Beginning, Previous Section, Section IX, Next Section
Chapter 7, Part 7 ~ A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance
As visitors began to arrive, John made it a regular habit to join Lord Auldbury, as the Earl greeted each new arrival personally. Mr Blevins stood patiently, alert, watching the colourful, irregular procession, endeavouring to match what he knew of each of the directors and their families, from anything and everything but a personal meeting, with the appearances and behaviors now immediately before him, and to quickly learn and commit to memory which names and which faces belonged together, so as not to mistake Lady E for Lady B, nor to confuse the Baronet Feldridge with the Viscount Goosely.
John stood a little to one side as Lord and Lady Latham arrived, showing themselves to precisely fit the picture gossip had made them out to be: a comfortable-looking couple of at least sixty years of age, perfect models of benevolent grandparents. Their manners were proper and elegant, though unpretentious, as was their appearance. The greetings exchanged with Lord Auldbury were most warm and sincere, Lady Latham being especially happy to see the Earl again after so many years. There were some few minutes spent in exchanging amusing recollections, reaching as far back as fifty years or so, to their childhood, and setting all three to easy laughter. With sincere apologies for their rudeness in keeping him waiting, the Viscount and Viscountess met Jonathan Brownleigh with courtesy, though the young gentleman was then subjected to a rather disconcerting gaze from the lady, and an equally disconcerting remark of how very like his mother - Lord Auldbury's sister - he was. Before any further exchange could take place, Lord Auldbury had the couple shown to their customary rooms. As they quitted the foyer, he turned to eye John himself, a boyish smile tugging at his mouth, and lighting his face. "You know, Jemima is quite right. I had not noticed it before. Perhaps this is an extra measure of Providence for our plan, for you do resemble my sister, and, indeed, her oldest son. You may be subjected to some queries regarding your 'family,' Jonathan, especially from my older friends. Shall I brief you now, or shall you try your hand at extemporaneous conversation upon that subject?"
"I believe some information might be helpful, sir; but, after that, I believe I shall attempt to steer the discussion away from myself whenever possible, being the modest young man that I am. Instead, I shall affect an appropriate amount of interest in all your acquaintances and in their concerns, rather than the dull episodes of my life." John's expression mirrored the humour of the Earl's, the two men having come to a good understanding, with mutual respect, in very short order, the greater part of reserve having soon been discarded.
Upon the arrival of Sir Peter Woolwich, John was amused, but not much surprised, to see that this unusual gentleman did not recognize the young nephew of his host as the same man to whom he had nodded and smiled so familiarly in London some weeks before. Watching as he and his wife made their way into the house without any navigational difficulties, John soon noticed how carefully, yet unobtrusively, Lady Woolwich guided her husband. The hand she lay on his arm appeared to accept his support and protection, while she, in truth, steered him quite skillfully, forestalling the types of mishaps and misunderstandings, both humourous and perilous, of the type Mr Blevins had witnessed in London. The near-sighted young man was either oblivious to this assistance, or was, in his turn, unobtrusively gracious and humble in his acceptance of it. While the Baronet and his wife conversed with Lord Auldbury, John found himself unable to keep his eyes from returning again and again to surreptitiously study the lady, though attempting to keep his gaze discreet; Mr Scribney had not exaggerated in the slightest in describing her as a true beauty. In considering her, John could not help wondering if these rare looks concealed some defect, some unpleasantness of character, some flaw in mind or soul, for such unblemished loveliness both inside and out would make this an extraordinary woman indeed. With dark, waved hair, large, deep brown eyes, fringed with long, dark lashes, clear, fair skin, a beautifully-proportioned figure, dressed in a modest traveling gown of pale lavender, she seemed a painting, a delicate watercolour, or a statue, come to life, with all her movements graceful and easy. Though I know nothing of the art of painting, I can well imagine it difficult - nigh well impossible - to do her justice, thought John. It is not simply a matter of her features... His eyes continued fixed on her as she and her husband were led by a servant in the direction of their rooms - the lady's hand still gently directing their steps away from pedestals, small tables and all other potential impediments along the way - 'til they were out of his sight.
John was pleased to meet Lord Cantering once more, and to exchange several words with him privately, while Lord Auldbury was detained with Mr and Mrs Stockley, who had arrived at the same time. Lord Cantering soon left to reacquaint himself with one particular area in the park, his favorite, while John rejoined the others in time to hear Mr Stockley's booming voice - well fitting his large, bear-like form - convey his admiration and approval of what they had seen of the grounds on their way. "You must let me speak with your gardener, Lord Auldbury. My wife is simply enraptured of your flowers and lawns, and would so like to have something in the same style at our estate." Mrs Stockley, in contrast to her husband, was a small, almost mouse-like creature, who seemed too awed by her presence before Lord Auldbury to do more than murmur monosyllabic replies to whatever was asked her. As their host spoke gently with this timid woman, her husband eyed his surroundings with interest and appraisal, and John eyed Mr Stockley with heightened interest and appraisal of a different sort. Had the man's recently acquired wealth given him a concomitant taste for less conventional, less limited, less legal power? A desire to use power in whatever avenues seemed expedient, or novel and perhaps amusing? How had he managed to obtain entrée into London's fashionable Society? Through bribery or blackmail? His would be an acquaintance John would most definitely pursue. It would be interesting to learn whether his behavior here - very hearty, almost brash, but ostensibly sincere - was reflective of his true nature, or a very clever guise.
Greater disparity than that between Lord Goosely and Sir Isaac Feldridge could hardly have been imagined. Though much of an age, they might have come from different societies, or even centuries, for the lack of any other similarities between them. The former was very tall, a trifle portly, and dressed with a complete disregard for style, fashion, or even the propriety of such a house party as he was now attending. He truly looked more fit for the servants' quarters, or the stables, rather. John hoped no one would take it into his head to direct the man there, or to give him orders assuming him to be a footman or gardener; he laughed inwardly, hearing what Simmons would have to say to this gentleman as clearly as if the valet were himself present to speak. He could imagine the pursed lips, the pinched nostrils, the disdain, though quickly repressed, in every glance. 'A gentleman must look the part of a gentleman, whatever his own personal desires might be, whatever his daily occupation or pursuits might be. From those to whom much has been granted at birth, much will be expected throughout life.' John Thomas Barrow had heard this pronouncement often enough since his sixteenth year to be well able to anticipate his valet's reaction. It seemed a pity for men and women to be so much judged by the clothes they wore, their outward appearance, but such was the way of the world - and a way to which it was sometimes, to a certain extent, necessary to bow - 'Anyone striving to better himself must not neglect appearance,' being another of Simmons' maxims. The Viscount had not even traveled with his own servant, although that might have been guessed. No self-respecting valet would wish to publicly claim this clownish figure as an illustration of, or recommendation for, his labour! The gentleman's manner, too, was less befitting a titled personage than a vulgar commoner. Abrupt, disobliging and tactless at most times, he nevertheless greeted his host with respect, while brusquely receiving and soon brushing off the condolences offered in the death of his father. He greeted John with barely concealed disinterest, and escaped as soon as possible to his room, and from thence - as was later reported by an upstairs maid - to the library, where he remained 'til called to dinner.
Sir Isaac, on the other hand, was what could only be termed a dandy, a fop, a coxscomb. He was an average-looking man, who had determined to make the most of every average feature, such that the whole effect far surpassed the sum of the average parts. Dressed in the height of fashion, with a neckcloth tied to within an inch of his life, and a hat which would have been envied by the Regent himself, he swaggered in, greeting his host with ingratiating comments. He inquired as to other guests already come, and whether refreshment of any sort might soon be offered a parched traveler. He closely eyed the pretty parlourmaid when she appeared, and seemed eager to follow her to his chamber, being most disappointed to find she had come to speak to Lord Auldbury on another matter. He spent little time in his room, preferring to be wherever companionship of the fair sex might fairly be anticipated, with the attendant pleasant prospect of its admiration, as well. He was gentlemanly amiability and gregariousness itself, in unremitting search of a willing feminine counterpart.
Lord and Lady Barking arrived in a hired carriage, and were also patently happy to renew their acquaintance with Lord Auldbury, though clearly not on as close terms with him as were the Lathams and Woolwiches. Lord Barking spoke gruffly, Lady Barking graciously, though a trifle absently, as though her mind were not quite all in Surrey, but elsewhere - perhaps with the brood of lively children left behind. Had not the long-awaited death of their uncle, rescuing them from their financial plight, been absolutely confirmed before John had left London, he would have met them with far greater interest. As it was, he met them with courtesy, and was, in turn, met with a pleased sincerity which he could not help wishing he deserved.
