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Lady Fanny, who had begun to twist the tiny handkerchief between her fingers, caught his look and gave a small sob.
“Sometimes I think you’re heartless! What on earth am I to do?”
Ignoring her outburst, Sir Edgar lowered his eyes once more to the letter he was reading, one hand going up every now and then to tug at his whiskers.
“So she’s gone to find peace and the right frame of mind in an—what in blazes is this word? An ashram? Ah yes, here we are; this Mrs. Leacock had the goodness to explain. Some kind of Hindu retreat. I must say, Fan, the girl sounds just as eccentric as her grandfather was! Queer in the attic, if you ask me. What’s an Englishwoman doing alone in a place like that?”
“You know very well what Mrs. Leacock told us in her last letter! Rowena has been allowed to grow up as wild as a—a gypsy! Completely undisciplined. She’s had no formal schooling, and she refused to make friends with children her own age. Mrs. Leacock says it was a scandal! And there was that Indian prince she used to see constantly, until the bishop put a stop to it. Edgar!”
He had begun to smile. “Only thinking that perhaps the chit takes after you, after all, Fan! Still pretty, if you’d stop your frowning and your crying. Indian prince, eh? Maybe that’s the solution. Get her married off.”
“What can you be thinking of? She cannot marry an Indian, a—a native! Oh, Edgar, I don’t think I can stand another scandal! And besides, Rowena’s still a child!”
“Child? The gal’s eighteen, isn’t she? That’s hardly a child. You were married long before then.” Sir Edgar’s voice became bluff. “Now look, Fan, no use going into a dither. This Leacock woman, who seems to know everything, says the chit has not much money of her own; and they’re scouring the countryside for her. Says they’ll pack her back here as soon as they find her. She’s under age, isn’t she? Have to do as she’s told, like it or not, and you’re her guardian, unless Guy turns up. And we both know why he daren’t, don’t we?” He gave his wife a significant look.
“But…”
“Now look here, Fan, like it or not, we’re going to have to take her in, if she arrives, if only to stop the gossip. Can’t turn her out, can we, since you’re her mother? It’s plain to see she needs discipline. We’ll send her off to a finishing school, and then get her married. Provide a dowry myself, if I have to.”
“But we don’t know what she’s like!” Lady Fanny’s voice quivered with emotion. “He’s turned her against me. I know he has. He was such a horrid, hard old man. I was always terrified of him!”
“He’s gone. And the girl will come to heel, once she’s learned I’m not going to stand any nonsense. You’ll see.”
Presently Sir Edgar went off to his club, and Lady Fanny recovered herself sufficiently to order the carriage so that she might go shopping.
She left the letter, in her usual careless fashion, lying on top of a welter of spilled powder and half-empty perfume bottles on top of her dressing table.
“Will you look at this, Mrs. Jenks?” Adams, who was Lady Fanny’s personal maid and had attended her for ten years, was the only servant who considered herself an equal of the rather austere housekeeper, who had been in Sir Edgar’s service for even longer—before he married, as she was fond of reminding the other members of the staff belowstairs.
“Another letter from India—and about the same thing, I’ll be bound. That daughter of hers. My lady was crying, when I came up to dress her hair. And it’s no wonder she’s upset! Fancy having a child you never wanted turning up after all these years—and grown up into a regular hoyden, from all accounts. If you ask me,” and Adams dropped her voice conspiratorially, “the girl’s no good. Just like her father. It’s in the blood, I heard her say to Sir Edgar when that last letter arrived. All the Dangerfields were a little bit mad, she said, and this daughter, this Miss Rowena…”
“It’s Lady Rowena now, and you’d better not go forgetting it, hoyden or not,” Mrs. Jenks said sourly, as she picked up the letter.
She was fortunate in being able to read, Adams thought enviously as she watched the housekeeper’s sharp black eyes scan the crumpled sheets of paper.
“Well, do tell!” she said at last, and Mrs. Jenks’s mouth pursed itself tightly.
“She’s run away. By herself.”
“She has?”
“But they’ve sent soldiers to fetch her back, and this lady who wrote the letter says they’ll put her on a ship bound for England as soon as they find her.”
“No!” Adams breathed. “Poor Lady Fanny. What will she do with her, a daughter like that? So wild!”
“Sir Edgar will tame her. He won’t stand any nonsense, I can tell you that.”
“What else does it say? Surely that can’t be all, such a lo
ng letter like that?”
Unwillingly, Mrs. Jenks produced a pair of spectacles from her pocket and put them on. The truth was that she was just as curious as Adams was. The last letter from India, breaking the news of the old earl’s death and his granddaughter’s waywardness had sent Lady Fanny into hysterics for days. This one seemed just as startling.
Run away indeed! Mrs. Jenks thought to herself. A likely story. A girl so used to gallivanting all by herself around the Indian countryside, and consorting with natives. Mrs. Leacock was a bishop’s wife, and very likely was only trying to spare Lady Fanny the worst of the story, although she had seemed to go into some detail regarding the girl’s behavior at the beginning. English-born or not, it was clear that Lady Rowena had been brought up just like a foreigner, or worse, if one read between the lines.
“Well, do go on, Mrs. Jenks!” Adams leaned over the housekeeper’s shoulder, breathing heavily. “It surely can’t be that bad—can it?” Her voice sounded hopeful, and Mrs. Jenks gave her a cold look.
“It says she’s a hard, arrogant girl who won’t listen to what anyone has to say. Mrs. Leacock says she was rude to anyone who tried to advise her, even when they all went around to the house to comfort her. Told them to—” here Mrs. Jenkins paused to lick her lips, “told them to go to the devil, is what she did! And in a house of mourning, too. Told them they were all a bunch of narrow-minded hypocrites, that her grandfather had never liked them, and she didn’t either. Shocked them all by producing a letter that said he wanted to be cremated, just like one of them heathen Hindus!” When Mrs. Jenks was agitated her grammar tended to slip.
