Prudence Pursued

by Shirley Raye Redmond

  Prudence Pursued

  by Shirley Raye Redmond

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  PRUDENCE PURSUED

  Copyright © 2014 SHIRLEY RAYE REDMOND

  ISBN 978-1-62135-317-1

  Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGNS STUDIO

  For Terri Marsik, who made the world’s best corncob cake,

  and for Sandy Hagen, who put her up to it.

  Chapter One

  “You should not wear that to the pox party,” Prudence Pentyre said, indicating her younger cousin’s dress of light green Italian silk. “I recommend something with short sleeves which allows you to expose your forearm to the lancet.”

  Margaret shuddered. Her plain face, pale and lightly freckled, appeared downcast. “Oh, Pru, I wish I didn’t have to go.” She stood, slender shoulders drooping, in front of her open wardrobe.

  “Truly, Meg, there’s nothing to worry about,” Prudence assured her, slipping a comforting arm around her cousin’s slim waist. “Papa had all of us vaccinated with the cowpox when we were still in the schoolroom—and the servants too. I’m quite surprised my Uncle Giles didn’t do the same.”

  A glint of disapproval flashed in her soft brown eyes. Silently, she fumed. Uncle Giles had held too many outmoded notions. Such an old stick! He was dead now, having suffered an apoplexy two years ago. Her mother, if she knew of Prudence’s unspoken condemnation, would have reminded her not to speak ill of the dead. This dictate had never made sense to Prudence. Why were some of life’s most unsavory characters deemed to be saints after their deaths? Not that Uncle Giles was unsavory, but he had been shamefully old-fashioned.

  “Look, Meg, there’s not even a scar.” Prudence held out a white arm for her cousin’s perusal. “Mr. Jenner’s procedure is almost painless and quite safe, much safer than buying the smallpox and enduring the dreaded disease.”

  “Papa didn’t believe in it. He said it was God’s will some people should die of the smallpox,” Margaret said, turning away from her to examine an array of dresses hanging in the wardrobe.

  “God is not so cruel,” Prudence insisted.

  “Some say the vaccination will cause one’s facial features to resemble those of a cow,” Margaret ventured, her forehead creasing with anxious wrinkles.

  Prudence laughed. “Neither John nor Patience have any cow-like features, and you can see for yourself I do not.” Slightly unsettled by her cousin’s close examination, Prudence shrugged.

  “Yes, look at me, Meg! Do I resemble a cow? I can assure you I don’t have a cow tail hidden beneath my skirts either. None of us have bovinized, as you fear. I believe Mr. Jenner’s procedure to have been God-inspired. Truly. Papa has preached this same opinion from the pulpit. Mr. Jenner took notice how milkmaids and dairy farmers did not succumb to the deadly smallpox plague when there was an outbreak in their village. It was because of their exposure to the harmless cowpox. It was an amazing observation which will benefit us all.”

  Like her parents, Prudence was an ardent admirer of Edward Jenner. In fact, her father, the Reverend Henry Pentyre, was a member of the Royal Jennerian Society and helped to raise money to give free vaccinations throughout England. Prudence enjoyed accompanying her father when he rode out to the rural areas to administer the vaccine himself to those members of his parish willing to undergo the procedure.

  “But what if you should marry and have children?” Margaret hinted, unconvinced. She clutched her hands at her waist. Prudence, noting the slight tremor, realized her cousin was trying not to reveal her agitation.

  “Both John and Patience are married with children, and none of my nieces and nephews look like heifers, I assure you!” Prudence insisted. She gave Margaret a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You’re making a great fuss for nothing.”

  With a sigh, Margaret retrieved a short-sleeved muslin gown from the wardrobe and held it up before her. As she considered her image in the mirror, Prudence stepped up behind her, peering over her cousin’s shoulder. Smiling at Margaret’s reflection, she noted the similarity of their features. They were much the same height—too tall and thin to be in fashion. They had dark brown hair, pert noses, and generous mouths, much too wide to be considered beautiful. But each had soulful brown eyes, heavily fringed with thick, dark lashes.

