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Chapter 6, Part 8 ~ A Time to Weep and a Time to Laugh
As Tim hitched his seat nearer the others and leaned forward, preparing to contribute whatever and whenever he could, John pulled pen, paper and notes from his pockets. He looked expectantly at his host, resembling nothing so much as a first-year student at University, sitting, in some awe, at the feet of a revered and respected professor, waiting eagerly to gather up whatever pearls of wisdom and knowledge the learned man would deign to let drop from his lips. Mr. Scribney, for his part appearing quite the venerated scholar, waiting to encourage, correct and prompt his two very promising pupils as necessary, opened the discussion. "Of Mr. Chase, Sir Isaac and Lord Latham, we have as yet heard very little, Mr. Blevins. Might we not begin with them?"
John's eyes clouded, his brow wrinkled in perplexity. "Mr. Chase seems to lead a remarkably quiet life, doing nothing to excite the slightest curiosity in those about him, nothing to mark him at all, out of the million or more inhabitants of London. Such an achievement of anonymity, by someone of his reputed wealth and standing, seems an almost noteworthy oddity in itself!"
Tim shook his head in disgusted agreement. "That Mr. Chase's a gentl'man what keeps close to himself, it does seem. I still haven't heard anythin' worth knowin' or tellin', neither, nobody at all to gossip about 'im!"
John and Tim, as one, turned their eyes on Mr. Scribney, both hoping he would tender something useful, both hoping, as well, that they would not be required to wait ten or more minutes for each of his additions to the conversation. The artist surprised them with an immediate offering, and, though presented with no especial emphasis, by the significance of his words. "I have never met the gentleman personally; but, he is said to speak perfect English... albeit with a thick French accent."
If he had planned for and desired a reaction to this initial contribution, he could not have been better pleased with the result. His guests leaned forward in their chairs, waiting for the next revelation, anticipation and impatience showing keenly on both countenances.
"However, it is also said that he is not from France, but from the French-speaking city of Quebec, in the American colonies. His family is said to have settled there early in the last century, I believe, and remained there even after English rule was established in the area. I am not certain how reliable this information is. If true, he would likely not have the connections needed to carry out the work before us now. I know little else of him, save that he is probably not married, and has been resident in England for about ten years, now."
"What do you mean by 'probably not married,' sir? Surely that is a fact not often in doubt, and easily determined."
Mr. Scribney smiled slightly, as if in concurrence with John's declaration, though his words belied its accuracy. "I have never heard of a wife, present or past - or of any sort of connection with any woman; I have never heard of anyone having been given the commission of painting a wife, or any children. At such a level of wealth as he supposedly enjoys, that is most unusual. He does not entertain at home, apparently, also a curious circumstance, were he married. All of these things taken together lead me to believe he is unmarried, though it is not proof."
"Perhaps his dustbins might have somethin' interestin' in 'em, Guv'nor? I haven't been through 'em yet. If no one livin' has anythin' to say about him, maybe somethin' he thinks dead an' on the way to bein' buried might be a bit more forthcomin'."
"That may be the next order of business for several of the gentlemen on our list, Tim. Let us see who else offers himself as a candidate for such scrupulous attention. The list may well be a shorter one as a result of our discussion today." John added to his notes, then looked up again. "What about Lord Latham, sir? We did not speak of him at my last visit, either."
"An omission on my part, although not a conscious one, Mr. Blevins, as I know him quite well. Lord and Lady Latham are of my age, possibly older, and are of an established and much-respected family. They have a number of grown children, scattered about England. The family has long owned properties in several locations on the continent in addition to their English holdings; I was a guest at their cottage in the south of France many years ago. It was given up shortly before the revolution there, but I do not know what other ties they may have maintained with that country in the years since, in consideration of the turmoil there, as well as between England and France. My own impression, from an association which stretches over thirty years, is that they are honest, people of integrity. It is, of course, possible that they are wearing masks. If so, I will be much surprised and grieved to learn it. If it is a family connection making use of their beneficence and position in Society somehow, I believe they, themselves, will be most shocked and dismayed."
"That would tend to agree with my own information, sir. From all I know, your trust in them is most likely well-placed."
Tim nodded as well. "I haven't heard anythin' bad of 'em. Ev'ryone seems to think highly of 'em: servants, tradesmen. The reports ring real, too, sir, not just put on. That type o' report's easy to tell. That's not the case, now, with your Sir Isaac Feldridge. He's got a bit of a reputation 'round town. Seems he can't decide which he likes best, a fine-bodied wine, or a fine-bodied woman. Can't say if his likin's carry across the Channel to an opinion or connection with French artistry of either o' that sort."
John grinned. "Again, that tallies well with what I have been able to learn. I do not see that a French connection of either sort, however, if such a one exists, would necessarily indicate, or lend itself to, a predilection for dishonesty in the direction we are searching - unless, of course, someone is exploiting his... preferences in some manner."
"I'd already mentioned to you, Guv'nor," Tim continued, nodding at John, evidently dismissing Sir Isaac from the discussion in favor of - in his opinion - more promising candidates, "that the Barkings' trade was heavy in French interests, and that their troubles, here, are due to the troubles there. Maybe there's a link?"
"Perhaps. Although, if they were behind the forgery and benefiting from it, I would be more likely to have greater suspicions of them if their business affairs were to take an unexpected upturn."
Mr. Scribney had remained silent on the subject of Sir Isaac, an inscrutable expression on his face, his visitors taking his silence as an indication on his part that he knew nothing to the purpose. At John's last words, he started a very little and cleared his throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to his face; he hesitated before speaking, however, his voice reluctant as he finally began. "I do have something of interest regarding the Barkings, which was not at my disposal to relate when we last met, Mr. Blevins. It is an odd circumstance, although there is probably some reasonable explanation behind it. I must say I do not feel them capable of the crime you are interested in; I trust you will not attach undue importance to this information without carefully seeking the truth, and substantiating any suspicions. I have been in the Barkings' home recently, to be commissioned for a new family portrait. I have painted each one of their children, although I had not been summoned there for quite some time now, as a consequence of the very state of affairs to which you allude. Their home, even now, shows no signs of wealth to spare. On the contrary, their impoverished condition is only too painfully evident."
"How have they offered to pay you, then, beggin' pardon for the impertinence of the question?" demanded Tim, eyes bright with suspicion. Then, as a thought entered his mind, the suspicion lightened. "Or, perhaps that uncle o' theirs has finally popped off?"
"I cannot answer that, Mr. Scoggins, not out of any delicacy, but simply from of a lack of knowledge. I was given a fair promise of payment; I did not, of course, inquire as to its source, nor did I request a surety of recompense. For my part, I would most likely accept the commission out of friendship, without regard for compensation - they were most kind to me some years ago, when I was in need, and their fortunes were prospering."
"That will be something for us to look into, then, sir, if possible. It does offer an avenue for speculation. Perhaps the rumour mill will soon have some new grist supplied, Tim; you can keep your ears open for that." With this suggestion and a grin for Tim, acknowledged and answered by a short nod, and after a further note added to his growing tome, John turned back to Mr. Scribney. "Is there anything more you can tell me of the Rainhams, sir? From what Tim has told, they seem to be more concerned with saving money than with laying it out, no matter the probability of a lucrative return." John added nothing more, though his mind wandered to the contents of an old file of Mr. Blevins, which was of a most enlightening, though hardly flattering, nature. He was curious to see if the artist's view would add to that file, or mitigate the import of its contents in any respect.
"Not likely, neither, that they would turn to illegal artwork, Guv'nor. They're supposed to be so honest it hurts to be around 'em."
Mr. Scribney's eyes were devoid of expression as he answered John's query, his words innocent of undue inflection. "I know nothing that would seem to be relevant. They are very frugal, (Tim snorted at this charitable description, as he thought of the many less flattering words he had heard used about this unpopular couple: tightfisted, cheap, stingy, miserly, mean, niggardly) and, as you have pointed out, very conservative. I agree, that it would not seem in their characters to be involved in anything entailing the amount of risk evident here." Mr. Scribney paused slightly, then added, "They are also known to have a very low opinion of anything French - which opinion has only grown lower and more firmly entrenched during our recent military differences with France. Aversion might not be too strong a word, I am afraid; I find it difficult to envision them working with, or having anything to do with, anyone from that country, or with ties to that culture."
"Well, if it's French connections we're takin' account of - what about all the French relatives the Woolwichs are supposed to have? the number of French paintings Sir Daniel buys, and the collection of French coins Lord Goosely's got?"
John seized on the more incongruous, and promising, of Tim's suggestions. "I thought you had told me that the Eckingtons were in dire financial straits, Tim? How could Sir Daniel be buying anything, much less paintings?"
"It's somethin' as I just got wind of. Made me kind o' curious myself, Guv'nor."
