Love's Way

by Joan Smith

  “I shall be busy arranging for the new barn,” Edward excused himself, though his startled face told me he had not overlooked the mention of Emily and himself.

  “I’ll be by for you at ten, then, Chloe,” Gamble said, speaking quickly before I could voice any objection.

  “Fine, I shall go with you and Emily, if you are sure I shan’t be de trop.” I replied.

  He cocked his black brows up an inch. As he went out the door, a trail of laughter wafted behind him.

  When he came the next morning, Emily was not with him. I expressed my shock at her absence (a simulated shock, I confess) to be told she was not yet out of her bed, the lazy hound of a girl.

  “A fine way to talk about the girl you are planning to marry!”

  “You ladies aren’t the only ones who can change your minds. In fact, it seems to be a characteristic of the ladies in these parts that they are unable to make them up. We gents may have to do it for you. There is Emmie leaving me dangling for months at a stretch, while you have been leading poor Tom about for some two years, as though he were a Lord Simian.”

  His open carriage awaited us at the front. The drive from Ambledown into that patch of wilderness by the edge of the lake is one of the prettiest in the whole country. Summer was far advanced, but it was not yet turning to yellow and brown, except in some of the fields where a second cutting of hay was about ready.

  The acres annexed by Gamble were surely among the loveliest anywhere. There were clumps of trees interspersed with large patches of meadow, liberally sprinkled with the yellow and purple wildflowers of late summer. The lake shimmered beside it all. I was relieved to see the woodchoppers had done no more than clear away the dead wood. To even think of destroying this with some cheap pleasure park was criminal, and so I told him.

  “At present, it is enjoyed by nothing but Mrs. Cowan’s gaggle of geese and an occasional cow put out to pasture. It can be more productive than that. In fact, when I gained rights of enclosure it was implicit I would farm the land. That is the whole point of enclosure, to make the land more productive, though I don’t think it states it must produce agricultural produce.”

  “It is money you have in mind to produce here, is it?”

  “And pleasure. As to the money, I have an expensive set of relations to support.”

  “You also have a fat bank account, brought back from India, have you not?”

  “Oh yes, but my work at the Hall is putting a good dent in it. You’ve no idea how the old boy ran it into the ground. My expenses will be heavy, once I have established my residence in London, too. My directorship with John Company has come through. I must not be out of touch with Indian affairs, as I still have several investments there and will want a say in matters.”

  “Are you moving to London?” I asked.

  “I shall have to spend several months a year there. Will you miss me, Chloe?” he asked, with a derisive smile.

  “Not at all. Why should I?”

  “You don’t deserve any compliments, witch, but I would miss you.” He straightened his shoulders and looked around in a business-like way. “Now, what shall we do with this little patch of land? The pavilion would go well over there, on top of that rise, don’t you think?”

  “You’ll ruin the spot, then dash off to London so you don’t have to look at it while we are inundated with gabbling tourists!”

  “If it proves intolerable, you can come to London with me,” he offered frivolously, then chatted on about his plans for the spot. “I’d like to put in some rustic sort of tables and benches for picnickers. Lovers who stroll about would appreciate a bridge too. Something romantic about a bridge, don’t you think?”

  “A bridge over the lake?” I asked, mystified.

  “No, over the stream that runs at an angle down behind that stand of pines. Odd you did not know it is there, and you have lived here all your life. It shows how little the spot has been actually used or appreciated by those who are setting their backs up against its development. It is a small bridge I have in mind, not a great stone contraption like London or Blackfriars. Some sort of garden too, something like you have at Ambledown, that thrives on neglect. An informal atmosphere, where beaux can pick off a bloom for their girls.”

  As he spoke, a vision of the place began to form in my mind. He was not at all eloquent, but the simple, rustic nature of the park sounded rather pleasing. The place was pretty now, but impenetrable for long stretches because of the denseness of the trees, which is why I had not realized there was a stream.

  “Any ideas to add!” he asked.

