by Carola Dunn
Lord Selworth, seated next to Mrs Lisle, conversed courteously with his hostess and Mrs Stockton, the apothecary’s stout wife. He smiled again at Pippa, hesitating in the doorway. Her heart did a most peculiar flip-flop.
Drat the man, did he realize how disturbing his smile was? Could he not keep a straight face? Still, he would be leaving any minute. He and Mr Chubb had no doubt awaited her return to the parlour to make their farewells, to avoid adding to the crush in the minuscule entry. If Pippa returned to her seat beside the vicar, which she was most unwilling to do, she would only have to pop up again to say good-bye.
But, though the gentlemen rose politely when she failed to sit down at once, Lord Selworth showed no sign of departing. Rather than keep them on their feet, Pippa subsided perforce.
She was forced to listen to a low-voiced soliloquy from Mr Postlethwaite, on the subject of Town Bucks and their extravagant, self-indulgent habits. Never had she had less patience with that good man.
Mary completed her business with Kitty and dragged her brother away to escort her home. Mrs and Miss Welladay and Miss Jane Welladay, wife and daughters of a yeoman farmer, stopped by on their way home from market, to show off some French merino bought at a bargain. Leaving, they bore off Mrs Stockton with them. Lord Selworth and Mr Chubb stayed and stayed. So, determinedly, did the vicar.
Conversation becoming general, the weather for the past three months was discussed in excruciating detail. Pippa was nearly ready to scream when the maidservant from the vicarage arrived with a message from Mrs Postlethwaite, desiring her son’s presence at home.
“I shall be glad to set you in the right way, my lord,” said Mr Postlethwaite in a last ditch effort to outflank his enemy. “The lanes hereabouts are lamentably confusing to the uninitiated.”
“I thank you, sir,” Lord Selworth replied cordially, “but Chubb and I are in no hurry. That is, we don’t object to going a little astray, seeing something more of the fine countryside in this part of the world.”
The vicar left, disgruntled.
Pippa’s suspicions redoubled. To be sure, the country was beautiful—in June. Now, at the end of February, it was a study in sodden, muddy sepias and duns. No flush of green yet tipped the beech trees’ boughs; thorny hedgerows dripped, honeysuckle and dog-rose a distant dream; the bottoms were mired ankle-deep.
Walking abroad was a penance, riding no pleasure. What was Lord Selworth up to?
She soon found out. He turned to her mother and said coaxingly, “Mrs Lisle, I must confess to being here under false pretences. I have come to speak to you about Prometheus.”
Her head whirling, Pippa gripped her hands tightly in her lap. Had the Government sent him? Surely William Cobbett had not given away Prometheus’s true identity. However much trouble he was in, blamed for civil disorders all over the nation, the publisher, editor, and chief contributor to the Political Register would not betray his friends.
Cobbett was a true and generous friend, who paid liberally for Prometheus’s articles despite his own financial woes. Without that income, the Lisles would be in sore straits—and the income would cease if the world discovered who had taken over Benjamin Lisle’s pen-name.
Cobbett could not afford to go on publishing articles the world did not take seriously. How much influence would they exert if it became known that the author was a mere female?
And a youthful female, at that!
Chapter 2
“Prometheus?” said Mrs Lisle cautiously. Avoiding Lord Selworth’s eye, she tucked a greying curl under her lilac-ribboned cap.
Pippa regarded her mother with affection. Mama’s calm nature, especially in contrast to Papa’s quicksilver intellect, led some to consider her slow-witted. Not so her elder daughter.
Mr Lisle’s political career had been founded on the bedrock of his wife’s common sense and exceptional ability to hold household. Too principled to accept the perquisites of his seat in the House of Commons, the sinecures and outright bribes offered for his support, he had relied on her to contrive on their small income. She had succeeded to admiration. Their home was a modest but comfortable haven whither he retreated every weekend during the parliamentary sessions.
She had taught their daughters herself, not only the housewifely arts, but such ladylike accomplishments as music, fine needlework, water-colours, and dancing. It was not Mama’s fault that Pippa had not “taken” during her one scrimped and saved-for London Season.