"That is something I can corroborate, gentlemen, as he has made several of the acquisitions through connections of mine. I do know, whatever else may be the case, that the transactions have always been successful, and the payments made in a timely fashion."
"Really, sir? Then, perhaps he is not in such dismal straits, after all."
"That's impossible, Guv'nor! I can name at least ten tradesmen in town who he's deep in debt to. Very put out about it they are, too. Shouldn't wonder if they cut off his business any day now. There's been talk an' threats of that more'n once, but now it sounds to be serious."
"Might I say, Mr. Blevins, that it is not unheard of for someone to procure unusual or expensive items, not for himself, but for another, who may not wish to be known as the purchaser, or, subsequently, the owner, of a given objet d'art. I, too, am well aware of the talk of Sir Daniel's precarious financial state. I have heard that he has offered himself as a... facilitator, shall we say, in various ways, in consideration of the pecuniary aid he seems in such desperate need of."
John raised his brows in skeptical query. "I don't suppose you have any idea whom he might be representing, sir?"
"No, I am afraid not. A high value is obviously placed on... discretion, in such dealings. And, I must stress that I can not with certainty say that this is what he has been doing. It simply seems a possibility, in light of the circumstances, and giving some consideration to the well-known gossip."
"Another situation to look into much more closely, then. Do you know anything of this collection Lord Goosely has, sir?"
"Only that it is a very fine collection of coins, as well as printed currency; it is quite complete, its value beyond reckoning. I had the opportunity - a rare privilege and delight - to study it a little when the present Lord Goosely's father was still alive. I doubt it has any significance in the present case, gentlemen, even though acquisition of such items might tend to imply the requisite interest in and knowledge for forgery, with the origin of the collection being a connection to France. I realize I can only judge from my, in most cases admittedly limited, knowledge of the persons under discussion, with few facts to substantiate my opinions, but, I would be exceedingly surprised if the former, or the present, Lord Goosely had anything to do with the crime in question."
Thinking of the oddities observed in the elder, and now the younger, Lord Goosely, John felt himself in complete agreement. "Thank you, sir, for your candour about all the persons in question. From what Sir John has told me, your assessment of a man's character is as good as having facts on hand." The older gentleman remained silent, but the tribute did not go unacknowledged in the gratified expression flashing briefly to his eyes. For a moment, the roles of student and mentor, of encourager or supplicant, were absent. The moment passed. "Do you know of what French relations Tim is speaking, in connection with the Woolwiches?"
"If my memory serves me rightly, Sir Peter's oldest sister married a Frenchman who was distantly related to Louis XVI. He and his family were fortunately not in the country at the time of the violence there, and so were spared their lives. He and his wife now reside in Kent, I believe."
"Well, if it's such an old relation, he can't possibly be of any use. If an older sister to Sir Peter, then her husband must have one foot in the grave by now!"
"I think you may be deceived, Mr. Scoggins," began Mr. Scribney, with a broadening smile on his face. "Sir Peter's oldest sister is not above five and thirty years old, and her husband not much older than she."
"You can't possibly be serious, Guv'nor! Sir Peter must be sixty, if a day!"
"Ah - I assume you have seen the gentleman. But, appearances may be misleading, sir. I assure you, Sir Peter has not yet reached his thirtieth year."
"How can that be, sir?" protested John, who, along with Tim, was confounded by Mr. Scribney's words, the memory of the white-haired gentleman, with such very poor eyesight, bumbling his way down the streets of town, still fresh in his mind. "Are you speaking of the same gentleman - perhaps there is some mistake; are you speaking of a son, perhaps?"
"No, there is no mistake, I am quite sure. I take it that you have both observed the gentleman. I will describe him; you may tell me if it is the same man. He is tall, no shorter than you, Mr. Blevins, has thick, pure white hair, a fresh, yet pale complexion, pale eyes, is very well-dressed, and tends to mistake many things about him, as he is very near-sighted."
The two younger men stared; John admitted that this description perfectly fitted the man he had seen, the man to whom Tim had so gleefully directed him. When he spoke, though, he seemed unconvinced yet, his tone doubtful. "That sounds like the same gentleman. Are you sure that is Sir Peter Woolwich? of Audley St? an associate of Lord Cantering?"
"The very same, Mr. Blevins; I will trifle with your patience and your curiosity no longer. He has appeared thus since his birth, with his white hair, and his almost-blind eyes. His parents were much dismayed at his appearance, at his great difficulty in seeing, and consulted every possible physician about him. They were finally assured that it was no illness, but simply a condition, albeit a very rare one. Other cases have been reported in some areas, but only a few every generation or so. It does crop up in the same families, so it may be inherited in some way, much as red hair or blue eyes might be. Fortunately, Sir Peter seems healthy and normal in every other respect, and, due to extraordinary perseverance on his part, and no little ingenuity on the part of his tutors, is very well-learned. He is said to have quite a head for financial affairs."
Tim had listened to this explanation, goggle-eyed, not sure whether to credit it or not. "Well, all I can say is, he must have God's angels watchin' out for him! That he's lived so long without bein' killed every day is a wonder!"
Mr. Scribney chuckled aloud at the man's obvious awe. "You may be right, Mr. Scoggins. He does seem to lead a charmed life, for he insists on moving about London alone, and on foot, as you have undoubtedly noticed. I myself have shuddered to see and hear of the dangers he has escaped!" Mr. Scribney's expression changed abruptly from amusement to gravity, his voice low and earnest. "But, to your earlier question: although I do not know the sister, or her French husband, and can not vouch for their probity, I will vouch for the absolute integrity of Sir Peter himself. As with the Lathams, if he is being used in some fashion, he will be outraged to learn of it. He would also be the first to denounce even his own flesh, and bring them to judgement if accused of such a heinous crime as forgery, where the innocent are hung at least as often as the guilty, and where confidence and trust in every transaction and financial relationship is undermined, especially among those who can least afford it."
At this ringing endorsement of Sir Peter's character, and the scathing indictment of the crime in question, leaving no doubt as to the sincerity, and the moral convictions, of the speaker, John and Tim remained silent for several minutes, John adding yet again to his notes.
"Well, unless there is something to be said about the Stockleys, I suppose we have discussed all our suspects. Whether or not there is a connection with French art, or France, in their backgrounds, I find myself growing curious about how they are able to gain an entrée into Society with such seeming ease. If what Tim has reported is true, they have only recently joined the ranks of the wealthy; they are not high born, not at all well-connected, quite uneducated, and said to be even somewhat coarse. No matter the amount of wealth, it is highly unusual for Society to welcome such ill-fit newcomers so readily. Have you any ideas on this, Mr. Scribney?"
"I, again, can not say with certainty, can quote no dates, facts or figures, but, it has been observed that, though wealth may not pave a direct access to many desirable destinations, an indirect route may accomplish much, if the roads chosen are crooked enough, or in sufficient want of repair."
Mr. Scribney left it at this cryptic statement, and would not be constrained to speak further on this subject, simply encouraging John to look more deeply into the daily habits and associations of each person on his list. The general conversation among the three men continued for a short while longer, with little being added to aid in solving their mystery, but bringing to light several truths, in most cases much less interesting truths, behind some of the gossip collected by Tim.
The Barkings, instead of the fabled twelve children, were discovered to have only five, although, "as lively as they are, and always underfoot, they may well seem more numerous than they in actuality are. Indeed, I myself felt as though I had more than five to paint. It is a marvel each portrait came out as clearly as it did, and not in a haze of frenzied motion on the part of each child," smiled the artist.
Though the reports regarding the former Lord Goosely had been but little exaggerated, the current Lord Goosely's character and habits as little resembled, or tended toward, those of his father, as a pure-bred, healthy, well-trained hunting dog would resemble an aging tenement mongrel. The idle tattlers had given no credence, and little time, to the truth, as well, that the estrangement between father and son over the past ten years was due precisely to the extreme habits of the father, unalterable by any form or manner of persuasion. The present Lord Goosely had no longer been able to abide visits in a house which was rapidly being turned into a museum of unopened items, unworn clothes, unused luxuries and inedible foodstuffs - a trash heap growing ever more useless and foul-smelling. The true wonder was that the old gentleman had had any servants left in the house by the time of his death.
By the example of these, and other equally mundane facts, were the wagging tongues about town shown to fan a wind mighty enough to drive the wheel of that great mill of Rumour and Gossip, where truth entered in one form, to be rendered all but unrecognizable by the end of its tenure. The grist and kernels of fact at the core of each rumour were ground inexpressibly fine, 'til the powdery substances which emerged, subject to further agglomeration, colouration or degradation by every prevailing breeze of opinion or favor, bore little resemblance to their original shapes and appearances.
