According to
Plan
"Your Grace!" Robert said in surprise when a horse appeared at his gate.
He had just been inspecting the front fence to see whether it could keep Thomas in when the boy started to walk. Thomas had been pulling himself up to a standing position earlier today and it was not unthinkable that he would soon take his first steps. Robert would prefer only having to build a new fence at the back and not at the front as well. Until the boy started to climb, the front fence would do if he planted a few more plants here and there.
The duchess dismounted with some difficulty. "I came by to tell Mrs. Newman that the frightening man has gone. I do not think he will be back."
"Miss Cartwright," he corrected, his eyes widening in surprise at the incorrect appellation.
"Pardon me, village gossip confuses me," she said calmly, as if the mistake was easy to make.
He decided not to pursue that angle, even if it was very strange to think she might have said that on purpose. Was it criticism of himself or of village gossip? She disapproved of mistresses, the duke had said, but he had no mistress and she knew that. "I heard about the incident from your son. I hope you were not harmed."
She did not reply instantly.
Robert noticed she seemed to avoid the use of one hand. While dismounting she had supported herself with her arm rather than with her hand. "Your hand. Is something wrong with it?"
"There is not." She hid it behind her back.
"But you are not using it -- and now you are hiding it." It was a rather childish tactic and it was not going to work on him. "Show it to me."
The duchess reluctantly removed a glove and showed him her hand. There was a large bruise on it and looked a little swollen. "This is all. It is not broken."
He would have to take her word for it, but it did not look very good to him. He assumed it had happened during the incident. "The duke said he shot the man."
She sighed deeply as she tried to pull her glove back on, which was difficult. "Guns," she said derisively. "I disapprove of guns."
Robert beckoned his nanny. She had not come to the gate, although he was certain she had seen the duchess. It was impossible to not see the horse. He watched Miss Cartwright approach shyly, but she had no choice; she could not shun the duchess. "Her Grace came to say the man is gone," he said when she was near enough.
"Oh," said Miss Cartwright, staring at the hand of the duchess, which was not yet covered by the glove. "But your hand!"
The duchess flexed her fingers to demonstrate that it was not quite so bad. "That comes of hitting," she said wryly. "I had to."
Robert wondered if she talked more easily to another woman. Neither of them was very talkative, but perhaps if he left them alone they would have to speak. The manners of the duchess would force her to, although the previous time she had remained silent as well. He took Thomas and slowly walked on, inspecting the fence and pretending not to glance at them.
"Mr. Newman did not know if you were hurt," Anne said in a half whisper. She would ask, even if none of the gentlemen had appeared to take much of an interest. It had been careless and unfeeling of them, although Mr. Newman had realised his error later. She supposed he had asked the question now, or they would never have been shown that hand. The duchess would not have come here to show her injury in an appeal for sympathy.
"Men do not understand," the duchess replied in an equally low voice. "A bruise they can see. My feelings they cannot."
Anne thought she understood a little. It was possible to be distressed by other things as well, such as by glances or by being followed. She would have to say she understood, if only because men did not. "He scared me without touching me."
The duchess looked alarmed. "The Worm or Mr. Newman?"
Anne now looked alarmed too. She was fairly certain that Mr. Newman would not scare her and the duchess should not be made to think ill of him now because of such an unclear comment. "That other man. Not Mr. Newman! I hope you were not invisibly hurt," she added when the duchess did not speak.
The other woman stared in the distance. "It was nothing I had not dealt with before." She was silent for a moment and then she spoke briskly. "They know it does not help their suit to hurt me truly."
Anne did not know what to say. Not truly? But in another way? Hurting another in any way was despicable and disturbing. Unbeknownst to herself, she looked even more alarmed than before. And how many men had been bothering the duchess if she used the plural?
"You must not look so frightened, Miss Cartwright," the duchess said, almost gently. "As much as I loathe the Worm and as despicable as it all is, I think he was only trying out how far he could push me before I hit him. My son does not understand that it could simply be a cruel game. He drew his pistol." Her face briefly took on a disapproving expression.
"He could have shot you!"
"No. He did not shoot until I was out of the way. Nevertheless." She shook her head and sunk away into introspection again. "Guns. I loathe guns and men."
Anne wondered if this meant she also loathed her own son, since he had been a man with a gun. That was something she could not ask, however. It was too private a question.
"Should you ever find yourself in the same position, Miss Cartwright," the duchess said after staring at her gloves. "You must come to me."
"He will not," said Anne, automatically assuming the duchess was speaking of any problems that might arise with Mr. Newman and she had to set this right immediately. "Because I believe he thinks like you about guns and men." He had been shocked and appalled enough to share it with her.
"That is -- could you help me mount?" the duchess asked. "My hand."
"I shall ask Mr. Newman," Anne said quickly. He was stronger.