  Prudence considered her eyes her best physical feature. They were large and expressive. When she had been much younger, an infatuated suitor had once written a poem for her, referring to the subject of his adoration as the, “lovely, ox-eyed Prudent Athena.” Smiling, she recalled this bit of poetic nonsense, but decided not to mention the particular compliment to Margaret. At least not until after the girl had been vaccinated with cowpox and quite recovered from her current state of anxious misery.

  Addressing her cousin’s image in the mirror, Margaret asked, “What are you smiling about?”

  “Nothing,” Prudence answered as she prinked her dusky curls before stepping away from the mirror. Her mother had raised her and her older sister Patience not to think overmuch of their appearance.

  “Pretty is as pretty does,” Mrs. Pentyre had reminded them many a time. In all honesty, Prudence wasn’t pretty, and she knew it. Neither was her sister Patience. But their friendly smiles and easy manners had afforded them some modest popularity in society. Patience had wed several years ago and was the proud mother of three vivacious youngsters. At the age of twenty-seven, Prudence remained unmarried and did not blush to acknowledge it.

  “Pru, have you ever wanted to?” Margaret asked, as though reading her mind.

  “Wanted to what?” Prudence replied with a slight hesitation.

  “Don’t you want to marry and have children?” Margaret asked with an unsteady smile. “Have you never received an offer of marriage from an eligible gentleman?” She twirled away from the mirror to lay the newly selected dress across her bed.

  “Two offers actually, but quite long ago. Mamma considered them eligible; I did not,” Prudence admitted. “Neither one of them was handsome or dashing. One lolled about. He never seemed to sit or stand up straight. He positively drooped upon the furniture, the mantel, even his horse. He smoked foul-smelling cigars and his jackets reeked of smoke.” Prudence rolled her eyes. “The other one could barely string two coherent sentences together to make an interesting conversation. He was socially backward—sadly so.”

  “Even so, have you never regretted rejecting their proposals?” Margaret pursued.

  “Indeed I have not,” Prudence insisted. “Being unmarried has allowed me to become involved with Mr. Wilberforce’s Abolition Society—and I’ve found the work to be fulfilling and meaningful.” Then noting her cousin’s perplexed frown, she added, “Please don’t think I nurse a broken heart in my bosom. I do not. I’ve also been blessed with a modest inheritance left to me by my maternal grandmother, so I’m under no pressure to marry for security.”

  “I wish I had a rich grandmother,” Margaret commented with a gloomy frown.

  “Just because my emotions have been unmoved by men’s romantic attention, it is no reason for you not to marry,” Prudence went on, ignoring her cousin’s comment. “Your mother has informed us you are about to make an advantageous match.
”

  “I’ve not yet accepted him,” Margaret said with a sigh. She sat down on the edge of the bed with a dejected air.

  “So my Aunt Judith has told me,” Prudence replied, claiming the small chair in front of Margaret’s dressing table.

  She did not tell her younger cousin she’d been invited by her aunt to visit them in Bath for the express purpose of coaxing Margaret into accepting Sir James Brownell’s offer. Aunt Judith had resolved her daughter should make a suitable match. The girl was twenty, some seven years Prudence’s junior. Just because she’d not contracted an eligible match for herself did not mean Prudence was unwilling to see her younger cousin happily wed.

  “So tell me all about your young sprig of fashion,” Prudence urged, smoothing her skirt and watching Margaret’s face with keen eyes.

  Margaret fixed her with a glare and then snorted in a most unladylike fashion. “Sir James is neither young nor fashionable—more’s the pity,” she replied petulantly.

  “How old is Sir James?” Prudence queried.

  “Old!” Margaret replied with glum reluctance. “At least thirty-five or even older.”

  Prudence’s mouth twitched with secret amusement. “I must say it all happened rather suddenly, didn’t it?” she went on. “In your letters, there had been no mention of Sir James Brownell, and then recently, it is all Aunt Judith has written about.”

