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Chapter 7, Part 8 ~ A Time to Mourn, a Time to Dance

Posted on Monday, 1 January 2001, at 6 : 19 a.m.

Around another card table, in another room, several women - of indeterminate ages but decidedly determined opinions - sat at piquet. John's ear was readily caught by a certain subject, some certain terms, and he paused again.

"My dear, I have had it on the very best authority, that Lady _________ has engaged the services of a private inquiry agent. Something to do with her late husband's estate. I do wonder that the family lawyer can not assist her sufficiently. There must be something illicit to be done, for her to stoop to hiring such an individual, I am sure!"

"An agent of inquiry? How shocking! What a perfectly odious idea! How could any honest man do work of that sort? Only someone who had no other recourse would lower himself to a position of that kind, I am sure! How could a respectable woman, herself, think of dealing with such a person, surely a duplicitous scoundrel! A man prying where he has no business, likely preying on the very people he has been engaged to assist!"

"Like some vermin or vulture!"

"He would, of course, be uneducated."

"Ill-dressed, ill-mannered, ill-spoken."

"Ill-favored! That would go without saying!"

"With a completely inelegant, indifferent manner of appearance and address."

The women laughed in a chorusing cackle of glee as they enjoyed their own wit.

"Now, if such a man could be at all like that nephew of Lord Auldbury... but, how impossible! He is certainly a handsome example of a perfect gentleman, is he not? Quite, quite clear he is born of noble blood - no doubt at all - the very image of his dear uncle! And so wealthy, due to inherit everything, I gather. Now that is just the combination I could fancy myself, even as young as he is! There is something distinguished, yet a little mysterious about him. He lets drop very little about himself. I tried yesterday to engage him in conversation - I declare, he had heard my whole life's story before I so much as learned where he had been born!"

As the first faint flush of indignation at the ladies' ignorant prejudice was replaced by a growing blush of mortification at their impertinent presumption, John moved quickly away from this conversation, deeming the topic of no possible edification or use to himself, and of even more dubious benefit to the speakers.

With this latest example of vicious gossip-mongering still ringing in his ears - to do with his chosen profession and own person, no less - John felt the need of respite from this one particular accomplishment of high society women, even if only for a short while. The guests were all accounted for in one or the other of Auldbury Hall's large rooms, all excepting one gentleman, whose speech and interests were sure to be as far removed from those of the women Mr Blevins had just overheard as could possibly be found. Not surprisingly, to those who knew him, or even to those who had only just met him this fortnight past, Lord Goosely had not made an appearance the entire evening. John knew for a certainty where to find him, once the sun had set, being accustomed to seeing this odd figure seated deep in a chair in Lord Auldbury's library, making good use of his host's extensive collection of books when not engaging in chess or deep discourse with whichever hapless gentleman wandered by. For the past hours, while rooms of talk and gay laughter, music and graceful dance, and refreshment of every sort imaginable were mere yards away, this idiosyncratic man had been oblivious to all, a thick, close-written tome his only companion, and a pot of strong tea his only drink. His chosen diversion for the evening was an encyclopedic volume of the history of French currency - from events as early as the year 1300, during the reign of Philip IV, to those as recent as the creation of the Banque de France in 1800, by Bonaparte.

"...fascinating, simply fascinating. Since my father left such an outstanding collection, I thought it good I should familiarize myself with the subject in as great detail as possible. Mr Chase seemed also quite interested; he joined me for some time earlier this evening. He was probably making comparisons with the systems in the colonies. He had a great many questions to ask, and was much intrigued in examining the excellent renderings of old coins, some three hundred years old, when all were still handstruck - must have seen but few French coins at all, I suppose, having never yet been on the continent. I told him some of what I had read, but advised him to seek out Lord Latham, who is the real expert, of course. I daresay he knows more about continental monetary systems than all the rest of us together. His has been the proficiency in that area for many years in the directorship, or so my father told me. But, to return to the peculiarities..."

After a polite span of time, and having heard more than he cared to about the senior Lord Goosely's collection and the monetary history of France - more than he felt was necessary even to the eventual solution of his current puzzle - John made his escape, and returned to the drawing room.

"...while the younger is still in the army. He is a colonel, now, and doing quite well. We have good reason to be pleased with both of them."

"And what do you hear of your brother, and of his family? The son is near the age of your colonel, is he not?"

"Yes, but a little younger. My nephew and niece are alone, now, sadly; their father died several years ago. Young Fitz has charge of his sister - she is just turned fifteen, I believe - though that duty he shares with our son. A heavy burden to rest on such a young man: a sister more than ten years his junior, a large estate with extensive properties, many servants, tenants - all are in his care, so many responsibilities lie on his shoulders; but, his handling of it all is quite commendable. I only hope he finds a good wife - rather sooner than later - one who will be equal to him, and a worthy helpmate - who will make him laugh, and bring lightheartedness into the house again, for he has become almost too serious, too withdrawn, of late. The estate could do with a mistress, as well, after so many years without, since my sister died..."

John Thomas Barrow was sadly torn, his self-control sorely tried; he would have liked to stay, to hear more on this topic of which he had hoped all week long to hear, to join in this discussion with eager queries of his own. Even as his heart would have rooted him to the spot, his mind - hardened and trained by years of discipline - now able, at will, to take conscientious precedence over the more tender organ - urged him to move on, to hear of something more pertinent to his business. This was, after all, a time of business, not a time of pleasure for him. Noting the progress of the music, with reluctant steps and an even more reluctant heart, John Blevins went to claim his partner for the next dance.

Despite the best laid plans, the best of intentions, despite the exuberance, determination and self-confidence of optimistic youth, and as much as he might have liked to, Mr Blevins could not be everywhere, could not overhear and take advantage of all the opportunities for investigation this diverse and numerous crowd offered.

By mutual agreement - in order to make the most of their respective connections, positions and talents - wherever Jonathan Brownleigh found himself during the course of the evening, Lord Auldbury was sure to be found elsewhere. The Earl danced but sparingly, though thoroughly enjoying the few sets in which he chose to take part. As host, he was free to come and go at will, and to do as he pleased. As a gentleman, he strove to see his guests satisfied in every reasonable way. As an older man of sympathetic manner, and by repute both wise and discreet, he had, even during the past week, become the repository of confidences from, and a dispenser of advice to, several of his guests. He was willing and able, on this occasion, to combine all these advantages and bend them to his own purpose. He had undertaken to speak with as many of his associates as possible, and to draw into the conversations mention of travel, art and money matters, with special reference to France, painting and forgery, respectively. By the end of this day, he had taken part in many a contrived exchange, though most being to his own delight, interest or amusement, as well.

"...a most beautiful instrument. The grain of the wood, the sound, the tone - all exquisite! I had thought Broadwood to be unsurpassed, but after hearing the performances here, perhaps I may consider an Érard myself. How did you come to choose it, my lord?"

"Only after many hours - no, days - of going back and forth between the workshops, Mr Stockley. I am sure I greatly tested the patience of the gentlemen who assisted and played for me. Broadwood has a fine reputation, and well-deserved it is, but, after my travels, and hearing so many instruments - some old, some new - I was most particular in what I desired. I have never been one to simply follow fashion. In the past thirty years, great strides have been made in the design of the pianoforte, to meet the great demands of the newer composers and their works - Beethoven and his vigourous string-snapping and hammer-breaking alone, is doubtless responsible for a great many improvements! I wished to convince myself of the superiority of the Broadwood before I committed myself to a purchase."

"But, you were not convinced?"

"No. I tried several at each place of business - Broadwood, Érard, Pleyel - I had thought to try Clementi, too--"

"Clementi! Tell me, did you speak with him - is he as close-fisted, cheese-paring, and difficult to do business with as rumour would have it?"

"I cannot tell you much of his business dealings from my recent meeting with him. I have bought music from him in the past, and found nothing to complain of. With his factory, he has had misfortunes - it burned to the ground a few years ago - a loss of £40,000. He has not yet completely rebuilt the business - his stock is scant, despite help even from his competitor, Broadwood. It does appear, however, that he is truly sparing of his funds, to the extent that, when traveling, he washes his own stockings and linens rather than send them out, which he deems too expensive! His pupils do the same, whether by his choice or theirs is difficult to judge."

"I had heard as much!" The large man guffawed loudly in appreciation of the anecdote, drawing the disapproving glances of several persons nearby. "Well, when a man has worked hard to build a fortune, he does well to see that he keeps it. There is certainly nothing amiss in that. It seems, then, that his reputation is not exaggerated."

"In all fairness I must add that he is also well-liked, reckoned as good-natured, well-read, and proficient in several languages - due to his extensive travels, no doubt. I have met him several times, and have enjoyed each occasion." Lord Auldbury turned briefly to attend to the question of a servant, then quickly returned his attention to his guest. "I have heard of your own growing collection of musical instruments, Mr Stockley. You must tell me where you have found some of them. I confess I have been searching for one particular violin for some time now, but have managed only to find myself chasing rumours and ghosts. Though, I must admit, I have benefited from the 'chase' in ways I had never imagined!"

"Most items I have been able to obtain from the French who have come here, running for their lives. Many have been desperate for ready money, and so quite willing to part with treasures - some of them for a song! I'm sure it pained them; but, their loss has been my great gain - and my wife's. Whatever brings joy to my wife - furnishings, artworks, porcelain, jewels, music - I can not deny her. She has had but to say a word, to drop the merest hint, and I have tried my best to find anything she fancied. As to musical instruments - which we both enjoy, even though we do not play ourselves - I have two violins. Perhaps they would be of interest to you, my lord, though they are probably not what you seek. One is a Guarneri, the other, an Amati."

"Good names, both of them. I congratulate you on your choice. If you have proof of their provenance, then they are surely excellent instruments. I would enjoy the opportunity of seeing them, sometime, if I may, sir."

"Gladly, my lord. You have only to name the day - you would be most welcome. I and my wife would be delighted to hear you play them, yourself."

