"I'm Lady Myton."
"Oh, how do you do? I'm ... I'm sorry I haven't been able to call on you yet, I..."
The lady now smiled, then gave a chuckling laugh as she said, "I've called on you just this very morning but I was told that you were out and that your wife was indisposed."
Simon, standing straight, stared from one to the other of the riders. He noted that Mr Sopwith's face had lost its sallowness and was now a warm pink; he also noted that the lady was amused. He had heard that a lordship had taken over Dean House and that he was an oldish fellow with a young wife. Well, from what he could see she wasn't all that young, nearing thirty he would say, but by! she had a figure on her; and the boldness in those eyes was what one would expect to see in the face of some wench sloshing out the beer in an inn.
With almost a start he realised her eyes were being levelled on him and the head was being held enquiringly to one side, and he also knew that his landlord was being put to a little disadvantage wondering whether or not he should introduce him. He felt his spine stiffening a little, and the action became registered in his expression as he looked up at his landlord.
"This is Farmer Bentwood, a tenant of mine."
She was again looking at Mark Sopwith, and it was a number of seconds before she inclined her head towards Simon, but he still didn't, as he should have done, raise his hand to his forehead and say, "Goodday, me lady," but returned her the same salute, inclining his head just the slightest, which action seemed to annoy Mr Sopwith for, backing his horse, a manoeuvre which caused Simon to skip to one side, he brought
its head round in the same direction as that of Lady Myton's mount and now level with her and, his knee almost touching her skirt, he said, "Have you any destination in view or are you just out for a canter?"
"I'm just out for a canter." She accompanied her words with a deep obeisance of her head.
"Then perhaps you'll do me the honour of riding with me back to the house and there make the acquaintance of my wife?"
"Surely."
As they both started their horses Mark Sopwith turned and looked down on Simon, saying,
"Good-bye, Bentwood, and a merry wedding tomorrow."
At this Lady Myton pulled up her horse and twisted round in the saddle. "'allyou're going to be married tomorrow?"
He paused before he said quietly, "Yes, me lady."
"Well, may I too wish you a merry wedding, Mr ... Farmer ... what did you say your name was?"
"Bentwood, Simon Bentwood." He stressed his name. His face was straight, but hers was wide and laughing as she repeated, "Simon Bentwood. Well, again I say a merry wedding, Farmer Simon Bentwood," and on this she spurred the horse sharply forward, leaving Mark Sopwith to follow behind her; that was until they reached the end of the winding road, for there he shouted, "Turn right here on to the bridlepath." He himself now took the lead, putting his horse into a gallop and then knowing a feeling of satisfaction and of not a little amusement that though she was close on his tail she would, he guessed, even from this short acquaintance, be annoyed that she couldn't pass him and show off her horsemanship because he had recognised at once she was one of those women who once seated on a horse would go hell for leather over walls, ditches, fences ... and over farmlands. Yes, they were no respecters of farmlands. Likely, that was what Bentwood had recognised in her that had made him act out of place, because his manner had not been respectful.
When the path eventually widened out he drew his horse to a walk and as she came abreast of him he looked at her, but she gave him no indication of annoyance. She was looking away to the right, down towards a cottage, and she remarked,
"That's a pretty cottage and a welltended garden.
That's something I've noticed in the short time I've been here"--she glanced at him now--"the cottages have very untidy gardens; some with a few vegetables, nothing pretty."
"That's the Trotters" place. It's within the boundary of my land. Old
man and woman Trotter live there. It's their young granddaughter who keeps the place tidy. There she is now coming up from the burn. She does the work of a man. She can fell a tree as good as the next; she's got one of my copses as clean as a whistle."
"You allow her to saw your trees down?"
"No, only limb so far up; it's good for them."
As they drew nearer the cottage the girl came closer into view, and Lady Myton said, "She looks very young, rather fragile."
