The Unlikely Rivals

by Megan Daniel

  “Cousin Saskia!” His sharp voice brought her from her thoughts as nothing else could have done.

  “Cousin Derek!” She instantly bit back the sharp remark that sprang to her tongue at sight of him. How do you do? It seems we both felt in need of a ride today.

  He looked around for a sign of the groom that must surely have accompanied her. He saw none. Cousin! Do you tell me that you rode out here alone?”

  “I wasn’t aware that I had told you anything,” she replied. "But yes. I came alone. Why should I not?”

  “Would you have allowed your sister to do so?”

  “Of course not! The cases are entirely different. Trix is very young.”

  "Whereas you are a positive dowager!” He was not a natural satirist; the words came out wooden. “You have not ridden in years and are, moreover, on a mount to which you are not accustomed.”

  “Oh, Sunshine and I understand each other very well.” She stroked the mare’s golden neck. “Niet waar, Zoon- schifnP”

  “Well, you will not ride home alone. I shall accompany you.”

  “There is not the least need, I assure you.”

  “I am going back myself, in any case.”

  “Oh, very well!” she said irritably. “I daresay Mrs. Jansen will have tea ready when we get to Laura Place. You may as well join us.”

  He gave her a stiff nod. “I thank you for the very gracious invitation.”

  She colored up. What was it about him that made her so shockingly uncivil? She changed her tack. "Mina will be ecstatic. You are quite first oars with her, you know.”

  She is a likable child. So is Willem, though sadly in need of a strong hand.”

  "I have done my best with them ” was her cold reply.

  Now it was his turn to flush with embarrassment. “I did not mean ... I referred only to the lack of a man in the household. I think you have done admirably with them, considering the circumstances. I meant no offense.”

  Oh, I know you did not, and I am sorry for ripping up at you. We seem always to be trying to snap each other’s heads off, don’t we?”

  “Well, we are rivals.”

  Yes, but must we be enemies as well? Come, Cousin. Cry friends?”

  She stopped her horse and put out her hand.

  Friends, he said. As he shook the hand he noticed how well she was looking today. She had lost her governess appearance entirely, and the deep russet of her new riding habit gave warm highlights to her hair and eyes. Her jacket was severely cut, like the old black habit, but its Polish frogging and gold braid gave it a great deal of dash. There was a soft frill of lace edging the snowy cravat wrapped high up her long neck. She looked, well, handsome in it. Yes, that was just the word.

  “Do you know the strangest thing has happened!” she said, pulling him from his admiration. “Mama’s grandfather has turned up alive and in BathI”

  “What? You mean ...”

  ^Yes,” she laughed. “The hateful father.”

  But ... oh, dear. One more person for you to deal with. I shall begin to feel guilty for my lack of encumbrances soon."

  She laughed again, and he gave an answering smile. He really was looking well this morning, she noted. His corbeau-colored riding coat and top boots did him justice. In fact, when the black scowl left his face, he was quite a handsome gentleman.

  “Oh no,” she said. “I intend to fob him off onto Trix. She’s delighted with the idea. She will bully him into health. And Aunt Hester has provided us with so many servants that I need never worry about leaving the twins at home. I mean to be sure that you don’t get the upper hand on me, Cousin Derek.”

  “What did you think of the house?”

  “Lovely. I can see why Aunt Hester wants it.”

  "Yes. It is exquisite.”

  Conversation lagged, each giving a sidelong look at the other. Had he found something, Saskia wondered. What did she discover, Derek asked himself. Am I losing already, they both mused.

  The rest of the ride passed in uneventful chatter as they treaded warily around the edges of the only topic that interested them. Their speculations continued unabated. They might have cried friends, but they were a long way from trusting each other.

  Chapter Eleven

  The entire van Houten clan set out for the Pelican for their appointed luncheon with Mr. Weddington. After a great deal of jostling and muttering as they all six tried to squeeze into the barouche, they finally settled, making a merry, lively party.

  “Now you must not be rowdy,” Saskia adjured the twins. “Great-grandpapa is a very elderly gentleman and not well.”

  “Older even than Great-aunt Hester?” asked Mina, certain that such a thing was not possible.