  “Perhaps some music in the evening—a few musicians in the pavilion ...”

  We walked on towards the heavily wooded area. “Some of this will have to be thinned out,” I mentioned.

  “I wonder how it can be done without allowing woodchoppers on the premises,” he replied, with a wise look at my change of heart. I immediately ran on to select certain favoured trees that were under no circumstances to be touched.

  “I begin to think we ought to include a lemonade stand,” he declared, running his hand around his cravat. I was becoming thirsty myself.

  “Shall we eat now?” he asked. “I’ve worked up an appetite.”

  My mind was running over the likely menu at home-nothing lavish on an ordinary weekday. When we resumed our seats in the carriage, he did not turn towards home, but went into town, to Wingdale Hause. I knew by his questioning face he was aware this did not please me. How could it, to break bread under the roof of my enemy? I maintained a ladylike silence (for there was really no better eatery in the village) as we entered the portals.

  “It’s really not a bad place,” he said.

  “Not at all. I always feel I ought to curtsy before Queen Anne’s arms though. I wonder what she thinks of Wingdale taking them for his own, and putting them on ale tankards.”

  “And pockets of dressing gowns,” he added. “I think it ought to be replaced with the Carnforth Arms.”

  “What does that consist of? A Nabob rampant, crowned with guineas?”

  “A Nabob couchant is more like it, with a spinster rampant.”

  It was all in fun, but it struck me that a Nabob passant would be more appropriate. Luncheon was edible. I’ll say no more, except to add that liberal pourings of wine were necessary to make it even that. Wingdale came and joined us for a few moments, the ill-bred creature, to discuss business at the table.

  “I’ve applied for enclosure rights to the patch of land across the lake from yours, Gamble,” he said. “It will cost a pretty penny, but it will be a grand addition to the village. I don’t see why Brighton should get all the customers that want to dabble their toes in the water. I am ordering a dozen bathing machines, and have got my eye on a few boats to hire out to tourists.”

  “You want to make it lively, Larry. Swinging boats of the sort they have at Bartholomew Fair would be popular with the young bucks,” Jack said.

  “Aye, they would, but they’re not cheap to construct. I’m to build a little theatre you recall, for musical revues.” The glance he threw towards myself told as clear as day these musical revues would be of a sort to make a Christian blush.

  “I hear they have a very intelligent pig at the Booth of Knowledge at Bartholomew Fair, Captain,” I suggested ironically. “Tourists would be willing to pay something to witness such a spectacle.”

  “If you hear of any counting pigs, I would appreciate learning about it, Miss Barwick,” he answered good-naturedly. “I will have a Penny Pool too. Even servant girls can afford a penny.”

  “Pity you could not think of something to squeeze the ha’pennies out of widows,” I suggested.

  “I doubt poor widows will give us their patronage,” he answered, in all seriousness. Gamble winked and suggested a maze might be good for business.

  It began to seem the Captain would never leave our table, but when the tea tray appeared he arose and took his leave, to go and annoy other clients. No peace followed his d
eparture, for when the tea came it was served in my own dear cherished silver pot. That wretched man had either got it from Tom Carrick, which I would not believe of Tom, or else my friend, in one of his piques, had returned it to Oldhams where Wingdale had snapped it up.

  “Handsome,” Gamble said, nodding at it. It was indeed a more handsome service than was at any other table, a special mark of respect from the host to his partner. “I have not seen this before. I wonder where he got it. An estate sale, I expect. A pity to see these old family treasures having to be sold.”

  “I saw it in the used article show window recently,” I answered, and picked up my old friend to pour tea for us. I disliked to introduce any thorny subject over the tea cups, so waited till we were on our way home before taking Gamble to task for egging Wingdale on to such outrageous ventures as were discussed for his park.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Chloe. There’s many a slip twixt the cup and the lip.”

  “At least it is a good deal farther from Ambledown than your park will be. I daresay we shan’t hear the bucks drunken roaring, unless the wind is from the southwest.”

