The Village Spinster Read online

  “Faint hope."

  As Mr. Traling was seldom this despondent, in fact was almost never anything less than charming and cheerful, Clarissa was about to test him further on the cause of his black humor, when they were interrupted by a rider on the road. This was unfortunate, because Clarissa never went about with Mr. Traling. Though he came to her house once a fortnight or so, they never went into the village or about the neighborhood. It was a simple matter of prudence. There was wont to be talk in a small village. Clarissa was not one to explain herself or her actions, but neither was she in the habit of provoking her neighbors to talk about her. The rider, on closer approach, turned out to be William.

  “Miss Driscoll! Mr. Traling.” William tipped his hat to them. “Glad you could get out walking. I was afraid having Aria in the house would just about lock you in."

  “She's sleeping now, and Meg is there to take care of any of her needs.” Clarissa frowned. “I've just remembered the doctor, though. I should like to be there when he calls."

  “Not likely to miss him in the morning. Sees the more urgent cases then."

  “Goodness. How do you know that?"

  “Well, he told me yesterday when I went to get him, don't you know? Good sort of man. Very comfortable.” William dismounted from his horse and led it as they walked. He didn't notice the look of exasperation Mr. Traling gave him. “Must be rather unnerving to be a doctor. Don't know what you'll find when you get to the scene of an accident, and everyone there expecting you to make everything right again."

  Clarissa agreed with him, and Mr. Traling grunted. The rest of the way back to Clarissa's cottage, the three of them discussed the potential hazards of being a doctor as they walked. William had obviously given the matter a certain amount of thought overnight. “Have you ever noticed,” he asked, “that doctors are the sort of people who are never surprised? I imagine they've seen everything. And another thing: not the sort of profession younger sons go into, is it? I mean, there's the church and the law and the military. Do all those things, but never medicine. I wonder why that is? Gets one's hands too dirty?"

  “I believe that must be it,” Mr. Traling said, taking part in the conversation for the first time. “Had you been considering becoming a doctor, William?"

  “Me?” The young man considered him with astonishment. “I don't even know how to wrap one of those things around a horse's knees when they're swollen. And I'm as like as not to pass out at the sight of blood."

  “I merely wondered at your interest,” Mr. Traling explained. “I didn't mean to suggest that you were planning on entering any profession."

  William stared thoughtfully down the village lane to the fields beyond. “Do you think I should, Miss Driscoll?” he asked suddenly. “Study for a profession, I mean. Not become a doctor. Somehow I can't think Kinsford would approve of that. And I've never done very well at school, you know. More a matter of not applying myself than not having the native ability, I've always assumed, but who is to know?"

  Clarissa, already in sufficient trouble with the earl, bowed out of this discussion. “I'm sure I haven't the least notion what would be best for you, William. This is the sort of thing you have to think about and talk over with your brother and your mother."

  “My mother!” Now William regarded her with astonishment. “What would my mother have to say to such a scheme? She wouldn't understand in the least what I was about."

  “I'm not at all sure I do either,” Clarissa confessed. “Don't you enjoy being a gentleman of leisure?"

  “Yes, well, of course I do. I shouldn't like at all to have to be at someone's beck and call, you know. But Kinsford went into the military when he was little older than I am, and perhaps I should do the same."

  “There's not a great call for military personnel just now,” Mr. Traling informed him. “What with old Boney out of the way and all. Pretty quiet on that front.”

  William nodded. “Suppose it is, at that. Well, it was only a thought. Mr. Traling, I'll ride with you to the Bath Road. I have an errand at the Whittaker farm."

  Mr. Traling, who had hoped for a few words alone with Miss Driscoll, reluctantly agreed. He was not, apparently, destined to have further private time with her. She was impatient now to check on her young charge, he could tell. So he and William swung up on their horses and made their farewells. Clarissa, with a furrowed brow, watched them leave.

  There was something very odd about the way William had acted, but she could not put her finger on it. He was, after all, a rather exuberant young man and one never quite knew where his thoughts would take him. But a profession! Lord have mercy on us, she thought, as, shaking her head, she entered the cottage.