"No. No men," Her Grace responded just as quickly. "Then I would rather walk."
She eyed the duchess uncertainly. It would be impossible to lift her into the saddle, even if she was not particularly heavy. "But I could only lift children."
"Only make sure I do not fall off the horse on the other side," said the duchess with a roll of her eyes. "I would never have ridden out otherwise."
Anne looked relieved that it was all that was required. She assisted, but she did not miss the sharp intake of breath when the duchess forgot she should not lean on her hand.
"Thank you," Her Grace said when she was upright. "As I was saying, that is -- I know you do not speak, Miss Cartwright, but -- but it is not always good." She gave a little frown and rode off.
"What did she say?" Robert asked when he had wandered closer again. Her Grace had ridden off after only a brief conversation. They had not examined the hand very much, so they must have been speaking about something else. He was curious if he had been the topic. Perhaps that was a selfish thought, but he could not suppress his curiosity.
"She loathes guns and men," Miss Cartwright reported dutifully. "And men do not understand feelings, only bruises. And she loathes men. Would she loathe her own son? Even if he does have a gun?"
"She feels strongly about certain topics; I noticed that when I asked her if I could hire you. She warned me that women could feel violated and soiled, even if I thought my actions were harmless." He shrugged, but he felt the topic was closely connected to the present. "I did not think about her when she said so; I thought about myself. Was she speaking of her own experiences, do you think?"
"Soiled?" Her eyes expressed incredulity and fear.
He did not want to make her afraid. "In her opinion. I have no idea if it holds true for all of womankind and I certainly do not intend to test it. Do you think Her Grace has a particular reason to feel so ... so wary of men?"
"I thought..."
"Yes?" he pressed when he felt there was more to come. "Do not be afraid to speak."
"I thought she implied that, being a rich widow, she was no stranger to being pursued?" Miss Cartwright said hesitantly. "And that it was perhaps being pursued that made her uncomfortable, even if they may not have touched her much. I am not certain whether that makes much sense."
"The pursuit is uncomfortable? Frightening?" He recalled how Miss Cartwright had run from the Worm as well. The man had not touched her, but she had still been afraid. He did not know what he ought to conclude about the duchess, who had been touched. Perhaps he ought to be less self-absorbed.
She nodded. "And being embraced would be ... urgh ... but I cannot imagine it being really painful."
"I see," Robert said with a thoughtful expression. "I remember when I was a little boy -- wait! Thomas had exactly that reaction to old scarecrows peering into his face. I suppose that babies, like rich widows, cannot escape attention from undesirable quarters. You are very clever."
"I am not," she said modestly. "I am not certain it makes much sense, but she did say that men did not understand and then that they could see bruises, but not feelings. Bruised feelings even less so?"
"Well, if one is as cool and expressionless as Her Grace," he said readily, "whose fault would that be?" Although he admitted that he would consider it odd if she were to acquaint him with every feeling she had. She would not be able to do that either, which was perhaps a quandary in which she occasionally found herself.
"But Mr. Newman, you said yourself that you do not look closely..."
"Caught me there," he admitted with a smile. He did indeed not look closely and so he would not see the tiny hints the duchess' expression gave as to her feelings. He could have known Miss Cartwright would have a sensible comment about it. "But I really should not smile, for I am quite unsettled by the whole thing. Men hunting women, other men hunting the men who hunt women, shooting, hitting ... this is not the way of civilised people, is it? It is how farm animals do it."
"How they do what?" Miss Cartwright frowned.
"Breed, really," he said after a few moments during which he wondered whether she was now imagining farm animals shooting guns. His answer was probably not very delicate, but if she walked through the neighbourhood a few more times she would see it for herself and a clever girl like Miss Cartwright could not help but note the resemblance. "I thought we had reason to set us apart from the bull."
"But what should she have done instead?"
He gave her another small smile, although he was not very amused at finding himself self-absorbed once again. "You take the female side, of course. I forgot. I was considering the male side and I did not like it." No, he did not like it at all.
She met his gaze with unexpected confidence. "I told her so."
Robert's eyes widened, both at her having defended him and at the apparent need to have done so. "Was she in doubt?"
"No."
In spite of that, he wanted to know what had been said. "She must have been, a little, or else you would not have thought of reassuring her! Spontaneously? I think not."
"Well," Miss Cartwright hedged, a fine blush spreading over her cheeks. "She said I should come to her if..."
"If I ever...? But she knows I would never do such a thing. I told her so and I always thought she believed me. I would never do it." The duchess must have had other motives for offering her assistance, but he could not see what they were.
"I said the same."
"And she said...?" She could only have been relieved, he thought.
"That it was not always good not to speak."
