by Smith, Joan
“Oh no!” Holly said, her mind foreseeing all manner of unpleasantness when the truth of the much-looked-forward-to visit was revealed.
“You are wearing a very woe-is-meish face all of a sudden, ma’am,” he said, whirling around in time to the music, making the waltz seem a whole new experience from the two times she had marched it with Mr. Prendergast. “Never mind. You will soon love Rex. He has an insinuating way about him, like a puppy. Odd how we come to love those who cause us the most trouble.”
“I have never noticed that.”
“Think about it,” he suggested. Then they were silent for a few moments. After a while, he said, “I did not mean necessarily to devote your mind to a study of it at this moment. Please feel free to think of anything you like, and even to mention it.”
She took this, as indeed it was intended, as a hint to talk to him. “A pity the weather has been so bad for the hunting,” she said.
This platitude may as well have remained unspoken. He did not acknowledge it at all, but said, “I hope you too will be home when we call tomorrow morning. There is a matter we would like to discuss with you. I think you are the more likely one than your cousin to discuss it with.”
“What matter is that?” she asked, curious.
“It’s a long story. We shan’t go into it tonight, but that voice of yours is superb.”
This cryptic statement left her wondering what on earth he could have in mind. He went right on to another subject before she could gain any idea what he meant and, too soon, the waltz was over.
Lady Proctor’s spirits were so high on the way home that Holly did not wish to depress them with a recital of the truth. It would be learned soon enough and, meanwhile, she could hug the memory of the evening to herself, and cosset her little mystery and her few rags of compliments.
It really does not do to worry a trivial conversation too much, she discovered. Dewar spoke of not having had an opportunity to thank her, but he had taken no step to make the opportunity. He had not intended dancing with her till Aunt Elsa forced the issue.
She soon came to think it was ill-done of him to leave her wondering for hours what he wished to discuss on the morrow. He might have given a hint. It was inconsiderate to leave a person wondering all night. What on earth could it be?
* * *
Chapter 5
It was unthinkable that anyone leave the house when Lord Dewar had promised to call. Even when morning grew into afternoon, and still he did not come, there was no mention by Lady Proctor of doing anything but sitting in the saloon in her second-best gown, waiting for him. Jane, deeply into a novel, had little objection to this. Holly, with her mind half on the orphans’ shirts awaiting her needle, resented the waste of time for, of course, it was impossible to be caught sewing by such prestigious callers.
Long before luncheon, she had deserted the saloon and gone to her own room, to sew and wonder and, finally, to resent such thoughtless treatment. It was not long after luncheon when she was called down; but the visitor was not Dewar. It was only Mr. Johnson, ostensibly come to check on the progress of the shirts but, in fact, to gossip over the assembly, like any old maid.
“Quite an addition to our little society, Lord Dewar's party. The girls are all twittering this morning. I expected to see you in Harknell on a Saturday morning, ladies,” he said, lifting his coattails to take a seat.
“We were waiting for Lord Dewar to call. Holly thought he said he would come in the morning, but it seems she was mistaken, for he did not come,” Lady Proctor told him.
“Very likely,” Johnson answered, but Holly knew she was not mistaken. “He was so very busy this morning in the village that I had not a chance to talk to him about the money for the orphanage. I hoped when I saw him in the village that he would call on me, return my call, that is, but he didn’t get round to it.”
“What was he doing?” Lady Proctor asked, with shameless curiosity.
“He was at the post office and in the shops.”
“He would be tending to business for his mama,” she decided. “He called on Mr. Raymond, her solicitor, I warrant.”
“No, he did not. I happened to be speaking to Mr. Raymond, and he had some hopes Dewar would drop in, for there are some papers requiring his signature, but he didn’t get round to it. He was too busy. He was in the drapery shop chatting to the Cockburne girls, and he took his visitors to have a look at the church. Unfortunately, I was not around at the time. He didn’t call at the manse, but my housekeeper tells me he was outside the church, pointing out the gargoyles and features of interest to his visitors. He will likely call on me this afternoon. Or, if not, I’ll try if I can pin him after service on Sunday. I expect I may be asked to the Abbey for luncheon, to meet his guests. I often dine with the countess on a Sunday.”
