The Hemingford Scandal
Page 13
‘And he agreed?’
‘He wrote to me,’ Jane said. ‘It was a very loving letter, hoping I would soon be well and saying he would come to London again when I return. He said he would try to be patient.’
‘And what did he say about Captain Hemingford accompanying you?’
‘Why should that bother him? The Captain is Anne’s brother, it is only natural he should escort her. He knows what happened in the past, but he knows it is in the past.’
‘I would come with you,’ Aunt Lane said. ‘But I think I should return to Bath. I have been away too long.’
It sounded as if she were hurt and washing her hands of her recalcitrant niece and Jane was struck with guilt. She reached over to take her aunt’s hand. ‘Oh, Aunt Lane, you have been so good to me. I shall miss you dreadfully.’
‘Indeed, I shall miss you, my child. But you know, all I ever wanted was your happiness.’
‘I know.’
The deed was done, the arrangements made and the day dawned for their departure. The Bostock travelling carriage, the last word in comfort, arrived outside the house at Duke Street. The luggage was strapped on, goodbyes said and Jane and Anne, both looking surprisingly healthy, were helped into the coach by Harry, who climbed in with them; with final goodbyes and waved handkerchiefs, they were off. Jane leaned back against the padded seat, to find Harry’s smiling eyes on her. Friendship, she told herself, friendship. It was what she needed most.
‘Are you fully recovered?’ he asked her, taking off his hat and putting it on the seat beside him. It was the first time he had seen her since she had been taken ill and, though it had been little over a week, he had missed her. It was strange how that week seemed to have been longer than the whole two years before. But two years before he had been bolstered by anger and resentment, now there was nothing but tenderness and longing, a longing he had to suppress.
‘Oh, yes, thank you. I am looking forward to seeing the Lakes. I believe they are very beautiful.’
‘Yes, however, we will take our time getting there, so that you are not jolted too much but please say if you want to stop and rest. Simmonds has ridden ahead to secure post horses and accommodation, but the arrangements can easily be changed.’
She laughed suddenly. It was a joyful sound and lifted his spirits. ‘I am quite well and strong,’ she said and meant it. She felt stronger than she had for weeks, strong enough to be herself, to make decisions for herself and the first one was to enjoy her holiday.
Chapter Six
Mrs Georgiana Bartrum, younger sister to Anne and Harry’s mother, was as unlike Aunt Lane as it was possible to be. She was only thirty-five and still a very handsome woman, with straight dark hair, drawn into a coil at her neck, humorous brown eyes and a ready smile. She was tiny, but what she lacked in height she made up for in energy. As soon as the carriage pulled up at the gate of Lakeshead House, she bustled out to make them welcome.
‘So you are come at last,’ she said, taking Anne into her arms as she stepped down. ‘I thought I would never persuade you.’ She turned to Jane as she followed Anne from the coach. ‘And you must be Jane. You do not mind me calling you Jane, do you?’
‘Not at all, I would prefer it.’
‘Anne has written so much about you, I feel we are already good friends. Welcome, welcome to Ambleside. And where is that young shaver of a nephew of mine?’
‘Here, Aunt Georgie.’ Harry joined them on the gravel and kissed his aunt’s cheek. ‘I trust I find you well?’
‘Of course. I am never ill. Now come inside and tell me all your news over a little refreshment. Todd shall unload your boxes and show your coachman to the stables. Your footman is already here, there is adequate accommodation for them both in the rooms above.’ All the time she was talking she was leading them up granite steps towards the door of a square stone-built house. ‘You have not brought a maid, I see.’
‘No, I did not think we would need one,’ Anne said. ‘I collect everything used to be informal and we dressed for comfort. If we need help, we can maid each other.’
‘Good. I want you to feel entirely at ease while you are here.’
Jane smiled, remembering all the clothes they had taken to Coprise and how she and her aunt were for ever changing their dress for one occasion or another. They had needed Lucy. The next week or two would be very different. Already she was feeling more relaxed.