"I would agree with that," he nodded. "You must speak -- although I do not quite see what it has to do with the rest of the conversation." He would resent an implication that he was subjecting Miss Cartwright to all manner of distressing things to which she dared not object.
"Nothing, I thought," Miss Cartwright ventured. "Because she began to say something and ended with this instead. As one does. When one wishes to be gone."
"She had run out of condescension?" he asked with a touch of petulance. That was not fair, he knew, but he did not know what would be fair to remark.
"She had run out of things to say," she said gravely. "So she went away."
"In the middle of a sentence?" Robert tried to call himself to order. "But I suppose I should bow to your superior insight in silent females and accept whatever you have to say about her motives for suddenly breaking off a conversation. It would be very selfish of me to think anything else. I must accept that people can suddenly run out of things to say in the middle of a conversation and that they will react to this by simply going away."
"Well, what would you do?" Miss Cartwright inquired, implying that she at least considered it a perfectly natural course of action.
"I should stay and think of something else to talk about. Do not tell me you would start a sentence, turn around and walk away when you lose your thought. If everybody were to do that, there would be precious little conversation of more than three words, because many people cannot retain a thought for longer than that."
"Yes, I might do that," she said challengingly. "But I would think for much longer than I spoke."
"Not fair, is it? If I were conversing with you, you might suppose me to be interested in your thoughts and to withhold them from me then would be unfair." He attempt to return to their original topic. "I think it equally unfair of the duchess not to tell us what she thought when you told her I would never do whatever was under discussion."
"I wonder why you wonder, because you told her what to think," Miss Cartwright remarked. "And you cannot fathom that anyone would not believe it."
"Yes, that is it," he mused. He was laughable. "I cannot believe someone would not believe it -- not someone I told -- but she came here to ask about it regardless. That is odd."
She looked very patient. "She came here to tell us the man was gone."
"If you will reassure me that she really does not think I am secretly subjecting you to all manner of wickedness, I shall let the matter rest. I expect people to believe me, but perhaps I am a trifle too confident about the transparency of my character," he said doubtingly.
Chapter Fourteen
Robert realised he needed to start devoting some attention to his attire for the ball. He had only one pair of trousers that would be suitable and only one coat that was good enough, which meant he had no choice. After an inspection he thought they would do well, but he had no shoes.
"Miss Cartwright, I have no shoes," he announced when he came into the kitchen on Thursday morning. He was not surprised to see her already there. She usually got there before he did.
"Really?" She looked down instantly, but of course he was wearing a pair.
"For the ball," he clarified. "These will not do. I suppose I should ride to Muncester and buy some. Would you like to come?"
"It is not the village, is it?" she asked with predictable reluctance.
"No, it is a few miles away. Fewer people are interested in me there. Is there anything you need? Do you need shoes? Wait, you will say no. Does Thomas need shoes?" He would need some if he began to walk and that might be tomorrow, for all they knew.
"He ... might. But..." Her face expressed confusion. "If you ride to Muncester, how would you expect me to get there?"
That was easy, although he grinned at imagining the other options. "We take a carriage."
"Whose?"
"You cannot be interested if you do not wish to come," he said with a grin. "So you will come. After I finish my breakfast, I shall arrange it. Dress Thomas up and the carriage will pick you up."
Anne had done as Mr. Newman had ordered. She had dressed up a little more nicely because she might be taken somewhere in a very fashionable carriage, since she supposed it would be one of the duke's. She might draw attention to herself if she came out of it looking shabby. The trip excited her a little, she was surprised to discover. Trips were not frightening, people were.
"Are you going out?" inquired Mrs. Farrell when she arrived.
"To buy shoes for Thomas. And Mr. Newman needs shoes." Anne wondered if she was not dressed appropriately, because Mrs. Farrell had glanced at her clothes. She was self-conscious about them now. "He has to go to the duke's ball, so they have to be dressy shoes and they might not let me into such a shop if I dressed normally."
"Yes, yes, quite fastidious they are in dressy shops! I once only peered into a window and out they came! Said I could not afford it and I had best not make people think they sold anything I could afford. I told him that if any rich people came in and saw him, they would run out again anyway because he was so ugly," Mrs. Farrell said with a smug look.
Anne laughed.
She was still amused when a carriage stopped at the gate. She lifted Thomas up and carried him to the carriage.
Mr. Newman came out. "I have brought a chaperone, you see." He pointed at Mrs. Black.
"Oh." Anne wondered why she needed one, but she did not mind the addition to their party.
"Allow me to make an observation, Miss Cartwright," Mrs. Black commented from inside the carriage. "You do not seem to be bringing anything else."
She stared. What else was she supposed to bring? Something large, or else Mrs. Black would not be able to tell it was not in a pocket. "No."
"Hold the baby, Mr. Newman." Mrs. Black climbed out and took Anne's arm when it was free, leading her back to the house. "You have not been out with him for long, have you?"
