Jennie Kissed Me

by Joan Smith

  Three girls brought the tub and water and poured my bath. The tub was a pretty white enamelled affair trimmed with pink flowers. I washed my hair in my china basin then gratefully sank into the warm tub and let the water ease the aches from my poor battered body and spirit. The future seemed endurable with the warm water lapping over me. I just lay my head back against the tub and closed my eyes.

  When the water began to cool down I scrubbed myself all over and got out, wrapping myself in a soft towel. I pulled on my nightdress, wrapped my peacock peignoir around me, and rang to have the tub exchanged for a tray. After I had towelled my hair and combed it I went down to visit Mrs. Irvine till my dinner arrived. The servants had helped her to wash and change into her nightclothes. She was just on the verge of sleep, so I left her.

  I rather thought I might have an incendiary visit from Victoria after her father spoke to her, but she didn’t come. She was disgusted with me then. She had accepted my mismanagement of the excursion, but betraying her to her father had finally turned her against me.

  “Has Lady Victoria gone downstairs yet?” I asked the girl who brought my tray.

  “She changed her mind, Miss Robsjohn. She just went to bed—with a flea in her ear, I believe,” the girl said, holding back a titter. “I could hear them at it, the pair of them, when I brought up your tub. His lordship—”

  I gave her a blighting look to show her I was not interested in gossip. “That will be all, thank you,” I said.

  Once I held the tasty tray in my hands I realized how impossible it would be to eat. The food looked delicious. It was from the supper table Victoria and Cook had devised to feed the dance party, but neither ham nor fowl, lobster nor even cream chantilly appealed to me. I sat at the desk and nibbled on a leg of chicken and a piece of bread, as I did not wish to return the tray untouched.

  I was sitting, looking at a dish of lobster and thinking, when a knock at the door startled me out of my reverie. I moved quietly to the door and listened. Victoria or Marndale? If it was Victoria, I wished to speak to her, but I really could not face her father again that night. I waited a moment, undecided.

  “Jennie, are you there?”

  It was Marndale’s voice. I stood silent, frozen to the spot. He tapped again, more loudly. “Jennie?”

  I didn’t move. I hardly dared to breathe. Soon I heard his footsteps recede down the hallway. Of course, I wondered what he wanted, but I did not regret my behavior. Even when I realized he must have seen the light beneath my door and knew I was awake, I wasn’t sorry. I extinguished the lamps and got into bed. Through the embracing silence soft echoes from the ballroom wafted up the stairs. I mentally danced a quadrille with Marndale; then the waltz music began. That was to have been Anselm’s dance, but in my mind it was Marndale whose arms were around me, his dark eyes that gazed lovingly into mine. He was probably dancing with Lady Pogue. I turned over angrily. Three waltzes and a cotillion later, I slept. I didn’t hear the houseguests coming upstairs.

  * * * *

  I was awakened in the morning by golden sunlight slanting through the window. I had forgotten to draw the draperies. It looked a fine day for my trip to London. I dressed in my green travelling suit and arranged my hair carefully. Its washing left it bright as a new penny and bouncing with curls. When I was ready I did not descend below but rang for a tray. I held to my decision not to go below till the guests had left. While waiting for my breakfast I began to sort out my gowns for packing. This was my occupation when the tap came at the door.

  “Come in,” I called, thinking it might be Victoria.

  The door opened, and Lord Marndale stepped in, carefully leaving the door open behind him for propriety’s sake. He saw the gowns on the bed, and a frown drew his brows together.

  “You might be interested to know Mrs. Irvine is in no condition to travel,” he said curtly. That was his greeting.

  “Nonsense!”

  “The doctor has just left her. Her ankle is very sore, and her shoulder is wrenched as well.”

  “We’ll set a slow pace. London is not that far away.”

  A dangerous sparkle flashed in his eyes. “Have you no consideration for anyone but yourself! You cannot drag that poor woman all the way to London, to arrive half dead with no home to take her to.”

