Agnes Or The Art 0f Friendship Page 8

  He looked sideways at her as she continued to shake with laughter and smiled so that, although he looked like a skeleton, she saw something of his former charm.

  “You are an angel – but only a small one unfortunately – and I am still much bigger than you. Have you no menservants?”

  “No; well, only the groom. You had better fetch him, Jess.”

  The maid ran out of the room and Agnes pulled the eiderdown off the bed and wrapped it around him.

  “Did the fall hurt you?” she asked anxiously. “I hope you have not broken any bones.”

  “No; you are small but soft; I am not hurt at all but I should think you might be. I have no flesh with which to cushion the sharp bits.”

  “No,” she agreed, sitting back on her heels and contemplating him with a sympathetic eye. “I should imagine I will be bruised from head to toe but no matter. It was my fault; I should not have dragged you like that. Have you no man?” she added, frowning.

  “A man? Why should I have one? I have not been an officer; I have been a ‘man’, as you put it, myself.”

  “It must have been very hard,” she said gently. She had no idea what ‘men’ did as opposed to officers but, when she asked if he had one, she had meant a valet.

  “No,” he said, understanding. “I take it you mean a valet; yes, I was used to have one in the old days. I sent him away when I joined up; soldiers, simple soldiers without a commission, do everything for themselves and I had grown used to managing until I became so ill. In the hospital there were male and female nurses who dressed my wounds and washed me. I hardly noticed, to tell the truth, because I was so exceedingly ill. When I got a little better from the initial injury, I caught this damned illness – from an insect which bit me, I believe, although they are not often to be found so far south as we were. I begin to suspect that, if there is any ill fortune to be had, it will find me; I can only hope it has not followed me back here for you do not, so far as I can see at present, deserve such misfortune.”

  “No one does. How long have you been ill?”

  “I hardly know; several weeks before they gave up on me and decided to ship me home. I think I was expected to die on the journey, which would have saved them the trouble of digging a grave – they could simply have thrown me overboard. But, oddly enough, I have survived this far and now think it entirely possible that I will continue to live for a few more months - or perhaps even years. I would not have troubled my mother – and certainly not you – if I could have avoided it but, since I am plainly unable to look after myself, I was taken back to Armitage Hall. It was only when we arrived that I discovered that my father had died and it had been let. Fortunately the tenants knew my mother’s direction and, after another uncomfortable journey, here I am with my trunk full of stinking clothes.”

  “They can be washed,” Agnes pointed out.

  “So, I suppose, can I,” he agreed, “if you can find someone to do it for I cannot. Do you think your groom could take on the duties of a valet for a day or two while a real one is sought?”

  “I am not sure.” Agnes hesitated, thinking of the groom, an old man they had brought from Armitage Hall, who presumably knew the Baronet – and was perhaps attached to him.

  “You need not stay with me,” he said. “Did you not say that Mama is waiting to eat her nuncheon?”

  “Yes. What about you? Shall I have some sent up for you?”

  “Yes, please; I have had nothing but the glass of water you so kindly arranged to be brought.”

  “Goodness! Would you like some more? I can fetch that myself with no difficulty.”

  “Yes please, but there is no particular hurry. I am not going anywhere just at present and I suppose I shall not expire from thirst during the next hour or two.”

  “You sound a little disgruntled,” she said, almost teasing. “Do you feel we have not taken sufficient care of you?”

  “You have been a very paragon but I own I am a little disappointed in my mama’s reaction. I made sure she would be pleased to see me. In point of fact she looked horrified as they carried me in.”

  “She only received the letter from General Lord Somerset this morning and you followed so hard upon the heels of it that I believe she has had no time to assimilate the awful fact of your illness. And then, you know, not to beat about the bush, you do look a trifle wild.”

  “It’s the beard – horrid, I am sure. Do you know when my father died?”

  “I believe it was about five months ago – I was not acquainted with your mother then. A mutual friend introduced us quite recently. My father died at about the same time so that the friend thought that we might be able to offer each other comfort.”

  “I am sorry to hear of your father’s death. I conclude that he did not leave you well provided for?”

  “No; he was a parson and not well off.”

  “And I take it you have no living mother either?”

  “No; she died some four or five years ago – and, sadly, I have no siblings. Since my father’s death, I have been staying with a very dear friend whose family owns the big house on whose estate this cottage is situated. She suggested that your mother and I move here together when she heard that we were both, as it were, homeless.”

  “She sounds like a dear friend indeed. What is her name?”

  Agnes blushed and got to her feet.

  “What is the matter? Should I not have asked?”

  “You were bound to do so,” she admitted, “but the thing is that she told me you had once courted her.”

  “Did I? Who is she? If she lives in a big house and has a fortune, I daresay I did. I was, when I had something to offer in return, what is generally known contemptuously as a fortune-hunter. Now, I should not suppose that any woman would have me.”

  “You are still a Baronet,” she reminded him.

  “Yes, but one without access to either his house or his land. I was once considered handsome but have not that advantage either now – nor health – although I suppose that, if a woman wished to become a Baronet’s wife without liking the Baronet, she could be reassured that I would not trouble her for long.”