"With Mr. Newman?" She had not been out with him at all, save for that one time that she had gone to bring him his bread -- and the barn dance, of course, but neither occasion had been over two hours. It had not been long.
"He does not need frequent changing, I assume!"
"Oh. Thomas?" She had not thought of that, but she had no idea how long they were going to be away either. She recalled he had been dirty after the barn dance, after church, after any long time of not checking him, really. He might need changing indeed. "Oh."
Mrs. Black told her what to pack.
Robert had wondered if they were staying overnight when the ladies returned with a bag, but he had not asked. He conversed with Mrs. Black as they rode to town, with Miss Cartwright making only very few contributions. He found himself looking at her often nevertheless. She had changed her clothes after breakfast and she had come out of the house very well-dressed and smiling. Of course it did not make her more talkative, but that did not really matter.
The ladies and he separated in town, but their business was conducted faster than his, for they rejoined him in the first shop he had entered. It was no wonder, since he had been there close to half an hour due to not being able to decide which pair of shoes to buy. The shop assistants naturally advised the most expensive pair, but he did not think it would have to serve him at more than one ball and as such it would be a waste of money.
He was glad for the ladies now. They might have a more unbiased opinion as to what was fashionable. It did not really have to be fashionable at all, as long as he looked tolerable and not out of place. "Mrs. Black, what do you think? My coat is blue." These fellows here had been speaking incessantly of green coats, but he was not going to get himself a new coat merely because of his new shoes.
Mrs. Black first inquired after the prices, placed the shoes in an ascending order and conferred with Miss Cartwright in a whisper.
Robert watched it suspiciously. Miss Cartwright's opinion was evidently being solicited, but he did not know whether she wanted to give it. She gave answers, however, but he could not hear them.
"That pair," Mrs. Black indicated after a while.
Robert had no objections to it. In fact, he had no real objections to any of these shoes except for the outrageous prices of some of them.
"Madam!" one of the shop assistants protested. There were several more expensive pairs.
"Are you not supposed to be glad you make a sale at all, young man?" she inquired.
"I do not have as much money as my cousin," Mrs. Black revealed when they were partaking of some refreshments. "So I made it my habit to pay close attention to prices. We got quite a good deal on these small shoes, did we not, Anne?"
Anne? Robert glanced at her, but of course she was blushing a little. Either she was embarrassed by being addressed or by having spent his money. He would believe either thing. "Well, I am sure Thomas will make more use of his shoes than I shall of mine," he said to reassure anybody who might care about his opinion. "And so the money was well-spent."
"But you, Mr. Newman, may wear your shoes to every ball in the next twenty years," Mrs. Black reasoned. "Whereas Thomas must wear them up before his little feet grow out of them."
"Every ball in the next twenty years!" he exclaimed, trying to remember how many balls he had attended in his life. "If this is my third in five and twenty years..."
"I would not count your first twenty years. That would make it three in five years. Now that alters your prospects significantly, does it not?"
"Should I be happy with that?" Robert asked, raising his eyebrows. He was not sure he liked them well enough. "Are you attending the ball, Mrs. Black?"
"Not in a dancing capacity," she smiled. "But I shall be listening to the music and perhaps I could talk with my cousin if she is in the mood."
"Do I know your cousin?" Miss Cartwright asked timidly.
Mrs. Black looked surprised at the question. "I think you do. She spoke to you yesterday, she said. Did she really? I do not always believe she really did."
"Does she always wear black?"
"Does she? I believe she does indeed. She had got her hand stuck between a door and it hurt her very much, but she went out riding anyway. Madness, if you ask me."
Robert stared and he saw Miss Cartwright did the same. He wondered what to say. Should he correct that story and tell the truth? He did not want to tell the duchess' cousin that she had lied. Or had she lied to them? One of these versions was not correct, however.
"B-B-But her hand was hurt because she hit a man with it," Miss Cartwright stuttered.
This gave Mrs. Black pause. "Ah," she said slowly. "I thought it was an odd story, about the door. Who ever gets her hand stuck in a doorway? And she seemed unnaturally embarrassed about it. Hit a man. Which man and why?"
"She called him the Worm," Robert said. "Her son told me this man had wanted to embrace her and ... er ... the duke shot him in the arm."
Mrs. Black shook her head in dismay. "That is awful. I told her no good could come of her always wandering about on her own and she dismissed my concerns because she had been doing it for more than twenty years. Is that why she did not tell me?"
"I could not begin to say."
"The poor child," Mrs. Black said feelingly.
Robert could not quite reconcile that description to the duchess. "Child?" he inquired. Although he believed Miss Cartwright had been too generous about Her Grace's age, even that generosity did not make her a child.