"Oh, I shouldn't judge her on her thinness, she's as strong as a young colt."
When the girl saw them she didn't stop but went on towards the back of the cottage, carrying the two wooden buckets full of water, and as they passed the paddock Lady Myton said, "So this is all part of your estate?"
"Yes, what's left of it." There was a wry smile on his face as he said, "Half our land was sold to enhance your property about fifty years ago."
"You must have been very short of money."
"We were."
"And now?"
"Things haven't altered very much."
"But you have a mine?"
"Yes."
"Doesn't that make money?"
He sighed. "The only way mines seem to make money is if you go abroad or live in London and leave them to managers. If you stay at home and look after the people's interests you lose all along the line."
"The Rosiers, I understand, do very well."
His face became straight. He levelled his glance now towards his hand that was gripping the reins as he muttered, "Ruthless people generally do...d very well."
There was silence between them for a moment. They reined the horses away from each other to avoid a deep pothole in the road and when they came together again she said, "You sound as if you don't care for the Rosiers, why?"
It was on the point of his tongue to say, "Whether I care for them or not, madam, is no business of yours," forofa sudden he was realising that he hadn't been in the company of this woman for half an hour and she was questioning him as any close friend might. But when he turned and looked at the expression in those large deep blue eyes it wiped
away any sting with which he might have threaded his next words. "You're a most inquisitive lady," he said.
Her answer was to put her head back and let out what he considered a most unladylike laugh, and, her eyes twinkling now, she looked at him and said,
"You know some people are with me a full day before they realise what a very nosey person I am."
He was now laughing with her, but his was a gentle chuckle, and as he kept his eyes on her he felt a stirring in his blood that he had never imagined he would experience again, for here he was, forty-two years old, with a son of twenty by his first wife, three sons and a daughter by his second, and she in decline, a mortgage on his estate that was choking him, a mine that was barely meeting his men's wages, and a household that was in chaos because it had no controlling hand. He had imagined there was no space left in him wherein was harboured a remnant of the emotions of youth; desire of the body yes, but not the excitement with which it had first made itself known. It was in this moment as if the spring of his manhood had just burst through the earth.
When she now suddenly put her horse into a gallop and they entered another bridle-path that led towards the back drive, which in its turn led towards his house, he allowed her to take the lead.
At the beginning of the nineteenth century the account books showed Highfield Manor's staff amounted to thirty-two people in all; this included six gardeners and four in the stable yard. Today the account books named only thirteen on the staff, which numbered a coachman and three gardeners but did not take into account Mr Burgess, the tutor, and Miss Mabel Venner Price, who was Mrs Sopwith's companion-maid.
The depletion of the staff showed itself not only in the ornamental gardens that surrounded the house but in the house itself. Mr Pike, the butler, who had been with the family for sixty years no longer appeared in the hall whenever Robert Simes, the footman, answered the doorbell, for h
e was mostly otherwise engaged doing, as he mournfully stated, the work of lesser men; nor did Mrs Lucas, the housekeeper, make her appearance from nowhere, as her predecessor would have done, to greet her master. When Mrs Lucas appeared it was usually to say in her own stiff, polite, guarded way that she could get no help from the mistress or
that she herself couldn't be expected to run an establishment like this on such a depleted staff; or, would he order Mr Burgess, the tutor, to come down to the staff room for his meals? It would be one less to take up to the nursery floor. But generally when she waylaid him it was to complain about the children: they were entirely out of hand; the nursemaid had no control over them, nor for that matter had the tutor.
Would he speak to Master Matthew because where Matthew went the others followed?
Of late, Mark had dreaded entering the house because from the ground floor to the top he was met with complaints. He looked back with deep nostalgia to the time when in London, or abroad, or even at the mine, all he longed for was to get back to his home. Now at the mine, all he wanted was to get away from it; and the same feeling was in him with regard to his home.
