Part IV
THE COUNTESS OF SLEYVEN
31
Over The Teacups
Miss Humphreys poured carefully, enjoying to the full the delicious sensation of having the chatelaines of both Nettlefold Hall and Plumbways hanging on her words. “She appears very much at home,” she revealed eventually.
Lady Ventnor’s plump jaw sagged; Mrs Somerton, rather more mistress of herself, merely said, a trifle stiffly: “But of course.”
“Lady Caroline is a great support, naturally, a great support,” added the spinster lady.
“Naturally,” agreed Mrs Somerton grimly.
“Of course,” echoed Lady Ventnor weakly.
Miss Humphreys passed some delicious little crisp biscuits, noting carelessly as she did so: “This receet is one of dear Lady Caroline’s mamma’s. She, you know, was a Lacey: the Duke of Munn’s family.”
Rallying slightly, Mrs Somerton managed to say, forcing a laugh: “Or would it be, as the girls claim dear Miss Burden was ever wont to put it, in her funning way, the Duke of Um’s family?”
“I do not think so,” said Miss Humphreys calmly. It was not at all apparent whether Mrs Somerton’s shot, admittedly mild, but still a shot, had hit home: that lady relapsed into baffled silence.
Lady Ventnor, meanwhile, though she had nodded at the mention of the Lacey name, was tasting a biscuit eagerly. “Quite delicious, indeed!”
“Yes; the secret is, that they must be crisp, but neither chewy nor too dry!” said Miss Humphreys happily.
“I own I did not think that your Gertie Potts had such a hand with patisserie,” conceded Mrs Somerton, having tried one.
Whether or not Miss Humphreys recognised this as an attempt to force her into admitting she had done the baking herself was not at all clear. She merely replied calmly: “Good gracious, Mrs Somerton, my poor little Gertie did not produce these! No, these are from Maunsleigh, of course.”
Her two lady callers barely—just barely, for it had been going on for some weeks, now—managed to smile politely.
“I thought Lady Judith was to be here,” said Midge in a weak voice.
“No-o,” replied Corinna, sounding irritatingly vague. “Pway sit, my dear Millicent.”
Midge sat, looking glum.
Corinna looked her up and down in silence.
“This is a muff,” said Midge in a defiant tone.
“Weally? Not a dead wat or mole, then?” she replied with the utmost calm.
“Miss Partridge forced it upon me as good-bye present,” replied Midge grimly.
“Then I wegwet to say it, but you should have forced it back upon her. And that pelisse is a disaster: has no-one ever told you that bwown is not your colour?”
“Um—no. Um—well, I once had a brown silk dress that—that Polly used to hate.”
Ignoring this reference, Corinna returned brutally: “Get wid of it.”
“But it’s new,” said Midge faintly. “The stuff cost a lot of money.”
“Then it was wasted, my dear Millicent. Never wear bwown again. And I shall not ask who made it up for you, for I perceive that it was the village dwessmaker.”
Going very red, Midge replied: “She needs the work.”
“Oh? Ask her to make for your maid, or for your invaluable Hawkins, in that case, Millicent, but I must positively order you,” said Corinna, still sounding quite calm, “never to wear another garment fwom her hands.”
Midge sighed.
“Just bear in mind that you are shortly to be a vewwy wealthy woman. –Did Jarvis give you some money?”
Turning scarlet, Midge replied in a strangled voice: “Yes.”
“Then I suggest you do not weveal to him on what you thwew it away. There is a dwessmaker in the town here who makes for Judith: we shall call on her. Do you have the little book I gave you?”
Glumly Midge withdrew it from her reticule. As it was superbly bound in white leather and stamped with a gold crest she could only presume that the extravagant Lady Frayn had the things made up for herself: who the slave was who had written the current year’s dates laboriously by hand in the volume at the top of each page Midge had not had the fortitude to ask. Obediently she entered at Corinna’s directions an appointment with Lady Judith’s dressmaker. The current month was horridly full: it was difficult to find a space.
“—And twy to smile, this is an afternoon call!” said Corinna brightly, ringing the deanery’s bell briskly.
“Hah, hah,” retorted Midge grimly.
“Un-Wyntonly fiancée-ish, my dear,” replied Corinna, unmoved. “We shall have tea now, thank you, Potts,” she said as Lady Judith’s parlourmaid entered.
“Yes, my Lady,” said Potts in a faint voice. “Begging pardon, my Lady, but does her Ladyship know as it’s to be the Meissen?”
“The Dean’s Meissen?” gasped Midge in horror.
“Yes,” said Corinna blandly. “Thank you, Potts,” she added very firmly, looking the parlourmaid in the eye.
Defeated, Potts gave a limp bob and retired.
“Lady Frayn, we cannot possibly: that china must be worth a fortune, and it’s quite irreplaceable! Why, many of the pieces were collected by Dean Golightly’s papa and uncles when they went on the Grand Tour!”
“Then you had best not dwop any of it,” replied Corinna with the utmost calm. “I have it in mind for you to learn about German china this afternoon, and there is no other convenient source.”
Midge took a deep breath, and rose. “I’m very sorry, Lady Frayn, but I feel I must say this. Dean Golightly is not a poor man, but he is most certainly not in the happy financial position of yourself or your Cousin Sleyven; that collection of Meissen pieces is his only treasure. I will not indulge in the hyperbole of saying that it would break his heart for any of it to be broken, but I will say that he would be very, very upset. I am afraid I cannot encourage you in this enterprise. I shall not stay. Please convey my respects to Lady Judith and the Dean. Good afternoon.” Forthwith, very flushed but very dignified, she went out.
Corinna sat back at her ease, raising her eyebrows just a little. “Well, well, well,” she murmured to herself. “Appwopwiately countessly, indeed.” She waited until the sound of the heavy front door’s being closed indicated that the servants had let Miss Burden safely out of the house, and then rang the bell again.
Potts entered, looking glum. “Yes, my Lady?”
“I think we need not bother with the Meissen after all,” said Corinna calmly.
“Thank Gawd!” she gasped. “—Beg pardon, my Lady!”
“Just bring tea for one, with Lady Judith’s usual set,” said Corinna calmly.
“Thank you, my Lady!” gasped Potts, tottering out.
Corinna sat back, smiling slightly.
Young Mrs Golightly poured carefully. “You see?”
“It is so like her!” agreed Janey with a pleased laugh.
“No, no!” cried Lacey Somerton vividly. “I mean, of course it is—but what I mean is, it’s so like what dear Miss Burden always used to be, and what we thought they might get her out of!”
Lacey’s mamma would not have approved of this last expression, but as Mrs Golightly’s company consisted solely of herself, Miss Amanda Waldgrave, Miss Bottomley-Pugh and Miss Lattersby, this could not signify.
“Absolutely!” agreed Amanda, nodding hard. “It is her essential character showing through, you know: and for my part I shall always maintain that it is that which caused his Lordship to fall so deeply in love with her!” She beamed complacently upon the company.
“Well, yes,” said Janey with a twinkle. “Though most of London appears to have concluded it was the red hair and what his Lordship’s cousin Mr Harry Morphett describes as the curves.”
“The curves?” echoed Amanda, blinking.
“Her figure, Amanda,” said Katerina calmly.
“Oh!” she gasped, turning bright pink. “Yuh-yes!”
“Mrs M.’s figure, you must admit,” said Janey with a scowl, “was similar.”
They nodded, and Lacey asked cautiously: “Has there been any news of her, Janey?”