  “Your health will improve,” she said quite sternly, “and, when it does, I daresay your looks will return too.”

  “Perhaps. Have you a suggestion for how I might repossess my house and land too?” he asked with a sardonic lift of the brow.

  “No; I suppose you will have to get a job.”

  “As you have. I did; I joined the army but that has not worked out very well. Who is the young woman who rejected me? There have been a number.”

  “I do not think she would like me to divulge her name,” Agnes said with an embarrassed look for she remembered how reluctant Louisa had been to run the risk of his recognising her when he arrived.

  “Is she afraid I might renew my suit? I will not; she is perfectly safe. How do you know her?”

  “We were at school together.”

  “Is she the daughter of a cit? Many heiresses are. If so, I daresay, she would have been the butt of most of the other high-nosed females at your seminary. It would not surprise me if you were the only child who did not look down upon her on account of her father.”

  “She is a good person – generous and kind and does not deserve to be despised,” Agnes said repressively, “and handsome besides.”

  “Really? That is by no means common amongst heiresses. Clearly I missed an opportunity there.”

  “It sounds to me as if you look down on her too,” Agnes said with a strong look of disapproval.

  “I don’t doubt I did, but the boot will be on the other leg now. Does she know I have a younger brother? She might prefer him. He is a very upright sort of a man – a very paragon - although not, of course, a Baronet unless I succeed in dying after all.”

  Agnes doubted that the younger son was such an exemplar for, in the time since she had come to live with Lady Armitage, Charles had not once visited his mother, but she said nothing and was glad
to see Paul, the groom, darken the doorway.

  Paul, for his part, was delighted that his master had returned to the bosom of his family, if not precisely safe and well, at least alive. Agnes marvelled at the ability of the servant to display such touching loyalty – and indeed affection – to one whose conduct had separated him from the rest of the stable staff, caused him to suffer a cut in his wages and left him in charge of only two second-rate horses and an extremely old and rickety carriage.

  She waited, standing discreetly by the window, until Sir John had been lifted off the floor, carried into her bedroom and stretched upon the bed, when she returned and drew the covers over him, smoothing the sheet and tucking in the blankets.

  “Thank you,” he said politely. “You can go and eat your nuncheon now while I talk about masculine matters with Paul.”

  “Very well. I will ask Jess to bring up something for you to eat. Is there anything you cannot manage, sir?”

  “Do you mean have I still enough teeth to chew or am I reduced to eating slops?”

  “I meant that perhaps, in your weakened state, you might not wish to eat bread and cheese.”

  “Is that what you have for nuncheon these days? I suppose I can manage it and, if you have any apples, I would like one.”

  When she reached the morning room, she found Lady Armitage had gone into the garden.

  “I am sorry I have been so long, my lady. I wanted to see Sir John comfortably settled before I came down.”

  “And is he – comfortably settled?” her ladyship asked in a bleak tone, turning an anguished face upon her companion.

  “Yes, I think so. He has requested some nuncheon be sent up so I will inform Jess.”

  “Cook had better find some arrowroot, I suppose,” Lady Armitage said. “I am not sure we have any; Jess had better go out to purchase some.”

  “He seemed to think he could eat what we have,” Agnes told her, “and particularly requested an apple.”

  “Oh! I should not think he could! We do not want to make him worse! I will speak to Mrs White.” Lady Armitage hurried inside and this time it was Agnes who lingered in the garden waiting for her nuncheon. She thought it best to stay out there where she could not smell the bread or see the cheese for she was becoming exceedingly hungry.

  Chapter 10

  When Lady Armitage returned from her colloquy with the cook, the two women sat down and picked at the nuncheon which both had so longed to eat but which, when it came to the point, neither found they could swallow. They left the morning room and took themselves to the saloon whose pale blue walls and striped curtains had given them so much pleasure when they first moved in.

  “What is to be done with him?” Lady Armitage asked, probably rhetorically for there was little reason for her to suppose that Agnes would know the answer.

  “I am persuaded he will soon grow better if he has plenty of good food and takes enough rest,” Agnes said with a brightness she did not feel. “The English country air must be more restorative than what he has endured on board ship. I hope Louisa has not forgotten to send for the doctor. Do you think I should go out myself to find him?”

  “We do not know where he lives,” Lady Armitage objected. “I suppose you could go and ask Louisa. But you may as well wait for another hour or so.”

  The opportunity for escape having been denied, both women fell into an uneasy silence, the elder because she was conscious that a devoted mother should be ministering to her child, the younger because she was thinking the same thing but did not feel it her place to mention it.

  Lady Armitage picked up her tatting and began, clumsily, to continue with her work. Agnes looked longingly at her sketchpad.

  Her ladyship said, “Pray continue with your drawing if you would like.”

  “Thank you. I own I find it soothing.”

