by Joan Smith
“Is business not good, Mr. Rupert?” I asked.
“Appalling. The local farmers leave me out of their negotiations. The only business I can hope to get hold of is the city folks who have got rich enough to buy up a country place and turn gentleman.”
“You cannot be doing so poorly as you say,” I replied, with a glance at his new carriage and team.
“I arranged a good deal in Exeter last week. I am obliged to branch out a little to keep body and soul together. Sold the local church to a foreigner from London,” he confided with a wink. “He may be somewhat surprised to discover the minister has not heard of the deal. He spoke of bricking up the gothic windows and throwing out a couple of bows.”
“Mr. Rupert is always joking, Jane,” Molly felt it necessary to tell me.
“Jane,” Mr. Rupert repeated, examining my face to see if he approved of the name. “Yes, that suits those spectacles.”
“A plain Jane you mean, Mr. Rupert?” I asked, adopting a pert manner.
“I see I am not the only joker in the deck,” he answered, giving me such a look as a man never bestowed on me before. Flirtatious, interested. My heart beat faster. “It is a good, sensible, intellectual name. All the governesses and nursemaids are calling themselves Jane this year, since Miss Bronte’s heroine had such good luck in nabbing her master. Or so your predecessor told me in any case.”
I knew Rosalie had enjoyed Jane Eyre very much. I had to engage enough of Mr. Rupert’s interest that he would ask to see me again. I regretted the spectacles that did nothing for my appearance, the plain poke bonnet and unfashionable dark cloak. I tried vainly to think of some leading, coquettish remark to make.
“Bingie go now,” Bobby repeated, with a stronger tug on my hand.
“We’ll make a deal,” he said, ostensibly to the child, but with most of his attention directed to myself. “I’ll let you take Bingie away now, if she will promise to drive out with me tomorrow afternoon, weather permitting.”
“I shall accept the deal, before Bobby tugs my arm from its socket,” I said quickly, before he should change his mind. “That is—will it be all right at the Park, Molly, if I go out tomorrow?”
“I’ll look after Bobby for you. Did Mr. Palin not tell you you would have one afternoon a week off?”
“No, and I hadn’t the sense to ask him.”
“I believe she’s in love with Mr. Palin already,” Mr. Rupert confided to Molly. “Lost the use of her wits, you see, or cannot bear the thought of being away from him for a minute. It is that forward hussy of Miss Bronte’s who is putting these ideas in all the girls’ heads. I suppose you are trotting after him yourself, eh, Molly?”
She snickered happily at this sally, blushing up to her eyes. “He gives you pretty hard competition, Mr. Rupert,” she answered daringly.
“Yes, that is why I had to buy this rig, to compete with his britska and landau. I shall call for you at two tomorrow, Miss Bingie. In the meanwhile, try if you can to curb your shameless pursuit of your employer, or Bess will scratch your eyes out.”
“I’ll do my best, Mr. Rupert,” I answered.
He hopped into his carriage, flipped a coin to the boy on the curb, and with a finger to his hat, he was off.
“Bad man,” Bobby said, looking after him.
“I believe the little rascal is jealous,” Molly said. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”
“Rather, and amusing too.”
“He’s ever so nice. Bess will be fit to be tied. He was seeing her after Rosalie left.”
“I can’t imagine what he sees in me, then. Bess is pretty.”
“She may well be the one jilted him. I wonder why a city gentleman like him ever came here to Widecombe for. He can’t do much in the way of business, but he’s always well dressed, and now that new carriage. It must’ve cost him a fortune, and he lives at the inn too. Wouldn’t it be grand to live at an inn.”
“I think it would be lonesome. He must have money independently of what he earns.”
“He must for sure, because he doesn’t earn any. I don’t know why he bothers sticking around here.”
“I can’t imagine. And he came about a year ago, around the time the Palins got married, did he?”
“He turned up not too long after.”
“Where is he from, do you know?”
