by Jan Constant
A grim smile flitted briefly across Sir Julian’s frosty countenance. “You seem well versed in such matters.”
“Yes—well, many of the junior officers applied to me for help in their affairs of the heart,” Emma confessed. “Besides, one has only to listen to Elvira to soon realize that her poet is a complete ninny hammer! ’ ’
Sir Julian bit back a laugh. “Do I take it that you have no admiration for Mr. Browne?” he inquired.
“To be honest, I’ve only met him once—and that was this afternoon, which could hardly be termed a salubrious meeting. Elvira needs a strong man, with vitality and spirit, not some dreamy, mooning youth, more interested in his poetry than her. ’ ’
“Do you have someone in mind?”
The question was asked in an amused drawl, and Emma relaxed imperceptibly, aware that she had gained her objective. Flashing Sir Julian a wicked grin, she nodded, “Johnnie Gray would be just the thing and entirely suitable from your point of view. . . . But whatever happens, do not mention him or put him forward. To do so would only antagonize Elvira and ensure that she regarded him with dislike. ’ ’ '
“I beg of you to take care—Captain Gray may already have other plans. ”
“I happen to know that Johnnie is looking for a wife. . . . I’ve known him since I was at school. He is the best and dearest of friends—and no fortune hunter.”
‘‘Indeed? I’ll bear him in mind when I am looking to settle Elvira’s future—which reminds me—I have received a command to present you to Mrs. Hodge within the week.” Emma was intrigued. “A command?”
“No less.” He picked up a letter and began to read from it. “Mrs. Hodge’s compliments, and she will receive Miss Beringer on either next Wednesday or Thursday.”
“That’s all?” Emma asked as Sir Julian looked up. “Apart from the letter heading,” was the dry answer. “How strange ...”
“Rich people can afford to be eccentric—”
Wide-eyed, she looked artlessly up at him, until he responded with a gleam of amusement at the back of his dark gaze.
“Behave, Miss Beringer,” he admonished gently. “Be ready to set out on Monday—and tell Elvira that I wish to see her.”
Emma turned at the door. “I do not think her well enough. She was being put to bed when I—”
“Decided to beard the lion in his den,” her guardian finished as she hesitated, making her blush with the truth of his words. ‘ ‘Very well, I will come up and put her mind at rest. ’ ’ Which he did to such good effect that Elvira was able to leave her bed the next day and take luncheon with Emma in the small room allotted to them for their own use.
“I shall be eternally grateful,” she announced, helping herself to cold chicken. “I cannot imagine precisely what you said to Ju, but he was very understanding and even seemed to hint that Miss Plantagenet had taken too much upon herself in running to Aunt Diana with tales. He seemed rather shaken by her taking a sisterly role upon herself. ” “Good! Maybe he’ll think twice before inflicting her on his family. Miss Prunes and Prisms would have us all dance to her tune,” observed Emma darkly.
Elvira cocked her head. “What a suitable nickname, though it would be best not to let Ju hear it. She is certainly prism, and that cold, dissecting eye makes one feel like an insect being examined under a magnifying glass. Oh, Emma, I truly do not wish for her as a sister-in-law. She will make us all extremely uncomfortable.”
“Yes,” agreed her companion thoughtfully. “I can quite see that. ... Do you think that Sir Julian is truly enamored?”
“Pooh!” ejaculated the other girl. “He is just tired of being the object of every matchmaking mama. . . . Besides, even Aunt Di says it’s time he had an heir. ’ ’
‘ ‘Good Lord! Can you imagine a nursery full of little Plantagenets?”
“Do you know that it is rumored that she has a crown encircling a branch of broom embroidered on her underwear? The crest of the Plantagenet kings, you know.” Emma blinked. “How ostentatious!”
Elvira was doubtful. “Well, it doesn’t show,” she pointed out. “And Ju does have a coronet on his handkerchiefs.” “That is not the same at all,” cried Emma, surprising herself and hastily changing the subject by telling her friend of her proposed visit to Hampshire.
“It’s like having a fairy godmother,” murmured Elvira dreamily. ‘ ‘I daresay that she will be dainty, still retaining a hint of her past beauty and will have a head of silver curls. Did she suffer unrequited love in her youth?”
Stiffling a giggle at her friend’s overromantic yearnings, Emma answered roundly, “No such thing—she married a rich merchant and was disowned by her family, save my mama.”
“Oh. ” Elvira digested this information, saying at last with a hint of regret, ‘ ‘While a merchant cannot be considered in the best romantic light, to have given up her all for love is still very touching.” Sighing deeply and pushing aside the last morsel on her plate, she took up a tragic pose. “I— understand her feelings, you know.”
‘ ‘Are you still forbidden to see the beautiful Bevis? I quite thought from your manner that Sir Julian had more or less withdrawn his objections.”
Relinquishing her roll of tragic muse, Elvira helped herself to vanilla pudding. “He did—but I view his change of
mood with suspicion. I cannot allow myself to feel entirely
safe.”
“I should take what is offered and send for your beloved at once in order that he may call and charm Lady Beauvale with a hasty sonnet or two. ’ ’ She looked up as her friend was silent and saw from her expression that Elvira was not happy.
