by Joan Smith
In my mind I had an upsetting picture of Marndale creeping down the corridor in stocking feet to slide into Lady Pogue’s bed. “That is disgusting! You should not say such things to Victoria, Mrs. Irvine.”
“Pooh. She has to learn the ways of the world sometime. And so do you, miss. You were locked up in that school too long. You’re turning into a Bath Miss yourself.”
“Such tricks as that are fit for a frigate, not a gentleman’s home, and certainly not for the ears of his daughter. Shall we go down and see that all is ready for dinner, Victoria?”
Nothing could be told from the seating arrangement, for Bathurst’s wife had the seat of honor on Marndale’s right hand and Lady Eldon, his left. The rest of us were scattered along the board. At dinner Anselm sat between Lady Pogue and myself and shared his chin with us both equally. He flirted with the former and discussed Lady Mary and the seminary with me till I told him frankly it was a subject I would prefer to forget.
After dinner Victoria entertained us with a harp recital, poorly executed, and Lady Pogue played the pianoforte while Anselm accompanied her in a very creditable tenor. Lord Eldon confided to me during an intermission that he had an earache. I thought he referred to the music and was surprised at his poor manners, but it turned out his ache had occurred during the trip to Wycherly. He was well along in drink. He and his lady retired early. The rest of us, including Victoria, stuck it out till eleven. The Bathursts and Mrs. Irvine were the next to leave.
I made a leisurely exit and before reaching the staircase Marndale caught me up, as I hoped he would. “Your daughter is performing well,” I mentioned.
“She should. She has been practicing the harp for six years. I had hoped we might hear you perform, Jennie.”
“I meant performing her social duties.”
“Oh, yes, she did us proud. Do you sing or play?” I noticed he adroitly turned the conversation back to a more personal line.
“I have long forgotten the few tunes I once knew how to play. I didn’t teach music at school but the academic subjects and social deportment.”
“I hope you haven’t forgotten how to dance. I look forward to dancing with you tomorrow evening.”
“That is like riding. Once learned, never forgotten.” From the corner of my eye I noticed Lady Pogue waiting for a last word with Marndale. Anselm was amusing her with some foolishness that sent her silver laughter tinkling along the hall. “Lady Pogue plays beautifully,” I added, and watched to gauge his reaction.
“Yes, she is a talented lady,” he replied. He turned and studied her a moment with a smile of admiration curving his lips.
“I believe she is waiting for a word with you, Marndale. I must not monopolize you.”
“Monopolize me?” he asked, staring. “You’ve hardly said a word to me since I returned!” His tone was not far from sulking.
“What is there to say? It is a very nice party.”
“You seemed to find plenty to say to Anselm during dinner.”
“Yes, and if I have to say once more that I do not miss the seminary in the least, I shall crown him. One would think I was born and bred at Mrs. Grambly’s seminary.”
A smile parted his thin lips. “Ah, is that the nature of your conversations? In that case I need not resent it. Lady Pogue rather thought it was something else that interested him.”
I bit back the words that Lady Pogue had a one-track mind and said, “If you are so vulgar as to discuss me behind my back, Marndale, you ought to least be civil enough not to carry tales.”
“A lady doesn’t usually resent hearing that she has caught a gentleman’s interest.”
We both glanced toward Anselm as we spoke. He intercepted our looks and came forward with Lady Pogue. The lady placed her marmoreal hand on Marndale’s arm and began climbing the stairs while lavishing praise on the delightful visit. I heard him tell her that was largely her doing, as she had played so divinely. Piano lessons were added to my list of things to do in London. It branded me as unfinished, not to be able to perform in public.
“A grand party, by Jove,” Anselm said. “A change from the seminary, I warrant.” I glared. “Now I have displeased you by talking about the school again, Miss Robsjohn. All the same, you must see the advantages to being companion to one lady in her home as compared with herding a whole class of chattering girls.”
“I am quite aware of the advantages.”
“Yes, indeed. A young lady of Victoria’s age is more a friend than a student. The house and stables are completely at your disposal.”
