Rivals of Fortune / The Impetuous Heiress (16 page)

Mrs. Smith also noticed her employer. She lowered the broom and made no move to follow Frederick. But the look in her eye was daunting. “
Mr.
Erland!” she said before the others could speak. “I will not have boys in my kitchen. It's not what I'm used to, and it's not what I'll stand.” The tone in which she said the word
boys
implied that she would indeed have preferred an infestation of rats to Frederick's visit. “He's pushed over the pan where the cream was rising, and it's spoilt. There'll be no milk for your breakfast. Such things never happened in the Master's time.” She crossed her arms and looked at him. Mrs. Smith had never gotten out of the habit of calling Thomas Erland “the Master.” To her, he remained so even though dead, while his young nephew was
Mr.
Erland.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” stammered Joanna.

But Erland made a quick gesture to silence her and turned to Mrs. Smith with raised brows. “The milk was an accident, I'm sure, Mrs. Smith. Frederick will apologize. You make too much of a trivial incident. And you must become accustomed to having my friends in the house.”

“I'll not have boys, and I'll not do for boys,” answered the woman implacably.

Erland looked even haughtier. “You will be polite to all of my guests, I hope, or we shall fall out.”

Mrs. Smith struggled for words. Finally, she muttered, “Extra butter, a joint twice a week, dust the corners, air the hangings, and now—now BOYS!” Her tone was progressively outraged as she spoke. “I
won't
have it,” she exclaimed at the end, “Things were never so under the Master.”

“My uncle, regrettably, is dead, Mrs. Smith,” replied Erland cooly.

Mrs. Smith was fumbling with the strings of her apron. At last, she got it untied and flung it down at his feet. “You may do what you will,” she snapped, infuriated, “but I'll not stay to see it. I give my notice this minute.” And with this parting shot, she stamped off.

They stood silently, listening to her heavy footsteps die away. Erland was turned a little away from Joanna; she could not see his face, but he appeared to be laboring under some agitation. “Oh, I am sorry,” she said. “It was all Frederick's doing. He is entirely at fault. I shall scold him roundly.”

Erland turned, and Joanna saw to her surprise that he was laughing.

“Scold him?” he said. “More likely I shall reward him handsomely. He has rid me of the worst housekeeper in the county. I have puzzled and puzzled how to make her leave, and he did it in three minutes. Where is he? I must thank him.” He turned and began to climb the stairs.

It was so absurd that Joanna had to laugh also. “You are roasting me,” she said as they climbed. “I know you did not care for Mrs. Smith, but you cannot be pleased to be without a housekeeper.”

“Can I not? I am more than pleased to be without Mrs. Smith. I daresay
I
am a better cook than she ever was.”

Joanna laughed again.

“You don't believe me? But I have many times cooked a meal on the trail. I am a fine cook. Ah, here he is.” They had reached the hall by this time, and Frederick peered out at them from behind the staircase.

When he saw who it was, he came out, his expression sullen. “I did not mean to knock over the milk,” he said. “And I am sorry. I tried to tell her so. The oil for the lantern was sitting just above it. Rum place to keep oil, I thought. And I slipped when I reached for it She had no reason to chase me that way.”

“Frederick, my lad,” said Erland, putting an arm over the boy's shoulders, “there is no need to apologize. Mrs. Smith has left me, and I was never happier about anything in my life.”

Frederick looked up at him suspiciously. “You're bamming me.”

“I'm not.”

Frederick looked at Joanna, who was still smiling slightly, then back at Erland. “Heigh ho!” he cried then. “We can search all we like now.” And he ran back down the stairs for the lantern, followed by the laughter of both the others.

They did not actually search that day. Joanna insisted that it was time they went home, and Frederick was brought around by the promise that he might poke about all he liked tomorrow. Joanna was eager to leave; after the excitement of Mrs. Smith's departure faded, the embarrassment of the previous minutes in the library returned, and she did not want to stay at the Abbey. Erland seemed to concur.