“I had a little note from Susi-Anna,” she admitted, “which said—well, she did not put it as brutally as I shall, for she is possessed of nice instincts!—which said that the hag had cut off all their allowances upon Mr Marsh’s turning twenty-one.”
Their jaws dropped, and the teacups clattered into the saucers.
After a moment Polly said limply: “I suppose he would not need an allowance, once he was of age.”
“No, but my dear Polly: all of them? There was no pin-money for Susi-Anna, and no allowance for Miss Harrod, even though she is in the position of being in charge of the girls!”
“That is all of a piece,” decided Amanda in a trembling voice, “and—and I will say it: the woman is the greatest beast in nature!”
Her friends smiled and nodded upon her, though it was to be feared that in the case of Miss Lattersby the lack of the usual circumlocutions was a factor in this approval.
Janey’s morsel had not been news to Katerina, for she had already imparted it to her: she therefore noted: “Mr Marsh will provide for all of them, of course. But that does not make the action any the less blameless.”
“Absolutely! Her own daughters, too! It is inconceivable how many woman could!” cried Polly.
Polly’s baby was due in early May: they all looked very understandingly, and nodded agreement.
After a moment Lacey took a small cake and asked: “Are they still fixed in town, then, Janey?”
“For the moment, yes. And as Lord Sleyven has been and gorn and let Captain Cornwallis have Dinsley House,” she said, looking hard at her beautiful dark-haired friend, “there ain’t no roof nor barn where they might lay their weary ’eads in this neck of the woods!”
Katerina flushed a little but laughed, what time Polly cried protestingly: “Oh, Janey! Even Hawkins could not have said that!”
“No, well, it was something very like it, and I was driven to point out to her,” said Miss Lattersby with a naughty gleam in that hazel eye, “that barns are not commonly constructed in woods.”
Strangely, at this point Mrs Golightly set her teacup down hurriedly, and went into strangled whoops. In which she was followed in no short order by Miss Somerton and Miss Amanda.
“It reduced Miss Humphreys to hysterics, too,” admitted Janey calmly when they were over them and Polly had refreshed the cups.
“Janey, you are too cruel to the poor old thing!” cried Lacey. “When it was so very good of her to volunteer to come and chaperone you all at Bluebell Dell!”
“She is not too appallingly bad, my dear,” Amanda reassured her. “And sometimes, it must be admitted, Miss Humphreys does not gather the full gist of her remarks. The which, do not say it, is very probably just as well.” She took a little cake and chewed complacently, what time Miss Janey admitted, rolling her eyes: “That must take me off with my cloak over my face.”
“Indeed it must!” said Lacey severely. “But you are right, in that there does not seem to be any suitable house which the Marshes might have, hereabouts.”
“Would they care to live in the town, perhaps?” said Polly, a trifle wistfully. She and Arthur lived in the town, conveniently close to Archdeacon Wells, and though both the Archdeacon and Mrs Wells had been very kind to them, it was true that she felt a little isolated from her old friends. And even the deanery was at the other side of the town entirely.
Several persons endeavoured to explain tactfully to Mrs Golightly that the houses in the town were generally a little small, and that a nabob’s heir might prefer something rather larger, with an estate about it.
“Yes,” she said glumly. “Of course. Um—would your Cousin Peter consider selling Dinsley Airs? Or even a long lease?” she said to Janey.
“Well, no, for he is to come and live in it. My cousins write that he has had the most tremendous quarrel with Aunt Phoebe, for she tried to thrust some frightful heiress with a squint upon him!” she revealed with a gurgle.
The other girls had already heard this tidbid: they smiled and nodded, as Mrs Golightly gave a choked gurgle.
“Though one is of the opinion,” explained Amanda, “that a very young gentleman, with no family about him, may find himself a little at a loss, both for companionship and, let us say, for guidance, in such a situation.”
“Oh, it is only a step to Dinsley House: Captain Cornwallis will be able to give him all the fatherly advice he needs,” said Janey airily.
Certain persons gulped and turned scarlet, but Katerina merely said composedly: “He would be very glad to, I am sure: but the boot may well be on the other foot, for Captain Cornwallis has never had the running of an estate himself.”
“No, well, I suppose he’s been at sea all of his adult life,” conceded Janey.
“Yes. I confess to knowing very little about managing a country house, for my part: so we shall all be at sea together,” said Miss Bottomley-Pugh on a dry note.
Their friends, though they shrieked and collapsed, could not help reflecting that Miss Janey had fully deserved that one. And that perhaps only a young lady of Katerina’s lovely nature would have refrained from something a great deal more cutting.
Amanda was to stay the night with the Golightlys and return to Bluebell Dell on the morrow: she explained when the Nettleford House carriage had taken the other callers away: “Dear Janey is not in the best of moods, though to give her her due, she does try to fight it.”
“Is it still Major Renwick, then, Amanda?” asked Polly.
For once, Amanda merely said succinctly: “Yes.”
They sighed.
“I believe that Oak Ring House is now quite habitable,” ventured Polly.
“Oh, yes, my dear, and he has moved in, of course: that is why she is so particularly— Did you not know?” she gasped.
Polly shook her head, her eyes very round.
“Yes: a week since. But,” she said significantly, “he has not called.”
Gulping, Polly ventured: “Has—has Janey said something horrid to him, Amanda?”
“Well, my dear, one has not the precise details, but that is the conclusion one must inevitably draw, is it not?”
Polly nodded numbly. After a moment she admitted: “Sometimes I do get cross with Arthur, but I honestly do not understand how any young woman could treat a gentleman whom she—she favours, as cruelly as Janey appears to have treated poor Major Renwick.”
“No, indeed!” Amanda agreed, pink but very much in agreement with her. “She flirted, you know, most dreadfully, with everyone in London; and I believe when they went on those country-house visits last autumn, she was worse.”
“Yes.” Polly looked at her cautiously. “Is your mamma still obdurate, Amanda, dear?”
“Yes,” she said, lifting her plump chin and trying to smile. “But I assure you, I do not regard it. I—I know his is a steadfast nature.”
Polly squeezed her hand very hard and said no more. Though inwardly she was, of course, meditating ways and means.
“This is the most enchanting tea-set I have ever seen, Mrs Shelby!” said Midge, smiling, as Mrs Shelby’s little parlourmaid staggered in under it.
“Oh, thank you, Miss Burden! It is one of the new Wedgwood sets,” said Mrs Shelby, preening herself. “I own, I am quite proud of it.”
Sending up a silent prayer that in that case, she would be permitted by the Powers to handle it without accident, Midge accepted a cup of tea in the enchanting white-patterned blue china from the agent’s wife.
“It is, you see, scenes of Classical life,” explained Mrs Shelby.
“Indeed! Oh, isn’t it pretty!”
Highly gratified—for she had, after all, known Miss Burden for some years and could see that the Earl’s fiancée’s enthusiasm was quite genuine—Mrs Shelby said: “We think so, yes. And if you like it, dear Miss Burden, I venture to suggest that it might not be thought inappropriate to suggest that a set be ordered up for your own use at Maunsleigh.”
“A—a tea-set just for me?” she faltered, suddenly setting the cup and saucer down on the tea-table.
“It could not be ineligible.”
“Mrs Shelby, did—did the former Countess do that sort of thing?” faltered Midge.
Mrs Shelby looked blank for a moment. Then she said: “I was not here in those times, Miss Burden, but I would venture to suggest that she did.”
“Ye-es… Actually, it appears she was wickedly extravagant,” admitted Midge on a guilty note.
The agent’s wife just nodded.
