Magic and Manners (An Austen Chronicle Book 1)

by CE Murphy

  Do not fear, dear Sister, wrote Elsabeth in return.

  Ruth has written and asks me to visit; I shall do that, and see how being a wife suits her, and I will write to you of all I learn in her company. I am glad you are well, and that there were no horrors in meeting with Mr Webber again, though I cannot myself entirely forgive him for absconding in such a fashion. Nor can I be expected to forgive Miss Webber for keeping Sophia away from me for so many months, though I concede that there is far more hope for Sophia’s happiness in Town than in Bodton under Mrs Enton’s roof. I shall think of all the opportunities you and she shall have, and not at all of my own loneliness, which cannot, of course, be so very great, with our beloved Papa to keep me company. And I would be remiss if I did not confess that Captain Hartnell still visits from time to time, which keeps an air of excitement in our otherwise quiet lives. I fear Mamma is growing impatient with him, though; I believe she feels he has shown enough attention, and should soon make an offer. For my own part, I am quite content that he should not, but there is no telling Mamma this; she will not hear it even if I say it in plain language. I hope Aunt Felicity is more receptive to your own opinions, my dear Rosamund. I shall write again from Ruth’s; write to me there, and I will certainly receive it upon my arrival.

  With the greatest affection, your sister, Elsabeth.

  Elsabeth departed Oakden at the same time her note did, and arrived at Charington Place in good time. She was brought directly to the rectory, which was settled in its own fine garden that, even in the last week of January, showed a remarkable greenery and a promising early harvest of root vegetables. She alighted with some curiosity, in no wise displeased when Ruth alone flew from the house to greet her. “Mr Cox is away at Lady Beatrice’s home,” Ruth announced. “He shall return before dinner, but he will want to tend his garden, and so we may have a pleasant interlude before he joins us. Elsabeth, you are looking well! Let me show you to your room, and the house—”

  “You are looking well, Ruth,” Elsabeth exclaimed with some surprise. Ruth Dover had attained as much prettiness as her sallow, thin features could allow; Ruth Cox had gained both colour and weight, as well as a healthy sheen to hair now worn in sensibly attractive curls, perfectly suitable for a pastor’s wife. Her gown was finer by far than Ruth had previously chosen to wear, and, indeed, could well rival Leopoldina’s best dresses in terms of quality, if not frivolity. “Marriage suits you, Ruth. I would hardly know you.”

  “The Lady Beatrice feels it is our duty as pastor and wife to manage the balance between her ladyship’s wealth and patronage and the parish’s more modest means. I do not want to look too fine; I should not put myself above the parish.”

  “You are splendidly appropriate,” Elsa assured her, and, with more interest and delight than she had expected, allowed herself to be ushered within the house.

  It was a pretty nest with an extravagance of bedrooms: four, the second-largest of which was warm and waiting for Elsabeth. Between them, she and Ruth unpacked her belongings with ease and more laughter than Elsabeth could ever remember sharing with her middle sister. “This shall do very well, Ruth,” Elsa said in admiration. “Very well indeed. Thank you.”

  “Thank you for visiting,” Ruth said with more shyness than was customary. “Do come and see the rest of the house, Elsa. I should like to know if it is to your liking. I have made some modest changes since arriving, mostly in the paper and paint, which were in want of updating. Mr Cox says he has never seen the house looking so well.”

  With no former knowledge for comparison, Elsa could do little more than agree that Ruth’s home did look very well indeed. A formal sitting room, appointed with very fashionable paper and furniture too stately to be considered outmoded, looked over the drive, where a wealth of flowers bloomed despite February awaiting just around the corner. Behind that room lay a less formal sitting room; that one held embroidery of a pattern easily recognisable to Elsa as one of Ruth’s favourites, and warmer colours on the walls. They suited Ruth, Elsabeth realised in surprise: pinks and greens gave her increasingly handsome colour, as had the natural light of the front sitting room. That any of this was within Ruth’s purview astonished Elsa: her sister’s former rigidity had hid a wealth of graces. A cook and maid were to be found in the kitchen and dining room, although, Ruth hastened to say, they were the only servants; it would not do for her to be above housework, when so many in the parish had no help at all.