Skinny and dark when the fashion was for well-rounded blondes, more interested in politics and rhetoric than fashion and gossip, Pippa herself was to blame. For Mama’s sake, she had done her best to conform, and Mama had never reproached her for failing to catch a husband. Papa was pleased, since, escaping with relief back to Sweetbriar Cottage, his daughter resumed the making of fair copies of his speeches and articles.
As his health deteriorated, Pippa had taken more and more responsibility for the content and phrasing of his work. When he went to his reward in the Afterlife in which he disbelieved, what more natural than that she should take on the mantle of Prometheus?
Mama would never give away the secret, neither on purpose nor inadvertently. Nor would Kitty, as practical and commonsensical as their mother in spite of being the prettiest girl in the entire neighbourhood.
Pippa glanced at her young sister. Kitty’s sparkling brown eyes met hers in a look brimming with merriment. At the same time, she continued to tell Mr Chubb quite seriously about the poultry which were her especial care. The bashful young man seemed interested, and even ventured a question. Dear Kitty had quickly set him at his ease.
Lord Selworth, to the contrary, had lost his appearance of ease. Under Mama’s questioning gaze, he ran his hand through his hair with an air of harassed uncertainty. He opened his mouth, but no words issued forth.
“Prometheus?” Mrs Lisle asked again.
“Yes, ma’am. I know your late husband wrote under that name—I must offer my condolences, belated, I fear. A sad loss to the nation!”
“And to his family,” the widow said with quietly sorrowful dignity.
“Of course. I...er...You are aware, I daresay, that someone else is now employing Mr Lisle’s pseudonym?”
“Certainly. The person concerned very properly requested my permission.”
“Then you know who he is?” Lord Selworth enquired eagerly.
“I regret that I am not at liberty to divulge the name.”
His lordship’s face fell, but he rallied. “Perhaps I can change your mind, ma’am, when you hear why I wish to approach the gentleman.”
Mrs Lisle’s mouth twitched, and she cast a quizzical glance at her elder daughter. For an anxious moment, Pippa feared her mother would be unable to repress the chuckle quivering on her lips.
However, with assumed gravity she replied, “I doubt it, Lord Selworth, but you are at liberty to try.”
He smiled at her. “You are laughing at me, I see. I expect more persuasive men than I have badgered you in vain. But perhaps their reasons were less...altruistic. I hope you will consider my aims altruistic.”
“Tell me.”
Once more his lordship ran his hand through his hair, increasing its likeness to an ill-made hayrick. As if suddenly recalling its unfortunate tendency to go its own way, he then hastily smoothed it down, with a rueful sidelong peek at Pippa.
It was her turn to try not to chuckle.
“May I enlist you on my side, Miss Lisle?” he begged.
“It is not my place to enlighten you as to Prometheus’s identity, sir,” she said, adding frankly, “I cannot imagine any circumstances which would change that, but I own I should be glad to hear what you have to say.”
“Very well. First, I must tell you that I have unexpectedly and very recently inherited the viscountcy, from a distant relative with whom my immediate family had lost touch. I had no idea I was so close in line to the succession.”
“Indeed!” said Mrs Lisle sceptically.
“Al
binia certainly never knew, Mama. Lord Selworth’s father died many years ago, did he not, sir?”
“Near twenty, ma’am. My eldest half-sister is eighteen. My mother has too large a second family to keep track of her first husband’s relatives, and my stepfather is a rather unworldly clergyman. I knew, of course, that my great-grandfather was titled, but the connection was too distant to be of pressing interest. “
Mrs Lisle was still disbelieving. “You never wondered?”
“Mama, pray do not catechise Lord Selworth!” said Pippa, laughing.
“No, no, Miss Lisle, I have no objection. Convincing you of my credentials must include explaining why I have no inbred sympathy with the landowning classes. To tell the truth, I had little time to fret over my noble relatives, and no inclination to apply to them for assistance.” A flush stained his fair skin. “Since I attained years of discretion I have been busy helping to support my family.”