"Yes, child! The poor child. Was Daniel in time to prevent worse harm?" She seemed to fear something disastrous.
"Prevent worse harm? He shot the man!" Robert thought most of the harm had come from Daniel himself. Then he remembered the ladies would think of other ladies first. "But I think she was not harmed further."
"I shall try and speak with her this evening," Mrs. Black said with a look of concern. "Because it is not going well at all, when she was just beginning to -- but you do not want to be bothered by this at all. You are here to do your shopping. Now Anne told me Thomas has no toys..."
Chapter Fifteen
The following days passed quietly. It was raining incessantly and Anne hardly left the house. She made great progress on Thomas' clothes, but regardless of how much she encouraged him he did not yet walk. He would pull himself up and he could stand, but for moving he dropped to his hands and knees.
He loved his shoes, but not on his feet. He loved to take them off and he would become very frustrated if Anne tied his laces in such a way they could not be untied. In fact, he loved shoes quite as much as his new toys. Perhaps he saw no difference between their respective amusement values. Anne was glad Mr. Newman had approved of buying a few toys. Although Thomas could not yet make perfect use of all of them, he liked to examine them anyway.
On Sunday she sat by Mrs. Lewis again in church, but because it was still raining heavily she did not have to speak with anybody else outside the church. Everyone hurried home as soon as they could and save for a few greetings to Mr. Newman that included her, she got away without having had to become acquainted with anybody she did not know.
She had seen Mrs. Black and the duchess together with two young men, although she knew the duke to be in town. Mr. Newman had said so. He had some matters to see to as a result.
Robert had to go out with the duchess every day. The duke had travelled to town because of his obligations and there was no one else to accompany his mother as she visited all the tenants. Secretly he wondered why she could not take a pair of footmen to keep her safe, but she had insisted without explaining herself. It must be connected to her unfortunate adventure and he wondered if Mrs. Black had raised the matter with her. Her cousin had clearly been concerned and perhaps it was she who had insisted on the escort, which would explain why the duchess did not want to elaborate on her reasons for requiring him.
He had come and held her umbrella. Exactly why else he was needed he did not know. She had known these people for years, much longer than he had. Between visits she spoke about them or not at all. And they had not seen any strange men on their way. The Worm appeared to have given up.
It took them three days to visit everybody, because Her Grace also had to oversee the preparations for the ball at home. They finished the last of their visits on Monday, one day before the ball. The duchess heaved a sigh of relief after their last call. It was audible and Robert stared at her.
"I am glad it is over," she said by way of explanation.
"Just in time," he said, thinking that was the reason for sighing. He had not thought it would make much of a difference. It would not matter when the small gifts came, would it? Nobody had been counting on them.
"Years of practice reconcile one to the evils of such outings, but this shall never be my favourite task." She glanced out of the window.
"The evils?" Robert looked alarmed, thinking she meant poverty and a lack of refinement. He had never thought the situation was so bad here. He had seen worse. It could all look more cheerful on a sunny day, but the only truly dirty people he had seen were children playing in the mud and everyone had been most polite and respectful. No dirty beggars had left smudges on the duchess's gown.
"Having to find something to say at every house," she said reluctantly. "Perhaps it comes naturally to you, Mr. Newman, but we are not all blessed with the gift of easy conversation."
"I know," he answered with Miss Cartwright in mind. "But I did not notice anything amiss." He had not had to speak for her and she had not blushed or hesitated once. Her problems were very likely not all that great.
"Practice."
"I do not think your son could have done better." The duke might have talked more, but not about pertinent subjects. He would not have known anything about the tenants. Of course he could have asked them about their situation then and there, but that would not have the same effect as already knowing that the eldest daughter of the family was a scullery maid in service at the great house.
"Of course he could," she said somewhat disapprovingly. "He does have the gift."
"Is everything set for the ball?" he asked, but perhaps such a question would also remind her of her son's indifference and she did not seem to be happy with that. He hoped the duke would be back in time to see some of the preparations being carried out, so that he realised actual work had to be undertaken for his amusement. Robert was not entirely certain he was aware of that.
"Yes. I was glad to have the sole hand in the preparations. It keeps down the costs and extravagance." She kept looking out of the window.
"And colour?" Robert said before he could check himself. He supposed she would have a dislike of anything too colourful and exuberant, but he should not have said this.
"Customs dictate that widows wear black," she said stiffly.
"Would you rather not then?" He was surprised at her resignation, because he had always thought she was fond of black. He could not recall what she had worn before her husband's death, but it almost certainly had not been yellow. Dark blue? Brown?
She spoke calmly now. "Mr. Newman, really. What does it matter? I cannot see it myself."
But he could. "You would appear less sinister."
"Sinister!" she exclaimed in utter amazement, turning her face towards him. "Sinister?"