“There are already several tea-sets at Maunsleigh,” explained Midge.
Mrs Shelby hesitated. Then she said: “Of course. If I may say so, not quite in the modern taste. But beautiful work. And everything that is purchased for the great house must, of course, be an accretion to the—er—to the patrimony, as it were.”
This did not have quite the effect for which she had hoped: her visitor replied glumly: “Yes,” and stared blankly at the tea-table.
Mrs Shelby took a deep breath and said bravely: “For myself, I intend this set should eventually go to my eldest daughter. Though by that time, I am sure tastes will have changed.”
“She couldn’t help but like it. –I see what you mean,” said Midge, blushing.
“Yours might go, if you cared for it, Miss Burden, to your daughter-in-law. The countess’s tea-set, you see?”
“Mm. I— The thing is, Mrs Shelby,” she burst out: “I never know if I’m doing the right thing! It sounds all right, but what if—if it was wrong?”
Mrs Shelby took a brave breath. “My dear Miss Burden, permit me to say that anything you do could not be thought wrong. And in any case, anything that the Countess of Sleyven does, must be acceptable—indeed, will be accepted. ”
Midge smiled wanly. “I take your point. Though I should hope I would not base my conduct on the premise that rank renders any extravagance acceptable. –I know you did not mean that,” she said hurriedly. “The—the thing is, Mrs Shelby, that even if I can see that the thing itself—I don’t mean the tea-set, but anything I may wish to do—even if I can see that in itself it may be acceptable, I never know whether he will—will think it so.” She gulped.
The agent’s wife took another of those brave breaths. “My dear Miss Burden, I understand exactly. It was just the same, if I may make the comparison, with myself when I married Kenneth. Well, you know my Ma and Pa,” she admitted. “Frakeses have always been respectable folk, and no-one can’t say otherwise. But there’s no denying it were a step up for me, to marry Mr Shelby.”
Midge nodded, and said hopefully: “How did you learn, Mrs Shelby?”
Extremely gratified to gather that Miss Burden believed she had learned, Mrs Shelby replied: “Confidentially, and there’s no lady what I’d say this to save yourself, Miss Burden, I took Ma’s advice, which was, if I trusted the man enough to marry ’im, then I had better trust him enough to ask ’im!” She sat back in her smart modern chair, with its fashionable straw-coloured covering, and positively beamed at her.
“Oh,” said Midge faintly, turning puce.
There was a considerable silence in Mrs Shelby’s ultra-refined little sitting-room.
“Yes,” said Midge shakily. “I see. Thank you so very much for telling me. I—I had better do that, then. –Is it not so true, that—that when one’s circumstances change, be it for good or ill, one learns who one’s true friends are?”
“Oh, indeed!” agreed Selina Frakes Shelby in heartfelt tones, nodding hard.
They smiled at each other rather shyly, and took tea.
Not having found an opportunity to speak with her fiancé that day, Midge silently determined she would do so at breakfast; for as he had intimated, they were normally alone together for that meal. She did not, it must be admitted, sleep very well that night—though telling herself she was being absurd: refining too much on the thing.
But alas, when she came downstairs, a trifle heavy-eyed but determined, it was to find that the Earl was not alone, but breakfasting with Captain Cornwallis. Although it was still very wintry, there was no snow, and he had rid over from Dinsley House, where he had only just taken up residence, to ask Jarvis’s advice on matters to do with the farms. Miss Burden greeted him with a pleasure that was not, she recognized guiltily, unmixed with relief at having had to put off the tête-à-tête.
The wind was in the east; although she came down at her usual time, Lady Caroline admitted her neuralgia was bothering her and allowed Midge to see her back upstairs around midday and to ring for a bowl of soup. Midge and Mr Crayshaw ate their midday meal together, for the Earl was still out with the Captain.
In the early afternoon Mr Hutton looked in; Midge was in the little yellow sitting-room, sewing. He duly inspected the work and expressed his approval of it: a little gown for Polly’s baby.
“Though she has already trunkfuls of garments for it, of course!” admitted Midge with a smile.
“Aye, but they never come amiss: if the critter don’t wear ’em out they gets passed on to the next!” he said cheerfully.
“Yes. –It seems so odd, when one reflects it is our little Polly, about to become a mère de famille… Oh, dear, does that sound stupid?”
The partisan Mr Hutton replied firmly: “No, of course it don’t, Miss Burden. Granted it’s in the nature of things, but then, when it’s a little lass as you’ve known all ’er life—”
“Mm,” said Midge, sniffing and blowing her nose. “How absurd. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right, Miss Burden,” he said kindly. “It do be a trying time, for any woman; and then, you got more changes to adjust to, than most.”
“Y— Oh! You—you mean the engagement period?” said Midge, turning bright pink.
“That’s right, Miss Burden. Now, my sister, she were just the same—no, worse: never seen anything so edgy as she were. Not but what she hadn’t known ’im all ’er life—still, makes no difference, apparently. Then there were that Miss Bafford, out in India. Major Bafford’s daughter, she were.”
“Oh, why yes; Jarv—his Lordship,” said Midge, turning purple, “has mentioned Major Bafford.”
Considerately overlooking the lapse, Mr Hutton returned cheerfully: “I’ll be bound! Very pukka officer, Major Bafford. Well, Miss Bafford, you see, had been disappointed in a feller before, so you might say as there was more excuse for her than some. Though Mr Benson were pukka enough, if he weren’t nothing but a box-wallah.”
“Was he in John Company?” asked Miss Burden.
Very gratified that the chota mem had so quickly picked up the baht, Mr Hutton replied: “Nothing like it, Miss Burden: he was a reppersentive for Shillabeer’s—India merchants, import-export, Miss. Respectable firm, mind you, and wouldn’t take on just anyone, neither. And Major Bafford, ’e said to the Colonel: ‘Well, it ain’t what I would have wished, but after that other budmush, I suppose we had best take what we can get and be thankful it ain't worse.’ And the Colonel, he says: ‘Bafford, take my word for it, the feller got the nod from old Timmy Urqhart himself, he’ll end up bein’ able to buy and sell the both of us.’ And they laughs, acos Major Bafford, he lived on his pay, and in them days the Colonel— Um, well, a sahib don’t speak of ‘is h’expectations in any case; and the burra-sahib don’t go round boasting to the other officers,” he ended, coughing.
“No,” said Midge with a little smile.
Mr Hutton eyed the little smile with approval but did not remark on it. “So Major Bafford let ’er get engaged. But two weeks later he’s in at our sadar—headquarters, Miss—a-telling the Colonel he’s regretting the day, and it ain’t that Mr Benson’s a budmush, and e’s learning him up to give him a decent game of chess, but Miss B.’s got the ’ole compound all oolta-poolta and it won’t be her blame it they’re not all doolally afore the wedding day! And she’s sacked the gai-wallah and told the dhobi-wallah it’ll be him next, for a-starching of ’er shifts, begging the memsahib’s pardon, and the kitchen’s in an uproar because the major sahib does like a cup of char to his chota hazri of a morning, and where’s the milk to come from, if the cow’s gone?” He paused to get his breath, and added: “Kept his gai, did the Major.”
“I see.”
“Added to which it was an insult: most of the bhais was Hindoos, and took it real bad, Miss.”
“Mm. –Oh! I see: it was a sacred cow, of course.”
“Cows all are, to the Hindoos,” he explained glumly. “Major Bafford was pukka chokker. And he says you never ’eard nothing like the way she was screaming at the ayah that morning. –Don’t ask me what she done, acos I never ’eard that khubber, and I dare say it weren’t nothing: point is, Miss B. was all on edge.”
