by Laura Hile
He did not love her. She knew this—indeed, she had always known it—but now she knew more. Longwell had been right. Sir Walter would not grow to love her. If she had been a woman of beauty and rank? But no. To him she was merely his daughters’ godmother and the widow of a knight.
Amanda Russell summoned her courage and mounted the steps. It was best not to think about Longwell, and yet for some reason she could think of no one else. Even now, she could picture him in a wretched Mail coach, jolting along this very boulevard—Piccadilly, which to the west became The Bath Road. Longwell, whose loyal heart cared for her as Sir Walter never would, was lost to her forever.
Don’t be a simpleton! This was no time for sentimental regrets. She pinched her lips together, pulled open the door, and went in.
The church’s white interior was unexpectedly beautiful. A soaring barrel vault, white columns, and tall windows completed the whole. Sir Walter would naturally prefer St. Paul’s Cathedral, but she knew he would admire the elegance of this setting.
But somehow, as she slipped into a pew and laid aside her burdens, Amanda Russell found she no longer cared about what Sir Walter thought.
Before her in the hymnal rack was a copy of the Book of Prayer. While the rector called the congregants to prayer and read aloud a psalm, she turned pages, searching for the words to the marriage vow. To read these words might bring a measure of comfort. But her gloved fingers were awkward, and instead she happened upon Forms Of Prayer To Be Used At Sea—a timely reference, for she would shortly be boarding a ship. Her eyes followed the text:
O most powerful and glorious Lord God, at whose command the winds blow, and lift up the waves of the sea, and who stillest the rage thereof …
Lady Russell winced. How well she recalled the swelling sensations of seasickness! And she had made the crossing on a calm day! This so-called adventure with Sir Walter would shortly become an ordeal.
We thy creatures, but miserable sinners, do in this our great distress cry unto thee for help: Save, Lord, or else we perish …
The truth of the words came home; she could read no more. As Amanda Russell bowed her head to pray, a tear dropped onto the page.
8 A Blow!
Elizabeth waited all morning for an answer from Lady Russell, but none came. At last she decided to find out for herself—and to save money she walked all the way to Rivers Street. As she reached for the knocker, she pulled up short. It was missing. This was all wrong. Lady Russell was not gone from Bath! Shiftless Ellen had likely taken it indoors to polish.
The door was answered by a woman Elizabeth did not recognize. “I am here to see Lady Russell,” she said.
The woman sucked her teeth and wiped her hands on her work apron. “Don’t know, I’m sure,” she said. “Who would you be, now?”
Surely this was the washerwoman! Why would such a person be answering the door? “I am Miss Elliot, Lady Russell’s goddaughter,” Elizabeth said crisply. “And who might you be?”
The woman gave a sniff. “Her ladyship’s not at home,” she announced, and began to close the door.
She had not reckoned with Elizabeth’s desperation. “She is to me,” Elizabeth cried and pushed against the door. “Where is Longwell?”
At the mention of his name, the woman fell back. Elizabeth gained the vestibule and, panting a little, repeated her question.
The woman shrugged. “Don’t know, I’m sure. Walked out, plain as you please, with nary a word to anyone. If you ask me, he’s piked out.”
“Longwell has gone away?”
“Coo, I hope he don’t never come back.”
“Who are you? Where is Ellen? Or has she run off as well?”
“Don’t know, I’m—”
“—sure,” Elizabeth finished. “Kindly put the kettle on. I’ll wait for Lady Russell in the front sitting room. You may bring the tea when it is ready.” Elizabeth gathered her skirts and went in.
By the time Ellen came to apologize for being occupied with the marketing, Elizabeth’s temper was in shreds. So much time wasted on the day of an important ball!
Things did not improve. She and Ellen, who was not the most intelligent of women, had a harried, tangled conversation that left Elizabeth even more annoyed. This much was clear: Lady Russell had left Bath. Furthermore, she would likely be away for some time, as she had taken her trunks. Obviously my Lady Buxted-Heighton’s ball was out of the question.