  “His mother, Lady Eliza Brownell, and mine put their heads together and planned it all. Such an ill-conceived idea!” Margaret replied, pouting. “I was not consulted. And Sir James, who is marrying to oblige his mama, had the audacity to tell me so. He mentioned it made no difference to him whom he wed, as he knew no eligible young ladies and was therefore trusting Lady Brownell to select someone suitable for him.”

  Prudence frowned. “How poor spirited! But I believe he has been ill, is that not so? Perhaps he is not quite himself.”

  Margaret nodded. “Yes, he came to Bath to recover his health. Lady Eliza keeps a house here. Sir James owns property in the country. Stalwood is in the north somewhere. He told me as soon as he has fully recovered, he will return to his estate to repair the leaking roof, stop up the drafts, and clear the drains. Then we shall marry.” A becoming flush heightened her complexion.

  Prudence said dryly, “How romantic! At least he’s taking his future bride’s health into consideration. Best to prepare the leaking roof and stop up the drafts first so you don’t fall ill with lung disease immediately following the wedding.” On a softer note, she asked, “Is there no affection between you at all?”

  “He says he admires me, and he always treats me with the greatest courtesy,” Margaret told her, with a tremulous smile. “Mama thinks it is wonderful he is so solicitous. But when we are together, his speech is not in the least like a lover. Instead, he quite pesters me with questions about the oddest matters—like my views on slavery and the cowpox vaccine.” Lowering her voice, she complained, “He talks too of the most dreadful things he has encountered on his travels—as though I would care to hear of them.” She gave a slight shudder.

  Quirking an eyebrow, Prudence asked, “What sort of dreadful things?”

  Margaret straightened with indignation. “Heathen headhunters!” This time, her face flushed a deep, ugly red. “He never says pleasant, complimentary things to me or talks with animation about anything a lady would be interested in hearing about, not like…” Margaret bit off the last words. Heaving a sigh, she finally added, “He’s bold and brash and says just what he’s thinking.”

  “A rare bird indeed, your Sir James Brownell!” Prudence declared, intrigued.

  “He’s not my Sir James,” Margaret retorted.

  “Couldn’t you find it in your heart to like him a little?” Prudence asked. “Many marriages begin with little more than mutual consent. Later, they grow into friendship and then love. Or so I’m told.” When her cousin merely shrugged, Pru went on. “In her letters, Aunt Judith described Sir James as a handsome man.”

  “Handsome!” Margaret gasped out the word. “How can she say so? There’s nothing handsome about him at all—not even his manners. His skin is burned brown by the wind and the sun. He dresses with indifference, sometimes quite like a rustic. He walks with a pronounced limp, so he cannot stand up to dance with me although Lady Eliza assures me the wound will heal. Worst of all, he wears an eye patch! Another injury, and one, I fear, may be permanent.” She shuddered with loathing.

  “Good gracious! An eye patch? Meg, truly, I cannot wait to meet the gentleman!” Prudence announced.

  “Meet him and marry him, for all I care!” Margaret exclaimed.

  Prudence chuckled, smoothing a wrinkle in her dress. “Your mother would never forgive me.”

  Margaret’s shoulders slumped. “She’ll never forgive me either should I refuse to marry the odious man. Oh, Pru! What am I to do? Did I mention Sir James first dangled after the vicar’s daughter? She refused his offer and sent him on his way, and I can hardly blame her. But Lady Brownell insists he must marry, so she and Mama put their heads together and decided we would make a good match between us. How they can think it, I do not know.”

  “Do you despise him so much?” Prudence asked kindly.

  Margaret shrugged. “I do not despise him, but nor do I have any affection for him whatsoever. I am not certain I even like him,” she confessed. “He admitted quite frankly to me one bride is as good as another, as long as she is young, healthy, and God-fearing.” She shook her head and added feelingly, “As though he’d find heathen women here in Bath like those he lived among in Borneo!”

  Convinced now Sir James must be somewhat addlebrained, Prudence asked curiously, “Was he living there when he became ill? In Borneo? Aunt Judith mentioned only that he had traveled extensively in the Far East.”