Mr. Johnson was not invited to remain and discuss his business with Dewar when he called, nor was he obtuse enough to suggest it when he saw Jane sitting in her good blue gown, with every curl in place. Turning to Holly, he continued speaking. “I am happy to see Dewar plans to remain a while at the Abbey. There are several matters requiring his attention.”
“A pity he wouldn’t attend to them, instead of gossiping in the village,” she answered tartly, becoming a little tired of everyone’s making excuses for him.
“You may be sure he will. That is why he is come, certainly: to see to the running of the family orphanage, and to replacing the schoolmaster—all the details that need his personal decision. I shall speak to him about having a specialist look at young McAuley’s leg while he is here. I am very happy he has come at last. The roof of the church could do with a few new slates as well.”
They continued talking for half an hour, at which time Johnson took his leave, peering down the road hopefully as he turned his mount homeward, to see if there was any choice of buttonholing Dewar. But the only person in sight was Mr. Raymond, returning from the Abbey, where he had been to get Dewar’s signature on the required document.
“He was sorry he hadn’t known when he was in the village this morning,” Mr. Raymond said. “If he had known, he would have stopped at my office and spared me the trip. Odd he didn’t know, as I left a message yesterday, but he didn’t get it. He was very obliging.”
“Oh yes, he is always very obliging,” Johnson agreed. It was the opinion generally stated of Dewar, that he was very obliging.
He finally obliged Lady Proctor at five o’clock, coming just as she had abandoned hope of seeing him, and had removed her uncomfortable lace collar (that scratched the neck due to an excess of sugar used to stiffen it). Jane’s careful toilette had suffered as well. With her muscles cramped from sitting up straight for hours, she finally pulled her feet up beneath her on the sofa and lounged against the pillows, creasing her gown beyond elegance. When Holly joined them at four-thirty, Lady Proctor ordered tea to help pass the vigil. The empty cups sat on the tray when Dewar and Homberly were finally shown in.
Lady Proctor was determined to be a ladylike and affable, but it took all her self-control to do it. When she looked at the untidy tray, and at her lace collar hanging over the arm of the chair, a frown pleated her brow. And when she observed that Mr. Homberly was of the party her eyes snapped angrily. “Lord Dewar, we were beginning to think you had forgotten all about us,” she said, her tone tinged with annoyance.
“Not for one moment, I promise you,” he replied, with an appreciative smile at Jane that calmed the mother’s ruffled feathers in a wonderful hurry. “I have been trying to get here all day, but something always interrupts me. It is the fact of so many details awaiting my attention that delays me.”
“I am sure you are very busy,” Lady Proctor said, sliding the lace collar in behind a pillow, and ringing the bell for a fresh tea tray. “Mr. Johnson was mentioning only this morning that he was expecting a call from you.”
“Mr. Johnson?” he asked, frowning, and quite obviously not familiar with the name of his own minister.
“Feller we d
ucked out the side door to miss t’other day,” Rex reminded him helpfully. “Minister, I think your butler said he is. Ain’t that right, ma’am?”
“Yes, the minister of St. Alton’s,” the astonished dame replied.
“That was the day I had to spend with my steward,” Dewar explained, in an effort to gloss it over. “Roots becomes very vexed with me if I interrupt our business chats.”
“Day we saw Miss Jane in the village,” Rex added, with a fond smile at the girl.
There was an uncomfortable moment’s silence while the two elder ladies regarded him in a measuring fashion. Into the silence, Rex spoke up. “See you’re reading, Miss Proctor.” He used the comment as an excuse to join her on the sofa, reaching out to see the title of her book. Necromancer of the Black Forest, he read. “Sounds pretty heavy stuff for a young lady. Daresay you’re blue. Wearing blue anyway.”
“Oh no, it is only a novel,” she assured him, dismayed at the charge of being an intellectual.
