Lavender Lady (11 page)

“Hester, may I take my rabbit into the parlour? Mr. Fairfax wants to see it, and Jamie said you would not like it.”

“Robbie, I’ve told you a hundred times to knock before you enter. You may fetch the rabbit from the kitchen, but be very gentle with it and take it back in twenty minutes without fail. Mr. Collingwood, I expect you will want to see the baby. I believe Alice is with him now.”

Throwing her a look of gratitude, the young vicar left, and Hester made for the kitchen, where Susan was immersed in preparations for luncheon. Robbie went off in triumph to the back parlour.

“Hester says I can, so there,” he informed Jamie, and added, “Mr. Collingwood was kissing her.”

“What!” Jamie and Geoff both jumped to their feet. “Is she very distressed?” asked Jamie anxiously.

“No, she just said, ‘Robbie, I’ve told you a hundred times to knock before you enter.’ That makes a hundred and one, but she always says it, so I don’t think she is keeping count properly. I’m going to get my rabbit.”

Jamie and Geoff glanced at each other with mingled exasperation and dismay, and then turned as one to Mr. Fairfax, who was looking furious.

“The popinjay!” he exploded. “I shall call him out!”

“You can’t do that,” pointed out Geoffrey. “You can’t stand, and he is a clergyman.”

“And if Hester did not object, what can I do?” queried Jamie helplessly. “I am not her father.”

They all looked at each other, nonplussed.

Robbie, never one to take his time, bounced in with the rabbit in his arms.

“Hester’s making lunch,” he announced. “We’re having grilled trout for special, ‘cos Mr. Collingwood is here. Look, sir, here’s my rabbit. It’s almost better.”

Admirably concealing his agitation at the continuous stream of artless revelations, Mr. Fairfax duly examined the creature.

“Does it not have a name?” he asked.

“I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“Call it Fricassee,” suggested Geoffrey callously. “Then it doesn’t matter which it is.”

Robbie ignored him.

“I know!” he exclaimed. “It’s hurt its leg like you, sir, so I should call if after you. Fairfax is a good name for a rabbit.”

“Don’t you think that might prove confusing?” protested Mr. Fairfax. “Suppose someone wants me and calls out and the rabbit comes running. How about Homer? That’s my middle name, if you really insist on naming it after me.”

“All right,” agreed Robbie obligingly. “Allie, come and see Homer.”

Alice and Mr. Collingwood were entering the room. Reassured of his devotion, Alice had been undismayed by his description of the interview with Hester. Only the thought that he must soon return to his parish, taking little John with him, remained to disturb her, and he had promised that even if he could not see her sooner, he would find business in London the following spring.

In her happiness, she was willing to allow for her small brother’s idiosyncrasies with regard to animals. In fact, the rabbit looked delightfully soft and cuddly, and she began to stroke it.

“Better not, Allie,” warned Geoff wickedly. “I’ll wager the beast is full of fleas.” With a shriek, Alice fled to the kitchen to protest tearfully to Hester, leaving doors flung open in her wake. Skipper, a mongrel of indeterminate parentage, had been allowed into the kitchen in the rabbit’s absence, and he joyfully abandoned his dish of scraps to seize the chance of exploring the house, an ambition of long standing.

Dashing through the kitchen door, he knocked the feet from under Mr. Collingwood, who was diffidently following his beloved to comfort her. A most unchurchmanlike oath sprang to his lips, to be hurriedly swallowed as the Misses Godric, three strong, turned to him with apologies and assistance.

Undeterred by the collision, Skip got up speed crossing the hallway and entered the parlour at a fair pace. Overjoyed to find three of his favourite people, he bounced at and licked first Geoffrey, then James, then Rob. The formalities accomplished, he turned his attention to the stranger in their midst and, tail wagging cheerfully, set himself to drive off the intruder with a volley of ear shattering barks.

This was altogether too much for the unfortunate rabbit, who had been cowering in Mr. Fairfax’s arms. Hampered by the splint on his leg, Homer leaped for the open doorway. Skipper at last became aware of the presence of his preferred—until now unattainable—prey, and his voice rose three octaves to a hunting yip as he shot after Homer.