The Eckingtons, Mr Chase and the Rainhams reached Auldbury rather late in the day, the latter two parties arriving together, in a carriage hired by Mr Chase. Idle talk among the visitors' servants revealed that the Rainhams never used or hired their own equipage if it were possible to make use of another's. This talk, on the grounds of Auldbury itself, agreed with all tales previously heard in town, and harmonized nicely with the mute, paper-documented testimony of their single attempt at dealings with the first Mr Blevins. They had, some fifteen years ago, sought to stretch the very smallest letter of the law - completely ignoring its spirit or intent - to its outermost reach, to their own great pecuniary advantage, but to the serious disadvantage of a former servant. Mr Blevins had politely but tersely declined to aid their cause. This incident with the carriage, as well as confirming the miserly character of these people, showed, at the least, a certain affability on the part of Mr Chase, that he allowed himself to be thus importuned. It could be taken as proof of Mr Chase's origins, as well, if the Rainhams' aversion to anyone or anything of French origin were as extreme as was reputed. John had little time to form any other opinions of these late arrivals, depending on further meetings to delve into their characters.
Among the guests not of the London directorship were two parties who interested John greatly nonetheless. He had just come from the garden, not having been made aware of another newcomer, and found Lord Auldbury delightedly greeting an older gentleman. The thin, stooping old man, with sparse grey hair, turned to show a very full grey beard, spectacles attached to a fine chain, and deep blue eyes shining with childlike innocence and eagerness as he surveyed his surroundings, and met his host. John was mildly shocked to recognize Mr Joshua Scribney. Of course - a musician from London! Lord Auldbury seemed not to know of their prior acquaintance, for he performed the introduction as he had with all the other guests thus far. Mr Scribney met John with no hint of familiarity, save a faint warning in his eyes, which John received with equanimity, and found time to discreetly acknowledge, before the older man turned and followed the great case containing his cello to the chamber prepared for him.
The other persons exciting John Barrow's interest were the Earl of Matlock and his wife. Though he had never met them, he had heard of them, from their nephew, an old schoolfellow of his at Eton, though some years his senior. How long ago those days now seemed! A pity he could not directly avail himself of this unforeseen opportunity to find out more of the path his friend's life had taken. Perhaps... in the general conversation...
Chapter 7, Part 7 ~ A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance
The ensuing days brought incessant activity. From arrivals and greetings, new acquaintances begun and friendships renewed, through amusements and diversions both sedate and lively, day passed after day in rapid succession - an entertaining period for Jonathan Brownleigh, an enlightening one for John Thomas Barrow (seeing and experiencing at first hand a broad range of persons and personalities among these privileged families of Society), but one of less profitability than expected by John Blevins. He had half-hoped for some few rainy, gloomy days to force the entire company into closer quarters inside the great house, where idle conversations on an assortment of topics might have been introduced, stimulated, directed, or overheard. The brilliant, un-English-like sunshine which greeted him each morning defied his hopes and plans, even as he otherwise enjoyed the fine weather and the pleasures afforded by his pastoral surroundings. With respect to the weather, it seemed the villagers of Auldbridge - ordinary folk all, going about their ordinary business - having importuned the heavens for clemency during this important time, held greater sway than did the wishes of one single Mr Blevins of London - private inquiry agent, attempting to go about his own extraordinary business.
Thus, the daily activities, varied as they were, and calculated to entertain, were disappointing to only one participant, in allowing none but the most shallow of characteristics to surface and be observed. In truth, the traits become plain to see sounded much like a year-end awards roster from a public school. In the field of athletics, highest marks awarded to Archibald Latham, Viscount, and Oliver Fairfield, Lord Auldbury, who, despite their advancing years, sat their horses calmly and competently through, and over, all obstacles encountered. Special mention to Sir Peter Woolwich, Baronet, with no small credit going to his horse, Fleet Dorcas, who, true to the character her name implied, gracefully avoided all solid objects to which her rider failed to give a proper caution. In marksmanship, honours exemplary to Sir Daniel Eckington, Baronet, and Mr Charles Stockley, commoner. As an aside, full marks to the afore-mentioned Sir Peter for excusing himself from all endeavours involving the use of a loaded weapon, with relief being afforded all persons and other unintended targets in the vicinity of the Auldbury grounds. (Mr Lewis Chase, commoner and foreigner, followed Sir Peter's example, though for no apparent reason, and offering none, neither did he ride.) Turning to academics: first prize equally shared by Sir Isaac Feldridge, Baronet, Mr Chase, and Sir Peter, in card games of all sorts, whether whist, cassino, quadrille or piquet. For scholarly endeavours, highest merit earned by Sir Paul Goosely, Viscount, not the least for his unequaled tenacity in seeking out chess partners to challenge his own well-honed skills. Peculiar honours in chess were shared by Jonathan Brownleigh, of the Wiltshire Brownleighs (Lord Auldbury's nephew), Lord Matlock, and Lord Cantering, Earls of Matlock and Cantering, respectively, these three being the only men deemed fit to play with by the very particular Lord Goosely. The latter gentleman led the field in backgammon, as well, being given some unanticipated rivalry, however, from one person originally deemed, by him, ineligible for the competition: Lady Latham.
Among the ladies, talents and accomplishments of other sorts were noted - clear superiority as easily judged here as among the gentlemanly pursuits. Top marks for fashion, lavish costume and coiffure to Lady Susan Eckington, wife of a Baronet, closely followed by her daughter, Miss Eckington; most sensible dress - Jemima Latham, Viscountess; most elegant garb - Lady Laura Woolwich, also a Baronet's wife; clothing already having seen, for the most part, good service - Dorothea Barking, Baroness (formerly impoverished); most expensive and glittering raiment - Mrs Hester Stockley, commoner; attire least appropriate and least worthy of notice - Mrs Naomi Rainham, most common of commoners. In a more intellectual vein, greatest heights in the fields of Tattling Gossipivity and Rumourology attained by several women with daughters and sons of marriageable age; awards for conversation of gracious substance to Lady Matlock and Lady Latham; dubious honours for multitudinous words descriptive of unsubstantiated and likely undeserved praise of their offspring to Lady Barking and Lady Eckington; judicious note for an over-economy of words, to equal her miserliness of purse, to Mrs Rainham.
During the course of each day, the older women generally gathered in groups according to their degree of acquaintance and mutual interests, while, in the presence of the gentlemen - whether in the gardens, on the terrace, or in the spacious rooms of the Hall - the younger ladies vastly, and most unaccountably, in the opinion of the young man himself, preferred the company of Lord Auldbury's nephew. As an eligible young bachelor, of interesting looks and impeccable family connections, and, not the least, being an unknown, an enigma, among their set, John found himself surrounded by femininity as soon as ever he set foot in a salon or drawing room, with not a moment for silent, solitary observation of his fellow guests. As John wished to better make the acquaintance of the male members of the party, by engaging them in private conversations, he found this to be more than a slight nuisance. He took from it the only consolation and benefit possible, by better making the acquaintance of two of the gentlemen: Sir Isaac, who was quick to find and join young and unattached ladies, wherever they might have chosen to gather, and Lord Goosely, who was just as assiduously avoided by most women as he was assiduous to avoid them. When in the company of that gentleman, John was assured safety from any unwanted attentions or intrusions.
Though enduring all with bemused fortitude, John was astonished and disconcerted by such feminine attentions as were here richly and unabashedly showered upon him, in both quantity and quality, and not simply by the younger of the women. Mothers, too, fawned over him to an extent at once comical and disagreeable. John Thomas Barrow, descriptively named 'Finch' while a young lad at school, had never considered himself possessed of any external qualities which would be considered attractive and pleasing to ladies, especially those ladies of more discriminating taste and judgement - had, in fact, long ago reconciled himself to that somewhat depressing certitude. Now to have his every word hung upon, his every activity followed and exclaimed over, seemed to him unwarranted by any stretch of the imagination; it appeared the height of absurdity, and defied all logic. By the end of several days, however, at least one possible explanation came to his attention.