  “You would not hear it at all in London,” he pointed out.

  “No, nor in Paris either, but I don’t plan to visit those cities.”

  Chapter Twenty

  We learned the next day from Gamble, who found an excuse every two minutes now to come and disturb us, that the ruffians who had burned down our barn had been let off scot free. Lack of evidence, as I had prophesied.

  “I shall certainly report this to the Chairman of Justices,” Gamble said. I thought he was pleased about it, though I doubted any appeal would do us any good. In the long run, however, it might do something for justice in the community.

  “How long is it likely to take before something is done, Mr. Gamble?” Nora asked.

  “The mills of justice grind slowly,” he admitted.

  “Just so they don’t grind to a halt,” Edward said, in a philosophical spirit. His barn was set to go up the end of the week. Even now the raw lumber sat in the back lot, with workmen clearing away the rubble from the fire. It was impossible to forget Gamble had paid for it, and that we fell ever deeper into debt with him. It put a little constraint on the visits.

  “If we had a more active Deputy Lieutenant, the case would be reported to him,” Nora began, then turned rosy pink as it was borne in on her that we were beholden to our caller, the old earl’s nephew. “How is your uncle?” she asked, to atone for her slip.

  “Greatly improved. He’s often sober for an hour at a stretch now, in the mornings. He promises to attend our ball. He is in high gig with all the company landing in for it. We have relations over from the western lakeside to stay a few days. Many of them I have not seen since I left home fifteen years ago.”

  One could only wonder that he would waltz out of the house and leave them so shortly after their arrival. Indian manners. “Yes, Chloe, I am on my way back to them this minute,” he announced, reading my mind. “You forget I have Mrs. Crawford and Emmie to play hostess for me.”

  “Lady Irene will be coming, I expect?” Nora asked.

  “Irene tells me she never misses a ball, if she has to travel for a fortnight to reach it. She will be arriving for dinner tomorrow evening. I hope you will all come as well. It was not mentioned on your invitation, but Hennie has arranged a banquet of no mean proportions for a select company before the dancing begins.”

  Various sounds of approbation and acceptance showed our delight at this added treat. That we had been included at the last minute did not bother any of us a whit, for Hennie Crawford was held accountable for the lapse. Jack soon left on that occasion.

  The day was busy with beginning early preparations for the morrow. After Nora and I had given each other’s face a lemon-juice rub, followed by cream to restore the juices taken away by the acid, I decided to try my hand again with the thugee rope. I never got to it, for on my way I saw the tinker’s wagon sitting scraped but not painted. Its loss was felt keenly by Nora and myself, so instead I undertook to see to its refurbishing, including sending to the village to have a wheel made. This would not be driven to the ball. For that prestigious occasion we would take our own black carriage. The instant I opened the door I realized the stench of smoke made this impossible. It ought to have been airing out all these days, but no one had thought to do it.

  While I stood wondering how we were to make the trip, Tom arrived. A servant came to me, and as I saw some hopes of going to the ball with him, I went quickly to the house. Nora was talking to him. I noticed she had stuffed her sewing under the cushion. What weaned her from her netting on this occasion was the addition of a row of lace to the bottom of her petticoat. I was impatient that Tom was so nice he would blush at this chore. In fact, Tom seemed very much of an old spinster to me, after the more roisterous company of Gamble.

  “I thought your aunt might want a drive to the ball,” he explained as I sat down.

  “Kind of you to offer, but we are invited to dinner before the ball,” Nora told him. My hopes for a ride with him were dashed.

  “I am invited to dinner as well,” he said proudly. “I chanced to be speaking to Mrs. Crawford and Lady Emily yesterday. Mrs. Crawford is a friend of my mama, you must know. She took Emily over to meet her. It was kind of her, don’t you think?” We nodded. “While there, they invited me to attend the dinner. It sounds a very grand do. The Mandrels, who were to go with me, have arranged other transportation. So shall I stop for you and Edward, Mrs. Whitmore?”

  “Chloe is going as well,” she said.