"Have you made all your purchases here, in England, in London, perhaps? Or have you traveled abroad, as well? I hope you know your agents well, so that you will not be swindled. During uncertain times, there are always those who will deal unscrupulously, if only given the chance. Forgeries abound - of artwork, of musical instruments; many items of inferior quality and dubious origin have changed hands for large sums. I do advise using all caution in your dealings."

"And I thank you for your advice, my lord. I have investigated each item quite thoroughly, and my associates and agents, as well; I have every confidence in them. I have made a few mistakes, but neither have I forgotten unpleasant lessons learned. There are those, as you say, who are all too ready to take advantage of one they believe a fool." Mr Stockley's face darkened briefly, as if at unpleasant recollections, but cleared easily, as the bluff gentleman changed the subject to one more agreeable. "I have not yet traveled out of England, though I do hope to take my wife on a pleasure tour, as soon as my business here allows it, and as long as I may be assured of her safety abroad. She has been longing to see so many places of fame and beauty. Perhaps you may advise us, then, from your own travels, as to what is noteworthy, and perhaps give us letters to some of these marvelous musicians you have heard. All the pieces you have brought and shared with your guests, here, have been simply wonderful! You have provided us a most enjoyable time, my lord. Your hospitality is much appreciated, and will not soon be forgotten. Hester was quite nervous to be coming, but has passed the time most pleasantly - thanks, in good measure, to some of your old friends, I understand. May I say, I am very glad you have returned to England..."

"...can hardly believe that she has grown so, and is now quite properly 'Miss Eckington' - but, of course, it has been ten or more years since last I saw her." Lord Auldbury and Sir Daniel Eckington were standing, each with a glass of wine in hand, watching the dancers. Sir Daniel's eyes were most often drawn to a very young lady, whose face shone with unspoiled eagerness and innocent joy at taking part in such a grand occasion, and at being one of the belles of the ball. Her bright golden hair made a shining halo for her head; her pale blue gown floated and shimmered around her; despite having been claimed for every dance thus far, she was as fresh as at the beginning of the evening.

"Yes, she is turned quite the young lady, my lord. I can scarcely credit it, myself. It seems but yesterday that she rode about our house and gardens atop my shoulders."

"Does she still play on the harp, and on the violin?"

"The violin is long since gone - sold. The younger children did not care to learn. My daughter claimed it was not an instrument to show her off to best advantage. I must say I do understand her mind in that. Clenching something between one's jaw and shoulder does not lend itself to an overly graceful posture - at least, not for a woman." Sir Daniel spoke absently, his eyes still fixed on the one young figure. "She has continued with the harp, however, and she sings, as well. 'Tis a pleasure to hear her, though I suppose I would not be considered the most impartial of listeners."

"She certainly seems to have found great favor with many of the young gentlemen here tonight. You may find yourself inspecting and interviewing prospective suitors quite soon."

"I have reconciled myself to that unhappy eventuality, my lord, though I hope she will not hurry to wed. I would rather she wait, and make a match which will be for her happiness, than rush into one imprudently, simply for the sake of position or some other unreliable virtue. I should not like to see her regret whatever choice she makes. I shall miss her terribly, whenever the time comes."

Miss Eckington, making her way up the dance with her current amiable partner, passed close by the two gentlemen. "She is very graceful and charming - much like her mother." The older gentleman instantly wished his words unspoken, suddenly recalling the tales he had heard regarding the strained relations in the Eckingtons' marriage.

Sir Daniel's face clouded. "Yes, that she is."

Lord Auldbury glanced at the face near him, lately filled with so much fatherly pride and joy at the sight of his eldest daughter, now shadowed. Pity filled him, for the rumours he had heard concerning the Baronet: his personal and financial distress. The Earl disliked increasing any man's discomfort, yet felt compelled to do a little gentle probing, in hopes that something might yet be salvaged in this gentleman's life. Putting to use one particular piece of gossip which had come to his ear, he spoke innocently. "Your daughter, especially as she appears this evening, puts me very much in mind of the girls in those two paintings of yours: the Van Dyck, and the Gainsborough - so young and carefree she appears, just approaching the threshold of young womanhood."

After a long pause, the Baronet, avoiding the eyes of his host, admitted, "I am... afraid that I was obliged to part with both the paintings not long ago."

"I am very sorry to hear it. Such wonderful pieces of work. That must have been a most difficult decision for you."

"Yes, it was," in a very low tone. "I know they give great pleasure where they are now, though, and that is some consolation." Sir Daniel's face displayed little of the struggle within him, the pride of his person and family against the desire for some relief in speech to a sympathetic and just listener. The desire for relief turned to unrelenting, overwhelming demand. "My lord, I am sure it is no secret to you that I am in... difficulties." He glanced around to ensure no one was near enough to overhear, swallowed deeply, as much his pride, as to draw better breath. "I have been a fool..."

"...a most intriguing woman, this Mrs Taylor of yours, my lord. How effortlessly she plays, moving from style to style, from Bach, to Haydn and Mozart, Beethoven, Weber and even to this young Field, whose style is quite different from anything I have yet heard. I would not have expected such breadth of emotion and skill from such a quiet, common-looking woman - what hours of pleasure she must have given you."

Ignoring any possible improper meaning in the words, whether intended or not, Lord Auldbury addressed the only proper one. "Yes, she is a very gifted gentlewoman. I have heard but few to equal her ability to read, at sight, the most difficult of compositions. Her sensitivity when playing with another is also remarkable, and a great joy. She allows one to play and sound all the better for her accompaniment, even as she keeps to her place, neither overshadowing, nor dominating. Rare gifts, indeed."

"She puts me in mind of the daughter of the old Mozart - Nannerl, I believe - an accomplished clavierist herself, who toured and performed with her younger brother when he was yet barely six years old. Such amazing children - such a remarkable man! What a tragedy for the world was his too-early death, robbing us of even more of his magnificent compositions - so surprising that old Haydn outlived him, even visiting England again after Mozart was dead and buried..."

Chapter 7, Part 8 ~ A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance

Posted on Monday, 8 January 2001, at 8 : 34 p.m.

Among the initiated investigations, gossiping groups, and some rather commonplace conversations, some few words of humbler, but more lasting, import were also to be heard. As a coin requires two faces to exist and be of worth, as each movement of a dance requires an answering movement, so, too, every action and emotion of man requires its opposite - tension and release, passionate heat and cooling calm, perhaps even a measure of blessed boredom from time to time - ensuring symmetry and sanity, enabling endurance, persistence, and even existence itself. With one guest alone, but that one enough, Lord Auldbury was turned from receiver of confidences, and elicitor of confessions, to one ready to confide and confess, himself.

"...heartily ashamed of those long, wasted years. Anne would have been ashamed of me, too, and scolded me roundly, no doubt. But, at the time, I could only rage in disbelief at the loving Father who was never to give his child a serpent, when asked for a fish, nor a stone when asked for bread. I could not, would not, accept there to be any good reason for my loss. I was consumed with grief, and with anger at a Providence who had dealt thus with me, who had always been a most pious and faithful servant, or so I thought."

"Do not chastise yourself too severely, my friend! I might have felt and acted much as you, had I been dealt such blows, had I lost Jemima and the children. And, it would seem, your wanderings were to some good purpose, after all. However did you come to decide on this idea of a school?"

Lord Auldbury grimaced ruefully, though his voice was light enough, belying the weighty subject of the words. "Only after the frozen ground of my heart had been sufficiently prepared. It was needful that, out of its hardness - and to make room - I unearth again my remaining 'talents,' which I had buried, because I had been afraid. Indeed, it is Mr Grahame who first planted the idea in that thawed, softened ground. He has had first-hand experience living as one crippled, even though only as a man, not as a child. When he took up his first post in a London parish, he saw many pitiful and pitiable examples of young unfortunates - those born so, or misshapen soon thereafter in mind or body - but was unable to do more than see some fed and housed for a night or two, more often being a witness to their tragic end. Even after he came here - his views were too outspoken for the comfort of his parishioners and patron in town - he still kept the images of those children in mind. He first began to think of a more practical and permanent solution for these young ones after seeing our own Jenny Taylor, here in the village, of whom I have told you, Archibald. Upon my return, when I was eager for something to do, he approached me with the suggestion."

"So, do you now have a mind to turn teacher and nursemaid, yourself, my friend?" asked the Viscount with a twinkle in his eyes, recalling certain youthful opinions, boldly stated, midst other avowed intentions and plans.

"No, hardly that!" The Earl chuckled. "I would most certainly not make a good teacher - you know that as well as I," returning the smile, "but, what I have, I can strive to put to good use." His face sobered. "You know, when I fled Auldbury, I thought only to lose myself in what pleasure remained to me, to indulge myself in music. I pursued it with the only passion I had left. Only in performing and in hearing those passionate outpourings could I forget." Lord Auldbury smiled wryly. "Yet, I was not allowed to forget. There were reminders everywhere of happy homes and families. There were also tragedies, small and large - illnesses, deaths - my own situation was not unique; many were much worse." The brown eyes deepened in review of the things he had seen. "In more than fifteen years, I saw much despair, but few to care about the wretchedness of others, fewer still among the wealthy, who could at least have afforded money, if not pity and sympathy. There was often more charity among the poor than among or from the rich. Then, as I traveled in America several years ago, I fell ill with a fever. Alone, and among strangers, I was, myself, at the mercy of those around me."

"Alone! But, where was Burke? Why was he not with you?"

"I had given him leave to tend his mother for some months, as she was on her deathbed. But, I found myself not as alone or friendless as I might have expected, in a foreign land, though not as foreign as most," he grinned. "At least I could make myself well understood in the King's English! I came to my senses - I had yet again been spared death - to see a man serving and tending to me, and to many around me, in a hospital of sorts. As I grew stronger, I learned that he was not, as I had thought, a common servant, but a very wealthy man, of my own age - one Stephen Girard. He had left France as a lad, sailed the seas for 12 years, settled in Philadelphia, and made a great fortune in shipping and trade. During the yellow fever epidemic there, almost twenty years ago, now, he took charge of a hospital, paid all its bills, and even tended the ill himself, for months. He supplied the sufferers' families with food and fuel, as well. He has continued this type of work, has taken orphans into his home over the years, and has, even now, made provision in his will, for his fortune to be used to establish a school for orphan boys upon his death."

