be construed as emergencies.) Caro feared it would soon be necessary to confront Mrs. Duckett on this subject. Under no circumstances would she give up her free afternoons, even after Letty was gone. After spending every waking hour on the third floor of this disorderly household, shuttling between the schoolroom, the childrens’ bedrooms, and her own tiny closet of a room, with no companionship but these selfish, loutish children and the dour upstairs maid, she needed time to herself. Desperately.