  Lady Aria was awake, and rather feverish. She shifted restlessly on the sofa, saying little but looking flushed and in pain. When questioned, she admitted that it was her head that ached. The wounded area remained swollen, but not nearly so much so as the previous day. Still, Clarissa determined that they should indeed rub in some lotion, as the doctor had suggested.

  Meg left to make up the solution of sal ammoniac, vinegar, and whisky in water. Clarissa sat down with her charge, taking the warm hand in both of hers. “Poor dear. You must be miserable. But I have just been with your brother William and will divert you with his latest start."

  Her patient turned interested but pained eyes to her and Clarissa continued, “He is considering whether he should take up a profession!”

  Lady Aria giggled. “Will? How absurd he is. Whatever put that start in his mind?"

  “I think it must have been his dealings with Dr. Lawrence yesterday."

  “Will wants to be a doctor?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Oh, no. Apparently that is far too lowly a profession for a gentleman. Something like the military seems more to his taste."

  “He would look splendid in a uniform, but I cannot believe he would like it at all—the orders and the miserable conditions."

  “Mr. Traling thought there was not a great deal of demand for military officers just now,” Clarissa said.

  Lady Aria turned her head fretfully on the pillow. “I suppose not, and I'm glad. I should hate for Will to go off and become a soldier."

  Clarissa wished to keep her patient awake long enough to apply the lotion, so she asked, “Do you think William needs some form of occupation? Being down from school he may well be at loose ends."

  Lady Aria's shrug sent a different sort of pain through her body and she gasped. Clarissa continued to stroke her hand. In a moment the added discomfort ceased and Aria attempted to answer Miss Driscoll's question. “He's always found plenty to do before this: hunting, fishing, riding, driving, going to the races, training his dogs. It's probably just some notion he's taken because Alexander has been plaguing him."

  “We should talk about Lord Kinsford,” Clarissa began. But at that moment Meg brought in the lotion and Lady Aria grimaced when Clarissa applied it liberally through her hair. It was a painful process and when she was finished, she patted the girl's good shoulder and said, “Why don't you try to get some sleep now, my dear? You'll feel better if you do."

  Without a word Aria sank into a light, uneasy sleep and Clarissa tucked the covers about her carefully before leaving the room. Meg had a nuncheon laid out for her on the table in the dining parlor. After her walk, Clarissa had a good appetite, but she was distracted by her concern for the girl. What if Lady Aria had indeed sustained damage to her head, to her brain? She seemed perfectly coherent, though feverish and sleepy. Would they be able to tell at this point? Her shoulder was a minor matter. It would heal quickly. But her head ... The more she pondered the matter, the more Clarissa grew eager for the doctor's visit.

  When Dr. Lawrence arrived, however, he was accompanied by Lord Kinsford. Clarissa suspected that Lord Kinsford had skulked about at the edge of the village awaiting the doctor's arrival, only to “happen” to fall in with him there and gain admittance along with him to his sister's sickroom. As though Clarissa had intended t
o deny him access to his sister for the duration of her stay! Clarissa shrugged off the episode. Lady Aria was her first concern.

  She led the way into the sitting room, where the young woman was still sleeping, her cheeks flushed. Dr. Lawrence took her wrist and felt her pulse. Lady Aria came only slightly awake at the movement. Her eyes seemed not to focus right away on the doctor and she frowned. “What is it?” she asked.

  “It's Dr. Lawrence, Lady Aria,” he said, touching her forehead and then her shoulder. “Do you remember where you are?"

  “At Miss Driscoll's."

  “And do you remember why?"

  “I've had a fall from my horse."

  “Good. Do you know when that happened?"

  “I'm not sure,” she said, her voice low and uncertain.

  “Right. Don't be concerned. You've been sleeping off and on so that what day it is mightn't be quite clear.” Dr. Lawrence leaned over to open his black bag. “I'm going to examine her now, Lord Kinsford. If you would wait in the hall."

  Kinsford reluctantly let himself out into the hall and Clarissa heard Meg offer him a cup of tea in the dining parlor. She heard their footsteps retreat to the next room.