"Quite an extraordinary history, my friend! Did he tell you all himself?"

"Not a word of it. I pieced this together from all the reports I heard, from others who lay ill, from their families, from tradesmen in the town. From Girard himself, I heard nothing. He spoke most eloquently, I believe, by his actions and deeds. His unassuming generosity and humility put my own selfish feelings to shame. I have since had some discourse with those in the new Societies, and seen some of the schools begun, for the children of labourers, and other poor. For youngsters maimed in body or mind, however, there has, as yet, been little attempted - or, at least, nothing that I know of. And there are always many more children, simply orphaned, than there are yet places in existing schools and homes."

Lord Latham remained silent and thoughtful for some minutes. "Your Mr Grahame's idea has much merit - I wish that I had thought of the like. I wish you every success, and will certainly support you as I can. Jemima feels as I do, and will be even more drawn in with this story of yours, if, of course, you give me leave to tell it her. Your school will be a good thing. Perhaps you will even find yourself following in the steps of your beloved Vivaldi."

"Perhaps - if God has given any such musical gifts. I shall be satisfied with them learning more practical trades, however, and will not look for something as renowned as the Pieta became in its day."

"Should I not, then, look to some troupe of pipers and scrapers to bring renown to this village of yours, within several years' time?"

"More likely a ragtag band of carpenters, maids, animal tenders and other honest labourers, even teachers themselves, in their own turn. If they can manage to play or sing at whatever their work, so much the better!"

The two gentlemen chuckled quietly at the thought, but broke off their discussion as several of their close acquaintance came to join them: Lords Cantering, Barking and Matlock, who brought Mr Grahame, as well. These three peers and friends, often in agreement on many subjects, were eager to take this opportunity to speak with their host about the very scheme Lord Latham had now learned the history of. Lord Auldbury had approached each member of the company, in the days past, with the general plans for his proposed school. Though approving the impulse of generosity, they each had some doubts. They had, this evening, been speaking to the young clergyman, and now wished to discuss several of their qualms, privately, with their host, without some other persons present who had not been kindly disposed to the idea from the very mention of it.

"Could be dangerous investment - uncertain return - if any - be difficult to persuade others of its merit," began Lord Barking.

"Quite true, even probable; but, it is not really intended as an investment to bring a profit in wealth, but in the prosperity of human lives. If, by chance, the school is financially profitable, so much the better, but I will not depend on it, nor advertise it as such. I seek financial help only of those who are able to afford it, and those who agree with the ideals toward which we will work." Lord Auldbury was well aware of the very recent plight of this friend of his, and had no wish to press him too closely while his affairs were yet settling themselves.

"Are you not afraid these urchins will take advantage of your generosity, Oliver - encamp here, doing absolutely no work or learning?" Lord Cantering's expression was one of concern, mingled with curiosity.

"There is always a danger of that, of course, whenever charity is extended, but there will be safeguards provided against such an 'unwillingness' to take advantage - in the good sense - of this opportunity. Some of the terms under which we will accept children may appear harsh, but they will be just. Precisely to prevent undue harshness, or an undue influence on the part of any one person over this endeavour, I plan to appoint a board of oversight for the school. Mr Grahame will serve as spiritual counselor; a woman in the village - trained as a nurse, well-respected by several physicians in town, and already experienced in helping those with physical and mental difficulties - will advise us in matters of health. I also have great hopes of persuading Miss Hannah More, a woman surely known to you all as an advocate for similar efforts, to join us, as well as Mr Isaac Milner, as far as his philosophical duties at Cambridge will allow." Pausing to let this information settle, he drew deep breath for his next words. "I had hoped each of you would also agree to serve, for a time, at least, and join with me in this endeavour, so that more of these little ones, no matter how unfortunate their beginnings, will be given an opportunity for lives of worth and dignity, and as much independence as possible."

After a short time of further discussion, the four titled gentlemen dispersed, to re-join their wives, or to join with some other congenial company. Their host and the vicar were left standing together, exchanging smiles, feeling their mutual satisfaction rather than expressing it in words, letting out identical sighs of relief and gratitude at this hurdle being cleared. They had won the support of each of these men, ranging from service on the proposed board of oversight, to generous contributions - an outcome most gratifying. This evening's success was added to that already in hand, from Mr Stockley, who had promised a large sum of money, and from Sir Peter and Lady Woolwich, who had offered themselves in whatever capacity Lord Auldbury wished. With such firm pledges, and the confidence therein implied, Lord Auldbury and Mr Grahame felt that their plan had been given a large measure of providential approval.

"So, Mr Rainham," which gentleman had, in the company of his wife, deigned to hover about the edges of the dance floor with, apparently, the express purpose of criticizing and belittling all who came into view, "what do you think of our host's plans - his plans for a school?" Lord Matlock had drawn near, after watching Mrs Rainham depart in search of some refreshment, leaving her husband standing alone.

"Ridiculous idea! A school for ragamuffins no one wants - and probably with good reason! What a colossal waste of time and effort, to say nothing of the expense. If they are lacking in wits enough to live by, or are physically maimed, and incapable of helping themselves, then perhaps they do not deserve to live at all!"

"Come now, sir - surely we who have been blessed with fortunes can afford to aid those less blessed, those cursed, by misfortune."

"How so? If their own families do not want them, can not care for them, why should it become our concern, our responsibility? They should be left alone, be allowed to die in peace, if that is their lot, their fate, or perhaps their deaths even encouraged, hastened, somehow, so as to lessen the burden on others."

"Just how would you go about that, sir? Would you propose public hangings for all who, to your mind, are unfit to live?" Lord Latham had come into earshot in good time to hear Mr Rainham's derisively spoken opinions.

"No, of course not! The public need have no part in such private matters. You quite mistake my meaning, sir. But, there must be some rational way of dealing with such unfortunates in a humane manner, with as little discomfort and inconvenience as possible. A physician would know of some way, I am sure."

"God forbid that men to whom we have entrusted our health, our lives, should be asked to consider ending a life before its appointed time!" Lord Latham's voice rang with outrage.

Dismayed at the turn his innocent opening had taken, but incensed, as had been Lord Latham, Lord Matlock added, with sarcasm heavy in his words, "Surely you would not suggest shooting, as with a hopelessly lamed horse? Should we import the guillotine for use here, and imitate the French, in their manner of solving social ills? Or perhaps drowning might do, as for unwanted kittens or rabbits, although ponds and rivers might then soon be completely choked. Allowing them to freeze might be quite humane, on some isolated moor, in the depths of winter. One simply falls asleep, with very little discomfort, I hear. But, then we should be put to the inconvenience of waiting for appropriate weather, and an unduly long transport. Perhaps you would suggest some sort of pleasant poison, then - arsenic, or hemlock - whatever would be cheapest?"

Others gathered near, attracted by the heating debate and forbidding countenances, including Sir Isaac, who now spoke, "You may joke, sir, but, really, if one is maimed or witless, and can not support oneself, can not serve a useful purpose, then maybe it would be for the best." He drank carelessly from the wineglass he held, not expecting much in the way of a response.

The Viscount rounded on the young man, contempt written in every feature. "I see. And what would you suggest for those who are incapacitated through their own habits, someone lamed by the gout, or from too much wine, or some other disease of intemperance, or by a mishap of wanton stupidity? Or, if you, sir, should fall victim to a coaching or hunting accident, will you leave word, now, with someone, so that if such a time came, and you were left maimed or witless - unable to care for yourself, dress or even feed yourself - we would know how you would like to be treated, disposed of, that you might not be the cause of further trouble to anyone?"

"Sir, you go too far!" The young man spoke indignantly, hastily putting his glass down on the nearest table, as if better to defend his position with empty hands, his face reddened by the implied rebuke regarding his own choice of amusements and manner of life.

"No, sir! I do not go far enough! Where will you draw the line at who deserves to live, who deserves to be aided in distress, and who should be left to the wolves of misfortune? Should it simply be a question of wealth? With a certain amount of wits? That might not bode well for our own Parliament, for a distressing lack of intelligence is shown there, on occasion! With a certain number of limbs, then?"

Mr Grahame, unnoticed by the main participants in the argument, had been standing near. His tone was deceptively mild and even as he joined the discussion. "In that case, what should have become of me, sir? I am maimed, and that through my own fault. Perhaps I am not fit to live, by your estimation. I can do no labour of consequence. I can not even fully dress myself without assistance. Apparently, then, I serve no useful purpose."

"Y-you misunderstand me! I meant nothing of the kind!" The Baronet's bravado had shriveled under the righteous anger expressed by the two lords, and clearly writ on many countenances about him. Too late, he recognized this latest speaker as the vicar he vaguely recalled having heard something about, chiefly that he stood high in the favor of Lord Auldbury. As he desperately looked about for a sympathetic face, he noted that Mr Rainham had quietly left the group, and that he was left alone in the defense of an indefensible position.

"Then what did you mean, sir?" Lord Latham, face grim, voice dangerously calm, challenged the dissolute man, holding his eye, when he would have looked away.

Author's note: The story of Stephen Girard is true, recorded in 'Lives of American Merchants' NY Hunt's Merchants' Magazine, 1856 Vol 1 p 276

Chapter 7, Part 8 ~ A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance

Posted on Monday, 15 January 2001, at 11 : 34 a.m.

A most unpleasant scene. A good thing I did not choose to voice my opinion, which would not have been at all well received, for I must have agreed with Mr Rainham and Sir Isaac. Caring for such useless persons, if their families are unwilling or unable to do so, is simply an impractical waste of time and money. What are several less among the millions already in the world? Little enough loss to the rest. If some choose to squander their fortunes on half-wits and cripples, so be it. It is, however, perhaps wiser to keep such views to oneself...

