by Ivy Brooke
One day, Mr. Campbell visited her while she was reading Julius Caesar. Upon his inquiring, she began to relate what she had read of the play so far, when the servant announced more visitors:
"Mr. and Ms. Archer, ma'am."
Imogene had rather expected they would visit soon, as Clarice wrote her often, and her declarations of missing her friend had been more frequent in recent letters. As they entered, she approached with a smile and curtsey of greeting.
"I am very happy to see you again!" she said. "How was the rest of your trip?"
"Mr. Ashcroft and I had little fortune in hunting," Mr. Archer said, "and even worse in fishing."
"I bagged two partridges," Clarice said.
"You shot with them?" Imogene asked with a light laugh. "It is well that you did not stay in Penzance too long. With your skill, you might have deprived the country of all their best birds." It was then that Imogene remembered her cousin was present, and so said, "You remember my cousin, Mr. Rupert Campbell. We planned to go into town for a walk and some luncheon. You are most welcome to join us."
Mr. Archer took a moment to notice Mr. Campbell, then replied, "We cannot stay long." He put his hand on Clarice's shoulder, as though to emphasize the point to her. "We have yet to return to the house and return things to their normal order."
"Ah, of course. Perhaps you can join us in a fortnight, then?"
"Perhaps." Somehow, his reply sounded doubtful.
Nothing more was exchanged except for farewells. Imogene was somewhat disappointed by the lack of ease in Mr. Archer's manner, and wondered if it was only his habit to be open in Penzance. However, considering Mr. Campbell was present, she perceived it was simply the formality of mixed company.
Imogene and Mr. Campbell went along to town, and after spending some time walking along the streets, stopped into a fine restaurant. Though it was not their first time taking in an expensive restaurant together, Imogene still felt somewhat awkward being in such high-end places. Though the exquisite food and the ease of Mr. Campbell's manner would bring her into calm enough to enjoy it with free conversation.
"It is really quite terrible," he remarked as they ate, "how I have come into the habit of dining out at least once each week."
"It is difficult to think so," Imogene said, "when they serve such food as this."
"I worry that my chef at the house would feel neglected, that I should pay extra for someone else to cook the meal."
"Or rather the reverse. Perhaps the chef feels relieved to have some free time."
"Free time? What should a chef do in his free time?"
"Bake himself a cake, perhaps. Or write a novel. It could be that Monsieur DuBois could be the next Mr. Fielding."
Mr. Campbell could not restrain a bout of laughter.
"What?" Imogene inquired, his laughter contaminating her into laughing as well.
"Monsieur DuBois speaks very little English. I doubt he would be the next great English author."
"I have it, then: His free time is spent learning better English."
"I ought to give him more free time, in that case." Again, laughter struck him. "Between my poor French, and his poor English, we hardly have a comprehensible person between us. I very specifically ordered roast lamb for supper last night, and he made poached ham."
Imogene added to his laughter, stifling it with her napkin. "Perhaps Emmeline should have a talk with him. She has mastered French better than any other Cartwright has managed."
"Your French is poor also?"
"I would loathe to ever use it in an emergency. I would likely request a bucket of cabbage to put out a fire."
Mr. Cartwright nodded, trying to subdue his laughter. "I am the very same way.
Having tested the waters for some time now, Imogene felt time to disclose something to her cousin, which she had wanted another opinion on for some time. "Mr. Campbell, have you ever been in a circumstance...in which something has caught fire?"
"Once, when I was near twenty. I had stolen my father's pipe and attempted to light it, but dropped the match onto the parlor rug. Fortunately, there was a vase of flowers nearby; I merely doused the flame with the water."
"You stole your father's pipe?"
"I was a rather wayward youth, I confess. You can relate to that."
"No doubt for some of the same reasons." She lowered her voice. "I was somewhat recently in a situation where I acted...well, what may be perceived as waywardly. I was interested in another man's opinion of it."
"Certainly."
"I do not know if you read about it in the papers. There was a fire during the Golowan Festival in Penzance."
"I did read about that, in fact, yes. I have for some time gotten myself in the habit of reading the periodicals. What of it?"