  Dr. Lawrence proceeded to examine his patient, listening to her chest, palpating her abdomen, checking her wrists and ankles, adjusting the bandages about her relocated shoulder. Lady Aria said very little, responding only to direct questions, and then with monosyllabic answers. Dr. Lawrence spent a long time looking in her eyes and checking her scalp.

  “You've put some lotion on?” he asked.

  “Yes. Her head had been aching intolerably,” Clarissa explained.

  “It would be better to shave off a little of the hair, but I won't insist upon it. I know how awkward it is for a young lady. Still, you must attempt to get as much lotion on as possible. Several times a day. Every few hours, if you can manage it."

  “Certainly we can manage.”

  He sighed, stepping away from the sick bed and lowering his voice. “It's hard to tell if there's anything seriously amiss. We'll need to keep a close watch on her for the next few days. I wouldn't move her. Not even upstairs, if you can handle the disruption of your household."

  “It's no problem at all,” Clarissa assured him. “I wonder if you would tell Lord Kinsford exactly the same thing. I very much fear he'll suggest moving her."

  Dr. Lawrence regarded her thoughtfully. “I can't see why he should, and it would be most unwise. In fact, it wouldn't be a good idea to distress Lady Aria in any way at this juncture. I'll have a word with him."

  “Thank you."

  He walked back to Lady Aria and assured her that he would return the next day, sooner if she needed him. He had a comforting way about him, as William had remarked. Confident, competent—just the sort of doctor Clarissa would have wished for her charge.

  She stayed with her patient when the doctor left the room. There was already a chair drawn up to the side of the sofa and she seated herself there to rub more lotion onto Lady Aria's wound. Though it stung momentarily, the girl relaxed when Clarissa continued to massage her temples. Within minutes she had fallen asleep again.

  The door opened quietly and Kinsford stood for a few moments regarding the scene. Clarissa met his eyes with a steady gaze. She couldn't tell precisely what he was thinking, but his frustration was apparent.

  “I'll return this evening,” he whispered. And then, as an afterthought, “If I may."

  “She'll probably be asleep."

  “I won't disturb her."

  “Very well."

  Chapter Seven

  Clarissa checked on Lady Aria frequently over the next few hours. Her fever seemed about the same, neither reducing significantly nor elevating alarmingly. She was a little less fretful in her sleep, perhaps, and her sleep remained unbroken, since no more visitors insisted on seeing her for the rest of the afternoon.

  Keeping country hours, Clarissa ate her evening meal early and then returned to the sitting room. Aria was awake and slightly confused. “Where are my watercolors?” she asked, looking about the familiar room. “I shan't be able to draw without them. I want to paint the ha-ha behind the Hall. Will was chasing a fox cub and I especially wanted to paint him."

  Disorientation being one of the signs Dr. Lawrence had particularly cautioned her about, Clarissa felt a start of alarm. She seated herself beside the sofa and laid a hand on Aria's forehead. It was no warmer. “You've not been well, my dear. We'll save the watercolors for later."

  “Oh, yes,” Aria agreed, blinking up at her. “How stupid of me!"

  As she had herself awoken from vivid dreams that lingered, Clarissa could not determine whether this constituted disorientation. When Aria declared that she was hungry, Clarissa took it as a very good sign indeed and rang for Meg.

  “Could you tolerate a toasted muffin? Or more gruel?"

  “A muffin, please. And an orange, if you have one."

  Very promising, Clarissa thought. But when the muffin was brought, Lady Aria's appetite had somewhat abandoned her. She took a bite and then lay back on the sofa, uninterested in anything further. Meg took the toasted muffin away, but left the orange to tempt their charge a little later. Clarissa asked if Lady Aria would like her to read to her a little, and the girl smiled.

  “Just as if I were a child again,” she said, but happily. “I should like that very much. Have you a copy of Evelina?"

  Clarissa laughed. “Of course. What would a household be without a copy of Evelina?" And for the next hour she read to her patient, who seemed to follow the story with no difficulty, if possibly not quite the total interest that she might have on another occasion. They were about to begin another chapter when there was a knock at the front door of the cottage. Clarissa hadn't the least doubt as to who it would be. She tried to prepare Lady Aria.