But, this has been a most intriguing visit, well worth the time. I should never have recognized Lord Auldbury as the man in Lyon, two years ago, and in Avignon, several months later. He looked almost a beggar, then, a vagabond fiddler traveling with gypsies, having intercourse with all and sundry about him, living heaven alone knows where! He is a different man, now, indeed. A very proper, titled English gentleman: aristocratic, well-dressed, well-spoken. A very good thing he does not appear to know me, however - though we did never actually meet, or speak. His nephew seems cut from the same sort of cloth - clever, surely well-educated. It would be interesting to know whether his views are as altruistic, as idealistic and quixotic, as the old man's, or whether they are more... enlightened...

"I know my wife has already spoken with you, sir, but I wanted to add my own thanks and admiration for the several portraits you recently painted for us. With our children and grandchildren scattered so far, it is a great pleasure to have such beautiful and faithful likenesses of them about, when we can not have their presence. I trust the journeys were not too disagreeable?"

"Not at all, my lord. Your arrangements were most generous. Any commission that takes me out of London for a time is very welcome. I am happy my work suits you and her ladyship."

"If you are returning to town tomorrow, may we offer you a seat in our carriage?"

"I thank you, my lord. The Woolwiches have already offered me a place in theirs."

Lord Latham eyed Mr Scribney sharply; though the man had answered with all his wonted civility and mildness, his attention was, clearly, elsewhere. The Viscount's face smoothed into an indulgent smile as he noted his companion's evident preoccupation with something - surely something of great importance - generously attributing his manner to a permissible, almost expected, artistic abstraction. No doubt the man was, even now, seeing some scene in his mind's eye, patterns emerging, details sharpening, soon to be rendered on canvas or paper. Lord Latham's quiet departure went unnoticed; the artist, left alone, remained lost in thought.

Mr Scribney had passed the day chiefly in the company of the musicians engaged to provide music for dancing - listening, absorbing all he heard, pleased to speak of common interests when the men were at leisure. He had been overlooked by the guests, for the most part, as on all other days at Auldbury, and had this evening remained on the periphery of all activities. Though not by prior agreement, he had chanced to stay well away from Lord Auldbury and John Blevins. When Lord Latham approached him, he had been standing still for some time, discreetly observing an individual introduced to him since his arrival at the Hall. This person's visage had struck a faint chord, only now growing in resonance and clarity, even as it echoed in his memory.

That gentleman had been pointed out to me before this week - I am sure of it! But where? Certain it is that it was not in London - in the country somewhere, perhaps? - yet... I feel it was not in England - the air was different. He closed his eyes, as if to aid in reconstructing the particular setting. Outside, in a piazza, an artist's class or exhibition of some sort... the sun hot, olive trees heavy with fruit, vineyards on a hill. Italy... France... Spain... Portugal? His brow wrinkled with the effort of concentration. He shook his head. No, I cannot see it now. Perhaps, when I least expect it... Close on the heels of this scene, unbidden, came another: painstakingly, expertly forged banknotes, held in his own hands not long ago, under the glass panes of his own garret room in London...

The evening has not turned out as badly as I had feared. With that thought, Mr Grahame was content, and more than content as he reviewed the conversation with Lord Auldbury and the four gentlemen from London. The clergyman had wandered from room to room, speaking with many, receiving remarks and mixed compliments, some of dubious worth or sincerity, on his message of the Sabbath, accepting questions - the good-natured, interested, or simply impertinent - on his work, his history, his person. There had been the usual glances of pity, curiosity and a few, even, of revulsion, to be endured, but rather less than he had expected, for which he was grateful. His lips curved in a smile as the main object of his gratitude passed nearby, during the intricate turn of a figure, with a charming young lady as his partner.

Much - indeed, most - attention, especially from those inclined to bestow unwelcome and irksome attentions, had been paid Lord Auldbury's young nephew. Though not privy to the bountiful gossip concerning the young man, Mr Grahame could, even so, understand why young ladies might be drawn to him. The young gentleman, himself, however, seemed to regard the civilities and allurements lavished upon him very little. He had extricated himself from situations which seemed likely to deepen - even by only a miniscule amount - past a cool civility, a proper politeness, and that with an ease and degree of tact admired and approved of by the vicar. No, Mr Brownleigh did not seem to fully partake of and enter into the general spirit of this occasion, acting almost as though this were some obligation, some matter of business, rather than an evening of pleasure and diversion. Most odd! Most unusual in a man so young, who might well have been expected to take full advantage of all delights offered him, and to leave any consequences - be they ill or good - for some future reckoning. Though, perhaps this was only to be expected from a nephew of Oliver Fairfield, whom the clergyman had come to regard very highly, yet... an unusual young man, indeed...

But, for his own part, Mr Grahame was well pleased. While he could not fully enjoy all the night's entertainments - he saw no point in humiliating himself or a partner in an attempt at dancing with strangers - it had not at all turned out as badly as he had feared. This company - though undoubtedly better off in matters of purse, more widely traveled and better educated, than the average inhabitants of Auldbridge, and the entire parish - was no better nor worse in all other matters: of heart, soul and conscience. He had enjoyed some conversations, had found others disturbing, though enlightening, and had delighted in the music, in watching the graceful figures, midst the few less graceful, as they danced. He had also noticed, earlier, a certain gentleman, recognizing him with some surprise, and had been waiting for an opportunity to approach him when he was not engaged with others.

"Excuse me, sir. Were you not in Antwerp, in the year six and ninety, perhaps? I feel quite certain we met there, while I was serving aboard the 'East Wind.' It was in May, I believe. We had just unloaded a cargo of spices and silks; you spoke with the captain--"

"No, I am sorry; I have never been in that city. You must have mistaken me for another, sir; I have never been on the continent. Excuse me." His tone brusque, his manner dismissive, the gentleman bowed curtly, and turned to leave, while the vicar called after him.

"Please, forgive me, sir. I meant no offense."

As the gentleman walked quickly away, Mr Grahame gazed after him, brow puckered in a thoughtful frown. His voice sunk low, he spoke aloud, unaware he was doing so, or that he could be overheard. "And yet, if it was not this man, then there is another man alive who is as like to him as a twin..."

This interesting exchange had taken place close behind Mr Blevins, as he was working his way up the set, dancing with Miss Eckington. Though the voices had been low, his sharp ears had caught every word. As he took his partner's hand and turned to change places with her, his eyes widened briefly in surprise as he recognized the man with whom Mr Grahame had been speaking. Catching himself before he misstepped, his thoughts churned, even as his feet and hands continued in the approved manner for this particular figure, without faltering. The vicar had sounded very sure of himself, and, even now, did not seem convinced of a mistake on his part. But, this opens a new possibility. I had thought to have eliminated him from suspicion. It seems I will have additional work to do...

At the finish of their set, in an appealing manner impossible to evade or resist without precipitating a scene, Miss Eckington urged Mr Brownleigh to accompany her to her mother, now in animated discussion with Lords Auldbury and Barking. Seeing no polite way to refuse, John resigned himself to an encounter which he had thus far managed to avoid, and which he intended to keep as brief as possible. While he had found the daughter a sweet, amiable and very pretty young girl, he was still mindful and distrustful of the mother's possible motives or machinations.

Lady Eckington welcomed John into the discussion, coquettishly tucking her hand under his free arm and drawing him close, imploring as she did so, "I am sure you will come to my defense, and support me, Mr Brownleigh. I find myself in the company of those who are terribly old-fashioned. I was just stating my opinion that Bach is already passé; in another few years, no one will have heard of him. Even his sons are not taking care of his works - they have lost and sold them off. There are rumours that fully one third lie at the bottom of the English Channel! Could there be a better proof of their diminishing value?" Lady Eckington's voice was filled with lazy scorn, which turned to pleading flattery as she addressed the gentleman accompanying her daughter. "I am sure you must agree, Mr Brownleigh. You, sir, look to be most modern and enlightened in your outlook and tastes." Her look and tone challenged him to disagree, while her eyes demanded his attention and approval.

"I beg your pardon, my lady, and am sorry to disappoint you, but I can not take credit for that which is not my true opinion. I find the music of Bach to be very refreshing and clean, works of genius, by any measure. There is a mathematical precision about his compositions, which is most pleasing. I have worked my way through many a difficult and perplexing problem while thinking of one of his pieces, in reliving a performance. His Brandenburg concertos, especially, are among my favorites." John looked the lady directly in the eyes as he spoke such daring words to her; while his tone was temperate, his words were firm. "I can not speak with the competence of a musician, nor can I, of course, speak for all posterity in its unaccountable partialities. Perhaps I am rather old-fashioned in my tastes and in my judgements; but, I am sure you would not have me tell a falsehood, my lady."

Mr Chase had come, unmarked, upon the small group discussing music, and now joined the conversation with the animation reserved, in him, only for the subject of music. "It is true, of course, that his works are played less widely, perhaps, but there are yet pockets, places of importance, where Bach is much revered, and often performed. He was, and is still, considered a master by prominent musicians of our own time; Mozart and Beethoven, among others, have studied his compositions in great depth, and have enthusiastically recommended them to their students."

Though not wholly reconciled to any opinion opposing hers, Lady Eckington was willing to tolerate it to some certain extent in one who was as affable in listening to her as Mr Chase had been, a well-looking gentleman, and reputedly very wealthy. She seemed inclined towards forbearance in the case of Mr Brownleigh, as well, for she had not released her hold on his arm, nor had she released him from the command of her eyes, which turned to meet his often, despite the opposing opinion he had so publicly and uncompromisingly aired. "Well, perhaps as an exercise for musical scholars, such things will endure. But, really, Bach is so unstylish, so deadly dull! His musical sons are dead - the name of Bach will soon completely disappear - of that I am quite certain. Händel, too, I am sure - excepting his one or two oratorios, of course. Though, even they may cease being sung soon enough - and it can not be too soon, in my opinion! His other music will hardly cause a ripple, nor be a source of celebration, of excitement, ever again. Now that Haydn is dead, his music will undoubtedly suffer, though it was always lacking in depth; it was almost too cheerful. Beecke is already as good as forgotten. Even Mozart's music may not continue en vogue. After all, once the performer has died, it is not ever the same. One cannot hear the same performance twice. It is finished - gone. One can not even be certain of how a piece was meant to be played! The notations are quite dreadful to look at. New composers will, quite naturally, want to perform their own music. The old simply must give way."