According to Simmons - hearing it from the newly-engaged scullery maid, who had it from Sir Isaac's bootboy, who heard it from Sir Daniel's groom, who had it whispered him by Mr Stockley's coachman, having received it directly from Lord Cantering's valet, the avowed admirer of Lady Eckington's lady's maid (who always had her mistress' best interests at heart in hearing about amiable and rich young men for the oldest daughter of the house) - a rumour had come into being. A rumour - splendidly conceived, in blind ambition, fantastical imagination, or mightily deceived hopes - had made the rounds. As Lord Auldbury had no living children, his great estate, not subject to an entail of any sort - a most unusual circumstance - would, upon that gentleman's demise, be given a nephew - none other than the nephew present amongst them. The news both amused and annoyed said 'nephew,' who felt as though he now had the price of an inheritance hung about his shoulders as an unwieldy mantle, upon the merits of which he was judged and according to the vastness of which he was valued.
Despite such generally disappointing results of a week's time in the company of this carefully-gathered group, one incident did occur, which served, not as enlightenment of any helpful sort, but simply to confirm the idle tattlers in town as truth-tellers in the accurate portrayal of at least one 'gentleman's' character. John came upon Sir Isaac one night - after an evening during which it might have been noted that the gentleman had fully enjoyed more than his fair allotment of the most excellent liquid refreshment - in a cozy tête-à-tête with a parlourmaid, a very comely, but shy, young girl, whose initial and growing lack of enthusiasm for this marked attention was more than apparent. John immediately noted the similarity of this circumstance to one in Mr Blevins' old files, except that, in that case, the attentions to a French maid in Sir Isaac's parents' house had regrettably progressed far enough to require considerable effort on the part of Mr Blevins to tie up the not-unsurprising loose end which appeared some months later. In the brief moment it took for John to note this likeness of episode and to ponder the best course of action, Mr and Mrs Johnson appeared - very opportunely so. While her husband and the master's nephew, together, distracted and quietly led away the amorously intended Baronet, Mrs Johnson took the girl out of harm's way, comforting her and easing her distress. Nothing was said, but the younger maids were hereafter always aided by, and in the company of, the butler, the valets of either Lord Auldbury or his nephew, or a stout footman. As a further precaution, the wineglasses offered Sir Isaac on subsequent afternoons and evenings would have seemed, to a meticulous observer, rather lighter in content and strength than those of the other guests.
There had been two conversations, worthy of some note, carried out within earshot of Mr Blevins, at times when he was free of unwanted companionship, was unseen by those conversing, and could listen as well as he was able: the first between two men, the other among three women. Taken together, they left him wondering whether they were two sides of the same coin - innocent and open to no nefarious interpretation - whether one side should prove to be a counterfeit: an engaging façade of good-will over a core of evil intent, or whether, perhaps, both sides were guilty of deceit, of presenting a grossly false aspect to the world at large.
The pleasantly situated garden spot near John's chamber window was apparently deemed private enough, deceptively so, for a discussion of some small matter of business. Mr Stockley and Sir Daniel had chosen this place to confer. While Sir Daniel spoke in muted murmurs completely indistinguishable with respect to words or meaning, in vain would he have hoped his companion to do the same, for that man's voice carried as though amplified in a grand Cathedral, so designed and constructed that the faintest whisper could be heard in the farthest corner. Thus, the conversation which John overheard was one-sided, the full content and import of which he could only guess at.
"Nonsense! Surely some way will be found; I know you are very capable in such affairs. I have been indebted to you for quite some time now, and rely on you in this matter, as well. I should be most disappointed if you cannot arrange this, and most... appreciative, if you can."
"Of course I understand the difficulties, man, but this is the only time the gentleman will be in London, or in England, for that matter, and I simply must see him. Do your best as always, there's a good chap; I know you will manage. When you have it, inform me at once, and we will conclude our transaction."
"The usual terms, of course, or, perhaps rather more, as this will involve greater pains on your part."
"Oh, very well, very well. We shall speak again later, eh?"
The second conversation took place in the maze, where John had, for a brief hour, found a satisfactorily hidden retreat to review what he had learned thus far, and to meditate and reflect on all he had chanced to observe. Women's voices, approaching, yet out of sight, on the other side of the hedge near which he was seated, were readily identifiable as Lady Latham, Lady Woolwich and Mrs Stockley. While shunned and scorned by the more fashionable and fastidious of the guests, Mrs Stockley had found friendly conversation - not intended to show up her ignorance, but to draw her out, and help her feel at ease - with the motherly Lady Latham, and, perhaps surprisingly, with the beautiful Lady Woolwich.
"...both so very poor growing up. This wealth, come so unexpected-like, has been quite a shock to us both. My husband does so enjoy spending the money, not wastefully or foolishly, but to help or please others, and in indulging his great fondness for music, and mine. He is forever bringing home presents for me - gowns, jewels, things for our house - and arranging concerts including compositions he thinks I will enjoy. I am almost half-afraid to mention a liking or admiration for anything any more, as I soon find it made a present of to me." After a short pause, "Oh - that sounds dreadfully ungrateful! I am not complaining, as I know they are all offerings and proofs of his love, but... I am in want of so very little, really. I do not wish to set myself up as a fashion plate; we do not require a fine house or an estate to rival the nobility, nor do I see the need to buy and accumulate more than we want to simply live. I do admit to taking very much pleasure in all the music - we have heard such splendid works! - but... I would gladly exchange it all for a simple cottage, a simple life, and simple songs to teach my own sons or daughters." The voice speaking dropped lower with the last phrases, and quavered the tiniest bit on the final words.
Lady Latham's voice was filled with genuine interest, and some amusement. "If you are in earnest, there are many worthy ways of spending and investing wealth, my dear, such as Lord Auldbury's proposed school, while you are waiting for your heart's desire to be fulfilled, as I am certain it soon will be. When it is, you may find an additional use for some of your fortune, and be very glad for it!"
"I... I am not so certain of having my desire fulfilled, my lady, for all my husband's money. We have been married almost ten years now - I was only seventeen when we wed. My husband does not seem much disturbed that I have not yet borne him an heir; but, I confess, I am longing for a child, not as an heir, or an object to show off, but a child of my own to love--" Mrs Stockley's voice broke with the last word; she sounded as though she were holding back a full flood of tears only with great effort.
"But, my dear, you are quite young, still. You may yet have many children. Sometimes they simply do not come when we would most like them to. Have you, perhaps, consulted a doctor?"
"Oh, yes; as he saw it was so important to me, Charles brought the best physician he could hear of. The gentleman had no good answer to give... He said it is probable I may never bear children; in fact, he held out very little hope. You see, I was once very ill, when I was a child..."
While Lady Woolwich murmured phrases of condolence, the older woman's interest changed to sympathy. "Oh, my dear, I am so sorry! If... if you are sure that this diagnosis is to be trusted, then, perhaps... Would you be willing to adopt some child, from parents who do not want or can not keep it, or from a mother who is unwed, and forced to give up her child?"
Mrs Stockley's reply was some time in coming, as if such a thought had never come to her attention, and she was now taking the time to become acquainted with it. "I don't know, my lady. My husband and I have not gone so far as to discuss anything of that nature. Are there really so many children who are unwanted? Are they all healthy? What would such a thing involve? I... I don't know how I would feel if all our acquaintance knew of it. It has been difficult as it is, being accepted anywhere, now. Our old friends think us become too proud for them, too much above them, or they try to take advantage of my husband's easy and generous nature, with unending appeals for money, while those in Society, supposedly so well-bred-- Oh..." her voice breathed out, trailing off. John could almost imagine the colour rising in the small woman's face, as she realized how tactlessly she had been about to speak. A response from the Viscountess came after several minutes' silence, and in a tone that bespoke thoughtful reflection, rather than offense.
"You are quite right; those in higher positions should set a better example. Never you mind about those who do not, my dear! Their acquaintance and friendship are not worth troubling yourself over. You know, there are ways to adopt a child discreetly - and quite legally, of course. There are, indeed, many, who only want a good home, from babes a few hours or days old, to children of several years. Some may not be completely sound, though most have only minor difficulties of one sort or another. And, my dear, having a child of one's own does not hold any guarantee of soundness, either. However, such decisions and details will, of course, remain between you and your husband. If you should be at all interested, I can give you the name of a gentleman who is completely reliable and discreet, most capable and trustworthy. I had thought him to have retired from such work, as he is an older gentleman; but, just recently I heard of him again, a Mr Blevins..."
