AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Miss Clara!” a distant voice warbled. Clara stopped, laughing and pulling Sophia back when she tried to walk on more quickly.
“Miss Clara!” the voice said again, and at last Clara was able to determine its source: the old woman she had seen in her sitting room was shuffling towards them from the foot of the stairs, leaning heavily on a cane. Her dark, dusty clothes were rumpled, her face a wizened mask of anger.
“Yes?” Clara answered as Sophia wandered away to inspect some ornament on a nearby wall. “I’m sorry, Mrs…?”
“Miss Forsythe,” the old woman snapped, tapping her cane on the ground with frustration as she fought to catch her breath. “You—you have not—” she panted, then paused, unable to continue.
“I’m sorry, do you wish to sit so we can speak more comfortably?” Clara asked. The question was met by a furious shake of Miss Forsythe’s head.
“You—did not introduce yourself—to your chaperone. Most uncouth, young Miss,” the old woman finished laboriously. Clara glanced at Sophia, who was motioning agitatedly for them to keep moving.
“Forgive me,” Clara said with a brief curtsy to Miss Forsythe. “Clara M— St. George. A pleasure to meet you.”
It hardly seemed possible, but the withered old woman’s face wrinkled still further in response to this introduction.
“I was made to understand you are much wanting in the proprieties required of a noble daughter, baseborn though you may be,” growled Miss Forsythe. “Clearly you will need to be watched carefully, ere you carry off with the silverware.”
Clara frowned, unsure of how to respond to being spoken to in this way. Yesterday I would have simply given her a “yes, Madam,” then scurried off and ignored it, she mused. Am I obliged to take this kind of abuse even now?
“Now,” Miss Forsythe continued, smacking her gummy lips, “what manner of trouble are you getting into at the moment? We cannot have your idle hands getting you into mischief. Industry is the only cure for the wickedness of indolent girls.”
“Er…indeed,” Clara said with trepidation. “Actually, I was just giving a tour of the grounds to my friend, Miss Sophia Fitzroy.” She gestured to Sophia, who gave a minuscule wave before turning away with a nauseated expression.
Miss Forsythe sniffed. “Miss Clara, a lady—even one of your disgraceful birth—does not spend her day running about the halls with friends and getting into trouble. Especially not out of sight of her chaperone!”
Clara blinked, then hesitantly offered, “Indeed? Thank you for letting me know, I was not aware of that…rule. In that case, Miss Forsythe, would you like to join us on our small tour?”
Sophia grimaced, then approached and put her hands together with a forced smile. “What a wonderful idea! Miss Clara was just going to show me the gardens.”
“The gardens?” Miss Forsythe’s nose wrinkled at the suggestion. “Too much open air is not healthful for a young lady, particularly on a sunny day such as this.”
“Of course, of course,” Sophia nodded with a sympathetic expression. “I wish such things were avoidable, Miss Forsythe. But I promised my mother I would catch a look at the famous St. George roses, and it would not do to return home without keeping my word.”
“You promised your mother?” asked Clara. As she did so, she felt Sophia’s elbow dig into her ribs, and after a brief wince of pain, she began nodding her assent.
Miss Forsythe sighed deeply, producing the sound of a single dried pea rattling around an empty tin. “I suppose I shall have to retrieve my parasol from my room, then.”
The old woman arduously turned herself around and began taking one slow, shaky step up the staircase after another. “Wait for me here, I will return momentarily,” she called over her shoulder.
“We will!” Sophia said with a smile concealed behind the hand she raised beside her mouth. Just as the words left her lips, though, she grabbed Clara’s hand and dashed back in the direction in which they had come.
“Where are we going?” Clara laughed.
“Anywhere but the gardens!”
* * *
Holding hands and giggling wildly, they spent the better part of an hour running and sneaking their way around the enormous St. George estate, dashing from sitting room to atrium to the dining room. They drew the occasional curious stare from household staff from time to time, and once nearly burst right into the young Duke’s arithmetic lesson, but were left unmolested during their playful romp. At last, sweating and exhausted, they found themselves settling in a secluded pair of armchairs in an enormous library.
“‘Would you like to join us, Miss Forsythe?’ Hah! You, my friend, have a great deal to learn about ducking a chaperone,” Sophia panted.
“Clearly you have much to teach me about how a privileged child gets away with things,” Clara returned, smiling. She could not remember the last time she had laughed so, but she was fairly certain that whenever it was, it had involved Sophia as well. Though technically her social better, they were nearly the same age and Sophia had always been good enough to treat her as a friend more than a member of the staff. When her mother was out of earshot, at least.
At last, once their hearts had settled and they had caught their breath, the young women returned to the matter at hand.
“Is everyone really talking about me?” Clara asked, biting her lip nervously.
“Oh, absolutely everyone! It’s an absolute scandal, I tell you. They say all sorts of things—one girl I saw on the way over here said she heard from her cousin that you even seduced the young Duke yourself!”