“That so? A new one on me. Like reading myself. Read The Castle of Otranto once. You read The Castle of Otranto, Miss Proctor?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t recall the title.”
“Like me,” he told her, nodding his head sagely. “Have no mind for what I’ve read, except for Otranto. Dewar—he could tell you what I’ve read. I always borrow my books from him.”
“It would take me all of a minute if you are interested in the list,” Dewar said, with a satirical smile.
Neither Miss Proctor nor anyone else displayed the least interest in either the list or the ill-natured remark. Lady Proctor enquired for Lady Dewar’s health, after which Dewar conveyed his mother’s imaginary compliments to his hostess. These civilities taken care of, he turned to Miss McCormack, who was regarding him with scanty approval. She had not been mistaken to think him unkind in his remarks the preceding evening. He was nasty to Homberly, heedless of his duties and, she suspected, not quite truthful in trying to hide his faults.
“You have not forgotten, I hope, that you and I have something to discuss today, Miss McCormack,” he said.
“I have not forgotten. I am curious as to what it can be,” she answered.
“What is this? You did not tell me of this, Holly,” her aunt said, leaning forward, her eyes bright with interest.
“I did not know what matter Lord Dewar had in mind,” she explained, looking to him for enlightenment.
“Putting on a play,” Rex told them. “Something to do to get in the days till we go back to London, you know.”
This was not the manner in which Dewar had planned to broach the subject but, as he considered it very much a treat for the ladies, he was not much dismayed. He looked to the three for the expected approval. He saw Jane blinking her eyes in astonishment, Lady Proctor glancing to the doorway for signs of the tea tray, and Miss McCormack regarding him in stony disapproval. The thought struck him that the household might be Methodist, though he had not heard anyone say so. “A classical drama—something to bring a little culture to Harknell,” he explained hastily.
Holly’s expression softened into interest at this. “How nice,” she said. “The school put on The Search after Happiness a few years ago, a pastoral play by Hanna More, you know,” she said, nodding her approval at this high aim. “What play is it you plan to bring to the village, sir? The travelling troupes seldom stop here, as we are a small community, and cannot scrape together sufficient audience to make it worth their while.” It seemed a suitable charity venture to her that Dewar should finance this scheme.
“Actually it is our intention to mount the production ourselves,” he said.
“Oh! That is why you brought those gentlemen with you. What play is it you are going to put on for us?” she asked, still satisfied.
“That is what I hope to discuss with you ladies today,” he answered. “What play would you enjoy to do?”
“We?” Jane asked. “Lord Dewar, we are not actresses!” She laughed aloud at the very idea of herself or Holly standing on a stage in front of everyone, making cakes of themselves.
Holly remembered his remark regarding her fine voice. She looked at him, incredulous. “Certainly not! It is not to be thought of!” she seconded.
“Thank God for that!” Homberly sighed, at peace with the world, “Rubbishing idea. Tell me, Miss Proctor, you ride at all?”
Her answer was not heard by Holly, or her mother either. These two ladies were immediately subjected to a verbal barrage from Dewar that did not leave them an ear free to listen. “Of course it is only an amateur performance we have in mind,” he began persuasively, “for a small group of friends.”
“That won’t bring much culture to the local people in general, will it?” Holly asked. “Not to the ones who need it, I mean, and would enjoy it as a great novelty. The gentlefolks you speak of may go to a play in London as often as they like.”
“As a local resident, you would have a better idea of who might enjoy it,” he agreed instantly. “It is why I especially wanted to talk to you—all you ladies at Stonecroft. Mama suggested you as being very active in all the goings-on in the village. The charity work, the church projects, and so on.”
"That is true,” Lady Proctor nodded, taking some credit for her niece’s active involvement. “The sewing, for instance, we do a great deal of, and when Mr. Johnson had his bazaar last spring we did three-quarters of the preparing. The notices for the shop windows, the setting up of the stalls, the prizes...”
“We are much too busy to spend any considerable amount of time in preparing a play,” Holly said. “I, personally, have not a moment free.”
