Free The Heiress Companion by Madeleine E. Robins Page A

in
her manner of late; the answer would not have pleased her.
    With her mistress more likely to be up and doing, Rowena
found her position in the house somewhat changed. She still oversaw a good deal
of the householding from necessity, since Lady Bradwell was not, despite her
disclaimers, healthy enough yet to tramp up and down stairs with Mrs. Coffee,
discussing the condition of the green hall hangings, or the plaster in the
maids’ quarters. But frequently Miss Cherwood was left with unaccustomed free
time. She would not haunt the sickroom, feeling that Ulysses and Lord Bradwell
should have some time for their unadmitted courtships. So, when Lady Bradwell
had no use for her and nothing in the house required her attention, she was
likely to take her paints and easel out of doors for a few hours’ sketching. It
was as she amused herself one afternoon that she was accosted by Mr. Greavesey:
Mr. John Greavesey, doctor’s assistant.
    At their first meeting some months before, while he was
delivering Lady Bradwell’s drops, Mr. Greavesey had evaluated Miss Cherwood
pretty closely, deciding finally that she was an attractive woman of none-too
extensive means. Nothing else, he was sure, could account for her tenure as a
lady’s companion, or for her unmarried state at the great age of seven and
twenty. She was always elegantly turned out, but this Mr. Greavesey attributed
to a saving disposition and a gift for improvisation, no mean thing in a woman.
She was, of course, a trifle high-spirited, but that, he felt sure, could be
dealt with over the course of time. In short, Mr. Greavesey had quite some time
ago intended Miss Rowena Cherwood for his wife.
    He had not yet, of course, apprised the lady of the honor
due her.
    Mr. Greavesey was not a vain man, and realized that he
might, perhaps, be said to lack certain points in the way of dress, perhaps
even of etiquette. He readily acknowledged, when challenged, that his chin was
too long, his nose too pointy, and his countenance too lugubrious to stir a
beat in the female bosom. He would even admit to a slight odor of quinine and asafetida
which clung to his person at all times. Still, he flattered himself there were
certain advantages to his suit which would certainly weigh with a woman so
reduced in her own circumstances that she had no alternative to paid slavery as
a lady’s companion.
    Coming upon Rowena at her painting was, it seemed to him,
the ideal time for him to practice the charm of address which he felt he had in
abundance.
    “Miss Cherwood!” he announced with originality.
    Rowena regarded him with irritation. The man was standing
directly in her line of view, smiling his particularly cadaverous smile.
    “Good day, Mr. Greavesey,” she returned with as little
enthusiasm as she could decently exhibit.
    “Well, well, the artist at work, eh? What a pleasure it is
for me to see the very hand of the artist at — at — at —” he floundered, at a
loss for a word.
    “At work?” Rowena suggested.
    “Exactly!” Greavesey returned, undaunted. “Might I not see
the painting?”
    Reluctantly, but feeling a bit sorry for her brusque tone,
Rowena motioned for Greavesey to approach the easel. She had a certain feeling
of relief that at least it was not one of her better sketches. And
satisfaction, since the doctor’s assistant obviously could not tell a good from
bad piece of work, and was ahhing ecstatically.
    “A charming piece, Miss Cherwood. Charming!” he announced at
last. “But then, I am sure you do everything in the most charming fashion. I am
come with her Ladyship’s drops, and the sleeping draught for Miss Cherwood.” He
patted his leather bag contentedly. “And the doctor suggested that I might look
in on both the young ladies to see how they went on. Might I hope that you will
accompany me?”
    There were very few things Rowena would have liked less to
do. But common courtesy, and a feeling that she ought not to leave Margaret and
Jane to deal