"Yes, I should like to be described as such," Pamela said.
"As indeed would I," Sarah agreed.
"I have no doubt you shall both succeed. For the alternative is not very desirable, as Defoe shows.
"On the other hand, suppose her to be the very same woman, and rob her of the benefit of education, and it follows-
"If her temper be good, want of education makes her soft and easy.
"Her wit, for want of teaching, makes her impertinent and talkative.
"Her knowledge, for want of judgement and experience, makes her fanciful and whimsical.
"If her temper be bad, want of breeding makes her worse; and she grows haughty, insolent, and loud.
"If she be passionate, want of manners makes her a termagant and a scold, which is much at one with a Lunatic.
"If she be proud, want of discretion (which still is breeding) makes her conceited, fantastic, and ridiculous.
"And from these she degenerates to be turbulent, clamorous, noisy, nasty, the devil!"
Pamela found herself blushing profusely at these descriptions, and owned that she could sometimes be proud and haughty. She could also easily be accused of being fanciful and whimsical.
If Jonathan noticed her unease, he made no comment upon it as he continued,
"I remember a passage, which I heard from a very fine woman. She had wit and capacity enough, an extraordinary shape and face, and a great fortune: but had been cloistered up all her time; and for fear of being stolen, had not had the liberty of being taught the common necessary knowledge of women's affairs.
"And when she came to converse in the world, her natural wit made her so sensible of the want of education, that she gave this short reflection on herself: "I am ashamed to talk with my very maids," says she, "for I don't know when they do right or wrong. I had more need go to school, than be married."
Pamela blushed again at his last words. "Thank you so much. I can see why you recommended it as a powerful piece."
He resisted the temptation of leaning in closer to her lithe body. "Now you shall be well-armed with arguments in favor of improving your education, if anyone should ever ask you why you would trouble, or why bother to educate your daughters." He shut the book and rose from his seat, distancing himself from her oh so alluring form.
"And now, if you'll forgive me for saying so, I think it's time for us all to retire for the night. You've had a long day, and need to rest after having been out in such inclement weather.
"Thank you for visiting the Millers today. It was very kind of you to take the trouble and bring so many fine things."
She wondered how he had known, when she hadn't mentioned it at supper, but she was pleased with his praise.
They stepped out into the hall, and he lit each of their three candles. Then he took up some books which had been left there, and said, "A bit of reading for you to start your personal program of study."
She stared at him again. He was some sort of magician or mind reader, that was it. But no, he was just a perceptive man, she decided.
She stammered her thanks, and taking the candle and books, ascended the stairs.
The Deverils reached the landing a short time after her.
"Good night, Sister." He kissed Sarah on the brow, and she gave him an affectionate pat on the cheek.
Pamela felt a pang as she watched them. She wished she were closer with her half- and step-siblings. She had envied them, but perhaps they also envied her? It was an interesting point she would have to consider.
The room Sarah had put her in was airy and light, in cream with pale primrose accents. It overlooked the garden, and under the window was a fine walnut desk and chair. She put the books down on it, along with her candle, and waited as Sarah showed her what she had lent her.
"Nightdress and wrapper, brush, and of course, there are towels and warm water. Is there anything else you need?"
"I don't think so."
"You can have a bath in the morning."
"Oh, I wouldn't like to put the servants to such trouble."
"No trouble at all. We have a well-appointed bathroom with indoor plumbing, courtesy of the Duke, who has a real fetish for cleanliness, as do all the Rakehells. A leftover from their days in the Army when they scarcely had water to drink, let alone wash with."
"Oh my."
"Anyway, if you're sure you don't need anything else?"
"No, I'm fine, thank you."
Sarah smiled. "Then I shall just shake hands and say good night."
Pamela took the proffered hand. "Goodnight, Sarah, and thank you so much for everything. It's been a delightful evening."
"Don't even mention it."
As soon as she had left, Pamela disrobed, and picking up one of the books, lit her bedside candle and folded down the covers. She slid in under the cool sheets, and put her feet right up against the hot water bottle before opening the book.
It was Mary Wollstonecraft's Maria. She scanned down the preface, and read,
"Matrimonial despotism of heart and conduct appear to me to be the peculiar Wrongs of Woman, because they degrade the mind. What are termed great misfortunes, may more forcibly impress the mind of common readers; they have more of what may justly be termed stage-effect; but it is the delineation of finer sensations, which, in my opinion, constitutes the merit of our best novels. This is what I have in view; and to show the wrongs of different classes of women, equally oppressive, though, from the difference of education, necessarily various."
She smiled. Not exactly what she had expected. She would have imagined Pilgrim's Progress would have been one of Jonathan's first choices for her course of study. She looked back at the pile of books, and spotted it.
