The Serpentine Garden Path

by Edeana Malcolm

“Are you the dress-maker yourself?” Mrs. Kirke asked.

  “I am, madam.” He bowed ingratiatingly.

  “Perhaps we should patronize another business, Susan. I have my doubts about men who do women’s work.”

  “I assure you, madam, in France all the mantua-makers are men,” he said with a strong accent.

  Mrs. Kirke sniffed disapprovingly.

  “Mother, you must admit the best fashions come from France,” Susan said, attempting to mediate. “Please show us your gowns, sir.”

  The young man handed the basket to Susan, and she looked through the dolls dressed in the latest fashions.

  “What about this one, Mother?”

  Susan pulled out a doll dressed in a French gown of silk brocade festooned with gold and silk thread and flounced cuffs adorned with triple-layered needlepoint lace.

  “Mademoiselle has excellent taste. Let me show you the materials we have in the other room.”

  “Do you have this material?”

  “Oui, mademoiselle.”

  “Then I shall have this.”

  “We have it in many fine colours. Let me show you.”

  “I like this colour. What do you call it?”

  “Ecru.”

  “That will be fine.

  “But Susan, there are many other shops to visit. I do not wish to purchase a gown from a Frenchman,” her mother said.

  “I shall not wear any other gown.”

  “You are such an insolent and disagreeable daughter that I cannot wait to be rid of you.” Her mother sat back in her chair and resigned herself while Susan’s measurements were taken by a woman shop-assistant and the mantua-maker jotted down the numbers.

  ***

  Dean was reading The Compleat Gardener, daydreaming about what he would have been doing had he still been working at Kirke Hall Garden instead of picking up the rubbish left behind by careless strollers at Vauxhall. Mrs. Clark’s familiar rap at the door startled him from his reverie, and he opened the door expecting to see her sour face. Instead, the face that greeted him was animated, almost smiling.

  “Come, Mr. Dean. You have a visitor.”

  “Who is it, Mrs. Clark?”

  “Why, it is a gentleman, sir, such as I have not seen at this house in many years. A Mr. Fitzwilliam.”

  Fitzwilliam! Was this another attempt by Miss Kirke to reach him? Well, at least she was no longer employing her maid in her dangerous schemes. He hoped that she had given up on the idea of an elopement.

  “I had no idea that you were acquainted with a gentleman of Mr. Fitzwilliam’s distinction, sir!”

  Would it have made a difference? he wondered. Would this knowledge have made her smile more frequently as she was smiling now?

  At that moment they arrived at the familiar vestibule where the gentleman himself was waiting.

  “Mr. Fitzwilliam, how good it is to see you again.”

  Fitzwilliam extended his hand and Dean took it, surprised at the vigour of Fitzwilliam’s handshake. He could see that the landlady was also impressed by this gesture and hoped that she would treat him with less contempt in the future.

  “Mr. Dean, it is good to see you looking so well. I bring greetings to you from the Kirke family, in particular one member of it.”

  Dean blushed slightly. “Do walk up with me to my room. There we shall have some leisure to talk on these matters.” He was aware of Mrs. Clark hovering in the hallway and showing no sign of imminent departure.

  “Most assuredly, sir,” Fitzwilliam responded.

  “Will you not take some refreshment, sirs? You may sup in the dining room if you like. The housekeeper will set up the room immediately.” Mrs. Clark made an attempt to retain them within her jurisdiction as they walked out and left her in the vestibule.

  At the doorway to the stairwell, Dean paused and looked back. “Thank you for your hospitality, madam, but we dinna require any refreshment. Good day.”

  The miserable look on her face erased any hope he had entertained of her future good will.

  Dean’s apartment consisted of a small dressing room with an even smaller bedroom adjoining. If a lady had entered, her skirt would have so filled the room that no one would have been able to turn. Dean could see that Fitzwilliam was astonished at the sight of it as he looked around uneasily for a chair to sit on. Dean indicated the only comfortable stuffed chair in the room and invited his guest to take it, while he took a simple straight-backed wooden one.

  “So, how is our mutual friend Miss Kirke?” Dean asked once he was seated.