"That woman, who rescued the woman who was trapped—that was me."
He immediately became alarmed. "You were trapped in that fire?"
"No, Rupert...I was the other woman...the one who went into the building to help the victim out."
His eyes grew even wider, though he tried to remain hushed as she was. "You went into a burning building to rescue a woman?"
She argued, "We thought it was Clarice who was trapped up there, and I feared the awning would break if a man climbed up to it, and it was the only way to safely traverse inside. It had to be done." Mr. Campbell said nothing. "...You may think me an improper lady now, I suppose..."
"Well...I confess, I am astonished. And Mr. Archer did not offer to go up himself? Or was he not with you?"
"I convinced him it were better for me to accomplish, that he might bring down the awning in the effort."
"Still, as the gentleman present, and as it was his ward supposed to be in danger, he should have attempted it."
"And if the awning did break beneath him? There would have been no other way in."
"It was his responsibility as the gentleman..."
She interrupted him, becoming angry. "It was his responsibility as Clarice's guardian to do what was in her best interest. Would it really have been better for him to have tried and failed, for the sake of preserving my dignity, and therefore put a human life at risk?"
"By standing down, he put yours at risk."
"There were two lives at risk—the victim, and the rescuer. Whether it were Mr. Archer or myself, it would have been two lives."
"But it is social courtesy for the man to take the labor on himself, and to preserve the woman."
"Was I not capable? Did not both of us come back out alive and well? What if it were me trapped in a burning building...and Emmeline was present. Would you not let her up, if it would provide a better chance that I would be saved?"
Mr. Campbell seemed honestly to consider it, if even for a moment. "No, I would certainly not. Granted, I would feel devastated, had I broken the awning and failed, but would feel some security in the knowledge that I did not allow your sister in to possibly be killed as well."
Imogene fell silent, staring into her plate. She was torn between treating Mr. Campbell's response as gallantry, and looking on it as poor judgment clouded by discrimination.
"I do commend you..." Mr. Campbell confessed after some silence, "...and rather admire you for the courageousness of what you did...I only think that Mr. Archer could have better done his duty as a caretaker and a gentleman, and that it was not so wise for you to put yourself in such danger."
At that point, Imogene lost interest in arguing it further, and so they finished their meal in silence. The silence turned out to be an asset, as she could hear the conversation coming from the table nearest them, conducted by Mr. Ashcroft senior, whom she did not even notice until that moment when she was avoiding eye contact with her cousin.
"So you have not seen him for some time," said Mr. Ashcroft's luncheon companion, a woman near his age, whom she supposed to be his wife.
"No, but I have yet seen him in town too often," Mr. Ashcroft said.
"It is only right, as his brother lives here. You do
not think he should not visit his own brother?"
"In his own country home, it would be acceptable. I have told him to stay out of the city, that I will not tolerate his presence."
"Whatever injustice he had done to you, my dear, I do not see why you should keep turning your mind to it. Why can you not move past it? Or if it was really so grave, perhaps you should call the police into it."
"Because, my dear," he said, lowering his voice to a more severe tone, "it could compromise our family reputation. That is precisely why I cannot allow him to be in town; I cannot endure the possibility of his crime to our family being revealed."
"Perhaps if you told me what it is he had done, I could better advise you."
"I advise myself to my own satisfaction. I will write him again. If one more time I should see him in town, I will see that I ruin him before he has the chance to ruin us again."
Mr. Campbell's voice suddenly interrupted her eavesdropping, in a whisper: "Whom are they talking of?"
Imogene brought herself to attention, realizing that in her eavesdropping, she had allowed her eyes to wander in Mr. Ashcroft's direction. She flushed at being found out, and whispered, "That gentleman is Mr. Ashcroft, who is speaking of some history he has with Mr. Cole."
"Jane's husband?"
"No, Mr. Henry Cole." She froze as she heard Mr. Ashcroft's conversation halt, as he briefly turned his head. She made sure to stare down at her plate, hoping that he would not see her face. She then continued to her cousin, voice as quiet as could be while discernable: "I will explain on the way home."
