Laura Matthews (17 page)

“Do you suppose it was ours?” Phoebe asked sadly.

“I’m sure of it, love,” Glenna responded with a bracing smile. “Come now, you must look forward to being home again, to seeing your mama and papa.”

“Yes, of course. it is just that...Burgess Hill is so far from here.”

Although Glenna understood her to be saying that Burgess Hill was so far
from Captain Andrews, she made no effort to allude to that subject. “You have been an angel to stay with me so long. We have had a pleasant time, haven’t we? I’ve grown accustomed to being mistress of an establishment, Phoebe, and do not look forward to finding lodgings.”

“Have you no relations you wish to visit? It pains me to think of you in some shabby rooms in Hastings, in spite of all your friends there. Why don’t you go to the Stokeses for a while? I know they would be happy to have you.”

“It would only delay my establishing myself somewhere. Do you suppose at my age I need have a companion?”

Phoebe regarded her incredulously. “Well, of course you do. Surely you had not thought to live alone.”

“I would prefer it, but I believe you are right. What a nuisance! Have you ever met a companion who was not bird-witted, Phoebe?”

“Never.”

“Nor have I. There is no use in dwelling on it now, however. Shall I read for a while?”

Thus their journey progressed as pleasantly as possible, and if Glenna occasionally allowed her mind to stray to how she was to go on in the future, it was not to be wondered at. Phoebe had spells of melancholy as well, but they worked to keep one another’s spirits up, and arrived at the vicarage to a warm welcome. Pontley’s coachman was thanked and an unsuccessful attempt made to reward him for his services. His instructions were to deliver the carriage to Lockwood and then take the stage coach to London, so the young ladies saw that their belongings were quickly removed to the house.

There was a surprise awaiting them at the vicarage in the person of a young man they had both known years ago when he had lived there with the vicar as his tutor. Although it was seven years since Phoebe had seen him, she would have recognized the boyish face anywhere. “Carlton! Whatever are you doing here?”

The vicar interrupted to say, “It is Lord Kilbane now, my dear, and we are honored to have his lordship spend the holiday with us. There is not time for him to get to Ireland this year for his break.”

“Well, I am delighted to see you again. Isn’t this famous, Glenna? Now we can put on a theatrical.” Phoebe extended her hand to the young man, who was almost a brother to her.

Lord Kilbane grinned and murmured, “Always a pleasure to see you, Miss Thomas. I remember our theatricals as among the most cherished hours of my stay here.” He turned apologetically to the vicar. “Not that I did not relish my lessons, of course, sir.”

Since Kilbane had not been and never would be a scholar, his statement was viewed with amusement, but he was an engaging young man whose kind heart, easygoing manner and ready laugh made his passage through the vicarage a matter of pleasure for all its occupants. When he turned to Glenna, there was a sparkle in his eyes. “And Miss Forbes. I had not thought to be reunited with you when I wrote to invite myself to the vicarage.” He turned suddenly serious. “I understand you lost your father last summer. Please accept my condolences. I realize how close you were.”

"Thank you, Lord Kilbane. I know you understand what such a loss is.” It was more than three years since the young man’s father had died, but he nodded agreement and pressed her hand. Glenna, like Phoebe, had always considered him in the light of a younger brother. At twenty-one he was grown more handsome and the black curly hair was kept more neatly, but the boyish enthusiasm of the fourteen-year-old had not diminished. He spoke irreverently of his life at Cambridge as they entered the house, and even the vicar could not resist a chuckle.

Phoebe willingly agreed to share her room with Glenna, as there was only the one spare bedroom at the vicarage, but she muttered as they entered, “Not your harp, please. It will have to take its place in the drawing room as before.”

“I cannot think the vicar will mind, since I intend to be here for a few weeks this time. I remarked no astonishment when it was carried into the house.”

"They are becoming used to your idiosyncrasies, my dear,” Phoebe retorted.

“Such tolerance. I shall have to acquit myself well to repay it.”

“Do you know, I think that is the perfect solution.” Phoebe stared off into space for a moment before enlightening her friend. “Papa has been fretting about funds for the village school, and I think we could help him. Remember we did so once years ago? Oh, it needn’t be a great production, just a short program with you playing the harp and a drama of no great length. Lord Kilbane would surely enter into our scheme, and we could each play several parts if it were a farce.”

