by Megan Daniel
She set about catching up on the household chores that had been sadly neglected. She brought her accounts up to date, and played jackstraws with the twins. She kneaded bread with Mrs. Jansen, and listened attentively while Mama bounced plot ideas off her.
But by the third day of rain even Saskia was beginning to feel worn down. The twins grew fidgety at their enforced inactivity. Jannie’s rheumatism and Opa’s gout began acting up. Even poor Rembrandt, dejected at being cooped up so long indoors, drooped by the fire, resentment and boredom mingled on his wonderfully ugly pug face.
Only Trix retained her always sunny disposition as she twittered about the house, bullying Opa into eating his dinner, fahioning a bonnet for Mama, or coaxing Neil away from his books for an hour or so now and then.
Saskia couldn’t account for her low spirits. They had had no visitors at all, due to the storm, but that had never bothered her before. She was at a loss to put a name to an emotion she had never experienced before. She didn’t know that one could feel lonely in the midst of a large and loving family, the loneliness that longs for the company of a specific other. She only knew that she felt tired, and dispirited, and totally unlike herself.
It was that third afternoon that Beatrix found her sister at the window seat in the front parlor, staring blankly out onto the grey drenched street while rivulets chased each other down the panes of glass. An open book lay in her lap. Rembrandt snored loudly at her feet; Mr. Weddington snored softly in a chair by the fire, one foot raised on a cushion.
Beatrix walked silently to the window and sat beside her sister. “Has he been asleep long?” she whispered.
“What?” Saskia looked at her with a start. “Oh. No, not long. I was reading to him, and he drifted off.”
Beatrix was alarmed at the fatigue in her sister’s face. Saskia was their rock, their anchor. Trix had never seen her in such low spirits.
“Are you feeling well, Sask? You look so tired.”
“What?” she said again, seeming to concentrate on Beatrix with an effort. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I am perfectly all right, darling,” she said with forced brightness.
“It is just this odious rain. It seems like it will never stop, doesn’t it? Perhaps we ought to have Neil design us an ark.”
Beatrix returned the smile and tried to maintain the light mood. “And who shall we invite aboard our ark? There is a nice female terrier across the way that Rembrandt has taken a marked interest in. And Melissa has two kittens.”
With a brave show of spirit, Saskia entered into the game. “Willem caught a pair of frogs last week up by the canal, and I expect Jannie will want her rabbits along. And of course the doctor must come along to look after Opa.”
“Oh, no he shan’t!” Trix wrinkled up her nose. “He is a horrid doctor and makes Opa feel more ill than ever. I shall take care of him myself.”
At that Saskia laughed, quietly so as not to wake Opa. "Well then we can give his berth to Melissa. We must have Captain Dun-ant, of course, to pilot us.”
“And Cousin Derek for first lieutenant!”
Saskia’s laugh faded and she turned a blank face to the window again. “Do you like Cousin Derek so very much, Trix?”
“Oh yes! Yes, I do. I don’t know how I would have got through the assembly without all his encouragement. And he is so very handsome, is he not? He quite cast all the other gentlemen there into the shade.”
“He said much the same thing about you. He admires you very much, you know.”
“Well, I am glad he does. He is so particularly the type of gentleman one would wish to attract, don’t you think?”
There was a pause before Saskia answered. “Yes,” she sighed. “Yes, I do.”
A tiny frown furrowed Beatrix’s brow. She had never seen her strong, self-sufficient sister in such a mood. There was something terribly wrong. She must try to find out what. But her thoughts were diverted by a stir-
ring and grunting from across the room. Mr. Wedding- ton had returned to the world from the depths of his nap.
“Opa/” said Beatrix. “You are awake. How nice. Did you have a comfortable nap?”
“No, I did not!” he grumbled. “Damned rain! Damned cold! Damned gout!”
"Oh, dear,” she clucked sympathetically. “You are uncomfortable, aren’t you? I’ll get you some of Jannie’s ginger powder and a nice cup of tea. Then you will feel more the thing.”
‘Tea, humph! What I need is for that damned fool of a doctor to come and bleed me.”
“That you do not, Opa! Bleeding indeed! What an antiquated notion. You shall have no such thing.”
