Clarissa and the Poor Relations Page 4

  His mother eyed her son with annoyance. Even on quite handsome men like her tall blonde son, his hair brushed into the fashionable Brutus, his boots with their mirror shine, that air of self-satisfied certainty was unattractive. Still less when directed at one who had dandled him on her knee. ‘Well, you are quite out there. She has sent a servant ahead of her and he has been putting the place to rights for her arrival. He sent off that London butler, who was there, packing – caught him stealing in the cellar, I believe – and set some village girls to clean. Obviously it is to be an extended visit.’

  ‘I can hardly believe it. How can you know this?’

  She was glad to see the complacent look wiped from his face but she sighed. Men never had the least idea how things work in the country if it isn’t hunting or farming, or such like. ‘Well as it happens, Sullivan, the girl’s butler, is a local boy, related distantly to our groom. He was First Footman in the old Viscount’s time and left Ashcroft with Lady Clara when she made that ridiculous marriage to that philosopher, or whatever he was. Devoted to her, they say, but our Sullivan says the old Viscount still paid his salary to look after his daughter. Well, whatever that may be, he’s back and preparing the ground for that chit of a girl. Her mother was a foolish, forward creature far, far too indulged by her father. He never could stand his son, you know, and that may very well have ruined him. Your father would have it that he wasn’t a true Ashcroft at all, but for my money that was all talk - old Lady Ashcroft wouldn’t have behaved in that way until she had an heir at least. Mind you, the late Viscount didn’t at all resemble his father, but…’ she broke off as her son gave an impatient sigh, ‘But I don’t suppose,’ she said with dignity, ‘that you wish to hear about that. What do you propose to do about Ashcroft?’

  Her son’s air of complacency returned and he sat down and crossed his legs, ‘First, I shall wait to see if all this servants’ gossip has any basis in fact mamma,’ he said it as if ‘fact’ were a word she was not acquainted with. ‘If so, I shall give the girl time to see how ridiculous it is for her to contemplate residing at Ashcroft which I shall carefully explain to her when first I set eyes upon her.’ With this he snapped his newspaper in front of him and began perusing it.

  It is to be hoped, thought his fond mamma, that Miss Thorne would not greet his careful explanations with the same simmering resentment that they produced in her

  Unaware of the machinations of members of the polite world, the ladies were wearily reaching the end of their journey. As they entered the park, Miss Appleby leaned out of the coach and said, ‘Look, there. What a handsome house, though thankfully not as large as I thought. She pointed to a square building with Roman columns at the front whose windows, at the front, she counted as eight.

  ‘Well, I was child when I was last here, but I believe that is the Dower House,’ said Clarissa.

  ‘Good gracious.’ shrieked Miss Appleby, faintly.

  They could not well see the grounds but a quarter of a mile further up the drive, the large and looming shape of Ashcroft Manor appeared.

  ‘Well.’ said Miss Micklethwaite. ‘Impressive indeed.’

  Though the moon was full and caught the windows in her gaze, Mrs Appleby lost count of them.

  The door was opened and on the steps stood the redoubtable Sullivan.

  ‘I fancy you could do with some supper, ladies. It is served in the front saloon.’

  The ladies walked into a hall that took their respective breaths away. A grand oak staircase swept up to the floors above from an Italian marble floor whose acreage astounded them. It was, however, excessively draughty so the ladies moved quickly towards the flickering candles and roaring fire, which could be seen beyond some doors that opened on to the hall. There some tea and a variety of warm dishes met their eyes and they went in gladly to refresh themselves. Sullivan be blessed.

  Clarissa, however, had only partaken of a cup of tea and a pastry when she declared her intention to view the house. She begged her companions to make a hearty supper however and took up a candlestick to go unaccompanied but for Sullivan. She gave him some grateful words and then set off around the house, lately the seat of a Viscount and now unaccountably owned by an eighteen-year-old girl, scarcely out of the schoolroom.

  When she rejoined the ladies she was in a better heart than was expected.