The three men parted company several hours after they had met, each of them with new tasks to begin. While Mr. Scribney kept his own counsel as to his plans, Tim had been charged with the perusal and examination of certain dustbins - most meticulous attention to be paid written documents or correspondence of any kind - and with the careful monitoring of the comings and goings of certain households. Mr. Blevins had set himself other tasks, more suited to his own talents and expertise. With the day's discoveries, he was only partially content. Though he had learned much that was useful, more questions had been raised than answered. He felt much like a student who had been given more problems in leaving a lecture than with which he had entered, and grumbled to himself as he and Tim made their way from Mr. Scribney's rooms. All very well to study these men, but if I could only speak with each one!
Chapter 7, Part 1 ~ A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance
Mr. Blevins found himself in Grosvenor Street on a sweltering morning late in July, several days after his conference with Mr. Scribney and Tim Scoggins, with the heat already rising from the cobblestones in great steamy waves, a notable contrast from his visit with Lord Cantering three months earlier. As he left the carriage, he could feel his clothes sticking to him, damp and uncomfortable. The horses, dull of spirit and movement, glistened with perspiration after even such a short distance as they had traveled, hair matted and black where the harnesses lay across backs and chests.
A welcome rush of cool air greeted John as he entered the large stone house belonging to the Earl, with its high ceilings and cold, polished marble floors. Mr. Blevins was shown to the study, where, it seemed, nothing at all had changed from his interview in April. The man waiting there rose and greeted him in exactly the same manner as before. He was invited to sit in the same chair, opposite the gentleman's own, both placed at precisely the same angles, on either side of the sturdy desk still all but hidden beneath similar, if not the identical, drifts of paper. If John was not deceived, the clothes the gentleman now wore may have also been the very same, despite the marked change that had occurred in the weather since the earlier meeting. Time seemed to have stood still in this residence, and for its owner, which impression was quickly dispelled, however, with Lord Cantering's first words.
"I have been curious to know how your investigations have been developing, Mr. Blevins. I have assumed that, as you sought no further meetings in person, you have had little of significance to relate."
"I must admit, sir, that I have not been met with such success as I had hoped. However, I now understand the situation and people involved increasingly well. There was one particular piece of information, which, though promising, has yet to yield a favorable result. With the help of an associate, I continue to investigate this avenue, having to do with gaming establishments as the route for disseminating the forged money. I have also been fortunate in very lately receiving some information which should be of great help in soon narrowing down our field of suspects to one, possibly two, of the gentleman among your company."
Lord Cantering leaned back in his chair, fitted the fingertips of his hands together and studied the young man before him. It was a difficult task they had charged him with. For any other man, defeat would have been all but a certainty. A lack of progress would have been prelude to a chorus of excuses, bluster and falsely raised hopes. Sir John Murdock had persuaded him that this young man was different from the rank and file, much superior to it, and so he had proved to be. Instead of coming to his employer often, with little to show, he had reported sparingly, but then always to the point, with no wasted words, no idle excuses offered for the modest advance made. The statement, now, of a certain encouraging piece of intelligence - to which Lord Cantering had been made privy just the day before, himself - was not exaggerated, nor paraded as success, but given for what it was: a not unreasonable hope. Sir John had not erred in his estimation of this young man, not at all. Even under the current scrutiny, although beginning to show a slight unease, he sat quietly, patiently. Yes, he would do well, and, in all probability, rise swiftly in his career, when this case was successfully behind him, as Lord Cantering had no doubt that it would be.
"Well, Mr. Blevins, I imagine you may wonder why I have invited you here again today, when a simple letter or query through the mail might have sufficed."
John remained silent, though signaling his agreement and his curiosity with a slight nod and a lifting of his brows.
"You may also have wondered why, at the beginning of our agreement, you were forbidden to speak with the members of our Board yourself. I can appreciate that this may have struck you as a mark of distrust on our part, even a slight, of some sort." He watched as the truth of his words was affirmed by a faint flush come to Mr. Blevins' face, and another nod. "It was essential to gain the trust of the scoundrel in our midst, and to allay the fears of those with other faults to hide - perhaps quite serious ones, though of no concern in this matter - while at the same time capitulating to those among us demanding something be done. Regrettably, the best method of accomplishing these disparate goals - and Sir John agreed with me - was to allow our members to feel... a false security, if you will, calling upon you to investigate, but under such conditions as to allow them to judge you no threat. In so doing, they would each appear to remain master of their own situations. Enough time has now elapsed to carry on with the original intent of your commission, but without the restraints hitherto placed on you. This is now solely my decision, excepting our director, who is himself above suspicion. I will not yet name him to you, as he prefers it to remain so; this is no sign of mistrust or a lack of confidence in you, Mr. Blevins, simply a precaution until this business is finished - a precaution for your own safety, as well as his own."
"Now, as the restrictions are still to stand - ostensibly, at least - a forum will be needed where you may meet and freely interact with all these gentlemen, though not under your own name, of course, nor that of Mr. Blevins." A smile spread across the gentleman's face. "This will best be carried out in a social setting of some sort. An ideal circumstance has arisen."
"Our group was originally comprised of twelve gentlemen: the ten of whom you now know, and two others. One, a Sir Broderick Cauldwell, died five years ago, and was never replaced as a member of our Board. The other has been in and out of the country - rather more out than in, I must say - for many years now. He is one of two men, including our director, above suspicion, and that for several reasons: we know for a certainty that the organization of this work has been carried out from London, possibly from a country estate, but definitely within the borders of England. This gentleman has not been in England for more than a few weeks at a time for the better part of twenty years. He is also one of my closest friends - his character has been open to me since the time of our childhood and schooling together. I would stake my life on his honesty; in a sense, I suppose I am doing exactly that. Because of this, I have been able to call upon him now, to enlist his aid in this difficulty. He is recently returned to England, and wishes to resume his normal life here, and his rightful place in Society and in our membership. To that end, he will host a party of old friends and acquaintances, which will - coincidentally, of course - include all our Board members, for a week at his country estate, not far from London. There will be shooting parties for the men, amusements for the women, cards and games, a concert perhaps, and a ball to end the week. His estate is quite extensive, and a renowned showplace; acceptance by all who will receive an invitation can be assumed." Lord Cantering sat back and watched for a reaction from his young visitor. It was not long in coming.
John spoke slowly. "You propose I attend this gathering, I take it."
"Precisely."
"In what capacity would this be possible? I am not a member of Society, of the Ton, and would soon be recognized as an imposter were I to attempt to impersonate anyone."
"Ah - this is where my friend will prove doubly useful. He has no living children, but he does have two married sisters, living on estates in the southwest of England. They are rarely, if ever, in London, and their sons have all been educated at home, with private tutors, foregoing the traditional public schooling for young gentlemen of good families. You could easily be named a son of one of these sisters - who will not themselves be visiting at this time - a nephew of my friend."
"And why will I be in attendance when the rest of my family is not, sir?" John was beginning to enjoy the notion of taking on the character of another. At first thought it seemed a simple matter; but, to successfully carry off such a charade over a period of some days, in close association with members of the Ton, as well as others of wealth and standing in London Society... Well, it would test all he had learned over the past years, most especially, the lesson of holding his tongue at the appropriate times. That might yet prove the most difficult task, especially if faced with arrogance, unwarranted pride, insufferable condescension, intolerable stupidity or an inexcusable abuse of privilege among this select group of high society. John brought his wandering thoughts to attend to Lord Cantering's words.
"You are enjoying a well-deserved rest after having completed your formal education, and will be leaving on a tour of the continent shortly. You are stopping with your uncle for a time to visit tailors and other establishments in London preparatory to beginning your travels. As your uncle requires assistance in the many matters which awaited him upon his return to England after such a prolonged absence, you are also offering your services in whatever way he might have need of you. This includes, most particularly, plans for a new idea in the area of philanthropy, which he desires to strongly recommend to others of wealth in Society, as an opportunity to share their financial good fortune, as well as their superior positions. He will be bringing it to the attention of all who attend this gathering. He wishes to found a school for children who are physically or mentally deficient, abandoned by their families. The plan is to see them trained, to the utmost they are able, and then placed with families in the country, rather than see them become paupers in London, taken advantage of, and left to die in the streets."
John was somewhat taken aback. "Is this a decided notion, sir, or simply a part of the ruse?"
Lord Cantering's countenance and tone lost their jocularity and became serious. "He is indeed quite in earnest. Actually, it is he who first approached me with this idea, and I thought to incorporate it into our plan. He is most eager to advance both his desires, and my needs - now his again, as well - in one stroke. I will let him tell you more about this plan of his, himself, however. It has much merit, and I intend to support it myself. It seems he has seen many things in his travels, of philanthropic efforts both good and bad, and he wishes now to use his own fortune to help those less fortunate, in a practical manner. You," a smile returned to the Earl's face, "will play the part of a young gentleman learned in the law, but not serious about it as a profession, of course, for what need of it have you? You are there simply to help with the preliminaries, to advise your uncle as to the best ways to go about starting up such a school and avoiding any legal pitfalls."