“I have,” she said dolefully. “Hetty took a note this morning. A maid took it in and then returned to say there was no answer. It’s very odd.”
“Perhaps he thinks that you meant to scold him for running away,” suggested Emma.
“I am persuaded that he retired for my sake. After all, to have confronted Jane Plantagenet would only have made matters worse, would it not?”
Emma reflected that she preferred someone who gave support in moments of difficulty but kindly murmured an affirmative.
“How long will you be away?” asked Elvira. “Our dance has already had effect and several invitations have arrived.”
“Only a few days, I imagine. Sir Julian said that if the weather holds, we will travel in his phaeton, and I do so hope that my new traveling outfit arrives in time—” Becoming aware that Elvira was regarding her in wide-eyed, open- mouthed astonishment, she broke off to ask what was the matter.
“Taking you in his phaeton! You must be mistaken. Ju takes no one in his precious phaeton. Why, he only took me round the square once—and that grudgingly—and set me down as soon as I remarked upon the height making me dizzy. He was probably teasing you and intends to take the chaise.”
But to her immense gratification when, a few days later Miss Beringer descended the front steps becomingly attired in her new forget-me-not blue merino wool traveling dress and matching pelisse, she was confronted by an elegant carriage, its double seats perched high over enormous, delicate wheels.
“Ooh, miss, we aren’t never going in that!” cried Maria who, until that moment, had been eager and excited at the thought of accompanying her mistress into the country.
“Of course we are,” said Emma bracingly. “Sir Julian and his groom are waiting—put on a brave face, do. We don’t want to be taken for a pair of nervous females, do we? The wretches are hard put to hide a grin at our expense already. ”
Hiding her own fears, she stepped forward and allowed herself to be helped into the high perch seat. The vehicle swayed and dipped in an alarming manner, but with great control she managed to refrain from clutching the sides in fright. Behind her she heard the little maid give a faint squeak as she arrived on the seat, and then Sir Julian stepped up easily beside her, gathered the reins into capable hands, and flicked the two matched horses into motion. Leaving their heads, the groom ran back to scramble into
the seat beside Maria and Emma who just had time to wave to Elvira and Lady Beauvale, who were watching somewhat disapprovingly from a window as the equipage started off.
For a while Emma was occupied with controlling her nerves as they bowled through the London traffic. The ground was nearly five feet away, allowing her to look down on other road users, which she found slightly disconcerting. At first the motion of the well-sprung vehicle was unusual, but gradually she relaxed and at last began to enjoy herself, nodding with panache to passing acquaintances as she looked about with interest.
“Well done, Miss Beringer,” her guardian murmured, tooling his horses neatly into a narrow space between a poste- chaise and a loaded wagon.
Emma flashed him a brilliant smile, happily conscious of the picture she must present and feeling a lady of the first fashion in her new outfit with a matching bonnet, dashingly decorated by two cream ostrich feathers.
“I like it above anything!” she declared, flushed with enthusiasm and excitement. “ Thank you, Sir Julian—if I were very wealthy, I would travel only in a phaeton!”
“You’d find it cold in winter,” was the dampening reply, and she fell silent until noticing the occupants of a closed landau which was held up in a stream of traffic going in the other direction.
“Only observe, Sir Julian,” she said, touching his arm, a hint of wickedness in her voice. “Is that not the Plantagenets? Would it be proper to wave, do you think? Perhaps that would be too forward, and we should merely nod genteelly?”
“A bow and a smile will suffice,” she was told and was gratified to observe a flicker of mortification cross Jane Plantagenet’s face as she caught sight of the dashing equipage and its occupants bowling past.
The journey progressed more speedily than Emma had thought possible; first the royal house at Kew, then Hampton Court, affording a quick glimpse of the red brick palace, were quickly passed, and luncheon was taken at Esher. Late in the afternoon they arrived at Farnham, where they were to stop for the night. A weary Maria had to be helped into the inn, but Emma, who had enjoyed every moment and blessed the fortitude acquired during the years spent with the army in the Peninsula, stepped down from her high seat, still fresh and alert.
Chapter Eight
Having inspected the private room provided, Emma followed the landlady upstairs to her bedroom, where Maria had already taken the luggage.
“Dinner’s ready when you are, miss,” she was assured. “There’s a ham and salad, roast beef, or one of my pies. ”
There was a note of pride in the landlady’s voice as she put a particular emphasis upon the word “pie,” and, rightly interpreting this, Emma announced her wish to sample a slice, which met with beaming approval.
“Though I says it myself, miss, you can’t do better. Bessie Long’s pies are famous for miles around—even as far as London, I daresay.”
Urged on by the hope in the proud cook’s voice, Emma agreed that the name did seem familiar and was rewarded by the promise of a special pie to take home with her. Smiling and bobbing, Mrs. Long left to go about her business, and only after they were alone did Emma realize that Maria was uncharacteristically quiet.
Looking at her more closely, she saw that the girl was very pale and going about her duties without her usual verve and chatter.