  ‘Well, there is a great deal of old fashioned furniture cluttering many of the rooms but I think you will be heartened at your accommodations tonight ladies. Such luxury. Sullivan has lit a fire in each bedchamber and placed hot bricks for our feet. The rest of the house is in a good state barring the West Wing which Sullivan says is riddled with damp and many other evils and should be shut up for the present. Still I feel we can manage with the remaining six public rooms and fourteen bedrooms. The linen closets are completely neglected, of course but we may soon see to that. Apart from cleaning, sorting the best furniture into the rooms that we choose to use and having the chimneys swept I daresay we shall have nothing to do, shall we, Sullivan?’ she said merrily.

  Sullivan allowed his long, lugubrious face a brief smile, ‘As to that Miss Clarissa, I have yet to discuss the kitchen range - most uncooperative it is being. The only one who could manage it was Mrs Stebbings, the cook in the old master’s time. Then there’s the estate itself, miss. It quite breaks my heart to see it as it is now. The gardens need a proper overhaul miss, and the state of the tenants’ cottages. –Well, Miss Clarissa, I’m glad your poor mamma is not here to see it, for it would have broken her and no mistake.’

  ‘Well.’ said Miss Micklethwaite, noticing that Clarissa’s brave smile was failing under this depressing list, ‘There’s no call to scare us to death on our first night, Sullivan. Miss Clarissa will give orders in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I beg your pardon. Might I just say, Mr Elfoy the agent for the estate begged leave to visit you tomorrow, Miss Clarissa? He said it was urgent, ma’am, but I will deny you if you wish.’

  Clarissa who was looking a trifle worn out by the dawning of her new responsibilities said, ‘No Sullivan, quite right. We must begin as soon as is possible.’ Quite suddenly overcome, she began to cry.

  Sullivan drew tactfully from the room, cursing himself silently for failing to perceive how overwhelming this house must be for such a very young lady and resolving to be careful in future.

  ‘Take her to bed, Louisa She’s knocked out and it is not to be wondered at,’ said the eldest of the ladies.

  ‘Indeed I’m all right, Waity, I cannot imagine…,’ said Clarissa; the tears coursing down her cheeks.

  ‘No indeed, dear,’ cooed Miss Appleby, drawing her forward and putting her arm around her waist. ‘Nothing that a little sleep won’t cure. Come with me, now dear.’ And she drew her up towards the stairs.

  Miss Petersham turned to her companion, ‘Oh, Waity, it is easy to forget that Clarissa is such a young girl. Losing her mamma so soon after her father’s death - it’s no wonder that this now should overwhelm her. She is such a redoubtable girl that she will no doubt seem fine in the morning but we must watch her carefully.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Miss Micklethwaite, ‘She will feel better when we start to do something. Do you know, apart from not being able to face life with her prosy brother and his cooing little wife, I think it’s the doing that Clarissa craves. She needs this place so that she does not dwell on those subjects that depress her spirits. In that she’s her mother’s daughter. She’ll come about.’

  ‘Yes, all of us need that,’ Oriana took a turn about the room. ‘We’re freaks you know, Waity .All of us, except poor Appleby, perhaps. We are freaks of nature who would dare question the will of the men whose position it is to guide us. Some women would have taken the curate’s offer, or at least waited until a better one arrived; but the cast of our minds being as they are we can allow no man to rule without respect. At least here we should be free of those who would blight us with their attentions.’

  ‘Well, as to that my
dear, I have seldom been blighted by a man’s attentions,’ said Miss Micklethwaite mildly, ‘but I am glad, in theory, to be free of it.’ Oriana smiled at this, but still looked tired. Her friend drew her from the room gently. ‘Time for bed before you work yourself into just such a state as Clarissa.’

  Chapter 5

  The Ladies At Home

  Clarissa awoke the next morning to the sight of a slight young girl wearing a cap, brown dress and apron pulling open the window drapes and letting the early sunlight seep over her counterpane.

  ‘But who are you?’ said Clarissa sitting up.

  ‘Why, your lady’s maid Becky, if it please you, miss,’ she replied and bustled forward with a shawl for Clarissa’s shoulders and a cup of chocolate into her hands. ‘Mr Sullivan employed me from the village, miss, seeing as how you had to leave your maid behind. I’ve not all the experience that you might like miss - this is a step up for me, you might say - but I can dress hair and I’m clever with a needle.’ Becky’s round face looked a trifle anxiously at Clarissa.