  “She is fine, Mr. Dean. We are engaged to be married, as you already knew, but now the wedding has been moved up to next week. We are in town to purchase the necessary accoutrements to such an occasion, most especially the bridal trousseau, among other things.”

  Dean nodded, too much in shock for the moment to form the words necessary to polite conversation.

  “Miss Kirke has expressed to me her desire to meet with you while she is in town, and I am ever anxious to accede to her requests.”

  Dean recovered himself enough to respond, “I do not see how that would be possible. It is evident that I canna welcome her here, even if Mrs. Clark would allow such a thing, which to her credit, the good lady does not.”

  “Of course, I understand. Might there not be another neutral place you could meet, such as a church or garden, sir?” Fitzwilliam suggested.

  Dean felt exasperated. “To what end, sir? I do not understand the purpose of a meeting with Miss Kirke when she is engaged to marry you.”

  Fitzwilliam uncrossed his legs and recrossed them the opposite way. He looked about to say something, but grunted instead. A moment later, he asked, “Have you found employment, Dean?”

  “Aye, sir. I told Mary as much when she came to visit me on Miss Kirke’s behalf. Did she not relate this information to her mistress?”

  “She did not, sir. Unfortunately, Mary was relieved of her employment, and Miss Kirke was unable to speak with her before she was dismissed.”

  Dean was stricken by the news. “Oh, I am most sorry on Mary’s account. ‘Tis so unfair.” He wished he could have done more to prevent this unfortunate outcome.

  “That is true, sir. It is one of the things I hope to rectify after our marriage. You will be relieved to know that I hope to reengage Mary at that time. Tell me about your employment, Dean. Have you a position worthy of your talents?”

  “I have found employment at Vauxhall Gardens. Have you heard of them?”

  “Yes, of course. I have often visited them. They are but a short walk from here, are they not?”

  “Yes, sir. Which I hope will explain to you my rather rude apartment. I confess I didna ken the nature of the neighbourhood when I took it. I hope soon to have enough money to move to a more respectable abode.”

  “Yes, quite. Have you a good position at Vauxhall?”

  “It will suffice for now. Thank you, sir.”

  “Well, if your present employment is not altogether to your liking, I would be most happy to offer you a position on my estate. Although the garden is not as fine as the one at Kirke Hall, it is not as common either as the Vauxhall Gardens.”

  Dean was astonished. “I dinna ken what to say, sir. Why do you make this offer?”

  “Mr. Dean! I am surprised at your question. You are such an excellent gardener, and as I have already mentioned, I would like to rectify past wrongs, specifically the ones done to you and Mary.”

  “Does Miss Kirke ken that you are making this offer, sir?”

  Fitzwilliam did not answer immediately, which made Dean doubt the veracity of his words even before he spoke.

  “Yes, she is aware of it, sir.”

  “I had hoped you would say that she was not. I am disappointed in her apparent lack of judgment, but one must make allowances for her youth and inexperience. It is my opinion, though I ought not be so bold as to share it with you, that her upbringing was poorly attended to as her parents allowed her to spend her time frivo
lously in reading novels and without the direction of religious guidance.”

  Fitzwilliam seemed uninterested in his opinion. “What is your response to my offer of employment, Dean?”

  “I am most grateful to you for the offer, Mr. Fitzwilliam. Even though it far exceeds my present position, with great regret, I maun decline. If I canna marry Miss Kirke, then I maunna not see her again. Such daily temptation would bring me more grief than any employment is worth.”

  “Well then, I am most heartily sorry for your response, and I know that Miss Kirke will be disappointed, too.” For the first time during this conversation Fitzwilliam sounded sincere. He immediately stood up. “I shall take my leave of you, sir.”

  Dean and Fitzwilliam walked down the stairs together. At the vestibule, Fitzwilliam attempted to express his best wishes to Dean as he left, but his efforts were hampered by the volubility of the landlady, who had been waiting in ambush for their return.

  ***

  Susan was so anxious to see Fitzwilliam when she returned from her shopping expedition that she did not even remove her hat before she called for him. “Will you walk out with me? A London street is not so pleasant as the pleasure ground at Kirke Hall, but I am sure it will divert me.”