Robbie dived for the rabbit. Geoff dived for the dog. All four reached the doorway just as Mr. Collingwood, dusted off and escorted by a solicitous Alice, arrived from the opposite direction. This time he landed on top of everyone but Homer, who managed to make his escape through the kitchen and out of the back door.

Gradually the tangle of bodies was sorted out. Skip emerged unscathed from the bottom of the heap and was at once tied up outside by Jamie.

Mr. Fairfax’s sides were so sore from laughing he could barely eat his luncheon.

“It was better even than the frog,” he confided to Hester later, when Mr. Collingwood had retired to his inn to recover. “I wish you had seen it. The crowning point was when Gumby, who had been watching disdainfully from atop the tallboy, descended in his usual haughty and dignified way and sniffed contemptuously as he left the room.”

“I’m only glad no one was hurt,” said Hester soberly. “What Mr. Collingwood must think of us!”

As for Homer, he was later found in the vegetable garden, busily demolishing Geoff’s lettuces.

Chapter 8

    Mr. Collingwood left the following Wednesday, taking the baby with him. Alice was very subdued for several days, which was generally assumed to be due to the loss of her nursling. She soon cheered up when Hester sent for the latest issues of
Lady’s Magazine, La Belle Assemblée,
and
Repository of Arts.
After spending hours poring over fashion plates, she spent several more at the draper’s, to Mr. Green’s delight, poring over fabrics, ribbons,  laces, and spangles. The creation of a dazzling London wardrobe was soon underway.

Hester was also out of sorts for a while. Mr. Collingwood’s departure reminded her that Mr. Fairfax would soon be leaving. It was nearly seven weeks since his accident, though it seemed like forever, and Dr. Price had spoken of three months’ rest for his leg. Already October had come; next month he would return to his usual life and soon forget her. And her family, she added quickly. She had sensed a certain reserve in his manner toward her during the past few days and was sure he was also thinking of his departure and looking forward to it. He must have noticed Alice’s infatuation with Mr. Collingwood and been hurt by it, as she had feared, and now he only wanted to leave the cause of his pain behind him.

Mr. Fairfax’s thoughts were running on quite different lines. Prejudiced by Robbie’s disclosure, he noticed nothing between Alice and her suitor, only that Hester seemed to spend a lot of time with the young vicar, as in fact she did—to keep him out of Alice’s pocket; Hester’s depression after Mr. Collingwood returned to Somerset seemed a confirmation of his suspicions, and neither James nor Geoffrey had any comfort for him. They accepted that Hester had developed a tendre for Grace’s brother, thought him unworthy of her, and hoped that time and absence would bring her to her senses. In the meantime, though, Mr. Fairfax found himself unable to treat her in his usual unreserved fashion. Jealousy was out of the question, of course. He was merely being circumspect.

It was not in Hester’s nature to be in the megrims for long. For one thing, she was too busy to dwell on her troubles. Then a period of glorious weather set in. The sun rose red through mists over the river with a nip of frost in the air, sparkling on leaves and grass. By midday the clearest of blue skies and a delicious warmth called everyone out of doors.

Regretfully leaving Mr. Fairfax behind, with promises of pies and jellies to console him, the Godrics went blackberrying.

Grandfather Stevens came to keep him company, a jug of ale in his hand. In the weeks since their confrontation, the two men had come to entertain considerable respect for each other. Mr. Fairfax enjoyed the freedom of not having to watch his words, and found the old fellow’s shrewdness and concern for his grandchildren—real and adopted—admirable. Mr. Stevens relished equally tales of travel and of society life, approved his lordship’s Whiggish politics, and could not avoid a scarce-acknowledged hope that Lord Alton might prove to be Hester’s entree into the Fashionable World. No hint of toad-eating on the one hand or of arrogance on the other marred the relationship, and they played endless games of draughts, very well satisfied with each other.

Mistress Ivy provided a nuncheon at noon, and the talk turned inevitably to food.

‘Now this be what I call a good solid meal,” declared Mr. Stevens, biting into a pasty. “Plain English mutton’s good enough for me; no dressing it up wi’ they sauces and fal-lals as Hester do set such store by.”