"Some of what you say may be true, my lady, but I am persuaded that music of worth will always remain with us, and not simply as an intellectual discipline. Your own Boyce, and Cimarosa, for example. They may not be names known to all, but, by those of musical interest, education and accomplishment, they will not be slighted. As for Mozart, I highly doubt he will ever be forgotten. His music will continue - it is too vital to die; he has set a standard which no one will meet, not in the same way, at least - not even Beethoven, though that gentleman has and will continue to set his own mark; it, too, will be difficult to match." Mr Chase, whether or not aware of his tenuous privilege of disagreeing with her ladyship, seemed determined, nonetheless, to speak his mind freely.

"As a composer, Mozart was undoubtedly one of the great ones; as a performer, however, he may have been somewhat wanting, and will certainly be surpassed. The pianoforte was, of course, still in the beginnings of its development and unique distinction, even in Mozart's time. It has been said that his playing was correct, but lacking in drama." Lord Auldbury added his voice to the discussion, quietly, yet with the authority of wide experience.

"Somewhat lacking? Impossible! He was a prodigy! Performances never equaled. Haydn, himself, proclaimed Mozart the greatest musician in Europe." Lord Barking, silent 'til now, felt compelled to defend his favorite.

"Perhaps that is so - only history will validate or vindicate our views. But, did you never hear of the competition between Herr Mozart and Signior Clementi? In the year '81? A little before your time, my lord, and of all of you here," Lord Auldbury bowed and smiled his apology to the ladies, especially, "but surely you have heard of it. Clementi had a much different style of playing - a bravura style, even then, when he was younger, and not yet at his full powers."

"Were you, perhaps, present, my lord?" asked Mr Chase eagerly, of his host. "That was a sight worth seeing, a performance worth hearing-- or, so I have heard. Some are, indeed, of the opinion that Clementi was the superior technician, and even as a composer for the pianoforte, in using more unconventional modulations, leading the way for such a man as Beethoven."

"Exactly so, sir. Mozart was a great composer, without a doubt, but he was limited in his imagination, and may yet be bettered in some aspect or another."

"Surely you jest, my lord, sir! Greatest composer who ever lived! No one can better perfection." Lord Barking could not refrain from the protest, though aware of his own ignorance of the finer points and minutiae of composition.

Though speaking politely, Lord Auldbury answered with the unyielding principles and dedicated devotion of a musician. "I do not wish to belittle the man at all - he was clearly a genius, my lord, and well worthy of admiration for many years - even centuries - to come. He perfected the styles in which he wrote - may have even reached the highest heights possible in some forms; but, he discovered no new ones, and did not venture far outside the established modes and fashion. It is even said that everything he wrote was, in essence, an opera. One can listen even to his piano sonatas, and imagine the characters and the stories as they might have unfolded on a stage - when there might have been laughter, crying, pleading, or shouting - where a duet, where a chorus would have joined in. Perhaps, had he lived longer... The new generation, led by Beethoven, is already exploring completely different patterns, forging ahead in new directions."

"Quite true. This John Field, for example - one of Clementi's most brilliant students, though made almost a slave! What we have here heard of his newest compositions - these so-called nocturnes - quite extraordinary! I would never have thought a pianoforte could sound so like a singing voice, accompanying itself." Though having enjoyed all the music of the preceding evenings, Mr Chase had been completely bewitched by the haunting melodies Mrs Taylor had so feelingly played.

"Don't like it. The old forms completely adequate. Mozart the epitome of all; impossible to improve on his work. Impossible. Beethoven quite good, but these last of his symphonies - quite hopeless to understand. No rhyme nor reason to them - outré - and much, much too long. But, agree that Mrs Taylor an excellent musician. The old fellow, too - the cellist."

"Yes, indeed. Wherever did you find him, my lord? Does he play with some orchestra? The Bach pieces for solo cello, those by Bocherini - all so beautifully, so evocatively, played."

As the three men became more absorbed in their subject, and Mr Blevins and Miss Eckington listened politely, only John noticed the growing pique of the lady on his left, with the impatient tapping of a satin-slippered foot just becoming audible, the growing hardness of the china-blue eyes, visible. She was none too pleased about being forgotten in this fashion. Lady Eckington found it high time to reassert her own place in the conversation, and to reclaim the attentions due her, even by means of an outrageous statement sure to draw disagreement from those of truly refined musical taste. "I find some other performers to be just as entertaining, and much more modern than some of those old fellows. Steibelt, for example, is a highly diverting pianist. Even his wife adds to the show."

"And a tasteless show is all it is," said Lord Auldbury dryly. "My lady, forgive me, but I believe that the fickle tide of fashion, itself, will turn and engulf precisely all those trends which are only show and excess, with nothing of substance to recommend them, in particular Steibelt and all his like. Bach and Händel will be appreciated so long as there are those to understand their genius. Mozart and Beethoven will undoubtedly continue in renown; Weber and Field, and possibly others, will become even better known, as time distances and releases them from Beethoven's shadow. Who knows what the next two score years, alone, may hold - what babes born even this year, the last, the next, or those just beginning to touch ivory keys, to scrape with a horsehair bow, will bring to future generations - what music there is yet to come to thrill and uplift soul and mind, to fill hearers with wonder." The Earl's voice rang out his last words with fervent conviction, his eyes shone with passion - a man fully appreciating the rich legacy of the past, while yearning and impatient for notes and melodies as yet unwritten.

The conversation continued only a short while longer, Lady Eckington making provocative statements enough to forestall masculine attentions from straying too far afield again, and thereby preventing the men from pursuing tangents they would clearly have enjoyed. Her most excessive statements were firmly rebutted by either Lord Auldbury or Mr Chase, neither gentleman being willing to repress their own judgements in matters of musical taste simply to gratify the lady's vanity. Lord Barking added gruff support and blunt statements whenever the worth of his particular preferences and favorites came into question.

John had remained silent after expressing his views so decidedly, earlier. Neither had Miss Eckintgon said a word, standing quietly as the talk had revolved about things far above her interest or knowledge. The young lady was simply pleased to be in the company of Lord Auldbury - known for his wealth and his connections among the Ton, despite his long absence - and on the arm of Mr Brownleigh, in her eyes a most amiable young man. Supposing Lady Eckington's attention to be more than adequately provided for by the older gentlemen of wealth and position, John gently extricated his arm from the clutch of the older woman's, and led Miss Eckington away. Though this was, ostensibly, on the pretext of fetching refreshments for her, little of his mind was devoted to the task.

Nothing had been said, and only one brief, unguarded glance had flashed from 'uncle' to 'nephew,' yet, Mr Blevins felt sure that Lord Auldbury, too, had heard or seen things of interest during the past hours. The older gentleman's manner, the singular light in his eyes, the well-concealed but, to John, barely suppressed sense of agitation - these were not entirely accountable to the evening's earlier success - surely not simply due to this happy occasion of meeting with his old friends, neighbours and acquaintances - certainly unexplained by the current discussion, however pleasurable to the avid musician. A not unreasonable hope seized and filled John Blevins at this moment, the culmination of more than a month's planning and work.

It was now quite late; the guests were, by ones, by twos, and by families, paying their respects to their host before calling for carriages or retreating to their chambers. The ballroom and supper room, the galleries and card rooms, the conservatory, and even the library, were emptied, one by one. Little more could be hoped for in the way of new information, but Mr Blevins was convinced that no more would be needed, that their efforts had not gone unrewarded. A meeting with Lord Auldbury, as soon as all the remaining houseguests had departed on the morrow, was sure to result in a great step forward toward the solution of this mystery. With an additional measure of Providence - working through the legal provisions of duly sanctioned government in England - they might equally expect to rid the country of one more of the innumerable host of human vermin who, from the beginning of time, had sought to enrich themselves at the expense of others, even at the cost of others' lives. Over the months since his first meeting with Lord Cantering, during which he had alternated between optimism and bewilderment, eagerness and frustration, despair at possible tragedy and even humour at a little comedy, Mr John Blevins was now hopeful, and retired to his bed, to sleep well and deeply.

Author's Note: Yes, this is finally the last posting of Part 8 ;-), and by now, the identity of the forger can be guessed, either by process of elimination, or, more positively, by two statements made earlier in the story, added to one made in this posting. Bon chance! ;-D

Musical facts, anecdotes and opinions throughout part 8, which are not mine or common knowledge, are from the following: 'Classical Composers' - Consultant and Principal Author: Peter Gammond; 'The Great Pianists' and 'The Lives of the Great Composers' by Harold C Schonberg

Chapter 7, Part 9 ~ A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance

Posted on Monday, 3 September 2001, at 2:27 p.m.

I began posting this story here at DWG over a year and a half ago, but have not posted anything to it in quite a while. My sincere apologies to any who have been patient enough to wait for a further installment. For those who have forgotten what has gone before or for those who might be reading for the first time, a short recapitulation may be in order:

In 'Sense and Sensibility', not many more than ten sentences are devoted to the story of Colonel Brandon's niece and ward, Eliza. She has disappeared about seven months before the colonel becomes acquainted with the Dashwood family at Barton Cottage. In S&S, Eliza is reunited with her guardian only shortly before giving birth to a 'natural' child. 'A Time To Every Purpose' gives a possible explanation for how she happened to disappear, where she was during those nine months, and how she was reunited with her guardian.

The story begins with Brandon retaining the services of John Blevins, a private inquiry agent, to find his recently disappeared niece. (Mr Blevins was first introduced by Michele V. in 'Favors Returned' - an outsider's view of events in P&P.) Mr Blevins diligently carries out his search for several months, until he runs into a dead end, by which time he has also been retained to investigate and identify the person (with ties to London Society) responsible for recently distributed forged money in the London area. This search brings him an unexpected lead in his former case, but it, too, fails to produce the desired results. In the six months that have elapsed since Eliza's disappearance, she has realized her condition (being with child), has retreated to the village where her mother's last days were spent, and has made the acquaintance of many villagers, some of whom help her, and some of whom she is trying to 'help'. John Blevins, meanwhile, has been investigating several prominent families. He has most recently been on the trail of the forger at a ball, coincidentally in the same village where Eliza has taken refuge (under the alias Beth Willison), without John knowing this fact. He has, however, made progress in his forgery case, while Beth is preparing to indulge in some matchmaking.