Chapter 7, Part 7 ~ A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance
The cool dark of the small stone building was a welcome relief from the bright sun outside. A Sabbath day falling toward the end of, but nonetheless during, the appointed period of the grand visitation at Auldbury Hall, Auldbridge Church now found its ranks augmented by a gratifyingly exalted assortment of folk. Generations of Fairfields had elected to join their neighbours in attending the village church, rather than build a chapel for their own private use on the manor grounds. Due to the generosity of one Fairfield or another, this building was a respectable size, with benches of some comfort, and an organ of good quality. There were beautiful windows - dedicated to the remembrance of this or that Lord or Lady Auldbury - of intricate and many-coloured design, through which the light now shone to make a living mosaic of the people seated on the benches within, the hues and patterns shifting as individuals moved about, from fidgeting restlessness, or out of necessity.
The villagers had graciously, and with all promptitude, made room for the honoured guests. Not all the guests, however, had chosen to come, to the everlasting disappointment of many in the parish, all of whom had made such a great point of being themselves present. Though Sir Daniel and Miss Eckington were in attendance, Lady Eckington was not, as she rarely rose before noon regardless of the day of the week. Sir Isaac, too, rarely graced a breakfast table, and was also absent from this all-too-early morning appointment, to which he attributed no useful purpose. Even the small ration of wine shared out would not be to his taste, neither in quantity nor in quality. Lord Goosely, though an early riser, had likewise declared his intention of remaining at the Hall, stating his opinion quite clearly: if God were indeed omnipresent, He could be worshipped just as well in the garden, in a wood, or in the library, as in any one particular place fashioned by the hands of mere mortals. Most of the remaining visitors had chosen to come, either out of deference to their host's habits, or for their own sakes.
Mr Scribney was there, but was seated in the rear, among the servants from the Hall. John had been increasingly disturbed and dismayed to find how little respect was accorded the older gentleman, indeed, how few seemed to note him at all, giving more attention to potted plants in the conservatory than to this gifted old man. Some indifferent compliments on his music had been paid him; but, with scant exception, he had not even been recognized as the person who had rendered an artistic service of one sort or another to almost every family in attendance at Auldbury Hall this fortnight. However troubling, such a situation might be turned to the advantage of Mr Blevins and his employers, as the old man was able to come and go as he pleased, without drawing so much as a raised brow in attention to himself. In addition, John thought of the suggestion made by the artist himself, shortly after his arrival, which Mr Brownleigh had already put into practice. By the end of the visit, he hoped to have a sample of 'artwork' executed by each of the guests, for Mr Scribney's future perusal and study. Most had been flattered by the interest shown by the young nephew of their host, in hearing of noteworthy places they had visited, or the noteworthy showplaces they themselves owned, and were happy to oblige him with a drawing of some sort. There was a hope, however faint, that one of these renderings might serve to sharpen and focus the faint stirring of memory the old gentleman had felt while examining the forged banknotes, even though he had, even then, admitted the unlikelihood of the forger himself being among the directors.
A solemn stillness pervaded the small building in the minutes before the service began; John looked over the assembled group, his thoughts wandering as his glance lighted on one person after another seated near him. Some few quirks and oddities could have been easily marked during the preceding days by anyone paying even a modicum of attention. John had noted additional particulars, which puzzled and nagged at him. He was distracted from pursuing his musings, however, by the opening notes of an organ prelude. Although he had seen Mrs Taylor come in earlier with Jenny, she was no longer in evidence; when the first tones of the great instrument were heard, John guessed that it must be she who played. As the perfect polyphony of a Bach fugue washed over him in pleasurable waves, he sat back, soothed by the music, enjoying the intertwining melodies, emptying his mind of all troublesome thoughts, if only for this short time. Dust motes suspended in the coloured light streaming through the windows seemed to dance with the echoing sounds.
The prelude ended all too soon; the service began, with readings, congregational responses and hymns. John glanced farther around, recognizing several of the villagers. The Hobarts were there, with their daughters. Phoebe was leaned into the arm of her father, who held her lovingly and shared a prayer book with her, while Julia sat, straight and ladylike, both young girls behaving with as great propriety as could be wished. Mr Hobart sang heartily, while his wife warbled happily off-key, heedless of the particular tune being sung, their voices joined by the higher, not unpleasing, tones of the little girls. Stephen Hobart shared the bench with his parents and sisters, next a young lady whom John assumed to be his betrothed. Mr Brownleigh had heard of the young woman from several sources, and also of the sad situation Stephen found himself in. There were lively, good-natured disputes among the servants at the Hall, as to whether the young people were doing rightly or wrongly by delaying their wedding... Jenny Taylor was near John and Lord Auldbury, her place apparently reserved for her by general agreement, out of longstanding habit. She sat very still, by a woman who seemed to rely on her greatly, having come into the building on Jenny's arm, though not seeming in need of support due to any frailty. He noticed that, while speaking all the words of the service, and singing the hymns, the woman made no use of the small book held by Jenny, nor did she correct that young lady, though the worn, gilt-edged volume was consistently opened to the wrong place. This must be the blind woman, the teacher, of whom Lord Auldbury spoke, thought John. She and Jenny do seem to get along very well. Jenny neither spoke nor sang, but simply turned a page now and again, when she observed a neighbour so doing.
As the order of worship progressed, John could see, scattered equally among those of great fortune or no fortune at all, the same degrees of boredom and interest. Some, among every age, class or occupation, came to see and be seen; some were oblivious to their neighbours, being intent on the words spoken or sung, and their meaning, eager to take to themselves something of lasting value. Still others sat, motionless, withdrawn, rather enduring this hour as a duty, as some ritual expected of them, either by virtue of their subordinate positions in a pious household, or to set the expected example for those beneath them, a show of piety, a tradition, with no enduring foundation nor purpose.
After the last formal reading of the day, the vicar, dressed in a voluminous black robe, carrying a small sheaf of papers in his right hand, mounted the pulpit, and John prepared to listen with only a small portion of his mind. From the very first words, however, his entire attention was caught, as the clergyman alternated passages from Scripture with his own commentary. Most intriguing - this is far from what I had expected - far less cerebral, far more practical. Certainly John had never before heard a sermon introduced with a mention of blackberry tart and apple dumplings!
"...a good season for fruit. I have several especial favorites, as many of you seem to know," (his smile was answered by scattered grins among the congregation) "and am in great anticipation of them, and of the delectable things to be made with them, from the time I begin to see young leaves in the spring... every tree or bush is known by its fruit... no apples from pear trees, nor from oaks or willows, nor blackberries from currant or gooseberry bushes... some may resemble another, but, when fruits are brought forth, then a plant can be recognized for what it is... every person shows who he really is, in his heart, by the fruit he produces. Each time I make the acquaintance of someone new, I wonder what sort of person he is, the harvest to be anticipated... As our Lord has said, speaking allegorically, '...a good tree bringeth not forth corrupt fruit; neither doth a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit... every tree is known by his own fruit.' "
There was certainly a singular array of growth and 'fruit' to be noted among the guests gathered for this house party, thought John, some well-grown and identifiable, some unripe and immature, some quite ambiguous as to its eventual nature.
" 'For of thorns men do not gather figs, nor of a bramble bush gather they grapes. A good man out of the good treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is evil...' evil fruits of 'adultery, fornication, idolatry, witchcraft, hatred... envyings, murders, drunkenness... lying... bitterness, and wrath... evil speaking (or slander)... covetousness... selfishness, lust ...things the Lord doth hate... a lying tongue... hands that shed innocent blood, an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations (or plans)...' "
The first Mr Blevins had surely seen the outworkings of many of these evils; the current Mr Blevins would, in all likelihood, see his share, as well. What sort of fruit would a forger produce? Evil fruit, without a doubt, but of what sort? What must I look for? besides the most obvious of choices, of course... He would surely be, and most likely already was, responsible for shedding innocent blood - perhaps even the blood of innocent young women - certainly he would have a lying tongue, and a heart that devised evil plans; but, how to see this, to prove this, without evidence being directly found in his possession? Certain it is he would not boast about such things in public... Perhaps Tim will be able to find some tangible 'fruit' that will make a more definite accusation against one man - I do hope he is finding out more than am I!
"...the good fruits of 'love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance,' as told by the apostle Paul... thanksgiving... truth... forgiveness... faith, hope, and the greatest good fruit: charity, or love..."