They were led into a small hall. It gleamed with polish and the scent of the flowers placed in a vase on a side table. There was a staircase straight ahead of them, a door on either side and a corridor presumably leading to more rooms at the back of the house. ‘We will have tea and cakes while your luggage is taken up to your rooms,’ Mrs Bartrum went on, leading the way into the drawing room and indicating they should be seated. ‘Then I will take you up and show you round. Not that there is a great deal to see, the house is little more than a cottage, but it suits Bartrum and me.’ This was addressed to Jane. ‘He is out, but he will be back directly to make you welcome.’
Harry smiled at her as she seated herself on one of the sofas next to Anne. ‘You will have noticed that Aunt Georgie never stops to take breath,’ he said. ‘I do not know how she manages it.’
‘And you are an impudent young rascal,’ his aunt admonished him. ‘I should have thought being in the army might have taught you some manners.’
He laughed and, flinging up his coat-tails, subsided into a chair. ‘That was the last thing it taught me. How to fight, perhaps. And rigorous discipline.’
His aunt laughed. ‘And no doubt that came hard to one used to having his own way.’
‘It is necessary. Disobedience cannot be tolerated when each man’s life depends on his comrades when it comes to a fight.’
‘And you were wounded. My poor, dear boy. Are you quite well again?’
‘As well as I will ever be.’
‘Harry is left with a slight limp,’ Anne said. ‘But it seems not to discommode him. He can still run after me.’
The refreshments arrived and Jane, who had been enjoying the exchange between her friends and their aunt, accepted a cup of tea and a delicious little honey cake and felt the tiredness drain from her. Here she felt safe. Even Harry had ceased to be a threat to her peace of mind.
He had been a perfect escort on the journey, looking after their welfare, making sure their rooms in the inns where they stayed were clean and the bedding aired, ordering delicious meals and instructing Giles, their coachman, whom he had naturally known since he was boy, to avoid the potholes as far as he was able and not go too fast. On some stretches where he considered there was extra danger from highwaymen or discontented mobs, he had sat on the box beside Giles with a shotgun on his knee.
When he was sharing the carriage with them, he had been a splendid companion, pointing out places of interest, telling them its history, or beguiling them with stories of his time in the army, always careful not to frighten them with gruesome details. It made Jane realise just how much he had changed and how little she had understood him in the few months of their engagement. She had been an immature seventeen and he only one and twenty, much too young to know the difference between real love, the kind that lasted a lifetime, and their childish conception of romance. Did she know it even now? Would she be making the same mistake again if she accepted Donald Allworthy?
‘Now, Jane, tell us what you would like to do while you are here,’ Mrs Bartrum said, making her put aside her troubled thoughts. ‘Do you like to walk? Are you interested in natural science?’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘We are going to walk the feet off her,’ Harry said. ‘And take a boat on the lake.’
‘Then do be careful,’ his aunt put in. ‘Remember Jane has been ill. You must not overtire her. Nor Anne either.’
‘I will guard them both with my life, you may depend upon it.’
‘You are to stay with us, then?’ Jane asked, wondering why she had not thought of it before.
‘You do not mind, do you?’ Harry asked, cocking his head on one side and smiling at Jane.
‘No, of course not.’ What else could she say? Harry could be very good company and with his protection they would be able to explore further afield.
‘Good,’ Mrs Bartrum said. ‘Now, here is Bartrum to greet you.’
Mr Bartrum, who had just entered the room, was only an inch or two taller than his wife. He was dressed in country jacket and leather breeches, but his cravat was pristine and his riding boots highly polished. He had straight grey hair and grey eyes and his smile was gentle. ‘Welcome, Miss Hemingford,’ he said, taking her hand as she dropped him a small curtsy. ‘I trust the journey was not too trying.’
‘Not at all, I was well looked after.’
He turned and shook Harry’s hand and kissed Anne’s cheek. ‘Good to see you both. Well, are you?’ Without waiting for a reply he went on, addressing his wife, ‘That fool, Posset, has been poaching again. He never seems to learn. I had to give him a month in the Bridewell, couldn’t let him off with another caution.’
