Elizabeth Bailey - Misfit Maid

Delagarde seized upon her gratefully, uttering in despairing accents, ‘Aunt Hes, thank God! Kindly inform this lunatic female that I cannot possibly lend her countenance and become her fraudulent trustee.’

‘Gracious, what in the world do you mean?’ demanded this lady in astonished accents, looking from him to Maidie and back again. ‘Who is this? What is she doing here? Is she alone?’

‘My own questions exactly,’ asserted Delagarde, ‘and if you can get any more sense out of her than I did, you may call me a dunderhead.’

Maidie found herself the target of two pairs of eyes, the one popping with questions, the other registering a grim satisfaction. She drew a resolute breath, thrusting down the most unpleasant feelings engendered by Lord Delagarde’s persistent rejection. She refused to be put off. She had come this far. She was not going to be turned away from her purpose now. A sudden thought struck her. If this lady was Delagarde’s aunt, and she was already living in the house, then there must be an end to Delagarde’s scruples.

‘But this is excellent!’ she uttered, with characteristic frankness, moving forward to grasp the elder lady’s hand. ‘You are his aunt?’

‘Great-aunt,’ amended the other, surprise in her voice.

‘And you live here!’ Maidie turned enthusiastically to Delagarde. ‘I don’t understand why you were making such a fuss. What possible objection can there be to my living here in these circumstances?’

‘There is every objection. Besides, my aunt does not reside here. She is here only on a short visit.’ He added on a note of sarcasm, ‘Sorry as I am to disappoint you.’

‘But you may prolong your visit, may you not?’ asked Maidie eagerly of the other lady. ‘I cannot think that the business will take very long. Indeed, I hope it won’t. I am as eager to remove back to the country as Lord Delagarde is to get rid of me. But I won’t go back before I am settled.’

‘You see?’ Delagarde said, crossing the room to take up his post at the mantelpiece again. ‘Mad as a March hare!’ He looked across at Maidie. ‘You are wasting your time. You need not think that my aunt, who is bound to be shocked by your conduct, will support you. She will undoubtedly advise me to send you packing.’

‘I can speak for myself, I thank you, Laurie,’ announced the older woman firmly.

Her attention caught, Maidie’s glance went from Delagarde to his aunt, who was studying her with some interest. She stared back boldly, thinking hard. Delagarde seemed to be adamant, she was making no headway there. But hope was reviving fast. If she could only bring this lady round to her side! She was not, she told herself, a schemer. Not like Adela, not in the true sense of the word. Only what else could she have done? She would have preferred to set up house on her own. It was what she had planned to do, with Worm as chaperon. But that scheme would not do, as she had been brought to realise. She had been obliged to fall back upon convention, and for that she needed help. It had not entered her head that her designated assistant would decline to give that help. Now what was she to do? She made up her mind.

Addressing herself to Delagarde’s aunt, she said, ‘I have not properly introduced myself. I am Lady Mary Hope, daughter of the late John Hope, fourth Earl of Shurland; and great-niece of the late Reginald Hope, fifth Earl of Shurland, and my erstwhile guardian. I am related to Lord Delagarde through my mother, who was a Burloyne.’

‘Have we any relations called Burloyne, Aunt?’ asked Delagarde. ‘You ought to know. She claims it comes through the Otterburns.’

The elder lady nodded. ‘It does, indeed. Although it is some few generations back.’

‘I thought as much. Far too remote to be of consequence.’

Maidie brightened. ‘Are you an Otterburn, then, ma’am?’

‘I am Lady Hester Otterburn. Dorinda—that is, Delagarde’s mother—was my niece.’ To Maidie’s relief, Lady Hester smiled and touched her arm with a friendly hand. ‘What is it you want, child?’

Drawing a breath, Maidie plunged in again. ‘I want Lord Delagarde to arrange my debut.’

For a moment, Lady Hester looked at her with almost as great a blankness as had Delagarde. Then, to Maidie’s bewilderment, she burst out laughing. Lord Delagarde’s reluctance to oblige her was at least comprehensible. But this? She watched as the elder lady betook herself to Delagarde’s lately vacated chair and sat down.

‘Forgive me,’ she uttered, as soon as she could speak, ‘but that is the funniest idea I have heard in years.’

‘I don’t see why,’ Maidie said, pained.

‘Nor do I,’ agreed Delagarde, regarding his aunt with disfavour. ‘What the devil do you mean by it, Aunt Hes?’

Lady Hester bubbled over again. ‘The picture of you, Laurie, in the role of nursemaid to an ingenue. Really, it does not bear imagination! What in the world possessed you to think of such a thing, child? Laurie has no more notion of how to steer a young girl through the social shoals than the man in the moon.’

‘There is no man in the moon,’ Maidie said, vaguely irritated.

‘This is typical,’ commented Delagarde, gesturing towards her. ‘Her whole conversation consists of nonsequitur statements.’ To Maidie, he added, ‘We know there is no man in the moon. What is that to the purpose?’

Maidie tutted. ‘It is a foolish expression, which only shows how little people know of the cosmos.’

Both Lady Hester and Delagarde stared at her. Maidie eyed them both back, frowning. Had she said something out of the way? She knew she had been too little in company to appreciate the niceties of etiquette. Adela was always complaining of her lack of social graces. There had been some spite in that, but perhaps there was more ground for the complaint than Maidie had thought. Well, it mattered little. She had scant interest in society, and if only she could get this business over and done with, she would not be in need of social graces.

‘May we return to the point of this discussion?’ she asked, her tone a trifle frigid.

‘By all means,’ said Lady Hester amiably. ‘Do tell me why you hit upon poor Laurie for the task of introducing you.’

‘It was not by chance, you know.’ Maidie dug once more into her reticule, and brought out the letter, which she gave to Lady Hester. ‘This is from Lady Delagarde.’

‘Thank you. Do sit down, child.’

Thus adjured, Maidie resumed her former chair as Lord Delagarde walked across and took a seat on a little sofa that faced the fire. She eyed him surreptitiously, aware that he was watching her. Not, she dared say, with any degree of approval. Not that she wanted his approval. If there had been any other option open to her, she would have felt much inclined to abandon her scheme, for she was sure he was going to prove difficult. He was evidently a man used to having his own way, and all too likely to give her a great deal of trouble.

The thought faded from her mind as Lady Hester came to the end of the letter she was reading, and spoke.

‘It is Dorinda’s hand, I can vouch for that.’

‘I never doubted it,’ said Delagarde. ‘I hope I can recognise my own mother’s handwriting. What of it? You have not heard the half of this ridiculous story. Here is this female—’

‘Lady Mary, you mean,’ interpolated his aunt.

‘If she is Lady Mary—’

‘Oh, I think there can be no doubt of that.’

‘Thank you,’ put in Maidie gratefully. ‘I cannot think why he would not believe me.’

Delagarde almost snorted. ‘Because your conduct hardly tallies with the title.’

‘Laurie, do be quiet!’ begged Lady Hester. ‘Let the child tell her tale in her own way.’