Lady Elizabeth's Comet Read online

  No one had thought of him as the heir to an earldom, including, one supposed, himself. My father had despised his. I could recall Papa speaking of Thomas Conway only once. On the occasion of Uncle William's burial my aunt, Lady Whitby, was so tactless as to ask Papa who was heir now.

  I expected Papa to explode. He looked for a moment as if he might, then shrugged and said indifferently, "Henry's brat and after him Willoughby Conway-Gore, but it won't come to that." Papa turned to Willoughby. "Well, boy, what d'ye say to that?"

  Willoughby took a pinch of snuff one-handed. "That I ought to make my cousin's acquaintance." The remark drew a smile. Willoughby was an urbane man, a Pink of the Ton, and a great favourite with my father.

  Papa said, "I shipped the brat off to the army at seventeen. Short of outright assassination that's the best I can do for you, my boy."

  That provoked general laughter, chiefly because we were all relieved to see Papa pulling out of the dismals.

  When my father died, his heir, far from being respectably with the Army of Occupation in France, was found to be employed in a menial capacity--as estate agent to another nobleman. We didn't know which nobleman, but the title was recent--a shipping magnate, some said, or a brewer. I favoured the brewer myself.

  "Only think, my dears. Ledgers! Accounts! Rents! One almost wishes his new lordship had taken to gaming or whoring like his father. At least those are noble vices." That was Willoughby, his nose out of joint. I hope I wasn't so unreasonable, but I, too, felt a stir of revulsion for Thomas Conway.

  * * * *

  "May I speak with you of your sisters?" His bourgeois lordship spoke sharply, as if he had had to repeat the question.

  I started back to the present. I had been wondering if Lord Clanross slept in the accounts room because he felt at home there. "Er, my sisters?" I have seven sisters, all told.

  "Lady Jean and Lady Margaret."

  "Oh. To be sure. Do you wish to meet them?" I kept my annoyance in control with an effort. Why hadn't he asked to see them yesterday?

  "I'd like to discuss their education with you. Lady Katherine told me they have no governess."

  "At the moment," I snapped. Thank you very much, Kitty dear. Kitty, Lady Kinnaird, had the three youngest with her in Scotland. "Jean and Maggie are a trifle lively. Which is why Kitty got rid of them."

  Clanross's brows, really his most expressive feature, rose.

  "Kitty thought I might be able to deal with them better than she," I added in colourless tones. "I have tried...am trying. M. Leblanc tutors them in French, and they go twice a week to Squire Vernon's, where they take dancing lessons with his daughters."

  "And French and dancing seem to you sufficient accomplishments for young ladies?"

  I believed I detected a sneer--in his eyebrows. I bristled again. "Of course not. My bookroom is well stocked with improving works. The girls are encouraged to read, and the rector hears their catechism."

  "Religion, novels, French, and dancing."

  Put that way it did sound meagre. "Maggie and Jean have not yet been in my charge for six months."

  "Haven't you been able to find a suitable governess in that time?"

  "I've tried." I was really nettled by then. "I do have other matters to deal with."

  Lord Clanross did not move from his station near the door. "Perhaps, if they're an inconvenience to you, Lady Margaret and Lady Jean should be sent to a school."

  I thought of Thomas Conway's bourgeois connexions and responded, with too much heat, "To a Dissenting Academy where they'd be taught religious enthusiasm and accounts? What a wonderful idea."

  The corners of his mouth twitched as if he were repressing a grin. Or perhaps not. He did not seem overendowed with humour. "That would prove a novel experiment."

  I cooled down a bit. "The ladies of the family are educated at home. So, for that matter, are the boys, until they are ready for Oxford."

  "Then it behooves you to set up a proper schoolroom. Soon."

  "You're in a tearing hurry."

  "Yes," he said, very flat. "I want the matter settled as soon as possible." He still had not moved from his post near the door.

  "Very well. Anne, my sister, Anne Featherstonehaugh, that is, will be back in London by now. I'll write at once and ask her to choose another governess."

  "And I'll direct my man of business to enquire into suitable schools."

  I stared at him. The grey eyes met mine without a hint of amusement. He wasn't joking.