“But Kilbane and I won’t be here very long, Phoebe.”

“We could have it just after Christmas, when everyone is still in the country. If we choose something
worthy,
it is bound to be of great length, so we will have a light sort of play. More folks would be interested in that in any case.”

“Even a light play, as you call it, would be too long for the three of us to handle in such a short time, I fear.”

“No, listen, I have it. Did your cousin Mary Stokes ever send you the charming satire she did on country house parties?”

“Yes,” Glenna grinned. “I had no idea she had so sharp a tongue, or that she would exert herself to scribble it down not once but any number of times to send to her friends.”

“Well, she didn’t, you know. I have it on the best authority that she paid the governess at Wattings five shillings a copy to do so for her. Never mind that. Don’t you think it would be perfect? Kilbane could act Squire Irascible and Mr. Hedgehead. He would adore those parts.”

"Show me your copy, love. I do not remember it so well as you do.” Glenna had caught Phoebe’s enthusiasm, and the two were soon poring over the very delightful sketch. It had the advantage of containing only three short acts (Mary Stokes would hardly have written more), with only half a dozen players, and was just the sort of production to appeal to the neighbors around Burgess Hill. Phoebe soon rose, declared her intention of confirming the project with her parents, and departed.

By the following day the participants had begun rehearsals in the drawing room, which was graciously relinquished for their endeavors. There were several places in the script where they were obliged to make changes because they had not enough actors—an irksome chore, but necessary. While they were puzzling over this, a note was delivered from Pontley asking if he and Miss Stafford might call that afternoon.

Phoebe’s brows drew together with concern. “Oh, Lord, Glenna, he has already returned from London, and we had his coachman. How inconvenient for him, but he does not even mention the circumstance.”

“Who is he?” Kilbane asked, his curiosity piqued that the ladies had been driven to the vicarage by someone’s coachman.

“You
explain to him, Glenna. I would make it sound ridiculous,” Phoebe asserted.

“It is a very simple matter, Lord Kilbane—”

“Spare me the ‘Lord,’ if you please, both of you.”

“Yes, well, last winter I became engaged to a Captain Philip Hobart of the Royal Navy. In the spring his cousin, Viscount Pontley, died, and about the same time they learned that the younger cousin had died in India in the autumn. So he became the eighth Viscount Pontley. I broke the engagement a while after that and of course had nothing further to do with him. But when my father died last summer Pontley came and suggested that I live at his estate in Somerset and oversee the renovations he wished undertaken there. Phoebe went with me and when we were ready to leave he sent his coachman to drive us back.” She turned to Phoebe to murmur, “I see nothing ridiculous in it.”

“It depends on how much of it you tell, of course,” Phoebe agreed with laughing eyes, before turning to Kilbane. “Lord Pontley lives at Lockwood, perhaps ten miles from here. I shall certainly agree to their call, Glenna, so that we may thank him for the coachman.”

While she penned a cordial note to Pontley, the Irishman asked Glenna about Miss Stafford.
“She
is his fiancée, and niece of his uncle’s wife. We have not met her, either, but I understand she is a charming young lady. No doubt she is staying with the dowager until the wedding.” Glenna was tempted to tell him her opinion of the dowager, but decided against it.

They had just determined the division of parts some hours later when the viscount was announced and entered the drawing room with a remarkably attractive girl in a demure blue driving costume. The vicar and Mrs. Thomas welcomed them and introduced Lord Kilbane. Miss Stafford acknowledged the introductions to each member with a shy, trusting smile, her eyes alight with interest. When Mrs. Thomas drew the girl into conversation, Pontley took the opportunity to speak with Glenna and Phoebe.

“I understand your journey was uneventful and you both appear to be in the best of health.” His eyes dwelled for a moment on Glenna’s restored looks, and there was an unmistakable glint in them.

Phoebe hastened to express their gratitude for his coachman and the Manner Hall coach. “We could not have managed Glenna’s harp without it, of course, but we had no idea of infringing on your use of your own coachman. I felt alarmed to hear that you had returned from London already, for you must have needed him.”

“We managed very well without. Our departure from town was earlier than we expected.”