  In my excitement I had forgotten all about returning to Bath. “We shall take rooms at an hotel till we find something. You must not trouble yourself with our welfare, Lord Marndale. It is really none of your concern.”

  “I suppose it is not my concern that you filled Victoria’s head with malicious stories about my carrying on with Lady Pogue either,” he retorted. “You actually taught my daughter to set a trap to catch me, as if I were a common felon. It is unconscionable what you have done.”

  I regretted that open door, for his voice was rising to a high pitch. “I did nothing of the sort,” I said in a lower but equally angry tone. “The idea came from my chaperone, and Lady Victoria executed the scheme without informing us. As you think me capable of such behavior, however, I should think you would be happy to see me leave as soon as possible.”

  “Not like this. We have to talk, to straighten this mess out. Lady Pogue did not visit me, either the night before last or any other time.”

  I gave him a withering look. “Just as you say, Marndale. I have heard you, and so will the rest of the house if you don’t stop shouting.”

  He ignored my hint and my worried glance at that open doorway. “I am telling the truth. I think I know what blinds you to what has really been going on.”

  I was hard put to find the reason for his words and the meaningful stare that accompanied them. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you.”

  “Think about it.”

  I thought about it without gaining any enlightenment whatsoever. “Perhaps Lady Pogue sleeps curled up in a tight ball so that her feet did not encounter the coal scuttle,” I said with a careless shrug.

  “That is not the explanation that occurred to me.”

  “No sane explanation occurs to me. If you would cease talking in riddles and tell me what you mean—”

  A blaze of frustration lit his eyes and an angry flush colored his cheeks. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “I don’t see why the devil not.”

  His frustration did not decrease. He stiffened up and said curtly, “The guests are preparing to leave. No doubt you would like to go below and speak to Anselm before he goes.”

  “No, I shall see him in London.”

  He reefed his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand what you are about. Lady Pogue is nothing to me. She was not invited here for my amusement. No slur can possibly attach to your remaining to complete your visit. Indeed the whiff of impropriety only arises at your hurried departure.”

  I lifted my chin and said, “Would you be kind enough to ask the servants to let me know when the guests are gone?”

  He clenched his lips, shook his head in confusion, and finally said, “Very well, if that is what you really want.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I didn’t want it.”

  Yesterday Victoria had spoken of the Eldons and Bathursts leaving today. I had thought at the time that Lady Pogue and Anselm were to remain, but Marndale had not mentioned any change of plans. If it was his intention to make me an offer, he would not want his mistress in the house, however, so that really meant nothing. And the only reason in the world he would be offering for me instead of her was that Victoria did not like Lady Pogue. The maid arrived with my tray, subjected us to a mute, goggling examination, and went to place the tray on the desk. Marndale scowled and left at a stiff-legged, angry gait.

  I noticed the servant’s eyes had settled on the wastebasket holding my soiled gown. “Shall I empty that for you, miss?”

  “The upstairs maid will do it, but you can remove last night’s tray.”

  “Are you casting that there gown aside, miss?” she asked hungrily.

  I understood what she
was about then and said, “Yes; perhaps you would like to take it to use as rags.”

  Her poor, dull eyes lit up like a lantern. “Rags? I’ll have me a new Sunday gown from that.”

  She snatched up the dust basket, put the supper tray atop it, and left, smiling as if she had won the lottery. I could not feel too sorry for myself when there were such unfortunate creatures in the world. I sat down and began my breakfast. I was interrupted by another tap on the door. Marndale was the first thought that flew into my head, but it was Victoria who came in without waiting for me to answer.

  She was wreathed in smiles, and I smiled, too, for I was very happy that we were to part as friends. “Good morning, Victoria. You’re up early,” I said.

  “Early? It’s ten o’clock. The guests are preparing to leave.”

  “I know they are. I should be packing, too.”

  She glanced at the gowns tumbled out on the bed. “You’re not leaving!”

  “You knew I was to leave as soon as the expedition was over.”