  “That will be the earl. He's very concerned about you and said he would be back this evening to check.” At Aria's frown, she added, “I cannot very well keep him from you, my dear. He's your brother and your guardian. I promise you he will not upset you. That's not the least bit his intention."

  “It is never his intention," Lady Aria said. “And yet he invariably manages to do so.”

  “Lord Kinsford,” Meg announced, stepping back to allow the earl to enter.

  He was dressed rather handsomely, in a coat of blue superfine, and wearing pantaloons that fit his athletic legs very well. On him the Barrington chin looked more determined than aristocratic, though it was likely that with age it would soften. His brown hair was well cut, obviously by a London barber. His neckcloth was modestly but elegantly tied. He was, in fact, a rather striking figure of a man, the one disconcerting element being his eyes. While they were a rich deep blue and well placed under heavy brows, they were the most assessing eyes Clarissa could ever remember seeing. No wonder the children thought them judgmental.

  “Miss Driscoll, Aria.” His acknowledging nod was cordial, as if he were determined to make a better start this time. He turned to his sister to ask, “How do you go on this evening, Aria? Your mother has sent another epistle and wishes a full report of you."

  His sister took the letter he extended, and tucked it down under the sofa pillow as she had done with the other. Clarissa was not sure whether Aria had remembered to read the last one, and if the same fate were likely for this most recent one.

  “I'm a little better,” Aria assured him stoutly. “My head still aches, but not so much, I think. And my shoulder is a great deal less sore than it was. My fever makes me feel a little odd, but that will go away."

  “Odd? How so?” The earl placed a hand on her forehead to feel her temperature. A small frown appeared on his brow. “You're still quite warm. Have you taken the fever draught?"

  Clarissa answered for her patient, since she wasn't sure Aria would remember. “Every four hours today, according to Dr. Lawrence's instructions."

  “And the wound?” He held Aria's chin with his fingers and turned her head so he co
uld better see it. The light was failing outside, however, and he turned to Miss Driscoll. “If I might have a candle, ma'am."

  There was a candleholder with candle and flint nearby on the table near the window. Clarissa felt vaguely annoyed with him for his request, but granted mentally that it was just. She struck the flint and when the paper flared she lit the candle. Instantly it threw light and shadows around the room that made it feel less familiar, almost mysterious. How very fanciful of me, Clarissa thought as she held the light up for the earl to see. His face took on a rakish aspect in the glow, reminding her of the young man he had once been.

  The earl grimaced at the rawness of the wound. “It might indeed be wise to shave the hair off around it,” he said.

  Aria's eyes fluttered to Clarissa, but she said nothing.

  “I'm able to apply lotion through her hair, Lord Kinsford,” Clarissa assured him.

  “But how will it heal with all that hair? At least right at the wound the hair could be snipped away.” He turned to his sister. “Aria, it's not as though you'll have a great bald spot, for heaven's sake. The hair above will cover any little patch we must remove."

  “I don't wish you to do it,” she said flatly, tossing her head. “The doctor didn't say it had to be done."

  Kinsford suddenly backed off. With a smile he said, “Very well. I'm sure he knows best. Perhaps Miss Driscoll would leave the candle so we can go over your watercolors. I'd like you to tell me about them."

  Clarissa was amused to be so handsomely dismissed. She placed the candle on a table and handed him the sketch book which lay hidden under the open copy of Evelina. As Clarissa slipped out of the room, she heard the earl make a handsome remark about the uniqueness of subject and spirit in Lady Aria's work.

  Ready for the pot of tea Meg would have prepared, Clarissa moved to the dining parlor. For a while she could hear a low murmur of voices from the sitting room. As she drank her tea she worked out on a sheet of foolscap just where she would plant the herbs in the kitchen garden next week. The weather was getting finer by the day and the chances of a late frost were low. If the lemon thyme were kept close to the cottage, if would do better; the sweet marjoram and basil could stand more exposure. When the earl spoke behind her, Clarissa started, so deep was she in her plans.