Out to the vestibule Elizabeth marched, pausing only to draw on her gloves and straighten her hat. Below the looking glass was a table displaying the cards left by callers. One particular card caught Elizabeth’s attention; she snatched it up.
“Ellen,” she called out. “When did this man come?”
~ ~ ~
Lady Russell found Sir Walter in the parlour of the hotel. “Capital,” he cried, rising from his seat. “My dear, your sense of timing is superb! I’m longing to make Lord Aldeburgh known to you, and as luck would have it, he is due to return at any moment.”
Long years of association caused Lady Russell to recognize a cue. She took a seat opposite his. “Lord Aldeburgh?” she said.
Sir Walter beamed. “I have had the pleasure,” he announced, “to become acquainted with three fellow passengers, my dear. Isn’t that grand? We shall not be bereft of companions on our sea voyage. Lord Aldeburgh and his sister, the honourable Miss Neville, and their good friend, Lady Sarah Jevington, will be travelling with us aboard the Sarabande. They are journeying to Malta and then on to Athens, but what does that signify? Won’t it be amusing to have genteel fellow travelers?”
Lady Russell was eager to speak of the business she had transacted that morning, and she said so.
“My dear,” Sir Walter objected, “I have not yet described to you my Lady Jevington. She is the loveliest creature!”
Lady Russell opened her eyes at him. This was, after all, their wedding day.
But Sir Walter’s enthusiasm would not be dimmed. “Lady Sarah’s eyes are celestial blue,” he said. “And her hair is fine and dark—and can only be described as luxuriant. Most unusual in a woman of her age.”
“She is not a young woman?”
Sir Walter considered this. “Such vivacity of spirit,” he said, “makes precise identification difficult. She is near enough to forty, but certainly not past it,” he decided. “And so very well-looking. Yes, a fine, lively woman.”
“Has she any crow’s feet?” said Lady Russell acidly.
Sir Walter considered this. “I think not. If there is a fault to be found with Lady Sarah’s appearance it is this: she wears widow’s attire.” He gave a sigh of sympathy. “Yes, it is true. She lost her husband some ten months ago. Poor woman; how I feel her pain.”
Lady Russell compressed her lips. Here was a fine thing! What did Sir Walter know of grief? He’d mourned very little when dear Elizabeth passed away. She decided to change the subject. “Shall we go into the dining room and order luncheon? I am quite famished.”
“Nothing for me, thank you,” he replied. “Lord Aldeburgh bespoke an early meal and invited me to join his party. They pressed me to join their shopping expedition as well, but I knew I ought to wait for you.”
Lady Russell knew very well why he had remained behind—he hadn’t any money!
But Sir Walter was not finished. “Lord Aldeburgh has gone to Fortnum and Mason, which is quite nearby, in order to procure supplies,” he said. “Now that you have returned we must go there at once. Indeed, I cannot see why we did not place an order weeks ago, as Lord Aldeburgh did.”
“Perhaps because we did not know then that we would be making this voyage?”
Sir Walter leaned forward eagerly. “What I would like, dear Amanda,” he confided, “is to have several hampers made up, such as Elizabeth and I were used to have for Ascot. You know the sort: Stilton cheese, cooked salmon, champagne …”
“Have you any idea how much this might cost?”
He waved her objection aside. “Pooh, what does it mat
ter? One embarks upon a sea voyage to Venice so seldom. Of course we must have the best.”
“I suppose so,” she said slowly, “as it is our wedding trip.”
“Exactly! And it won’t be at all dull or solitary, as wedding trips so often are.” Sir Walter stretched his feet. “It is, indeed, a comfort,” he said, “to think that we shall be travelling with such fine, attractive companions.”
Lady Russell’s chin came up. “And what am I?”
“Why, you are very well-looking, Amanda, after your own fashion,” Sir Walter hastened to say. “You have the remains of beauty in your countenance, certainly. But once you meet her, I know you’ll agree that Lady Sarah is truly splendid.”
“The Widow Jevington, you mean!” cried Lady Russell. “Who is almost out of mourning! I was about to tell you that I’ve arranged for our marriage ceremony, but now I cannot think why!”