As they drove home in the gig, Joanna was too preoccupied even to deliver the customary strictures on Frederick's neck-or-nothing driving. Her emotions were in turmoil: on the one hand, it was exciting and flattering to be clearly the object of a man's regard; on the other, she was embarrassed and uneasy, because she was fairly certain that she did not return it. The thing that confused her even more was that she was not
entirely
certain. Before Erland had spoken to her, she would have unhesitatingly said that she cared for him only as a pleasant friend. But in that awkward moment in his study, she had been forced to consider him in another light, and with that, something had changed. She did not know just what. And now, all she wished for was the solitude of her own chamber and time to think.

This wish was not to be granted. When Frederick pulled up the gig before the door, it was immediately clear that they had callers. “Ugh,” said the boy. “I shall take the horses around to the stables. You may do the pretty in the drawing room. You like that.”

Joanna sighed, but she said nothing as she got down. Frederick took the gig away, and she started for the door. The sooner she went in, the sooner it would be over and she could retreat to her room.

In the drawing room, she found an ill-assorted group. Her mother sat on the sofa chatting desultorily with Sir Rollin Denby, and opposite them, Selina Grant and Constance Williston were making stiff conversation in two armchairs. Everyone looked relieved when Joanna walked in.

Sir Rollin rose and bowed slightly. “I called to see how you got on after our mishap,” he said, “and I was fortunate in finding Miss Williston here. I meant to go on to the Rectory, of course.”

From the corner of her eye, Joanna saw Constance grimace, and she hurried to say, “How kind. It was too bad, was it not? Did you get a wetting also?”

“I did indeed.” Sir Rollin smiled wryly. “In fact, I cut a pretty figure altogether. Not only was I caught out in the storm, I lost my way in the lanes and had to ask directions. The cottager I spoke with made it clear he thought me mad.”

Joanna laughed. “I knew it was something like that.” She was glad to hear Sir Rollin's story. Too many people had seemed to think that he had simply left them. She could not resist throwing Constance a speaking glance.

“Ah, did you think I had abandoned you?” asked the man, his voice amused.

“Of course not.” Joanna looked across at Sir Rollin. As usual, he was the picture of a fashionable Londoner. She found herself comparing his careless elegance with Jonathan Erland's equally careless dishevelment. There could be no question that Sir Rollin shone in contrast. He looked up suddenly, his sparkling hazel eyes meeting Joanna's darker ones, and smiled. Joanna's heart beat a little faster.

“Come and sit here,” he said, pointedly drawing her a little away from the others. It was not quite polite, but Joanna could not resist sitting down beside him. He seemed to hold her with his eyes. “There was so much I meant to say to you on our ride,” continued Denby, “and then I got caught up in seeing the town and said none of them. Can you forgive me?” He laughed down at her.

“Of…of course,” stammered Joanna. Then, realizing this was an inane response, she began, “I mean…”

“No, no, let it go at forgiveness. Don't let us go on about my cloddishness.” Joanna thought that Sir Rollin could never be cloddish, whatever happened. “I am so glad you took no hurt,” he continued smoothly. “I really cut a poor figure, stumbling through the mud and wet. I wish I could have rescued you all. Miss Williston mentioned that she took a fall.”

Joanna nodded, recounting the story of their homecoming. “Luckily, the injury to her ankle was less serious than we feared. She can walk on it already.”

He nodded, paused a moment, then asked, “And how is your digging getting on? I have not been able to look in these past few days.”

“It is not going too well. We cannot seem to find the church, though Papa was sure he knew where it was. However, Mr. Erland has given him the chart of the ruins. I daresay he will find it soon.”

“Ah yes, those mysterious charts. I had meant to ask you more about them. You were so clever in finding them. Have they been of help?”

Joanna nodded. “Mr. Erland thinks one of them shows a secret chamber. His family were Jacobites.” Proud of her knowledge, Joanna sat up a little straighter. So he thought her clever?

“Fascinating. And I daresay these, er, Jacobites hid their friends in the secret room?”

Joanna nodded again, a little disappointed at his quickness. She had thought to make a real story of it.

“You astonish me. And have you found this chamber?”