Mr. Blevins returned the older man's smile. "I see. Well, I shall do my best to advise him rightly. It would not be seemly for a gentleman to be led afoul of the law by his own nephew, now would it, sir?"
So it was that a Mr. Jonathan Brownleigh, of Leighmore Hall, Wiltshire, was added to the growing guest list of Oliver Fairfield, Lord Auldbury, of Auldbury Hall, Surrey, for the second week in August, 18--.
Chapter 7, Part 2 ~ A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance
Lord Cantering held the formal, engraved invitation - with its fine pressed paper, its distinctive crest and seal - for many minutes, turning it over and over in his hands. Images from the past came flooding into his mind, each wave of memory surging to the fore, then receding and giving way to another, much like dancers moving up a line, each pair coming to the top in turn, each giving place to the next, with a graceful bend or bow.
He recalled numerous vacations, first from Eton, and then Cambridge, spent with Oliver Fairfield at Auldbury Hall: playing games in the spacious rooms and halls, roaming or riding the grounds, becoming acquainted with his parents and sisters. Later in time, though almost thirty years ago now as well, a most moving wedding had taken place, when Oliver had married Lady Anne Harding. The love and devotion between the two had been heartwarming, and a joy to observe, growing through courtship and marriage, the birth of a son, then a daughter, and the remaining years of their all-too-short marriage. The last memory Matthew Cantering had of his friend was from the funeral of Anne and the children. It had been a perversely fine day, the sunshine almost mocking the pervasive black in dress, the black bands fluttering from hats and carriages of the many attending. What manner of changes had the past twenty years wrought for this friend, so bowed and overcome with grief at that last meeting?
The Earl's face became grim, his thoughts turning into a different path. What had changed, or, what had gone undiscovered, unguessed at, for one of their number to embark on such a despicable, cowardly journey? He thought about the nine men he would have sworn he knew to be honest, by reputation and recommendation, if not from his own personal knowledge. One, at the very least, was not what - and who - he appeared to be.
What a shame Sir John Murdock could not be one of the party, as well. He would very much have enjoyed seeing Oliver again, while at the same time ferreting out information to aid in their situation; but, to have him attend would be far too risky. The chance of recognition as Mr Blevins would greatly outweigh any benefit to be gained, and would court inevitable disaster for their carefully laid plan. They must needs depend on the young Mr Blevins in this instance - or Mr Brownleigh, as he would there be known.
"A ball! Oh, father, may I go, too?"
"Of course you may, my pet. The invitation includes you, as it is known that you came out this past season." The voice was indulgent, as the man smiled proudly at the young girl hanging on his arm, her eyes bright with anticipation.
"But, I have nothing fit to wear! I will need a new dress - at least one - and some good slippers. I have all but worn mine out with dancing already!"
"There is not much time, you know," her father cautioned, his smile less free than before, "but, we shall see what may be done. Off with you, now; I have things to discuss with your mother."
As the girl tripped lightly from the room, a smile dancing across her face, and dreams of the festivities already filling her imagination, her mother rose lazily from her seat. With a barely-covered yawn, she crossed the room to a table upon which lay an unfinished piece of needlework carelessly tossed over the latest issue of a fashion magazine. She pulled at the periodical, sending the handiwork falling unheeded to the floor in a tangled heap, and began leafing idly through its pages. "I do hope the accommodations will be adequate," she sniffed. "The rooms at the Count Dubois' home were barely fit to stay in last month. So small, so shabby! If I had not promised, I would never have stayed past one night, I assure you!" Her gaze lingered on a page before her displaying the newest style for an afternoon dress. "I think I shall see to ordering a new dress for myself, as well, and a new parasol. The sun is sure to be hot and bright; I would not wish to become too tanned."
Her husband, all animation and pleasure flown from his face in the absence of his daughter, moved toward her, then stopped. "I trust you will not find it necessary to overspend your allowance again. While I enjoy seeing my family a credit to my name, I wish it clearly understood that there are to be fewer expenses over the coming months, not additional ones." His tone was curt, his expression bleak.
"I will do my best, dear, naturally; but, really, one can not dress well on a mere pittance. It would not do for anyone to suspect us of a lack of proper decorum, or a want of taste and style, now, would it? nor of miserliness, nor... mismanagement on your part." The last was added with a seemingly careless tone, but was accompanied by a contemptuous look from the elegant, cold grey eyes, which cut like a thin blade. The gentleman's face grew red. He made as if to speak, but, turning on his heel, left the room without uttering a word.
"I will look forward to seeing you in all your ballroom finery, my love, and to dancing with you once more. It has been far too long since we have enjoyed such an occasion! I promise to do my best not to tread on your toes, as I did in our very first dance together." Smiling widely, he held out his hand and made an elegant bow before his companion. "I hereby claim the honour of the first two with you now, as I am sure to soon lose all sight of you once the music begins. I will undoubtedly incur the envy of all, with such a vision of grace and loveliness on my arm... though not many will know that your true beauty is not so easily seen, and not offered but to a privileged few." His voice sank low, deepening with tender emotion as he gently drew his wife into his arms. "I am surely the most fortunate of men, to have a wife whose gentle and quiet spirit is even more beautiful than her undeniably handsome face - infinitely more precious - and who does not see as other women do."
The woman's cheeks flushed delicately as she lay her head on her husband's chest, relishing the warmth of his regard, and his equally warm embrace. At a knock on the door, they both turned to see the fine son who entered, the very image of his father. Smiles spread across both their faces as they separated in order to meet and give their attention to this offspring of their love.
An invitation to a week in the country. How very astonishing! However... It might be amusing... yes, very amusing, indeed. The sport to be had in that part of the country was said to be fine, the countryside reputedly beautiful. The chance to see and study the house and galleries alone would most likely be well worth the visit. Lord Auldbury's reputation for excellent taste in everything was quite well known, despite that gentleman's absence and lack of hospitality over many years. His host's would be an acquaintance well worth making; that much was certain. There would be other amusements, as well... unofficially, if nothing else. It had been a long time since he had last enjoyed such an outing. Surely it could do no... harm... Perhaps it was past time again for such pursuits.
An invitation to a week in the country. What an inconvenience! Accompanied by all manner of absurd expense, fuss and bother. Surely one need not attend? Surely one would not be missed! One could certainly, and with good cause, claim more pressing business engagements which would prevent one from accepting. Yet, Lord Auldbury would, perhaps, feel slighted - though, why should he? He had not so much as written a note in the past twenty years! Really - grief and mourning could be used as an excuse for only so long. Still... it might be looked upon as... a sort of duty. It would not do to slight a man of such consequence, no matter how distasteful the occasion. One need not stay the entire week; a day or two should suffice. One's regards would be presented, one's presence noted; one could leave with impunity after having put in a perfunctory appearance.
"My dear, you cannot imagine! We have been invited to Auldbury, for a week! I did not even realize that Lord Auldbury was returned to England. Perhaps he means to stay now. How wonderful it will be to see him again! And, how fortuitous in the timing! If the invitation had come even a fortnight ago, we should have been obliged to refuse it, but now - really, it is most fortuitous, indeed! I shall be able to order a few things to be ready just in time."
"Hmm," a deeper voice rumbled in reflection and reply, "perhaps... opportunities to discuss... have to wait and see. Quite right, m'love, circumstances have arranged themselves most well, as of late. A shame he was gone so long. Many times I would have valued his advice. Few with his knowledge, and the generosity with it, when it comes to good judgement, solid counsel. Had he not been gone... Well, no longer necessary to think on such things. Look forward to seeing him, as well."
"Well, this is one invitation which will not cost us so dearly - and what a coup! This should aid us immensely on our way, my sweet. I have heard such wonderful things about the Auldbury estate that I am quite anxious to see it myself, and to finally make the acquaintance of the mysterious Lord Auldbury. I declare, I had begun to doubt his very existence. Quite a scholar and gentleman he is, I hear, and quite a musician, too; so, if nothing else, there will most probably be musicales or concerts, and the music is sure to be exquisite. I wonder if he will play for us... But, no, that would likely not be the thing at all, not proper for a gentleman to perform for his own guests. A pity... Be sure you visit your dressmaker, my dear. I do not wish any other woman to outshine you! Order anything you like, and do remember to take all your jewels. There will surely be ample opportunity to wear them. I will see to ordering a new coat, myself, I think."