“Yes,” said Midge rather faintly.
“She come right, after the wedding: Mr Benson, he took her up to the hills, and they come back to a chota bungalow near the Major’s, and he’s round there every other night playing chess with Mr B.!”
“That’s good,” said Midge, smiling at him.
“Major Bafford was a widower,” explained Mr Hutton somewhat belatedly.
“Well, yes, I think I had gathered that!”
Mr Hutton merely nodded, and said comfortably: “Wedding nerves, some call it, Miss.”
“Yes,” admitted Midge weakly.
Twenty minutes later Jarvis came into the small sitting-room to find her staring into the fire. “Was that Hutton’s back that whisked itself out of sight as I came through the hall?” he said mildly, coming over to the blaze.
“Um—well, very probably. He was here,” admitted Midge.
“On what excuse?”
“Well, none,” she said limply.
“I think perhaps I should speak to Master Hutton. Renwick and Shelby were confidently expecting his presence up on Long Acre,” he noted, still mild.
“Um—I know that what goes on on the estates is absolutely none of my business, but—”
“What?” he said, staring.
“N— Um— Well, it isn’t, is it?” she gasped.
“Midge, my angel,” said Jarvis with a sigh, “whatever rubbish Corinna may have been filling your head with, I very much wish you to make the estates and every living creature on them your business: has that not dawned?”
“Wuh-well, no,” she gulped.
Sighing again, he sat down heavily in the chair opposite hers. “Then pray allow it to do so. What were you about to say about Long Acre?”
“What?” said Midge numbly. “Oh! Not about that, about Mr Hutton. About his being here.”
“Yes?”
“It was my fault. I mean, he came to see me,” she said, clearing her throat.
“Yes?”
Midge’s hands shook slightly. “I—I know you don’t know you’re doing it,” she said faintly, “but please don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he said, staring.
“Suh-say ‘Yes?’ in that—that noncommittal way,” said Midge weakly.
“I do beg your pardon. I was being noncommittal in an effort to be—er—non-condemnatory, I think. You see, I have known Hutton for most of his life,” he said apologetically.
“Then I think you should realise that he—he has your interests very much at heart. He—he came to see me.”
“Y— I’m sorry. Why, Midgey?”
Blushing, Midge got out: “I think, just to see how I’m going on, and to—to tell me a consolatory story!”
“Cons—” Jarvis broke off. After a moment he managed to say: “Was it the story of the vegetable vendor’s daughter who married a silversmith?”
“No,” said Midge blankly.
“Er—no. Come to think of it, it goes better in Urdoo,” he murmured. “What, then?”
“About your friend Major Bafford, and his—his daughter,’ said Midge, swallowing. “Well, about his daughter, really.”
“Mrs Benson? Baba Benson’s wife?”
“Um, the name was Benson, yes. Why Baba?”
“I beg your pardon. Baby-faced,” he explained.
“Oh,” said Midge limply. “I see.”
“Very warm man, Baba Benson. –I’m sorry, Midgey, but I cannot see the moral.”
“No,” said Midge faintly. “It—um—I truly cannot recall precisely how the topic came up: he—he assumed I was suffering from nuh-nerves and he suddenly told me about Miss Bafford, when she became engaged to Mr Benson!”
“Eh? Oh,” he said, smiling slowly. “I think I see. But you, thank God, have not turned the household all oolta-poolta.”
“Nor sacked the laundry-maids, neither,” admitted Midge with a weak smile.
Jarvis laughed. “No! Nor— What the Devil was it? Something poor old Bafford was chokker about.”
“The cowman, I think.”
“Oh, aye: the gai-wallah! He did keep his cow, that’s right, did old Bafford.”
Midge nodded silently. Jarvis looked at her in considerable amusement but did not remark on the nerves, merely said mildly: “Shall you ring for tea, my dear?”
“Oh!” she said, jumping. “Of course.”
“Where is Aunt Caroline?” he asked, after the tea had been ordered—wondering silently why Midgey had blushed over the process. Was it merely the prospect of taking tea alone with himself? Flattering, if so. But probably too much to hope for.
“Her neuralgia is bothering her in this east wind, so I persuaded her to keep to her bed. She had some hot soup at midday, and Alphonsine is looking to her.”
“Good.”
“It was all right, ordering up hot soup without warning, was it?” said Midge abruptly.
“Of course. Fermour keeps a pot of it simmering.”
“Surely not!”
“Eh? Well, a pot of something; I am not making it up, because I have had occasion to order up soup without warning—returning from a damned cold ride or some such, you know—and it has very speedily arrived.”
“Oh. I think you mean a pot of stock, sir. I don’t think anyone would keep soup simmering, unless perhaps it was winter and—and there was a party of male house-guests addicted to hunting or shooting.”
“Stock: of course! But when we have a party of male house-guests for the shooting, you had best check that Fermour is cognizant of the fact,” he said sedately.
“Mm.”
“Midgey, my angel, the Maunsleigh preserves are in the most shocking order, and in any case, I do not care to shoot for sport: I thought you knew that?”
“N— Um—I don’t think so!” she gasped.
Jarvis got up and regardless of the fact that it was scarcely the thing in the little yellow salon, or that the tea-tray might arrive at any moment along with the usual complement of Maunsleigh footmen and very probably Bates himself, went down on one knee before her, taking her hand. “We have talked of shooting, Midge, my darling, but I think you have forgotten it. I really only care to shoot for the pot. Even though brought up to believe myself a fine, stout boy with a God-given right to slaughter the brute creation for my pleasure.”
“Oh. I remember,” said Miss Burden, very, very faintly.
“Mm,” he said, kissing her palm gently.
“Shall we not have shooting parties, then?”
“We shall certainly try not to,” he said into her palm.
“Oh, good.”
“However, I fear I am hidebound enough to wish to teach my sons how to handle a gun,” he said apologetically.
“Yes, of course!” she gasped, terribly flustered.
Jarvis merely smiled, kissed her palm again, and rose without haste.
… “Midge,” he said as gently as he could, as she remained very evidently on edge after the tea had come: “I can see that there is something on your mind. Will you not share it with me?”
“I—I went to visit with Mrs Shelby the other day.”
“Yes? Is she keeping well?”
“Very well, thank you. –She had a new tea-set!” revealed Midge abruptly.
“Er—yes? Oh! Was it very vulgar?” he said, smiling. “Never mind, my angel, I am quite sure any false admiration you may have expressed—”
“No!”
“No?” said Jarvis, blinking.
“I’m sorry; I did not mean to shout,” she said miserably.
Jarvis set his teacup aside. “Just tell me, please.”
“Would it be the correct thing—I am not asking if I may, I am asking if in your eyes it would be acceptable behaviour," said Midge on a desperate note, “for your wife to purchase a new tea-set even though Maunsleigh has enough to feed an army off?”
There was a short silence.
“Or at any rate a regiment,” he said mildly.
Midge merely chewed on her lip.
“Is it very pretty?”
“That isn’t the point! Can you not see—”
“Yes, I can see. But I can also see that you are perilously close to making a mountain out of a molehill.”
“Only a Wynton would say that!” cried the driven Midge.
“Oops,” said Jarvis mildly. “In that case, I must beg your pardon. Well,” he said, rubbing his chin slowly, “acceptable behaviour… Yes, in my eyes it would be acceptable behaviour for my wife to purchase a small tea-set for her own use—hers and that of her particular friends. Provided that it were not an extravagantly expensive tea-set made of solid gold, or some such.”