  Fitzwilliam laughed and took her arm as they strolled out. “I do not know how I shall survive without your good humour if you do not marry me, Miss Kirke.”

  “’If’, sir? I have told you plainly that I shall not. What is the news from Mr. Dean?”

  “Patience, madam, patience.”

  “What did he say, sir?”

  “I am most sorry, but Mr. Dean was not at home to receive me.”

  “What! On a Saturday afternoon he was not at home! Where was he?”

  “The landlady told me he was at his place of work.”

  “And where is that, sir?”

  “Vauxhall Gardens.”

  “Vauxhall Gardens! You mean the public garden, sir?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “That is most fortunate. Will you take me there? Then I can make my suit myself.”

  “It is not seemly for a woman to make a suit.”

  “I do not care what is seemly. Will you take me there tomorrow?”

  “The gardens will not be open on a Sunday, and even if they were, Mr. Dean would not be working on a Sunday, would he?”

  “You are right, Fitzwilliam. I shall be obliged to wait until Monday. Will you take me then?”

  “I am at your service, madam,” he replied. “Now tell me all about your gown.”

  Susan described it to him in a few scant details.

  “Oh, I do wish I could have helped you choose it. But I can remedy that by purchasing some jewelry now. A stomacher brooch would add some sparkle to the gown, I think. We are not far from a jeweller’s now. Come, let’s purchase something stunning that will set off your gown. What colour is it?” he asked.

  “The mantua-maker called the colour ecru, and there is some gold and silver embroidery.”

  “Then pearls and white sapphires set in silver, I should think,” he said, leading her to the shop whether she would or not.

  Chapter 15

  The next morning at breakfast Fitzwilliam enquired of Miss Kirke the colour of the gown she would wear to visit the Vauxhall Garden later in the day.

  “Why ever do you wish to know that?” she asked.

  “I would like to choose a coat whose colour will complement your gown,” was his response.

  “How very odd,” she said.

  “Not at all, madam. You will see when we stroll around the gardens that all the very best people will be there in all their very best apparel. So you will do well to take care with your toilette today.”

  “I shall, sir.” She was greatly amused and anticipated with pleasure Fitzwilliam’s choice of garment.

  She was not disappointed when that afternoon, at the appointed time, Mr. Fitzwilliam appeared in a deep burgundy coat that contrasted perfectly with her pink petticoat. He also wore his finest embroidered waistcoat; later, as he strolled nonchalantly along the Grand Walk, Susan remarked how he held his coat open with his one free arm to make certain that all would be able to see it.

  His other arm was looped tightly around hers, and though she made every effort to free herself so that she could see as much as possible of the Grove in her search for Mr. Dean, Fitzwilliam would not give her any latitude of movement. Their stroll was becoming more of a wrestling match than a nonchalant walk. At the intersection with the Grand Cross Walk, he suggested that they return to the Grove and take a box where they might partake of a supper.

  “No, sir. I have come to find Mr. Dean and he will not be at the boxes. Let us continue on the Walks.”

  They went down the Grand Cross Walk and turned on the Hermit’s Walk. Susan looked in all directions, taking in everything. Fitzwilliam continued his efforts to thwart her attempts. She could not help but compare this garden with her father’s. Here the paths were laid out more regularly at right angles to each other instead of meandering as they did at home. Vauxhall Gardens was many times larger than her father’s, but it had the cramped feeling of city streets when compared with the expansiveness of the countryside. Though both gardens employed artifice, her father’s was more artfully arranged to mimic nature. Dean must feel this distinction as well, she thought. She felt sorry for being the agent of his loss.

  “Look at that, Miss Kirke?” Fitzwilliam cried.

  She looked eagerly in the direction he was pointing, expecting to see Mr. Dean, but did not. Disappointed, she said, “I do not see anything remarkable. To what are you referring?”

  “I am referring to that bill posted on the tree there.” He read it aloud. “You are cordially invited to a Masquerade to be held at Vauxhall Gardens on Tuesday, the fourth of June, to celebrate the Birthday of His Majesty King George the Third. Have you ever attended a masquerade, Miss Kirke?”

