He released a long breath. “I would own that I am a little concerned for her,” he said, in a more serious tone. “She has overexerted herself on this occasion. I would prefer that she rest more often.” His glance, she noticed, seemed afflicted with a similar awkwardness to her own, which he overcame only with effort.
“Now that you are here, perhaps it will do her good,” he said. “I did not know that Mrs. Giles had any family in Essex.”
“I am from London,” she answered. “I have come to attend her and the children.”
He smiled again. “Then you are also a stranger to the village,” he said. “I shall feel less alone, perhaps. Knowing there is another here who is equally at a loss in Beiberry Mile’s society.”
She blushed, with a little laugh as she looked downwards. “I hope you are not far from home, sir.”
“Very far,” he answered. “I was a boy in Northumberland. Although, before I came here, I had a surgery elsewhere. In Ipswich.”
“I know of the place, sir,” she said. Upon this subject, she could think of nothing else to say. She felt somewhat ashamed of her appearance before this young man, her brown muslin and apron as plain as her knot of hair fixed inelegantly behind her head.
She proceeded half-way downstairs with him, noticing the maid Tillie had vanished from her post; and that there was no sign of children present.
“Keep your sister as calm and rested as possible and there shall be no need to call upon my services again. If there is need, then send Martin for me at any hour.” He bowed politely to her again. “Good day, Miss Phillips.”
“Good day, sir,” she answered. The surgeon went downstairs to the door; she heard him speak to James, who undoubtedly brought him his hat. A murmur of voices, both masculine, one young and one old. The sound of the heavy front door closing with a bang.
She went upstairs again and opened the door to Anna’s bedroom. The maid Patience had entered in her absence and was tucking the bedclothes into place with a quick and sure movement.
“I had thought your physician was Mr. Harris,” said Miss Phillips. She lifted the cup of tea from the table beside her sister’s bed. Its contents were cold. “Did you not tell me he was an older gentleman–a grandfather?”
“Oh, he is,” said Anna, who was sitting up as properly as her cushions would allow, although she was endeavoring to follow the advice to keep to bed for the rest of the day. “But now I send for Mr. Turner, the new surgeon. It is a great change from an apothecary, to be sure; for we shall be less advised to take physic.”
“Then Mr. Turner has taken Mr. Harris’s place?” said Kitty.
“Mr. Harris is lately ill and gone away to Brighton for his health,” said Anna. “His return will not be very soon, but he is pleased to have someone take his patients while he is away. Not everyone is pleased with the change of course,“ she continued, “for Mr. Harris attended the sickrooms in Beiberry Mile for the last twenty years, did he not, Patience?” She spoke to the maid, who was opening the window to allow fresh air into the room.
“Indeed, twenty years, Ma’am,” answered Patience, in a small, clear voice which matched her childlike appearance. “He attended upon me own mother when she had the fever. He charged but a pence for the tonic and it cured her in but two days’ time.” The oversized mob cap slipped backwards momentarily before she adjusted it again.
“A true physician would have been better, of course, but that is not likely in a place so small,” said Anna. “We were fortunate enough to have anything here.”
“I am glad for your sake that someone has come,” answered Kitty.
Chapter Nine
The village of Beiberry Mile was small enough to be encompassed by a simple stone wall if its citizens so desired. The rambling patchwork of farms and outlying states of ancient name was but a sprinkling of life compared to the quaint and quiet society of shops and modest dwellings which comprised its square. There dwelled the most influential, if not the most wealthiest citizens, whose words were the first and last spoken on any subject.
There was no need for a journal nor posted notice in Beiberry, for the chief hobby of its citizens was always discussion, be it of subjects little or great. Talk of an upset cart or the blacksmith’s wedding, a great deal of excitement over rumors of the nobility taking a house but a few miles away served as a diversion for almost a week.
Kitty Phillips’s carriage attracted a great deal of notice upon its arrival, including the woman with the market basket who had gazed upon it with a long stare as it passed. The woman was Mrs. Jenner: a widowed lady of small means and active tongue who dwelled in the main village.