“I never heard it mentioned. He has a city air about him. London, maybe, though Rosalie never said so. I mean, she was from there herself, and you’d think he would have told her. Why don’t you ask him, Jane?”
“I shall.”
“Who is that other Jane he kept talking about? Jane Eyre?”
“Just a girl in a book, a novel.”
“Rosalie used to read a lot of novels. She was often going into the library at the Park. I wonder if they have that Jane Eyre book. I can read, you know, better than Bess, for all her uppity ways. I went to school for five years; Bess only went for four.”
Molly had a way of tugging at your heartstrings with these pathetic comments. “We’ll go to the library together and find some good books,” I said. I did not feel five years of indifferent schooling would have qualified her to appreciate Miss Bronte, but there would be easier books on the shelves.
“Bingie go home now,” my dictator decreed. I was ready to comply.
Chapter Eleven
I learned on Sunday morning that it was not the custom for Bobby to be taken to church. “For he would only cut up such a racket it would be impossible for anyone else to hear hisself think,” Cook explained to me. “I always minded him while Miss Thompson went, and would be glad to do the same for you, dear. I stay home and do the cooking on Sunday, same as every other day. Mrs. Steyne offered a dozen times to relieve me of it for one day, but I worship in my own way. I’m as religious as the next one, but I do my worshiping in private. You go along with Molly, do. I hear you have an outing planned for the afternoon as well?” she asked, with a sly nod of her head.
“Mr. Rupert has asked me to drive out in his new carriage.”
“A certain girl will have her nose out of joint. Bess wouldn’t have turned him off so fast if she’d known a new carriage was in the offing. I don’t know much about the fellow, but I never heard no ill spoken of him.”
“I would still like to take Bobby to church with me,” I insisted.
“I expect a minister’s child like yourself has been going since she could stand up and toddle, but you’d better check with Mr. Palin before you take Bobby.”
“All right, I will.” Uncertain where to find him on a Sunday morning, I consulted Mrs. Steyne, who took my question to him for me. She was soon back with a very good suggestion.
“He says it might be a good notion to sit in the wailing room with him. There’s a small glassed-in room at the back of the church for people with wee folks. They can make a fuss and not bother any but the ones in the wailing room.”
“Is Bess coming?” Molly asked, as she tied up her bonnet.
“She has a touch of headache,” Cook said.
“Her usual Sunday-morning headache,” Molly said knowingly. “It may rise up into migraine today, when she learns Jane has stolen Mr. Rupert away from her.”
For church, the servants were given the use of the oldest family carriage, a lumbering black antique that held six. I assumed I would go in this vehicle, but before it was loaded, Mrs. Steyne told me, “Mr. Palin wants you and Bobby to go with him in the family carriage.”
“Couldn’t I go with the servants, and meet them there to take Bobby to the wailing room?”
“Them?” she asked. “Oh, Mrs. Palin doesn’t usually go to church except for Christmas or Easter. You’d better go to look after the lad in the carriage.”
I was not at all comfortable joining the master in his fine carriage. “You are a brave woman, Miss Bingham, to take my son to church,” he said, but I think he was pleased that I would go to so much bother.
“Did Miss Thompson not take him?” I asked, surprised, for we h
ad both gone with Papa as soon as we could toddle, despite his being a teacher, and not a minister.
“No, but then her father was not a curate,” he replied, holding the door for me to enter.
“I think it is good for Bobby to be exposed to new situations. A child learns little if he is kept too tightly restricted to the nursery.”
“That is true. I appreciate your efforts to expand his horizons.” There was no confidence in his tone that it would do any good at all, but I felt increasingly that a large part of Bobby’s bad behavior was due to simple neglect, and the assumption that he would not be able to manage himself properly, to behave.
The wailing room was at the very back of the church. We left Mr. Palin there. My charge was quite well amused during the service by examining the children’s prayer books, enlivened with pictures of Biblical stories. He did not act up so badly as the other youngsters in the wailing room, but he did squirm and crawl about the seat enough to justify keeping him out of the larger area for another year.