  “Yes, darling. Older even than that,” she answered with an amused smile.

  “I hope there’ll be snoepjes” said Willem, using his favorite Dutch word for sweets. “Jannie won’t give us enough even now we can afford piles and piles of them.”

  “That’s because she cares about you far more than you deserve,” his sister reprimanded.

  “We called on Opa yesterday after our shopping,” said Beatrix, “and he gave us wine and macaroons. Poor Opa. I’m afraid Aunt Hester was very hard on him.” Then she giggled. “I don’t think he really minded, though. He just gave back as good as he got. After that they got on famously.”

  “I think,” said Mrs. van Houten, “that I must put them both in my next book. Do you all pay attention, my darlings, to remind me later of all their eccentricities.”

  Neil did not join in the discussion, having his nose, as usual, buried in a book. “I do hope, Neil,” said Saskia, “that you don’t mean to have your face in that volume all through lunch. It would be most insulting to Great- grandpapa.”

  “Really, Sask!” came the offended reply, “I’m not a total boor, y’know. I hope I know better than to be so uncivil.”

  “Yes, dear,” she said wryly. “I hope you do.” Neil disappeared back into the depths of his book.

  The barouche turned into Walcot Street and pulled up before the once-famous and now dwindling hostelry. They were greeted by Hawkins, Mr. Weddington’s attendant. The poor young man had a marked tendency to stop breathing whenever his eyes strayed to Beatrix, as they frequently did. His thin, pale face grew alarmingly red. Trix was a picture today in one of the new Kendal bonnets that were all the rage in honor of the engagement of the Princess Charlotte. Its blue ribbons, just the color of her eyes, were tied in a large, jaunty bow at her left ear. Saskia glowed with pride to look at her while Mr. Hawkins gulped at the air.

  Mr. Weddington awaited them in his private parlor, well wrapped up in blankets and rugs against any stray drafts. The room was comfortable and spotlessly clean, but the curtains had faded, the carpet showed its age, and the low beamed ceiling was smudged with the smoke of years. It reinforced Saskia’s conviction that her great-grandfather’s once enormous fortune had evaporated almost entirely.

  Mrs. van Houten beamed. “This could be the very room in which Dr. Johnson and Mr. Boswell discussed the course of history,” she proclaimed, exactly as she had done the previous day. She walked slowly about, gently touching walls and furniture as though the ghost of the

  famed lexicographer could be transmitted into her fingertips.

  Saskia introduced the younger members of the family. Mina's eyes grew huge with wonder as she made her curtsey. She’d never imagined anyone could be quite so old or quite so intimidating. Willem and Neil both gave proper bows and shook the old man’s hand, Neil even going so far as to say, “How do you do, sir,” with perfect civility.

  “Opa!” cried Beatrix. “How well you are looking to- dayl Have you had some of the kandeel Jannie sent you? She swears by it as a strengthener.”

  “If you mean that Dutch swill, no I didn’t. Nor do I intend to! I’ll not muck up my insides with such heathen stuff. Good English porter is what I need!”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” tsked Hawkins, tucking the old man’s rug more firml
y about his knees.

  “Don’t you cluck at me, man,” growled Weddington. “And stop fussing!” He swatted at the fellow as if he were a pesky fly. “Get away, do! Leave us to our lunch. I’ll ring if we want you, though I can’t think why we would.”

  “Now, sir..began Hawkins.

  “Out!”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Hawkins,” soothed Beatrix. “We will take good care of Opa. Why don’t you go out and enjoy the sunshine?” The obvious dismissal was softened by a smile so dazzling the sunshine could not hope to compete. Reluctantly, Hawkins ducked his long body through the low doorway and left.

  “He’ll fidget me to death, one day!”

  “Yes, I think he might, Opa” said Beatrix. “But he’s gone now, and we can be comfortable.”

  “Comfortable! Humph!”

  “I’m told you met our Aunt Eccles yesterday, sir,” Saskia intervened. "What did you make of her?”

  “Uppity female, with her arrogant Rowbridge nose!”