“Did Marndale ask you to bend my ear on this score, Lord Anselm?”
“No, truly!” he objected at once, but there was guilt in his pink cheeks.
“You waste your breath. I do not plan to become a permanent guest at Wycherly or anyplace else where there is a young charge awaiting my attention. I have retired from teaching.”
“Still, you must miss the girls at the seminary.”
We reached the upper landing, where Marndale and Lady Pogue stood a moment, chatting. Marndale overheard my companion’s last speech and turned a laughing eye on me as he made his final bow. “If he is as tenacious at his work as he is on this subject, he must be a first-rate assistant,” I said in a low breath.
“Why else do you think he is here? His persistence is greatly appreciated at Whitehall. More so than at Wycherly, I think, to judge by the scowl you bestowed on him. Good night, Jennie. Sleep well.”
I nodded to the others and left, curiously light-hearted. Marndale was not entirely pleased with my conquest of Anselm, and that being the case, I could not be entirely displeased with it.
Chapter Eleven
Friday morning the gentlemen resumed their endless work, and Victoria took the ladies to the village, as the day was fine. She and Mrs. Irvine escorted Ladies Eldon and Bathurst to see the church and a few examples of municipal architecture. Lady Pogue had no interest in anything that did not wear trousers or add to her personal embellishment. I accompanied her. We poked around the drapery shop but nothing was purchased till we entered the milliner’s. There she found a soul mate in the French milliner. For half an hour they chattered about ribbons and feathers and flowers till I was bored to flinders. Lady Pogue tried on every bonnet in the shop and finally bought a navy blue glazed poke bonnet with a high crown, which became her famously.
After lunch at Wycherly the gentlemen declared themselves on a holiday and asked us what we would like to do. Mrs. Irvine elected to accompany Lady Eldon and her husband on a tour of the garden. I have mentioned Mrs. Irvine’s universal appeal to all the various sorts of humankind. The Eldons were the exception, and I was a little uneasy to think of that mismatched threesome. Lady Bathurst expressed an interest in the library. Lord Bathurst, a glutton for work, had received a red dispatch box from Whitehall and remained behind to answer some letters from Lord Liverpool.
“What do you say you show me how your driving is progressing, Victoria?” Marndale suggested. “You missed your lesson yesterday.”
“Very well, Papa,” she said. “You will come with us, of course, Jennie,” she added, turning her back on Lady Pogue.
“Let us all go!” Lady Pogue exclaimed. “You too, Dick. There is room for all of us in the open carriage.”
“It only holds four comfortably,” Lady Victoria said at once. “It is not at all a large carriage.”
“You go ahead, Rita,” Anselm suggested. “I can amuse myself somehow.” His eyes, however, moved in my direction in a meaningful way as he spoke.
I feared I would be palmed off with him, but Marndale, seeing my distress, came to my rescue. “This is your opportunity to try out that bay mare you have your eye on, Anselm,” he tempted.
“By Jove! I shouldn’t mind getting my leg over her. Have you something Rita can ride?”
“Do take my mount. Silver Star is a sweet goer,” Lady Victoria smiled demurely.
Lady Pogue appeared interested in this scheme. I already knew from earlier conve
rsation that she was a bruising rider, and apparently horses took precedence even over pursuing Marndale. Of course, she would not take me for serious competition.
I do not think she would have been much amused by our outing, for we had an experience that would not have been to her urban taste. Marndale treated me as an old friend. I wondered that his easy banter wasn’t enough to give Victoria a disgust of me. I concluded that either flirting was her father’s customary mode with female guests, or he still hoped to con me into becoming Victoria’s companion for a whole year. I knew this would please her. All our conversation has not been recorded, but she occasionally let fall wistful hints that she would miss me.
Marndale looked surprised when I took the ribbons for the initial run down the main road. “Victoria has only driven on Willigan’s Road thus far,” I mentioned.
“Spoken like a native, Jennie,” he said. “Already you are familiar with the territory and our peculiar terms for it. Willigan’s Road is known on the map as St. George’s Road.”