“There’s nothing to beat a fine roast,” Mr. Fairfax agreed, “but Miss Godric’s cooking is the equal of Carème, the Regent’s chef. Given the resources, I am sure she could produce a banquet such as I attended at the Pavilion in Brighton in January. Thought to tell the truth, it was an inexcusable display, with half the population starving. Thirty-six entrees,
from
filets de volaille à
la maréchale
to pigeons
à
la Mirepoix financière,
and countless side dishes.
And of course wine and port and brandy by the gallon.”

 “I’m not above a drop o’ brandy after a good meal myself,” conceded the old man. “Only good thing to come out of France.”

“How can you say so, sir, after hearing Miss Alice rave over the latest styles from Paris?”

Mr. Stevens snorted. “Lost sight o’ their waistlines, from what I seen, and they skimpy skirts, straight up and down wi’ no hoop, and never a trace o’ wig nor powder. Indecent, I calls it.”

“There’s no arguing with fashion. When you see Miss Alice in her new gowns, you will be reconciled, I’m sure.”

“Our Allie’d made an old potato sack look good. My Hester, now she’d disappear in they French gowns, skinny as she be.”

“Oh no, sir, I disagree. You cannot call her skinny. Perhaps you are thinking of her when she was a child. The simpler styles of the last few years suit her to perfection.’’

Mr. Stevens regarded his lordship in an appraising silence. “Ah well,” he said at last, enigmatically. “Have an apple, m’lord.”

The back parlour, facing east, grew dark early and Ivy had already lit candles when merry voices were heard approaching the back door. Moments later, Hester appeared at the French window, a basket heaped with glossy berries on each arm.

Her grey gown was stained with purple, her hair was tangled, an unnoticed scratch ran down one cheek, and she was laughing. Mr. Fairfax’s breath caught in his throat, and his heart leaped within him.

“A good harvest?” he asked, with a suddenly dry throat, failing to note Mr. Stevens’s speculative gaze upon him. Indigestion, he told himself. Ivy’s cooking.

“Yes indeed! I brought these to show you. The children have each taken two baskets to the kitchen, though I think more are in Rob’s stomach than in his baskets. Grandpapa, you shall have some pots of bramble jelly tomorrow, and Susan will make you a pie. Will you have a cup of tea with us now?”

Mr. Stevens said he must be on his way and would see the children on the way out.

“Might I have a bowl of blackberries and, cream with my tea?” ventured Mr. Fairfax, his outward calm restored. “My nurse would never let me eat them uncooked, so I developed a passion for them.”

“Two bowls—three!” Hester promised gaily. “The more you eat, the less I have to bottle. It was such a beautiful day; we were so sorry you could not come.”

“Not long now. Dr. Price will permit me a few steps on crutches at the end of the week.” Mr. Fairfax found himself suppressing a strong desire to offer his assistance in cleaning Hester’s scratched cheek. Or he would have been happy to kiss it better if that was needed. Appalled by this train of thought, he fell silent, and Hester, thinking he was contemplating the joy of restored mobility, left him.

 No longer could Mr. Fairfax deny to himself that he was falling in love. Admiration and protectiveness could be dismissed, but add to them a longing to take her in his arms and kiss her thoroughly, and the diagnosis was clear. His immediate reaction was to fight it, and there was no lack of ammunition.

For a start, he had only to consider her present appearance. No lady with any claim to gentility would show herself in an old, torn, stained dress with her hair flying every which way. The fact that she looked adorable was beside the point; she obviously had no idea of how to go on in society. That led to his next point: her grandfather. He himself might be able to dismiss that worthy’s past, but society would never forgive him for foisting a shopkeeper’s brat on it as his countess, not to mention his family’s legitimate objections. He shuddered to think of Ariadne’s reaction, and there was an assortment of uncles, aunts, and cousins whom he rarely saw but who would undoubtedly rebel at being expected to give precedence to a female with such low connexions. God forbid anyone should ever find out that she had cooked for her family for years.

That family was another obstacle. It was inconceivable that Hester should abandon her brothers and sisters, yet how could he be expected to take on the upbringing of five youngsters before he even had a chance to set up his own nursery? He was more than willing to lend a hand, but to take full responsibility was a horse of a different colour.

And, he added as an afterthought, she was not even beautiful. Had she possessed Alice’s looks, the ton might have smiled slyly, winked and forgiven. They would never understand how he could betray his own rank for a dab of a girl like Hester. In any case, as he had almost forgotten, she had some sort of understanding with John Collingwood.