Dame Durden's Daughter

by Joan Smith

  The showing of the garden was not a great success. Lady Anne had the habit of pulling the petals off the prettiest roses and sprinkling them about the ground. “Snow flakes,” she said, watching them sift down.

  Doctor Thorne praised every bloom in view, topping his flattery by suggesting to Edith she do something of the same sort at the Vicarage after they were married. “I’m not much at gardening," she told him unenthusiastically.

  “We can’t hope to match such grandeur as this, but a few bushes would smarten us up.”

  They did not return into the house but went from the garden to their carriage.

  “Lady Anne is charming,” Thorne said to Edith.

  “Very pretty. A pity she’s so near witless.”

  “I suppose she’s there to make a match of it with the Duke. I wish you had told me, Edith. I like to know what is going on here.”

  “You must have seen her at the assembly.”

  “I had no idea she was making such a long visit of it. Carlton has packed her off there to marry the Duke.”

  “She may have come for the purpose, but Helver has no interest in her.”

  “She is not bright, but she is the Earl’s only daughter. There will be a good dowry and that will weigh with him.”

  “It will not! Helver wouldn’t care a fig for that.”

  “I notice he kept a pretty sharp eye on her when I was talking to her.”

  “Dorion, you can’t think he was jealous!” she laughed aloud.

  “As to that, if anyone were jealous in the case, it should be myself. What had His Grace to say to you?”

  “He was only saying that this was my first formal visit to the Hall, as long as we have been neighbours.”

  “That was foolish of you, but, now the ice is broken, we shall go often.”

  Edith said not a word about social calls but only won­dered at his two-facedness.

  “You’re certain there’s to be no match between the two of them?” he asked after a few moments’ silence.

  “Positive. Carlton will have a hard time finding anyone to marry Anne.”

  The same thought had occurred to Thorne, giving rise to such a field of possibilities that he said not another word to Edith all the way home, a circumstance that pleased her.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  Doctor Thorne had been well pleased by his reception at the Hall. With a duchess and an earl’s daughter there to lure him forth, it was his intention to re­turn as soon and as frequently as possible. The next day, there was no mention of the call being anything but a so­cial visit. The Dame heard with resignation of his plan. She would not go, but she did not forbid her prospective son-in-law going; neither did she urge Edith to accompany him. He felt his plans would progress more satisfactorily without her, and, as it was unlikely the Duke of Saymore would be sitting home to be flattered into increasing his salary, Edith was not asked to accompany him.

  The Duke was out on estate business, and Doctor Thorne sat with his mother, Lady Sara and Travers, urg­ing on them his own view as to the necessity for active young clergymen in the diocese. He presented his view on heterodoxy to the Duchess’s delighted ears. She felt very wise and holy, nodding her head and sipping her negus and saying he was right, quite right.

  “You might tell the Dean so, next time you see him, ma’am,” he remarked.

  “You may be sure I will do so, Doctor,” she said promptly, and didn’t think to mention that she seldom saw the Dean from one year’s end to the other.

  Travers sat listening to his solemn patter for a while, and within a quarter of an hour figured him to be a con­niver. She then excused herself, and Thorne, who mis­trusted her sharp eyes, immediately enquired after Lady Anne. He was told she usually spent the mornings with her abigail reading and was free only in the afternoons. This was carefully noted, and he timed the hour of his next visit with it in mind.

  It was sadly confirmed that Helver had not seemed to take to her at all, and there was to be no match in that quarter. Yes, the Duchess agreed, Carlton would have his hands full finding a husband for the girl, with her mental inadequacy. A pity, for she was really very pretty and obliging, and with a good husband she might manage a home well enough, although Carlton would have to come down heavy to find her a man.

  Dorion left with his mind busy wondering what price an earl would pay to marry his daughter to an educated gen­tleman. When Helver returned before dinner, Travers met him on his way in.

  “The Doctor’s been back, buttering up your mama,” she said in her blunt fashion.

  “Thank God I wasn’t home. Was Eddie with him?”