  She fetched her equipment and bent her head over the paper. As on several other occasions, her occupation gave the other the opportunity to speak without feeling intimidated by the intense regard of her listener. When Agnes was gainfully employed with her pencil and Lady Armitage with her tatting, neither was obliged to stare meaningfully at the other, a situation which made it easier for either or both to open her heart.

  “I own I find the sight of John so appalling that I cannot bring myself to go upstairs to be with him. I know that is a cruel and unnatural reaction but he looks – he has clearly suffered greatly – and is still suffering, I suppose,” she finished on a desolate note.

  “I gained the impression that he was pleased to be home, as it were,” Agnes essayed tentatively.

  “Did you? Was he not horrified by not being at home and shocked by the size of this dwelling?”

  “I don’t know that he noticed particularly although of course he cannot have failed to be aware of the shortage of bedrooms.”

  “You have given him yours? I own I am uncomfortable with that.”

  “Why?”

  “He does not deserve it!”

  “But I could not allow you to give up yours! Do you mean that he deserves better or that he does not merit a room at all?” Agnes asked, rather shocked. “For, if you mean that it is too good for him, I cannot agree. He is the Baronet and must have expected to be in his own chamber at the Hall. The one he has now must be vastly inferior to that.”

  “I do not think he does merit a room,” Lady Armitage continued in a low voice. “It is, after all, his conduct which has forced us all to live in a hovel, for that is what this is no matter how prettily the walls are painted.”

  Agnes said nothing, affecting to be too busy with her pencil to find an answer, but she thought this an unnecessarily harsh judgment.

  “You think that an unnatural opinion for a mother to hold,” Lady Armitage said.

  Agnes once more did not reply but this time utilised her eraser with some vigour.

  Her ladyship watched the younger woman’s movements and said, “I suppose you think I should retract what I just said.”

  “No; if that is what you feel, it is not my place to tell you any such thing or indeed to express a judgment upon the matter. All I will say, though, is that I am persuaded you are searching for a moral reason to explain your reluctance to be beside your son when very likely the real one is much simpler.”

  “I cannot bear to look at him,” her ladyship repeated.

  “But that, unless I have got it all wrong, is because you cannot endure to see your child so low; it is my belief that your reluctance has nothing to do with Sir John’s conduct and everything to do with his appearance, which is, I own, ghastly – and I had no previous knowledge of him.”

  “He was so handsome!” the mother cried.

  “He still is,” Agnes said, busily shading.

  “What? You think him handsome? How can you?”

  “Because he is, dear Lady Armitage. His beauty is in the symmetry of his features - in his bones – and he still has them; indeed he has not much else.” She thought of the sharpness of them when he had lain on top of her but decided that there was no need to apprise her employer of this unfortunate event. She went on, “He will be vastly improved when he has been washed and shaved properly. I left him with Paul as he is the only manservant we have. I wonder if perhaps we should attempt to engage a valet to see to those personal matters which neither you nor I are quite suited to perform.”

  “Yes, I suppose we should; but how would we go about such a thing?”

  “I am hoping that Paul might be able to set us in the right direction. Otherwise, I suppose we could ask Louisa; after all, she has a father who presumably knows about such things.”

  “Or perhaps Charles will be able to help. According to Louisa, he will be here within the next few days.”

  “He will be bound to be able to do something but I was thinking that Sir John needs that sort of attention as soon as possible.”

  “Good God! You were up there for ages – does he smell excessively unpleasant?” the mother asked.

  “Rather �
� and I am sure it will not help his recovery. He was wounded too and – I do not know – but, if that is not altogether healed, it will need to be kept clean.”

  “Oh dear! Oh dear! Is there no end to the difficulties that we must deal with on our own?”

  “I do not suppose there is, my lady. I have come to the conclusion that life is a series of challenges which one must surmount – rather as though one were climbing an almost endless staircase. Pray do not despair! He kept thanking me for everything so that I am convinced he is not as bad as he may, in the past, have been judged.”

  “Thanked you? Good God, he has never thanked me – or his father – in his life!”

  “I am sorry to hear that but it must be something of a comfort to know that he does at least know that expressing gratitude – particularly perhaps to his inferiors – is not by any means beyond him.”

  “You seem to have formed an astonishingly good opinion of him,” the older woman observed in a puzzled voice.

  Agnes blushed and kept her head lowered over her picture. She said, “I feel sorry for him. Also, between you, you and Louisa had painted such a very black picture of him that the reality was almost bound to be a pleasant surprise.”

  “If you can spare me from sitting for a few minutes,” Lady Armitage said humbly, “I will go upstairs now and endeavour to – to look more favourably upon him. Of course I am glad he is safely home – although this is not precisely ‘home’ is it?”

  “I am convinced it will become so – in time.” Agnes laid down her pencil and rose. “While you are upstairs I believe I will take a walk.”

  She did not, however, get far because, having run upstairs to fetch her shawl and bonnet and having been obliged to hunt through a pile of her clothes which Jess had not yet found time to put away in her new room, it was some ten minutes later that she reached the front door only to be confronted by a middle-aged man with a medical bag in the very act of raising his fist to knock upon the door.