“Like that monstrous plate of yours, you mean? Of course it isn’t, do not be absurd!” she said crossly.
“I am not responsible for the Maunsleigh plate, Midge, and I freely admit it is monstrous. Though strictly speaking it is not solid, merely silver-gilt.”
Midge stared at him in a baffled manner.
“You are confusing the man with the office again,” he said without emphasis.
“Mm,” she said blinking furiously.
“Midgey, forgive me,” he said, rising and again dropping to his knees. “I keep forgetting that you’re not used to being teased.”
“Were you only teasing?” she said faintly.
“Mm,” said Jarvis, getting very close and burying his face in her lap.
There was a considerable silence in the over-grand small yellow salon of Maunsleigh.
After quite some time he said in a muffled voice: “What was it like?”
“Blue with little white ladies. Classical.”
Jarvis looked up at her blankly.
“I don’t know how else to describe it. It is one of the newer Wedgwood designs, but you may never have heard—”
“Oh, of course! By all means buy a set, Midgey! They say the motifs are the most delicate work, is that so? And it is impossible to see how they are applied?”
“Yes. The folds of the garments are so delicate that the blue underneath sort of… well, it creates a shadowed effect. –I think Mr Partridge would say that that was a very inept effort at description. But the style is so very unique!”
Jarvis took her hand and kissed it. “You might start a little collection, mm?”
“I only want a tea-set,” said Midge in a small voice.
“Mm,” he said, kissing the hand again. “Surely you cannot have thought I would deny you it?”
Midge pulled her hand away. “You have not been listening!” she said in despair. “Lady Frayn was quite right: men never listen to one!”
“Well, I have been listening,” said Jarvis apologetically, re-possessing himself of the hand and holding it rather tightly, “but I must confess I did not wish to believe that you thought I might be so crusted and curmudgeonly as to decree that your ordering yourself up a tea-set would be ineligible.”
“No, but it’s so wasteful: and you said that Lady Rose Gratton-Gordon was extravagant!” she gasped.
“I see. But then she did not bother, I feel I can claim quite confidently, to inform my late cousin of her intended purchases.”
After quite some time Miss Burden said limply: “Shall I always tell you, then?”
Tea-sets, linens, curtainings, household cutlery—and very probably her gowns as well? Jarvis might have said quite a lot at this point about not really wishing to know. He refrained, however, and replied meekly: “Yes, please.”
And was duly rewarded for this super-human forbearance by seeing his beloved’s countenance break into a tearful smile, and hearing her say hoarsely: “Good. I shall.” After a moment she added: “I’m sorry I said that: I don’t really think you’re just like other men.”
Jarvis Wynton was very glad to hear it. Not that he entirely believed it: no. But give her time!
Once he had reseated himself and drunk a cup of tea, watching Miss Burden eagerly consume two cupfuls with three small cakes, he judged it was an appropriate moment to say: “May we set a date, do you think?’
“Um—yes! Um—Letty says that—” Midge broke off in confusion.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Um—nothing! Well, there are—there are things to take into consideration!” she gasped.
Jarvis looked at the purple cheeks and smiled a little. “I do understand all about women, my darling.”
Midge merely gulped.
“Taking these things into consideration, and remembering also that as we do have the rest of our lives, the actual wedding night is not positively crucial to our future happiness, what about April?”
“The thing is, Polly’s baby is due in early May, and she does so want to come, and although she is keeping very well, I—I think perhaps—”
Yes,” he said, biting his lip, as his heart sank. “Stupid and inconsiderate of me. Then suggest a date, my dear.”
“Could it be in March? Just after Easter?” said Midge in a tiny voice. “It—it would not allow people much time, I suppose, but then, you said we might keep it small— What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I thought you were going to put it off,” he said, passing his hand over his forehead. “Oh—God.”
“I’ve made up my mind to it,” said Midge, looking at him doubtfully.
“Yes, I think your relatives once said something to me about the consequences of your making up your— Damn,” said Jarvis, biting on his lip.
Midge looked at him in dismay, but had no time to say anything, for the door opened to admit two of the footmen. She took a deep breath. “Thank you, John and Albert, but we do not require you to clear just yet. And in future, when his Lordship and I are alone, would you wait until I ring, please? –Thank you. And please, take Dumpkin away, for the nonce,” she said, perceiving that Albert had his eagerly panting form on a lead.
Murmuring: “Yes, Miss Burden,” the footmen vanished precipitately.
“Poor Dumpkin!” said Jarvis with a shaky laugh. “Thank you,” he added, blowing his nose hard.
Midge stood up uncertainly. “That’s quite all right. You—you do feel all right, do you?”
“Yes. Come here,” he said, stretching out a hand to her.
Midge came over to him, looking at him doubtfully.
Jarvis pulled her onto his knee and kissed her very thoroughly. After a moment, she responded strongly, putting an arm around his neck.
Eventually he said into her shoulder: “Thank you very much for handling that, Midgey.”
“I said: that’s quite all right,” said Midge in a vague voice. Suddenly she gave his ear a quick kiss.
Jarvis laughed, just a little, and hugged her, but admitted into her shoulder: “I was never so grateful to anyone in my life! I think I need you to take care of me, Midgey.”
“Actually, I think perhaps you do,” said Miss Burden slowly.
“Next month,” pointed out Mrs Cunningham, raising her eyebrows slightly.
There was a mutinous look around George Cunningham’s mouth. “Good for them,” he replied. He drank tea in a defiant manner.
Mrs Cunningham began to speak, but thought better of it.
After a moment her husband said: “So, it is to be a small, private affair, is it?”
“We are certainly not invited,” she noted acidly.
Mr Cunningham drained his teacup and rose. “That new tea is excellent, my dear: I must congratulate you on it,” he said mildly, going out.
“Precipitate,” noted Mrs Patterson, pouring. “Pray hand the cups, Charlotte!”
Captain Cornwallis accepted a cup of tea from his niece. “Thank you, my dear. Wouldn’t say that, Winifred. After all, Jarvis is older than I am, and he’s been pursuing little Miss B. ever since he came into the county: what is it? Two years ago, now?”
His sister gave him a bitter look. “Not nearly.”
“Wasn’t it April, that you had that damned al fresco breakfast?” recalled Percival Patterson hazily.
His wife gave him a bitter look and did not reply. “Charlotte, please pass!”
Glumly Miss Patterson hastened to obey her.
Miss Rosalind then being urged to offer her uncle sandwiches and cake, the party took tea.
“You will have to give Katerina this receet; this cake’s delicious,” said the Captain on a propitiatory note, smiling at his sister.
Ignoring this reference entirely, Mrs Patterson retorted bitterly: “You are invited, I presume?”
Captain Cornwallis gave up pretending to be sympathetic and replied with brutally cheerful frankness: “Yes, ’course we are; Katerina’s whole family’s going. The old duck, an’ all!”
“What, old Ma Cumbridge?” croaked Mr Patterson, avoiding his wife’s eye.
“Mm,” said the Captain, nodding, through his second piece of cake.
“This is apocryphal, Percival,” warned his wife grimly. “I am quite sure Mrs Cumbridge has never spoken to his Lordship in her life.”
“You’re out, there,” said the Captain very mildly, holding out his cup for more. “May I?”
“Miss Burden knows her, Mamma,” said the misguided Miss Rosalind faintly.
“Rubbish!”
“Of course she does,” said Mr Patterson mildly, giving his younger daughter a warning look.