  “Sure and she’s an easy enough Missus,” opined the maid, whose accent betrayed her as Irish. “I’ve never seen a house with so few cobwebs, and the windows are like to clean themselves when it rains.”

  “Is that so?” Elsabeth cast Ruth an amused glance that was returned with such innocence as to betray guilt, though all she said was “So Colleen says. Come and see the garden, Elsabeth; I think you will admire it. Mr Cox spends a great deal of his time in the garden, which I encourage. It is an excellent place for him to practise his sermons, as well as offering him healthful exercise in the fresh air. I listen to his sermons and comment upon them, and do a little garden work myself, but Mr Cox is most pleased to discover he has something of a green thumb.” She threw open a large door, revealing the back gardens: closest to the house lay sandy earth replete with chickens and ducks; beyond them, soft mounds of vigourously growing vegetables within a fenced area that stretched to both sides of the house; they were among what Elsabeth had seen upon her arrival. Beyond that lay a scattering of fruit and nut trees on low hills before a cultured forest rose to hide the distance.

  Elsabeth, gazing at slender, strong pea stalks and burgeoning heads of lettuce, enquired, “When precisely did Mr Cox discover his green thumb, Ruth?”

  “Almost immediately upon our retirement here from Oakden. He confesses to having been little more than a dilettante in the matter of gardening before our marriage, but supposes that his new status as husband has lent him a certain fecundity.”

  “How perfectly astonishing.”

  “Indeed,” Ruth agreed. “And how fortunate, as it seems we shall have fresh greens for supper tonight, which is rare enough in January.”

  At this, Elsabeth could not help but laugh, nor could she prevent herself from laughing again when Ruth subjected her to a second glance of incomparable innocence. “It is a lovely garden, Ruth, and a lovely house. You have landed on your feet, I think, and I shall write both Rosamund and Papa to tell them so.” Gay, she caught her sister’s hands and held them. “You are happy, are you not?”

  Ruth’s answering smile was a wholly new expression to Elsabeth: never before had she been so easy with joyful emotion. “I am.”

  “Then I am happy,” Elsabeth replied. “Come, show me the rest of the gardens, Ruth, and then perhaps as the parson’s sister-in-law, I may make myself useful about the house as well. I dare say I can peel a potato with as deft a hand as any.”

  “I may even allow you to.” Together they explored the gardens, until Elsabeth exclaimed, “That all of this is nestled into a corner of the estate, and yet so finely appointed—! I have grown eager to see the main house, which must be splendid indeed.”

  “We are invited to dinner two nights hence,” Ruth announced with satisfaction. “You will see it in all its splendour.”

  “I look forward to it,” Elsabeth said in all sincerity. She could muster no equal enthusiasm for seeing Mr Cox, though for Ruth’s sake she had determined to be pleasant. He arrived home only after supper, which, had he been a more bearable man, Elsa might have felt rude; as it was, she was merely glad to have been without his company for a little more time than she might have expected.

  He was, to her surprise, less than the man he had been upon marrying Ruth; less by a quarter of his own weight, she guessed at a glance. To him, she said, “Gardening suits you,” and to Ruth she bestowed a surprised glance that begot another satisfied smile.

  “I find it very healthful,” Mr Cox assured her, and continued on at length about the benefits of fresh air and hard
work; clearly, his trimmer figure had done nothing to improve his ability to gauge a listener’s interest in his speech. Ruth responded when and as appropriate, thus encouraging him to speak even as she and Elsabeth carried on a quieter discussion of their own. In only a little while, Elsabeth knew that Ruth’s little phrases of encouragement and agreement were wholly intended to keep Mr Cox in his own company, that she might spend hers with Elsa. It was a far more skillful management than Mr Dover had ever managed with Mrs, and Elsabeth once more found herself admiring Ruth for talents that had gone unnoticed in the Dover household. A full day and a half of such pleasantries were spent, until it seemed to Elsabeth that she had never before been properly acquainted with Ruth. She is become quite my second-favourite sister, Elsabeth wrote to Rosamund before supper on the second day. You must visit her, Rosamund: you would not know her from before.

