by Jan Constant
“To ward off witches?” asked Sir Julian, catching her meaning. “You need have no fear in that direction. Mrs. Hodge is more in the mode of a fairy godmother, I’d say.” With that Emma had to be content, for he refused to enlarge upon his interesting statement, shaking his head and assuring her that he had given his word to present her to her great aunt with her mind free from preconceived notions.
The next morning a note from Sir Julian informed Emma that Jem Bowls had returned bearing an invitation to luncheon, and, consequently, they would be setting out soon after breakfast. Maria, who was feeling herself again, helped her to dress in an almond pink, muslin morning gown. After hesitating between a long silk shawl and the cream jacket which had been one of her first purchases in London, Emma chose the spencer and allowed Maria to set the chip straw milkmaid hat on her fair curls and tied the long pink ribbons under her chin in an elegant bow.
‘ ‘Well, miss, I hope as you won’t mind if I say as how you look bang up to the nines in that outfit,” the maid remarked with satisfaction. “Sir Julian should feel proper proud with you on his arm.”
“What nonsense, Maria—he won’t even notice!” Emma murmured, smoothing her eyebrows.
“I don’t know about that, miss,” was the knowing reply, “but I’ve seen his eyes on you—”
Emma turned a surprised gaze on her companion. “Sir Julian is my guardian,” she pointed out, a little breathlessly.
“Not for long, miss. You’ve said so yourself.”
Realizing the impropriety of the conversation, Emma crisply told her maid that such speculation was not to be tolerated and pulled on her gloves, bright spots of agitation in her cheeks. Unhappily aware of the thought put into her mind, her manner was constrained when she joined Julian Leyton a little later, and, bending his head, he peered under the wide brim of her hat and inquired upon her state of health.
“Perfectly well, I assure you,” she told him and, seeking an excuse for her manner, added truthfully that she was feeling somewhat nervous.
“Hodge Hall is a delightful house,” Sir Julian began, setting the horses in motion. “In parts medieval, I believe—the
windows and fireplaces may not be entirely to our modem tastes, but the surrounding gardens make up for any inconvenience.”
Emma had heard only part of this attempt to set her at ease and, turning her head, inquired, “Hodge Hall? Surely you are mistaken.”
“No. I inquired most particularly, and Hodge Hall it is. I believe the late Mr. Hodge renamed it so upon acquiring the property . . . rather in the manner of cocking a snoot at the local gentry, who were none too pleased at a merchant joining their select circle and had obviously made their feelings clear.”
Emma chuckled. ‘ ‘He sounds a man to be reckoned with. ”
“Until then it had been called ‘Wherlam House,’ ” supplied her guardian, negotiating the bend at the end of Fam- ham High Street, preparatory to beginning the road toward the hamlet of Wrecclesham.
“I’m beginning to wish that I had met my uncle,” remarked Emma appreciatively as they drove alongside the river.
Turning left just before arriving at the little town of Alton, they drove along a leafy road before leaving it and taking a smaller lane cut deep into the earth, like a green cave between the fields of ripening crops. Hodge Hall was set in a sunlit clearing, its flint walls and silky, gray beams so old that the building appeared to have grown there. The offset mullioned windows and huge oak door stood open, as if inviting the travelers into the cool, dim interior, and as Sir Julian stopped the phaeton in the shingled courtyard, Emma could only sit entranced as she drank in the ancient tranquility of the old house.
“It’s . . . beautiful” she breathed, before accepting his arm to aid her descent.
A small boy ran to catch the reins, and a woman in the black dress and lacy apron of a housekeeper appeared in the open doorway.
“Miss Beringer to see Mrs. Hodge,” Sir Julian informed her, and the woman curtsied gravely.
“If you will step into the library, sir, Mrs. Hodge will see the young lady in the garden,” she said.
With a reassuring smile, Julian Leyton followed a small maid into the depths of the house, and as he vanished from sight, the housekeeper stepped out onto the front step.