What a bore! Fifteen miles just to tramp about the country, and then sit in some stuffy rooms, forced to make conversation with heaven only knows whom! Men all thinking of sport, or of women, and women with nothing but empty and vain heads! Ghastly! Still... it might be quite diverting to see Lord Auldbury again. Father would have been pleased to see him a last time; of course, were he still alive, then I would likely not be attending. Well, should the rest become intolerable, the library will always offer an escape. Mayhap there will be chess. I could rather fancy a good match. Wonder if any of the guests will play. I suppose it would be too much to expect the host to indulge me, if no one else will... Wonder what the old gentleman has been up to. What got into his head, gallivanting all over the continent, and even visiting those impertinent colonists? I certainly hope he has not brought any more strange ideas with him. He was quixotic enough as it was, before he left!
"How wonderful, my dear! I so look forward to seeing Oliver again. Tell me, how does he look? Has he changed at all?"
The gentleman looked indulgently at his wife, and smiled. "Only you could imagine twenty years to have gone by with no change, my love! Oliver looks twenty years older, but, then, so do we all!" His countenance and tone of voice became more thoughtful. "He looks well - better than in many years, I should say. You know that I saw him now and again during his brief stops in England. He always had an air of a man haunted, driven to move, never allowed to rest. He grieved so long, and so deeply, for Anne and the children. Now, he has changed, but all for the better, I am sure. There is a willingness to go forward - yet, without running away from the past - which is most heartening to see. I am sure he will have many things of interest to tell, many tales and adventures to share. I wonder, too... if there might not be some deeper purpose to this gathering...
Well, this would be a respite from the usual diversions in London at this time of year, if one could even dignify them with such a term. No good parties, very few families, good or otherwise, nothing but lackluster theatre and insipid concerts. Dull as tombs it was in the summer months, while being as hot as Hades! At least this invitation sounded as though it would include a chance to sample a renowned wine cellar and table - surely the Earl would not offer less than his very best at such a gathering - and afford some enjoyment in that manner at the very least. Lord Auldbury was said to have a fine palate, a discriminating taste. One could only hope the reports to be true. And, as there would be a ball, there would surely be no lack of feminine company, nor a lack of opportunity to admire their various... accomplishments. What luck if certain other of the better families would also be in attendance. One could only hope and assume that at least some of the daughters, or wives, would be... tolerably pretty.
"Lord Auldbury returned? Surely not, my dear! You must be mistaken; it must be some sort of joke or prank."
"Certainly not! The invitation is quite a proper one, most formal. You are not implying, I do hope, that I would not be able to spot a forgery from such a quarter, are you?" The words, with their pretense at affront and indignation, were belied by a smile coming to the woman's eyes.
"No, of course not; I am simply astonished. I had thought he would never return to England, or that if he settled anywhere, it would be as far from Auldbury as possible."
"I, too, am surprised; the memories must be most painful. But, apparently, he has overcome it all, at least, for the time being. I had heard some talk of this gathering even before receiving the invitation this morning. The gossips have taken up the topic of his return with a vengeance! Several families are already known to have accepted. The Lathams will attend, of course, and the Eckingtons."
"The Woolwichs are also in town; I imagine they will be present as well."
"Sir Peter and Lady Laura? In town? At this time of year? Whatever for?"
"His father has been ill for some time now, and prefers to remain in the care of his physician in London, it seems. Sir Peter has agreed to remain as well, and has been increasingly involved with business matters. Poor fellow! He will be shouldering them all before long, I fear. Oh, that reminds me - James tells me the most amusing thing happened just the other day..."
Auldbury! What a pleasure that would be! Such a graceful old building, and none of the grace lost through the more recent remodeling and additions. Such simplicity of line, a stateliness, in no way marred by the overly solicitous attentions of officious architects, interested only in furthering their own careers by despoiling and undoing the work and genius of previous generations. And the paintings, the collections of porcelain - all exquisitely done, and displayed to their best advantage, though without the ostentation of many manor houses. The music would be another unanticipated, but most welcome, joy. To hear, be a part of, the music to be presented. What a very special occasion that would be. The man's eyes shone with delight as he thought of what lay ahead, the clear, child-like delight in them becoming tempered with shade, though, as he thought of other possible happenings at such a gathering.
"A week in the country? At Auldbury Hall, sir? With a ball to finish? How very fine! What an occasion that will be, sir! We must look into having at least several new things made for you immediately, sir, for the ball, if for nothing else. Your present wardrobe has nothing really suitable for such an event. Shooting and riding will also require some few additions. As you are to be related to the host, we must be certain that you do not disgrace the family name, sir, do you not agree?" At John Blevins' amused nod of concurrence, Simmons continued. "I have heard of the estate, sir. A very fine one indeed. It has been in the family for many generations, and is said to contain some of the finest examples of work from the Chippendale factories - inspired by Robert Adam, himself, so I have heard - in this part of England. I will indeed look forward to this visit myself, sir. My, my, a week in the country..."
Chapter 7, Part 3 ~ A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance
Lord Auldbury stood near a window of his study overlooking the rose garden. It had been his wife's favorite retreat, with several benches having been placed for her especial enjoyment of the fragrant bushes, many of which had had special meaning for the then-young couple. Every year of their marriage, those many years ago, a new rose bed had been planted, each featuring different varieties, always laid out in a pattern incorporating their initials in some manner. The scent from these scattered plantings was strong at this time of year, and carried even to the window at which he now stood.
Roses... The ballroom had been full of their fragrance, two and twenty years ago. Anne had worn small bunches of her favorite white tea roses fastened to her gown, with more of the buds woven into her dark hair. Innumerable vases scattered about the large rooms in use for dancing, supper and cards had been arranged with hothouse blooms and roses from the gardens, mixed with wildflowers and grasses from fields and woods. Their myriad shades had blended with the colourful profusion of the ladies' gowns; their delicate scents had mingled with the stronger perfumes worn. The rooms had been animated with the several dozen couples attending; a group of expert musicians had filled the air with gay melodies. Conversations had ranged and skipped from topic to topic, from the serious to the frivolous, from good-natured idle gossip to predictions and prognostications about the worsening situation in France, and about the newly formed nation across the sea.
Within two years of that joyous occasion, the Earl's life had changed - been turned completely on its head - all his plans, his hopes, his dreams - for himself, for Anne, for his children - all come to nothing! He took a deep breath. His thoughts were recalled to the present as he watched several gardeners coming into view, continuing their preparations for the coming event. He shook his head, as if to clear it of any remaining musings about the past, maundering and maudlin as they invariably were. Old dreams and plans could not be realized, but new ones could be just as worthwhile, and of considerable value to many. Twenty years is far too long a time to mourn. How Anne would have scolded me for my selfishness! he thought, with a wry grin. It is past time to be thinking of someone other than myself. He berated himself as he called to mind some of the many people he had met in his travels with far more to complain of than he.
He considered the more serious purposes which this assemblage of persons here at Auldbury would hope to address - and the results which might be expected. His own plans were beginning to take shape. About the other matter... He was still finding it difficult to reconcile the particulars he had been given by Lord Cantering, with the persons he knew. True, there were some new faces come into their membership since he had last taken an active part, yet... Troublesome thoughts, indeed! Be that as it may, facts could not be denied. It would be a part of his responsibility to help in whatever way he was able. I wonder what this young Blevins is like? If he is anything like the old one... His face creased in a puzzled smile as he recalled Matthew Cantering's words, underscored by an amused tone, that he, Oliver, might have crossed paths with the first Mr Blevins innumerable times, being none the wiser for it. An intrepid, intriguing and undeniably resourceful man, according to his friend. A man, apparently, one would have always wished to have had on one's side in a challenge of wits or a time of trouble. One could only hope the second Mr Blevins would be another such a man.
Glancing down, he seemed almost surprised to find a list in his hands, so lost had he been in his reflections. Perusing the names once more, he came to one which brought yet another wistful smile to his face, despite his resolution of leaving the past behind him. Young Peter Woolwich. Just of an age with his own son. They had been playmates, while their parents, having many interests in common, had enjoyed one another's company as well. The Woolwiches had been good friends to him, and to Anne. They had not met since the day of the funeral. How sad to hear of the father's illness. How might the lad have fared over the years, with such difficulties as he had faced? Apparently he had married, not only well, but wisely, and was a father himself, now. How strange it would be to see him all grown, instead of as a young boy, stumbling into things, impetuously throwing caution to the wind in order to keep up with his siblings and his friends. How many objects, solid and otherwise, had he collided with, on his stays at Auldbury! Vases, lamps and other fragile bric-a-brac had soon been removed to safer places in advance of any visit from him. Lord Auldbury grinned at the comical, though bittersweet, memories which filed through his mind, much like the ranks of tin soldiers and dolls oft-scattered in the halls of Auldbury in the wake of the several children, twenty-odd years ago.
At a knock on the door, Lord Auldbury turned from the window, and from his wandering thoughts, to attend to the current demands on his attention. Three men entered at his command.