  A knock on the door interrupted her before she could go on; Ruth appeared there, an expression of nervous apology writ across her features. “You are too tall to borrow my gowns, else I should lend you one for supper with Lady Beatrice. Never mind: your best will do. At least you are sensible,” she said with sudden passion. “Lady Beatrice has asked twice about my younger sisters, and I can hardly bear to speak of them. I cannot imagine allowing them to visit, Elsa: however should I control them?”

  “If Mamma and Papa cannot, you would surely not be expected to.” Elsabeth rose to embrace her middle sister. “If Lady Beatrice asks again, only tell her that Dina and Tildy are too young to visit a woman of her class, and that they would be stricken silly by her grandness. It would not even be an untruth.”

  “They will eventually be old enough,” Ruth said miserably, and Elsabeth laughed.

  “Perhaps by then, they will have learned some sense, but more likely they will be wed and with children of their own and too busy to visit. You have never been one to borrow trouble, Ruth: do not start now. This is my best dress; will it do?” She took from the wardrobe a simple and pretty ivory gown with lace at the bosom and sleeves.

  Ruth’s eyes brightened with pleasure as she touched the lace. “Rosamund made this; I remember. Yes, it will do beautifully. Thank you, Elsa, for bringing it. For thinking to.”

  “I am not entirely hopeless,” Elsabeth assured her, and in no little time, they were adorned for the evening, and obliged by necessity to accept Mr Cox’s escort.

  He, rather than admire Elsabeth’s choice of gown as Ruth had done, allowed his mouth to retreat into a pinch. “Well, you are a country cousin,” he said with all the magnanimity of a generous man. “My patroness, Lady Beatrice, will not expect too much of you, after all, so long as your manners are good.”

  In due course, when Elsabeth had recovered her powers of speech, she had also recovered the wit to not respond, and the humour to be glad that the walk to Charington Place was dry and smooth. Had there been a speck of mud to take advantage of, she was quite afraid Mr Cox would have taken a terrible spill, worse than Mr Archer’s ignominious fall at the Bodton dance.

  Almost as satisfied with the imagining of such a calamity as she would have been with the actuality of it, Elsabeth was entirely able to enjoy the majority of the walk, which wended through parklands and magnificent old trees still leafless with winter. Wispy clouds scattered blue skies and were caught from time to time in the thin black branches that reached for the sun, until the trio of walkers came upon an avenue that approached a manor house of no small magnitude.

  It was of a very modern style, and surrounded by hedge gardens that bloomed with early wildflowers. Mr Cox seemed prepared to partake in a jig of excitement. “Is it not grand?” he demanded. “Is it not everything I’ve told you?”

  “And more,” Elsabeth agreed obligingly. “I am most eager to see the hearth of which I have heard so much.”

  Mr Cox could not be said to have enough self-awareness to guess that he might be being teased; Ruth, who did, gave Elsabeth a sharp look that was returned with a smile of genuine honesty. It was, in Elsabeth’s opinion, nearly impossible to not wish to see such a lauded hearth, if perhaps for no other reason than to wish Mr Cox had remained within it.

  They were greeted at the door by a butler with an accent more refined than any Elsabeth had ever encountered, and escorted to a sitting room into which the whole of Oakden might have tidily fit. It was immaculately appointed and dominated by the redoubted hearth, which was indeed broader than Mr Cox’s arm-span, and beside which a frail-looking young woman sat. A rather becoming hat, obviously intended for warmth, covered a considerable amount of her black hair, and an ermine shawl sported a collar that brushed her jaw.

  She rose with grace, smiling gently as Mr Cox sprang forward to say, “Allow me to introduce Miss Annabel Derrington, daughter of Lady Beatrice. Miss Annabel, my sister, Miss Elsabeth Dover.”

  “Miss Elsabeth.” Miss Annabel’s voice was as reedy as the fingers she extended to take Elsabeth’s hand with. Her fingers were cold despite the furs and the fire she sat beside, and she withdrew them into a muff the very moment they had shaken hands. “Do forgive me. I have never yet grown accustomed to the dreadful English climate. Please, sit. My mother will be here soon.”

  Elsabeth sat, gazing curiously into the furs and blankets that ensconced Miss Derrington. The woman herself was hardly to be seen amongst them, save a glint of brown eyes and a full mouth. “You are not England-born, then, Miss Annabel?”