  “You must stay. I was wrong about Lady Pogue, Jennie. Papa didn’t know what I was talking about when I told him about the coal scuttle. He was furious with me and wouldn’t let me go to the dance–not that I cared about that. There was no one there but old men anyway. I think it must have been Anselm she visited. Are you very disappointed?” I received a shaft from those peculiarly mature eyes.

  Anselm? Although Marndale had mentioned him a few times, that long-chinned gentleman featured so little in my thoughts that I had not realized what Marndale was implying. His foolish honor prevented him from accusing Anselm outright of carrying on with that pretty trollop of a Rita Pogue, but that was his meaning. And he thought that I would be crushed at the knowledge. The idiot thought I was in love with Lord Anselm. He must think me uncommonly fond of chins.

  I was thrilled to death to learn the truth. “Why should I be disappointed?” I asked, weak with relief.

  “Papa thinks you like him since you’re always talking to him and about him.”

  “I know his sister. We just talk about the seminary,” I explained.

  “Perhaps Anselm hopes you would be her companion.”

  This humiliating idea had the whiff of truth to it. He did speak of Lady Mary a good deal. I recalled, too, that Lady Pogue had said she did not care to chaperone a grown lady as it would put her amongst the matrons. Was it Lady Mary she meant and not Victoria? Marndale said he had not invited Lady Pogue for his own amusement. He had done it for Anselm’s benefit.

  “You wouldn’t be Lady Mary’s companion when you refuse to be mine, would you?” Victoria asked, ready to take offense.

  “Certainly not. If I were to act as companion for any young lady, Victoria, it would be you. But I do not have to work, you know. It would be selfish to take work away from some lady who needs a position.”

  “It wouldn’t be selfish to marry Papa,” she said with an arch smile. Then she danced out the door, and I was left behind with my head in a whirl.

  And it remained in a whirl for the rest of the morning. Lady Bathurst dropped in to make her adieux. “Miss Robsjohn,” she smiled. “What a pity you missed the party last night. I could not leave without taking my leave of you and Mrs. Irvine. You must not think because I left the saloon with Lady Eldon the other night that I preferred her company. My dear, a dead bore! I was longing for more of your companion’s naughty chatter. My duty, however, was to keep Elizabeth in good humor. Bathurst and Marndale are trying to bend Eldon’s ear in some political monkey business or other. He pays heed to his lady’s opinions. It would not do to offend her at such a delicate time. What we political wives have to put up with!”

  “How very kind of you to call,” I said, flushed with pleasure. Lady Bathurst was top of the trees, a real lady, as opposed to the cit, Lady Eldon.

  “Let me know when you reach London, and we shall get together to talk over this horrid visit. What a dull scald it has been, but at least Marndale sets a good table. Oh, by the by, Lady Eldon said to say good-bye for her, too. La Pogue will pay her own respects.”

  Lady Pogue did as threatened. She came waltzing in, looking as beautiful as ever. “You missed a famous party, Miss Robsjohn,” she said. “Dick was so disappointed that you could not make it.”

  “But then he had you to console him,” I smiled knowingly.

  “Ah, you have found us out. I told him he wasted his time, trying to persuade you by flirting.”

  “Persuade me to act as companion to Lady Mary, you mean?” I wanted to get it all perfectly clear.

  “It would not have been at all unpleasant. But then I told him, why should Miss Robsjohn work when she is so terribly pretty and has a little fortune? And if she was to settle for a gentleman’s country estate for the job, why leave Wycherly? He thought Lady Mary would be an inducement. That cow-eyed miss! Men! They never understand anything,” she laughed. “I’ll call after you are settled in London. We’ll find you a parti, never fear. I was afraid you might steal Dick from me,” she added.

  I made some vague reply. “Oh, by the by,” she said just as she was leaving, “what has got Marndale in a pet? He was looking daggers at Dick and me over breakfast. I hope Dick has not made a mess of whatever it is he’s doing for Marndale. He hopes for a cabinet post if the Whigs ever win an election.”

  “Actually, I think Marndale was angry with me.”