He stood aside and opened the door to allow his elegant visitor to enter the hall, and as he did so he looked about him. Then calling across to where the footman was disappearing into the dining-room, he shouted,
"Simes!" and when the man turned and walked towards them across the marble-tiled floor he pointed to Lady Myton who was holding out her riding crop and gloves, then asked, "Your mistress, is she still in her room?"
The man blinked once before he answered, "Yes, master," and Mark knew he could have added, "Does she ever leave it?"
"Will you come this way?" He now led the visitor across the wide hall and up the broad faded red-carpeted staircase and on to a wide gallery, also carpeted in the same fading red, and of which the walls were almost obliterated by ornately framed paintings, mostly portraits. He glanced at her as they crossed the gallery and there was a twinkle in his eye as he noted the fact that she wasn't, as was usual, carrying the train of her riding habit over her arm, but was allowing it to trail the floor. She was determined to be different, this lady.
He was about to lead the way down a long corridor when a succession of high squeals caused them both to look towards the far end from where a staircase led upwards; and now scampering down it and into their sight came three children. Two were boys, the third, a smaller girl. It was she who was screaming the loudest, and apparently she had cause to, for from the top of her head streaming down her face and on to her frilled pinafore was a thick blue substance.
"Matthew! Luke! Jessie Ann!"
For a moment he appeared to forget about his companion and, striding
to the children who seemed oblivious of them and who were now making for the main staircase, he brought them to a halt with another loud bellow: "Stop! Stop this minute!"
As if governed by one mind, they skidded to a stop that brought them into a huddle, and the younger of the two boys, Luke, a dark-haired, dark-eyed,
mischievous-faced seven-year-old, now flapped his hand wildly in the air to get rid of the blue substance that he had picked up from being in contact with his sister's pinafore.
"What is this? What is the meaning of this?
Jessie Ann, what have you done?"
"Oh, Papa. Papa." She came towards him now, but, backing slightly from her, he cried, "Get yourself away! Where is Dewhurst?"
He was now speaking to his elder son Matthew and he, endeavouring to keep a straight face, muttered,
"In the nursery, Papa, crying."
Mark closed his eyes, then was about to issue another order when Lady Myton's voice, threaded with laughter, broke in. "Somebody's been having a game," she said. She was standing by Mark's side now, bending slightly forward, looking into the three upturned faces, and Jessie Ann stopped her snivelling for a moment when the lady said,
"'Was it from the top of the door?"
As Jessie Ann nodded slowly the boys shrieked in chorus, "Yes. yes, ma'am! It was for Dewhurst, but she had Jessie Ann alongside her." They remained now staring their admiration at the lady who had been clever enough to guess how Jessie Ann had become covered with the paste.
"I never thought of using paste, I never got beyond water."
The boys now giggled and the small girl sniffed, then screwed up her face and sneezed violently in an effort to rid her nostrils of the paste.
"Get upstairs, all of you! And don't dare leave the floor again until I see you. Understand?"
"Yes, Papa."
"Yes, Papa."
Jessie Ann couldn't make any retort, she was still sneezing, but her brothers, each grabbing an arm, pulled her towards the nursery stairs again and as they did so Mrs Lucas appeared at the end of the corridor.
Going quickly towards her and his voice seeming to be strained through his narrowed lips, he said, "Mrs Lucas, will you kindly attend to your duty and contain that commotion upstairs"--he pointed towards the disappearing figures--"and also see that they don't come down on to
this floor unless they are escorted. You may remember that we have been over this particular matter before."
Mrs Lucas, her hands joined at her waist, pressed them into it so causing her already full breasts to push out her black alpaca bodice and puff out a small white apron that appeared like a patch on the front of her wide skirt, and looking straight at her master and ignoring the visitor as if she weren't there, she said, "My various duties take me from one end of the establishment to the other, sir; I cannot spend my time in the nursery. Moreover, there is a nursemaid, and a tutor there."
