by Joan Smith
“Nothing unusual. There were bones, a few flints.”
“No beaker?”
“No, it was a very minor discovery. The size of the mound hadn’t raised my hopes to any Olympian heights.”
“A neighbor of mine found a metal knife blade in one of those old barrows. He seemed to think it a great thing. He had not thought the working of metal was known in England so long ago.”
“It might have been brought from elsewhere in a trading vessel. Metalworking was certainly known in Mesopotamia. Or perhaps even in England. Very little has been done in that area. We have very little notion of our ancient past. Stonehenge, Avebury ...”
“Oh, Stonehenge! I feel the hair on my neck lift when I stand, gazing up at those monoliths.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Several times. I have relatives living nearby and always visit Stonehenge. Such a mystery. Who could have built it, and why?”
“People have been wondering that forever. It has been mentioned in ancient writings since the sixth century. Some credit Merlin with the miracle, but of course it doesn’t feature in the King Arthur legend at all, so I think we can dispense with that theory. John Aubrey was probably closer to it. He believed the stones are the remains of a Druid temple.”
“They do remind one of a primitive temple,” she agreed.
“Doctor Stukely supported the notion. Others, notably Dr. John Smith, believe it has some astrological meaning.”
Cecilia had some interest in the ancient monument, and as Wickham had studied the literature, they passed a pleasant half hour discussing it. They were both surprised when the town of Reigate suddenly loomed before them, and they realized they had driven farther than they intended.
As they were getting along so well, Cecilia decided to tease him about missing the rout, and more particularly about trying to lure Dallan away.
“You missed a very nice party last Saturday, Wickham. It is a pity you couldn’t attend.” Her knowing smile told him she suspected at least some part of the truth.
“I could have, actually,” he admitted. “My company was delayed. Elgin hoped to get down on Saturday, but he wrote at the last minute and put it off.” No trace of blush suffused his face at this polite lie.
“Why did you not come to our rout then?”
“As I had already refused, I was afraid I would throw out your numbers.”
“Good gracious, we aren’t so formal as that! You did not fear that luring Mr. Dallan away from us would also throw out our numbers?” she added with a sapient look.
“Lure him away?” He seemed genuinely confused. “I may have mentioned why I was not attending, but I didn’t attempt to lure him away, I promise you. In fact, I’m sorry I missed the party. Jack Duck’s place is becoming a bore. I don’t plan to return there.”
Cecilia drew a breath of relief and honored him with a warm smile. “Good! I am happy to hear it. No doubt it would do an older man in your position no harm, but to take youngsters there...”
“I did not ‘take’ anyone there, Miss Cummings. Your cousins’ beaux introduced me to the place. Faute de mieux, I accompanied them a few times. No more.”
Cecilia considered this and thought perhaps he was telling the truth. Mr. Dallan at least had his own way of perceiving the world and had likely exaggerated to give the ladies the notion he was closer to Wickham than he actually was. “You stand very high in their estimation, if I am not mistaken. A word against the place from you will make them realize it is beneath them.”
“Then I am happy to be able to return the kind favor you do me in hostessing my party.”
Sally Gardener was highly vexed to see the bright smiles on both their faces when he accompanied Cecilia to her front door. The girls had still not returned, and it was only Mrs. Meacham who sat at the bow window, monitoring the High Street. Cecilia joined her, but before she could discuss her drive, Mrs. Meacham peered through the curtain and said, “There goes Sally Gardener on the run, tying up her bonnet as she goes. Lord Wickham must be taking a stroll down the High Street. Yes, there he goes into the bank. What has Sally found to throw at his feet today? She will have to make do with her reticule, for she didn’t take time to grab up a bag from her house. A good thing it is patent leather; she can wipe the dust from it. There! She has dropped it smack in his path. I wonder what he says, that she smiles so.”
The conversation that could only be seen, would have raised Miss Cummings’s hackles very high, had she heard.
“So kind. Thank you very much, Lord Wickham. A lovely day, is it not?”
“We’ll have rain before nightfall, I think.”