  "What does Mr. Brown know of the sort of establishment that would suit an earl's daughters?"

  "Are you of the opinion they should associate only with earls' daughters? A rather narrow social circle."

  "I meant nothing of the sort. They dance with Squire Vernon's children now. Nevertheless, their condition isn't common, and they'll learn to deal with it best at home." I added, again betrayed into excessive heat, "What do you know of such matters? If you went into the army at seventeen, your education can't have been very thorough."

  He said evenly, "Perhaps I've had reason to regret that. In any case, I won't be responsible for the lack of an adequate education in any child I'm charged with."

  I wondered if Papa had had anything to do with Thomas Conway's education. Papa had certainly bought the man's--boy's--commission. I felt myself treading deep water and groped for a rejoinder. "Then you wish the girls to be taught logarithms and Greek..."

  "If it suits them," he snapped. "Good God, Lady Elizabeth, a woman of your accomplishments can surely not be indifferent to the education of her own sisters. Or do you perhaps consider yourself a nonpareil?"

  I blinked at him, dumbfounded.

  I ought to have been angry, I daresay, for he was clearly goading me, but his left-handed compliment was so unexpected I could only gape.

  My scholarly bent had never been considered a thing to boast of. Kitty and Anne, my married sisters, had always claimed my bluestocking ways frightened off all my suitors. That wasn't quite true. I had had suitors enough. Nevertheless, I'd always assumed I was odd. Had I begun to pride myself on my oddity? Nonsense. The man was merely trying to catch me off balance.

  I took a mental breath and said, in carefully reasonable tones, "Let's not come to cuffs, my lord. I have concerned myself with the girls' education, but you'll allow that their driving off three governesses in four months was a trifle discouraging. I'll have Anne send governesses from London in relays, if you like."

  "One will do." He seemed to consider the matter closed, and I took my leave of him at once.

  Formidable was the word. Hostile? I couldn't tell. We'd have to deal with him. At that I began to feel real fear, an emotion I rarely acknowledge.

  Clanross had no hold over me. I had the house and the income Papa had left me for life. There was nothing Clanross could do to harm me. Maggie and Jean? I had lived with them so short a time I felt only a mild affection for them. I still could not always tell them apart. Why fear, then? I did not know, but the feeling oppressed me all the way down the long, frosty path to the Dower House.

  Chapter 3

  In the next week we did not suffer further visits from Lord Clanross. The weather was uncommonly fine, so I worked a great deal at the telescope and lay abed until noon. Anne writ me that she would try to find a governess intrepid enough to put up with the twins, a retired admiral perhaps, and how did I like his preposterous lordship?

  I did not like his lordship at all, but I found him far from preposterous. The thought of having to deal with him forever sent me into the dismals. Fortunately, my nebulosity was troublesome enough to occupy most of my waking hours, and I thought of Clanross as seldom as possible. He kept his curtain carefully drawn at night, so I had no need--or inclination--to confront him.

  The week passed. Maggie took a cold and was sent to bed, with Alice and my old nurse hovering over her. Jean wandered about underfoot and finally took to spending long hours off by herself somewhere. She appeared for meals looking rosy, so she must have b
een enjoying herself.

  The post brought letters from Mr. Brown, full of particulars of three Select Seminaries for Young Ladies, all of which sounded dreary, and from Anne, who writ glumly that she was sending one Miss Bluestone to me at the beginning of the month. She also enquired as to where I planned to spend Christmas this year.

  As Kitty had charge of my three youngest half-sisters, I supposed I ought to go up to Scotland, but I didn't want to. I meant to stay right where I was and continue to scan the spacious firmament on high so long as it was in a cooperative mood. Surely Alice could take the twins to Scotland. I hoped Clanross would leave, because if he were still in residence over the holidays I could not, in propriety, remain in the Dower House alone. I did see that.

  That night was clear as crystal and my observations so satisfying that on the next morning I woke early--earlier, I should say--and full of good spirits. Arming myself with Anne's letter, I decided to make a call on Clanross. Let him hear of my efficiency at once, and let Mr. Brown's Select Seminaries go hang.