  ‘I’m sure of that.’ said Clarissa, ‘Thank you Becky, you can go now, I’ll dress myself this morning.’ Becky looked disappointed, but bobbed a curtsy and departed.

  As she settled back on the bank of feather pillows sipping her coffee, Clarissa thought that she had never known such luxury. Her bed was big enough for a cavalry regiment to sleep in and was moreover hung with straw coloured silk. Her room was enormous, so it seemed to her, and was appointed with elegant furniture. She guessed this to have been her aunt’s room and her silver backed brush set still adorned the dressing table with its exquisite French mirror. That the maid was an elegance Sullivan had required to add to her consequence in the neighbourhood was something she did not doubt; but it was a welcome luxury. Well it was time to start her day as lady of the manor. Almost at variance with this thought was that she put on her oldest grey dress.

  The ladies cried out at her appearance, but Clarissa only said ‘There’s a great deal of work to be done and I don’t mean to spoil my dresses’

  And so it was that as she was unpacking their cherished books in the library, Mr Elfoy found her.

  That gentleman had come to the house, but on passing the library windows on route to the front doors, he had heard a shriek and entered. He found a young girl in a shabby grey gown and apron holding her toe and hopping about the room. She heard him laugh and looked around.

  She saw a young man of devastating attractiveness. He was tall and of athletic build and his rich chestnut hair, though severely brushed from his noble forehead, was a riot of curls, one having escaped across his brow in a way that drew the eye to his laughing eyes. These were of a velvet autumnal colour, with lashes that would be the envy of most young ladies. The draw of his eyes was such that Clarissa hardly noticed his firm jaw-line or his rakishly dimpled chin. He was dressed with quiet propriety in a blue coat, but however provincial his tailor, his magnificent form could not but make it look like a masterpiece.

  Her face turned towards him and quite naturally returned his grin. Despite the smut on her face Mr Elfoy warmed to her, ‘Hello there, have you hurt yourself? My name’s Elfoy and I’ve come to see your mistress.’

  Clarissa was stunned – what a figure she must cut. So she said, ‘Yes sir. I’ll find her.’ and disappeared quickly. She met the Miss Micklethwaite and Oriana in the hallway as she came running in disorder from the library.

  ‘Oh, Waity, Mr Elfoy the agent is in the library. Pray bear him company and tell him I’ll be along in some minutes. Oriana.’ cried Clarissa, grasping her hands, ‘Can you do something with my hair? Please come up with me.’

  Casting a bewildered glance at Miss Micklethwaite, Oriana murmured, ‘Of course, my dear.’

  It was a very different Clarissa who presented herself to Mr Elfoy presently. Miss Micklethwaite gave a start on seeing her, for never had Clarissa given so much attention to her appearance. How Clarissa’s hair came to be cut at the front and coaxed into clustering curls that framed her face so becomingly and then swept into a Grecian arrangement with black satin ribbons in a scant half-hour was beyond her. She was now more correctly attired in her new black muslin, high at the neck and trimmed with the Brussels’ lace from her mamma’s chest. Her eye had a sparkle about it that Miss Micklethwaite had never seen as she held out her hand in welcome to Mr Elfoy.

  ‘Ah, here is Miss Thorne now.’ she said stoutly.

  The handsome, easy-mannered young man that she had been conversing with for the half-hour previously had seemed to become turned to stone. Then a flush rose on his cheek and he became animated enough to clasp the hand that was being held out to him. That this was the same young woman whom he had supposed a maid, he had no doubt. He did not exactly see how it had been achieved but that he was dealing with a young lady of the first quality was quite obvious. How had he come to make such a mistake? Her chin was regally held he felt a fool of the first order. He began a tangled apology.

  ‘Miss Thorne. How rude you must have thought me. I did not know, I could not have guessed ...’ he stopped, realising he was getting himself into deeper water.

  Clarissa took pity on him.

  ‘Well of course not, sir, such a figure I must have cut in my old work gown. Don’t give it another thought’ and she smiled her smile of this afternoon in the friendliest manner, gesturing to take his seat. As she sat down her eyes teased him; ‘Now we have both been a little embarrassed, haven’t we?’