“Knows, possibly. I dare say she knows half the county. That does not mean she would invite them to her wedding,” said Mrs Patterson grimly.
“Obviously!” said the Captain with a sudden loud laugh.
Mrs Patterson’s colour was very much heightened but she said only, albeit in very grim tones: “I must beg you to eat something, Rosalind.”
‘But I am not very hungr— Very well, Mamma. Thank you,” Miss Rosalind took a slice of cake.
The Pattersons ate and drank silently. Leonard Cornwallis, eyeing them in some amusement, introduced the topic of horseflesh. He was aware that it was a topic that his sister did not care to have discussed at her tea-table.
His brother-in-law immediately joined in. Even though he must have known that it was a topic that his wife did not care to have discussed at her tea-table.
Bates himself entered and presented the cards to Lady Caroline on a little silver salver. “Lady Fitz-Brereton, Miss Fitz-Brereton and Miss Grace Fitz-Brereton, my Lady.”
“Thank you, Bates. Please ask them to step in. And we shall take tea in ten minutes, please. –The Lord-Lieutenant’s wife and daughters, my dear,” she added to Midge.
Midge nodded numbly.
Lady Fitz-Brereton was very grand in heavy black broadcloth and silver fox. With trimmings of ruched emerald velvet as to the bonnet, and a brooch of emeralds and diamonds on the bosom of the pelisse. Miss Fitz-Brereton and Miss Grace were small, pale and scared-looking. With high-pitched, rather nasal voices to balance their Mamma’s commanding bass. Her Ladyship expressed appreciation of the delicious Maunsleigh fruit-cake but Midge could not for the life of her tell if this were feigned or no. Certainly she ate two slices of it, but possibly that was just manners. Her daughters merely pecked and crumbled.
Expressing her great disappointment at “Sleyven’s” not being home and reiterating with horrid coyness all best wishes, her Ladyship sailed off at last, and Midge sank back limply into her chair.
Lady Caroline smiled a little. “You did very well, Millicent, my dear.”
“Thank you. But where is he?” mouthed Midge frantically.
“I imagine he is in his study.”
Midge got up. “In that case, please excuse me a moment, Lady Caroline.”
In the study his Lordship and Mr Crayshaw were discovered happily consuming the last of a plate of hot buttered muffins.
“So you were in!” she cried.
“Run along, Jonathon,” said Jarvis mildly.
“Do not move, Mr Crayshaw, this will take only a moment,” said Midge grimly. “Lord Sleyven, I know this is your house and I have no rights in it, but I believe at some stage mention was made of starting as we mean to go on.”
“Words to that effect,” he murmured.
“Do I collect you mean to go on leaving me to be victimized by all the haughtiest ladies of the county?”
“Sakht burra mems,” said Mr Crayshaw with a sudden grin.
“Get out, Jonathon: that’s an order,” said Jarvis mildly.
“Yessir,” replied Mr Crayshaw, also mild, though in the tones of Mr Hutton. “Please excuse me, Miss Burden.”
Midge held the door wide for him. “I will not say you are craven, for few men twice your age could stand up to him.”
Flushing, and trying to laugh, the young man slid out.
“Only by the Fitz-Brereton hag,” said his Lordship mildly.
“What?” replied Midge blankly.
“I intend leaving you to be victimized only by the Fitz-Brereton hag,” he explained.
“Then you are unjust!”
“And craven, yes,” he murmured.
Reddening, Midge said: “I shall apologize to the poor boy for that. But I shall certainly not apologize to you! It was dreadful: she patronized me unmercifully, not that I expected anything else, but she was truly horrid to Lady Caroline! I did not get all the references, but it was something to do with her late mamma, whom she adored, perhaps I need to remind you, and something really nasty about your late cousin, because her poor little daughters turned red as fire when she came out with it. –Let alone the hints that our marriage is being brought on early for reasons which must become apparent in seven or eight months’ TIME!” she shouted, turning purple.
“Hell,” he said, biting his lip.
“According to her the whole county has assumed as much, and though for myself I don’t give a fig, it was not particularly pleasant to sit through,” said Midge through her teeth.
“No. I’m very sorry, Midgey. But why in God's name did you admit her?’
“Lady Caroline admitted her,” said Midge feebly, staring at him.
“But— Hell,” he muttered, running his hand over his pate. “I’m very sorry, Midgey; I really did not think it would be that bad.”
“Whatever you thought, why did you abandon me?” shouted Midge, tears in her eyes.
“Um, I really did not wish to see the woman or any one of her family, and… I sincerely apologize, Midge, and it won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t, because the minute we are married, I shall give Bates orders never to let the woman darken our doors AGAIN!” shouted Midge, suddenly bursting into overwrought tears.
Jarvis put his arms round her, ignoring the fact that she tried to pull away from him, and held her firmly, eventually giving her his handkerchief.
“I have already given Bates orders not to admit her,” he said mildly.
Midge gaped up at him.
“Yes. Come along: I think we had best speak to Aunt Caroline.”
“Yes. Lord Sleyven, you won’t be cross with her, will you?” she faltered.
“No, I respect her too much—and her judgement. And I thought you were not going to call me by the damned title any more, Midgey?”
Midge reddened. “No,” she muttered.
He gave her a doubtful look but did not say anything, merely ushered her out.
When they entered the yellow salon Lady Caroline said placidly: “Oh, there you are, my dears. I have been thinking: perhaps a very soft pink, a fawn with just a touch of pink in it, for this room, Millicent?”
“Not with her hair, surely?” objected Jarvis.
“A very pale shade, my dear. It would set off her hair and skin wonderfully well.”
“I thought this had always been the small yellow room, though?” said Midge feebly.
“Not really, and as you can see, the effect is hideous,” returned her Ladyship calmly.
“Well—uh—may I think about it?” said Midge inanely.
“Most certainly you must think about it, my dear; we do not wish to rush into anything.”
“Talking of which,” said Jarvis grimly, taking a seat, “—sit down, Midgey, please—talking of which, Aunt Caroline, it was not necessary to admit Lady Fitz-Brereton, as I think I may have mentioned to you.”
“If you were to remain a single man, I should agree with you, Jarvis. But Millicent will have to live in this county as your wife. The malicious tongue of a woman such as Lady Fitz-Brereton could do her considerable harm, in spite of your position. It would be unwise to alienate her.”
“I see,” he said, tight-lipped. “In that case, I apologize for you leaving the two of you alone to cope with her.”
“Thank you, Jarvis. In the future you will, of course, invite her only to the most formal of your entertainments. And I doubt if she will bother to call again—or very infrequently. It is a considerable drive from Brereton Hall.”
“Yes. Of course we couldn’t have refused to let her in: it would have been unkind,” said Midge in a small voice.
“Unkind but understandable,” Lady Caroline replied kindly.
“It was not she, but her mother-in-law, I think, who cut Mamma, back when I was a lad,” said Jarvis suddenly.
Midge’s jaw sagged, but the old lady replied with her usual calm: “Very like. They are cut from the same cloth.”
“Lady Caroline, I—I cannot say how sorry I am that she—she said all those horrible things to you,” faltered Midge.
“My dear, from that type of woman, one scarcely expects anything else.”
“No, but you only saw her because of me, didn’t you? Thank you very much,” said Midge in a small voice.
“My dear child, there is no need to thank me for exposing you to the woman. It was merely something which we both had to do.” She rose, and smiled kindly at them. “I have just recalled that in one of the upstairs rooms there is a most charming picture which might be the very thing for this room, in the case that you decide on a blush-rose shade or perhaps a pale fawn for it. I shall go and look for it.”