  “No, he came alone this time.”

  “Why do you suppose he keeps coming here? He has the living."

  “He doesn’t have the Dean’s position. That’s what he’s angling for if I read him aright.”

  “He aims high. What makes him think Mama can help him?”

  “It never does any harm to have a duchess in your pocket.”

  “He’s never even had a small parish of his own till now. No experience at all except for a few Sundays filling here and there when some minister was ill or on holiday. I hope he doesn’t mean to hound us to death with these calls.”

  “Yes, strange he isn’t home courting his bride-to-be. I daresay Eddie’s happy enough to be rid of him for an hour a day.”

  “Are you hinting I should be going after Eddie? I spoke to her about this marriage. The Dame isn’t pushing Thorne down her throat. She has decided to marry him.”

  “Have you decided to do nothing about it?”

  “What can I do?” he asked.

  “Nothing, I imagine,” Travers admitted, and the two walked off in different directions but in the same dejected frame of mind.

  Edith was rid of Dorion for nearly a whole day. The next morning he said he would drive over to St. Michael’s and talk to Mr. Evans. His intention was to begin his take-over of the parish by such small steps as lending the aging Evans a hand, getting to know the people and assist­ing in busy periods, so that when a replacement was discussed, he would be the first name to come to mind.

  Thorne made himself free of the Dame’s carriage for all his outings and had the full intention of continuing to do so after he lived in the Vicarage. Wanting to set up his own was merely a pretext for more money. But he did leave Edith’s mount to her. She wanted to set out for a ride, but the weather turned bad in the late morning and so she was obliged to remain indoors. Helver was caught in a cold, lashing rain on his way home, and, rather than return all the way, he sought refuge at the Court. The Dame and Eddie sat together by the huge fireplace, going through ancient tomes to discover the proper method of conducting a Tudor wedding feast.

  “Now here is something,” the Dame announced. “A boar’s head covered with rosemary leaves. That could be done easily. I have rosemary growing in my border.”

  “Mama, how ghastly!” the bride objected.

  “Just the head?” Helver asked. “I can’t think that would feed your party. I’d prefer a joint myself.”

  “It is mostly ornamental, I should think,” the Dame al­lowed. “Though a boar’s cheek is not untasty. And the tongue quite unexceptionable. Now what is this—stewed goldfinches and roast porpoise? I daresay we could catch a couple of dozen finches. A pity they’re all skin and bones. Cold numble pie and sack, it suggests here, for the ser­vants.”

  “I’ll eat with the servants,” Helver said with a grimace.

  “I wonder if Cook has the recipe for numble pie,” the Dame asked herself. “Edith, my dear, get Helver a glass of Lamb’s Wool while I speak to Cook.” She crackled out of the room, and Helver looked a question at Edith. The mo­ment for their talk had come, and she was not anxious to begin it.

  Sensing her reluctance, he said, “I hope that brew is more potable than it sounds.”

  “It’s only March ale, with plenty of spice and sugar.” She called Sally to fetch it.

  “If the spice and
sugar aren’t yet added, you can omit them.”

  “They are added. We’re trying out recipes for my wed­ding. It’s quite tasty. Roasted crab-apples—only they’re somewhat withered since they’re last season’s—and a twig of rosemary, all stirred up and foamy.”

  When it was brought, it resembled a meal rather than a drink, with toasted bread part of the repast. It was served hot and proved more tasty than Helver had supposed.

  “Well, Eddie,” he began hesitantly, “we’re not likely to have a better chance than this to talk. Tell me how you came to accept him so suddenly. You said at the pavilion you hadn’t made up your mind, and the next day it was all settled.”

  “I made up my mind, Helver. That’s all.” She spoke in a low voice, glancing down at her book.

  “Oh, Eddie, are you going to settle for this—no ro­mance or anything in your marriage!”

  “I’ve decided to marry Dorion. We’ve told everyone. The whole village knows. He’s a good man. I’m—proud to be marrying him.”