“Too proud to ask for help, yet ashamed of working for a living,” Mrs Lisle observed dryly.
“Not at all!” exclaimed Lord Selworth with considerable indignation, his colour still further heightened.
Though her mother appeared satisfied, Pippa wondered if it was the kind of work the viscount had done which embarrassed him, rather than the fact of working. If he were a character in one of the Gothic romances she found an agreeable change from polemics, he would have taken to the highways as a Gentleman of the Road.
With regret, she decided a career as a highwayman was sadly improbable. Perhaps he had been employed by one of those middle-men or jobbers whom Papa and Mr Cobbett regarded as abominable parasites.
Maybe that was the only work he could find, she thought charitably.
“Anyway, that is all in the past,” his lordship said hurriedly. “Now I am a peer; I have a seat in the House of Lords. I want to do what I can to help the poor, but I cannot expect to wield any influence unless I make an impression with my maiden speech. I have tried to compose a suitable oration,” he confessed, “but I made a mull of it.”
“So you wish to consult Prometheus?” Pippa guessed.
“I have long admired his writings. I hope he will realize that, quite apart from the injury to my pride,”—he gave Mrs Lisle a wry look—”it will do the cause no good if I stand up and make a cake of myself.”
“Speaking of cake,” Kitty put in, “do you wish me to make tea, Mama?”
“Pray do, my love. You will drink tea, gentlemen?”
“Thank you, ma’am, we shall be delighted.”
Mr Chubb mumbled something indistinguishable, turned crimson, and muttered semi-audibly, “Give you a hand, Miss Catherine.”
Kitty smiled at him and said, “How kind of you, sir.”
A besotted look on his face, he followed her out. Pippa swallowed a sigh. Her sister had made another instant conquest.
Lord Selworth frowned after his friend, but quickly returned to business. “I am sorely in need of Prometheus’s advice, Mrs Lisle. Naturally I expect to pay for his assistance.”
“No matter how much you are willing to pay, sir,” Mrs Lisle warned him, “Prometheus would never write or help to write anything not wholeheartedly in accord with my husband’s principles.”
“Nor would I ask it of him, ma’am. I fancy my aims agree with those of the late Mr Lisle and the gentleman who has stepped into his shoes, or picked up his quill, I should say.”
Mrs Lisle nodded approvingly. “I am delighted to hear it. The poor and voteless have too few champions in the House of Lords.”
“Mama!” Pippa exclaimed in alarm. “I think it most unlikely that Prometheus will be willing to unmask, even in so noble a cause.” Drat, she should not have risked the pun. Being clever might arouse the viscount’s suspicions. She must strive to seem featherwitted—yet she could not let Mama make unredeemable promises. “Did not Mr Cobbett’s letter say those horrid Tories are threatening him with imprisonment again?”
“I assure you, Miss Lisle, I should do nothing to endanger Prometheus. His secret would be safe with me. Besides, he is no vitriolic insurrectionist, as Cobbett frequently appears to be. Cobbett’s prejudices too often get the better of his common sense, and even drive him to be careless with facts, whereas Prometheus is known for his brilliant use of reasoned argument.”
Pippa felt herself blushing at this fervent compliment. “I beg your pardon, sir,” she said hastily, hoping he would ascribe her pink face to embarrassment for having misjudged him. “I did not mean to suggest that you would betray Prometheus on purpose.”
“Your concern for the gentleman’s safety does you credit, Miss Lisle.” The viscount’s warm smile did nothing to cool her cheeks. “He is a close friend of the family, I collect, or a relative, perhaps?”
To Pippa’s relief, her mother drew his lordship’s attention. “I have no sons, Lord Selworth,” she said, with severity belied by the twinkle in her eye, “nor brothers, nor nephews.”
Perfectly true, and perfectly irrelevant.
“I did not intend to probe, ma’am. Or perhaps I did—my apologies. However, it is clear that you are personally acquainted with Prometheus. All I ask is that you set my proposal fairly before him.”
“A reasonable request, is it not, Pippa? If you will leave your direction, sir, I shall see that you are notified of the outcome, one way or the other.”
