my dear Annabel.”
“Oh, no, Florence, Miss Fell is past the age of being brought out in form and presented. She will merely visit us in London and help me take Lucy about.”
“I see. Well, child, you look to be exhausted. You had best take Richard’s arm and retire to your bed. How unfortunate that you should have had an accident at such a time.”
Miss Fell was indeed looking white and tired. She had just realized that she must spend ten days or two weeks alone with this formidable old lady, and how was she to answer the questions that must inevitably come?
Lady Annabel was not worried. Miss Carstairs was little interested in other people’s affairs and not at all inquisitive. She generally divided her time between endless petit point and the perusal of equally endless books of sermons. She was more likely to discourse on missionary work in India than on anything closer to home. Unfortunately, Lady Annabel had not thought to reassure Miss Fell on that point, and it was a nervous young woman who murmured, “Thank you, ma’am, my lady,” and took Richard’s proffered arm as instructed. With his aunt’s eye upon him, Richard did not dare to pick her up, but lent her as much support as he could to the door.
Fortunately, it was not far. As he closed the door behind them, she swayed and he turned just in time to catch her. Full of concern, he furiously, if silently, damned his aunt and picked up the burden that was becoming so familiar to him.
Miss Fell was not unconscious, merely dizzy.
“I should not have let you walk,” Richard said ruefully. “You can see how terrified I am of my aunt.”
She gave him a wavering smile.
“It is good of her to come all this way to care for me,” she replied, “but I am a little afraid of her also.”
“I shall not let her eat you,” he promised lightly.
A maid was waiting in her chamber, alerted by the butler. The bed was folded back and Richard laid Miss Fell upon it, then tucked her in. He remembered doing the same for Lucy when she was four or five, and the deed made him feel very brotherly.
“Sleep,” he ordered, “and do not let anything worry you.”
Sleepy already, she watched him leave the room and wished, very deliberately, that she had a brother like him. She could not allow herself to wish for anything more.
The following morning, Lucy popped in to see her early.
“I’ve brought you Count Casimir’s Castle , Clara,” she said after inquiring whether she had slept well. “I fear I shall not have time to read to you today. There are a thousand things to be done, for we depart tomorrow. So I will leave it for you to read.”
“Oh no, you must take it with you. Indeed, I believe that if you do not continue reading of her adventures you will lie awake nights wondering what fearful events have befallen the fair Melisande. You shall write and tell me the end of her troubles.”
“I do not see how she is to escape the wicked Count. Clara, do you think you were running from such a sinister fate?”
“I cannot think so. This, after all, is England and the nineteenth century, not Transylvania in the fifteenth. Our time is much more prosaic, I fear. I shall miss your reading, Lucy dear, and your cheerful presence. What shall I do without you?”
“Shall I bring you some other books? If you are unoccupied, my aunt may offer you her sermons, and I am sure I can find you something more amusing. I shall ask Richard if there is anything in the library you might like. What kind of reading do you prefer?”
“That is more than I can tell! Lucy, do not bother Mr. Carstairs. He must be very busy today.”
“Well, I shall tell Tony to select you some volumes.”
Miss Fell’s protests were unheeded. Lucy went off to help her mother prepare for the three-day carriage ride and several months’ absence from home. Midway through the morning she reappeared with an armful of novels and poetry, followed by Richard and Lord Denham each bearing a load of
“Oh, no, Florence, Miss Fell is past the age of being brought out in form and presented. She will merely visit us in London and help me take Lucy about.”
“I see. Well, child, you look to be exhausted. You had best take Richard’s arm and retire to your bed. How unfortunate that you should have had an accident at such a time.”
Miss Fell was indeed looking white and tired. She had just realized that she must spend ten days or two weeks alone with this formidable old lady, and how was she to answer the questions that must inevitably come?
Lady Annabel was not worried. Miss Carstairs was little interested in other people’s affairs and not at all inquisitive. She generally divided her time between endless petit point and the perusal of equally endless books of sermons. She was more likely to discourse on missionary work in India than on anything closer to home. Unfortunately, Lady Annabel had not thought to reassure Miss Fell on that point, and it was a nervous young woman who murmured, “Thank you, ma’am, my lady,” and took Richard’s proffered arm as instructed. With his aunt’s eye upon him, Richard did not dare to pick her up, but lent her as much support as he could to the door.
Fortunately, it was not far. As he closed the door behind them, she swayed and he turned just in time to catch her. Full of concern, he furiously, if silently, damned his aunt and picked up the burden that was becoming so familiar to him.
Miss Fell was not unconscious, merely dizzy.
“I should not have let you walk,” Richard said ruefully. “You can see how terrified I am of my aunt.”
She gave him a wavering smile.
“It is good of her to come all this way to care for me,” she replied, “but I am a little afraid of her also.”
“I shall not let her eat you,” he promised lightly.
A maid was waiting in her chamber, alerted by the butler. The bed was folded back and Richard laid Miss Fell upon it, then tucked her in. He remembered doing the same for Lucy when she was four or five, and the deed made him feel very brotherly.
“Sleep,” he ordered, “and do not let anything worry you.”
Sleepy already, she watched him leave the room and wished, very deliberately, that she had a brother like him. She could not allow herself to wish for anything more.
The following morning, Lucy popped in to see her early.
“I’ve brought you Count Casimir’s Castle , Clara,” she said after inquiring whether she had slept well. “I fear I shall not have time to read to you today. There are a thousand things to be done, for we depart tomorrow. So I will leave it for you to read.”
“Oh no, you must take it with you. Indeed, I believe that if you do not continue reading of her adventures you will lie awake nights wondering what fearful events have befallen the fair Melisande. You shall write and tell me the end of her troubles.”
“I do not see how she is to escape the wicked Count. Clara, do you think you were running from such a sinister fate?”
“I cannot think so. This, after all, is England and the nineteenth century, not Transylvania in the fifteenth. Our time is much more prosaic, I fear. I shall miss your reading, Lucy dear, and your cheerful presence. What shall I do without you?”
“Shall I bring you some other books? If you are unoccupied, my aunt may offer you her sermons, and I am sure I can find you something more amusing. I shall ask Richard if there is anything in the library you might like. What kind of reading do you prefer?”
“That is more than I can tell! Lucy, do not bother Mr. Carstairs. He must be very busy today.”
“Well, I shall tell Tony to select you some volumes.”
Miss Fell’s protests were unheeded. Lucy went off to help her mother prepare for the three-day carriage ride and several months’ absence from home. Midway through the morning she reappeared with an armful of novels and poetry, followed by Richard and Lord Denham each bearing a load of
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