“It was a great lady,” she informed the barrister Mr. Hooker, “all the way from London. I feel certain of it. The carriage was quite beyond the squire’s and the woman inside was dressed in a splendid green gown and bonnet.”
They were in Mrs. Jenner's narrow front garden, where the barrister had paused politely outside the gate to listen on his way home for tea. They were a picturesque sight which might make A Portrait of Beiberry’s Conversation for a painter’s brush: the round figure and crinkly brown hair capped by a shovel bonnet, the white-haired, jovial figure in a well-tailored suit whose walking stick switched the front gate’s rails.
“I believe my Jim laid eyes upon the same carriage, Ma’am,” said Mr. Hooker. “For he mentioned to me but an hour ago that a carriage passed through, but there was no crest upon its doors, he said.”
“Oh, it was a fine lady within, I assure you,” persisted Mrs. Jenner. “No doubt a member of the court.”
“Eh? It is unlikely that she will be stopping here, then,” reflected Mr. Hooker, with a broad smile and a tilt of his hat, “for there is nothing in Beiberry to concern the royal family.” He strolled onwards.
“Then you have not heard, then?” said Mrs. Servennia. “The squire’s sister is come to town yesterday. A lady from London who has lately been staying with the other sister–who is married.”
She reported this to the same Mrs. Jenner, who was now seated in the drawing room of the Servennia family's modern and spacious home Goldleaf. Beside her, a Mrs. Thompkins who was her equal in age and fortune, although appearing much older and poorer in her old-fashioned state.
The fineness of the room and the comparatively better fortunes of their hostess did not deter the conversation of the two widows present–of whom only Mrs. Thompkins still wore her mourning cap–nor did this announcement dismay them after the speculation of a royal relation passing through.
“The squire’s wife? A sister?” repeated Mrs. Jenner. “Then she is a lady of London with a fine house and husband, I suppose.”
“She is unmarried, I believe.” Mrs. Servennia was sufficiently elegant and genteel herself–her husband was no longer in trade, which bid her to look for better things in the future for the four little Servennias in the world.
“No doubt she is accustomed to a very elegant fashion of living,” said Mrs. Thompkins, with a trembling voice. “We shall be very poor company for her, I fear.” This remark was received with a lofty look by Mrs. Servennia, who secretly believed that her company should be sufficient for a genteel woman who had merely good connections to her favor.
“Mrs. Josephs has encountered her at Mrs. Allgood’s this morning,” said Mrs. Servennia, plucking a thread from her embroidery. “Her appearance, I gather, was plain enough, but she possessed a very refined speaking voice.”
“The dress I witnessed was very elegant indeed,” retorted Mrs. Jenner, her bonnet bobbing forward with emphasis.
“I did not see her,” moaned Mrs. Thompkins, sadly. “The geese had gotten into my garden this morning and I was forced to help Mary drive them out lest they ruin the new onions.”
“We must call upon her, then,” said Mrs. Jenner, decidedly. “It is decided; tomorrow we shall go.”
But word from Mrs. Littlewood, a relative of Patience Tibbets, delayed this plan with the reports of the surgeon present at the squire’
s house. A general relief was expressed by all who heard it that the good lady was merely overtired for the day. Calls were performed in two days’ time, as a consequence; cards were left with James the manservant and polite fifteen-minute conversations on the weather, the roads, and the general state of affairs in London.
“For we must be polite, you know,” said Mrs. Thompkins meekly, who was the fourth caller at Marebrook Manor and passing the soon-to-be-fifth, Mrs. Servennia in her carriage, upon the road. “She will feel more at home if we make inquiries about the fashionable set.”
Visitors discovered that Miss Phillips, although quiet and somewhat plain, was indeed an elegant lady as presupposed. Her genteel voice, her London manners, and the probable expense of her grey silk were freely discussed afterwards for the sake of those who were disappointed that they did not witness them also. Perhaps the popularity of their new visitor–or the impression of the genteel woman herself–inspired Mrs. Servennia’s decision to arrange a party at Goldleaf in honor of Miss Phillips.