Still holding the list, the Earl seated himself at his desk, and addressed the men now standing before him. "We will be expecting at least forty guests, the first to arrive, formally, in a fortnight. One gentleman will be arriving several days earlier. Mr Jonathan Brownleigh will familiarize himself with the house and grounds before the others arrive. He will be introduced to all as a nephew of mine. I expect him to be treated as such, and to be shown every courtesy while he is here." The Earl's eyes moved from one face to the other before him, giving special emphasis to his words, compliance with his request being assumed as a matter of course.
Two of the faces remained impassive at such an unusual announcement, Mr Johnson and Mr Carter both being well-trained to show no surprise, though both being equally aware that such a gentleman as Jonathan Brownleigh did not exist, at least in so far as being a nephew of the master. Stephen Hobart's eyes shone with curiosity, but he held his peace, mindful that it was not his place to question his employer's authority, nor his whims.
"Now, is everything in order? Are we in need of anything that may be accomplished before the visitors arrive, Mr Johnson?"
"Everything within the house is in order, my lord. I foresee nothing that can not wait until later in the fall, if needed at all. Will any of the guests require anything out of the ordinary, my lord?"
"No, nothing that I am as yet aware of. I would like Lord and Lady Latham to occupy the French suite, as always. Sir Peter Woolwich and his wife might find the blue rooms most to their liking. Please be sure that nothing is left lying about there, or in any of the common rooms, which might become a stumbling block." Smiling slightly, he added, "The vases and chairs in the hallways should also be as well-secured as possible." His smile was met with an answering one of understanding from Mr Johnson, indicating that man's own concurring memories of a certain Master Peter. Consulting his list once more, the Earl noted, "The Eckingtons will be accompanied by their daughter."
"Very good, my lord. Would there be any preferences in amenities, for any of the visitors? Books, flowers, other items of interest to be placed in their rooms, or made available in the library, the drawing rooms, or the conservatory?"
"See that several of the books I recently brought are placed in Lord Cantering's room, including the Scott. He should find them of interest, unless his tastes have altered much." Lord Auldbury's eyes were bright with amusement, as he recalled the many lively discussions he and his friend had enjoyed, the verbal skirmishes they had fought, over countless topics, ranging from history and art, sport and politics, to social concerns and international affairs. There had been agreement and disagreement. Victories and concessions, from grudging to gracious, had been distributed equally between them. "The Stockleys are said to be very fond of music. One or two music boxes might be placed in their rooms. At least one chess set should be left in the library. Several of the guests might enjoy a match or two in the evenings, or in the event of inclement weather. Lord Goosely is quite partial to the game, as I recall, and prefers it to cards. I hope some of our guests will indulge him in a game or two worth playing. As to flowers, assorted arrangements may be planned for most of the rooms. Lady Woolwich is fond of red roses, I believe. Mr Carter, will we have violets at that time?"
"I believe so, my lord. The hothouses have a goodly number of a wide variety of flowers. The violets have done especially well."
"Please see that there are violets in the French suite, then; Lady Latham is very partial to them, as I recall. Will there be any difficulty in accommodating the additional horses and carriages, Stephen?"
"No, my lord. The stables have been cleaned and repaired after last winter's storms. The overflow may be housed in the old barn. Ralph Gilbert has been helping to repair and rebuild it."
"Young Ralph?"
"Yes, my lord. He's quite good with his hands, as a carpenter. He has been learning much from Mr Burns, going to him for advice and help on the more difficult points. Ralph has brought some good ideas of his own, too, my lord."
"Most interesting. Thank you, Stephen. Now, if there are no further questions, or matters needing to be addressed today, that will be all. Please keep me informed of any changes in our preparations."
As the three men left the study, Lord Auldbury returned to the window overlooking the gardens, looking past them now, to the stables and barns in the distance. So, the boy has a hand for carpentry - surely the only 'art' his mother did not encourage! If that truly be the case... I must speak with Mr Burns about him, and soon. Hopefully his mother will be satisfied if he simply becomes a valuable craftsman, instead of a famed artist! His expression changed, and a wrinkle knit his brow, as he thought again of the several reasons for the coming gathering, and the very different goals which were to be accomplished by it.
"Mrs Gilbert! Mrs Gilbert!" The innkeeper's wife stopped and turned to greet the panting woman catching her up near the door to Hobarts' shop.
"Good day, Miss Goldsmith! But, my dear, you should not be running about on a hot day like this! It is not at all seemly, nor becoming!" Mrs Gilbert's sharp eyes took in the hot, disheveled looks of her neighbor with a disapproving look - pleased, however, to compare it unfavorably with her own, to her mind, well-ordered appearance. An overly-large, overly-trimmed bonnet shaded her face from the sun; her voluminous skirts were clean and fresh at this early hour in the morning, though the dress was an old one newly turned and trimmed for the summer. No one, she thought, could have found fault with her appearance!
Ignoring the greeting, and the patronizing advice, the seamstress hurried to gasp out the newest gossip arrived in the neighborhood, unwilling to keep to herself information of any significance whatsoever, anxious for the distinction of being the first to spread any glad tidings, generous to share with all who might be induced to listen. "Have you heard? Such doings! Such excitement! Such wonderful news! I don't know when I have been in such a flutter! In such a state! What an--"
"If you are referring to the ball, and the guests expected at Auldbury, I have heard of it already, Miss Goldsmith. I have known it since yesterday morning." Her countenance and tone, as she interrupted the flow of words gushing from the other woman's mouth, was one of smug satisfaction that she could boast of having heard this intelligence sooner than most others in the village.
Deflated, Miss Goldsmith was nonetheless unable to refrain from continuing the subject, one of such diversion and novelty, as she opened the door to the shop and entered. "Yes, but, what an event this will be. Not only the ball, but shooting parties, musicales, most likely, and all the persons to come with the grand ladies and gentlemen! Surely this will be good for you and your husband, as well, do not you think so, Mrs Gilbert?" She could not resist the sly shot - which showed that it had met its mark with the flush spreading over that lady's face - the reference to the lean times suffered by the Gilberts over the past years, which the innkeeper's wife had always struggled to hide and deny. Without waiting for a reply, and scarcely taking time to draw sufficient breath, the seamstress launched into her greeting to Mrs Hobart. With some luck, and a very quick tongue, she might yet manage to be earliest with the sensational report here, as it had not been possible to be so with Mrs Gilbert. "Good day, Mrs Hobart! Have you heard our news? Lord Auldbury has invited a party here for a week in August, and they will end with a grand ball! I can not remember ever hearing of a ball, of such festivities, at the Hall! How thrilling it will be!"
Mrs Gilbert looked at the younger woman witheringly, as she countered the ignorant assertion. "Of course there have been balls and such happenings at Auldbury. You were simply not here to observe or be a part of them," managing to imply that she had been one of the privileged few. "I recollect the last ball perfectly, do not you, Mrs Hobart? It was precisely two and twenty years ago. A lovely affair, if I remember rightly." Her eyes took on a dreamy, far-off expression. "There were ever so many charming ladies and gentlemen, all most beautifully, exquisitely, dressed. The Lady Anne was simply stunning, and Lord Auldbury, so very handsome! What a shame... And their guests - so exceedingly distinguished. One could meet them wandering the estate, or a-walking through the village." She sighed. Returning to the temporarily-less-interesting present, she turned to Mrs Hobart. "You were working up at the Hall, at that time, were..."
Her voice trailed off and the colour mounted in her face as she realized the draper's wife had vanished from the room, without having spoken a word.
Miss Goldsmith looked at Mrs Gilbert in some surprise, but seized the opportunity to fill the uncomfortable silence left by the other woman. "Well! How very odd! I do hope she is not ill. She looked very pale, do not you think? But, really, Mrs Gilbert," continuing the feud, replying to the earlier inference and snub, "I would never have imagined you to be so old that you could possibly have had a part in any ball so long ago, unless, of course, you were a tweenie, perhaps, or... a scullery maid-in-training? You really look so remarkably well! Perhaps you could recommend a face cream to me. I declare I should be glad to appear half so well in another twenty years!"
Mrs Gilbert's face, aged a mere eight years more than that of her neighbor and friend, turned an alarming shade of red as she struggled to gain breath and voice enough for a rebuttal. Just as she had found her tongue, and taken a deep breath to deliver a suitable riposte, Mr Hobart entered the shop from a storeroom.
"Mrs Gilbert, Miss Goldsmith. Good morning to you both. Please forgive my wife, she has been taken ill. Nothing serious," seeing the immediate concern on the older woman's countenance, "but I suggested she lie down for a time. Now, how may I serve you, today?" He looked from one to the other of his customers, aware of having interrupted some sort of simmering argument - it looked to have become very unpleasant, ready to bubble and boil over at any moment in a torrent of scalding words. With his cool greeting, he hoped to quickly quench the women's heating emotions and send them on their way as soon as possible.