  “No, I have never had the opportunity.”

  “That is most unfortunate. Of all entertainments, I do enjoy a masquerade.”

  “What is so wonderful about a masquerade, sir?”

  “Everyone dresses in the most amusing habits and behaves in accordance with their disguised persona. A mask gives one such liberty that you would be astonished at the outrageous behaviour of some of the people at a masquerade. Would you like to attend, Miss Kirke?”

  “I think at the present time, my life is preoccupied with other engagements. Let us continue our walk.”

  “I shall oblige you only a little longer. There is still the South Walk to examine, but if we do not find Mr. Dean there, I hope you will permit me to take you to supper. Perhaps he is not here today. We cannot continue walking until nightfall. My weary limbs will not allow it.”

  “But if we do not find him, I am in despair.”

  “If he is not here, then he is not here.”

  “Where could he be then? Do you suppose he might be at his lodging? Shall we go there to find him?”

  “There is very little that I would not do to oblige you, Miss Kirke, but this one thing I will not. Do not ask me to accompany you to Dean’s lodging. It is not at all a proper place for you to be.” He shuddered, as though remembering some hovel.

  “Then, you will return yourself to his apartment after you have escorted me home. Will you agree to that?”

  “At your service, my dear.” Fitzwilliam inclined his head slightly.

  That was what he had said before, but Susan had the distinct impression his heart was not in it. At that precise moment she looked over Fitzwilliam’s shoulder and saw Mr. Dean under a tree in the Grove. She immediately unclasped Fitzwilliam’s arm from hers and bounded towards the unsuspecting gardener.

  Behind her, she could hear Fitzwilliam call her name. It served as a warning to Dean. He looked up and saw her running in his direction, and was thus able to brace himself for her assault. She threw her arms exuberantly around the astonished man.

  With his rough and dirty hand
s Dean took hold of her smooth white arms and gently placed them at her sides. He looked up and gazed into her eyes, but said nothing.

  Fitzwilliam arrived at her side and clenched her arm firmly in his again. Then he extended his free hand and enthusiastically shook Dean’s dirty hand. After which, he thrust his own into his coat pocket. “Good day, Dean. It is, as always, a pleasure to greet you.”

  “And you, Fitzwilliam.” Dean bowed courteously.

  “This is most awkward.” Fitzwilliam began.

  Susan interrupted, “We have come on purpose to find Mr. Dean. I do not know what is awkward about it, sir.”

  “We are speaking in a public place, where all eyes can see.”

  “You were aware it was a public place before we arrived.”

  “But I did not anticipate your precipitous behaviour when we encountered him.”

  “Then you do not ken the young lady very well, for all that you are engaged to marry her,” Dean remarked.

  “Engaged!” Susan cried, slipping her arm out of Fitzwilliam’s. “You forget yourself, Mr. Dean. We are the ones who are betrothed.”

  Fitzwilliam interjected. “Nevertheless, Miss Kirke. It is not seemly behaviour to throw yourself upon a man in public, whether you are engaged to him or not.”

  Dean was looking at him suspiciously. “I was given to believe that you were still betrothed to Fitzwilliam.”

  “It is not my intention to marry Mr. Fitzwilliam, and I sent him to let you know that. Apparently, he did not.”

  Both Susan and Dean were glowering at Fitzwilliam now, and he reddened. “It was necessary under the circumstances to mislead you. Well, I ask you, sir,” he addressed Dean, “can you really marry the young lady in your present position?”

  “Nae, you are right. ‘Tis not a wise decision presently, but if Miss Kirke would be so good as to wait a few years…” He looked at her.

  “That is why I have come to find you. We cannot wait any longer. My family expect me to marry Fitzwilliam, and the wedding is to take place this very week. Can you not rescue me from my predicament?”

  “As I see it, the two of you can rescue yourselves since you are the bride and groom. Does not the preacher in this country ask the pair of you if you consent to the union?”

  Fitzwilliam intervened. “That is right; of course he does. But if I were to say no, her parents would continue searching until they find another man who would say yes.”

  “Is it not possible for her to refuse then?”