“She should see Beiberry society in its finest degree,” she explained to Mr. Hooker the barrister when he paused to speak to the lady of the house after calling upon her husband on business.
“There’s no place finer in the village than your own, Madam,” he answered. “I’m sure the lady shall find it charming–and the society within won’t disappoint. We may not be London, but we have our fine points, do we not, Mrs. Servennia?”
“Indeed we do, sir,” she answered, with a polite curtsy of acceptance for his compliment. “I shall send you an invitation directly. We shall not exclude those of modest social standing in Beiberry, so she shall see that we are nothing if not considerate.”
“It would be a pretty occasion to make a match for the young surgeon as well,” said Mr. Hooker, after a moment’s consideration. “Perhaps he shall have an eye for your pretty young niece Miss Foster, eh?” he mused, with a teasing grin.
Mrs. Servennia’s countenance flushed with anger. Her niece, while hardly a matrimonial priority in the house of Servennia, coupled with a professional man? An outrage indeed!
“I’m sure if my sister Mrs. Foster were alive, she would not wish her daughter to be pursued by one such as Mr. Turner,” she answered. “He is of good character, I am sure...but a surgeon is quite the same as in trade.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Servennia,” the barrister answered, his humor slightly humbled now that he recognized the good lady’s ire. “Indeed. Good day to you, Madam.” He tipped his hat in apology and was gone.
The second-newest citizen of Beiberry, although his skills and presence were controversial, was invited to the party along with the rest of the tradesman and well-mannered persons of little means. The invitations were dispatched the next morning; and by afternoon, a messenger had delivered one to the door of Marebrook Manor.
*****
“We should not go,” said Kitty. “You are not well; and I would not wish to leave you for a whole evening.” She lowered the invitation, taking note of her rowdy nephew Frank’s attempts to unwind a great ball of string from Richard’s pockets as the elder boy studied his Latin.
In private, the thought of going among strangers in a strange place resulted in a feeling of dread. How could she go among them, be pleasant and open, when her every speech or action might be so very different from what they expected or approved?
“I am well enough,” Anna scolded, gently, as she stood in the doorway of the makeshift lesson room. “William shall be at home a whole fortnight and we shall all go in the carriage. I would have my sister be well received in Beiberry and the village would prefer above all things for you to come.”
“If it pleases you, I will go,” said Kitty, “but you must think of your own health, Anna. What would Mr. Giles–William–say if you fell ill after such exertions?”
“William knows I am well enough,” she answered. “I am not yet confined, so I have no reason to decline the invitation. Heaven knows that I shouldn’t wish to do so, for Goldleaf’s reputation is that of local nobility and their fare is beyond anything our own cook contrives.” Kitty’s lips curved into a smile over Anna’s sly description of her neighbors.
On Thursday, they set forth in Mr. William Giles’s carriage for the Servennia’s party. Kitty had only heard Goldleaf described by her sister and brother-in-law, but now, by the carriage lamps, she could see the shape of a splendid house surrounded by a shadowy grove of pale trees.
“It is nothing compared to what it is in the daytime.” William leaned over to speak to his sister-in-law, his round face beaming genially between lines of age. “The birch trees are golden with leaves in autumn; and the house is a fair manor in the modern fashion.” The glint of torchlight was visible before the house, its windows alight as if many candles burned within.
Mr. and Mrs. Alec Servennia possessed only a little land by comparison to the squire and the nobility who tenanted the nearby estates; their claim to wealth lay in a small fortune inherited by Mr. Servennia from a relative who was a merchant in the sugar trade. The consequences of this fortune was an elegant marriage to neighboring gentleman‘s daughter and a house with two pianofortes and a carriage and four in the stable.
