The Mysterious Miss Fairchild

‘Tomorrow is my art lesson,’ she remarked. ‘However, my tutor is gone to Bristol to visit his family and, if the good weather holds, I shall be walking to Beechen Cliff with Jane Grisham, to spend the day sketching vistas of the city.’

Heavens, what was she about? It was almost as if she was two people, one of them observing the other in horror. Even the sight of the Pridhams, who were watching their approach with angry impatience, could not stop her. She was shocked to hear herself continue with almost innocent nonchalance.

‘Jane’s maid will be with us, although the poor woman is always so tired after the steep ascent that she invariably falls asleep.’

‘Is that so, Miss Fairchild?’

There was a note of teasing laughter in his voice, but Natalya dare not look up at him for fear she would flush scarlet. They were but a few steps away from the Pridhams. She released his arm and moved across to stand beside her aunt, who was tapping her foot angrily on the floor and directing a look at Lord Dalmorren that was positively glacial. Impervious to this cold reception, he exchanged a word or two with Mr Pridham, then, with a smile and a bow, he withdrew.

Natalya watched him walk away and could not decide whether she wanted to see him at Beechen Cliff in the morning and it was this conundrum, rather than the angry rebukes of her aunt and uncle, that resulted in a sleepless night.

Chapter Three

May had barely begun, but it was more like high summer, with the sun shining down from a cloudless sky when Tristan set off in the direction of Beechen Cliff. His conscience was far from easy as he ascended the steps leading up to the famous landmark. What in heaven’s name was he doing, keeping an assignation with a young woman of whom he knew so little? It was not the actions of a gentleman. He argued that he owed it to Freddie to find out more about Miss Fairchild, since her guardians were playing their role with excessive zeal.

He frowned when he thought of the two weeks he had spent in Bath. Confound it, he should have asked Freddie how the devil he had managed to become sufficiently acquainted with Natalya Fairchild to fall in love. Had she made assignations with him, too?

He realised that he only had Natalya’s word for it that she would be with friends. What if she was alone and this was some convoluted ploy to trap him into marriage? It would not be the first time some unscrupulous female had tried to snare him. It was one of the reasons he now spent so little time in London, where his bachelor status made him a target for every matchmaking parent. His lip curled. If that was indeed Miss Natalya Fairchild’s intention then she would soon discover her mistake and it would prove conclusively that she was not a fit wife for Freddie.

When he eventually reached the top of the cliff, Tristan had to admit the climb was worth the effort. Whatever else occurred today he would remember this view of Bath. The city was spread out before him, the Abbey soaring majestically over the neighbouring buildings and the river twinkling, jewel-like, in the sun.

Soft voices and laughter caught his attention. A short distance away Natalya and her friend were sitting on the grass, sketchpads on their knees, while behind them, stretched out on the grass, was a buxom maidservant. The young ladies were wearing bonnets to protect their complexion from the sun and one of them had thoughtfully placed an open parasol to shade the maid’s head as she slept.

It all looked very innocent and any casual observer would think him a gentleman out for a stroll who had come upon the group by pure chance. His mind was relieved on one point, she was accompanied, and there was a maid present, even if she was sleeping. Tristan stifled his conscience and approached.

‘Good morning, Miss Grisham, Miss Fairchild.’

‘Oh, Lord Dalmorren.’ The note of innocent surprise in Natalya’s voice did not fool him and neither, judging by the look of speculation on her face, did it deceive her companion, who looked up from her sketching to address him.

‘Are you come to take in the view, my lord?’

‘I am. It was recommended to me. Most strongly.’ He smiled at Natalya and was rewarded by seeing her blush.

‘Such a warm morning, is it not, my lord?’ remarked Miss Grisham. ‘Perhaps you would like to join us for a little while, I am sure you will wish to rest after your exertions.’

‘Thank you, I will.’ He sat down on the grass between them. ‘But pray do not let me stop you working. I will just sit here and enjoy the…er…scenery.’

Miss Grisham giggled, but Natalya remained silent and became even more intent upon her drawing.