  I twindled along cheerily, my cheeks stinging in the icy air. As I began the long ascent past Papa's ornamental water, I fancied I heard someone call and stopped to listen. Imagination. I took the path that skirted the lake on the edge of the wood. For a short space I was out of sight of the Palladian mass of Brecon. I might almost have been alone in Arcadia. I stopped to admire the solitude.

  "Lizzie! Liz, help me!"

  It was Jean. She burst from the woods, wide-eyed and breathless from running, her bonnet dangling and her cloak rent.

  I gaped.

  "Help me, Liz. He's dead!" She began to sob.

  I shook her. "Stop that at once. Who's dead?"

  "Clanross. He t-told me to fetch Sims--that's his man, I think--and then he just f-fell down. He's dead, Lizzie."

  "You must be mistaken, my dear." I studied her. Her distress was genuine. "Where is he?"

  "Miles and miles," she wailed, despairing. "Near the home farm wall."

  "Come along, then, and don't cry. Show me." I set off down the overgrown path and she trotted after. She sniffed as she went and gave an occasional sob. The story came out in short gasps.

  In the days since Maggie had been confined to bed Jean had taken to wandering the woods. The previous morning she had met Clanross by chance near the lake, and they had fallen into conversation. "He's a twin, too, Liz. Did you know that?"

  "No. Good heavens."

  "But his sister's been dead a long time. I was worried about Maggie." She took a breath and trotted on. "Hurry, Liz."

  I stepped up my pace. "You were worried about Maggie? Darling, it's just a cold."

  "I know, but what if it weren't?" She took the lead now, tugging at me, half running. "He listened to me and I liked him, and what if he's dead?"

  "People don't die of nothing, Jeanie." She was ahead of me, almost out of sight in the brush, so my profound comment fell on deaf ears. Feeling more than a little foolish, I picked up my skirts and began to run. "Jean, wait!"

  She stopped, dancing with impatience. "It's not far now."

  It wasn't as far as it seemed. Finally we reached the end of the trees. At first I did not see Lord Clanross. When Jean pointed to the grey splotch of his cloak, I began to run in earnest.

  He was crumpled, face down and still, in the weedy debris at the edge of the wall. An insect crawled across his cheek.

  I knelt, panting, and brushed it off with my gloved hand. He seemed to have fallen without an effort to stop himself, for his legs and arms stuck out at odd angles. A marionette with the strings cut. His stillness appalled me.

  I tore off my gloves and sought a pulse. His hands and face felt ominously cold. Jean began to sob again.

  "Be still!" I laid my ear to his back and fancied I heard a heartbeat, but my own heart was thumping so loudly I couldn't be sure. I loosened his cloak ties and pulled the heavy garment off.

  "Look!"

  Jean knelt and touched his bottle-green jacket below the left shoulder blade. Her fingers came away red.

  "He's been shot," I said stupidly. I sat back on my heels, staring at the stain that glistened through the dark cloth.

  "No! H-how could he be? I'd've heard the gun. We were just t-talking about my watercolours, and he said, 'Lady Jean, will you please not ask questions. Fetch Sims for me.' Then I think he said, 'Tell him this time...' and I didn't catch the rest. He just f-fell. I tried to pull him up, but he was too still and heavy. So I r-ran."

  I touched the dark stain gingerly. It was wet and sticky, and it seemed to have spread. I took a breath. "At least we know he's alive. He's still bleeding. Jean, you will have to run now. I ought not to have made you come back with me. Go straight to the servants' entrance, or the stables if you see someone there. Tell them Lord Clanross has been shot. Insist on seeing Sims. When Sims comes, tell him to send Jem or John Coachman to fetch Mr. Wharton in the gig from Hazeldell and to be quick about it. Then tell Sims to bring a hurdle and bearers. You'll have to guide them. Clanross must be moved to shelter directly. Do you understand that, Jean?"

  "Mr. Wharton. Hazeldell. Hurdles." She gulped and nodded.

  "Then run. Now."

  She hiked her skirt and bounded away like a deer.

  In the silence I became exceedingly conscious of my isolation. Someone had shot Clanross in the back. What if the villain were lurking nearby ready to finish what he had begun? I started to shiver and brought myself sternly to heel. A fit of the vapours was not called for. What was called for was something to stop the bleeding. Ruthlessly I ripped Clanross's muslin cravat from his neck and folded it into a pad.