And so it continues...

At the opposite end of Auldbridge, the setting at another gathering earlier that evening had been adorned with fewer dainty laces, delicate flowers or shimmering satins; the guests had worn less elaborate coiffures and no jewels at all. There had been fewer candles - and of an inferior quality of beeswax - and a lesser assortment and quantity of refreshments. Despite these unfortunate disadvantages, the company had yet been, however unaccountably, merry. There had been an abundance of clean, fresh-smelling and newly pressed muslins, small vases filled with sweetly scented grasses and flowers gathered from nearby fields and cottage gardens, and cheery faces that had glowed more brightly than many-branched candelabra. Tea, talk and tunes had flowed as gaily and freely as at Auldbury Hall...

Mr Burns was expecting a quiet evening, in the company of only his daughter, young Miss Beth and Miss Rose. The ladies had promised to read to and recite for him, and to give him some music in the way of folk tunes they all knew. Much to his astonishment - and that of Miss Rose, who had known nothing of other plans - and to his great pleasure, the company enlarged by continuous small additions, until it comprised the Hobarts, Gilberts and Taylors, Mr Burke - whose mysterious bundle was unwrapped to reveal a finely kept fiddle, well-polished and gleaming - and Ralph Gilbert, with his penny whistle. The farrier for the village and neighboring areas, a Mr Stanton, and the baker, a Mr Brown, came as well, both men widowers of more than fifty years old - particular friends of Mr Burns. Each came bearing his own contribution to the party: Mr Stanton brought his own much-battered fiddle and was accompanied by a niece come to visit him; Mr Brown bustled in offering an assortment of sweet biscuits and cake. Miss Goldsmith had spied the steady stream of persons as she looked out her windows to survey the hour's happenings in Auldbridge. Having no one but herself to please or amuse this evening, she resolved to join this flow. If nothing else, a good gossipfest might well be expected, allowing her to catch up on all the latest news.

The final arrivals - a surprise to all concerned - were Mr Burns' youngest sons, Philip and Mark, hale and hearty young men of twenty and three and twenty years, sailors aboard a merchant ship. Their vessel had sailed into port two days before. Hannah's letter telling the news of their father's grave illness had been waiting for them, and their captain had given them several days' leave to visit home. They were rather startled by the size and gaiety of the gathering in their home, but were soon drawn into every particular of the diversions planned, being well-acquainted with, and well-disposed toward, almost all who were present. Much of the time, though, saw them very near their father or sister. After the first wave of joyful, noisy astonishment at their coming had receded, the talk and activities subsided into the ebb and flow more common among this group of neighbours. Lively conversation and the distribution of refreshments were the first order of business.

The talk, among both the men and the women, revolved chiefly around the guests at the Hall, showing the villagers to be more curious about the affairs of the visitors than the visitors had shown themselves in the affairs of the village or the villagers. The men in their part of the room traded observations about the guests' horses and carriages, the quality of their firearms and of their business affairs, while the women concerned themselves with more consequential details: their looks and behavior.

"Did you chance to see the beautiful lady? So kind she was! She seemed most pleased with the ribbons she found, for her young daughter, so she said, and a few buttons just right for the head of her son's new hobbyhorse. Her husband, poor man, was rather odd-looking, though just as kind and obliging as she." Mrs Hobart had seen more of the guests and their servants than had most of the village folk, as all had seemed to have forgotten, or had found a sudden need of, some small item or other - thread, ribbons, laces, gloves and such - and had given the draper's shop good custom.

"That must certainly have been the dark-haired lady, Lady Laura Woolwich, I believe - her husband is Sir Peter, a Baronet - and certainly not Lady Eckington, the one with the golden hair. She was the most rude, disdainful creature. Acting as if simply to walk our streets were to give us the greatest honour - and to pollute her! Nothing good enough for her - oh, no! - not here, in the country!" Miss Goldsmith - who had spent considerable time at Hobarts' - in the hopes of someone making a purchase then being in need of assistance such as she could provide - had been mortified by a refusal of her services by the said Lady Eckington, after the lady had purchased some delicate lace for a fichu. She had looked down her finely-modeled nose at the plump seamstress and coldly declared that her maid did very fine needlework herself and that she would not trust her work to another.

"That was just like the horrid couple who wanted everything shown them, and then did not even buy anything, saying they could get it much better and cheaper in town." Phoebe, carefully setting down cups of tea before the seamstress and Mrs Gilbert, voiced resentment and indignation on behalf of her mother, who had spent the better part of two hours with these particular gentlefolk, and gotten nothing for it but the trouble of folding and replacing all she had brought out to show them. The little girl was quickly hushed by her more tolerant parent, though the remark had scarcely been noted by Miss Goldsmith, who spoke on, with little attention to spare for anything but her own concerns. The seamstress' pique at the one lady quickly turned to longing, as another couple came to mind.

"Then there was that very large man, with the very small wife - quite three of her he would make! And he, so ready to buy anything she fancied, almost pressing her to buy something. Now, that would be a fine husband - one who would give one everything one's heart desired, and even things one had not yet thought or dreamt of!"

"Lord and Lady Latham were as kind as ever - I recall them from so many years ago - they were quite regular visitors at the Hall, then. They stopped by to ask after mother - I would never have expected them to have remembered." Mrs Gilbert - settled pensively amongst her own reflections - sighed deeply, touched that such high-born persons should spare a consideration for someone who had been dead ten years now, and a mere servant at the Hall at that, having been cook there for twenty years.

"Several of the unmarried gentlemen were quite handsome, though the one was terribly forward - oh, not with me, my dear, never fear! - and another, terribly rude - what a boor - and his clothes! He could quite easily be mistaken for someone's gardener. Sir Isaac Feldshire and Lord Paul Goosenor--"

"Feldridge and Goosely, my dear," Mrs Gilbert interrupted quickly, recalled from her abstraction as she heard these gross errors of fact being made, and being zealous to ensure that only the most correct intelligence be acknowledged, disseminated and remembered about such honoured visitors.

"No - I am quite sure that it is Feldshire and Goosenor. You must not have heard rightly."

"Perhaps you did not hear rightly, my dear - I am quite sure of what I heard. But Mr Burke can certainly settle this."

An appeal was made to that knowledgeable gentleman, who had a distinct and undeniable advantage over all others in the room, having been lodged under the same roof as the visitors and being acquainted with - well, if not the distinguished guests themselves, then with all their servants. If this all-too-gentlemanly man could only be coaxed to disclose even some few of the delicious tidbits he undoubtedly knew! Though deep in conversation with young Tom Burns, the valet came over promptly at being called and, without divulging more than the proper and full names and titles of the persons in question, proved Mrs Gilbert to be in the right, to the confusion and dismay of Miss Goldsmith. The latter, however, was only momentarily checked, and forged ahead - though with chagrin-pinkened cheeks - bent on unburdening herself of all that had gathered unspoken in her mind since the last time she had had occasion to prattle thus with her neighbours.

"Well - names are of no consequence, 'tis little matter. Of all the men, the older, married gentlemen did seem the most amiable - what a pity! Still, none of them could compare in any way with the Earl's nephew, would you not say? Tall, handsome, well-dressed - I daresay well-spoken, too, though he did not come into the village as often as one might have wished or expected. I wonder if he will be staying longer now, or if he will be off at once, as well, with the rest of them. What a shame if we do not have the chance to know him better!"

"Oh, he's ever so nice-- or so says Stephen," amended Phoebe. The little girl, having carefully delivered tea to all who wished it, now hovered restlessly among the gossiping women, longing for some more active occupation, though quite willing to give her decided opinion on anything of which she had at least some knowledge.

"Yes - very clever about all manner of things, and handsome, too," added Julia, from a place next her mother, from which convenient position she was listening to all the conversation and informed thoughts being exchanged.

"But he's not as handsome as Stephen, don't you think, Hannah?" Phoebe, as well as being guided by her brother's opinions on most matters, measured all other men by her own admiration of him, whom she found the best and handsomest young man of her acquaintance. She turned to the older girl, sure of corroboration. Hannah had just come to join the women after seeing everyone in the company comfortably seated and served.

The maid smiled and coloured becomingly as she took a place near Beth, but remained silent. Julia disagreed with her sister. "Oh, of course Hannah would not think so, but I think Mr Brownleigh quite good-looking - almost as good-looking as Mr Burke." She had dropped her voice as she leant forward from her mother's arm and peeked at the older man, now engaged in tuning his instrument to that of his fellow musicians, determinedly oblivious to the women's murmurings. Julia had quite taken to the tall, quiet man. The valet had come to the draper's shop often in the months since his lordship's return to Auldbury, bent on replenishing and refurbishing his master's wardrobe, and had made a good impression on the little girl. To her eyes, he resembled the handsome, dignified knight in one of her fairy stories, and she had talked of him much, of late, to her mother and to her teacher. Miss Rose, sitting nearby, turned her face toward Julia's voice, with a smile of her own appearing briefly. The teacher had seemed strained and distracted since the arrival of the musicians, as if her mind were filled with a concern of which she did not speak, or as if preoccupied with some plan or dilemma.

"Have you seen much of his lordship's nephew, Hannah?" asked Beth, in a low tone, more interested in a young man she had not seen than in those she saw regularly. "I have heard so much of him, but have not so much as glimpsed him. A pity," she sighed, "for he is said to be quite a fine young man."

"Nor have I seen him but once, briefly, at the Sunday service," replied Hannah, equally softly. "I only know Stephen thinks highly of him. If Lord Auldbury truly stays at the Hall for some time now, perhaps we shall be seeing more of his nephew, and of all his family."

"Oh, that would be nice - especially if all are as amiable as this young man is said to be!"