"Oh, how very exciting! Are you really going to perform, before so many people? Are you not afraid? Will you have a new dress? Oh, how I wish I might go, as well! I would so enjoy hearing you play! It would be lovely to see all the ladies and gentlemen so beautifully dressed! I have never been to a ball; now, I suppose, I never shall!" From a pleasant agitation and interest, Beth's voice fell rapidly to dull disappointment and regret.
"I will not be playing at the ball, itself, Beth - Lord Auldbury has hired an orchestra for that service - only at some informal gatherings on several of the evenings before the grand event itself. It has been many, many years since I have played in a company of this kind, so, yes, I suppose I shall be a little nervous, at first. The music is so beautiful, however, that I believe I shall lose myself in it, and forget all around me. I do hope, though, that there will be an opportunity to practice a little with this musician who has been invited. It would be most mortifying to play ill with such accomplished gentlemen, and before those who are accustomed to hearing only the best of performers." Looking thoughtfully at the face before her, at first so full of eager anticipation, now dejected, she ventured to speak of a plan she had been forming. "Beth, I can not promise anything, but, you might be allowed to come to the Hall and watch and listen for a short time. I shall speak to Lord Auldbury about it, if you might care for that."
Beth's face registered alarm. "Oh, no! I could not, not with so many high-born people! Not now!"
"I did not mean that you would mingle with the guests, my dear, simply watch from some out of the way corner or balcony." Mrs Taylor's voice was soothing. "Miss Rose took Lord Auldbury's children to watch a grand ball not long after she had arrived as governess. They were permitted to observe the dancing for some ten or twenty minutes before retiring. I remember her telling me how much they enjoyed it, and how they talked of it for days afterward. There are places from which you could observe to your heart's content, with no one being the wiser as to your presence."
"Yes, Jenny, I have heard about the ball which Lord Auldbury is to give." "No, I will not be attending; it is being given only for very special friends of Lord Auldbury, those whom he has not seen for many years. We are fortunate to see him often, and he us, so it is not necessary for us to go to the ball." "Y-yes... I have been to a ball, but it was a very long time ago." "Yes," in a low voice, "I did dance; I enjoyed it very well, indeed." In a brisker tone, "Now, Jenny, you must attend, or we will not finish our tasks for today. You may speak of the ball with your mother, or with Beth; I am sure she would enjoy that. Perhaps, if your mother has some time, she will help you make a fine ball gown for one of your dolls. Or perhaps Miss Goldsmith would be willing to help you with something so special." "Well, I do not know if she is as gifted at such work as Miss Hetty was, but she is a good seamstress, and, I am sure, would make you a very fine dress, Jenny."
As Jenny went to fetch several articles, as she had been bid, Miss Rose's hand went out to touch a frame near the table - a frame surrounding one perfect blush rosebud, just on the point of blooming, now dried and preserved under glass, suspended in time, which had once adorned a pure white gown for an evening of dance.
"I'm afraid it will keep me very occupied, my darling. I don't know how often I will be able to come away. But, it will only be for a fortnight or so, all told."
Stephen Hobart had managed a half-hour away from his work to stop at the Burns' home and share with them the freshest news about the upcoming visitors and plans at the Hall. Mr Burns, though now unable to move much outside his own dwelling, was as keen as ever to keep abreast of happenings in the neighborhood, particularly any doings at the Hall, which he still viewed with special proprietary interest, having worked there almost forty years. After a visit deemed all too short by the young couple, Hannah was accompanying Stephen to the door.
"I will have much to occupy me, as well, Stephen, as you know; but... I will miss you!" Hannah pressed the arm she held, as if to store up a remembrance of its strength and feel. "I will be glad when it is over! I suppose I should be worried that you will see some pretty girl come with the visitors, who will bewitch you and steal you away!" Hannah added the last in jest, looking up into his face and smiling, secure in the knowledge of his affection.
"No, that could never happen, for I can imagine no one handsomer than you, no one I could love half so well." He stopped to face her, and paid her the fulsome compliment with earnest eyes fixed firmly on hers, while raising the hands he had taken hold of to his lips, and kissing them with playful gallantry. "And what about you? Should some blackguard or rake come into the Inn, and begin to pay you his attentions, what shall I do then?"
"Why, I will expect you to come flying on your mighty winged steed, of course, to rescue me from such a bounder! Shall you hear my cries for help, or shall you be too busy midst your hounds and horses, midst the young ladies tempting you with fine, soulful eyes, flatteringly sweet conversation and flirtatiously helpless demeanor?" Her brows rose in a mock frown, even as her own eyes danced merrily, and her voice teased and laughed at their nonsense.
"I would hear your voice, dearest Hannah, were I ten counties away, and come galloping over hill and dale to save you from the most dread dragon, the most dastardly villain! I would dash him to the ground in one stroke and lift you to my side; then away we would ride! To Gretna Green at once, to secure you forever!"
"And live happily ever after in some enchanted forest glade, I suppose, where you would charm all the birds and animals. We would live off nuts and berries, roots and toadstools, flower blossoms and wild honey, and dance in moonlit fairy circles every night. I would while away the days spinning thread from moonbeams and spiders' webs, weaving magical cloaks for our children."
Their countenances changed from melodrama to hilarity as Hannah and Stephen dissolved in laughter at such hyperbolic flights of fancy, enjoying the pleasure of each other's company for the moment, infrequent as the opportunities for such would now be. At a call from Mr Burns, as the hour was growing late, they reluctantly bade each other good night, and parted, knowing that such partings, difficult and unpleasant as they might be, were only for a time. As Hannah passed the looking glass in the hall, and glanced at her reflection, she gave thanks once again for a Providence which had so coloured the eyes of a fine, comely, amiable young man that he could look at her, and think her handsome. "Coming, Papa..."
Chapter 7, Part 4 ~ A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance
At the merest rumour, the faintest whisper, of a gathering to be held at the Hall, all Auldbridge pricked up its ears. The whispered hint, once confirmed, grew in strength and volume, sweeping through the neighborhood like a storm, leaving a flurry of activity in its wake. Tongues wagged, hands were busied, and feet were set to tapping; voices were heard in every corner humming jigs and slip jigs, reels and hornpipes, in honour of the upcoming dance, from 'The Barefoot Boy' and 'Melancholy Martin,' to 'Pretty Peggy' and 'Bantry Bay.' Houses were scrubbed, windows washed, curtains starched. Needles were sent a-flying and brushes and brooms to sweeping; no speck of dirt, no hint of lint was allowed to rest at ease. Spiders were routed from their comfortable corners and sent scurrying outdoors, where they were firmly requested to entangle and dispose of all small creatures of a nuisance-causing nature. Shops and gardens were prepared to look their very best, in hopes that some small thing might be brought to the favorable notice of some great personage. Farmer Frank was seen delivering extra sacks of wheat, rye, barley and oats to Baker Brown; Sheepherder Smith was spied bringing extra lambs to Butcher Black. Hens were entreated to lay often, but only eggs of most regular shape and highest quality; cows were encouraged to give only milk suitable for the richest clotted cream. Pansy and Daisy, two she-asses belonging to the Hobarts, and cared for by Phoebe and Julia, were vigourously brushed, and sternly put on notice: they were to be prepared to walk to the Hall at any time of day or night, should there be visitors who might chance to fall ill, or be of sickly constitution, and thus prefer fresh asses' milk.
Horses were groomed; cows, donkeys and dogs were bathed - much to the consternation and discomfort of some. Cats promptly disappeared under buildings, into shadows, and onto inaccessibly high places, lest their caretakers take it into their heads to bathe them as well. The felines, however, having their own pride of place, conscientiously continued to carry out their self-appointed task of ridding the village and environs of unwanted mice, and sundry other small pests, but were careful to do so in secrecy, with taste and discretion. In further consideration for the coming guests, they seemed to forego, for the time being, the luxury of supplementing their diets with songbirds, that the visitors might enjoy the full panoply of birdsong indigenous to the area.
The heavens were, alternately, humbly entreated and sternly admonished to provide nothing but sunshine, and that of a mild, pleasant nature, despite the season, for the duration of the visitors' sojourn. In short, though few therein expected to actually witness any of the festivities, or to have any intercourse with the guests, all Auldbridge primped and preened in anticipation of an event the likes of which had not been seen for more than twenty years, anxious to show itself the equal of any village in the land, anxious to do credit to Auldbury and its benevolent lord.
Among the villagers, throughout the parish, there was but one topic of conversation. Memories of old were brought out, dusted, polished, stretched this way and that, reshaped - where it was deemed necessary or expedient - to fit a more flattering setting or frame, and related far and wide amongst the populace. Those who had experienced the last such Event at the Hall proudly vied for precedence with those who had witnessed such doings in other places. Aged persons suddenly enjoyed a resurgence of consequence and popularity as their opinions were much sought after, and their tales listened to with rapt attention. Imaginations were kindled among the young, as they endeavoured to conceive of what the coming happenings might entail, of what might come to pass in the hallowed halls of the great house. Speculations flew about and flourished as to how Very Important Persons might dress and behave, whether they would at all resemble their own beloved master, landlord and neighbor, in his manner to and consideration of them, or whether pride and conceit would be the rule - whether the guests would even condescend to enter the village. In every corner of the neighborhood, from manor house to farmhouse, while the answers varied a good deal, the questions varied but little...