“If you will take that way, miss,” she said, indicating a path that led under an arch of greenery and into a colorful walk, bounded by high herbacious borders. “Mrs. Hodge is waiting.”
Obediently following her pointing arm, Emma set off and, having passed under the arch, was astonished to find herself in the midst of a riot of color even more brilliant than had appeared from the doorstep. Never had she thought that so many flowers could be coaxed to bloom together in such harmony. The air was filled with their scent and the humming of bees and insects. Enchanted, she wandered along, half forgetting her errand in the pleasure of exploring the marvelous garden.
“Well, miss, what do you think of it?” asked a voice, and Emma, who had thought herself alone, noticed a shabbily dressed woman enveloped in a sacking apron, looking up at her from where she knelt among a tangle of plants.
A large straw hat shadowed her face, but Emma could see a pair of sharp eyes regarding her with interest.
“It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,” she answered truthfully, and the woman relaxed her stare somewhat and returned to the weeds she had been attacking.
“Know anything about gardening?” she asked, abruptly plying her fork vigorously.
“I’ve never been lucky enough to have one,” answered Emma. “Do you work here, Mrs. . . . ?”
The old woman sat back on her heels. “I own it, miss. I am Emma Hodge. You were named for me.” Emma looked at her, unable to hide her surprise, and Mrs. Hodge gave a loud snort. “Took me for the gardener, did you?”
“I’ve never seen a lady on her knees with muddy hands,” Emma admitted honestly.
“And I’ve never seen a female following the drum, as I know you and your mama did,” retorted the other. “I imagine that you weren’t ladylike at times.”
“No indeed,” Emma agreed readily. “The niceties of social behavior were ignored most times in the Peninsula.”
She spoke with an unconsciously wistful note in her voice, and her aunt turned a sharp gaze in her direction.
“Miss it, do you?” she asked abruptly.
“Oh, yes!” Emma sighed. “I do find many of the rules of Society irksome.”
“And Sir Julian, how do you like him? I hear that he can be autocratic and keeps his sister on short reins. Does he do the same to you?”
Emma smiled. “He tries,” she answered enigmatically.
‘ ‘Good for you. I don’t hold with this superiority men feel they have. My Ned and I had a partnership, we were as good as each other—that’s how it should be. Though, I’ve a suspicion that Sir Julian holds different views. I daresay he believes that females need looking after.” She paused thoughtfully before giving what could have passed for a cackle. “Come to think of it, I would have enjoyed showing him differently forty years ago!” She turned shrewd eyes on her great niece. “How do you feel?”
“I—” began Emma, only to break off as the fiery color flooded to her cheeks. “I don’t care for being told what to do,” she answered stiffly, while Mrs. Hodge watched her confusion with interest.
“Heavy-handed, is he?” she asked, amused. “I’ve heard that he’s as good as engaged,” she remarked provocatively.
“Miss Plantagenet should suit perfectly. She is a paragon of virtue and knows all the nuances of behavior upon which she kindly instructs us all.”
Again Mrs. Hodge emitted the sound like a cackle. “Highblown, you mean? A proud sort of woman?”
“Exactly,” was the dry answer as Emma’s color returned to normal. The emotion she had felt at her aunt’s question had surprised her, and, puzzled by her own response, she decided to ignore the event until she was alone and could give the strange occurr
ence her undivided attention.
Mrs. Hodge rose stiffly to her feet and dusted earth off her apron. Shaking out her skirts, she trod out of her muddy patterns which had protected her shoes and stepped onto the gravel path.
“Luncheon,” she announced. “I’m famished, and I hope you are, too. I can’t put up with females who think it’s genteel to eat like a bird. ”
“I enjoy my food,” Emma told her, and, at ease with each other, they walked toward the house side by side.
Vegetable soup, a succulent ham, and new potatoes and peas, followed by an apple pie and thick cream, were satisfactorily disposed off, Mrs. Hodge setting to without feeling the need for polite conversation.
“My compliments to your cook,” said Sir Julian, accepting another helping of pie. “And to the person who grew the provisions.” He raised his glass to his hostess who, to Emma’s surprise, became quite pink and flustered.