“With that voice of yours, you must take part, Miss McCormack,” Dewar objected. “It struck me the moment you spoke last evening that it was made for the stage. A deep, carrying tone, but still very musical. I have not heard a finer voice anywhere, and I include Mrs. Siddons in that. Your voice reminds me of her.”
If he thought to cut any ice with this comparison he was out. Lady Proctor could not quite place the name, though she was sure she had heard it before, and Holly knew when she was being cozzened. “Thank you for the compliment, sir, but I have never acted on a stage, and never intend to. I know it takes up a great deal of time, and I am too busy.”
“What is it you do that doesn’t leave you a free moment?” he asked.
“Charity work. I also help my aunt here at home.” She reached down and picked up an orphan’s shirt as she spoke, to prove her point.
“As to that, Holly, there are plenty of servants, if you want to help Lord Dewar put on his little play,” Lady Proctor said. From the corner of her eye, she saw that nig-nog of a Jane discussing riding with Mr. Homberly, whom she sincerely hoped would not take part in the dramatic presentation. Jane must be in the play to keep her under Dewar’s eyes and, as chaperoning would be required, Holly too would participate. It was just the sort of occupation she did so well—dignified, genteel work. “You could always stitch on the shirts while you chaperone, Holly.”
Dewar looked startled at this speech. “I hope you will take a more active part than only chaperoning,” he said.
“No, really, I am not at all sure I can even do that. I help Mr. Johnson with the church arrangements. I usually spend an afternoon a week with the church committee, and one or more with the charity work.”
“That leaves five afternoons and seven mornings,” he pointed out.
“And when Mr. Parsons fell ill last winter, you remember, Auntie, I took the school for a full month. Mr. Prendergast wanted to do it, but he had just undertaken to help Mr. Raymond and could not get away.”
“Is Mr. Parsons ill at the moment? I had not heard it,” Dewar said, becoming more determined with every obstacle thrown in his way. This was the one he wanted for his leading lady.
Her voice enchanted the ear, the more so as she became angry and spoke more forcefully. There was a timbre to it—almost a vibrato—that would show to advantage in a great dramatic tragedy. Her form, too
, while not of a feminine fullness, was tall and straight. The last success of Mrs. Siddons was in his mind—Lady Macbeth. A more difficult piece than he had originally intended, but by no means beyond doing.
“No, but he is very old, and might fall ill at any moment,” she answered.
“If that occurs, I shall appoint a permanent replacement for him,” Dewar answered simply. “Now, what we must settle on is what play we are to do. What do you think, Lady Proctor?” He turned to this dame, not because he felt for a moment she would have interesting views on the subject, but because she was in charge of the young ladies, and must be buttered into compliance.
“I once saw The Rivals played in Bath,” she told him, thus emptying half of her dramatic budget. “It was ever so amusing.”
“So it is. I like it enormously,” he agreed readily.
“Then, of course, there is always Shakespeare,” she added. “Jane’s seminary that she went to two years ago put on something by Shakespeare. What was it, Jane dear, that play you were in at Miss Kinnear’s?”
“Romeo and Juliet, Mama.”
“Yes, that has been done very often,” Dewar said in a dismissing way. “I thought perhaps Macbeth would be interesting.”
“I cannot think Jane would like playing Lady Macbeth,” the girl’s mother answered. “She is not old enough, and she has all the speeches of Juliet by heart from Miss Kinnear’s play, you know.”
With a dazed look on his face, Dewar said, “Indeed,” then he sat rapidly revising his cast and even his play. Between Miss McCormack’s reluctance and Lady Proctor’s pushing of Jane, he saw he was not going to get his own way, but he would not abandon the whole project. He would still put on a play. He turned to examine Jane with a new interest. “Now that is odd. You disclaimed being an actress when I first mentioned it, Miss Proctor.”
“It was only for the school. I have never acted in public,” she pointed out. She did not think to add that it was only the balcony scene she had been called upon to perform, with Miss Ewart, dressed in her brother’s trousers, playing Romeo.