Great heaven, he thought in disgust. Did I just say that? I sound like an out-and-out scoundrel!

It was not his normal style at all. He lapsed into silence. After all, he had said he would not disturb them, had he not? For several minutes they remained with only the birdsong, the buzz of bees and the gentle snores of the maid to disturb them. Then Jane Grisham gathered up her sketchbook and pencils.

‘I want to capture the view from another angle and that bush over there is blocking my view of the foreground.’

She went off to sit down at some distance away, on the far side of the sleeping maid, and Tristan berated himself for a fool. It was such an obvious ploy to leave him alone with Natalya. She must have planned this. Confound it, the little minx was a hardened flirt.

Then he caught sight of her face and changed his mind. She was either a superb actress or she was as ill at ease as himself. His anger subsided and he gave a little inward shrug. He had wanted the opportunity to become better acquainted, so he had best get on with it.

He ventured a comment on the astronomy talk and was rewarded by an answer. He tried again and the conversation continued, a little uncertain at first, but gradually it became easier until they were chatting away with all the freedom of old friends. From astronomy they moved to history and politics, then by degrees to the recent war with Bonaparte. When she asked him if he would go to London for the forthcoming peace celebrations, Tristan grimaced.

‘My mother and sister were in London recently and wrote to tell me the crowds were extraordinary. I much prefer the quiet of the country to such a spectacle.’

She chuckled. ‘I believe the presence of the Allied Sovereigns in London will cause quite a stir.’

‘Town will be as full as it can hold with crowds pushing and shoving and trying to catch a glimpse of the great men. Will you go?’

‘No. I thought my uncle would wish to go. He has always been most interested in reports about the war, especially the Russian campaigns. He sent to London for newspapers, specifically to read about them. But he says we are to remain in Bath.’

‘And are you sorry?’

She paused to consider before answering.

‘I should enjoy the spectacle of the procession when they arrive from the Continent and to see these leaders that I have read so much about. It is a very special moment in history.’ She was silent, her gaze wistful, then she shook her head and gave a little laugh. ‘Not that I have any special reason to be there. I should only be adding to the crowds. So, no, on reflection, I shall not be sorry to remain here with my aunt and uncle.’

‘Are the Pridhams the only family you have?’ he asked her.

‘They are my guardians,’ she said carefully. ‘I understand I am an orphan.’

Her choice of words intrigued him. He said, ‘You do not know?’

‘I do not. I know nothing of my parents.’

She was uneasy with his questioning and he said no more. Instead he let the quiet of the warm day settle around them. He watched as she plied her pencil with quick, deft strokes. When his eyes strayed to her profile, he thought that she herself made an attractive picture. That straight little nose, the dainty chin and the high cheekbones gave her face a beauty that would last well beyond her youth.

His lips quirked.

I have misjudged Freddie, he thought. The boy has shown good taste in choosing this lady as the object of his affections.

Natalya looked round. ‘Something amuses you, my lord?’

He disclaimed quickly, saying, ‘No, no, an old joke, merely.’ He added, ‘You draw very well.’

‘Thank you. I am better at drawing landscapes than people, I think. My tutor despairs of my portraits.’

‘My sister could never master perspective.’

‘You come from a large family, my lord?’

‘One sister, that is all.’

‘And she is Freddie’s mama?’

‘You sound surprised, Miss Fairchild.’

She blushed. ‘Forgive me, it is just that…she must be somewhat older than yourself.’

‘Yes. Katherine is some sixteen years older than I. There were five other children between us, but they did not survive infancy.’

‘Oh, how sad for your parents. And for you, too. No doubt it brought you closer to your sister.’

He shrugged. ‘Not really. I was five when she married Erwin. If anything, I saw more of Freddie than his parents did. He is Katherine’s only child. His father died four years ago and he was left to our joint guardianship. Did Freddie not mention it to you?’

‘No.’ She added a few more deft lines to the paper, then paused to study the result. ‘We were not as close as you seem to think, my lord.’

‘No? I had the impression the two of you were about to form an alliance.’