  “Oh, no.” Miss Annabel settled into her chair, which was so velvet-covered it looked as though it must be a source of warmth on its own. “I was born in Oyo, a kingdom of Africa. Do you know it?”

  Elsabeth shook her head, and Miss Annabel extended one-hand from the depths of her wraps to create a fist that she tilted until her thumb was parallel with the floor. “Imagine my hand is the northern, broader part of the continent, and my wrist the tapering horn. Oyo is here,” she said, and her other hand emerged from the wrap to touch her wrist where it bent at the most inward point of the “continent’s” curving western coast. “I lived there the first twelve years of my life. I have not been warm since leaving.” She tucked her hands back inside her furs and shivered gently to punctuate her story.

  “How dreadful,” Elsabeth said with utter sincerity. “I suppose having never known any weather other than our own, I cannot think of it as cold as you must, although the damp is sometimes hard to bear. Miss Annabel, if it is not too impertinent—and I confess that it probably is—do you suppose you will ever be able to return to Africa, and be warm?”

  “That will, I suppose, depend upon my husband. My grandfather was cousin to the oba—the king—and a part of the Oyo Mesi, who are counselors to the oba. It is a position of prestige, and my family have not lost that prestige although we no longer serve on the Oyo Mesi. We are—dukes, you might say, or perhaps earls, and owe our land and our loyalty to the oba. It is a generous position in our society, and if I should marry a man without property of his own, certainly it might behoove him to consider Oyo over England.”

  “And if you are to marry a landed gentleman?”

  Annabel Derrington smiled. “Then I had best be certain he is very fond of me, Miss Elsabeth, and that he is also fond of travel. Now, here is my mother: let us make introductions.”

  (36)

  Already entirely taken with Miss Annabel, Elsabeth rose and turned to the door, eager to lay eyes upon Lady Beatrice. Mr Cox lurched forward to provide introductions, and in so doing briefly obscured his patroness from Elsabeth’s view, but when it was cleared, Elsabeth did not find herself disappointed. They were introduced, and then for some time, Lady Beatrice showed no interest in Elsabeth, choosing instead to engage with Ruth. Elsabeth was more than content with this scenario, seizing the opportunity to study the woman of whom Mr Cox had spoken so highly.

  A broad, hawkish nose would have, on almost any other woman, defined her entire being, and, given the arrogance of her stare, perhaps it did. It could equally, however, been simple beauty that both defined her and offe
red her such arrogant confidence. Her eyes were black, her cheekbones magnificent, and her jaw had softened very little with age. Indeed, although her hair was snowy white, the face beneath it might have been anywhere from fifty to seventy, and no one could be the wiser in knowing which age she lay closer to.

  Her gown, while impeccably tailored to a woman of age whose taste for fashion had been settled in the previous century, was also vibrant orange, and patterned with squares of black centered by splashes of yellow. It highlighted the earthy undertones of her umber skin, giving her a warmth of presence that Elsabeth gazed at with admiration until Lady Beatrice spoke. “You are obviously Mrs Cox’s sister, although, at first glance, you show none of her social graces. You are staring, Miss Elsabeth.”

  Elsabeth inhaled, caught on an edge between guilt and willing admission. “I am, Lady Beatrice.”

  Before she could continue with an apology, Lady Beatrice demanded, “Why? Is age so astonishing to you, or is it the colour of my skin?”

  “The colour of your gown, rather, Lady Beatrice,” Elsa replied stiffly. “I have never seen such a richly dyed orange, nor such bold patterning, nor, if I may say so, anyone upon whom it could possibly be so well suited. I am afraid I was staring, but I did so from admiration. I should imagine anyone would wish to reach an age of wisdom with such beauty and confidence as you possess.”

  “Anyone would. Few shall accomplish it. Your sister is too opinionated for an unmarried woman,” said Lady Beatrice to Ruth. “You must lead by example, or surely she will never earn a husband.”

  Ruth, with humour so repressed as to make her sanctimonious, answered, “I have often said so, Lady Beatrice,” and, with some effort, refrained from looking at Elsabeth.