“No, that is the vexing part. The chart is unclear about where it is. Mr. Erland showed us some marking on the side of the house near the ruins, but I could make nothing of them. No one could.”

“A pity. Perhaps your father could be of help?”

“He has looked at them already. I think he is more interested in the other chart, the one of the ruins themselves.”

“Ah, to be sure. But Erland thinks that his uncle's fortune is hidden in this secret room, I suppose?”

His tone was so avid that Joanna raised her eyes to his.

He smiled. “You must forgive me. Erland's treasure hunt is providing almost the only excitement I have found in this neighborhood. Were it not for that, I should be unutterably bored.” He moved to lay his hand over hers on the sofa cushion. “That, and one other thing, of course.” His eyes held hers once again.

Joanna flushed and looked down.

“My greatest pleasure,” added the man, “has been to discuss this fascinating event with
you
. It is such a piquant combination—a treasure in a secret chamber and a ravishing fellow searcher.”

“Th-thank you,” stammered Joanna.

“And Erland does think the treasure is really there?”

“In the secret room? Yes.”

“Ah.” With this, Denby turned back to look about the room. Both the younger visitors were staring at the couple in the corner, and in a moment he had caught Constance's eye. “Your friends seem a bit put out,” said Sir Rollin. “Perhaps, unfortunately, we should rejoin them.”

“Oh,” replied Joanna, disappointed but a little guilty also, “oh, yes.”

They rose and went back to the group before the fireplace. Selina was openly staring at them, her pale blue eyes wide. Constance had looked away, but her mouth was tight. Mrs. Rowntree, with better control, kept her expression bland.

“Have you heard that Jack Townsend has caught a severe chill?” asked Constance determinedly when they sat down again. “He is really ill.”

Pulled back to the present, Joanna was all sympathy. “Oh, yes. I am so sorry. I sent him a note, though I don't suppose he cares for that. When one is feeling sick, the last thing one wants is to read.”

“Poor Jack,” said Selina, in an effort to join in their conversation. But her remark served rather to end it, as there seemed nothing to do but nod agreement. A silence descended on the room.

After a moment, Sir Rollin spoke again. “I have come for another purpose today as well. My sister is finally ready to stage her gala as the house is nearly finished. When she heard I meant to come here, she gave me this to deliver.” He handed an envelope to Mrs. Rowntree. “The invitation. And there is one for Mrs. Williston as well. Will she think me an oaf if I send it with you, Miss Williston?”

“Not at all,” answered Constance colorlessly, holding out her hand for the missive. Her face and tone did not agree with her words.

Sir Rollin merely smiled. “Make my apologies to her, please.” This done, he rose. “And now, I fear, I must take my leave. I have overstayed in any case, hoping to speak to you, Miss Joanna.”

Joanna looked down, murmuring something inarticulate. Mrs. Rowntree rose and saw their guest out.

When he was gone, she turned to the three girls. “Selina, Constance, you will excuse me, I know. I must speak to Cook, and I have delayed overlong already.” And she left the room also.

Silence fell. For perhaps the first time in her life, Joanna wished fervently that her friends would leave her. She was still in a turmoil, even more after seeing Sir Rollin. But neither of the others showed any sign of going. Indeed, they eyed each other as if determined to stay. At last, Constance ventured, “You are completely recovered, Joanna?”

“Oh, yes, I am perfectly fine. And your ankle?”

“It is nearly healed, I always mend quickly.”

“Joanna is very delicate,” put in Selina positively. Joanna stared at her. “But one can see, Miss Williston, that you have an extremely robust constitution. I daresay you were a great strapping baby, too.”

Joanna's eyes widened further. Constance's lips jerked. “Actually, I was not,” she replied. “It is unaccountable.”

“I myself am greatly subject to chills,” Selina continued. “I feel prodigiously for Jack. There is nothing more unpleasant than being ill in the summer. In the winter, one doesn't care, of course; it is so dreary. But in the summer, one wants to be out.”

“Very true,” murmured Constance.

“So Mrs. Finley is to entertain at last,” blurted Joanna. “I must say I am curious to see the house.”