"Have you been to many balls and assemblies, Miss Ross? What were they like? Were there many handsome young men? How were the ladies dressed? Did you dance much? Did you meet many persons from London Society, of the nobility? Did they come into the village often? Did you have much opportunity to speak with them? What did they talk of? Do you remember the last ball here at Auldbury? It must have been very fine!" Beth sighed, with visions of imagined splendour spinning through her head. She and the nurse were strolling through the village - as Miss Ross insisted on Beth taking some exercise each day - the girl's tongue racing and dancing from one question to another, far faster and farther than the languid pace of their feet could carry them. Beth had been caught up in the general excitement felt throughout the neighborhood, and had become every bit as curious as all other not-yet-seventeen year old young ladies there.
"I was not here when the last ball was given by Lord and Lady Auldbury; I was traveling on the continent at that time, I believe - or maybe it was in Scotland - with Lady Hartworth. To tell the truth, Miss Beth, I have never been to a ball, nor to an assembly."
"What, never?" cried the young girl, thinking what a deprivation this must surely have been. She jumped to the only conclusion conceivable to her. "Would your parents not allow you to go? Were you not very disappointed? I would have been so angry with them!"
"Actually, there were assemblies, and parties, as I was growing up, here in the village, and in a few other places where I had relatives with whom I stayed now and again, but I was never inclined to attend. Far from forbidding me, my father encouraged me to go, to mix with others of my own age, as I had neither brothers nor sisters at home. I rather think he was the more disappointed that I chose not to. But, I am afraid I was not very interested in such things. I was at best an awkward dancer, you see, and was sure of embarrassing myself, had I attempted it. The thought of facing so many people all at once rather frightened me, as well. I was certain no one would speak to me, and that, even if they did, I would be tongue-tied; then they would think me dull-witted and disagreeable, or accuse me of some sort of pride or arrogance. I was happy to remain at home, with my father, talking and reading with him."
"I cannot imagine anything frightening you, Miss Ross! Why, you have traveled in so many places and met so many strange people. Here in Auldbridge, you have been with those who are dying, or sick and cross, and with their families. You have so many friends, and are easy with them all. How could an assembly frighten you, where all are happy and contented?"
"It is just my own odd nature, I suppose. Being in company with many people all at once makes me uneasy, even when they are all my friends. Traveling with Lady Hartworth was quite different; my, that was an adventure!" Miss Ross' eyes shone with delightful memories. "She always seemed to know exactly how to behave, and precisely what to say, even in the most imposing or peculiar company. I simply helped and waited upon her, and followed along, and listened; I was never expected to speak or mingle with others in such situations, for which I was most grateful! Here in the village, when I am with someone who is ill, I do not think of my surroundings, so long as I know I may be of some use. Knowing I am needed, having a few good friends to be in company with, and having somehting to read have always been sufficient for me to be perfectly contented."
"Oh," Beth managed, thinking how very odd it was, indeed, that any well-brought up young woman, no matter her circumstances, would not care for dancing, or assemblies, or gatherings of any sort. How could one prefer calm and quiet to gaiety and music? How could any girl prefer the company of her father, and the boring, impossibly perfect, perfectly insipid characters to be found in most books, to that of the surely much more fascinating people to be met at public and private gatherings? She had never quite understood how her friend, Cecily, had been able to lose herself so entirely in the novels she was forever reading. Beth had always preferred studying and sketching the characters of the live persons in whose company she found herself.
"But, did you never think to perhaps meet a very particular young man at a dance, with whom you might fall in love, and marry?"
"One must not necessarily attend a dance to meet a young man, Miss Beth."
Beth flushed, as she looked down. "No, of course not." After a few minutes' silence, Beth ventured another question, having come to feel more at ease with this good-natured woman the longer she knew her. "Miss Ross... did you never wish to marry?"
Far from feeling affronted or angry at the question, the nurse answered readily. "I probably thought about it a little when I was very young - I think every girl must! Fairy tales abound with beautiful young maidens living happily ever after with their frogs-turned-princes-by-a-kiss. My father often said he hoped to see his grandchildren before he died. I am sorry to have disappointed him, perhaps. But, I never met any man for whom I cared more than any other, for whom I would have been willing to lay aside my own wishes, to commit myself wholeheartedly for all my life. Not that I was expecting, or waiting for, perfection - I had seen enough of men, and had known enough of a few women, even of myself," she added with a grin, "to know that no one is perfect. I am quite sure my own character would be difficult to endure on a daily basis. No!" she wagged a finger at her companion, at her unvoiced protest. "You do not know me as well as I know myself, Miss Beth!"
Becoming serious again, she continued. "By the time I went away with Lady Hartworth, I already felt that my life might be different, somehow, from that of other young ladies. On one of our journeys on the continent, near a beautiful old mountain town called Freiburg, in the Black Forest, we met a group of women, all unmarried, who felt that they had been called, by God, to help the poor. They were young and old, lively and retiring, some of good family, some of low birth. Some served by teaching, others by nursing. They helped anyone who was in need - no one was too old, too poor, too low - and were much beloved in the town and the villages near there, to which they traveled on foot, or by donkey. They were called 'diakonessen,' which quite literally means 'servant,' and they truly were servants of God. They brought food to old people living alone, brought new lives into the world, and comforted families who had lost a mother or father, a brother or sister, or a son or daughter. These women lived humbly, most near poverty, but seemed content in what they were doing; they were most hospitable to us, despite having little enough for themselves. From that time, I felt that God was calling me to the same type of work, in England. When Lord Auldbury offered me the cottage here, I was confirmed in that decision. If I can do half as much here, as we saw those women doing, I shall be well satisfied with my life."
"I am sure you do much more!" cried Beth. "But, I do not think I could do such things, Miss Ross," thinking that the nurse was commending such a life as one all unmarried women should lead, and one that Beth should now, possibly, consider for herself.
"No, of course not - not unless you were prepared, and felt this to be your calling, Miss Beth. I do not mean to imply that this life is for most women, or even for very many. It is not an easy path for those who choose it. I have been blessed with the kindness of so many, as well as the patronage of Lord Auldbury. In any other place, it would be far more difficult, I am certain. I believe most women do marry, and it is quite right for them to do so."
"I shall probably never marry, now. Surely no respectable man will want me. I may as well learn some trade and resign myself to it." The girl's voice dripped bitterness and regret.
"You are still very young, Miss Beth. You do not know what lies ahead of you. And," the nurse's eyes twinkled as if with some secret knowledge, "there may yet be some kind gentleman who will be well-suited to you, who will love you dearly, despite your faults, one whom you will love, despite his. Your circumstances, though unfortunate, do not at all rule this out. Such things have happened before; I have known several to have ended very happily!"
Beth fell silent once more, mulling over all she had heard. For a woman never to have a beau, never to marry, and yet to be happy - how could it be possible? And yet, Miss Ross was not a lonely old woman, mocked and pitied. She did seem perfectly contented with her lot. She was almost always joyful; she had a kind word for each person she met, and was much loved, valued and respected by all in the village. The young woman could not understand it, could not puzzle such a character out. Her mind turned to her own predicament, the life that now stretched bleakly before her. Could there yet be hope for her? Could she ever be as certain of her own life as Miss Ross seemed of hers? But what would God want with someone such as I, who have done such shameful things? Surely He would not want me even for a servant! But what is there left for me to become, but some sort of servant? Despite Miss Ross' words, she doubted very much that any man worth having would have her. Dismal notions, indeed! However, with such cheer as now walked beside her, encouraging her with hope, she was not so wholly cast down as she might have been. Her thoughts rambled on as they continued. Before she knew it, she had spoken another out loud.
"Is that why Miss Rose never married? Is that how she became a teacher? Did she feel that God had called her to teach the poor?"
"Miss Rose comes from a long line of schoolmasters and governesses, Miss Beth. Her father was a schoolmaster in London. Her mother was a governess before her marriage. One of her grandfathers taught at Eton for a time, the other at Cambridge. You might say it is a sort of family tradition."
"Oh, I see." Beth reflected on the time she had spent in the company of the schoolteacher, the slight shadow present in her face, her behavior in the presence of... a certain person. Miss Rose did not seem quite so easy, so contented, in her life, as did the nurse. That was no real answer to my question, she thought, with sudden perception. Perhaps Miss Rose was not meant to be a schoolteacher for so long!