  Helver listened and tried to accept it. “Where is he today? He hasn’t been to the Hall that I know of. Of course I haven’t been home since morning.”

  “He’s gone to visit Mr. Evans,” she said, and added not a single word to indicate her groom’s interest in St. Mi­chael’s, despite Thorne’s repeated urgings that she do so.

  Helver leaned back, glad to know he wouldn’t be sub­jected to a series of “Your Grace’s” from Thorne. Edith was looking particularly pretty that day, with the reflec­tions from the grate playing on her little oval face, and this unexpected visit brightening her eyes. She, too, was glad for her fiancé's absence.

  “This is very nice. Homey,” Helver said. It was very much like his dreams, except that Eddie was not his wife.

  “We appreciate the big fireplace on days such as this.”

  “So you’re really going to get married, Eddie. It will seem strange for you not to be here.”

  “I’ll only be in Tisbury. I hope you mean to call on us.”

  “You may be sure I will. Did Thorne mention to you I’d be happy to give you away?” The phrase sounded sud­denly offensive and he laughed. “Now what a thing to say! I shan’t be happy in the least to give you away. What I meant to indicate was that as Mr. Durden is dead, I’d be happy to take his part in the wedding ceremony—giving the bride away.”

  “I know what you meant, Helver,” she said.

  “You always do. How should it be possible for me to give away what is not mine?” He spoke softly and looked at her closely as he spoke. He added in a firmer voice, “And if you were mine, I wouldn’t for a moment consider giving you away.”

  She said nothing to this but gave him such a look—full of woe—that he had for one moment a strong feeling that she was his. That look jolted him as even a direct declara­tion of love would not have done. There was a feeling of embarrassment between them, for Edith saw the flash of understanding leap in his eyes. “Eddie . . .," he began and made a move to arise from his seat.

  “Don’t!” She raised her hands in a gesture of pushing him off from her. “You forget I am engaged.”

  “I do not forget it,” he said, resuming his seat and look­ing at her steadily. “And I do not understand it, either. How could you . . ."

  “Don’t say a word against him, Helver, if you wish to continue my friend.” Edith didn’t love Thorne, she didn’t even like him; but she was engaged to marry him, and to disparage him behind his back did not seem right.

  “Very well, then, but am I allowed at least a word about your own conduct?” She nodded. “It’s not what I expected of you, to marry a man you don’t love.”

  “I don’t know what you did expect of me, then!” she charged angrily. “I’m nineteen years old. Did you expect me to become an old maid? To live out my life and die here at Durden Court?”

  “No, I expected you to marry the man you love.”

  Helver didn’t name the man; he didn’t have to. He looked at her out of black, accusing eyes. She was so angry she felt a strong urge to slay him. Why must he say this now, when it was too late? Bad enough he never made any overture of any serious sort when she was free; to come pestering her now that she was engaged was the last straw. It was also grossly improper, as she should have ex­pected of Helver Trebourne.

  “I don’t love anyone,” she said coldly.

  “A marriage of convenience, you mean?” She didn’t even bother to glance at him and gave no answer. “Per­haps you’re wise after all. Maybe that’s the best way. I’m thinking of settling down myself, you know.”

  “That will be a change.”

  “Now as my mentor’s good wife and helpmeet, Eddie, I ask my first favour of you. Who should I marry?”

  “I suggest some broad-minded lady who does not care overly much for you,” she answered, anger rising in her throat.

  “You think I mean to continue my amorous career after marriage? As my Vicar’s wife, it is surely your duty to try to reform me. I am ready for reforming. I mean to prove some lady a good husband. I have felt, since taking over my duties, the need of a wife to come home to evenings.”

  “But would you come home to her? That is the ques­tion.”

  “If she were the right wife, I would.”

  “It is a Beatrice you are seeking, I assume. You never gave me the translation of that book you mentioned. You must find your own wife. I don’t know what a Beatrice would be like.”

  “She would be like you,” he said calmly and looked at her, questioning.