After the service, we met Mr. Palin again. He strode quickly up to us and walked at a fast pace to his carriage, his pride making him avoid the crowds, who would no doubt stare at Bobby. I noticed many of them doing so, but really there was nothing amiss in his appearance. I had got him neatly fixed up, and his clothing was unexceptionable. He jabbered on in his excited, unusual way.
“It is all the horses and carriages that have got him excited,” I explained. “He is so very interested in them.”
I was interested myself to see if a dashing yellow sporting carriage and team were in evidence, but regret to state they were not.
“Yes, he is fond of horses,” Mr. Palin said brusquely.
I disliked sitting silent in the carriage, and sought for some topic of conversation. “Was your trip pleasant, Mr. Palin?” I asked.
“Pleasant? It was not a pleasure trip. The countryside is dull enough this time of the year, and to go alone... Mrs. Palin, as you perhaps know, has an artist in to do her portrait.”
“Yes, I met Monsieur Arouet.”
“Mrs. Palin engaged him while we were in London. He is the new rage, she tells me,”
For the remainder of the trip we spoke of the church, the minister and domestic matters at Palin Park, mostly related to the nursery and my duties. He felt the social discomfort as myself, trying to make polite conversation with a female servant for half an hour. I thought it a poor idea, driving with him. In future, I would try to drive with the other servants.
As soon as lunch was finished, I prepared for my outing with Mr. Rupert. Molly came to collect Bobby. “I’ll take him down to the kitchen. He can draw at Cook’s table, and of course he’ll go to the stable to see the horses and play with Huck. Do you know, Jane, that silly cat stands at the back door meowing for Bobby after lunch? Just like a dog. Isn’t it strange? He’ll let the boy play rough with him, the way no cat ever did. I mean to give that cat a bone one of these days and see if he doesn’t bury it.”
I put on my best poke bonnet and pardessus over my Sunday gown, for the wind was chilly. “You look grand, Jane,” Molly approved. “I suppose you must wear your spectacles?” she asked unhappily.
“I must if I wish to see anything of the scenery,” I answered. I had so quickly become accustomed to them that I was usually unaware they were on my face, except when I wished to read. They interfered with reading or close work.
I expected to see Bess in the kitchen, pouting at my borrowing of her beau, but learned she too had this afternoon off, and had gone to visit some local friend. It seemed very peculiar to have a gentleman coming to call for me at the kitchen door, but then the business of having a beau call at all was sufficient novelty that the minor irregularity was soon overlooked.
Mr. Rupert was out of his tartans today and into more formal dark trousers. In all other respects, he was as I remembered him—lively, amusing and chiefly of interest to me because of his association with Rosalie. After the customary courtesies were exchanged, I looked for a way to introduce my sister’s name. At the crest of a hill, the moors beyond came into view. It was good enough.
I shivered and said, “How desolate the moors are, yet Molly tells me the girl who was here before me quite doted on them. Miss Thompson—you were acquainted with her, I believe?” I asked, using a coquettish tone, to indicate more than mere acquaintance was intended by the word.
“Molly’s been telling tales out of school. I shall give her a dressing-down next time we meet. Yes, I knew Miss Thompson. She was a pretty little thing.”
“I wonder what she found to admire in those moors.”
“I didn’t realize she admired them. She never mentioned it to me. We found more interesting things to discuss,” he said, with a sliding glance to determine whether I too might be interested in more interesting things, namely flirtation.
“There appears to be some irregularity in her leaving the Palins. Did you hear anything about that?”
“I know she left very suddenly, breaking a date with me in the process. She had promised to drive out with me that weekend. I expect she found a more interesting replacement.”
“Ran off with a gentleman, you mean?” I asked with interest. This notion had not been expressed at Palin Park, only in the note delivered to Upper Grosvenor Square.
“Possibly, though the prospects in the neighborhood are somewhat limited. Actually, I believe she just became disenchanted with the position. It is quiet, dull here in Widecombe. I am bored to flinders myself.”