“I got the name and the suggestion for using that particular road from Victoria.”
Victoria sat beside me on the front bench of the country carriage with Marndale reclining at his ease on the rear seat with a scenic view of our backs. He leaned forward to engage us in conversation, which I found somewhat distracting, although his conversation was mostly with his daughter about minor local doings. A farmer having his barns painted and such things.
When we reached the side road Victoria and I changed places. “Why don’t you sit back here with me, Jennie?” Marndale suggested.
“Victoria might need a hand. There is no saying.”
“Demmed lonesome back here,” he said with a mock sulk.
“Then you must sit up front and judge your daughter’s skill.
“No, no! That is not what I was angling for.”
I hopped down and bowed him on to the front perch. “I have always enjoyed solitude, since I had so little of it at the seminary.”
“Now that is not a subject I expected you to raise needlessly!” he laughed.
“Good gracious, I am not ashamed of it. It is only that Anselm harps on it so.”
“It is certainly not a matter for shame. A lady ought to be proud of looking after herself.”
Victoria just smiled at me. “Soon I shall be as independent as Jennie, Papa.” She listed her various charity works and her plans for the future.
“If you would give us another month, Jennie, I’d have to buy her a halo,” he smiled, but it was obvious he was delighted with the change.
“A halo is like a reputation, sir,” I replied lightly. “It must be earned.”
Victoria gave the team their head, and all her conversation was suspended while she concentrated on her driving. Marndale watched her for a mile, complimented her a few times, then turned his body at an uncomfortable angle to face me. “Do you ride, Jennie?” he asked.
“I used to. I haven’t for a long time.” No number of years was given, nor asked for.
“We must work in a ride this weekend.”
“I thought, as Victoria lent her mount to Lady Pogue, that you had no ladies’ mounts in your stable.”
“I’m sure Vickie would be happy to lend you hers. I really ought to get a lady’s mount.”
I had assumed he meant we three ought to ride and was surprised. “Do, by all means, use Silver Star, Jennie,” Victoria said at once. “You may be sure I shouldn’t mind your using her, when I lent her to Lady Pogue.”
Marndale quirked his mobile brows in a meaningful way. It said he realized the lady was no favorite with his daughter. “She is a bruising rider. You need not fear for Silver Star’s welfare,” is all he said before rattling on to some other nonsense.
There was a near accident when a large pig darted into the road not three yards in front of us. “Stop the horses!” Marndale shouted, and reached across to help Victoria, but she already had them under control. The pig—it was a black-and-white boar the size of a baby elephant—gave us an ugly snort, turned, and strutted off straight into the nearest garden, where he proceeded to root up a bed of flowers.
“Old Mrs. Weldon lives alone there, except for her sister. We’d best give them a hand with Jethro,” Marndale said, and leapt down from his perch to chase the boar. As the horses began to graze quietly by the roadside, Victoria and I joined him. My help consisted of trying to shoo the fearsome animal away from the flowers. I have no idea what Marndale’s plan was. It seemed to consist of chasing the snorting creature about from side to side, destroying every bloom in sight, while shouting at the top of his lungs and raising the beast’s temper. He had succeeded in bringing the boar to a state of hysteria.
“Playing tag with him is only making it worse!” I said.
“We need a rope,” Victoria exclaimed. Jethro turned at the sound of her voice, gave her a belligerent glare, and lowered his head to attack. She darted behind Marndale’s back and let out a scream. Jethro squealed back, two octaves higher.
“You ladies get back in the carriage,” Marndale said.
“Where is Mrs. Weldon’s vegetable garden?” I asked. As they were totally at sea in this predicament, I saw I would have to lure the animal to its pen by food. “And where is Jethro’s pen?”
“Both out behind the cottage,” Marndale replied. “Run back to the carriage, Jennie, and take Vickie with you. I’ll try to chase him back to his pen.”
