Chapter Fourteen

In the next few days following the fiasco of the dinner with Terrence, who, she noticed, had departed early the next day, Cassandra felt even more miserable and alone than before. A general sense of depression weighed upon her spirits, combined with a slow burning anger deep inside her that she could not seem to shake, directed both at the men as well as herself.

Terrence's easy conversation at the dinner had cheered her, but the feeling that something was going on between the two men above her head had spoiled any pleasure she might have otherwise found in his continuing friendship. It felt like yet another loss. In addition, it had squashed all her resolution to approach Malcom about having the music room opened up, and she despised herself for being so cowardly. Plus, inexplicably, his jibe about hating the Ton for forcing him to wed her, still stung.

She was so discouraged, she had begged off dinner for the next two evenings, pleading a megrim, unable to face sitting in silence in the dining room for over an hour with Malcom. She had no doubt he would be pleased.

But later on, it had suddenly occurred to her that that might have been his goal all along. Becoming certain of it on reflection, she resolved to attend dinner henceforth, however down she felt, out of sheer spite.

"Oh, milady, you look so pale," Anna told her one morning when she came into Cassandra's chambers with the tea tray, her young face etched with concern. She placed the tray on the nightstand and scrutinized her mistress more intently. "I am worried about you, milady." She pressed her small palm to Cassandra's forehead and held it there for a few moments before removing it. "Hmm, you do not seem to have a fever. But you have hardly left your room these past three days except to ride, and I know you have you not been sleeping well. Should I call the physician? Do you need a tonic or a powder?"

"No, thank you, Anna, I do not need any of those things, I assure you," Cassandra replied, pushing herself up against the pillows and stifling a sigh for the maid's benefit. "I am just a little indisposed, that is all. Please do not fuss. You know how I dislike it. Now, please pour me a cup of tea, and you shall see how quickly I am revived."

The steaming amber liquid did have its usual restorative effect on her body, though it could not cure the ache in the region of her heart that was plaguing her so much. She missed her family and her home, she missed Diana, and she pined for London's bustling atmosphere. She longed for simple human affection. Most of all, she yearned for music, sweet music to soothe her troubled soul.

She glanced out of the window at the weather. It was drizzling, and although the sky was already clearing and the sun growing in strength, she decided to postpone her ride for a while until the rain stopped.

"I shall take breakfast and ride a little later today, I think," she told Anna, who was laying out her mistress's elegant green riding habit on the bed. "I shall just wear the blue muslin for now and change into my habit later, Anna."

"Very good, milady," the maid said with a smile, clearly relieved at seeing her mistress out of bed and taking charge of the day. She went to fetch the gown from the wardrobe.

"And when you go down, would you ask Cook if I can have a couple of those toasted teacakes for breakfast, please, Anna? And a pot of coffee for a change, in the morning room," Cassandra asked.

"Of course, milady," Anna replied, selecting fresh linen and the blue muslin day dress.

So it was that, at about eleven o'clock that morning, having dressed and enjoyed her light breakfast, with the latest novel balanced on her knee, Cassandra was ready for her ride. After changing into her habit, she was soon out in the fresh air. The puddles were rapidly drying in the sun. The water dripping from the trees sparkled and beat out a continual pattering rhythm.

The ground beneath her mare's hooves was soft, so they made almost no noise as they traversed the estate's many bridle paths. That was likely how they surprised the three children whom they suddenly came across playing in a clearing in the woods.

Cassandra had taken an unfamiliar path past a forested area. As she rode by, she heard childish giggling among the trees. Instantly intrigued, she bent to avoid the low branches and rode beneath them until, to her surprise, she emerged into a clearing. There, she spotted the children. She watched unseen for a few moments, trying to discern what they were up to. They seemed to be engaged in some sort of dance.

The horse snickered, the children turned, and froze at the sight of her, their eyes wide and their mouths open with surprise. Then, the eldest, a girl of about twelve, Cassandra guessed, with long, shiny brown hair, shouted "Run!" to the two smaller ones. They had the same dark hair and appeared to be identical twins, a girl and a boy aged around five or six years old. The three of them instantly turned to flee in the opposite direction. But Cassandra, wanting to talk to them, for she adored children, called out, "Wait! Please do not run away. I shall not hurt you. Please, stay."

The elder girl stopped and turned, looking up at Cassandra perched on her horse with obvious amazement, and a little sheepishness. The twins, following the girl's lead, also skidded to halt beside her, each taking one of her hands. Their expressions of shock were almost comical. Now she could get a better look at them, she saw they were clean and well-turned out, though some of their clothing had the familiar worn look of hand-me-downs.

"I am sorry I cannot get down from my horse without someone to help me," Cassandra apologized, knowing what a towering figure she must seem, looking down at them from on high. Thinking quickly how to keep the children there, she fumbled in the pocket of her riding habit and pulled out a handful of barley sugar twists. She always kept some sort of treat on her for the horses.

"Here," she told them, leaning down to hold them out to the children, giving them her warmest smile. "Would you like some sweets? You could give one to Brownie too." She gestured at the horse with her eyes. "She is very fond of them. Here, take them."