“We’ll take our tea in the garden,” she announced, fanning herself. “It’s too hot by far in here.”
The tray was carried out to an arbor, where a stone seat and overhanging roses provided shade and coolness. Mrs. Hodge dispensed china tea from a rotund silver pot, and for a while they contentedly sipped the aromatic liquid and nibbled ratafia biscuits. When their cups were empty their hostess sat up straight and fixed Sir Julian with a compelling eye.
“Sir Julian,” she said, “I am convinced that you will find the watering system, which my gardener has arranged, of the utmost interest. Men are always interested in things mechanical, I know. Just follow the path to the green shed—”
Obediently Julian Leyton rose, bowed, and sauntered away. Watching his tall figure, Emma marveled upon the ease with which her aunt had dismissed him.
“Now, niece,” began Mrs. Hodge, turning to her. “As you know, I had intended to leave my wealth to your mother. ... So you became my heir. I daresay that I have been remiss in my treatment of you, and we should have met before now. I am a selfish old woman with my own interests, and only now, when I am faced with the prospect of my demise, have I felt the need to meet you.”
For the first time, Emma studied her aunt closely and detected signs of fragile health beneath the sun-tanned, weathered face and involuntarily put out her hand toward the other’s work-worn, wrinkled claw.
“No sympathy, miss,” said the old woman. “Age comes to us all—I merely wish to be sure that you will care for Hodge Hall. I—do not want it to be neglected.”
On the last word she looked round her domain, and, seeing the expression in her eyes, Emma understood how much the property meant to her aged relative.
As if reading her mind, her aunt said almost to herself, “I never had children and this . . . has become my child. Some folk would not agree, but I find that the earth and mother nature are more rewarding than people. They certainly have served me better.”
Emma could find no comment to make, realizing how disillusioned her aunt must have been to retreat from the world in this way.
“I—will come and see you, if you will permit me,” she said quietly at last.
Mrs. Hodge shook her head. “No need,” she said decisively. “We have met, and I’m satisfied that you will have a care for Hodge Hall. Count yourself my heir, niece, but don’t let it go to your head. Take my advice and look out for fortune hunters. Look for a husband as rich as yourself. ... He won’t be after your inheritance. ’ ’ She nodded her head in the
direction Sir Julian had taken. ‘"He’s as good as any, I’d say.”
‘ ‘Sir Julian is my guardian, ’ ’ Emma pointed out, shocked.
The older woman cackled. “At the moment, but if I’ve done my sums aright, in a short while you’ll be of age.”
“Besides. . . he’s as good as betrothed. . . .’’murmured Emma, following her own line of thought.
“As good as, isn’t final. Take my advice, niece, and put in a bid. I don’t think the man himself would be exactly averse.”
Emma was very quiet on the drive back to Farnham, disturbed, not only by her aunt’s unusual character, but by the advice which she had given. Sensing her wish to be quiet, Sir Julian drove without speaking, allowing her time to assimilate the experience.
At last she sighed and relaxed, peering round the deep brim of her bonnet to say: “It is really rather sad, don’t you think? Mrs. Hodge appears to have no wish for relationships with people. Her garden is her all.”
“Did you hope to find an affectionate aunt, kitten?” Julian Leyton tooled the phaeton round a bend and let the reins out again before going on: “She seemed perfectly happy to me—”
“Oh, no!” was Emma’s shocked exclamation. “Everyone needs someone to love! The garden was beautiful—but it isn’t human. It merely blooms in response to her care and the seasons. No one loves my p-poor aunt and ... I find it very sad.”
Sir Julian stole a look down at her abstracted face. “As her heiress, you must. . . .’’he suggested tentatively.
“Of course I don’t,” Emma objected, indignant at the idea. “How could I, when I’ve never met her before? One does not love to order, Sir Julian.”
“Some would be more than willing to try, for a fortune,” her guardian pointed out dryly, causing her to shoot him a sharp look.