  No. I ought to lift his face from the bracken first. He might breathe in some of the loose debris and choke. If he were still breathing. Grimly I lifted his head far enough to slip the cloak beneath it.

  I looked about, removed my petticoat, and began tearing it into strips. It was exasperatingly well made, but it finally tore. Then I reached under his right arm and felt for the buttons of his jacket. Drat the man. He was wearing a waistcoat. I fumbled at the smaller buttons, uttering unladylike words, and contrived to loosen them, too.

  For a man thin to the point of emaciation, Clanross was remarkably heavy. A deadweight. The ugly phrase stuck in my head, and I yanked the jacket and waistcoat down from his right shoulder, almost frantic. What if I weren't in time? His limp arm resisted my efforts, but I finally forced the jacket sleeve and waistcoat off.

  The back of his shirt from the shoulder blades down was brown with drying blood. I jerked the shirttail out and bared the flesh. Perhaps the cold air on his skin stung him to life, for he groaned and muttered something. I spoke to him, but he had fainted again. It was hard to see where the wound lay.

  I took the frayed edge of my petticoat and wiped the blood off, exposing several unpleasant scars and a hideous bruise. At the center of the bruise a small, innocent-looking slit in the skin--fairly near the ridge of his spine--oozed fresh blood as I dabbed at it. It didn't look like a gunshot wound, or rather, as I had imagined a gunshot wound to look. It looked like a knife cut. What could have happened?

  First things first. I placed the cravat-pad over the injury and, wrestling mightily, contrived to pass a strip of my petticoat beneath Clanross's lower chest. When I had tied this makeshift bandage in place, I watched for a time. The muslin reddened. Still bleeding but not rapidly.

  I pulled the waistcoat and jacket back over him. His skin was cold. I took my snug pelisse off rather grimly and wrapped it round him. He was probably going to die anyway, and I would perish, too--of an inflammation of the lungs. An east wind cut through the fabric of my gown like a knife.

  A knife. I rose, rubbing my arms, and began a search of the ground nearby, all the while telling myself such a thing was impossible. If the wound were a knife cut, either Jean had stabbed her guardian, which was absurd--she didn't have that strong an aversion to education--or he had stabbed himself in the middle of the back, which was impossible. My search fruitless,
I squatted miserably beside Clanross and listened to my teeth chatter. Where was Jean? Where was Sims?

  Clanross stirred. I held my breath, listening, but the movement must have been involuntary. I touched his cold, sinewy hand. Should I chafe it? It couldn't hurt. I began rubbing. At least the activity warmed me. His lordship continued unconscious.

  Chapter 4

  How long I shivered and hunched beside Clanross I don't know. It seemed forever before I heard crashing noises from the wood and Jean's voice piping, "He's over here. Do hurry!" and an answering rumble that turned out to be the man Sims.

  Sims was efficient and matter-of-fact. He had his master bundled in rugs and borne off up the path on a hurdle by two scared but excited grooms in no time at all.

  "Don't be jolting 'im now, lads. Easy does it."

  I picked up my abandoned pelisse, which was bloodsmeared, and donned it with shaking fingers.

  "Kind of you, me lady."

  "I couldn't very well let him freeze," I snapped, and trudged along behind Jean and in front of Sims, red-Indian style. The path was narrow. "I daresay you should set the men to search for whoever did it, Sims, though I must say it doesn't look like a gunshot wound to me. Jean heard no shot."

  He gave a short bark of laughter. "'E were shot, right enough, me lady, but you'll not find the culprits wot did it in England."

  "I don't know what you're talking about." I stumbled over a loose branch.

  He took my elbow efficiently and dropped it as soon as I steadied. "The major was wounded when we crossed into France, me lady. That's three years gone. Took part of a charge of cannister in the left side, see. Cut up 'is arm somewhat and bust four ribs. Bits of bone and brass went sliding on round 'is ribs and come out 'is back. Leastways most of 'em come out. Some didn't."

  I was silent, reflecting. "Then he's bleeding because one of the metal or bone fragments is cutting its way out?"