  “Oh, dear,” said Saskia, fooling no one with her mock gravity. “I’m told I have the Rowbridge nose too.”

  “And you’d be well advised not to stick it where it doesn’t belong, miss,” he retorted.

  “Now, Opa,” said Beatrix. “Just because Aunt Hester wouldn’t let you bully her. You know very well that you admired her excessively.”

  “Well,” he hedged, “I do like a woman with spirit.”

  “You didn’t seem to think much of it in your daughter, sir,” reminded Saskia.

  “She ceased to be my daughter the day she ran off with that rogue!” he thundered.

  “Oh, stuff!” said Beatrix. “If that were so, we couldn’t be your great-grandchildren, and you know you shouldn’t like that a bit.”

  “Well who asked you to be? I’ve managed well enough without you.”

  “It doesn’t look to me as though you have,” retorted Beatrix.

  Saskia was relieved at the entrance of a pair of waiters fust then to divert their attention. The meal was not lavish—the Pelican was known for serving a good, plain ordinary—but it was nicely chosen and well prepared. There was a tasty soup, cold chicken and roast beef, a mound of fresh ripe fruits, and a plate full of sticky Bath buns with curls of butter and pots of marmalade. For Mr. Weddington the waiter brought a bowl of thin gruel and a pot of herb tea, neither very appetizing in appearance.

  One look at her grandfather’s grimace decided Beatrix. She imperiously sent the gruel away. “However are you to feel better with only such stuff to eat, Opa? You need something hearty to strengthen you. Here. This will do you much better.” She served him up a generous portion of the rare beef. He accepted with a surprisingly sheepish smile. It was obvious that he was destined to be ruled by Beatrix henceforth.

  “That’s right, darling,” said Mama encouragingly. “And do help Grandpapa to some strawberries.”

  “May I pour you some of this claret, sir?” asked NeiL “It is quite tolerable.” How very grown-up he sounds,

  thought Saskia with a wry grin. The family party had taken on a surprisingly comfortable atmosphere. Even the children had not been forgotten.

  “Look, Mama!” cried Willem. “Sugarplums!” The word came out intelligible but sadly muffled as he stuffed the treat into his mouth. His example was quickly followed by his twin sister, and their Opa instantly became a good deal less formidable. “Thank you, Opal” they mumbled through sticky lips.

  By now everyone felt very mellow, not least Mr. Wed- dington who was feeling better than he had in months, years even. Hawkins was rung for and directed to accompany the twins to Molland’s, in Milsom Street, for ices. He was given no opportunity to remonstrate with his employer over the uneaten gruel and the suspicious beef bones on his plate. A small sticky hand was placed in each of his long-fingered knobby ones, and he was shooed from the room.

  Neil started to reach for one of the few remaining sugarplums, then seemed to recollect his budding adulthood. His maturity was still too fragile to stand up to sugarplums. Saskia saw the aborted movement and successfully stifled a giggle. She wasn’t the only one to notice. Mr. Weddington, odd as it may seem, had once been young himself. He peered at his great-grandson from under shaggy brows, then reached for the bowl of sweets. “Haven’t had one of these in years!” He bit into one with relish. “Ahhhhhh. Have one, young man. They’re quite tolerable.”

  At that Saskia did laugh heartily along with everyone else, even Neil. They all indulged in the sugarplums and felt themselves very clever.

  Mr. Weddington leaned back in his chair and patted his unusually full stomach contentedly. “So, puss,” he said to Beatrix. “All set to take the town by storm, are you?”

  “Oh yes, Opa,” she laughed. “Won’t it be fun? We’ve already been invited for several picnics and rides and we are going to Letty Crinshaw’s party on Wednesday.

  And we are to attend the assembly in the Upper Rooms this week. It’s all so exciting! And,” she added with a twinkle, ‘ I ve quite decided that I wish to have all Bath at my feet.”

  Imagine you’ll do it, too. My Susannah did, and you’re her double.”

  “She certainly is, sir,” said Saskia. “I could hardly credit it until I saw Mr. Gainsborough’s portrait of Grandmama. The resemblance is remarkable.”

  His eyes, which had begun to droop in after-lunch somnolence, snapped open. “You’ve seen that, have you? Where?”