"I'm well aware of that, Mrs Lucas"--he endeavoured to control the tremble of anger in his voice
--"and I was under the impression that the nursemaid at least came into your province. But no more! No more!"
He wagged his hand almost in front of her face. "Go up there this moment and restore order!"
The housekeeper stretched her neck out of the narrow white-starched collar that bordered her dress; she inclined her head just the slightest; then with a step that expressed her ruffled indignation, she passed between her master and his guest and went towards the staircase.
Now Mark, turning and walking slowly towards a deep-bayed window in the corridor, stood for a moment with his hand across his eyes; then turning again and looking towards where Lady Myton still stood, he made a helpless gesture with his shoulders and outstretched hands as he said, "What can I say?
I'm ... I'm very sorry you have had to be subjected to this scene."
"Don't be silly!" She moved towards him and when she stood opposite him she smiled openly into his face as she said, "I've enjoyed every minute of it. It took me back; I used to do the same. I loathe nursemaids, governesses and all their kin. They were always changing my nursemaids. I led them a hell of a life."
He was looking into her eyes and seconds passed before his chest jerked and there came from the back of his throat a low rumbling, and now he was laughing with her.
But it was a smothered laughter, and after a moment, still looking at her, he said softly, "You're a very refreshing person. But I suppose you know that?"
"No, no ... well, I've never been called refreshing before; it sounds like one of those fizzy drinks. And that takes me back to the nursery too because when I used to belch, and I did often and on purpose"--she nodded her head now--"I had a nurse who used to squeeze a lemon into a glass of water, then put a great dollop of bicarb in, and when it fizzed, which it did straightaway, she used to make me drink it, almost pouring it down my throat. But no, I haven't been referred to as refreshing: exciting yes, enticing yes, amusing yes, and--" she paused, and pursing her lips ended, "and one great lump of a bitch. The last, I may say, is a purely female comment."
He said nothing but continued to gaze at her, with open admiration in his look now, then giving a little huh!
of a laugh he took her arm and turned her about and led her further along the corrido
r, and when he drew her to a stop opposite a grey-painted door he glanced at her foi a moment before tapping twice on it with his knuckles.
Having entered the room, he immediately stood aside to allow her to pass him, and he closed the door deliberately before leading her across the room towards the window where, on a chaise-longue, lay his wife.
Eileen Sopwith was thirty-seven years old.
She had a fair complexion, grey eyes, a delicate tint of skin, and hair that had once been a very fair blonde but which was now of a mousy hue.
She had taken to this couch four years ago, and had not put her foot outside her apartments since, She only moved from the couch to be helped to the water closet and to bed in the adjoining room at night.
She passed most of her time reading or doing embroidery--she took great pains in embroidering pinafores and dresses for her daughter--and the most trying moments of her day were when her four children were filed decorously in to greet her. It took only five minutes for them to say their "Good-morning, Mama. How are you, Mama?" and for her to answer them and to add, ""Be good children," but even this exhausted her.
The expression on her face rarely altered, mostly showing a patient resignation, as did also her voice. Her visitors were few and far between, and then they were nearly always members of her own family.
So when her husband now ushered into her room the startling looking stranger in a riding habit, her mouth was brought slightly agape and her head up from the satin pillow. For a moment she was on the point of calling, "Mabel! Mabel!" because very few people got past Mabel, but here was her husband leading a woman, a healthy, vigorous striding person, towards her.
She wasn't called upon to speak because Mark was saying, "This is Lady Myton, Eileen. She had called earlier but you weren't quite ready for visitors, so when I came across her on my way home I assured her you would be pleased to see her.
They have taken Deaa House you know."
As Eileen Sopwith took her eyes from her husband and lowered her head in a slight acknowledgement of the visitor, Agnes Myton held out her hand, saying, "I'm delighted to meet you. I had called to bring you an invitation to a little dinner we are putting on next week but perhaps it would be too much for you."
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