  “Have you indeed changed your mind, Chloe? Sensible of you,” he said, but he did not fool me. He was not pleased. This mystery plagued me throughout the visit. Tom was not a man to be at odds with his noble neighbours, or to want his friends to be. Certainly his wife would be ragged to death if she dared to offend any prestigious acquaintances. He had disliked my refusal to attend. Why then did he not laud my acceptance more loudly?

  We chatted about general topics—the fire, the rebuilding, and so on. It struck me as rather odd then that he had not come forward with any offer to help. He had been remarkably silent for a suitor, and remarkably little missed. When tea was served, he asked, “How—er—how are things between Edward and Emily?”

  “How should they be, Tom? You know she is considering Gamble’s offer of marriage. Taking her time about it, too, I would say. Edward seldom sees her, but for church on Sunday. Was she asking you about him when she called on your mama?” I asked, with more than mild interest. I had always thought she was too young and innocent to make a suitable bride for Jack Gamble. I think Jack was feeling the same way.

  “No, she wasn’t,” he answered quickly. “She did not mention him at all, except to say he has quit writing poetry. She is sorry for that.”

  “I see.” There was an idea so novel, so absurd really, forming in me that I was certain I must be mistaken. The idea was this: that Tom was beginning to entertain some amorous regard for Emily himself. She was pretty to be sure, and high enough born to flatter his ego a little. She was much too young for him—not quite eighteen, while Tom was over thirty. Still, age had not been mentioned as an impediment with Gamble, and he was a bit older than Tom. I decided to test my theory, and did it by stating what I thought he would dislike to hear, regardless of truth.

  “I am not surprised she had quit speaking of Edward.” He looked interested, pleased. “This ball will see the announcement of her engagement to her cousin. That is the whole purpose of it, don’t you think, Nora?”

  “I did think so,” she agreed. “I recall we spoke of it some time ago.”

  Tom did not quite jump to his feet in protest, but he looked as if he would like to. “I think you are mistaken,” he said. “Mrs. Crawford indicated nothing of the sort. She had hoped for a match, but her talk indicated the matter was as well as forgotten. In fact, she says Lady Irene has ousted Emily in his interest. It would be a much better match
in my view than to shackle little Emily to him.”

  “What have you got against him, Tom?” I asked innocently.

  “Bit of a ramshackle fellow,” he said carefully. “I mean to say, there was the business of his getting some cousin into trouble before he ever left the country. Fifteen years out of the country will not have done his character any good, depend on it.”

  “He has been very kind to Edward,” Nora pointed out. It was not hard to see she was piqued at Tom’s words. Gamble had been inching his way into favour with her ever since the Indian blanket affair. Two evenings she had sat trying to remember some ill of Millie Henderson (the lady he ruined before setting out for India) without any success, though she remembered very distinctly she never cared for the girl in the least. Any man who accepts food and drink at the hands of a lady old enough to be his mother finds favour, so long as he does not treat her too much like a mother. There must be a little of the gallant in his makeup if he is to become a prime favourite. She could not like to condone these past crimes, but she would have liked very well to be able to forget them.

  I chanced to remember, when I lifted the tea pot, that Tom had either sold my silver service to Wingdale or returned it to Oldham’s shop. Either act was displeasing, and to tease him I mentioned it. I did not tell him I had actually drunk tea from the vessel but only said I had heard it was there.

  “I offered it to you. You refused point blank. It seems to me if a lady says no she has no call to be throwing the matter up in a man’s face. You would not accept it from me, as you have never accepted my offer of marriage,” he said, forcing the words out, not without an obvious effort.

  I really thought he had come to try his hand at weaseling out of his offer. Nora, usually so eager to throw us alone together, stuck like a burr. Tom resented it, but had he known the reason he would have rejoiced. The fact was that Nora was admitting, perhaps unconsciously, that she believed him to be no longer a real contender for my hand. She had said nothing to me, but it was there, to be inferred from her indifference and her not leaving us alone.