‘Oh, dear, I had better go and see what I can do for Mrs Posset. She has eight children,’ she added to inform her guests. ‘He only poaches to feed them, but Bartrum has to sit in judgement when he is caught. Poaching is a crime, when all’s said and done, and the landowners are right to expect him to be punished.’
So Mr Bartrum was a magistrate, Jane realised, and a very lenient one too. She warmed to him as well as to his hospitable wife.
‘I will go after dinner,’ Mrs Bartrum said as a maid came in to tell them the luggage had been conveyed to their rooms and hot water had been taken up for them. ‘Come, girls, I will take you to your room. You do not mind sharing do you?’
‘Not at all,’ they said together, and followed Mrs Bartrum out of the room and up the stairs.
‘Harry can have the smaller room opposite. We naturally keep country hours, so dinner is at three. I will leave you to unpack and change. Come down when you are ready.’ And with that she flung open the door of a bedroom and ushered them inside before leaving them to settle in.
‘Oh, she is so agreeable,’ Jane said, wandering over to the window. ‘I never felt so welcome anywhere in my life. And what a view!’ The house stood on a slight hill at the northern end of Lake Windermere. She could see almost down its whole glittering length. Small craft bobbed about on its smooth water and beyond it, almost near enough to touch, the hills rose invitingly. She turned back to look at her friend. ‘Oh, I am so glad you persuaded me to come.’
Anne came forward and kissed her. ‘Good. Now you are not to worry about a thing. And if you do not feel like walking, then please say so and we will find something else to do.’
‘Oh, but I want to.’
‘Then tomorrow we will make a start. Harry knows all the paths and where the best views are. We can safely leave everything in his hands.’
Harry, in the room across the corridor, was also looking out of the window. It was a view he knew well, but now he was seeing it with new eyes. If he could not live at Sutton Park, he could settle here, among the lakes and craggy fells. He did not need to be in London. But that was the future and before he could settle on that he had to tread a tightrope. Jane must find her own way and he prayed constantly that it would lead to him.
‘I thought it always rained in the Lakes,’ Jane said, when she woke next morning to find the sun streaming in the window and Anne already up and dressed.
‘Not for us,’ Anne said. ‘For us the weather will be perfect, I have decreed it. Now out of bed with you and dress in something practical for walking and let us go down to breakfast. I heard Harry go down ages ago.’
The Bartums had a little one-horse gig and Harry, dressed in a light wool tailcoat, calfskin breeches and top-boots, borrowed it to take them to Grasmere, where they left it at a local inn and set off on foot, to walk round the lake and up the fells that surrounded it, carrying a small picnic hamper with them.
Occasionally the path was uneven and Harry stopped to take Jane’s elbow to help her along. His touch was still capable of making her tremble, but she did not try to shake it off. To do so would be churlish. She smiled and thanked him.
‘You are looking better already,’ he said. ‘I had begun to think you would fade away before my eyes.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, I was never as ill as that.’
‘But you were so pale, even before that, and your eyes had a haunted look, except when you were riding, of course. Then you came alive again.’
She was reminded of that ride with Donald, but quickly put it from her. She had promised herself she would not think of him until she had been here at least a week, by which time she hoped she would know whether she wanted to marry him or not. ‘Is it possible to ride while we are here?’ she asked.
‘No reason why not. There are sturdy little hill ponies capable of plodding up and down these hills all day. I will ask Aunt Georgie where I can hire some.’
They reached the top of the rise and stood to look at the scene around them. The ground was a mixture of rocky scree and heather-covered grass, scattered with boulders. Below them the shimmer of the lake reflected the sky and the trees that spread along the water’s edge. Along the road could be seen a few small cottages, some with paths leading down to the water and little moored craft. They could see people, as small as dolls, moving about their business and, on the lower slopes, walkers like themselves and the white shapes of sheep. The sun was warm on their backs and it was difficult to believe that these hills could be dangerous in bad weather.