Midge jumped up hurriedly. “Lady Caroline, you mustn’t get cold!” She rearranged the old lady’s shawl snugly around her shoulders, and made her promise to find a heavier wrap before venturing into any of the unused rooms.
As the door closed she sat down slowly by the fire.
Jarvis had of course opened the door for his aunt. He came over to the fireplace and looked down quizzically at his fiancée.
“She is the most complete object-lesson,” said Midge in awed tones. “I shall never attain such a sense of duty if I live to be an hundred!”
“Nor I, I’m afraid,” he said ruefully.
“I’m sorry; I was nasty to you,” she said remorsefully.
He sighed, leaning an elbow on the mantelpiece. “No, my dear: I was entirely at fault. I… let myself do it,” he said in an under-voice.
“Er—yes,” agreed Midge uncertainly.
“No, I meant… I don’t know that I can explain it, Midge. Well, you must have observed that with most couples— No, wait, I don’t think I’m expressing it clearly. Um… there are, let us say, certain modes of behaviour which prevail in our society and which most people follow either unthinkingly or instinctively, or perhaps both.”
“Ye-es…”
“These include,” said Jarvis, grimacing over it, “certain—um—well, modes of behaviour, again, I suppose, which pertain to either sex. So, when one is married and a male it is both acceptable and expected that one should cravenly expose one’s wife to the worst of the callers, whilst hiding in one’s study—or another equally suitable male preserve. Whether or not stuffing oneself on buttered muffins.”
“Ye-es… I suppose we all have our part to play,” said Midge dubiously.
“No, but Midge, that is precisely what I am trying to explain! Are these ‘parts to play’, as you so aptly call them, either desirable or inevitable?”
Midge looked at him with a little frown.
“Are they not perhaps, easy social norms into which we let ourselves slide out of sheer inertia? In the case of the male, I think it is so. It has often seemed to me that in the majority of marriages it is the woman who has all the unpleasant duties.”
“Ye-es… I suppose the husband has to—um—handle the outdoor servants and—um—the family finances, nominally, though I am aware it is often the wife in practice who does that; and in another walk of life, of course go out and earn the money, and in yours, manage the estates. Um, and, um… go to funerals.”
“Yes, that is about the sum of it.”
“Are you actually offering to bear the brunt of the callers with me?”
“Not only that. I have already asked you to take an interest in the estates, have I not? I think I am suggesting that in the first place we try to share both the pleasant and unpleasant duties: not halve them but share them, Midge; and in the second place, I am suggesting that we try very hard not to fall into those easy rôles which society offers us ready-made.” He sighed a little and sat down opposite her. “I suppose in short, Midgey, I’m trying to say that I don’t want a wife who talks of me behind my back with a sort of kind tolerance, as if I were a cross between her child and an imbecile: something to be humoured and managed for my own good!” He shrugged.
Midge was looking at him in awe. “Ladies do.”
“I know that,” he said evenly.
“Is that why you’ve never married?”
“Something of the sort—mm. Well, let us say it was one more deterrent.”
Midge ventured doubtfully: “I’m not one of those ladies.”
“I know that, Midgey, and I thank God for it! But—well, the part is there, ready-made, and all of society will try to push you into it,” he said with a rueful grimace. “Try to resist, mm?”
Midge nodded very hard.
“I’ll try, too,” said Jarvis with a grin.
“Yes,” said Midge weakly. That very masculine grin of his, which oddly did not technically make him more handsome, always made her insides feel quite swoopy; why she had thought that living in his house might cure that, goodness only knew! “Um—thank you.”
“So, what unpleasant calls may I accompany you on this week?” he said cheerfully.
“This is a joke, is it?”
“No.”
Swallowing, Midge said; “I do beg your pardon. Um—well, they are not all unpleasant. Um—shall I get my book?”
Jarvis’s eyes twinkled but he said calmly: “Of course, my dear.” And waited for her to run upstairs and get it.
“That was sufficiently unpleasant,” he admitted as they tottered into their carriage after the call at the bishop’s Palace.
“Yes. At least she did not have the gall to imply to your face that the marriage has been put forward pour cause,” said Midge grimly.
“No, but the way she stared at your waist must surely have rendered that unnecessary. Well, where to now?’
“I was planning to go to Mrs Newbiggin’s.”
“Splendid. Let us go, then.”
“Jarvis, she will be overcome at having you call!” hissed Midge, grabbing his arm.
Smiling very much, he replied: “Then I shall rely on your judgement, my dear.”
… “Good afternoon, Mary,” said Miss Burden cheerfully to the small, pink-cheeked maid who opened the door of the Newbiggin residence.
“Good afternoon, Miss Burden!” she beamed, opening the door wide. “Please to step in!”
“Thank you.” Midge stepped in. “I hope you’re keeping well, Mary?”
“Very well, thank you, Miss.”
“That’s good. And how is your mother in this chilly weather?”
The little maid revealed solemnly, shaking her be-capped head, that Ma’s leg was playing ’er up somethink awful. Miss Burden nodded sympathetically and proffered a bottle from the depths of her reticule with the recommendation: “Mrs Fendlesham thinks that this may help, if applied to the sore part and well wrapped in flannel after. Mr Bates claims it helps his lumbago.”
“Ma always reckons that only a flat-iron to the place’ll ’elp that, Miss Burden,” she said doubtfully.
“Well, yes, that is what Colonel Langford claims, too. But I think it can do no harm for your mother to try it.”
“Yes, Miss. –May I take yer ’at, sir?” she said politely, relieving Jarvis of it. At about this point it dawned on his Lordship that the little creature had no idea who he was. His eyes twinkled.
Sure enough, she then said cheerfully to Miss Burden: “Ma said to be sure and tell you, when I seen you, that Freddy’s got a new place, all found, and they lets the footmen ’ave a fire in their room all winter! And ’is chest’s doink splendid! –What name shall I say, Miss?”
“Miss Burden and Lord Sleyven, Mary.”
“Oh, Gawd!” she gasped.
“Not quite,” said Jarvis evenly. “If it’s inconvenient, we could call on another day.”
“No, sir—me Lard, I should say! Mrs Newbiggin’s expectink Miss Burden, she’s got ’er new grey wool on!” she gasped.
“Good. Then I think you can safely announce us, Mary.”
Dropping a tremulous and extraordinarily deep curtsey, Mary agreed: “Yes, me Lard. This way, me Lard, if you please. –Mistress’ll bust ’erself, Miss Burden!” she hissed, apparently under the impression that her preceding his Lordship by approximately a yard and a half had rendered him stone deaf.
“I hope not,” said Midge mildly.
Mrs Newbiggin did not quite bust herself, but she certainly gasped and turned an alarming shade of purple.
However, by the end of the visit, what with his Lordship’s praising of her orange cake and recognizing her particular brand of tea, not to say what with his listening with apparent interest to a long, involved tale about her sister Pheelie’s brother-in-law’s decision not to take his wife out to India when his firm sent him thereto and the subsequent trials and tribulations on both sides of the matrimonial fence, she was sufficiently herself to beam in a motherly way at the pair of them, and offer them her very best wishes for as happy a married life together as what her and Mr Newbiggin had. Not to say, the receet for the orange cake.
“It was the right decision, after all,” said Jarvis, smiling at Midge as the carriage set off again.
Midge was reading the receet carefully. “Mm? What? Oh! Yes, I thought you would like her,” she said vaguely. “—I see! The secret ingredient is brandy, no wonder she has never favoured me with the receet before!”