“Don’t you bully me, my girl. I’ve been having my blood let these seventy years and more.”
“Quite. And I’ll wager you’ve been uncomfortable for fifty of them.”
“Sixty!”
"Well, there you are, then. There will be no more bloodletting in this house. You need to grow stronger, not weaker.”
He stared defiance at her a moment, then broke into a grin. It occurred to him that he was smiling quite a lot lately. And here he’d thought he had forgotten how. “What a baggage you are,” he teased as he reached up to pinch her cheek. “Lord preserve the husband that gets loaded with you, puss.”
“He will be a lucky man to have me, Opa, just as you are. Now I’ll go and get your tea. Tomorrow when you are feeling stronger, we shall have a nice hutspot. Jannie does it so well, and you know how you like it.” His pale eyes looked up at her and got a twinkle in return. “Perhaps,” she said with a grin, “a glass of port would do you better than tea. Yes, most definitely port.” She dropped a kiss on his freckled pate and skipped from the room.
He watched her go with the softest of smiles. "Just like my Susannah.”
Saskia didn’t comment because she hadn’t heard. She was staring at the watery street once more, lost in the maze of her own thoughts.
Chapter Seventeen
On the morning of the fourth day the sun peeked through the clouds at last. Birds reappeared from wherever they had been hiding to chirp tentatively. Nursemaids made cautious forays out of doors, one eye on their rambunctious charges, the other on the still watery sky. Dogs, including good old Rembrandt, barked and romped and splashed in puddles. A romping, splashing bulldog is quite a sight to behold.
A general sigh of relief rippled through the town, but Saskia was still in low spirits, wandering aimlessly about and speaking little.
Then, at midaftemoon, there came a knock at the door. Ware was soon ushering Derek Rowbridge into the parlor. Suddenly Saskia saw the window sparkling with sunbeams and heard the sounds of spring ringing in the air. He was offering her his most enchanting, most devastating smile, and she wondered for a moment if she was becoming ill. She really was feeling very peculiar.
It was Beatrix who jumped up clapping her hands to greet him. “Cousin DerekI” she cried. “How glad we are that you have come. You wouldn’t believe how dreary we have been with no visitors.”
He smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. “I cannot believe that anyplace that claims your company could be dreary, Trix. I think you carry the sunshine with you wherever you go,” he said. “Rembrandt! You unholy brute. Get down!”
The lonely bulldog had jumped up from his somnolent attitude on the floor at first sight of his friend Derek and begun scampering about at his feet. Since a scampering bulldog is very like a thundering herd, he was most definitely not to be ignored. A fond scratch on the chin and a playful jostle, plus a firm refusal to do more, soon reduced the scampering to a mere wriggle as he attempted to wag his invisible tail.
At last Derek was free to return his attention to Saskia. His eyes feasted on her, all trim and smart in an afternoon dress of that peculiar shade of grey that the English called “Paris smoke” and the French referred to as “London fog”. It was cut high in the throat and long in the sleeve, but there was nothing the least prudish about it. She had a vaguely startled look on her face.
“We have mis
sed seeing you, Cousin Derek,” she said in a voice of deceptive calm. “Do have some tea. It is still quite hot.” With a graceful gesture, she filled a dainty Wedgewood cup.
“Derek! Cousin Derek!” whooped Willem as the door flew open and the boy threw himself into the room. “I was sure that was your roan!”
“Cousin Derek!” chorused his feminine shadow. “Will you listen to me play? I promise I have been practicing ever so hard.”
“I’m sure you have,” he said kindly. “I look forward to hearing the results of your endeavors, after I have had my tea.”
“Mina,” said Trix. “However did you come to get so much mud on your new muslin? You had better run and change before Jannie sees it and has palpitations.”
Mina wrinkled up her nose. She had had sufficient experience of Jannie’s “palpitations”. "You won’t leave will you, Cousin Derek? Promise?”
“Not unless I am ordered out. Now go upstairs, Miss
Hoyden, and make yourself fit for company. You might run a comb through your hair while you are at it,” he added, tweaking at her ribbons.
With a giggle Mina ran off.