Both Lady Latham and Lady Woolwich seemed to personify kindness and gentleness, while temperance, or self-control, was most assuredly not in the characters of Sir Isaac or Lady Eckington. Mrs Taylor must certainly have an abundance of long-suffering, to have dealt with her daughter all these years, and seemed to have a joyful, peaceful spirit with it all. Lord Auldbury had shown himself wise, generous and good, and with a goodly amount of faith, to have remained faithful, even as a harsh Providence had taken his wife and children away from him. From some persons, uprightness and truth was apparent; from others, gossip ran rampant, quite obviously - lies and slander, possibly, as well.
The Stockleys, sitting side-by-side with the Woolwiches, remained a puzzle. Was the harvest they bore only beginning, perhaps, half-formed, or was it ripened, ready for plucking as it was, being no more than it appeared? Was it illustrative of artless naiveté, or tremendous artfulness? Were these two simpleminded folk, or single-mindedly in pursuit of ever-greater wealth? From Mrs Stockley's private words, and from her demeanor and behavior, John would have said not, with regards to the latter proposition. Mr Stockley's remarks, however, were still open to many interpretations, not all of them to his credit - fruit of still-dubious character and quality.
The absent Lord Goosely was a decidedly eccentric creature, not at all typical among men of his age and station. His 'fruit' seemed neither evil nor good - simply... odd! He eschewed all activities necessitating his presence in a group larger than three persons, preferring solitary walks around the gardens and fields whenever he was not in the library. After days of extreme disdain or shyness of women - it was difficult to discern which of the two it might be - John had been much surprised to see him in the company of Lady Woolwich one morning, returning from an early tour about the gardens. The man's countenance had fairly glowed with interest and admiration. He had later confided to John that Lady Woolwich was astoundingly well-informed in botany, with a great knowledge of many species commonly found in English gardens, fields and forests. Moreover, she was even possessed of an intimate acquaintance with the newer varieties and curiosities being brought from overseas. An amazing discovery to him - to find a woman so learned in such matters, and such a pleasant, genteel young lady, at that. A discovery of equal amazement to John was that this gentleman should have no eye for the beauty or grace of this woman - only her interest in and knowledge of the flora of the world! - surely the only gentleman so unaffected by her among those under the age of sixty! A peculiar sort of tree, indeed, was this particular Viscount.
" 'Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.' "
But how to know an innocuous, inconspicuous growth, of completely indeterminate attributes, bearing absolutely no visible fruit that would aid in identifying its true nature? Mr Chase managed - to some purpose, or in all innocence? - to remain the elusive enigma of the past months, with as much substance to his character, and bearing about as much fruit, as a spectre. He appeared everywhere (being today seated with the Barkings), amiable and agreeable, spoke when spoken to, but neither made his presence known, nor his absence felt. If he were suddenly, spectre-like, to disappear, it was improbable that any of the company, save John, would miss him, be able to repeat his last topic of discussion, or recall his last known whereabouts. To each person he spoke intelligently, on a variety of subjects, calculated to please the hearer, John suspected. To the Lathams, he spoke of social concerns, to Lords Matlock and Cantering, of politics and the latest news, to Lady Woolwich, of gardening, to Sir Peter, of cards and finance, to the Rainhams, of bargains to be had, to Lady Eckington, of fashion and furnishings. With Lady Barking, he was a sympathetic listener, as she spoke of her children; when in conversation with Sir Isaac, he was a fellow connoisseur of wines and wine cellars. Even with Lord Goosely, he had managed to speak at some length on the merits of certain opening moves in chess over others. All his words pleased; none revealed what lay beneath. Only in the listening to and discussion of music were his walls of reserve breached. He sat, clearly enraptured, during the musical offerings of each evening, regardless of the style or period presented. He spoke willingly to Mr and Mrs Stockley and to Lord Auldbury on many intricate points of composition and performance, and was one of the few guests who would engage Mr Scribney in conversation beyond a slight compliment or bland acknowledgement. He had even stopped Mrs Taylor, on more than one occasion, with a kind and sincere word on her playing, and had asked her opinion on pieces she had presented. This fondness for music, however endearing and laudable it might be, was, nevertheless, of no help whatsoever in discerning the true character of this man.
"...the well-known story of the Good Samaritan, as recorded for us in the Gospel of Luke... an illustration of Godly fruit: of mercy, compassion, selflessness and disinterested kindness to someone in need... the priest and the Levite, both very outwardly religious men, having the means and the authority to do good, refused to act, out of fear and selfishness, passing by as if they saw nothing; the Samaritan - having every reason to hate this poor man - a sworn enemy of his people - who had fallen among thieves, been stripped and wounded, left for dead - stopped, spending his time, his money, going out of his way... no thought of return, for one from whom no advantage was expected..."
Much like Darcy, a very compassionate stranger so many years ago at Eton. Would he have been so generous had he known of my situation, my parentage? Even so, he could have expected no gain from defending me; he could have so easily 'passed by on the other side;' he went out of his way to befriend, help and encourage me. At least with Bingley, he might have hoped to have some profit through future dealings in business or Society...
"...so very disappointing to bite into what looks to be a perfectly good apple, unblemished on the surface, only to find it sour or bitter, or full of worms, or rotten at the core... even something masquerading as an edible fruit, only to find it poisonous... scathing words recorded for such purposely deceitful appearances: 'Woe unto you... hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and of all uncleanness. Even so ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity...' "
The Rainhams would certainly qualify as whited sepulchres - very sour, rotten apples, indeed - priding themselves on their honesty, but in truth, attempting petty actions which hurt others, though keeping, as they had done, to the very letter of the law.
"...to the contrary, then, too, good fruit may come from crooked, maimed, outwardly ugly trees. Persons who have little physical beauty may yet produce fruit of sweetness and goodness, perhaps all the better for their external deficiencies or distresses, their trials and tribulations... Such 'plants' should not be ignored, nor neglected..."
Much as Sir John has himself reminded me, and Mr Scribney, as well. John sighed, smiling wryly. Mr Scribney, himself, now, is not simply as he appears. And Sir Peter - he is likely often scorned and misjudged, from his looks alone, as did Tim and I, at first.
"...fear of appearances, or the lack of approval of others, or the appearance of another, should not stop one from doing good, whether to a neighbour, or to a stranger: 'For I was an hungered (hungry), and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in; naked, and ye clothed me; I was sick, and ye visited me...' "
Mrs Taylor had done all this for Jenny, and more, taking her in, feeding her, clothing her, loving her...
"...many in society who need help, deserving of assistance, in need through no fault of their own... widows, left destitute... children, abandoned... 'Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones...' "
Lady Latham would surely agree with that, from her conversation and suggestion to Mrs Stockley - whether that lady would act on it? Whether Mr Stockley would allow it? Shall I take such a commission from them if it is offered me?
" '...Pure religion and undefiled before God... to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction... He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully' ...in words from the Old Testament: 'He that have pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord; and that which he hath given will He pay him again... Whoso stoppeth his ear at the cry of the poor, he also shall cry himself, but shall not be heard.' "
Lord Auldbury, too, has certainly been kind to the poor, from all I have heard and seen, and seems to be continually reaping a bountiful harvest from that which he sows; yet, he is no simple milksop, giving his money away with no care for what it does, or where it goes, but is shrewd... Mr Grahame seems quite determined to encourage and aid the Earl's plans for this proposed school of his, John thought, with a smile, but his arguments are well-thought, and well-reasoned. Good reminders, all around, for those who call themselves Christians. It remains to be seen how many hearts or consciences will be stirred to some sort of action by words such as these...
At the completion of the service, people milled about to greet and be greeted. John was formally introduced to Miss Rose by a very attentive Jenny, who was most eager that her newest friend should meet one of her oldest friends. A proud Stephen made bold to introduce Hannah Burns to his master's nephew. Soon after a polite greeting, however, Miss Burns excused herself, saying she should not leave her father with the two other ladies for too long on a Sabbath morning, and was ushered away by her betrothed. Mr Brownleigh was assured of his welcome in the village by dozens more of his 'uncle's' neighbours, who crowded in on the one person out of all the honoured guests to whom they could lay some personal claim. As the company thinned, and being among the last to quit the building, Lord Auldbury introduced John to Mr Grahame. John could, in all good conscience, tell the clergyman that he had enjoyed the service, and profited by it. He watched, some minutes later, as, divested of his clerical robes, the vicar walked with the Hobarts, to whose home he had today been invited for Sunday dinner. The tall man was quickly captured by Phoebe and Julia, who, one on each side of him, were telling a very amusing story, apparently, from the giggles that soon overcame both girls, midst the deeper chuckling of the clergyman.