  Mr Elfoy found himself grinning again, causing her to dimple merrily. Good goodness, he thought, I am undone. How perfect she is and how I know I must not think such things about my employer.

  Oriana noted with amusement that her entrance had passed the young man by. Although not a conceited girl, she was nevertheless used to drawing male eyes – and what superior eyes Mr Elfoy possessed. And was it possible that Clarissa was flirting? The burns from the hot iron still smarted on Oriana’s hands, for Clarissa had urged her maid and Oriana to make haste upstairs and twisted and turned whist it was being done. When finally it was finished she had looked into the mirror appreciatively. ‘Now at least I shall not be taken for a servant.’

  Oriana had replied, ‘No, indeed.’

  She now exchanged amused glances with Miss Micklethwaite who was still reeling at the change in Clarissa. One glance at the handsome young agent was quite enough quite enough to explain her friend’s behaviour.

  Clarissa and he discussed the estate, with Oriana called to participate, asking questions that Mr Elfoy saw at once to be apposite and full of knowledge that he had not believed young ladies to possess. Indeed he was stunned by how much of what was said that Clarissa grasped and he was hopeful that, at last, a good landlord might put the estate to rights.

  ‘The truth is, Mr Elfoy, that all of what you say needs done must be done from what revenues we now have. I bring no money to help with any of this,’ said Clarissa with her usual candour, ‘Perhaps you believe it cannot be done?’

  Mr Elfoy blushed again, to his own irritation. ‘There may be some help with this, Miss Thorne, but we must act fast. Of course, it will not cover all the repairs and improvements, but…’

  Oriana laughed, ‘For goodness sake, sir, we are all agog. What is it?’

  ‘The Dower House: it has been well looked after by an aunt of the previous Viscount and is now vacant. If you would not object to a tenant, Ma’am, I believe that the rent might allow us to begin. The last Viscount would not have tenants since he liked to have his, well his privacy….’

  ‘Don't be mealy-mouthed, young man,’ interrupted Miss Micklethwaite, ‘we all know what a libertine the late Viscount was. We can imagine that he did not want his – pleasures - to be overlooked by the world.’

  ‘Indeed, yes,’ said Clarissa, ‘my late cousin seems to have been a strange person - but never mind that. Let it be a tenant sir, and as soon as maybe. We shall leave the matter entirely in your hands. Do call tomorrow and ride with Miss Petersham and myself aroun
d the estate, I shall be most obliged if you could introduce me to the tenant farmers.’

  As Mr Elfoy left with a singing heart, Clarissa began to be teased by her companions. She did not attend, however. She had thought that she had just wanted to play a trick on Mr Elfoy, but she discovered that his obvious admiration had had an effect on her as did his easy grin and his sense of the ridiculous. Never had she felt so - so elevated in the presence of a young man. She knew, however, that it would be wrong to think of him. Their situations were very different. Though as a gentleman’s son of small means he might have been a proper suitor for her six months ago, he would no longer feel himself equal to court the lady of the manor. It was unfortunate, but her mind was too full of the tasks ahead to feel much pain.

  Chapter 6

  Settling In

  In the days that followed, a pattern developed. Clarissa and Oriana rode on the estate with Mr Elfoy, meeting her tenants and Miss Micklethwaite and Miss Appleby set to on the linen and the hot houses making energetic use of their time. The girls that had been employed to help had never worked so hard and soon order began to be established and portions of the house polished and shone as it had in its glory days. They banished tired and damaged furniture to the attics and discovered beautiful pieces in the plethora of upstairs rooms to replace them.

  When Clarissa evinced a desire for the grounds (at least those immediately around the house) to be put to rights, Mr Elfoy led her to meet Muggins, a tenant farmer on the estate whose father had directed the regiment of gardeners in her uncle’s time.

  Oriana, a little behind Clarissa and Mr Elfoy saw a strong square man with a look of defiance on his face and wondered if trouble might not come. He was a broad, fiercely strong man in his twenties wearing a striped shirt that was frayed but had been put on clean this morning. The yard had a well-kept look to it and Oriana deduced a good tenant. So what was making his good blunt face so dark?