Fenella Miller - A Country Mouse

The two men, so alike in both appearance and personality that they constantly clashed, parted, for once, on amicable terms. Two hours after Viscount Yardley's departure an enormous crested travelling carriage, complete with coachman, groom and two postilions, lumbered out, followed by an empty baggage cart and two armed outriders. No one with any sense risked the roads without adequate protection from highway men and footpads.

*  *  *

From her hidden position at the study window Emily watched the impressive carriage trundle up their rutted drive, her heart pounding with apprehension. Her grandfather had responded to her letter in a way she had not anticipated.

She heard pounding, childish footsteps approaching down the corridor. The study door burst open and Millie and Serena erupted into the room. “Em come and see. There's a huge crested coach coming down the drive. Whoever can it be? Do we know anyone like that?”

Emily swallowed. “Yes, my love, we do. Don't you remember that our grandfather is the Earl of Westerham? That is why mother is known as Lady Althea Gibson, not Mrs Gibson.”

“But Mama does not speak to him. How can he be here?” Millie's voice was shrill.

“Calm yourself, Amelia, and I'll explain.” Emily waited for her sisters to be quiet. “I wrote to grandfather explaining that Mama was unwell and asked him if he could help in any way.” Never would she admit to her sisters, or her mother, the true contents of her letter.

“And he has come himself? Do you think he's in the coach?” Serena piped.

“No, darling, I'm sure he is not. He must be well over eighty now. I'm certain he would never travel so far.”

“Then who is it? Why's the coach coming here?”

“Amelia, don't be so impatient. I have no more idea than you do. Now run along and tell Edwards; she will wish to prepare Mama.” She took Serena's hand. “You stay with me; we will go and wait in the morning room together.”

Scarcely ten minutes later a loud knocking was heard on the front door. The one remaining maid-servant, Sally, hurried to answer the summons. Outside stood an impressive array of people. A black garbed gentleman headed the queue.

“Is Lady Althea Gibson, at home?”

The girl dropped a nervous curtsy. “Yes, sir, that she is. Will you come in, please? Who will I tell her is waiting?”

“Mr Foster, the Earl of Westerham's man of business. I have a letter for Miss Emily Gibson and one for Lady Althea. Deliver them for me please.”

“Please to wait in the ante-room, sir. I will take the letters directly.” The frightened girl left Mr Foster in the small room next to the entrance hall. She hesitated, not sure if the waiting grooms and outriders should be directed elsewhere.

“My staff will wait outside.”

"Yes, Mr Foster, sir, thank you.” The girl hastily closed the door and scuttled across the shabby hall to find Miss Emily. She knew Lady Althea was asleep in her bed, even though it was past noon.

“I have two letters here, Miss Emily.”

“Thank you, I shall take them both. Could you take in some refreshment for our visitor?”

With shaking hands she broke the impressive seal and unfolded the letter. Her youngest sister watched anxiously as the colour drained from Emily's face.

“What is it, Em, is it bad news? Has our grandfather died?”

Emily pulled herself together sufficiently to answer. “No, darling. It's very good news indeed. Grandfather has invited us all to live with him at Westerham. He is to take care of us in future. Is that not splendid news?” 

Serena wondered why such good news had caused her elder sister to look so frightened. “Don't you wish to go, Em?”

“Yes, of course, I do. It's a shock; but a welcome one.” She bent down to hug her sister. “It has been such a worry, trying to keep us solvent on so little money. When I wrote to the Earl I had no idea he would respond so quickly. That's why I was unnerved for a moment, nothing more, I do assure you, sweetheart.”

“Shall I run and tell Mama? She was always used to talk about Westerham and what a great house it was, when Papa was alive. She will be pleased to return, won't she?”

“I'm sure she will. But don't go upstairs to tell her; I will come along directly I have spoken to Mr Foster. She was still asleep a little while ago. It will take time for Edwards to get her organized. We don't wish to make her even more unwell do we, Serena?”

The little girl solemnly shook her head, her dark braids flying. “Can I tell Millie though?”

Emily gave her consent and the child ran off, eager to share the amazing news with someone. Mr Foster stood up as Emily entered. He bowed.

“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Gibson.” He didn't offer his hand and Emily did not curtsy, she merely nodded politely. She might be as poor as a country mouse but she knew how to behave.

“I have read my letter, Mr Foster. It will take us a few days to get ready for a move to Westerham.”

“Of course it will, Miss Gibson. I have arranged to put up at the Bull, in the next village. I will leave a groom here, if that's acceptable. Please send word with him when you're ready to depart.”

Emily agreed she would do that. An extra pair of strong male hands would be a boon moving trunks and belongings down to the hall. Glebe House no longer had male indoor servants. She had had to let them go when her father passed away.

She picked up her skirts and ran lightly upstairs, the letter for her mother in her other hand. The one addressed to herself was burning a hole in her pocket. She felt her colour rise as she remembered its contents. The Earl had offered the Gibson family his protection and wished for them to come and live with him at Westerham. He had also agreed to find her a suitable husband but suggested that it would meet with his wholehearted approval if she agreed to marry his great-grandson, his heir, her second cousin, Sebastian Edward Lessing, Viscount Yardley.