“Very likely. It is really quite a raw, windy day. Do you go to the bank? That is a coincidence. I am just on my way there on an errand for Mama.”
“Then you must allow me to accompany you.”
“We were sorry you could not attend Mrs. Meacham’s rout party. A certain young lady was very disappointed,” she said, with a sly look.
“Indeed.”
“Miss Cummings was completely out of sorts that you refused her invitation.”
“I was sorry to have to do so.” Pest of a woman! He held the bank door for her and she sidled in past him, still talking. He’d have to let her do her business first. She’d drop her pennies and shillings all over the floor for him to pick up.
“They all had the notion that you refused their invitation only to go to the tavern,” Sally continued, in no low voice. “Especially when Miss Cummings spied you riding down High Street at midnight. Very upset, she was. ‘Don’t think Lord Wickham will tumble into the first trap set for him,’ I told her. ‘He won’t be that easy to catch,’ I said, right to her face. She didn’t know which way to look.”
Wickham glared at her with a set look about the jaw, undecided whether to turn his back on the loose-jawed commoner or give her a setdown. “I’m afraid you mistake the matter,” he said in a glacial tone.
“There is no mistake about it, milord,” she continued happily. “Miss Cummings has come here to make a match. It is discussed quite openly—amongst the family, I mean. I daresay I was not supposed to overhear. ‘A pity Lord Wickham could not be here,’ Mrs. Meacham said. And Miss Cummings replied, ‘Never fear, there will be a wedding soon, despite his not coming tonight.’ I very nearly fell off my chair to hear her speak so blunt. Lord Wickham should be warned, I thought, and so I just dropped you a hint.”
Why not a hint? She had dropped everything else. “I am obliged to you, ma’am,” he said, then strode with a stiff leg to the clerk and let Miss Gardener wait behind him, to pick up her own silver when it fell from her fingers.
His mind was alive with conjecture when he went back to his carriage. Openly bruiting about that she meant to catch him, was she? And he falling into her trap, as meekly as a lamb. She hadn’t even put herself to the bother of inventing a new trick to first capture his attention, but had dropped a box of buttons, like a Sally Gardener. He regretted having asked her to hostess his party, but really he required some lady, and who else was there, without putting one of the Lowreys, fifteen miles away, to the bother? He could hardly rescind the invitation already issued, but that would be the end of it. Miss Cummings would find he was not so easily caught as that.
Chapter Ten
It was no new experience for Lord Wickham to have a bonnet hurled at his eligible head. He had become quite adept at dodging them. He felt no real danger from Miss Cummings, though she was certainly a deal prettier than most of his flirts, and a deal slier, too. He must tread softly, or he’d find himself compromised. The danger lent a spice to the affair. One dinner party was hardly apt to find him shackled, however, and he looked forward to it with some eagerness.
The day finally arrived, the company reached St. Martin’s on schedule, and at six o’clock, Mrs. Meacham and Miss Cummings were admitted by the butler. The guests were abovestairs making their toilettes for dinner, and Wickham was belowstairs to greet them. Mrs. Meacham was on nettles to f
ind herself amidst such smart society, but he noticed that Miss Cummings was no more than pleasantly eager.
“How lovely the abbey is,” was Cecilia’s first remark, after being greeted. The entrance retained some of its severe, ecclesiastical character. In an embrasure where once had stood a Christian effigy, there was a marble bust of some ancient Greek god or Roman emperor. This, she assumed, was one of Wickham’s archaeological finds. To her left, the doorway showed a handsome saloon bathed in the light of the setting sun. Elegant striped sofas, the gleam of polished mahogany, and the glitter of sun on brass appointments gave the room an air of fashionable prosperity.
Wine was served, and before much could be said, the guests joined them. Wickham noticed that Miss Cummings was not only known to most of them, but greeted with enthusiasm.
“So this is where you are hiding yourself,” Lady Elgin smiled. “I wondered that I have not seen you about town, Cecilia. Everyone has been asking for you. Your mama is not in town yet either. I shall be calling on her as soon as she arrives. Come and sit beside me and I shall tell you all the on-dits about your beaux. You will be coming to town for the Season, of course.”