She laughed at that. ‘Heavens, no. Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘Oh, merely something Freddie said to me.’

‘Then you misunderstood him, my lord. We are friends, nothing more. If your nephew thinks differently, then I am very sorry for it. I assure you I have not knowingly misled him.’

‘Thank you for your clarification, Miss Fairchild.’ The relief he felt at her answer rocked him and he felt the need to explain himself. He said, ‘Freddie confides a great deal in me, you see. I hold him in considerable affection. Not only that, I take my responsibilities as his guardian very seriously.’

‘I am glad to hear it. But, forgive me—’ she shot a quick look at him ‘—you look very young to be anyone’s guardian.’

The words sounded innocent enough, but he had the distinct impression she was teasing him.

He said stiffly, ‘I have been head of my family for several years.’

‘But you might have inherited that title as a schoolboy,’ she pointed out. ‘How old are you?’

Damn her impertinence!

‘Not that it is any of your business,’ he ground out. ‘I am eight-and-twenty.’

‘And Freddie is not yet one-and-twenty,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘The same age as me. He is far too young to be considering marriage.’

‘But you are not.’

She stared at her sketchpad, working with fierce concentration.

‘Believe me, my lord, I have no thoughts of matrimony.’

The mood had changed. She had grown serious and he was sorry for it. He tried for a lighter note.

‘I was under the impression that was the only thought in a young lady’s head.’

‘Not in mine!’ Her pencil slipped, putting a jagged line into her picture, and she gave a little huff of dismay. ‘Oh, dear, now it is ruined!’

‘Not at all. You can add a bird to your sky, Miss Fairchild.’ He put out his hand. ‘May I show you?’

She gave him the sketch pad and pencil and watched as he deftly turned the line into a wing, followed by a few more lines that transformed it into a bird, soaring high over the rooftops.

She laughed. ‘It is perhaps more the size of an eagle than a pigeon, but you have rescued my drawing. How clever of you.’

She held her hand out for the pad, but Tristan held on to it.

‘Not yet. I would like to see a little more of your work.’

He began to turn the pages and she gave a little sigh.

‘You will find it very commonplace. My tutor says I should practise more…’

She trailed off as he turned over another page and came face to face with a portrait of his nephew. He looked up at her, his jaw tightening.

‘So, you and my nephew are merely friends, are you, Miss Fairchild?

Natalya looked in dismay at the portrait. It was the best likeness she had ever achieved, quite recognisable as Freddie Erwin although it was far from perfect. The face was too lean, the bone structure well defined with a strong jawline and nose and the mouth sensuous but firm.

‘You draw the man you want to see,’ Monsieur Cordonnier, her drawing master had said, more than once, when he had studied her portraits. ‘The man of your dreams, perhaps, mademoiselle?’

Her heart sank. She had made Freddie look far more mature and handsome than he really was. A lucky accident that had delighted Freddie, but his uncle was clearly not so pleased. She tried to explain.

‘We were at the Grishams’ house, it was a sketching party. Freddie asked if he could sit for me. Ask Jane, she will tell you!’

She hated to sound so defensive. So guilty. Lord Dalmorren was studying the pencil sketch and made no effort to call across for her friend to corroborate her story.

‘It may be crude, madam, but it is clearly recognisable. It is very flattering, too, and much better than any of the others in here. I would say you have had plenty of practice with your subject.’

‘No! It was mere chance that I managed to draw him so well!’

‘You expect me to believe that? You have captured his likeness unmistakably.’ He flicked quickly through the rest of the sheets. ‘You have sketched half-a-dozen ladies, but not one other gentleman. That tells its own tale.’

‘It tells you nothing!’ she retorted, snatching the pad from his hands. ‘If you look closely you will see where I have torn out several pages. Those were portraits that were too unsatisfactory to keep! You are determined to think the worst of me.’

‘On the contrary, I came here today determined to think well of you.’

‘I do not care a jot for your opinion!’ She scrambled to her feet and hastily gathered up her pencils and shawl. ‘I shall bid you good day, Lord Dalmorren, and would be obliged if you would go away now!’