  She examined me with the liveliest curiosity. “You are shooting just a little high, I think, but one never knows. You have certainly got Vickie on your side. She has been singing your praises till we were all wishing we had gone on that delightful excursion. Good luck!” She fluttered a farewell and left.

  I finally got down the hallway to see Mrs. Irvine. She was sitting up and looked in fighting trim.

  “I hear you are not recovered,” I said. By this time I was eager to find her too ill to travel.

  “I never felt better. There was no need to send for a sawbones. Marndale did it without asking me. The swelling in my ankle has begun to go down already.”

  “But your shoulder—”

  She made a circling motion with her shoulder. “It is a little stiff. Getting up and about will cure it faster than lying here all day, staring at the ceiling. Just tell me when you wish to leave, and I shall be ready.”

  “There is no hurry. Why don’t you just rest for one more day? We shouldn’t travel on a Sunday in any case.”

  “Those rigid rules don’t apply outside of Bath. The others are all leaving.”

  “We shall leave on Monday, Mrs. Irvine.”

  She crossed her arms and glowered. “I know when I am being conned. I’ll have the truth, if you please. What is afoot, Jennie?”

  “You look pale, Mrs. Irvine.”

  “Of course I look pale, ninny. I have not put on my rouge yet.”

  Marndale appeared at the door and finding it open stepped in. “Anselm is downstairs. He would like a word with you before he leaves, Jennie.” His face was grave and pale.

  Knowing what that word would be, I said, “Pray say good-bye for me. I cannot go now. I’m busy.”

  A travesty of a smile appeared on his ravaged countenance. “I’ll tell him,” he said, and left with alacrity to do it.

  I deduced from his odd behavior that he feared Anselm might offer for me. How he could think such a thing after the affair of the coal scuttle, I don’t know, but nothing else could account for his expression. I suppose it is not unknown for a man to propose to a lady behind his mistress’ back.

  A minute later Marndale was back at the door, carrying a note. With a house full of servants it was odd he performed these errands himself. “I am to await a reply,” he said, handing it to me.

  He watched as I unfolded the sheet. The note had obviously been written in haste, for it was not at all diplomatic. It said: “Dear Miss Robsjohn: Would you consider undertaking the care of Lady Mary at Levington Hall in Kent (close to London!)? Name your price! Hopefully, Anselm.”

  I
could choke down my rage as the message was no surprise. With Marndale’s dark eyes studying me, I even allowed a smile to grace my lips.

  “I can take a verbal reply,” Marndale suggested. His face was alive with curiosity.

  To tease him I insisted on writing my answer. The only sound in the room was the scratching of the pen on paper. I was aware of a yawning silence behind me, and glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Marndale was watching me as a cat watches a mouse hole—with total absorption. Mrs. Irvine was studying him in the same intent manner. I just jotted a few words on the bottom of Anselm’s note. “Sorry. I have other plans, but can recommend Miss Lydia Hopkins, from the seminary at Bath, for the job. J. Robsjohn.”

  I handed it to Marndale. “So kind of you,” I smiled.

  After he left Mrs. Irvine demanded, “What was that all about? Was it an offer from Anselm?”

  “Yes, an offer to mind his sister, but you are not to tell Marndale so.”

  “What should I say if he asks?”

  “That we did not discuss the matter. Now, can I get you something to drink? A book, perhaps.”

  “A servant to help me pack,” she suggested.

  “I am afraid you cannot recover just yet, Mrs. Irvine.”

  “If I must lie about all day, then I must have my rouge pot.”

  “Oh no! Invalids must be pale.”

  “Paleness does not afflict sly schemers, I see. Your rosy cheeks betray you, Jennie. If I am to lie on my back like an overturned beetle, at least bring me my netting basket. And a fresh pot of tea.”

  “Certainly, but you must not get out of bed till I say so.”

  “What determines your saying so?”

  “The offer Marndale is about to make. If it is like Anselm’s, then you may recover by noon and let me be ill. If it is different–”