Everybody would be surprised at being called sinister, he supposed, so her amazement might not mean that she was not sinister at all. "Perhaps that is not the correct term, but you are always in black and you never smile."
"Mr. Newman, you have read too many cheap novels if you think I am some sinister villainess." She still looked amazed.
"I never said villainess," he protested, although he wondered what other roles there were for the sinister. He had not read enough novels, despite what she believed.
"You must have meant it, for I cannot be a heroine because I do not cry and faint," the duchess said with some contempt for the average heroine.
"But you did get attacked," he pointed out, feeling he could comment because she was not angry. "Although I suppose your reaction was not as delicate as the reaction of a proper heroine." He did not suppose they would hit the perpetrator. They would lack the strength and nerve.
She made no comment on her delicacy. Perhaps she did not disagree. "I am also a mother and mothers are never heroines."
"Does this mean you have really read such novels?" Robert supposed she must have, if she knew so much about them. He would never have thought it possible. Such books were extremely silly and only to be read as a last resort, such as when one was snowed or rained in for days.
"It does. If you ever wish to borrow any you need only ask."
"Miss Cartwright might," he mused, although perhaps she was too sensible for them. "She asked me if I had real books, not those on agriculture."
"I am not altogether certain she would consider a cheap novel a real book. She struck me as well-educated."
"And you were not?" he could not help but ask, but he might not be in danger. If he had not yet been dismissed, she would not start thinking of it now.
"I have had more years to put all of that behind me. We are at your house, Mr. Newman. I shall walk you to the door with the umbrella and ask your nanny about the books." She gave him a smile.
"Uh!" he said unintelligently, for he had not seen that incorrectly. "You smiled!"
"I am more often imperturbably amused," she remarked evenly.
"You are sometimes amused?" he cried, although he was not surprised his foolish reaction could cause amusement. It was merely surprising that it was in her.
She prodded him out of the carriage with the umbrella. "Yes." Then she handed the umbrella to him so that he might protect them from the rain.
Robert was still stunned as he walked to his house.
"Doo!" Thomas cried when Mr. Newman appeared with the duchess.
She lifted him up and cooed at him. "You remember me! Very good, Tommy!"
Mr. Newman wore a strange expression on his face, so Anne glanced at him uncertainly. "Are you unwell?" she inquired in concern. Perhaps he had got cold and wet from being out in that awful weather all day, despite having taken a carriage. She had thought of him often, almost every time she had looked out of the window and seen how wet it was.
"Listen to what she is saying!"
"Mr. Newman thinks I am a sinister villainess because I am in mourning," said the duchess calmly, as if she had not used a different tone on the infant moments before.
Anne stared at Mr. Newman. She could not believe he had said so. It was quite insulting to tell someone she was a sinister villainess. She thought she had told him the duchess was not bad, but perhaps she had not managed to make herself clear.
"Miss Cartwright, Mr. Newman thought you might want to read real books. I have some cheap novels, but perhaps you were educated not to read them."
"I have read a few," Anne said cautiously. She had indeed been told not to read them, but she had managed to get her hands on a few regardless. She was not certain whether she ought to express an interest or not, although the duchess did say she had cheap novels and she could not be saying that without a reason.
"I have some of the sinister kind, but I do not keep them in the library, of course. You will have to ask me personally. I should go now. They will be waiting for me." She handed Thomas to Anne. "He has much to learn."
Anne was not sure whether the duchess meant Thomas or Mr. Newman. It might be applicable to both. "How is your hand now, Your Grace?" she asked, thinking it likely that Mr. Newman had forgotten to ask. He had merely told her every evening how little the duchess had said to him and what a waste of his time it had been to serve only as a sort of footman.
"Thank you for inquiring." She took off her glove and showed that nothing remained but a bruised colour. "It is healing."
Mr. Newman, who had got a little wet despite the protection of the umbrella, went upstairs to change his clothes. Anne had seen him do so every time he returned and she did not wonder at it.
"I..." Anne hesitated, but she felt she must speak. "I must apologise for Mr. Newman's uncivil comment. I am sure he does not really think you a villainess."
"He only said sinister. I turned it into a villainess to rile him," was Her Grace's surprising remark. "I understand he does not like black. I was not offended, merely surprised because I had never considered it. Tell me why you make his excuses, Miss Cartwright."
Anne blushed furiously. She did not know.
"I find it quite interesting," the duchess resumed. "But you must not let that trouble you. I am expected at the dinner table shortly and I must still change. You will not be at the ball?"
"Me?" She was astonished.
"Be glad. I doubt you would enjoy such an occasion. If it stops raining I shall send you some reading material."
Anne sat down with Thomas when the duchess was gone. Thomas, of course, distracted her when he felt he had his personal servant to himself again.