Natalya turned on her heel and hurried across to Jane, who had been resolutely concentrating on her sketchpad. However, when Natalya plumped down beside her she looked up.

‘Good heavens, Lya, you look positively murderous! What has Lord Dalmorren said to you?’ She leaned closer, her face alight with curiosity. ‘Did he flirt with you?’

‘Hush!’ Natalya glanced anxiously towards the maid, as much to gain time as to make sure the servant was still slumbering peacefully.

She would dearly have liked to pour out her indignation to her friend, but that would not be wise. Jane was a year younger than Natalya and a poor confidante. She had always envied Jane her close friendship with her mother, but she knew her young friend was likely to blurt out any secrets to Mrs Grisham, and if the Pridhams should learn of her encounter with Lord Dalmorren, who knew what they might do? Instead she allowed her anger another outlet.

‘He could have been forgiven for thinking that was my purpose in coming here,’ she retorted. ‘Really, Jane, you should not have moved away and left me alone with him!’

‘But I thought that is what you wanted me to do!’ replied Jane, looking mystified.

‘No! I merely wanted to be able to…to converse with him without my aunt and uncle present to scrutinise our every syllable!’

‘Well, you have now had the opportunity. And by the way Lord Dalmorren stormed off I should say you have quarrelled right royally.’ She sighed and put her hand on Natalya’s arm. ‘Oh, do tell, Lya,’ she begged. ‘What happened?’

Natalya bit her lip. ‘He was…insulting.’

‘Ooh.’ Jane’s wide eyes grew even rounder. ‘What did he say?’

‘It…it was not so much what he said.’ Natalya was floundering. ‘He…he did not admire my drawing.’

It was a poor excuse and she waited for her friend to question her further, but Jane accepted it without demur.

‘How unchivalrous of him! And unjust, too. Why, you are the most accomplished artist of anyone I know, Lya. No doubt he thinks himself quite above his company!’

‘No, no!’ Natalya began to regret that she had said anything. ‘I think he was merely being honest.’ She tried to pass it off with a laugh. ‘I am so used to people praising my work that I have grown quite conceited! Come, let us not give it another thought. We should make the most of this lovely day to finish our drawings.’

Tristan did not return to the city via the steps, but followed the longer, gentler slope that descended to the river. It was a pleasant walk with extensive views over the countryside, but it was lost on him. All he could see was the portrait of Freddie. Natalya had made him impossibly handsome. He strode on, swiping at the long grasses with his cane. Damnation, if that was how she saw Freddie, how she thought of him, then she must be very much in love. But if that was the case, why the devil could she not admit it?

He went back over his meeting with Freddie. He had almost written off the boy’s protestations as youthful infatuation, but if the lady returned his regard then matters were more serious than he had first thought. His nephew might not have control of his fortune for the next four years, but he would be free to marry as he chose, once he was one-and-twenty in October. Freddie had mentioned that one of Bath’s highest sticklers was friendly with Miss Fairchild—now what was her name? Ancrum, that was it. Perhaps he should make efforts to become acquainted with the lady. If Freddie was determined to marry Natalya, he needed to learn as much about her as possible. And quickly.

With that intention Tristan took himself to the Pump Room the following morning, his eyes raking the little groups of the old and infirm until he saw his quarry. With a quiet word here and there, he made his way through the crowd towards an elderly lady in a lavender silk gown trimmed with bright green ribbons and with a startling array of green ostrich feathers curling about her turban. She was leaning heavily on her stick while sipping the famous waters from a small cup. He did not approach the lady directly, but made his way first to Mr and Mrs Conyer. He engaged them in conversation and after a few moments, with the finesse worthy of a diplomat, he engineered an introduction to his quarry.

‘Mrs Ancrum.’ He bowed over her hand. ‘You are acquainted with my mother, I believe?’

‘Lady Dalmorren?’ The old woman looked at him, her faded eyes surprisingly shrewd. ‘Ah, yes, I knew her as Maria Aynsworth. She was several years my junior and we lost touch after I retired to Bath. How does she go on?’

‘Remarkably well, ma’am, thank you.’