“My dear,” objected Sir Walter, “surely you cannot take offense at my remark. It is no crime to look at a beautiful woman.” A dimple appeared in his cheek. “I am, after all, a man.”
Lady Russell was on her feet. “It is nothing to me what you do,” she snapped, “or at whom you look! For I am, after all, not your wife!”
Sir Walter also rose to his feet, a look of bewilderment on his face.
“Pray excuse me, sir,” she said. “I find that I am quite exhausted.”
“Not the vapours, Amanda?” Sir Walter’s voice was anxious. “You don’t suffer from the vapours, do you?”
Lady Russell pulled up short. “Walter! When have you known me to succumb to vapours?”
She went out of the parlour with a swirl of skirts, and if there had been a door to shut, she would have slammed it.
~ ~ ~
Elizabeth set out walking at a brisk clip, thinking all the way. Once again she was faced with having to attend a party alone. In no way did she wish for another disaster as at Chalfort House! But what else could be done? Elizabeth Elliot—the infamous Elizabeth Elliot, as she was now known—would not again receive such an invitation.
But as Lady Elliot, what would her social standing be? Elizabeth thought long and hard as she trod along the streets. At this juncture, she must consider the future.
Perhaps it would be wise to look in at the Pump Room. If she was able to speak to William Elliot now, there would be no need to attend Lady Buxted-Heighton’s ball.
But the Master of Ceremonies was not encouraging. He had not seen Mr. Elliot at all today—and was there an air of disapproval in his speech?
Elizabeth turned away and caught sight of another familiar face. That Miss Bingley saw her was certain, but she looked away with decided coldness. So, dear Caroline had been listening to gossip.
Anger lent Elizabeth courage, and she boldly crossed the room. If Caroline Bingley was so worried about her reputation being tarnished by Miss Elliot, let her say so and be done with it.
Caroline’s sister whispered something and gave Caroline a nudge. The startled look on her face was replaced by a tight smile. “Eliza, my dear!” Caroline said. “How nice to see you.”
How she could lie! Elizabeth coolly returned the greeting. “Have you seen my cousin this afternoon?”
“Mr. Elliot?” Caroline’s voice rose to a squeak. She and her sister exchanged looks. “My dear Eliza,” Caroline said in a lowered voice, “how can I thank you for introducing your delightful cousin. So agreeable! So conversant!”
Caroline dropped her voice to a whisper. “Will you be surprised to learn that he has been to call on us?” She gave her nickering laugh. “He’s a most modest creature; he claimed he was only doing so in your stead, since you saw fit to disappear. Where have you been hiding yourself, Eliza?”
The sly sparkle in Caroline’s eyes did nothing to improve Elizabeth’s temper.
Caroline’s voice took on a pitying tone. “I understand that you have had a little trouble of your own, my dear. Who dared to place that dreadful notice in the Gazette? Your cousin assures me that it was a hoax.”
Elizabeth did not trust herself to speak. William Elliot had placed that notice himself!
“But there is nothing to worry about,” continued Caroline, and she gave Elizabeth’s arm a pat. “Louisa and I have decided to lend you countenance.”
This was worse than anything! Who was Caroline Bingley to be rescuing her reputation? Elizabeth made herself speak lightly. “By the bye, shall my cousin be calling this evening? I have a message I would like to send to him.”
Caroline’s face fell. “I do not know for certain. He said he has a prior engagement, but we are hoping he will look in on his way home.”
“By all means,” chimed in Mrs. Hurst, “send us your little note, Miss Elliot, and we’ll make certain he receives it. If not tonight, then tomorrow. Mr. Elliot has been very reliable that way—dare I say persistent?”
It took effort to ignore the look of triumph on Mrs. Hurst’s face, but Elizabeth managed it. A prior engagement meant one thing: William Elliot would be at Lady Buxted-Heighton’s ball. And so, Elizabeth decided, would she.
~ ~ ~
Of course the key would be buried at the very bottom of her reticule! By the time Lady Russell unfastened the lock, she felt ready to scream. She threw open the door to her room, hurried inside, and quickly relocked it. Thank heaven he had not followed her! Hiding in the bedchamber was an old habit of Anne’s. After spending several days with Sir Walter, Lady Russell was beginning to understand it.