I ignored his advice and ran around behind the little stucco cottage, but the garden was hardly well enough along to provide temptation. I knocked at the door and a little old lady with white hair answered. “Jethro’s got loose in your garden. Can you give me something to lure him back to his pen?”
“That wretch! I’ll lure him,” she exclaimed, and grabbed up a broom in one hand, a towel in the other. She dashed out, brandishing the broom and flapping the towel in a way to further excite the animal. I peered into the kitchen and saw a pan on the stove. It held raw potatoes and turnips in water, cut up for dinner. I felt sure she would not mind sacrificing dinner to save her garden and took the pan around to the front. Marndale had the boar cornered, and it would be difficult to say which was more frightened. The pig’s eyes were narrowed, its massive head down, and inhuman, even unporcine squeals issued from its mouth. Marndale would take one tentative step forward then two back.
“Clear out before it attacks you, Marndale,” I exclaimed. I tossed a potato on the ground a few yards away. Marndale backed off, and the boar subsided to frightened whimpers.
“Here Jethro, nice piggie,” I said, pointing to the food.
The boar stood undecided a moment, but its appetite finally won out, and it went after the potato. After that it was but a moment till I had led it by judiciously dropped bits of potato and turnip to the pen. The last potato I tossed to the very rear of the pen. Jethro trotted in after it, and Marndale closed the gate and locked it. Jethro gobbled down the food and looked to me hopefully for more.
“I’ll have that wretch butchered before the week is out,” Mrs. Weldon exclaimed, and flourished her broom futilely “Let me see what damage he’s done.”
“You shouldn’t have left his gate ajar,” Marndale told her.
“No, and my foolish sister shouldn’t be eighty years old and senile either, but she is. I’ve told her not to feed Jethro, but she likes to feel useful. She’s as much use as a toothache.” She grumbled her way around to the front, and we examined her garden.
“Most of these can be replanted. If you get them in right away, they should survive,” I said, hoping to console her.
She examined the ruined greenery with a few flowers and buds trodden into the mud. “To hell with them. I’ll plant clover, and let my Jennie keep it mowed.” I might have known her cow would be named Jennie! “Well, thank you for your help, Lord Marndale. Lucky you happened along. Not that you were much use. Who is this young lady?” she added, turning a penetrating eye on me. “She is the one who saved my bacon. Heh heh. There i
s a little pun for you. I’ve seen this young lady driving with Lady Victoria, have I not?”
Marndale introduced me to her. “You must be a farmer’s daughter, though you don’t look like one. Your fine city ladies would have no notion how to handle an escaped boar. They’re good for nothing but making faces in their mirrors and chasing after the gentlemen. You’re looking after little Lady Victoria, are you? Can I give you a cup of tea for your trouble?”
She never bothered waiting for answers but continued a monologue. We declined her offer to tea and returned to the carriage. “She’s a crusty old lady,” I mentioned.
“Yes,” Marndale said with an innocent eye. “She used to be the mistress of the dame school in the village. I’m surprised she needed any help.”
“She’s over seventy, Papa!” his daughter pointed out. She was unaware of any undercurrents in the conversation, and I was happy to leave her in that unenlightened state.
“Would you like to see Munson’s twins?” was Victoria’s next suggestion. Marndale’s land cut at an angle, running parallel to the road, with some of his tenants accessible by another little side road.
“I have seen them. I called to congratulate Munson the day they were born. A newborn is not a thing of beauty.”
“Oh, Papa, they’re beautiful now!” she insisted. “You must see them. They’re called Peter and Paul, after the apostles. Mrs. Munson let me watch her bathe them. She lets me hold Peter, but Paul likes Jennie better. Do come. I wish I had thought to bring something. With all our privileges, you know, we ought to think of those in need.”
“My tenants are not in need!” he objected.
“Now don’t get your tail up your back, Papa. I only meant some food while Mrs. Munson is so busy and not feeling any too stout after her lying in.”
“I don’t have a tail! Where do you pick up these vulgar expressions,” he grumbled. To her credit she did not betray Mrs. Irvine, nor did I.