“Er—unsuited to your maidenly status?”
“What? No!” said Midge with a sudden loud laugh. “No, the thing is, it would have been tactless, as she was aware that I could never have afforded brandy.”
Jarvis smiled. “I see. She is as nice-natured as she appears, then.”
“Even more so,” said Midge firmly, tucking the receet carefully away.
“I see that, my darling. What I do not quite see, is why you were so keen for me to call on her.”
“Um—well, the thing is, I have found out from Janey that she was in on the—the Russian plot!” she gasped, turning puce all of a sudden. “In fact, I think she helped them dream it up.”
“We owe her a very great deal, then,” he said thoughtfully.
Midge nodded hard.
“I suppose we could not actually cut the Palace?” he said wistfully.
“Well, no! It is a kind thought, though! No, I am bearing in mind what you said to me back at Polly’s wedding.”
“Uh—are you?” he groped.
‘Yes: about Polly and Arthur having to live in ecclesiastical circles,” said Midge solemnly.
“Oh—yes. What a prig I was,” he said with a sigh.
“No, you were perfectly right,” said Miss Burden calmly. “Added to which, old Mr Hendricks over at Little Jefford is dying, so if we all play our cards right, and if the Bishop does not have yet another Crittenden nephew to put in there, there is some hope of Arthur’s getting the living.”
“Does he want it?” he groped.
“I’m not absolutely sure, but Polly does; she does not like town life and the Little Jefford vicarage is quite charming. I don’t know if you know the village, it is on very much higher ground than Jefford Slough—”
“Yes, of course I know it,” he said gently. “The farmers over that way are all my tenants. And I have met old Hendricks, come to think of it. Though I did not take much notice of the vicarage.”
“It is a pretty little house with a lovely garden and a delightful orchard of well-established trees. I think Arthur would be happy enough: it is not a large parish, so he would have time for his studies. And he has no worldly ambitions.”
He nodded, and taking her hand, squeezed it gently.
“What?” said Midge uncertainly.
“Nothing,” said Jarvis with a sigh, leaning his head back against the upholstery. “Nothing.”
He did not release her hand and Miss Burden, though recognizing it was not perhaps Wyntonly fiancée-ish of her, left it there for the entirety of the ride back to Maunsleigh.
“If it was me, I’d of ’ad it in the cathedral!” volunteered Miss Bella Lumley eagerly.
Miss White gave her a pitying look but said kindly: “I dare say most girls would.”
“Miss Burden—’er Ladyship, I should say!” beamed Mrs Lumley, the grin stretching from ear to ear, “is a lady, though, Bella. –She won’t be told,” she explained to the Miss Whites.
“Anyway, I seen ’er,” said Bella defiantly.
“Cream velvet with yards of train, were it?” asked Miss White drily.
Miss Janet White and Miss Bella collapsed in helpless giggles at this sufficiently obscure reference.
The farmer’s wife grinned but explained: “She won’t be told. Out of course she ’ad it in the village church acos she knew the loikes of ’er,”—with a pointed look at her daughter—“’ud be there boots an’ all!”
“You came, too, Ma!” objected Bella.
“Noddy,” said Mrs Lumley tolerantly.
“If only it had been on early closing, we’d have come, too,” said Miss Janet kindly.
“Yes, well, dessay they couldn’t manage to suit everybody. But Mrs Fred, she closed up,” explained Mrs Lumley.
“And the tavern?” asked Miss White with interest.
Mrs Lumley snorted richly. “Not ’im! Serve ’im roight: never ’ad a customer all morning!”
The Miss Whites sniggered, and Miss Janet then urged the Lumleys to tell them about Miss Burden’s gown.
“She told me ’erself that the Lard didn’t want ’er to catch her death,” explained Mrs Lumley.
“I’d of worn sating. And lace,” said Miss Bella with a sort of regretful relish.
“And caught yer death: yes!” retorted her mother smartly. “And pass Miss Whoite the ’am sandwiches, do! –Well, it weren’t sating, nor lace—nor velvet, neither. A noice pale lilac wool, which you moight not think of, first off, for a lady with red ’air, but it looked surproising good. Silk bonnet, out o’ course. Embroidered silk ribbons,” she noted carelessly.
“We know that!” admitted Miss Janet with a laugh.
“Ar, thought they was some of yours. Well, they looked real good on the bonnet, it were whoite silk, you see, and the ribbons just broightened it up noice. And she carried a real pretty posy: some was ’ot-’ouse flowers: they’ll ’a’ been from Maunsleigh; but that Jim Hutton, he found a load of snowdrops and early violets, so there was some of them in it, too.”
“And little feathery ferns,” said Miss Bella with deep sigh.
“Ar; pickin’ up the green in them ribbons: see, I said she ’ad taste,” said Miss Janet on a vindicated note.
“Well, ’er or Lady Caroline, Miss Janet,” allowed Mrs Lumley cautiously.
“She was foine as foivepence!” sighed Miss Bella.
“Tan wool, with some lace, and a bonnet what made Lady V.’s yeller thing look roight-down sick!” explained Mrs Lumley, shaking slightly. “Dunno as I can descroibe it, exact, only it were something—eh, Bella?”
“Smart,” said Bella thoughtfully. “And she ’ad a great enormous brown fur wrap. Kind of… thick.”
The Miss Whites exchanged glances, and Miss White said briskly: “Sables, I expect, dear.”
“It were lovely, anyroad. She smelled real good, too.”
The shopkeepers exchanged glances again and Miss Janet ventured: “Did you get near to her, then, Bella?”
“Yes, acos Miss Burden, she come up to me ’erself afterwards, and nobody can’t say I put meself forward, neither, and she says: ‘Bella, ‘ow lovely to see you,’ and kisses me cheek! Now! And Lady Caroline was standing right next to ’er and Miss Burden, she tells ’er it was me what brung ’em their milk and eggs reg’lar as clockwork at Bluebell Dell, and ’er Ladyship, she nods and says she’s glad to meet me! And I smells ‘er then, see? Now!” she said sticking her rounded chin out. “What do you think of that, eh?”
“Ar,” said Miss White thoughtfully. “No more than we’d have expected from a lady like Miss Burden—the Countess, I should say.”
“And Lady Caroline is always very gracious when she comes into the shop with Miss Burden—beg pardon, her new Ladyship!” said Miss Janet with a sudden loud giggle.
“Ar,” agreed Mrs Lumley, freshening the teacups all round. “But that’ll be Miss Burden, ’er new Ladyship, you see. Acos when did a Wynton actual come into your shop of ’er own accord afore this, if you don't moind me asking?”
“Lady Judith sometoimes buys a ribbon or that,” offered Miss Janet.
“Not ’er! She ’as to shop local, it’s expected of the Dean’s woife!” retorted Mrs Lumley crossly. “And did she ever put her foot across your doorstep when she was Lady Judith Wynton? No, she did not!”
“You’re roight, of course, Mrs Lumley,” said Miss White, smiling at her. “We have never had Maunsleigh custom until the moment of Miss Burden’s contracting of the engagement.”
“Ar!” replied Mrs Lumley pleasedly. “Told you!”
“It was a ’appy day for the county, when she took ’im,” volunteered Miss Bella.
Instead of squashing this piece of philosophizing utterly, to her surprise her elders smiled somewhat shakily at her over their teacups—Miss Janet White, indeed, blinking away a happy tear—and agreed that it was, indeed.
Next chapter:
https://thepatchworkparasol.blogspot.com/2022/11/the-new-countess.html
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