‘Food,’ Harry said, breaking in on their silent contemplation. ‘I am hungry as a hunter.’ He took off his coat and spread it on the ground for the ladies to sit on, then knelt and opened the basket. From it he took chicken legs, ham pie, crusty bread and butter and a bag of sweet plums from the trees in the Bartrums’ garden. ‘Fit for the gods,’ he said, fitting a corkscrew into a bottle of wine.
In the last few weeks Jane had had little appetite, not only because she was ill but because she was so oppressed. Now she ate hungrily, enjoying the taste of the food and sipping the wine. It was warmer than it should have been, but that did not matter. Afterwards, replete and somnolent, she lay back against a cushion of heather and dozed.
Harry sat and watched her. She was achingly lovely. Her blue muslin dress was absolutely plain, decorated only with a band of ribbon about the high waist, but its very simplicity made it perfect. Her bonnet had fallen off and lay upside down beside her and her hair, escaping from its combs, was spread out on the heather, thick and coppery. Her eyelashes, the same deep colour, lay on sun-kissed cheeks. Fearing she might burn, he opened her parasol and propped it up between two rocks so that it shaded her face.
She felt the shade move across her and opened her eyes. He was kneeling beside her, looking down at her, his eyes dark and soft with tenderness. His lips were slightly parted, his breath a little ragged and a nerve twitched in his cheek. She lay looking back at him, searching his face, too startled to move, too confused to speak.
‘The sun is stronger than you think,’ he said, breaking the moment in a voice so matter of fact, so down to earth, she thought she must have been dreaming. ‘Can’t have you burning.’
‘Thank you.’ She closed her eyes again; it was the only way to avoid that look of his. She knew its meaning and she knew there had been an answering flutter in her own heart, deny it though she might. But up here, away from Society, almost away from civilisation itself, she felt cocooned in a different world, where dreams and reality were intertwined, where being practical and sensible had no place and fantasy reigned. Here she could dream.
He stood up and walked a little way off to where Anne sat leaning against a boulder, surveying the scenery, a slight br
eeze lifting a tendril of her hair. ‘She is very tired,’ he murmured, dropping down beside her.
‘I am not surprised. She has been put through so much, pulled this way and that, trying to please everyone and quite forgetting her own needs. You have no idea what it is like to be a young unmarried lady, Harry, always trying to be good and obedient, always believing that other people know best because that is what they are constantly telling you.’
‘I thought she was stronger than that. She was certainly not weak when it came to sending me away.’
‘She had been convinced by others it was the right thing to do and it took courage. Do not blame her.’
‘I don’t, not now. I did then. I was angry.’
‘Angry because you cared so much.’
‘And still do.’
‘But you are not to upset her, Harry. I promised her we would not speak of it.’
‘The last thing I want to do is worry her or hurt her, but it is damned difficult to stand by…’
‘But you will, won’t you? You will give her time to realise what she truly wants?’
‘And if it is Allworthy, after all?’
‘It won’t be. He is not for her. I know it and she will come to know it too.’
‘I hope you are right, but even if she rejects him, I still have a mountain to climb.’
‘Patience, brother, patience. Now, I think we should start for home, don’t you?’
He rose and collected up the picnic things and repacked the basket, then he gathered a posy of heather and went to wake Jane. ‘Wake up, sleeping beauty, time to go home.’ His voice was deliberately teasing.
She stirred and smiled sleepily at him. ‘I think I must have dozed.’
‘It has been good for you.’ He held out his hand to help her to rise and then presented her with the posy. ‘For luck,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’ She was still not sure what had been dream and what reality, but she was too indolent to care.
They walked slowly back to the village, climbed into the gig and returned to Lakeshead House, pausing on the way to stop and look at Wordsworth’s cottage, wondering if they might catch a glimpse of the great poet, but he was not to be seen. They spoke very little, but Mrs Bartrum made up for that when they arrived, asking them where they had gone, how far they had walked, when and where they had eaten their picnic. Taking it for granted they would be ravenous, she had ordered a huge supper and they did justice to it before settling in the drawing room to drink tea and listen to Anne playing the old harpsichord which stood in the corner. It was the end of a perfect day.