‘Give me your arm, my—no, I shall not stand on ceremony with the son of so old a friend, I shall call you Tristan!—give me your arm, my boy, and we will take a turn about the room. I am better if I do not stand still for too long.’ Tristan obliged and she continued, ‘Is your mother in Bath with you?’

‘No, ma’am. She has gone to stay with my sister at Frimley.’

‘I had heard she still resides at Dalmorren.’

‘Why, yes, ma’am. I am not married and the house requires a mistress.’

‘And that is why you are in Bath, is it? To find a wife?’ She noticed his slight stiffening and gave a cackle of laughter. ‘Your attentions to Natalya Fairchild have been noted. You cannot get away with anything in Bath, my boy. Hotbed of gossip.’

‘Obviously. Although I thought I had been most careful not to single out Miss Fairchild.’

‘Anyone braving the Pridhams’ displeasure enough to dance twice with that young lady would arouse comment.’

‘She does appear to be uncommonly hedged about,’ he replied cautiously. ‘Do you know why that should be, Mrs Ancrum?’ When she did not reply he added, ‘My nephew, my sister Katherine’s son, has shown a decided partiality for the lady.’

‘And the Pridhams sent him to the rightabout, did they?’ She shrugged. ‘He will recover.’

‘But I happen to believe Miss Fairchild is not indifferent to him. If that is the case, then his mother will want to know a little more about her. The Pridhams are most discouraging, but I was told that you are good friends with the young lady.’

‘But you weren’t told that I am a gossip!’

He smiled. ‘No. As you so rightly pointed out, there is gossip aplenty in Bath. I am looking for truth.’

She turned her head and gave him a long, considering look, but did not speak.

He said at last, ‘Mrs Ancrum, why are the Pridhams so discouraging?’

‘I can tell you nothing.’

‘Is that because you know nothing?’

‘It is not my place to speak of such things.’ She released his arm and held out her hand to him. ‘I will wish you good day, Lord Dalmorren.’

Thus dismissed, Tristan could only take his leave of Mrs Ancrum, but he left the Pump Room with far more questions than he had entered it.

Chapter Four

Following the outing to Beechen Cliff, Natalya determined to put Lord Dalmorren out of her mind. Tristan Quintrell might be the Nineteenth Baron Dalmorren, as she had discovered after browsing through her uncle’s copy of Peerage & Baronetage, but he was not worthy of her consideration, since he chose to think ill of her. How could he believe she was in love with Freddie Erwin!

She liked Freddie, who would not? After all, he had not been put off by her aunt’s and uncle’s attempts to discourage him. She appreciated that and with so few real friends in Bath she enjoyed his company, but although only months separated them in age, he was far too much of a boy to appeal to her. No, she preferred gentlemen of a more serious character. Ones, moreover, with whom she might discuss more than last week’s ball or the latest play. Someone well read and with wide-ranging knowledge of the world.

Someone very like Tristan Quintrell, in fact.

No! She must not think of him.

Natalya was obliged to tell herself the same thing several times over the next few days, for he remained stubbornly in her head and no amount of study could dislodge him. When she picked up her book on astronomy, she recalled sitting beside him at the lecture and their all-too-brief discussions on the subject. When she had her dancing lesson, she remembered his lithe grace at the Assembly Rooms, and when she joined the Grishams for a nature ramble with their old governess she found her thoughts wandering off. She wondered if His Lordship was still in Bath. If he would look for her in vain at that evening’s Dress Ball, which the Pridhams had decided it was not necessary to attend.

Waking to an overcast sky and steady rain did nothing to lift Natalya’s spirits the next morning. The day stretched before her. Friday was designated a study day, when she would read various informative works, usually of history or philosophy, and discuss them with Mr Pridham. They had read Voltaire and Rousseau together in French. More recently she had finished Mrs Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, which had not been one of Mr Pridham’s recommendations, and she was now making her way through all six volumes of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, but even the thought of Mr Gibbon’s very readable work could not make her look forward to the day with any great enthusiasm and it was with relief that she received an invitation to go out.