From all accounts, Mr Grahame was a fine man, in everybody's good graces, at least at the Hall, from the lowest stableboys and kitchen maids, to Mr Carter and Mr Johnson. All hoped his tenure, now of five years' duration, would stretch out for a very long time, indeed. Only, something must be done to find him a good wife, it was universally agreed, despite... especially in view of... Having only noticed the clergyman's lack of an arm toward the end of the service - as frequent motions of a billowing right sleeve were never matched or joined by the left - John wondered at all he had heard of the man, and his willing service to all his parishioners. Several comments made by Lord Auldbury and others were become sensible, too, with this realization. He looked forward to a further acquaintance with this interesting person, and had been assured of an opportunity for such very soon.
Chapter 7, Part 8
Mr Grahame surveyed his appearance in the looking glass, pulled a face at his reflection, and sighed. He was dressed in as fine a coat as he owned, and was unaccustomed to its uncomfortable elegance; his hair lay as flat as water and a stiff brushing could make it lie. Putting his hand to the limp neckcloth which replaced the simple, unadorned collar he usually wore, he gave it yet another ineffectual pull, leaving it even more askew and wilted-looking than it had been. Three hands are apparently no great improvement on one, especially with two belonging to a twelve-year-old lad, he determined regretfully.
He threw one last, despairing look at his image before going to answer a knock at the door. He opened it to find Mr Burke on the doorstep. The vicar was dismayed at the timing of the visit, this evening of all times, and surprised to see the valet as his visitor, a man as yet little known to him but by repute. Nonetheless, he greeted him politely, and ushered him into the cottage.
"What may I do for you, Mr Burke?" He turned to lead the way to the study, where he usually held conversations of sensitivity or substance with his parishioners, but was stayed by his caller's next words.
"It is rather a question of what I might do for you, sir. Lord Auldbury has no further need of me today, or, at least, not 'til very late," he amended, with a smile. "His lordship suggested I might be of some service to you before it is time for you to join him."
Mr Grahame heaved a sigh of relief, and smiled wryly, his chagrin plain. "That was most kind of him! You can undoubtedly see that your assistance is much needed, sir, and will, indeed, be welcome. I must admit, even with two hands, I was never an enthusiastic student, to say nothing of being master, of the finer points of sartorial dress. Now, all enthusiasm aside, I am afraid it is utterly hopeless! My young helper, obliging as he is, and perfectly adequate for my daily needs, has, as yet, little experience preparing for such a formal occasion as this."
"Then, if I may, sir..."
"Certainly, I would be most grateful." The clergyman led the way to his bedchamber, and stood still while Mr Burke deftly untied the much-abused neckcloth. Within a very short time, a crisp, fresh cloth appeared as straight and well-done as would do any man at St James' Court proud. In addition, the empty sleeve of the fine black coat had been straightened, and fastened more discreetly and securely in the left pocket, the white shirt underneath receiving the same attention. As a result of these and sundry other minor ministrations, the vicar presented a much neater and trimmer appearance, with nothing to draw immediate attention to any deficiencies of person.
Mr Grahame's perusal in the small glass now yielded a much more satisfied sigh. "Thank you, Mr Burke. I am truly in your debt! Now I feel I may tread the halls of Auldbury without appearing a beggar of some sort, and disgracing myself or my host too terribly much. May I offer you anything before we must leave?"
"No, thank you, Mr Grahame. I would not wish to keep you. In any case, I am on my way to the Burns' home. Ralph Gilbert and I have planned a little amusement for Mr Burns and for Miss Hannah tonight."
The clergyman grinned. "That sounds as though it would be much more to my liking than this formal occasion at the Hall. I have neither taste nor talent for such events, I am afraid. Well, I shall look forward to hearing all about the results of your efforts - tomorrow, perhaps. I am sure Mr Burns will welcome and enjoy anything you propose, sir; it is good of you to offer your free time in this way. Might I ask of you one further kindness - since you are going in that direction - to take a book along, and leave it with Miss Rose on your way? I had promised her something from my library, for one of her pupils, and forgot about it earlier today. She may even be at the Burns' for the evening, as well. I believe there had been some talk of that yesterday, when I was there."
"Indeed? I would be glad to take it, and whether she is at home, or at the Burns', I shall be sure to give it her directly." The valet's voice remained even, but in his eyes flashed, for the briefest of moments, a look of... apprehension, hope, joy, dismay? Mr Grahame, observant and usually sensitive to those around him, was quick to notice the change, however fleeting, in the man's expression at the mention of Miss Rose, but was at a loss to account for it. Have I blundered, somehow? Is there some history here that I know nothing of? Well, well, well... He hid his thoughts, however, simply determining to hold his peace and keep to his own business unless there were an appeal to him from one party or the other. Instead, he set his face for the ordeal before him, reminding himself of his own part, and what was at stake.
He and Mr Burke soon parted company - he to walk a road which would take him from a simple, work-a-day world to another, one where, for many of its inhabitants, unpleasant trivialities such as sickness or death would not dare intrude unless expressly invited, while Mr Burke made his way to a more humble abode, different in every way imaginable from those dwellings frequented by the preponderance of Lord Auldbury's guests.
Mr Grahame strode briskly up the long drive to the Hall. The light was slowly fading from the western sky, leaving a few purplish clouds lined in rose, silhouetted against an ever-darkening backdrop. Stars began to make their appearance, one after another, twinkling gaily against the high roof of heaven, as if determined not to be outshone by any jewels on display within the grand old residence below, however glittering and costly they might be. The great house soon came into view; the clergyman was struck by its brilliance - light streaming from every window - as he had never seen it before. Carriages from several neighbouring manor houses moved slowly up the drive, and disgorged their passengers - elegantly-dressed men and women - before the massive doors, adding to the congregating groups already visible between open curtains.
As the vicar neared, he could hear the sounds of stringed instruments and pipes being tuned, indicating an early commencement of the evening's delights. The ball was about to begin.
This particular evening, rich in promise, was destined to be a great success, and much talked over and of for quite some time to come. John Blevins had begun in having his toilet and dress recommended, supervised, scrutinized, corrected and, finally, approved, by Simmons.
Time at Auldbury had passed pleasantly for Mr Blevins' valet, in a house he admired, and of whose style and management he thoroughly approved. The earlier days had been divided between the needs of his young master, never overly taxing, and the discovery and careful study of the multitude of treasures in the Hall - treasures to be noted everywhere, from elegant rooftop to well-kept cellar, from collections and furnishings placed for all to see, to items in nooks and niches known only to the oldest servants. There were the little-used, great rooms to admire, large, light and airy, with polished marble floors, molded plasterwork ceilings and large mullioned windows, the latter framing scenes fully as beautiful as any artificially conceived on canvas. Simmons reveled in the close examination of an old, untouched Tudor state apartment on the first floor, with its original painted walls by Verrio. He marveled at the craftsmanship of the furniture, much of it from the Chippendale workshops, with a few pieces here and there of Thomas Sackville. He watched and lent a hand to the maids carefully removing porcelain from cabinets and covers: Leeds and Wedgewood. One especially fine service of Worcester china had been given the present Lord Auldbury on the occasion of his marriage, some thirty years before. Throughout the house, the workmanship most often to be seen was English. The few exceptions - a few Brussels' tapestries, some rare pieces of both Viennese and Sèvres porcelain - had been, almost without exception, gifts - the Fairfield family members, throughout their history, being firm believers in supporting domestic industries against any unnecessary encroachment of continental wares.
Able and willing to turn his hand to anything that needed doing, Simmons had also offered his assistance to Mr Johnson during the last frenzied day of preparation, which had been courteously and gratefully accepted. After the arrival of the guests, and the swift dissemination of pertinent gossip, Mr Brownleigh's valet had suddenly found himself with occupations of a different sort. As his employer became the object of so very much speculation and interest among the visitors, he himself became the target of subtle intrigues by many of the visiting servants, intended to result in desirable information gathered, or a reaction favorable garnered, undoubtedly for some one or other of the young ladies. However, the design of these intrigues was destined to come to nothing. Simmons had good cause for, and long years of practice at, guarding and holding his tongue, discretion being not only the better part of valour, in his case, but also a matter of intense loyalty to his employer, and pride in his position. He, on the other hand, was not averse to using this position to hear all he could, and to discreetly passing on that which he found novel, or of possible general or specific interest, to young Mr Blevins.
This evening, as John had carefully tied his cravat, the last rite of preparation to be performed, and one to which he always attended himself, he had listened with interest, as he often had before, to a story told by the hovering valet. It had been, on this occasion, a short, pitiful tale.