“Indeed I shall, ma’am. I am looking forward to it.”
Sir Giles Middleton and his lady had to borrow her for a little catching up on gossip, and even Mr. Harpur, a studious antiquarian from the British Museum, said he was happy to see her looking so well.
Till dinnertime, there was no discussion of the marble antiquities at all. It was Wickham, and of course Mrs. Meacham, who felt like outsiders as the others spoke of the new crop of debs, of weddings and house parties, and other social matters. When they trouped in to dinner, Lord Elgin rushed to partner Cecilia. Over the soup, he told her in a loud voice, “You must charm that statue of a grace out of Wickham for me, my dear. I don’t know how I came to miss it at the Erechtheum. It belongs with the Elgin marbles certainly. I shan’t be happy till I have it.”
“You know I would if I could, but you must not imagine I have that sort of power over Wickham. We are only new acquaintances.”
With a laughing look from one to the other, Elgin said, “No doubt that is why you are invited to greet his guests. Fear not, I shan’t tease him, but I get a whiff of April and May here, do I not?”
“Only April, sir, and that whiff comes from the garden, no doubt.”
“Very well, I shan’t say a word till you are ready to make the announcement. You have chosen well, Miss Cummings. You are the very one to get Wickham back to town, where he belongs. We could have used a few influential gentlemen interested in antiquities when we were fighting Parliament for money to buy the marbles. The Philistines rule the roost there.”
Wickham couldn’t overhear all the conversation, but he got the gist of it and was satisfied to hear Miss Cummings assert the absence of any romance between them, even if Elgin didn’t believe her. No doubt Sally Gardener had led him astray. She was a byword for gossip mongering. He also denied the charge of courting Miss Cummings when Lady Middleton teased him on the same score.
“For shame, Wickham,” she said, cuffing his wrist. “Why are you dallying? Someone else will steal her away from you if you don’t look lively. Miss Cummings is extremely eligible, you must know. A lovely gel.”
It seemed the general consensus. All of London loved Miss Cummings, which made it unlikely she’d come to the country to find a beau. Wickham was struck by the universal approval of the notion of their being romantically involved. As he thought about it, it seemed odd that everyone should have made that assumption. It soon occurred to him that Miss Cummings might have set the notion afoot herself, to put some subtle pressure on him. The idea of inviting her here was his own; he could not lay that in her dish, but she was clever and might have decided to put the evening to use.
He made some subtle effort to discover this when the ladies went to the saloon after dinner, and the gentlemen remained behind with their port and cheroots. Finding an opening was the easiest thing in the world, for his guests seemed more interested in Miss Cummings than in his marbles.
“Are you making a match with Miss Cummings?” Lord Elgin asked him point blank.
“No, in fact, we are no more than acquaintances. It is her cousin, Mrs. Meacham, who is my friend.” This evasive tactic lent a slight hue of pink to his cheeks, which Lord Elgin interpreted as he wished.
“Ha ha, I cannot imagine what the secret can be, unless you are afraid all of London’s bachelors will come crashing down on your head to interfere with the match. There will be cracked hearts aplenty if you nab her. But I shan’t say a word. You may rely on my silence.”
“I would appreciate it, as there is really nothing to tell. Where did you get such an idea?” He waited to hear if Miss Cummings had done anything to instigate or support it.
“I have the use of my eyes. How could any man resist her? If the idea has not occurred to you, then let me put the bee in your bonnet. You could not do better than marry Miss Cummings. It would be a double benefit in that she would bring you to London, I make no doubt, and you would keep her there instead of running around the country, looking to make a match. She is away too much.” This was a reference to her matchmaking tendency for others, but Wickham frowned in confusion and quickly quit the subject. He could find no hard evidence that Miss Cummings had willfully set the idea afoot.