Rising from the bed, she fetched the volume, and returned to her former position. She opened the book to the page she had read from earlier, and continued a bit further down the page with the description of Vanity Fair.
Then Christian began and said, I will ask you a question: How came you to think at first of doing as you do now?
Hopeful. Do you mean, how came I at first to look after the good of my soul?
Christian. Yes, that is my meaning.
Hopeful. I continued a great while in the delight of those things which were seen and sold at our Fair; things which I believe now would have (had I continued in them still) drowned me in perdition and destruction.
Christian. What things were they?
Hopeful. All the Treasures and Riches of the World. Also I delighted much in Rioting, Revelling, Drinking, Swearing, Lying, Uncleanness, Sabbath-breaking, and what not, that tended to destroy the Soul. But I found at last, by hearing and considering of things that are Divine, which indeed I heard of you, as also of beloved Faithful, that was put to death for his faith and good living in Vanity Fair, That the end of these things is death. And that for these things' sake the wrath of God cometh upon the children of disobedience.
Pamela wondered if Jonathan were trying to tell her about his own life. What had brought an obviously well to do young man, the heir to some money and property, to the Army and then the Church? His name had never been mentioned in connection with a goodly fortune. Was it possible that through, as the book put it, 'Rioting, Revelling, Drinking,' he had squandered it all?
She shook her head. It was not her place to wonder about him. The only thing she needed to know about her vicar was that he was beneath her socially even if he was above her intellectually. She would be foolish to ever consider him as anything more than a friend.
His past might not be as bad as she feared, but it was none of her concern. She could not allow herself to get involved with someone who had frittered away his fortune, no matter how reformed and God-fearing he was now.
She turned back to the somewhat lurid novel. It had her spine tingling by the end of the first page. She closed that book too.
Really, Jonathan Deveril was the most unsettling man, she thought, recalling his steel-gray eyes laughing one moment, and looking at h
er as if he were trying to see into her soul the very next.
Impatient with these fanciful notions about Jonathan, she blew out the candle, and flopped over on her side, pulling the covers up over her head.
She would be grateful for his help with their scheme for going to Bath, but that was all. There would be a plethora of fascinating people there to keep her entertained. She would treat him like an elder brother, and no more. She knew he and his sister were only trying to help. But what could they understand of good society, when they were now as poor as church mice?
She fell asleep and dreamed of beautiful gowns and thrilling balls where she danced in every set, and had a wonderful time.
Or would have, if she were not convinced that a pair of dark eyes watched her every move, and a huge black spider was weaving its web especially for her.
Chapter Seven
"Miss Ashton, Miss Bledsoe, so good of you to invite me to dinner," the Earl of Ferncliffe said the next day at two o'clock, as he was shown into the best sitting room at Ashton Manor.
Aunt Susan beamed at the newcomer, but Pamela was feeling less than enthusiastic about his visit. She had hardly slept the night before between her late-night reading and her bad dreams, and had been nearly too tired to manage breakfast.
Pamela probably would have made better progress getting home from the vicarage that morning if Jonathan had simply let her borrow a pair of Sarah's pattens in which to negotiate the snow-blocked roads. But he had insisted on taking her home in the gig, through drifts a foot high. They had got stuck twice, and in the end she had been forced to help dig them out, though he had insisted he could manage himself if only she would be patient.
"You shall be a snowman by the time you're done, and I do not fancy being a snow woman. If you really believe in the equality of the sexes, then let me get out and dig," she had argued in exasperation.
He had a strange look on his face, almost one of pride, as she had labored side by side with him. The whole affair had put her in a bad temper. So much for her resolve to have as little to do with Jonathan as possible, since he was a mere vicar. Not that he had been ungentlemanly in any way, but she would try to take Sarah's warning to heart that she needed to watch her reputation and not be seen alone with any man in the district.
Jonathan had got her safely to the door, handed over a small parcel of books, and a cloth containing homemade muffins, waved, and vanished. There was nothing for anyone to get in a tizzy over.
Her aunt, however, had berated her for not coming home. "Those people are very pleasant, but we need to cultivate a much better acquaintance."
"There aren't many educated people to choose from in the district, and we have accepted his chaperonage for Bath, in case you had forgotten. What do you want me to do, cut him dead until it's time to go? That will indeed be well done."
Her aunt grew pinched around her mouth. "That's not what I mean and you know it. Oh, put those books down. Anyone would think you were an Oxford scholar these days, the way you keep going on about the things you've read recently."
The little devil which delighted in shocking her aunt now came to the fore. "And why not? Are you saying women can't be as good, if not better scholars than men? I've heard that Percy Parke went to Cambridge, and got sent down for scandalous behavior. But everyone knows his sister Angela is far more clever than he."