This diversion was partly successful. Selina tittered, “Oh, yes. The housekeeper says she hardly knows the place, so much is changed. And not for the better.”

“Mrs. Finley certainly has some peculiar ideas,” agreed Constance. “I wonder, did she find a hermit?”

Joanna shrugged, but Selina was better informed. “She did. I don't know who, but it is a man from the charity hospital in Oxford, they say. She had such trouble over the thing.” Selina giggled again. “They say old Mr. Powers had quite a bit to say when he was asked. He nearly threw them out of his cottage. How I wish I might have seen it!”

Both the other girls smiled, and they all contemplated this picture in silence for a moment. Then Selina added, “The house is very fashionable now, though. There is a billiard room and a croquet lawn.”

“Well, I prefer the old style,” said Constance.

This judgment, though not directed at her, made Selina recall her earlier hostility. “Of course,” she said, “you are fond of all kinds of ancient things.” She turned to Joanna and asked with seeming innocence, “By the by, I have not seen Gerald this age, Joanna. When is he to visit?”

Constance flushed and looked at the floor. Surprised at Selina's unsuspected perspicacity, Joanna said, “Have you not? He was here only last week.” She rose before anyone could reply. “Heavens, it is almost tea time. I really must go upstairs and leave my bonnet.”

Constance took her cue and rose also, shooting a grateful look in Joanna's direction. Selina got up reluctantly. “Shall I see you tomorrow, Selina?” Joanna asked. She could tell the other girl was not going to leave without some definite engagement. “We might go walking.” She had not been out with Selina in days, and she felt guilty over this.

Selina's face cleared. “Oh, yes. Unless it rains. But I shall walk over in any case.” After this, she was quite ready to depart and quickly put on her bonnet and shawl.

Constance squeezed Joanna's hand as she took her leave, though they made no plans. And in a few moments, Joanna was alone. She gave a long sigh and started up the stairs. Finally, she could have some time to herself. In her room, she sank into the armchair by the window and stared out blankly. So many thoughts revolved in her mind at once that she hardly knew what she felt.

For several days, Joanna felt disinclined to go out. She saw Selina for their walk and went to church on Sunday, but otherwise, she stayed home. So much had happened in the last few weeks, she felt she needed time to assimilate it all. She did not go to the Abbey with her father, even after they finally discovered the corner of the old church near the end of the week. She promised him that she would come to sketch it very soon, but made no move to do so.

She was a little surprised to see nothing of Sir Rollin Denby during these days. He had been so attentive at their last meeting that she had expected him to call again. But he did not. She had no word of him at all. After a time, she decided that he had been drafted to help with his sister's coming entertainment, but she still wondered at his silence.

Jonathan Erland was also absent. But his did not surprise Joanna in the least. She thought he had been as embarrassed as she at their last encounter. She did not know what she would say to him the next time they met, and was glad he did not visit them, even staying away from one of her father's Thursday night gatherings. Frederick twice urged her to go with him to the Abbey. He and Erland were having a capital time, he said, searching for the secret room. But Joanna refused. She must first understand her feelings about this man very clearly.

Joanna could not marry him, of course. He was not at all the sort of man she had always meant to marry—a man of fashion. But she found that for some reason she was reluctant to tell him this. It was wrong to allow him to hope, she realized, but every time she imagined telling him the truth, something inside her balked. Joanna told herself that she did not wish to hurt his feelings, but she was not completely satisfied with this explanation.

Inevitably, Sir Rollin Denby entered these meditations also. What if it were he who had spoken of marriage, Joanna wondered more than once? What would her reaction have been then? The very questions made her shiver with excitement. To think of being married to Sir Rollin! His wife would surely be the very height of fashion, surrounded by a whirl of gaiety in London. Beside Sir Rollin, Jonathan Erland was clearly…but at this point, Joanna always stopped. Mr. Erland was clearly what? When she had first seen him and his countrified appearance, she had put him down as a bumpkin. But now, she no longer thought of him so. When she tried to judge the two men against one another, she found she could not. They seemed in such different categories.