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“You’re an absolute trump, Aunt Fenella!”
And just like that, one could bask in a male’s unalloyed admiration, she thought. Simply offer a boy a place to keep his snakes.
But matters were not so simple. When they reached Clough House they found Wrayle lurking in the front hall. John’s dour attendant, pinched and disapproving, looked like a scarecrow dressed as a valet. He surged forward when they came in. “Master Sherrington went out without permission,” he said to Fenella.
“I was visiting at Chatton Castle,” said her nephew.
Though she could see that this address impressed Wrayle, it didn’t change his position. “He did not inform me,” the man said to Fenella. “I am to accompany him on any outings.” His expression was smug, even a bit contemptuous. Clearly, he expected Fenella to take his side.
Wrayle had not made himself popular with the household. More than just his air of aggrieved superiority, he took liberties. Fenella had had complaints. She’d been planning to deal with him, though not looking forward to it. “A stable boy accompanied John,” she said, slightly emphasizing her nephew’s preferred form of address. “He was perfectly safe.”
“That is not thepoint,” replied Wrayle. “He requires my supervision.”
Fenella was not accustomed to such an insolent tone, not from anyone. “I don’t think he does, really,” she replied. “In fact, I think you’d best return to my sister’s home.” That would solve several problems at once. At her side, John started as if he’d been poked with a pin.
“I was engaged to attend Master Sherrington.”
“We’ll take good care of him,” Fenella said. It wasn’t as if a ten-year-old boy required a valet.
“I’m to watch him and return him to school at the end of the summer holidays,” said Wrayle. He spoke as if John was an annoying package that must be hauled around the country.
“We’ll make sure he gets there.”
“He cannot go alone.”
“Naturally not,” said Fenella. “Perhaps I’ll take him myself. John could show me his school.” She glanced at her nephew. His eyes and mouth were wide. His hands were clasped so tightly they trembled. She turned back to Wrayle. “But I’m afraid we can’t accommodate you here any longer.”
The gaunt man bridled. “You have no choice.”
Fenella’s temper was not easily roused, but this man managed it, and not for the first time. “I think you’ll find that I do,” she said.
“I’m not employed by you. You cannot dismiss me!”
“I’m not dismissing you, Wrayle. I am simply sending you back to my sister.”
Wrayle bared his teeth in a sort of snarling smile. “We’ll see aboutthat.” He turned and charged up the stairs.
“He’ll go to my grandfather,” John said. “Wrayle always toadeats the person highest in rank.”
“Of course he does.” Fenella picked up the skirts of her riding habit. “Go and ask William to come to your grandfather’s chamber,” she told John as she started up the steps.
Simpson the valet hovered in the doorway of her father’s room, a thin, aging figure. “That fellow Wrayle pushed his way in, miss. He shoved me!”
“I’ll speak to him.”
“I amnotaccustomed to such treatment.”
“Of course not. It won’t happen again. I’ll see to it.”
Fenella entered her father’s room, and found Wrayle leaning over the bed. He looked like a great crow poised to peck out an eye. She started to take a position opposite him, and then realized that she didn’t wish to argue with Wrayle across her father’s prostrate form. She stopped beside the door. Wrayle shot her a triumphant glance, as if he imagined he would have vengeance for her treatment of him.
“Mr. Symmes sent me,” the man said to her father. “I answer to him, and no one else.”
Her father looked peevish. Fenella knew he didn’t like dealing with domestic difficulties. He thought such things beneath him. “You can’t dismiss Sherrington’s valet, Fenella,” he said.
“Of course not, Papa.” Before Wrayle’s obvious glee could be expressed, she added, “I’m merely sending him back to Greta’s.”
“You have no right,” the valet began.