"Thank you, My Lady," said the big girl with surprising boldness and good manners. She let the smaller ones' hands go as she ventured slowly forward and gingerly took four of the sweets from Cassandra's hand before backing away slightly. She offered one, flat palmed, to Brownie. The horse snorted with pleasure as she plucked it from the small hand and devoured it, nodding her approval. The little ones laughed as the girl backed away. She gave them each a sweet, eliciting happy smiles from both chubby- cheeked little children.

"What do you say?" asked the big girl.

"Thank you, My Lady," the twins chorused and ate their treats with childish, enthusiasm.

"My name is Cassandra, but my friends call me Cassie. I wish you would call me that as I am sure we shall become good friends soon. May I know your names?" Cassandra asked, impressed by their good manners so far. She popped a barley sugar into her own mouth, in a spirit of fellowship.

"Hello, Cassie. How do you do? I'm Mary," said the big girl. She gestured at the twins. "And this is Lou, my brother, and this is Lynn, my sister." She turned to the smaller children and instructed, "Say, "How do you do, Cassie?""

"How do you do, Cassie?" came the angelic little chorus, squeezing Cassandra's heart with its innocent sweetness.

"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mary, Lou, and Lynn," she told them. "Goodness, how nice to have a brother and a sister. I only have one sister. Her name is Maggie."

"Oh, we have lots more sisters and brothers at home," Mary explained around her barley sugar. "There are nine of us. I do not count Ruth as she is only two months old. She is not even a real person yet."

Though struck by the impressive number of siblings quoted, Cassandra could not help laughing. "Indeed. At what age does a baby become a real person, do you think?" she could not resist asking.

"Oh, I would say when they can walk on their own and say a few words. And when they have been baptised, of course. They are likely people by that time," Mary opined sagely.

"That sounds about right. May I ask how old you all are?"

"I am eleven, and Lou and Lynn are six. How old are you, Cassie?"

"I am nearly twenty."

"Twenty? Goodness, that is old. You are older even than Christine, our eldest sister. She is eighteen. She is working in Bath as a governess."

"Is she indeed? I do hope she likes her position," Cassandra said, amused at being described as old.

"I do not think she likes it that much. I heard her tell Mama that her charges are ill-tempered," Mary replied with brutal honesty.

Cassandra stifled a snort of laughter. "Poor Christine. Perhaps she was just in a bad mood that day," she suggested.

"Hmm, probably. When she is at home, she is quite often in a bad mood. She made a big fuss over nothing when I got a pet mouse, and when Lou accidentally let Barney eat her Sunday hat."

"It was a silly old hat anyway," Lou piped up, clearly still aggrieved over the incident.

"Who is Barney?" Cassandra asked, somewhat confused. Was there a hat-eating child in this large family?

"Barney is our doggy. He's soft and furry, and he's good, most of the time," little Lynn volunteered.

"Ah! Of course. Well, I am sure he could not help it. Dogs are prone to such things, I am told. One cannot simply go leaving hats all over the place and expect them not to be eaten," Cassandra said, ready to burst out laughing. She had not had so much fun since . . . she was married.

"That's what Papa said," Lou supplied.

"He is very wise. I hope Christine has gotten over the loss now. But what about your pet mouse, Mary. Do you still have it?"

Mary shook her long curls glumly and said, "No, Mama made a fuss too and said Chips was dirty and to get him out of the house, so I had to let him go. He wasn't dirty, Cassie, he was always cleaning himself, like this." She demonstrated, her hands becoming paws as she pantomimed a mouse performing its toilette.

"I am sure he was, but all the same, he was probably glad to get back to his family," Cassandra pointed out, trying hard not to laugh at the small tragedy.

"That is what Papa said too," Mary admitted.

Thinking their father must be a fount of calm reason, Cassandra thought she should change the subject.

"So, you are in charge of your younger siblings, I suppose, Mary?" she said.

"Yes. Mother says I am the sensible one, so when I have finished my lessons for the day, it is my job to look after them."

"And there are nine of you children in total?"

Mary nodded. "Yes. Though we do not all live at home at the same time. Christine is in Bath, and Matthew and Mark, our eldest brothers, are at university in Cambridge."

University? Cambridge? This was a well-educated and intellectual family evidently, Cassandra concluded, deeply interested. Yet the children were not the pampered kind of her own class. They appeared far more robust. Who were their parents?

"Still, that is a goodly number of brothers and sisters to play with at home," she said. "I admit, I am a little jealous at having only one sister, and she is far away." Not so far, but she might as well be a million miles away.

"Do you not know that jealousy is one of the seven deadly sins, Cassie? You had better try not to be jealous, for it may offend God." Mary said gravely, but the weight of her warning was somewhat undermined by the lisp caused by her vigorously sucking on her barley sugar. The pious caution made Cassandra even more curious about where the children came from.

"That is very true, Mary. I appreciate you reminding me of that. I shall try to do better. May I ask if you live nearby?" Mary turned and pointed through the trees toward some invisible location.