"We’ve been on the greatest lark,” exclaimed Willem. “There’re ever so many frogs up by the canal. I thought perhaps they’d drown in all that rain, but we caught dozens of them.”
“Dozens?” said Derek. “I shudder to think what you have in mind to do with them.” Willem’s only answer was a mischievous grin. “I must pray I’ve not been chosen one of your victims. Where’ve you stashed them?”
“In Jannie’s bathtub,” said Willem triumphantly.
“Willem!” cried Beatrix. “Go and get them out at once! Do you want to ruin us all? Take them out into the garden.”
“But they’ll get away! And besides, they need water.” He was already beginning to look defiant as only he could do.
Derek intervened with quiet force. “Go, Willem. There is certain to be a washtub or some such thing outside. Put an inch or so of water in it and tie a bit of cheesecloth over the top so they won’t jump out Now go.” Willem went.
“Hallo, sir,” said Neil, bumping past Willem in the doorway. “I hoped when I saw the sun that you’d come today. I’ve run across a math problem that’s devilish tricky. Thought maybe you’d take a look at it for me if you’re free.”
“I’d be happy to, Neil, though you’re near to leaving me in the shade when it comes to mathematics.”
“Thank you, sir. Devilish good of you, sir,” said Neil with obvious admiration and gratification.
“Later, Neil,” said Trix. “Come have your tea.”
Saskia had been strangely silent throughout this easy family scene. She sat looking at Derek, her head cocked to one side rather like Rembrandt when he was trying to understand something. How well Derek handled them
all, she was thinking, and how much they all seemed to like and respect him. He was so easy and natural with them. Why then was he so often curt and short-tempered with her? She supposed it must be because they were rivals, if unlikely ones. She did, after all, represent a possible impediment to his financial freedom. Of course, he threatened her in the same way, and she didn’t hate him.
She pulled herself up short. She had once hated him, hadn’t she? Or at least disliked him intensely. When had she stopped, she wondered, for she was sure she no longer felt the same. She wasn’t sure what she did feel, but it was far removed from hatred. She gave a deep sigh.
The sound drew Beatrix’s attention to her sister, sitting there gazing at Derek. To Trix’s surprise she saw that every trace of the fatigue and despair that had been there but a quarter of an hour ago had disappeared. Saskia’s face held a rosy glow, and her eyes had regained their usual animation. She seemed to be paying rapt attention to Derek and Neil’s intricate mathematical conversation, and Trix was struck with a happy realization. Saskia and Derek? Why, what a larkl she thought. How delightful. There was no one she would rather have for a brother-in-law. And how right they were together. I wonder when they will realize it, she asked herself. Perhaps I will have to help them do so. We shall see.
The afternoon drifted away in a thoroughly comfortable manner. Derek was invited to dine en famtlle, and he gladly accepted. He played a ruthless and enjoyable game of piquet with Mr. Weddington, and had a compliment for Jannie’s poffertjes that made her round Dutch cheeks glow. He seemed a natural part of the household.
The pleasant chamber music of the afternoon clanged to a discordant cadenza with the arrival on the scene of Delbert Kneighley. Saskia thought she heard thunder in the far distance, but it might as easily have been the rumble of doom she always felt now at sight of him.
How could she have considered for as much as a moment that she could marry him? “How do you do, Mr. Kneighley,” she said, plastering on a frigid smile to replace the warm one she’d worn all afternoon.
“Ahhhhl A family party, I see,” he oozed, nodding to Derek. “At sight of the first break in the clouds, I rushed forth into the steaming streets to join you.”
“You should not have put yourself out to call in such uncertain weather, sir,” said Saskia.
“Ah, but I knew you would expect me, my dear Miss van Houten. Of course, one would not look for a mere acquaintance to call on such a day, for I am tolerably certain we shall have more wet weather before we are through. And with the river flooded clear to the High Street already. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Quite shocking. But I hope I know better than to think of myself as a mere acquaintance’ with you, my dear Miss van Houten. We need stand on no ceremony with each other.”
As Mr. Kneighley seldom stood on anything else, Saskia hardly knew what to say. “Then perhaps you would prefer to sit, Mr. Kneighley,” she offered, gesturing to the nearby—but not too nearby—settee.