“What is wrong? Maria, are you ill?” she asked, concerned.
“Oh, miss, that journey didn’t half make me feel bad— I’ve a head that’s fit to burst, what with all that bumping and
swaying and rushing along like a whirlwind! It’s not natural!”
“I didn’t know—I thought that you were enjoying it as much as I was,” cried Emma. “Though, now I think of it, you hardly ate at lunch. How unkind of me—I should have realized that it was not to your liking.”
“I’ll be better soon, now that my feet are back on the ground. What I’d have done without Jem Bowls’s arm to hold me in, I don’t know.”
“Oh, Maria, what a bad mistress I am,” Emma said, chagrined at her own negligence. “You should have said.” A speaking glance from the younger girl made her realize the foolishness of the statement, and she felt even more uncomfortable as she realized the dependence of servants upon the whim of their employers. “That was unrealistic of me, of course you could hardly complain—I should have had more thought for you. I apologize, Maria, and promise never to be so high-handed again.”
Maria, who had been staring in astonishment, burst into tears. “I’m ever so sorry, miss, I really am. If only I could have a cup of tea, I’d be as right as ninepence. I know all my duties. Mrs. Hill didn’t half drum them into me, when she knew as I was coming with you. I’m to unpack your clothes, set out your dinner dress and night things, arrange hot water for your bath—”
Despite her brave effort, her voice wobbled, and she sniffed into a handkerchief, obviously feeling very unwell.
‘ ‘Nonsense, ’ ’ said Emma robustly, tugging at the bell pull. “You shall have a cup of tea and then go to bed—no arguments. I shall look after myself while you recover.”
Opening her mouth, Maria wailed loudly. “If I ain’t of use, ’m, you’ll turn me off. I know all my duties—I do!”
“I’m sure you do and can perform them admirably,” soothed her mistress, “but not tonight.”
A little maid appeared in answer to the summons and quickly returned with a tea tray. Turning maid herself, Emma
helped Maria into the bed in the small room off her own and, leaving her ensconced against the pillows with a steaming cup of comforting beverage, set about repairing the ravages of travel and dressing herself for dinner.
Knowing that they would be dining in an inn, she had hesitated over the choice of a gown and had finally chosen a pale yellow crepe, which she felt would not be too formal. Surveying herself in the mirror, she was pleased with her choice and twined a matching ribbon through her curls as her only adornment.
Sir Julian was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs and came forward to offer her his hand. He had changed out of his riding clothes into a gray jacket and tight paler gray pantaloons, his crisp cravat was tied into a perfect waterfall knot, while his carelessly brushed black curls would have been the envy of less fortunate straight-haired people.
“Simple, yet elegant,” he approved. “Your taste, Miss Beringer, is delightful.”
Emma paused and opened her eyes wide. “Compliments, Sir Julian?” she marveled. “You’ll spoil me!”
“I am persuaded that you have a very sensible head upon your shoulders,” he said, leading her into their private room. “And it would take more than a few pretty words to turn it. ’ ’
“Perhaps ... to own the truth, I am feeling very mortified with myself.”
Sir Julian looked at her closely. “How so?”
“It’s Maria—the journey has made her quite unwell. I, who should have noticed, was so wrapped up in my own enjoyment that I did not see her discomfort. The poor girl was doing her best to carry out her duties, despite feeling sick and ill, and all the while afraid to say anything in case she was turned off! ’ ’ She turned speaking eyes to her guardian. “I feel such a thoughtless wretch,” she admitted candidly. “And how are we to get her back to Cumberland Square?”
“I see no difficulty. She shall go by poste-chaise or 101
coach,” he answered promptly. “As to your suitability as mistress—the fact that you are upset shows your kind heart. ’ ’ “I am not used to having a maid—”
“No more than Maria is to being one. You must leant together. I am sure that you both will prove apt pupils.”
He helped her to soup from the tureen already presiding in the middle of the table, and for a while they both enjoyed slaking hearty appetites. While they waited for the soup plates to be taken away, Emma urged Sir Julian to partake of the landlady’s prestigious pie.
‘ ‘Very wise,” he agreed. “To put oneself on the right side of one’s landlady can only be sensible.”
Once th
e main meal had been served and they were alone again, Emma could control her curiosity no longer and felt impelled to ask: “What manner of lady is Mrs. Hodge? Pray tell me—will we be welcome?”
She could not hide a faint tremble in her voice, and Sir Julian smiled at her vain attempt to hide her agitation.
“Mrs. Hodge is—unique. Quite unlike any other, ’ ’ he told her. “And as to being welcome, Jem Bowls is this moment riding there to inform her of our arrival in the area. ”
“You have not answered my question, sir. Is she . . . formidable? The stuff of fairy stories? Or—a kindly, gentle aunt?”
Julian Leyton considered. “Mrs. Hodge is a law unto herself, and she would answer to none of your descriptions,” was all he would say, his black eyes twinkling with amusement.
Reflecting that he would not tease if Mrs. Hodge was, indeed, an ogre, Emma remarked in a composed manner, that in that case she supposed it just as well that she had provided herself with a piece of silver.