  “Yes, he has been there for some years. Recently, he was injured while fighting Malay pirates and then fell ill with malaria.”

  “Quite the adventurer, is he not?” Noting her cousin’s gloomy countenance, Prudence rose from the chair and moved to sit beside her on the bed. “Margaret, in all fairness, you must admit Sir James would not have asked you to marry him, if he did not desire to marry you. He’s a man grown. Lady Brownell cannot force him to marry the bride of her choice, no more than your own mother would force you to accept him—if you indeed find him so repugnant.”

  Margaret tilted her head to one side and considered for a moment. “I feel indifference only. Occasionally, I do feel anger and resentment when he insists I attend some insufferable function or another—like this afternoon’s cowpox party at Lady Oldenfield’s.”

  “He is coming for you?” Prudence asked.

  “No, we shall meet him there. Mama insists I should go, as I’ve not yet had the disease. Sir James has convinced her the Jenner vaccine is much safer than buying the small pox in London in the usual way.”

  “It is,” Prudence assured her. “You have nothing to fear. We shall go together. I will hold your hand, and you may introduce me to Sir James.” She rose from the bed.

  Margaret shrugged. “All right then, if we must. In truth, I am interested to know your opinion of him.” She rose from the bed with a sigh.

  “Will Sir James perform the vaccination procedure himself do you think?” Prudence asked.

  “I do not believe so,” Margaret replied with a skeptical frown. “Surely, there will be a physician. I wish I knew how Sir James convinced Lady Oldenfield to host the affair in the first place,” she said. “I am dreading it.”

  “Meg, you are fretting a good deal over nothing, I assure you,” Prudence tried to cheer her. “My own father performed nearly all the vaccinations upon the members of his congregation with my help and that of his curate. It is quite a simple procedure and so effective. Papa hopes one day in the near future, the christening and vaccination of small children will be performed on the same day.”

  Margaret appeared so aghast at this hopeful suggestion Prudence could not help laughing. Then s
he gave her cousin a heartfelt hug. “While you change your gown, I will look in on Aunt Judith and tell her we will be leaving soon. I shall ask her to have the carriage brought around too.”

  As Prudence made her way down the drafty corridor to her aunt’s room, she glanced outside the window. Such a bleak and dreary July day! This summer had been unseasonable chilly. Prudence, who reveled in the warmest weather, did not approve. Noting the gooseflesh on her arms, she wished she had first stopped by her own room for a shawl. She suspected her aunt would not have a fire in her room. Aunt Judith lived as though she were penny pinched—much to the inconvenience of her guests. Prudence considered her to be thoughtlessly stingy, although her mother insisted her widowed sister-in-law was merely frugal.

  She tapped on the door to her aunt’s room and opened it when she heard her call, “Enter.” Prudence found her aunt sprawled upon her chaise, indisposed. She was built upon thick and sturdy lines, which belied her frail health. Her thinning dark hair appeared heavily streaked with silver strands. Her long, plain face sadly resembled that of a horse, Prudence thought. Two small tables were within her aunt’s reach—one with a lovely Wedgwood tea service, the other littered with bottles containing various elixirs for one ailment or another.

  “My dear Prudence, it is so good to see you!” her aunt declared, holding out a tremulous hand to her. “I do beg pardon for not greeting you upon your arrival yesterday. I am positively burnt to the bone socket. My headaches are quite debilitating, as you know. I trust your dear mother and father are in good health?”

  “They are fine indeed,” Prudence assured her.

  “Oh, Prudence, I am so grateful you have come. I do so need your help,” her aunt told her with a lachrymose expression.

  “I am always pleased to be of assistance to you, Aunt Judith,” Prudence replied, squeezing her aunt’s hand as she bent to kiss her pale cheek. As she did so, Prudence glanced sidelong toward the hearth. No fire, as she feared. Then noting the purple bruises beneath her aunt’s eyes and her sallow skin, Prudence felt a stab of guilt for having assumed Mrs. Leyes had merely been indulging herself with another imagined illness, a common habit with her. But no, the woman did indeed look haggard.