“I do hope through no indisposition of the Dowager Lady Pontley,” Glenna offered sweetly, convinced that this should repay him for his mockery.

His serious expression startled her. “No, not an indisposition. She is quite well, thank you, and I will tell her that you inquired.”

"Does Miss Stafford stay with her at the dower house?” Phoebe asked curiously. “And has a date been set for the wedding?”

“Miss Stafford stays with her aunt, yes, and the date of the wedding depends on when Sir George and Lady Stafford can join us here. It is hunting season, you know,” he remarked dryly.

“You are to be married at Lockwood?” Phoebe was surprised and did not attempt to conceal it.

“All agreed it would be simplest as there is to be only the family.”

Jennifer approached him impetuously and cried, “Oh, Philip, the most wonderful thing! They are going to do a play written by Miss Forbes’s cousin and have just been choosing parts. Lord Kilbane assures me there would be a part for me if I should like it.” She threw the young Irishman a look of sheer ecstasy and a smile which made her dimples peek out. “It would be necessary for them to change the script if they did not have another lady, and that would be such a shame! Do say I may join them, do!”

“Jennifer, you have not considered that they must rehearse daily and you are situated some miles from here.” His voice was gentle, persuasive, but his eyes were wary. Nothing would be worse than for her to have a tantrum here.

“Oh pooh! I could ride over every day on that adorable mare you got for me. She will need the exercise and I should love it.” A flash of annoyance lit her eyes briefly at his unrelenting expression, but she controlled it to say, “If you did not wish to accompany me, of course I would bring a groom. No harm would come of it.”

Pontley was torn with indecision. It was galling to be forever denying her those treats she most wished, but he could envision her losing her temper under the strain of repeated rehearsals. Her histrionic abilities he did not doubt after her imitation of Roscius, but her ability to apply herself for a lengthy period of time to any project was more suspect.

Unexpectedly, support for the plan came from Glenna. “Do let her join us, Lord Pontley. We have chosen an amusing play, very short, written by my cousin Mary Stokes, and we have no intention of being in the works for more than two weeks. Both Lord Kilbane and I will be leaving early in the new year.”

When Pontley reluctantly assented, Jennifer squeezed his arm in a child’s gesture of approbation. “You are the dearest man, and I promise you I shall be on my very best behavior.”

“Your aunt will have to agree as well, Jennifer.”

“I’m sure she will be delighted to have me out of the house,” she retorted with a saucy smile.

Kilbane approached with their only copy of the play and suggested that they decide which role she would fill. “Perhaps you would like to read it first. We have been doubling up on characters, so I doubt it makes any difference to any of us which character you choose. Lord Pontley might be interested in joining us as well.”

“Thank you, no. I fear I have not the least talent for acting.” Pontley was looking for a way to extract Glenna from the group so that he might speak with her. When a visitor was announced for the vicar, the young people decided to appropriate the dining parlor for the time being so that they could familiarize Miss Stafford with the play and help her choose a part. “Might I have a word with you, Miss Forbes, before you join the others?”

“You will want to know how we left Manner Hall,” she suggested and urged the others to go along without her, which they were more than willing to do. “We might walk in the garden; there really is nowhere else.” She made a helpless gesture to indicate the size of the vicarage and went to fetch her pelisse.

There was a threat of snow in the air, but the ground was dry and the air crisp. Glenna led Pontley through the shrubbery to the garden paths beyond, where there was little enough to be seen but the empty beds and forlorn bare trees. “I wish you had let us pay your coachman, sir. He would not take a thing.”

"Those were his instructions, Miss Forbes, and you may rest easy that he has been rewarded for his diligence in seeing you and Miss Thomas safely here.”

“We thank you for your kindness, but certainly it was enough to lend us the carriage for such a long trip. Now it will have to be returned to the Hall.”

“I’m not worried about that, so you needn’t trouble yourself.”

Glenna could only nod under his direct gaze. “The kitchen is delightful, you know. Betsey cannot sufficiently sing its praises and produced the most delectable dishes to show her appreciation. The painting was completed some weeks ago, and we left with the grounds vastly improved, if not perfect. Mr. Glover insisted on sending a ham to the vicarage. I hope you don’t mind.”