His father joined them shortly. "She is odd," said Mr. Newman, who was not yet recovered from the shock. "She smiled."
"Yes."
"You had indeed told me she smiled. I remember that you did, but I swear I never saw it." He sat down beside her. "And she said Tommy."
"Well..." Anne sometimes did so as well. It was hardly an unusual abbreviation.
"You do not share my shock," he observed. "Why not?"
Because she looked more closely, she would say, but she could not. He knew why he did not look closely. He had given her his reasons too.
"Ah, silence. Does that mean you do not want to say I am stupid?"
"I could never want to say that," Anne said truthfully. "But I shall not often be required to suppress the words, I am sure."
"Words must not be suppressed in any case," he said readily. "The person who had much to learn was me, was it not? I heard that comment."
"I did not know whom she meant. Truly!" Anne said so she would not be called upon to speculate.
"Well," he said with a laugh. "If you did not know, you believe that both of us have much to learn. Regardless of what the duchess meant, you believe I do!"
She coloured, although he did not appear offended by it because he laughed.
Sometime after midday on Tuesday a maid came to deliver a basket with books with the compliments of Her Grace. Anne was a little excited to start looking through the pile. The top volume was an outdated guide on childrearing. She did not know why this had been included and she laid it aside for the time being. The other books were indeed the novels that had been promised. Their titles were extremely odd, far worse than anything Anne had ever read. This was the sort of fare she had always been discouraged from taking up. There could not be anything particularly edifying about The Sinister Squire, after all.
One of the books had a piece of paper that stuck out. Included this for Mr. N, said the note. Anne gasped when she saw the title: The Black Witch. Yes, he would like such a title. She had to laugh at it. Mr. Newman would be surprised. He thought the duchess had no sense of humour, but Anne suspected otherwise.
She left The Black Witch for Mr. Newman and she took up The Sinister Squire in a moment of idleness. His scar and his piercing stare were revealed in the first chapter and she had no doubt they were no good indicators of his character whatsoever.
After one chapter she guiltily turned back to Thomas, who had been playing quietly and who would not have minded if she had read on, but she was here to take care of him and not to waste her time on such books.
Robert came home early to change. He had not thought he required all day, but an hour or so must be the least to spend on his appearance for a ball. Miss Cartwright met him smilingly and he wondered why. He did not think it was his return that caused such a reaction. Although she had always looked pleased or relieved, she had never looked so amused and ready to giggle.
"Her Grace sent some bad novels," she revealed. "And one for you especially."
"Oh dear." As he spoke, he could not help but wonder why she had sent it here, when he had been under the same roof all day. And why a bad novel?
"I placed it on your dressing table, if you do not mind the intrusion."
He wondered why he could possibly mind. "I think not. Thank you. I shall try to give it a glance while I change. But tell me why it makes you giggle!" he burst out, unable to contain his curiosity.
"Oh, I could not. You must see for yourself."
He would go, but not just yet. He still did not understand why there was a bad novel especially for him, since he did not think he had displayed very much of an interest in them. On the contrary. "But I thought the reading was for you. I do not want to deprive you of such riveting texts." That caused Miss Cartwright to gape at him and he laughed. "What surprises you?"
"In my mind, I had been calling your texts riveting. It is amusing that you would use the same word in the same manner."
"But my texts are riveting, miss!" Robert stuck up his chin and pretended to be offended. "If only you were such a good girl as to improve your mind by reading them, but no! You must read the duchess' drivel."
He went upstairs and had a near seizure at the title of the book, but even more so at the note. He understood why Miss Cartwright had giggled. The Black Witch. Surely they did not think he really thought the duchess was a black witch?
Mr. Newman had gone away to the duke's ball, saying he would not stay there for very long. It did not matter to Anne. She had not planned to stay up until his return and she had gone to bed before the normal hour, trying to read.
She was wondering what was happening at the ball. That she had not been invited was not something she regretted or resented, for she preferred staying at home, but she was curious about Mr. Newman. He had looked very well when he left and she had no reason to think anybody could think otherwise, not even people who were used to the very best, such as friends of the duke's. Exactly how looking well would affect Mr. Newman's time at the ball, she did not know, but there was a connection.
If that was not enough, Thomas did not want to go to sleep. She could hear him cry, distracting her from the squire, and eventually she had to get him out of bed. Mrs. Black's advice to leave him be sometimes did not work in this instance. She could hear him so well and his crying sounded so pitiful that she could not leave him on his own. He looked so happy when she came in that she did not have the heart to leave him. She took him with her.
Anne left the door to the nursery open, as well as her own. When Mr. Newman came home he would be able to guess where Thomas was. Minnie had not gone with him and she followed Anne, lying down on the rug. Anne gave the dog a glance, but she did not send her away. She placed Thomas in her own bed beside her, which seemed to please him. He liked it even more when she read to him from the book.