‘ ‘H-how very cynical, ’ ’ was her comment. ‘ ‘What a poor set of people you must know—”
“My friends are limited—by choice, I’m afraid. You are just setting out on the career of heiress. I, my dear Miss Beringer, have been wealthy this sixteen years or more. I can spot a scrounger from the other side of the street and a matchmaking mama from across a ballroom with unfailing ability. Card-sharps have tried any means to inveigle me into a game, and wastrels have courted my acquaintance since I was a beardless youth. Believe me, ward, I am well aware of humanity’s foibles.”
Emma glanced at his unusually severe face. “Dear me!” she said softly. “Is it that bad, in truth?”
“Worse,” she was told briefly. “Money brings out the very worst in people, as you will undoubtedly find.”
“Then I shall give it all up,” she answered promptly, causing her companion to raise a quizzical eyebrow. “I prefer to be as I am . . . with friends who like me for myself. I shall return to the idea of becoming a governess. ”
“Huh!” Her guardian snorted. “A fine governess you’d make, hardly out of the nursery yourself!”
‘ ‘If that is so, I must be the oldest baby in Christendom! ’ ’ retorted Emma. “You must be aware that in only a few weeks I shall attain my majority.”
“And then what, miss? Let me remind you that you have only expectations until your aunt dies.”
“I sh-shall think of something,” cried Emma. Until that moment, she had not thought beyond the present, content to stay in London and enjoy the Leytons’ friendship. Suddenly she was confronted by a bleak future and one for which she did not care. The prospect of leaving Cumberland Square filled her with dismay, the strength of emotion surprising her as she contemplated the dreary possibility.
Sir Julian touched her hand briefly. “Don’t look so worried. We shall be happy to have you as long as you wish.” “Thank you, but no. I am grateful for your kindness, but I intend to earn my own living,” she said bravely, wondering where her independent spirit had gone and why the thought of doing something which she had always known she would have to should suddenly fill her with sadness.
“What nonsense! Why seek another post, when Elvira needs you? Stay with us until you have a home of your own. ’ ’ Emma shook her head, while longing to agree, and said firmly, “I cannot scrounge.”
Sir Julian’s mouth tightened, and, sensing his emotion, the horses jibbed a little. “You know I did not mean you,” he said, when he had calmed them.
Emma was contrite. “I had not supposed. ... I did not mean that—I used the word, because it had been brought to mind. But you must know that the same applies, no matter which word is used. I will not take charity.”
�
��Charity?” He sounded savage. “From friends!”
Emma turned to him impulsively, her expression earnest. “You all have been so kind,” she said, “and I am eternally grateful, but I must be allowed some independence. You, Sir Julian, of anyone must surely see that.”
He smiled a little grimly down at her, but she was relieved to see that his expression had softened somewhat. “Are you accusing me of pride, Miss Beringer?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Only in having pride in your achievements. I cannot be a ‘hanger-on.’ ”
“No one would expect you to be,” he told her. “We will leave the matter for the time being; perhaps the situation will resolve itself. However, I would like your word that you will do nothing rash without first consulting me.”
Having considered, Emma gave her promise willingly, and they fell into general conversation for the last few miles to Farnham. Their former talk, however, gave her cause for thought and occupied her mind for the rest of the day. Noticing her preoccupation, Sir Julian eyed her speculatively once or twice during dinner but said nothing when she announced
her wish to retire, beyond reminding her of their early start the next morning.
A place on the stagecoach had been procured for Maria, and, conscious of her recent neglect, Emma insisted that the groom, Jem, should accompany her. Beyond remarking that he thought such care a little excessive, Sir Julian made no comment and to his obvious chagrin, for he regarded the phaeton and horses as his charge, Jem was dispatched to London in the cumbersome public vehicle, while his master and Miss Beringer set off in the elegant, light-wheeled carriage.
“Our relationship will never be the same,” murmured Julian Leyton. “Jem is convinced that without him behind me, I shall wear out the animals, have an accident... or at the very best, fall foul of highwaymen. ”