After they had shared and compared all thoughts and observations made over the past days - thoroughly canvassing all possible aspects of the visitors that were open to public observation or rumour - the assembled guests were ready to turn their attention to the true business of the evening, which was to revolve around entertaining and pleasing their neighbour. Music and dancing had been proposed and agreed upon. The men moved furnishings and rugs to the side, removing some to other rooms, clearing a space large enough for a respectable number of couples or, at least, for all the couples possible from this company. Philip and Mark placed their father's chair so he could best see and hear all, and carried him to it.

Mr Burke, Mr Stanton and Ralph began with several lively folk melodies, setting toes to tapping, hands to clapping, and enticing voices to be raised. The rhythms became irresistible among feet of all ages, from Phoebe Hobart to Mr Brown, who was just senior to Mr Burns in age, albeit in much better health. Couples paired off, lines formed, the dancing began. The quality of the music was in no way inferior to that at the Hall, though rather thinner of volume. The dancing itself was of the highest order, even taking into consideration how often Phoebe was allowed, and even called upon - due to a surfeit of women and a scarcity of men, a commonly lamented occurrence at all levels of society - to take her place among the latter, in order that the number of couples might be held at six.

To redress the imbalance between the sexes, the musicians were entreated to lay down their instruments from time to time, one after the other, and join the dancers, which Mr Burke and Ralph gladly did. Mr Stanton firmly declined, saying he had been born with two sturdy feet made for walking and bearing his own weight well enough, but certainly not made for dancing - he would not for his own life imperil that of any one of the ladies present!

Dance succeeded dance, as one favorite after another was called out, and the couples changed partners every few sets, lending a kaleidoscopic appearance to the room, a colourful, bustling, noisy cheer of a sort not often seen in this house since the days of all nine children and Mrs Burns being in residence. Mr Burns watched and kept time with one of the canes left nearby, his rhythmic tattoos on the bare wooden floor, joined to the contented smile on his face, being his own contribution to the merriment. At a pause in the melodies, he gently bemoaned the fact that he could not join in.

"Even with my 'friend,' here, I couldna keep up, I'm afraid," gesturing to an odd wooden frame standing forsaken in a corner. It was something Ralph and his father had devised between them: a rectangular frame of stout wooden poles, open on three sides, and just of a height that Mr Burns could lean on it and make his way slowly from one room to the next. He had taken to calling the odd contraption 'his friend,' as it had allowed him a measure of mobility for a time, especially when Beth or Hannah had been alone with him, but it, too, was nearing the end of its usefulness, and now stood abandoned, as his canes had been. His arms and legs would no longer support his own weight, even with these aids.

Time passed, the clock chimed - once, twice - breath became short; voices flagged; hands, feet and fingers slowed - a brief respite was proposed. Tea was poured out and handed 'round once again, with Beth and Hannah preparing the refreshments in the dining room. Mrs Gilbert and Mrs Hobart - between them displacing both Masters Burns for a time - shared the privilege of waiting on Mr Burns, while Mr Burke exchanged his musician's duties for those of a waiter and deftly delivered cups of tea and plates of biscuits, gooseberry tart and seed cake.

"What a shame that Stephen could not be here, as well - you must miss him dreadfully, especially at a gathering such as this!" Beth was enjoying herself immensely, in watching, listening, and taking part in as much as possible, though she had refused all offers to dance, feeling herself growing more awkward with each passing week. She welcomed Hannah's company particularly; the two girls had had little prolonged time to talk together privately since the beginning of Mr Burns' confinement to his house. As much as she enjoyed the society of the carpenter, and of the neighbours who visited him regularly, she missed the companionship of this simple, sensible girl, closer to her own age than anyone else of her acquaintance in Auldbridge. "Are you not worried that he will always be called away to work, even when you might have need of him? I should expect my betrothed, or my husband, to think of me and be fond enough of me to take time for us together."

"I am sure that Stephen will be with me for important things, Beth. He now has responsibilities that take precedence above mere frivolity. This party is not so significant; though, it would be nice to have a chance to dance and spend an evening together." Hannah's tone grew wistful. "We do not have such merry parties, with such nice music, often, and since Stephen gained his new position, he has had very little free time."

A deep voice above them startled both girls. "You need never fear being alone, or wanting, on difficult or truly important occasions, Miss Hannah." Mr Burke had returned, unnoticed, with an empty tray, and was waiting for more cups and plates to be readied. "I think you will find Lord Auldbury always prepared to ensure that Stephen is by your side when you have honest need of him. You will not be left alone - I can promise you that. Not through births, nor illnesses, nor deaths." The valet's voice softened with the last words; the gentle look he gave Hannah was one of comfort and encouragement.

Hannah's eyes filled with tears, which she hastily wiped away. "I do believe that, Mr Burke. We have known only good from his lordship; he always treated my father well during his time at the Hall - and even more so, now! My family has lacked for nothing. I have no fears on that account. But... I do thank you, sir! for your kind reassurance. It is most welcome."

As an antidote for the now-sombre mood, to which he had himself contributed, the sometime fiddler added, with an unexpectedly playful grin, "And as for merry parties, with nothing but the nicest music - those may, perchance, be arranged!"

Beth watched the tall man carry his fresh load from the room. "How good of him! He appears to be an excellent man. What a wonder that he has never married. Or," she asked innocently, her resolution to do what she could for one couple in Auldbridge being suddenly revived, "has he married? Is he widowed, perhaps? He seems rather reserved, or burdened with some sorrow..."

"No, he has never married, that I have heard of. I do not know much of him, though. I have met him only seldom, and then only for short times, due to Lord Auldbury's travels. This is the longest they have been at the Hall since I was born." Though she had heard rumours concerning the valet and her teacher, Hannah had never spoken of them with anyone, not even with Mrs Taylor, keeping her own counsel as to what she had observed and suspected with regard to Miss Rose, whom she knew tolerably well, though only as a pupil, and not as an equal.

The girls fell silent once more as they completed their tasks. Memories of pitying looks and vague references over the past fifteen years, with regard to an ill-fated romance, flitted through Hannah's mind, but were soon displaced by the more immediate thoughts of her father, his humble and childlike delight with the evening's plans, and the greater surprise and comfort of her brothers' arrival. Beth, on the other hand, became ever more fixed on the romantic promise of the remaining hours - for two persons in particular - and what she might do to fulfill such promise. She and Hannah, their duties finished for the time being, took their own tea with them as they re-joined the others.

Chapter 7, Part 9 continued ~ A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance

Posted on Monday, 17 September 2001, at 1:51 p.m.

Author's Note: Though I suffered no personal loss in the events of last week here in the U.S., I grieve for those who did, as John Donne's words come to mind: "... never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee." For any of you who were personally affected, I offer my deepest sympathy; for those of you who come to DWG from other countries, I thank you for the support shown around the world - the sight of it brought fresh tears to my eyes. Working on a bit of amateur fiction seems frivolous, but I do this as a part of returning to duties as well as hobbies after a tragedy. A story exists about Francis of Assisi. As he was hoeing his garden, he was asked, "What would you do if you suddenly learned that you were to die at sunset today?" He replied, "I would finish hoeing my garden." Despite and even in view of human uncertainties as to the future of any one of us, I hope to return to my various gardens.

Mr Burke was making his last rounds, offering the final cup and plate to Miss Rose, who had declined earlier offers, asking to be left 'til later. She now eagerly accepted the tendered items; he carefully placed them on a table near her where she could reach them with ease, quietly remarking on their position as he did so. As he seemed ready to leave her for a place elsewhere, Miss Rose spoke hurriedly.

"Your playing tonight has been beautiful, Mr Burke; it has given us all great pleasure. The three of you sound so well together! You must have practiced very much in these last years. I do believe you have improved considerably." Her tone was formal, yet with a hint of familiar teasing in the last words.

The valet's voice was equally low and formal. "Thank you, Miss Rose. Coming from someone with such markedly high standards, that is praise indeed - unless, perhaps, you simply mean to flatter me?"

The teacher's face flushed, as if finding his words a reproach or reproof of sorts, while she insisted, "It was praise truly meant. Wherever did you learn to play so well? From Lord Auldbury?"

"Among others. We met many musicians in many places, as you may well imagine, being yourself acquainted with his lordship's musical interests. Some of those gifted persons were gracious enough to allow me to listen and learn, a few so generous as to hear, correct and teach me a little. Lord Auldbury, of course, has kindly encouraged and guided me as well. It has given me great satisfaction, an outlet, if you will - a profitable way to keep myself occupied and to save me from dangers born of boredom, or idleness... or solitude."

Her guilty colour rising still higher, Miss Rose answered softly but with heartfelt sincerity, "It was time very well spent. I hope you will continue to have many such occasions to play. It would be a shame to now waste such an accomplishment, one that can give such great delight to all who hear. I am sure your mother, especially, would enjoy your performance."

The valet bowed and murmured vague thanks, before moving away. Miss Rose's brow creased in a frown as he paused to speak with Mr Stanton's niece, seated nearby, but it smoothed again as he continued. He made his way to join Ralph and Mr Stanton, who had been conversing in whispers, sitting a little apart from the others. The results of their secret conference were made plain as soon as all had disposed of the last drops of tea, the last crumbs of cake, and had declared themselves ready to begin anew.

"Now, a dance for Jenny - come, lass!"

At the fiddler-farrier's loud announcement and hearty invitation, Jenny jumped up eagerly. She had been sitting comfortably in a corner, tending the small doll she had brought, 'sharing' her tea with it, and watching all the activity - loquaciously, but in quiet tones, remarking on all that passed, addressing her doll, her mother and anyone else near her. She carefully placed the doll on her now-empty chair, tenderly wrapping its swaddling blanket more securely around it before turning to meet the dancers assembling in the middle of the floor. Tom Burns selected Julia as his partner; his brother gallantly drew Miss Goldsmith from her chair. Mr Brown, gently taking Jenny by the hand, led her to a position next the Gilberts, and Mr Hobart prevailed in persuading Hannah, after only a momentary hesitation, to take a turn, as well. While the earlier sets had been lively, too fast-moving for Hannah's lamed steps, the proposed dance for Jenny would be slow enough for the younger girl to take part. As Ralph and Mr Stanton tuned pipe and fiddle once again, Miss Rose was startled to hear Mr Burke close before her, quietly asking for the honour of her company for this dance.