“Why did you ever come here, Mr. Rupert? Would you not be happier in the big city—London, for instance?”
“Trying to get rid of me already, Miss Bingham?” He laughed, choosing to make a joke of it.
“No, only wondering why you came,” I insisted gently.
“A man has to live somewhere.”
“Where are you from? Where is your home?”
“Manchester. I don’t much care for the place. When my folks died, there was nothing to keep me there. No vast inheritance to fall into my lap, no family estates to be kept up, no heiress waiting to console me, so I left.”
“Widecombe is a strange place to have come.”
“I didn’t come here directly. I had a stint abroad, traveling about the world, trying to make a few pennies.”
“You had a pretty good success. Not selling properties in Widecombe cannot keep you in such a high style as you enjoy.”
“Tch, tch, you girls are all alike—curious, and very sharp accountants. Actually, I made a little money here and there. Not selling any properties is not my sole income. I have also looked for and occasionally found diamonds in Brazil, rubies in Burma, poor card players in France, and gold in Africa. A well-traveled gent, you see.”
“That sounds monstrously exciting!” I praised, batting my lashes as hard as I could, but with my spectacles to hide the effect. I wished to impress him with how dashing and romantic I found him. “As you were in Africa, perhaps you know Mrs. Palin. She spent considerable time there.”
“It’s a big country,” he reminded me. “You are from London, according to local gossip, but I don’t suppose you happen to know Queen Victoria.”
“I have not been to the palace for tea recently. After such exotic spots as Africa and Burma and Brazil, I am more astonished than ever that you should have chosen to settle in Widecombe.”
“Settle?” he asked, laughing. “I am a rolling stone, Miss Bingham. I have been here about a year. I fancy another year will see me rolling on to greener pastures. Unless, that is, I find something to keep me here,” he added, allowing his eyes to leave the road long enough to settle on me with a show of admiration.
“You will not find much in the way of gold or diamonds in Widecombe.”
“There are other treasures that must always interest a bachelor,” he replied pointedly.
“Cash, you mean?” I asked, with a coy, teasing smile. I had never thought flirtation would be possible to me. If I cared for a gentleman, I sus
pect it would not be, but as a means to discover information, it was at least attempted.
“Now you know that was not my meaning, ma’am,” he replied, with some show of annoyance. Still, I do not think he was any more sincere in his advances than I was myself.
“I begin to think you are a gazetted flirt, sir. Not more than two months ago you were walking out with Miss Thompson, so don’t let on you care for me. Were you quite brokenhearted when she left?”
“Desolate for at least two days, maybe three. Then Bess began rolling her eyes at me.”
“What a shocking philanderer you are! It is very odd, is it not, the manner of Miss Thompson’s leaving?”
“Oh, as to that, I have been jilted in much odder ways,” he replied, once again slithering out of a helpful reply. I was becoming quite vexed with Mr. Rupert, though I could not allow it to show.
“What do you think happened to her?” I asked point-blank.
“I expect you have heard the rumors?” I looked my encouragement. “It is whispered around the village she took something that did not belong to her, and was shipped out, but to save the girl’s reputation, I believe they implied she had some beau she ran off with.”
“Did she have any other beaux?”
“The boyfriend is always the last to know. No one told me if she had.”
“Do you think she took something that didn’t belong to her, then?”
“She never stole a thing from me,” he replied frivolously. “Except my heart, of course, and that came winging back to me shortly after she left. You are very curious about Miss Thompson.”
“Molly speaks about her a good deal. Gossip is our main pastime at the Park, Mr. Rupert.”
“Forget about her, Miss Bingham. One dislikes to speak ill of the de—departed, but why would the Palins wish to accuse her unjustly? They were happy with her work. Indeed, she told me half a dozen times the child was better-behaved with her than with the other girl who had left, so they would not let her go for no reason. She could not resist the lure of madame’s jewels, and was caught at it. I expect she is at home this instant, telling her aunt how cruel the Palins were, and that she could not endure it a moment longer. She had a wealthy aunt, you know.”