The bedchamber window was closed, and yet the street below was all bustle and confusion—the growling, rattling, shouting, smoking atmosphere that was London. Quiet contemplation was a luxury Lady Russell could ill afford, for a line of unfinished tasks marched through her mind: repack the bags; hire a chaise; drive to church to be married; board the packet ship; sail away from England—all without being discovered by the Law!
Wearily she stripped off her gloves and cast them aside. Her reticule hit the top of the dressing table with a sharp snap. It was a wonder the gold sovereigns hadn’t broken through the beaded fabric!
Here was one more task to be added to the rest. Five hundred pounds—twice what she spent in a year—must be hidden away in the money belt she’d just purchased. Which she must wear herself because her soon-to-be husband could not be trusted!
Lady Russell sighed sharply. She ought to have listened to the bank manager. A letter of credit would have been so much easier.
Straightway she set to the task of filling the money belt. “My Lady Sarah, indeed,” she grumbled. Sir Walter had some nerve to praise another woman to her face—and on their wedding day, too! Why it was laughable—almost.
“The remains of beauty in my countenance!” she huffed. “How dare he?” How would Walter Elliot respond if she told him something similar? Such as, he had the remains of intelligence?
She poured the sovereigns onto the dressing table and began sorting through them. Longwell had been right, of course. Sir Walter had precious little to offer her—not even the charm of his company!
Dear Longwell. He mentioned the Mail; had he caught it? Was he now in Bath? If he had any sense, he would remain at Rivers Street until he found another situation, but she doubted he would do this.
The shining coins were a painful reminder that she’d given Longwell no severance or letter of recommendation. Longwell’s situation, she now realized, was much like Sir Walter Elliot’s. He was cast adrift and helpless. But unlike Sir Walter, Longwell had no children, no family. He was bereft of employment and utterly alone in the world.
Lady Russell gave herself a shake. Sentimentality would get her nowhere. She began to fill the money belt. But the sovereigns were too many; they would not fit. How could she carry them all? If only Longwell were here! He would know what to do. Perhaps—
Lady Russell became very still, thinking. Surely Longwell would say that she ought to exchange the sovereigns for a letter of credit and quickly, before the bank closed for the day. Lady Russell’s head came up
. Straightway she scooped up the remaining coins and poured them into her reticule. Let the bank manager count them!
And while she was there, she would have a draft made out for Longwell—a generous severance for his years of faithful service. She would send it by express to Rivers Street. Surely he would receive it!
Again she drew on her gloves, feeling better than she had all day. She had had nothing to eat, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered, save her errand. As she descended to the ground floor, she pictured the surprise on her butler’s face when he received her note. Then he would know how much she valued him! Then he would know that she cared!
As she passed by the parlour, Sir Walter saw her and called out. She was tempted to ignore him and keep walking, but she did not. “Yes?” she enquired.
Sir Walter’s smile was charming. “The hampers from Fortnum’s?” he reminded, twinkling.
She dug in her bag and pulled out several sovereigns. “Here,” she said, tossing them. “You’ll have to purchase them yourself. I am going out.”
Sir Walter went chasing after the rolling coins. “And when,” he said, panting a little, “is to be the ceremony?”
Lady Russell turned round. “What ceremony?” she said blankly.
He sat back on his heels, a dimple in each cheek. “Why, our marriage ceremony, of course.”
“Oh that,” said Lady Russell. She shrugged. “I am afraid I cannot say.”
~ ~ ~
There came a scratching at the library door. McGillvary ignored it. It was probably the dog.
The scratching turned to knocking—insistent knocking. Finally the handle turned and the door swung inward. “I know you’re in there, McGillvary,” said a woman’s voice. “I’ve been waiting since yesterday to speak my piece to you, and I shan’t be put off any longer! I came all the way from Laurel Court to see you—”
McGillvary did not look up. It was not the dog; it was worse. It was Agnes Huntington, his late wife’s sister. And she was still talking.