“Ahhh, you are a wit, Miss van Houten,” he teased, waggling a finger in her direction, and prying his narrow lips up into something he thought was a smile. “But I hoped perhaps we might take a turn in the garden while Helios grants us the last warmth of his golden rays.”
Oh dear, thought Saskia, I am always in trouble when he begins spouting mythological allusions. It was then that she noticed, with growing alarm, that he was wearing his Sunday rector outfit of glossy black breeches and stockings which crinkled somewhat less that his weekday ones. She saw what was coming and, though dreading it, thought she had best get it over with. The sooner she was rid of Mr. Kneighley the happier she would be.
“Very well, Mr. Kneighley,” she said with resignation. With a nod to the others—and a haughty sniff for Derek who had the temerity to smirk—she led him from the room.
The scene that now took place in the back garden was an almost exact repetition of Mr. Kneighley’s first proposal of marriage at Eynshant. Apparently he had decided that his earlier eloquence could not be improved upon. Today, though, there was, as added feature, the fact that when he came to kneel it was into a puddle and when he jumped up from his dripping knees it was to back into a particularly vicious rose thorn. Saskia had to give him credit. He scarce missed a beat in his memorized speech, the extra “ooooh!” serving only as punctuation.
She was afraid to open her mouth to speak her denial for fear she would burst out laughing, so she had, perforce, to allow him to continue to the end. With a valiant struggle she composed herself enough to utter the appropriate phrases with which a Young Lady of Quality was taught to gently rebuff a suitor. He beamed at the words "sensible of the honor you do me,” for he considered it a very great honor indeed. But when she got to “cannot accept your kind offer” he seemed not to have heard.
“Ah, I am so happy my dear. So happy. And when shall the glorious day be?” Apparently Mr. Kneighley was so thoroughly expecting to hear her acceptance that hear it he did, quite despite the fact that she had not said it or anything like.
“The glorious day will not be, Mr. Kneighley. You see, I do not love you.”
“Ah, yes. Love, glorious love,” he mused, opening his hands to the sky. “Like Dap
hnis and Chloe, our love shall remain ever perfect.”
Saskia stared. “You cannot have heard me, Mr. Kneighley. I said I cannot marry you.” She pulled away the hand he had snatched, and he froze in the very act of trying to kiss it, his thin lips pursed to the air.
“Cannot? Did you say cannot?” he asked. “No, no. Of course you did not. How absurd.” He reached for her hand again. His mama had been quite adamant on the point of hand-kissing.
“Delbert Kneighley!” she exclaimed, stamping her foot and snatching her hand back again, pulling him off balance in the process. Into the puddle he sat with a plop.
He looked up at her dazed. “Whatever are you about, Miss van Houten? These are my best breeches!”
“I am sorry, Mr. Kneighley. I truly am. But if your dunking clears your head enough to make you believe that I cannot and will not marry you, I shall be grateful to it!”
This time he heard. But he still didn’t quite believe. He pulled himself to his feet, the water dribbling down to puddle in his best shoes.
“Cannot? Cannot! Miss van Houten, have you taken leave of your senses? Of course you are to marry me. It was decided long ago. You have dragged me out into this vicious weather and caused me to ruin my best breeches so you could tell me this?”
Desperate to stop his flow and convince him that she meant what she said Saskia pulled out the first idea that sprang into her mind. “Mr. Kneighley!” she exclaimed in tragic accents. “I cannot marry. I love another!” She didn’t think Mrs. Siddons herself could have given the line a better reading.
Belief was sinking in at last. He was amazed. He was astonished. But mostly he was angry. “Another? AnotherP” he sputtered. “But . . . but . . . Vixen! Heartless temptress! Leading me on. Flaunting yourself about Bath when you were promised to me! Griselda was right!” His face had turned an alarming shade of purple as his fury increased, and Saskia was reminded very much of the tantrums Willem used to have when he was about four. As he sputtered on, rapidly losing control, his words became unimportant and mostly incoherent, but Saskia could clearly make out “Jezebel” and “Delilah”. Finally the poor man was reduced to stamping and jumping with rage, splashing yet more mud all over his best Sunday breeches. Saskia slid out of range and surveyed him with chagrin.