  The Dame returned to inform them that the cold num­ble pie required chitterlings, and she intended to continue perusing the books for more treats. She observed nothing amiss in her companions. Helver added some light com­ments to her suggestions, and Edith, too, occasionally made a comment. But her mind was not on Tudor food. It was very wrong of Helver to do what he had done. To come after she was engaged to marry Dorion and try to make love to her. Very wrong, too, for her to listen to him with her heart racing. He was as bad as everyone said, and she must not listen to him. She wished he would leave—go and leave her in peace—but even after the storm abated be sat on, talking till at length Dorion returned.

  “Sorry I wasn’t in when you called the other day,” Hel­ver said to him. He noticed with an ironic smile that the Doctor’s warm greetings were all for himself. He hardly glanced at Edith.

  Thorne was gratified at the visit, most gratified, and said so a dozen times, with half a dozen “Your Grace’s.” He went on to express his delight in the Duchess, then with the Vicarage, telling his visitor that he and Edith had been to go over it.

  Edith tried to rouse herself to show some enthusiasm in her groom and her new home. “It is much finer inside than I thought,” she remarked. “The bedrooms large and bright, and a closed stove in the kitchen. When did your papa have that installed?”

  “I have no idea. Is the front room all right? It’s a good-sized room, I recall. I’ll redo it if you like, Eddie.”

  Thorne’s ears perked up, and he said, “I always fancied an oak-lined study.”

  “But we are discussing Eddie’s front room,” Helver pointed out.

  “Dorion will use it for a study,” Eddie explained a little shamefacedly. “The study is so small—for all his books.”

  “I see,” Helver said and dropped the subject of redoing it. “Will you take your harpsichord with you?” he asked her. “Remember you used to play that awful Tudor ballad on it—the one you liked so much, Dame,” he said, turning to Mrs. Durden.

  “‘The Ladye Bessie’,” Eddie remembered. “Shall I play it? Would you like to hear it, Mama?”

  The Dame expressed agreement with no great enthu­siasm, but Doctor Thorne was loud in his request for a lit­tle music.

  “We haven’t played and sung together in years,” Helver said to Edith. “Let’s give it a try. I think I remember the words.”

  After a few false starts, the words and music were re­membered and Dorion sat s
miling, clapping at the song’s end and requesting a repetition.

  They played a few other songs till it was approaching dinner-time. Dorion asked Helver to remain and take pot­luck with them, but he eventually left.

  As Helver rode home through the wet meadows, be considered the visit and was convinced on several points. Eddie didn’t love Thorne, and Thorne cared for no one but himself. Impossible that he had the least love for Edith, when he pushed her into intimacy with the infamous Duke of Saymore at every opportunity with the end in view of getting what he could from his wealthy patron. Eddie’s scruples were overly nice, he thought, if she wouldn’t listen to a word against the holy hypocrite. But how could he convince her? How could he make her be­lieve that he had indeed changed, when she had known him for a rakehell for years? It didn’t occur to him that he must make Eddie love him. She already did. Of that, at least, he hadn’t the least doubt—nor of his love for her.

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  After Helver left Thorne entertained the Durden ladies with a recital of his day at St. Michael’s. Evans had been happy for the few services he had been able to render and had asked him to return once a month to help out. He was also planning to set up a Sunday School for the children.

  “Imagine, Edith, he doesn’t have a Sunday School set up there.”

  “We don’t have one here, either,” Edith told him.

  “The Saymores haven’t kept an eye on things as they ought. But after we are married, you must get one going. That is woman’s work.”

  “But you are going to do it at St. Michael’s?” she pointed out.

  “Evans is a widower, but I’ll get the parish women to do the real work. It will give a good impression for me to be able to tell His Grace my plan next time we meet. Maybe I should run over to the Hall tomorrow and men­tion it to him.”

  “I shouldn’t if I were you. Helver doesn’t take any in­terest in such things. That is—he will expect you to handle it yourself.”

  “The Duchess will want to hear about it,” he smiled, thinking it high time to call on Her Grace again. And if he couldn’t get Lady Anne involved in one way or another, he’d be much surprised.