She knew little of the man, apart from he was four and twenty years old and already a respected diplomat. She also knew that he lived in London, so must suppose he was a member of the ton, a Corinthian, and a man of taste and wealth. After all he had been living on his expectations for years as both his father, and grandfather, had predeceased the Earl of Westerham.

She smiled ruefully at her faded grey gown, twice made over, and sadly in need of renewal. Whatever would a fashionable man about town see in such a country mouse as she?

She stopped dead, clutching the banister for support as an appalling thought occurred to her. What if her cousin found her not to his taste and refused to marry her? Would they all be sent packing? Be returned to live in Glebe House? Fervently she prayed, as she stood frozen halfway up the stairs. “Oh God, please do not let him refuse me. It would kill Mama if she was to be restored to her family home and then rejected for a second time.” She felt a chill run down her spine at another unwelcome thought.

Her mother had been so ill these last two years, spending most of her days lying unseeing and uncaring on her day bed. Her nights she spent in a laudanum induced sleep. How would the man, hard enough to have rejected his only daughter for marrying against his wishes, react to her changed condition?

They couldn't go to Westerham until her mother was more herself. She determined to persuade her mother to try and return to the real world; Emily continued her journey upstairs, the light of battle in her amazing hazel eyes.

Edwards, Lady Althea's dresser, had succeeded in rousing her. “Come along now, my lady, up you get. There's a letter here for you. It's a long time since we had a letter isn't it?” Edward's mention of the letter had been the key.

“What is that, Edwards? A letter did you say? Hand it to me, please.” Lady Althea Gibson pushed her stringy hair back from her pale forehead, quite unconcerned about her appearance. In her youth she had been in the forefront of fashion but nowadays she scarcely noticed what she wore or how she looked. She just did not have the energy to cope with life without her beloved Peter. But a letter? Now that was worth waking up for. That her daughters were lost without her had long ago ceased to be a concern.

She was ineffectually struggling to pick of the impressive blob of sealing wax when something about its shape and imprint caused her to pause. “It is from Papa! Edwards, this is from my Papa.”

With shaky fingers she unfolded the stiff paper and began to read. For a moment the heavy black scrawl she knew so well danced before her eyes. With a supreme effort she focused and began to read.

My dear daughter, Althea,

It has been far too long since we are on good terms. I admit the fault has been mine and wish to make amends, if you will allow me to. I have sent a carriage to collect you and your three girls. I would like you all to move to Westerham and live with me.

Your father,

Richard Lessing.

Althea felt her stomach roil and was glad she had not eaten. She raised her head and her eyes were full. “Edwards, I am to go home. He has asked me to come home. At last, I shall have back the life that I lost.”

“I'm delighted, madam. That's good news indeed. But if we're to travel sixty miles you'll need to feel well. At the moment you're not strong enough to stand the journey.”

Before Lady Althea could answer Emily entered, her pale serious face for once animated and her remarkable eyes sparkling. “Mama, have you read your letter yet?”

“I have, my dear. Your grandfather has invited us to make his home with him. Are you not pleased?

“I am, of course I am. But there is much to do before we can depart. The carriage and staff that accompanied it are going to put up The Bull, in Misham. We're to send for them when we're ready. I have told them that we'll need several days. Is that going to be sufficient, for you, Mama?” This was addressed at her mother but it was at Edwards that she looked. Her mother's devoted dresser nodded and Emily's smile became broader.

“I should think it would do, my dear. But I must have some new gowns before we leave. It will not do for Papa to think me dowdy.”

“I have already sent to Misham and Mrs Simpson will be here later. Jenny's upstairs in the attics at this very moment collecting the last of the Indian materials we have been saving for such an occasion as this,” Emily told her.

Her mother frowned. “I will require at least three gowns; you and the girls must make do with one. I doubt that there will be enough material left for you to have more.

“It's of no matter, Mama. I'll be content to have one new gown, I can assure you.”

Emily hoped that it was true that first impressions were what mattered. She would wear her new gown to make her first curtsy, after that she would have to return to her meagre wardrobe, and she knew nobody would be impressed by that.

Lady Althea watched the play of emotion across her eldest daughter's face. “I shall ask Mrs Simpson to make you and the girls two dresses each; it is essential that we all have at least one change of raiment.” Exhausted she sank back on her pillows. She opened her eyes again with difficulty, and reached over to take her daughter's hand. “I shall try harder, my love. I shall not be like this any longer. I will be your old mother again presently. Wait and see.”

Emily returned the squeeze and bent to kiss her mother's cheek. “I know you will, Mama, and I will help you. But it's going to take time to restore you to your former health. You must not expect to be back to normal in a week or so; you have been ill for two years, and it could be months before you're feeling quite well. But for the moment you must think about eating again and getting up and moving around your room. You have been lying still for far too long.”

But her mother was once more asleep, and had not heard her. Emily turned to Edwards, her eyes hard. “Give me the laudanum, Edwards. There will be no more.”

“But, Miss Emily, her ladyship cannot sleep without it. She'll be in desperate straits if you take it away.” Emily continued to hold out her hand and reluctantly the elderly woman went to retrieve the three small bottles of black, noxious fluid from their hiding place. “Whatever you may think, miss, your dear mother would not be alive today without that.”

“I know you're probably correct and I'm sorry Edwards. It's not your fault. But I hate to see her this way.”