Amanda protested, but, she knew, vainly. Her mother had angled so often, so unsuccessfully, for the loan of Lord Meynel’s carriage and his four exquisitely-matched bays that it was idle to hope she would do anything but jump at his offer now. Besides, there was economy to be considered. Their hired carriage must be paid by the hour… The outcome was inevitable. Mrs Carteret had the headache at once — “So like you to have perceived it, my lord… And to tell truth this child was so afflicted when we arrived that she begged to wait out the ball above stairs.”
“I am glad you persuaded her not to do so,” said Lord Meynel, with the detested, familiar gallantry, as he took an arm of each to lead them back through the ballroom. And now, when Amanda particularly wanted to see him, there was no sign of John. No doubt he was still in the supper room… But there was always, Amanda consoled herself, tomorrow. She would call on his aunt betimes in the morning.
As Amanda had hoped, her mother slept late next day, and she was able to escape from the house without the usual tirade against her “hoydenish rambling about the countryside”. It was a fine, sun-washed morning and Amanda’s heart was as light as her tread as she walked the familiar downhill path to Rye and paused, as she always did, at her favourite corner, to admire the spreading prospect of marsh and sea. Today, the future was as bright as the world below her; John had spoken at last; he loved her. She had always, in her heart, been sure of it, but now her head too could revel in the prospect of happiness. War would be declared… Recalled to active service, John would distinguish himself, of course, at once. Soon he would be commanding his own sloop… Negotiating a stile with a whisk of muslin skirts, Amanda built herself a golden castle in the air. The prize money would flow in; her mother would yield to the over-whelming argument of affluence… As she crossed the river and entered the little town, Amanda settled the design of her wedding dress (white satin and silver gauze) and started down the aisle of Rye Church… Soon she would be the youngest captain’s wife in the fleet and John’s ship the smartest… At this point she was nearly run down by a brewer’s dray and interrupted her dream to smile an apology at its driver, whose first outburst of frightened anger had turned to an appreciative whistle at sight of her small pointed face, flushed at once with happiness and alarm. It was time to pay attention to her footing as she made her way on light, slippered feet over the cobbles of East Street and around to Miss Purvis’s little house by the church.
As she approached it, she heard the quarters chime out from the church tower, and congratulated herself on having timed her visit just right. Miss Purvis would have returned from her bustling morning round of the shops and John could not possibly be gone out yet. Thinking of him, a belated qualm chilled her happiness. Would he think her forward to call on him like this? Ridiculous, she told herself; she had called on his aunt at least once a week for years… But her lagging feet told another story.
Somehow, instead of turning the last corner, she found herself crossing the little grass-grown street and pausing irresolutely at the entrance of the churchyard. She could not turn back, having come so far, and yet, how could she go on? It had seemed entirely natural to plan this visit last night, and she had been too busy with her day-dreaming to think about it on the walk into town, but now — what should she do? Of course, she should have waited at home for John to pay her the formal call he owed her after last night… But then, for years now, it had been tacitly agreed between them that he would not call on her, since Mrs Carteret always contrived to make such visits unpleasant to all of them. Kind Miss Purvis’s house had always been their meeting ground; why then did everything seem so different today?
But she could not stand here, the target of goodness knows how many curtain-screened, knowing eyes. Suddenly determined, she left the churchyard, crossed the street again, turned the last corner and rang a louder peal than she had intended on Miss Purvis’s front door bell.
The door was opened instantly by Miss Purvis herself. In street dress, her capacious shopping basket on her arm, she was obviously just going out. A grave breach of routine this. What could be the matter?
“My dearest child,” Miss Purvis’s colour was high, her manner even more flustered than usual, “you are come in the nick of time; I was just casting about in my mind for a messenger I could send to you.”
“A messenger? What can be the matter? John — Mr Purvis is not ill, I trust?” Aware at once of indiscretion, Amanda blushed scarlet but saw with relief that Miss Purvis was much too discomposed herself to notice anything out of the usual. “Ill?” she said. “Of course not. You know he has never been ill in his life, the dear boy, at least not since he had the measles and that, you know, was ten years ago, as you must well remember, since you gave them to him. But what am I doing keeping you standing here. Come in, my love, we are all at sixes and sevens this morning, with dear John going off so suddenly. Why, I have not even been down to the fishmonger’s for poor Midge’s bit of fish, but he’ll have to wait now, won’t you my Midge?” And she picked up the vast ginger cat that had been twining itself lovingly round her ankles and led the way into her dark little living room where the parrot mourned eternally for sunny Spain.
Settling herself in the usual faded rocking chair, Amanda seized at once upon the important point. “Mr Purvis is gone?”
“Yes; poor dear John. I hope he has done the wise thing, but he said he had no alternative, and you know the days are past when I could sway his opinions — and quite right too, a poor scatter-brained old maid like me. But to be travelling all day, and without a wink of sleep last night is not at all what I can like.”
“No sleep last night? What can you mean, Miss Purvis?”
“Why? Did you not know? I quite took it for granted you would, since Lord Meynel is such a friend of your mother’s. But, here, what am I thinking of?” She fumbled in her shopping basket and produced a note. “Let John explain; he will do it much better than I ever could.”
John’s note was brief and to the point. Lord Meynel, it seemed, had returned to the Assembly rooms the night before, sought him out, and offered his assistance in getting him a place on the Phoenix Indiaman presently fitting out for the long voyage to India. It was a chance that must be taken on the instant; John intended to catch the morning mail coach to London; he would write to her again as soon as anything was settled. ‘In the meantime,’ he concluded, ‘we must hope that this is the first step on the way to success — and happiness.’ He had filled the page by now, only down at the bottom, in the finest of fine print, was a last, heart-warming message: ‘Amanda, it cuts me to the heart not to see you again. Do not forget. I never shall.’
Blushing and smiling, Amanda put up the note and joined Miss Purvis in her exclamations at this piece of amazing good fortune. “Of course,” as Miss Purvis said, “India is a long way off, but he will be back soon enough, I am sure, and with a nabob’s fortune, I have no doubt. But had you truly known nothing of this plan of Lord Meynel’s? To tell truth, I had been convinced we had you to thank for his goodness; can it be your Mama who has spoken for dear John?”
This seemed more than improbable to Amanda, but she hardly liked to say so, and they passed the morning in an orgy of hopeful if unprofitable speculation. For Amanda, the immediate disappointment of having missed John was lost in the widening dream of hope before her. As he said, this was the beginning; now it was but to wait… Walking home up Rye hill a few hours later she re-designed her wedding: John was in captain’s uniform now and her wedding dress was of India silk.
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The Lost Garden (The Purchas Family Series Book 5) Page 39