“If you think you might have an answer for me by tomorrow, we shall put up at the inn in the village.”
“The Jolly Bodger is not known for its comfort, sir,” Pippa advised him, trying to discourage him from remaining in the vicinity. “It is little more than a tavern.”
“The Jolly Bodger?” Kitty asked cheerfully as she ushered in Mr Chubb bearing a laden tea-tray. “Are you staying there tonight? Set it down here, if you please, sir. Shall I pour, Mama?”
On receiving an affirmative, she busied herself with cups and saucers, allotting the only two remaining matching sets to the gentlemen.
“Are we staying, Wynn?” Mr Chubb enquired, passing tea and honey-cake. Pippa thought he sounded hopeful.
“The inn is shockingly uncomfortable,” she re-stressed, “and I have heard horrid tales of their dinners.”
“You are welcome to dine with us, Lord Selworth, Mr Chubb,” Mrs Lisle offered, “if you care to dare the other discomforts. We have not room to put you up, alas.”
Pippa stared at her mother in dismay. She was positively encouraging the viscount! Surely she did not suppose Pippa was prepared to disclose her secret to him?
He would be incredulous at first. Once convinced of the truth, he would cease to admire and start to wonder at her. Like Dr. Samuel Johnson, he would say, doubtless to himself, being a courteous gentleman, “a woman preaching is like a dog’s walking on his hind legs. It is not done well: but you are surprised to find it done at all.”
Even if she could trust him to hold his tongue, of which she was by no means certain, to have him regard her as a nine days’ wonder would be painful, she acknowledged. Not that he showed any signs of admiring her for herself. She had no reason to expect it. Nor did she consider him anything out of the common way for a personable gentleman—
Until he smiled, and he was smiling at her now, the dastard!
“You are thoughtful, Miss Lisle,” he said in an undertone.
Mama was occupied in listening to Mr Chubb’s long, inarticulate utterance of gratitude for her invitation, which Pippa gathered had been accepted while she reflected. “I trust,” Lord Selworth continued, “that the presence of two extra mouths at dinner will cause no difficulties?”
Pippa was about to inform him waspishly of her ignorance of such housekeeping details. Realizing he might well enquire as to how she occupied her time if not in womanly domestic tasks, she drowned the words in a gulp of tea.
Her face must have reflected her annoyance, however, for he suggested tentatively, “Shall we cry off? Be honest with me.”
It was considerate of him to ask, she told herself sheep
ishly. Most men would not think twice about the awkwardness of feeding unexpected guests. “I am sure Mama would not have invited you were there any difficulty, sir,” she said, her tone cool.
“I fear you are still not persuaded of my innocuous intentions towards your friend. I give you my word, Miss Lisle, no harm shall come to him through me. He has only to refuse my request and not another word shall be said—I shall cease to seek him out. But pray don’t deny him the chance to decide for himself.”
Pippa had already decided. She wished she could say so without further ado. Since that was impossible, she sighed and promised, “I shall not try to keep Mama from discussing your offer with Prometheus.”
* * * *
Standing at the parlour window, Pippa watched the gentlemen in their top hats and greatcoats tramping down the garden path in the dusk, on the way to take rooms at the Jolly Bodger. Their tethered horses’ ears stuck up above the beech hedge, still thickly hung with dead brown leaves.
The dead leaves depressed her. So did the muddy flower-beds on each side of the path, though snowdrops bravely strove to raise their heads, battered and splattered by the recent rains, among green spikes of daffodil and papery crocus buds. In spite of their promise of Spring, she felt Winter would go on for ever.
Much as she loved Mama and Kitty, the spice had gone out of life when Papa died.
Her writing—the emotions aroused by the injustices she wrote about—were a palliative, not a remedy. When she laid down her quill and posted the result to Mr Cobbett, the emptiness returned.
What frightened her was that she saw no end to the desert. Kitty would marry, whether John Ruddock or some other love-struck swain, and go away. Pippa might surrender her hand to Mr Postlethwaite, but her heart was untouched. Worse, she would have to give up the work which, she sometimes fancied, was all that kept her from running mad.