  “Why, at Rowbridge Manor. Have you seen it?”

  “Oh, I’ve seen it. Years ago, it was. It don’t do her justice. They should have got Reynolds for it.”

  “Or Mr. Romney,” said Mama. “Why only look what he did for Lady Hamilton. The Seamstress, Circe, The Spinner! Why he must have painted her thirty times at least, and she wasn’t half so pretty as Mama.”

  “Or half so respectable, from what I understand,” added Saskia dryly.

  “Well, that is true. Her liaison with Lord Nelson. Not quite the thing. But such a romantic story. I wish I’d written it.”

  “Romance! Humph! Look where romance got Susannah. Wife to a rogue, a widow with a baby before she was twenty. She could have been the Marchioness of Hough.”

  “She often told me,” said Mrs. van Houten, “she wouldn’t have traded her year with Papa for all the diamonds in England. Such a tragedy he died so young. Saskia, darling, you must take me out to the Manor to see Mama’s portrait. I wish to commune with it.”

  “And just how’d you come to be in the library at Row- bridge Manor, miss?” he asked Saskia.

  “Well, that is rather a long story, sir. You see ...”

  It was a long story, and Saskia became so involved in explaining all about the contest and Mr. Banks and what she had come to think of as the Mystery of Rowbridge

  Manor, that she paid little attention to the number of very interesting expressions that crossed Mr. Wedding- ton’s face as he listened. He said little beyond the occasional “Oh, did she?” and “You don’t say?” and, as Saskia wound her explanation to an end, he muttered a softly intoned, “Well, I’ll be damned!”

  He digested the story a moment when she fell silent, then gave an odd smile. “If it ain’t just like a Rowbridge to think up such a stunt” He turned to Mama. “I’m surprised you allowed it Cornelia.” Saskia noticed his use of Mama’s first name.

  “Whyever should I not?” answered Mama. “In fact I’m going to follow all the details closely. I’ve quite decided to make a novel out of it. I feel I’m ready to tackle a comedy.”

  “Mama!” cried Saskia. “It’s no joke! I only wish it were.”

  “Damned right it’s no joke, my girl,” said Mr. Wed- dington. “I know to the penny what Hester Eccles is worth. When you win this one you’ll be set for life, all of you.”

  “Well, Opa, I’m sure that would be very comfortable, but I’m not at all certain I will win.”

  “You’ll win, all right,” he pronounced.

  “I don’t seem to be making much headway.”

 
“Rubbish! No Rowbridge is going to beat a Wedding- ton!”

  “But I’m not a Weddington, Opa,” said Saskia truthfully. “At least no more than I am a Rowbridge.”

  "Well that blasted cousin of yours ain’t got a drop of Weddington blood in his veins, and that’s what’ll land him in the basket.”

  “Oh, Sask’ll win, sir,” said Neil. “But it’s the van Houten blood that’ll make the difference.”

  “How I wish I had the confidence you all seem to have,” said Saskia. “I will do my best, but Cousin Derek does have one important advantage over me.”

  “Oh?” said Mama.

  “No,” said Neil.

  “What?” growled Mr. Weddington. ‘What’s a Row- bridge got that you don’t, I’d like to know?”

  “He is a man,” Saskia stated simply.

  “Oh,” sighed Mama.

  “Yes,” said Beatrix. “I see what you mean.”

  “What has that to say to anything?” asked Mr. Weddington.

  “Quite simple, Opa. As a gentleman, Cousin Derek can poke about to his heart’s content, prying wherever he chooses. No one will think any the worse of him. But I am a Young Lady of Quality.” She began to recite a litany of the unwritten, but no less rigid, rules of behavior pertaining to that class. “A Young Lady may not walk about in public places unescorted, even in broad daylight. A Young Lady may not call upon a gentleman at his place of business, even if she has business with him. A Young Lady may not speak to a gentleman to whom she has not been properly introduced, even when she positively must. And she may not ask indelicate questions or appear to know anything at all about Those Things that a Young Lady Does Not Know About! It’s all very tedious and bothersome, besides being remarkably unfair.”