When the gentlemen went to the saloon, Lady Middleton asked Miss Cummings to play for them. The gentlemen took up the cry, and Cecilia agreed without demur, providing Lady Middleton would honor them with a song. It was at the piano player that Wickham gazed during the concert. Miss Cummings was a talented amateur. She played with charm and liveliness, and looked exceedingly pretty with her raven head bent over the keys. He already knew her to be pretty. He had heard this evening that she was also rich. He could see she was easy in conversation with sensible people, and now he saw that she had other accomplishments as well.
When his natural partiality was added to this list, Wickham began to think Lord Elgin might be right, and she would make him a very good wife. He wondered why she had sat on the shelf so long, why it should be necessary for her to jaunter around the whole countryside, looking for a match. There must be something amiss with the girl. An unsteadiness of character seemed the likeliest thing. She could not settle down to one gentleman. That, of all faults, was the worst one for a man in Wickham’s position to consider. To be jilted by your own wife once was a grave misfortune. To be so treated twice would turn the tragedy to farce. But Miss Cummings was too worldly to actually jilt her husband. She would conduct her affaires with discretion. Strangely, this idea was equally repellent, though, he certainly thought in terms of taking a mistress himself.
After the concert there was some general conversation. The tea was brought in and soon the party was over. It was deemed to have been a success, and Wickham accompanied Mrs. Meacham and her cousin to the door, reiterating his thanks.
“I thought we would get a look at your marbles,” Mrs. Meacham mentioned.
“I expect your guests spent the afternoon conning them?” Cecilia said. “I would have liked to see them, too.”
“Then you must return tomorrow and see them at your leisure,” he said. The offer seemed unavoidable. “My guests must leave in the morning. Come early and stay to tea. Perhaps your daughters would like to come as well, ma’am?” he suggested to Mrs. Meacham, making it a safe, family party.
She knew her girls had about as much interest in a set of busted statues as they had in politics, but they would like to see the abbey. “That would be delightful!”
“I shall look for you around two, then.”
He shook their hands, thanked them once again, and they were off.
As the carriage took them home, Mrs. Meacham drew a great sigh of relief and said, “That wasn’t so bad as I feared. I don’t think I quite disgraced myself as Lord Wickham’s hostess.”
“You did admirably, Cousin.”
“And tomorrow will be
much easier, with only ourselves there. I cannot believe Lord Wickham is as rackety as we thought. Surely Lord Elgin is top of the trees, and the Middletons are related to a bishop.”
“I believe we judged him harshly. He has promised me he will not go to Jack Duck’s in the future.”
“Well now! It seems you have great influence in that corner, Cecilia. Lady Elgin speaks of a match between the pair of you, but I told her it is no such thing. He has not spoken to you... ?”
“Certainly not.” Cecilia hurried on to wonder how the girls were enjoying Kate Daugherty’s birthday party and by that simple ploy directed the conversation away from Wickham and herself.
Great news awaited them when they reached home. Kate had received an offer from Andy Sproule. The wedding date was set for June.
Happy as Alice was for her friend, it soon came out that the gleam in her eye had another cause. “George said, ‘I don’t know what we are waiting for. I am a year older than Andy. Must we wait till Martha goes before we are shackled?’ I don’t see why we should.” With that unromantical proposal she was aux anges. “He will be speaking to you soon, Mama. Must I wait for Martha?”
The only sad face in the room was Martha’s. Henley had said nothing of any account, except to ask half a dozen times why Cecilia had not come.
“It seems hard for Alice to have to wait... I wonder if this will nudge Henley into a proposal,” Mrs. Meacham said, slanting a curious eye at her elder daughter, who immediately burst into tears and fled to her room.
“It will, eventually,” Cecilia prophesied. “With both Andy and George out of circulation, he will soon find himself lonesome.”
“And now that Lord Wickham has promised not to go to Jack Duck’s, he shan’t have that diversion. I expect I shall see both my daughters bounced off before you leave, Cecilia, or at least promised.”
“The company we have coming for the assembly Saturday evening might hasten the offer. We shall make Martha the belle of the ball. That will open Dallan’s eyes. He always likes to be in fashion, and if London beaux favor Martha, he will realize she is worth catching.”