"B-but, I can not!" she protested, softly.

"Of course you can - you once knew 'Lovely Joan' very well. Surely you can not have forgotten it! You are reputed to have an excellent memory. Let us examine it, as you examine your students. Turn and turn about is only fair, is it not? I promise you, we shall not let you blunder or fall, but you shall have to trust us."

The last phrase, pitched so none but she could hear, held an undercurrent of challenge. The gentleman stood, hand outstretched, waiting for the lady's decision. The good-natured urgings of her neighbours went unheeded, unheard, as she looked up hesitantly toward the voice once so familiar, yet now so strange to her. She wavered between a strong desire to accept him and an equally strong desire to avoid a most probable humiliation, before him and before her friends. Finding no acceptable avenue of escape, no reasonable way to refuse, a valiant glint touched her sightless eyes as she silently offered her hand. The strong one which closed on it allowed her to rise gracefully and be led to join the five other couples on the floor. The music started: a slow tune, a hauntingly beautiful melody.

The women curtsied; the men bowed. Hands were joined; couples circled, chasséd, turned, cast up, led back, and began the figure anew. Jenny was guided by her partner and reminded of each step to come, even as she marched sturdily along, lightheartedly and frequently accepting correction, blithely uncaring whether she misstepped or not. Hannah moved haltingly but correctly, with a grace of bearing which all her awkward steps could not disguise. Miss Rose was securely held and carefully passed along - she, sometimes, gently grazing a hand on the shoulder next her, to help keep her way. These three ladies were well cared for throughout the dance; not a step of theirs was allowed to falter or go amiss. As Jenny beamed and Hannah radiated contentment, Miss Rose's countenance was first a study in deep concentration - as she fixed her mind to remember steps and figures she had not performed in twenty years, judging where all around her should be - and then in delight. From steps hesitant and hands timidly-stretched, groping anxiously for those that were to meet hers, her movements became ever more free and confident as she put her trust and faith in a partner who could see as she could not, who would let her neither stumble nor fall, and in those nearest her, ever willing to render her aid. Her face slowly eased from its lines of strain and freely radiated her joy in the music and in the long-abandoned movements, reflected in her lithe and proud carriage.

While the music played, the onlookers took their own pleasure in Jenny's visible and voluble happiness, in Hannah's more quiet gratification, and in Miss Rose's joy. Phoebe sat, round-eyed, watching her normally stern and reserved teacher in such high spirits as she had never seen before. Mrs Hobart and Mrs Taylor exchanged unobtrusive glances of conspiratorial satisfaction from their seats - no words necessary between them - upon seeing their dear friend so lively and glowing again, so willing to trust, so changed. Mr Hobart moved jovially about the floor, his kindly eyes roving from his future daughter-in-law's becomingly flushed countenance, to the rhapsodic expression on the face of Miss Rose, and on to catch his wife's eye, to share with her his pleased astonishment over such a transformation, so long awaited and hoped for by all the teacher's friends. Beth observed all the dancers in turn, approving of the courtly manner in which the ladies were being treated, but fixed her complacent gaze ever more on one particular couple - a chivalrous knight and his lady fair - feeling her work done very well for her by other agents thus far.

The dance ended all too soon; a second and then a third were proposed - 'Well Hall' and 'The Duke of Kent's Waltz' - and enjoyed as much as the first. When the last notes had died away and the women had risen from their deep curtsies, the men from their most formal bows, Jenny, Hannah and Miss Rose, equally blushing and happy, were escorted to their seats once again, to the compliments of all their friends. Livelier music then prevailed for a short while longer. As dancers, musicians and even spectators began to tire, the tunes turned once again to singing melodies and, in the end, to several hymns - requested by Mr Burns, and reverently sung by all.

The hour was grown late, especially for those with work of their own early the next morning and no maids and servants to do it for them. Mr and Mrs Gilbert, Mrs Taylor and Jenny were the first to leave; the baker, the seamstress, and the farrier with his niece followed shortly. As Mrs Hobart and her daughters made their farewells to Mr Burns and his sons, her husband paused near Mr Burke, addressing him privately, "You have done a very kind thing here tonight, Burke. Mr Burns has enjoyed it greatly, and the ladies, too. I must say, I do not recall having seen Miss Rose so happy in a good many years - about twenty, I believe. I hope there may be other such occasions in the near future."

The valet looked down searchingly at the shopkeeper's round face, but saw only goodwill there and, perhaps, the smallest hint of encouragement. "Thank you, sir. It has been a great pleasure for me as well." He gazed after the draper and his family for a short while as they walked down the street arm-in-arm, then he turned to assist the remaining men as they set the drawing and sitting rooms to rights and saw Mr Burns ready for his bedchamber.

Hannah, Beth and Miss Rose washed cups and plates, and tidied things in the kitchen and dining room, leaving all ready for the morrow. As Mr Burke brought out the last of the tea things, Beth turned to him, a light of curiosity - and of scheming - in her eyes.

"You do so many things well, Mr Burke! You sing, dance, play-act and play music - you obviously serve Lord Auldbury well - wherever did you learn to perform services such as waiting on ladies so perfectly? And the way you have led Miss Rose while walking, and in the dancing tonight - as if you were made for each other - and as if you had had much practice at it. Have you had some secret training that a valet does not normally receive?" Her words were mischievous and saucy, a tone she had not used for some months now, to those senior to her by so many years. But, in a good cause - as she considered Mr Burke and Miss Rose to be - she forgot her own circumstances, and found her courage rise once again to tease, blithely ignoring the blushes that rose in the faces of the two before her - furiously, on the part of the lady - less so, but still noticeably, on the part of the gentleman.

The valet looked down at her with a glimmer of amusement and dawning understanding in his eyes, answering obediently and patiently. "No secret training at all, Miss Beth, only practical experience. Both Lord Auldbury and I turned our hands to many things during our travels. We often had but ourselves to depend on, in circumstances where there were no others to serve or help us - and where we would certainly not have expected it. My first and best training, though, came from my mother, and from her mother, who was blind the last years of her life. I was a small boy then, but old enough to learn to help, serve and guide her. My mother, too, went blind for a short while before her death. What I had learned with my grandmother allowed me to be of assistance to her, as well."

"Your mother has died? I am so sorry! I did not know - I had not heard!" Miss Rose cried out before Beth had time to respond. With the teacher's words, the delicate porcelain cup she had been carefully drying slipped out of her fingers. Mr Burke, with swift presence of mind, reached out to stay its fall, catching her hands, as well as the teacup, in his. Beth, having instigated a dialogue and an unintended, but promising, reaction that she hoped would now be prolonged and prove fruitful, was willing to remain silent and remove herself to the background, unless or until her assistance should once again be required. After the blind woman slowly, and reluctantly - or so it seemed to the girl attentively watching from a discreet distance - disengaged her hands and set the cup aside, she looked up in distress. "When did this happen?"

"She fell ill five years ago; we happened to have returned to England then. His lordship gave me leave to go to her in Kent, to tend her, as she was alone. She lived less than a year longer. After her death, I returned to my service." The valet's voice was steady, though his eyes shadowed for a moment.

"I am sorry!" Miss Rose repeated, in a whisper, and reached as if to gently place a hand on the gentleman's arm, though she quickly withdrew it again.

"It was an easy death. I was grateful for so much, and happy to be with her." With these few words, Mr Burke turned and left the kitchen to continue his work in the other rooms.

When it came time to leave, Mr Burke offered an arm to Miss Rose, which was accepted with a readiness quite the opposite of the first meeting Beth had witnessed between these two. The offer of his free arm to the younger woman was forestalled by Ralph offering his. The younger couple followed the older through the village. The hour was late, but not so late that the festivities at the Hall had finished. No carriages had yet begun to leave the great estate; the streets were quiet and deserted. No trace of daylight remained; the sky above them was dark, spangled with stars both bright and dim, turning through their own ageless nocturnal dance with illimitable indolence, quite unnoticed and unsuspected by the four figures far, far below.

Beth watched Mr Burke and Miss Rose carefully but did not see that there was much conversation between them, nor anything of note as they parted at the teacher's cottage. A pity. After such an evening! And after my efforts to prick them to speech... She was so intent on the couple ahead that she paid scant attention to the young man accompanying her when he would have spoken of the evening just passed. Ralph noticed her preoccupation and fell into a good-natured silence. After the door closed behind Miss Rose, Mr Burke joined the younger pair for the remaining distance to the Taylors' cottage. There was some desultory speech among them, though each seemed absorbed in his own preferred thoughts. The two men saw Beth in at her door, then separated to return, or continue, to their respective homes. While Ralph whistled a muted melody as he walked briskly to the Inn, Mr Burke paced thoughtfully on his way to the Hall, his hand absentmindedly caressing the bundle containing his fiddle.

"Do you not regret having missed the ball, my dear? I am sure it would have been a fine thing to see. You might have enjoyed it very much."

Beth thought of all she had seen and heard at the Burns' this night: the joyful reunion between Mr Burns and his sons, between Hannah and her brothers - the carpenter's good-natured longsuffering with his increasing infirmities - the many kindnesses shown Hannah and her father by their neighbours - Jenny's delight in the smallest of attentions, and the friends who did not neglect to offer them - the glowing joy on Miss Rose's face as she danced - Mr Burke's courtesy in reassuring Hannah of her future, his humble service throughout the evening, and his puzzling, yet surely amiable, demeanor towards the teacher. She answered Mrs Taylor slowly, "Perhaps..." then, more decidedly, "No, I do not think I shall regret it. The dresses would doubtless have been more beautiful, the guests more important, the house larger and more wonderfully decorated, the dancing more accomplished. But, excepting Lord Auldbury and Mr Grahame, and a few of the guests I heard tell of - many sounded quite unpleasant, despite all their riches and titles - the company suited me much better where we were. The finer things may have been at the Hall, but the finer society was, I think, at the Burns'." With an impish smile, she added, "What a pity Mr Grahame and his lordship - with his nephew, too, of course - could not have joined us!"

Continued in the Next Section