"Oh, yes, very near. Our father is the Vicar of St. Giles' Church in the village."

Light dawned on Cassandra. "I see. So, I am guessing that you live at the Rectory." She remembered driving past the pretty church and the large, creeper-covered rectory beside it when she had arrived in the carriage.

"Mmm, we do," Mary confirmed.

"And what is your father's name?"

"Reverend Titus Clarke. We are the Clarkes," Mary explained.

"Reverend Clarke," Cassandra echoed, committing the name to memory, while an idea formed quickly in her head. She had always attended Sunday service at their local church at home with her family.

But since arriving at Lindenhall, Malcom had shown himself to be something of a shirker in the religious department. As far as she knew, he did not go to church on Sundays as one might expect from a local landowner and peer of the realm. But coming from him, well known for his reclusive ways, that was hardly surprising .

At any rate, he had not offered to escort her to Sunday service. The manor had its own private chapel, so Cassandra had so far done her weekly worshiping there, alone. Why should I not make friends in the village and attend St. Giles' this Sunday?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Mary asking, "Where do you live, Cassie?"

"Me? Oh, up there, at the manor house," she replied, inclining her head in the general direction.

Mary looked suddenly taken aback. "Do you know the Duke then?" she asked, her eyes big.

"Yes, I know him," Cassandra admitted somewhat reluctantly, fearing Malcom's reputation might precede her and influence the children's current benign view of her.

"I am sorry for you then. Because he is not very nice," Mary confided. "Mama says he is a heathen, for he never comes to church. Father says he has his own church inside his house and does not need to. We are glad because he would probably tell us off. Everyone knows he has a very bad temper."

Cassandra was unsurprised to hear it, but, nevertheless, she frowned in puzzlement.

"Why should he tell you off?" she asked, certain it was not at all beyond her husband's capabilities to wilfully frighten young children.

"Because we come to play here in his woods, where we are not supposed to, which is called trespassing. We are not supposed to trespass against him, like in the Lord's prayer. But Mr. Dawkins, the gamekeeper, says it is all right as long as we keep out of the Beast's way."

"The Beast," Cassandra repeated hollowly. There was that horrible word again. She had to admit, she could not argue it was unwarranted. Her former horror at being married to a man generally known to all as the Beast of Lindenhall briefly returned, accompanied by a flare of anger against him.

"If he catches us, Mr. Dawkins says he might eat us all up, like a big old wolf," Lynn put in, not looking unduly worried by the prospect.

"That is just a silly thing he says to scare us, Lynn, you baby," Mary told her sister with some scorn. "Mama says the Duke is not a wolf who will eat you up. He is a beast because he is beastly to people. He is mean and ill-tempered."

"Worse than Christine?" Lynn asked.

"Oh, much, much worse." Mary said with conviction.

"I see. Well, I shall not tell him I have seen you," Cassandra promised, unable to fault Mary's mother's wise evaluation. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Now, Mary, tell me, what were you all doing when I came? I thought you might be dancing."

"Yes, we were practicing the waltz, but we are not supposed to," Mary admitted a little guiltily. "So, please, Cassie, do not tell on us, or Mama will be very angry." She sounded truly anxious.

"Of course, I shall not. Besides, I have yet to meet your Mama and Papa, so I shall likely not have the chance to speak to them anyway. You need not worry," Cassandra assured them. All three looked relieved.

"Thank you, we are grateful. Most grown-ups are always sneaking on us," Mary said with a look of annoyance.

"I am no sneak. Now, Mary, at what hour do your lessons finish each day?"

"It depends on how busy Mama is but usually around two o'clock. We are early today because Papa is ministering to the poor, and Mama is busy supervising Bessie with the washing."

"Well, now that we have made friends, I hope we shall meet again. If you would like. Tomorrow, perhaps? I shall, come on foot, so I will be able to play with you. I may be able to help because, you see, I have danced the waltz many times. I could help you learn how to do it properly," she offered.

The way Mary's face lit up was heart-warming. "That would be wonderful! Thank you, Cassie. We shall be here, whether you can come or not. We come most days when it is not raining, for we have our camp nearby," the girl explained with excitement. "We could show it to you."

"That would be splendid. I am honoured," Cassandra told her, deeply moved by the generous invitation.

"And if you cannot come and want to tell us, you can leave a note in the camp, and we shall see it."

"Excellent. I shall be sure to do that," Cassandra told her. She realized she had been out quite a long time and ought to get Brownie back for her teatime oats .

"Well, dear Children, I am so very pleased to have met you. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow and practising our dancing," she said, smiling down at them.

"Us too," Mary assured her, beaming back at her. Lou and Lynn smiled at her and waved enthusiastically.

"Goodbye for now then," Cassandra said, turning Brownie around with some reluctance and making her way back beneath the wet trees and down the bridle path toward home.

"Goodbye, Cassie," Mary called after her.

"Bring some more sweets tomorrow, please, Cassie!" she heard Lou shout. She chuckled.

"Be careful of the Beast!" came little Lynn's voice.

"I shall indeed," Cassandra murmured under her breath as Brownie and she turned back towards the manor.