"Really, the idea!" her aunt harrumphed. "Mind you don't repeat that in polite society, or I shall be forced to ask you to avoid the Deverils in future."
"I am only repeating commonly-held gossip."
"No, I meant about women going to Oxford. How shocking!"
Pamela opened her mouth to argue further, but then recalled her appointment with the Earl, and the invitation to dinner which she had issued.
"Two o'clock?" her aunt squawked. "It shall be all hands to the pumps, then, to get ready in time. Ring for Cook, and the butler, and let us send a note to your Mama."
"Step-Mama will no doubt be tied up with Bertie."
"Nevertheless, this is Bertie's house now. As such we must inform him and his guardian appropriately."
Pamela refrained from voicing her opinion as to the unfairness of that arrangement. There was no sense in antagonizing her mother's sister further. One would have thought she was the new Mrs. Ashton's sister the way she always took her part in every household matter.
Well, what could she expect? If Step-Mama took a dislike to her, where could Aunt Susan possibly go? The lot of an unmarried woman was not an enviable one, she could see that now.
In any event, Pamela realized she never would have even thought of Bertie with resentment had she not been incited to discontent by Jonathan's Radical views upon inheritance. Drat the man, he seemed to get into every facet of her life these days whether she wanted him to or not.
Once she had been certain that all the preparations were in hand for the Earl's visit, she had gone upstairs to change. Since the day was still very snowy, she put on a dark blue merino wool gown which she knew made her blonde hair, peaches and cream complexion, and bright blue eyes look particularly fine.
She took especial care with her hair, curling it into lush ringlets about her face and down to the nape of her neck. Even her aunt commented on how well she looked when she came back down.
The elements outside were quite violent, but the real heavy weather was indoors. Earl he might be, but Ferncliffe said very little about himself or his past. Even after several hours in his company, Pamela felt him a complete mystery.
He did not seem to have read anything of interest, and was not an avid follower of the papers. He did not know much above the usual about horses, and had no opinions on even the decoration of his own home.
He appeared content to just listen to the ladies chat, while he looked around the house. He actually requested a tour of it when they were finished with the meal.
Pamela did not wish to be too critical of so exalted a personage, but she could have sworn she saw him checking the silversmith's mark on the cutlery whilst they were dining.
Well, of course he would, she could hear her aunt saying. He is interested in all the details of having to set up an establishment.
So why did he fill her with misgivings? Oh, it was nothing specific, just a lack of warmth in his handsome face. His eyes were dark; one could almost have described their color as black. Dressed from head to toe in black apart from his shirt, he had a most somber air. His clothes were good, but not quite as well cut as...
Hare and hounds, she was doing it again, comparing each man she met with Jonathan Deveril.
It was absurd. The Earl of Ferncliffe had a title, money, power. So what if his suit was not exactly what one might expect? The body underneath it was also obviously not as good-er, solid, er, muscular.... Oh Lord....
Pamela flushed to the roots of her hair at the unexpected turn her thoughts had taken. Her aunt asked at one point if she were coming down with a fever.
Fever indeed! Her cheeks flaming, she tried to take a more avid interest in chintzes and peau de soie, but it was hard going.
For once she was grateful for her Step-Mama's presence, as she did have excellent taste. Pamela found herself learning a fair amount from her as she matched fabrics for each of the eight rooms which the Earl informed her had to be redone.
"And did the men ever manage to do something with the roof?" Pamela asked.
"The roof?" he repeated blankly.
"Yes, you remember, I ran into you in Brimley yesterday, outside the tavern."
"Pamela, really! Your conversation gets worse every day," her aunt scolded. "As if a man like the Earl of Ferncliffe would ever be seen anywhere near a public house."
Aunt Susan having deftly changed the subject, Pamela lapsed back into silence, and looked forward to a quiet evening in her room.
Alas, that was not to be, for the Earl lingered on for supper, and so charmed the older women of the household that he was invited to stay.
He had pleaded another enga
gement, but made a great show of getting out of it and electing to linger in their humble home for their evening meal. Her aunt was only too delighted to have him, and added to her enjoyment of the evening by losing a substantial amount of money to him at the card table.
Pamela was tempted to remonstrate with her aunt, but the money was already gone. In any event, she knew it would have little effect.
Gambling was an acceptable part of their social life, and her aunt had only been trying to be polite. Still, she hated to think that they would have to pinch on the housekeeping for the rest of the month as a result.
She also resolved to keep an eye on her aunt in Bath, for if that was how badly she played compared to a man of the world like the Earl, she would be fleeced of her blunt in no time.
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