It was difficult not to feel any excitement upon approaching the large house, even if one did not have much enthusiasm for such gatherings. The last part of the way was well-lit and there was a bustle of people alighting from their carriages.
Robert continued on. He felt no particular need to use the main entrance to be received in a formal manner. Such grand arrivals were for people of quality. Besides, he did not know anyone and no one could be interested in his arrival. He used another entrance, leaving his walking boots and his overcoat in his office. Now his appearance was more suitable.
Mrs. Lewis surprised him when he exited his office. "How fine you look, Mr. Newman! But why are you not using the front entrance?"
"Would you? I much prefer slipping in unnoticed. Am I not merely here to make up the numbers?" He had no illusions about his invitation and he would keep that in mind, despite secretly liking the compliment. Miss Cartwright had said his attire looked very well, a statement he had hoped could be taken as understated rather than reluctant praise. It seemed he had been right if Mrs. Lewis said the same.
"You look as well as any of the titled gentlemen, sir!" Mrs. Lewis praised as if to prove him even more right.
"Thank you, but I am the duke's steward and not his friend. I have no such aspirations." It was not false modesty. He was quite satisfied with what he was, although he quite liked hearing he looked well.
"Everybody is His Grace's friend."
"True. He has so many he cannot do all of them justice," he smiled. He gave the housekeeper a polite bow. "I shall do my duty and make an appearance in the ballroom."
Not all of the guests were young and dashing friends of the duke's. Someone had taken care to invite some respectable older people as well and the result was closer to an ordinary ball than Robert had assumed. There were more than twenty gentlemen and he would say even more than twenty ladies.
Mother and son danced the first dance. They danced well. Although they seemed to enjoy the occasion, both also seemed to enjoy going about their respective pursuits when the first dance had ended. The duchess passed him and gave him a smug look. He knew why -- her gown was embroidered with so much gold thread that it no longer seemed black and she could never be a black witch. She did not ask anything about the book and he felt relieved, for he would not have known what to say. Perhaps Miss Cartwright always felt like this, he mused, seeing people pass and fearing they might speak.
Robert was still determined not to dance and so he had taken up a position from where he could observe everything. He could at least ascertain whether he was denying himself anything worthy by not dancing, but he had not yet caught sight of young ladies he considered pleasant.
Mr. Patterson, a local, moved nearer. "Alone, Mr. Newman?"
Robert gave him his most astonished look in reply. Perhaps that would alert the man to the impropriety of the question. He would not bring his nanny to a ball and he would also not surround himself with young ladies.
"Ah, I thought..." Mr. Patterson did not finish, but it was clear that what he was thinking had something to do with the gossip.
"Alone." He could say worse things, but one of them must be well-mannered. His curt reply sufficed, for Mr. Patterson soon turned away.
"Not dancing?" a young navy officer next to him inquired before his eye fell on the mourning band. "I beg your pardon."
"I might have considered dancing by now had I not wondered why I was invited in the first place," Robert divulged. "And so..." And so he was standing in the shadows, watching. He did not mind. Most of the guests were unknown to him.
"I wondered why there was a ball to begin with. I had assumed my aunt had some more firmness than this," the navy officer said disapprovingly. "Daniel must have been begging on his knees. My aunt is still in black."
"Are you His Grace's cousin, Captain Lenton?" He had heard of the man, naturally, but the captain had not stayed in his house in the village often since Robert had become the steward at Muncester; a few days here and there and so they had never met. "I am Robert Newman, his steward, which must explain why I had my reservations about being invited."
"I feel I have more of a right to have some reservations, Mr. Newman" said the captain with a polite bow. "Why could stewards not attend? I do not see it. But why invite a man who detests dancing?"
"And why do you detest dancing, Captain?" The man had a dashing uniform and would not lack for partners if he exerted himself so far as to ask them -- but he did not appear eager to do so.
"I am all grace and elegance and I remember the steps perfectly. And of course at sea I am kept au fait with the latest fashion and novelties, which I can relate in my usual brilliantly charming and witty manner to all the charming and clever specimens of womanhood, on whose toes I never step."
Robert decided he liked the captain and he grinned, although he was certain the man was too severe on himself. "But do you enjoy watching at least?" From the captain's attitude he deduced that even watching was considered a waste of his time.
"I wonder if they locked the billiards room," Captain Lenton mused slyly with half a glance aside.
Robert liked the captain's train of thought as well. "I suppose they thought the risk of people preferring that to a ball was rather small. But you could always check whether it is locked, since you are family," he said equally slyly.
"You must obey the family's orders, must you not?"
"If I were ordered to play by a member of the family, I must obey," Robert agreed.
"Splendid." The pair left the ballroom.
© 2006 Copyright held by the author.