Their guests, whom Mrs. Servennia referred to as the gentility and the “modest” means of Beiberry comprised almost a quarter of the village, the farmers, land laborers, and shopkeeper’s assistants excluded, of course; yet would scarcely fill an average London drawing room. Most of those who had not been present at Marebrook Manor in the last two days were curious to see Miss Phillips; and those who had been–the likes of Mrs. Thompkins and Mr. Hooker–were only eager to improve upon the initial impression they had made before the London lady.
As she made her way politely into the main parlor, Kitty’s glance fell upon a great many unfamiliar faces and a few which she recalled only from brief meetings in her sister’s home. Her sister and brother-in-law were much in conversation, making her own silence in shyness seem rude by comparison; their interest compelled her to continue circulating throughout the well-lit chamber, if for no other reason than to appear better occupied than merely standing by.
She was greeted in polite tones, but as of yet, no villager present had chanced to speak to her above two lines and she had not the power to suggest anything further of interest afterwards. They were disappointed by her quiet demeanor; or rather uncertain what subjects would interest a woman lately come from society. Both were true, as she would come to learn, but neither one had the power to comfort her on this present occasion.
These circumstance and her inclination for quiet drew her gradually towards the sparsely-populated portion of the room near to the hearth. There was a splendid display of cake and fruit upon the nearest table spread with a white cloth, enticing the guests around it to sample and praise its bounties.
“Are you enjoying your first party in Beiberry?” At the sound of a man’s voice, she turned to find the surgeon Mr. Turner standing close by.
“I am, sir,” she answered, with a blush. “That is to say, I am pleased to be present.”
“You are more than present, Miss Phillips,” he said. “You are the guest of honor, I believe.” He spoke these words in a low tone as if imparting a piece knowledge for her benefit alone, although with an element of playful good humor which proved it was in jest.
She smiled in reply, although she could not look at him directly in her awkwardness. “I am sure that all of the guests present are equally regarded, sir.”
They were both silent for a time, although it was not disagreeable to be so, she discovered.
“Are you fond of poetry, Miss Phillips?” he asked, after a moment.
“Poetry?” she repeated. “Yes. I am.”
“I read it often. I thought perhaps you might also, being a lady of London.”
Why was it not in her power to reply with ease? She could not fathom her slow tongue, nor the shyness which assailed her this evening. “I have a great fondness for it,” she answered.
“I read a great deal of it when I was in Edinburgh,” he said. There was a pause as he drew breath to continue with the subject, which the sudden interruption of Mrs. Jenner's approach made impossible.
“Mr. Turner,” she said, in a low and urgent tone, “I pray you would speak to Mrs. Fryer regarding the evils of consuming cake. See her there,” she directed her finger towards an amply-proportioned woman situated before the foodstuffs, “she is quite beyond her limit of sweets and there will soon be none for the other guests unless someone restrains her. I am firmly convinced that advice from you is the only means of doing so.”
Kitty suppressed a terrible laugh over this statement, endeavoring to disguise her reaction as a cough by covering her mouth with one hand. Beside her, Mr. Turner, too, was endeavoring to keep his expression serious.
“I will attempt it, if you wish,” he answered, lowering his voice to his companion’s level, “but I caution you that such advice seldom does any good in these cases. You are likely to be disappointed, I am afraid.”
Mrs. Jenner seemed shocked by this reply. “Then what hope is there in the world, when even sound advice upon the sin of gluttony is to be ignored?” Indignation took the form of agitation, her form fidgeting with impatience.
"'Tis true," said the surgeon, with a look of grave concern; one which soothed his companion in conversation while forcing Kitty to look elsewhere to avoid dissolving into mirth.
"Do you think that I should attempt it, sir?" pressed Mrs. Jenner. "For it is the best thing for all present that she be dissuaded."
"By all means," he answered, in equally quiet tones. "Although, I should cloak my advisement as a concern for the richness of the cake upon her delicate constitution, if I were in your stead." His word of caution seemed to hasten the woman to her purpose, departing, perhaps to extricate the cake bodily from the possession of her fellow guest.
Last Miss Phillips Page 9