It seemed that the Eckingtons' marriage had never been a great match of love, or even mere friendship, but one of purely mercenary considerations on the part of the lady, Sir Daniel having been quite rich at the time of their engagement. On the part of the gentleman, there had been a desire to connect himself well and properly within his own sphere, despite the lamentable lack of truly congenial ladies - by his own admission, but made to none but himself - among his close acquaintance. This particular lady had been, and still was, very beautiful, and an entirely appropriate and respectable choice. He had been disinclined to look further, whether inwardly, into her character, or outwardly, among those who could at all be considered beneath him in rank or situation. Now, teetering on the very brink of financial embarrassment, he had come to regret his choice. With wealth less securely wrapped about him, rapidly slipping away, his other attractions had quickly lost any possible fascination for his wife. Her own attractions, manifold and undiminished though they were, were of a sort which offered little consolation or help to her husband. She had continued spending prodigiously, tacitly if not openly demanding a style of living he could ill afford. There had come rumours: he had sold off all manner of possessions - parts of his inheritance - even land that was part of the entail - far from London and any immediate legal repercussions. Some measures had undoubtedly been taken with an eye to simply keeping an uneasy peace within his house, others, to forestall his charming wife from sharing her distress with all and sundry about her, and her many personal charms with men in better financial circumstances. Such subtle extortion had destroyed any remnant of feeling the gentleman might have once imagined himself to have had for his wife. The servants themselves, what few were left after some feeble attempts at retrenchment - by the Baronet alone - had now become a little afraid of the lengths to which their master would go to maintain the façade of his wealth, his position, his marriage.
That might answer for a great deal, John had thought, especially the 'lady's' marked attentions to me, in my reputedly advantageous situation. Mr Blevins had not been sure how much pity, blame, or, possibly, suspicion, to fix on Sir Daniel, while Mr Brownleigh had steeled himself against any incident, however slight, which might ensnare him in the lady's designs - whether designs for her daughter, or perchance for herself. The story itself he had filed away, alongside all the other stories he had so recently heard, as he had completed his own preparations and plans for the ball.
Dancing, for some reasonable portion of the time, could not be avoided by Mr Brownleigh. As nephew of Lord Auldbury, nothing short of a serious injury could excuse such an insult as a refusal to dance would be construed. However, Mr Blevins had very carefully counted the ladies whom he would, by virtue of age or station, be expected to ask. If the musicians played the exact number of dances Lord Auldbury had requested - heaven forbid that any strings should snap, or players be taken ill! - John would dance exactly half the dances. Each young lady would be invited precisely once, no more, leaving the other times free for him to put into execution schemes of his own, while exciting no undue speculation about any one of his partners, which might result were he to ask one to dance a second time.
Between these committed sets, John chose an intricate pattern of his own, plaiting together equal parts of activity in dance and discourse with a fair measure of idle talk, conveniently and unobtrusively overheard. He made his way from one venue to another among the rooms, halls and galleries so carefully prepared for the visitors' enjoyment, staying everywhere only long enough to complete an obligatory dance, or to hear the import of many a private conversation, from those playing cards, eating supper, dancing, or simply standing about. Mr Blevins' efforts were to result in an interesting array of items to be recalled, organized and scrutinized more closely after the evening itself had come to an end.
Chapter 7, Part 8 ~ A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance
At one card table, where two men and two women sat at quadrille, the game of cards was sadly neglected in favor of the far more rewarding diversion of exchanging stories and scandals.
"What a graceful figure Lady Woolwich cuts! How beautiful she is! Such a contrast to Sir Peter. I have always maintained that they are terribly ill-matched. The poor dear! Such a pity!" The first lady shook her head sadly, commiserating in a perceived misfortune, though completely unaware that, in truth, no such commiseration was necessary, nor would it be welcome were it openly offered.
The second leant forward, to ask confidentially, "Why on earth did she marry him? Was it an arranged alliance of some sort? More a mésalliance, if you ask me! Oh, it's easy enough to understand what he saw in her - if one can use the term in connection with one who sees almost not at all. But, what on earth could she have possibly seen in him? A scarecrow of a man - so repulsive! Looks like his own grandfather, with that white hair of his - half-blind - stumbling about all the time, even in town, in the open for all to see, making a fool of himself, as well as of her! And those odd eyes of his! One never knows what he is thinking of, or what it is he is looking upon, or seeing. Quite nervous they make me! And the children! Such a father - such a brother! The poor things! What could have possessed her to accept him? She was not desperately poor - she brought ten thousand pounds, from what I hear. Surely she must have received far better offers!"
"Well, he is quite wealthy, you know; that may compensate for a veritable multitude of deficiencies and discomforts! Why, he must be worth fifteen thousand pounds a year, at least! For that amount, I daresay it would be little enough trouble to bear with any number of... peculiarities!"
"But, my dear, for some things no amount of wealth would be able to compensate!"
Her partner joined the conversation, after a rather longer glance at the lady in question than at the cards in his hands. "What an utter waste of so much beauty. I'll warrant you he appreciates it not - how could he possibly? I wonder if the lady might not welcome some attention, now and again, from one who would truly value and relish all her best... qualities, eh?"
"Not her; you'd be a fool to try. She'll not give anyone else the time of day." The gentleman opposite grimaced ruefully, before drinking deeply from a glass near to hand, carefully avoiding the view of the Baronet's wife entirely, his back to all sight of the dance floor. Suddenly showing more interest in his cards than he had heretofore revealed, he remonstrated sharply with his companions. "My dear ladies, my dear sir, shall we get on with it? If this is the best you can do, I may as well have spent my time at Watier's this week past. A far more profitable time it might have proved, for my pocket, certainly, and just as rewarding for my appetite!"
"Watier's? Do you spend so much time there, then? My dear fellow - is that wise, do you think? I had heard..."
As John walked away, he could feel nothing but contempt. Shallow judgements based on fleeting attributes - foolish preparation for a lifelong tie, with nothing to grow or deepen through the years. Surely the Woolwich's marriage is grounded in much more than simply her beauty and his wealth. What cold comfort a well-filled purse, a landed estate, were it only to bring a fortune-hunter - beauty, covering nothing more than a frozen, indifferent heart, or a vain, empty head. Far, far better to be alone than that!
In the conservatory, a dusky jungle only dimly lit by candelabra here and there, an early, vain attempt at secluded tête-à-têtes had been made by some two or three couples. The entrance of others, however, had spoiled all hopes for privacy. A steady trickle of persons came, to take refuge from the crush of other rooms, to enjoy the colourful blooms and fragrant scents of the diverse plantings, to gaze at the star-filled sky above, or to linger a while in the temporary illusion of solitude afforded by the darkest corners. Some simply came to find pleasant seats to rest dance-wearied feet. Two such were Lady Latham and Mrs Stockley, sharing a well-placed bench, turned so as to allow them to glimpse the colourful display of coats and gowns which flashed now and again into their view.
"...a little confused, my lady. I had thought... I had understood... that the proper form of address for her ladyship - being a Baronet's wife - was 'Lady Woolwich;' but, I have heard her referred to as 'Lady Laura' quite often, here. Have I been in error, then?" Mrs Stockley's voice betrayed her anxiety, her desire to please and conform to the expectations and customs of the exalted company around her.
"Not at all, my dear; 'Lady Woolwich' is, indeed, correct. But, I have known Lady Laura - Lady Woolwich - since she was born. When she was but a little girl, her maid and governess both teased her by calling her 'little Lady Laura,' for the prim way she would mimic one elderly aunt's rather stiff and pompous manner. The name stuck, even after she was grown and married. Only her oldest friends and acquaintances call her by it, still. I have heard it used as a term of affection in a few other cases, as well. Lord Auldbury's wife was often referred to as 'the Lady Anne,' I believe."
"Oh, I see." There was silence for some minutes, during which Mrs Stockley caught sight of Lady Woolwich, herself, and Lord Auldbury, smiling and talking as they moved gracefully through the figures of a dance. "How beautiful she is! How well she dances. She seems so happy and at ease with everyone; all admire her so." Mrs Stockley's voice was tinged with envy, her tone depressed.
"Yes, she has been blessed in many ways. She has qualities, though, which I value much more than her looks. For all her beauty, she is not at all vain. She is always surprised, taken aback, whenever she is complimented, and is uneasy with too much flattery." The Viscountess' tone was mild, evincing little enthusiasm for the outward charms of the young woman which were so greatly admired by most others.
Lady Latham never says what one expects, thought Mr Blevins in pleased and amused surprise, as he listened, well-hidden by a luxurious assortment of shrubs and miniature trees. What a mastery of diplomacy - wisely and kindly steering thoughts away from sluggish swamps of envy and miring sloughs of despond, inviting them into clearer, more refreshing streams. Her children and grandchildren are very fortunate, as well her friends and acquaintances. He grinned openly in amusement, as Mrs Stockley continued in exactly the manner the older woman had probably intended. "Oh... of course. Yes, she is very kind, not at all patronizing. With her position, she could most probably have selected anyone at all to speak with, and would have been granted most ready audience. Yet, she has spoken often with me, which I did not at all expect, and has drawn me into conversation with others, with some, perhaps, against their wishes. They clearly value her good opinion, and so were likely forced to tolerate me, as well. She even speaks kindly to the servants, as I have heard."
"Quite right, my dear. That is a trait all too rare among many of our proud old families, those who scorn any intercourse with those considered beneath them, though all of them undoubtedly have members in their ancestry who would not bear close scrutiny. Her parents have some honest, poor connections, come from very humble beginnings, and were careful to train their children to treat everyone, regardless of station, wealth or background, with equal civility and respect, from servants and tradesmen to members of the Royal Court. Lady Laura is quite unaware of her great influence with those around her, but, wherever she goes, it is used for good."
After another silent interlude, "She must have had a great many suitors, but she seems very happy with Sir Peter," was the next tentative remark from the younger woman, to be accepted, expounded upon, or gently redirected by the older. Happily, it was approved.
"Yes, we were delighted for her when they married, though a little surprised - we had no idea they knew each other so well - and men had been buzzing around her as bees 'round a fragrant flower since her sixteenth year. Theirs is my idea of a felicitous marriage; such do I wish and pray for each of my sons and daughters, and for each of my grandchildren, when the time comes. They complement each other well, in their strengths and weaknesses. She is willing to receive his leadership and wisdom in many things, while he is not too proud to accept her assistance in certain others. I could wish him to be less stubborn, less inclined to take the risks he does, insisting on going about so often all alone in town." The older woman sighed. "He is, after all, only human, in the pride most common to his sex, in wishing to do as other men of his age, to be independent, despite his poor eyesight. But, in most ways he is a good man, a good father, a dutiful son and devoted husband - and a very clever man, despite his appearance and less-than-graceful ways, which some deride."
The eyes of both women were drawn to the tall, well-dressed, white-haired figure slowly making its way around the edges of the great hall, moving steadily and determinedly toward the conservatory, as if conjured by their very words. He narrowly avoided violent encounters with several objects and persons in his way, being aided and rescued, though unaware of it, by affable guests and attentive servants along his path. Mrs Stockley closely considered the object of their discussion as he neared, and smiled. "Oh, but, when one is accustomed to his looks, he is quite handsome, in his own way. His manners are so pleasing; he is so good-natured, that one forgets all else. She obviously loves him, and little wonder, for he clearly adores her. Even more, he speaks to her with courtesy, as though he respects her opinions, and really wishes to know her mind on serious matters, not treating her as some simpleton, some empty-headed beauty. He speaks so to others, too; he has been most kind to us, just as his wife has." The lady lowered her voice to a whisper with the last words, as the gentleman came to stand before them.
He made a polite bow to each. "I was told you had been seen stealing away, my lady, and I knew, of course, where you would be found. I know your great fondness for this beautiful garden room. May I intrude upon your peaceful retreat for a short while, my lady, Mrs Stockley?"
"Of course, my boy, do. We have just been admiring Lady Laura's and Lord Auldbury's dancing, have we not, my dear? You are being very generous, Peter, to allow so many others the pleasure of your wife's company."
"My lady, when you speak to me in such a tone, and with such words, I feel as though I were back in the nursery, and you about to offer admonishment for a misdeed, or, perhaps, a sweetmeat in reward for some virtuous deed!" The young Baronet grinned affectionately at the Viscountess, while seating himself in a convenient chair. He peered vainly in the direction of the dancers, as if trying to make out his wife and his host, then turned back to his two companions. "They do make a handsome couple, do they not? She was so gracious as to put up with my clumsy performance several times already this evening. Having placed her in enough danger for one day, I have now taken pity on her, and set her free to be partnered with more graceful men."
"Nonsense, Peter! You dance well enough."
"But best of all when there are no other persons or objects with which to collide - is not that what is in your mind, my lady? Come, you may speak quite plainly, ma'am!" The tone was mischievous and teasing.
"Pay him no mind, my dear. He is clearly in a puckish mood. But, I will have my revenge. Shall I tell this lady how you and Laura met? That will put you in your place!"
"As you wish, my dear 'Aunt Jemima.' As it is a story which has had the happiest of endings for me, why should I object to its most mortifying beginnings?"
"I should very much like to hear it, my lady - if Sir Peter truly does not object. I do enjoy stories of happy romances, above all other stories!" Mrs Stockley looked eagerly at Lady Latham, clearly expecting to hear some quaintly idyllic narrative of a fairy tale-like love, giving Sir Peter's intimations to the contrary little credence.
"Very well. So you shall hear this one. But, no interruptions, Peter - I warn you! You see, my dear, Peter has always been very clever with mathematics, at the very head of his class, and in Latin and Greek, as well. Lady Laura's older brother, James, who was in the same college and the same year as Peter at Cambridge, had for years been plagued with those very same subjects. Meeting not long after they began at University, Peter offered to tutor the young man. James, in turn, proposed reading aloud the long and numerous tomes they were both required to know, greatly relieving the strain of University studies on Peter's eyes. During the first term holiday, James invited Peter to his family's house in the country, a great rambling Abbey in Suffolk. Late one night, after a long session of reading and study, and, having left his young host in the library, sound asleep over his leather-bound Homer, Peter, half-asleep himself, poor lad, lost himself in the corridors of the great house, and ended by blundering into Laura's bedchamber, which he mistook for his own."
Mrs Stockley stole a glance at Sir Peter, who, though affecting ease - leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, gloved hands clasped loosely in his lap - betrayed his embarrassment, nonetheless, by the bright colour suffusing his face, contrasting strongly with his snow-white shirt and his shock of white hair.
"He discovered his mistake quickly enough, though not before upsetting several tables in the room, on one of which stood a large vase with flowers in it. The vase fell full onto the bed, drenching it and the surrounding rugs, and frightening poor Laura from her sleep. After being convinced that he was not there as a thief, or to vanquish her virtue - as young as she was, other men had not been particularly subtle about their desires with regard to her - she allowed him to help in righting her chamber, and then led him back to his own, promising to tell no one of the episode. Peter spent the next long holiday with the family at the Abbey again, as well as paying an untold number of calls when both families were in town for the Season, ostensibly to talk of school matters with young James. Though doing his duty and working hard at his studies - he graduated with highest honours - the moment they were behind him, he set about winning Laura, with single-minded determination. From the time of that first unfortunate incident, he had been completely smitten. Her kindness to him and her gentle manners had won him over completely, and their further acquaintance had convinced him that this was the woman who would make him the happiest of men. He completely disregarded all her other admirers and suitors, dismissing them as of little consequence. Not allowing a mere verbal apology to suffice for that early blunder, and to press his suit by all means possible, he went out of his way to discover her fondness for several items, and, over the next months, procured and sent them to her by way of her brother, who thought it all a great joke. Red roses - enough to fill several hothouses - marzipan - especially procured from a certain shop in Bath, I believe. Though working diligently with his father, he even found time to put a pen to his passion, and pour it forth in verse--"
"Really, my lady! Such detail is surely not required by Mrs Stockley." He turned to the younger woman, who was having difficulty in restraining her laughter at the assorted pictures, more comical than idyllic, now dancing about in her imaginings. "To make a very long and highly uninteresting story short - or at least shorter than our dear Lady Latham is disposed to make it, Mrs Stockley - I asked and she accepted, to my eternal gratitude and joy."
"You were not to interrupt, young man! I was not yet finished - far from it--"
"That is precisely what I feared, my lady!" came the dry, but smiling, rejoinder.
"You really are impossible, tonight, Peter! If you intend to stay here, I would be very much obliged..."
Loath to leave such a merry company, but glad to see Mrs Stockley in good hands, John slipped away from this conversation, too - realizing how quickly the time was passing.