On the carriage ride back to her home in the country, Imogene divulged what limited information she had regarding the relationship between Mr. Ashcroft and Mr. Cole, including the mysterious letter she had found. Although she felt like a gossip in doing so, it was yet another great burden to be relieved of—she no longer bore such knowledge alone, and Mr. Campbell had sworn discretion before she even began.
"I know little of Mr. Cole myself," Mr. Campbell confessed. "Can you think what it might be about?"
"Mr. Cole is no doubt a peculiar man," Imogene remarked. "He is not so amiable as gentleman his age are wont to be. And I do confess that I have often held somewhat of a fear of his presence...and yet, he does not seem to me a vicious sort of man that would inflict any transgression on someone, at least not any so grave as Mr. Ashcroft makes out the offense to be."
"Perhaps he is altered since his acquaintance with Mr. Ashcroft."
"Perhaps. And with so amiable as all the rest of the Cole family is, it would suggest that they know nothing of his transgression, whatever it may be. Otherwise, it may be that they are aware of it, and Mr. Ashcroft takes it more into offense than the crime would warrant."
"Or they support their brother; perhaps Mr. Cole was doing right, and in so doing, wronged Mr. Ashcroft."
Imogene suddenly chuckled, thought somewhat bitterly. "As though I have not enough matters of my own weighing on my mind, I do not see how I should so fret about someone else's. I cannot help but be curious, though."
"And rightly so, I think. It may be none of our business, and yet, seeing as he is an acquaintance, and living in the neighborhood, you would do well to be cautious."
"Exactly, yes." She folded her hands in her lap. "On one point today, we agree—that is a mercy."
Mr. Campbell merely nodded, then returned to the subject: "If ever you happen to visit the Cole family, or they visit you, let me know, and I will be sure to be present."
"That would be a comfort," Imogene said. It nearly made her laugh—only a few weeks ago, Mr. Campbell was anything but a comfort to her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
That following week, there was a ball in town, as such was done at least once every month for the community. In recent months, Imogene had been negligent to attend, as her mother often found them as opportunities to introduce her—and with every candor—to any and all eligible young men. No matter how appealing any of the men were, the meetings were always tainted by Imogene's growing embarrassment each time her mother introduced her as, "Imogene, my eldest unmarried child." However, it had been some time since she attended a ball, and she was eager to dance and see new faces. After all, since she became such good friends with her cousin Mr. Campbell, her mother had been much more sedate—perhaps thinking they were going to re-enter their engagement. Imogene did not care what her mother thought—she was ecstatic to not be bothered with marital prospects.
Also present at the ball were the remainder of her family, Thomas and Emmeline, Phillip and Jane returned from Italy, and the Cole Family—including Mr. Henry. Mr. Campbell escorted Imogene, and they immediately spied the recently web Mr. and Mrs. Cole, and eagerly approached.
"I received all your letters, and read them twice," Imogene said straight off. "The first time, I read them consumed with envy; the second time, I read them with more generosity of spirit."
Jane laughed. "It was a fantastic trip."
Phillip observed, "It is one thing to read about such places and view paintings of them, but it is another thing entirely to actually witness them and experience them for oneself."
"I have been to Italy," Mr. Campbell declared.
"You have never told me about that," Imogene said. "When was this?"
"Once when I was five years old. We only stayed three days because it would not stop raining. My father was later informed by correspondence by his friend there that the rain let up not two days after we had gone, and the weather was fine for a full fortnight."
Imogene laughed. "Is that true?"
"It really is. I remember very little about that trip, but I do remember that."
"I made sure to visit the Trevi Fountain," Jane told Imogene, "to spend the coin you gave me."
Imogene remarked, "There is no better luck than Italian luck." Gazing past her friend and across the room, she spied the Archers as they entered, and her face lit up. "The Archers have come! I must say hello; excuse me."
She immediately crossed the room to Mr. Archer and Clarice, and could see a smile cross Clarice's face as she approached. The two women embraced upon meeting.
"It is so good that you came!" Imogene exclaimed.
"I have long been in want of a dance," Clarice said. "And my brother has not left the house since we returned from Penzance."
"Is that so? Then it is certainly good that you are come. Everyone else is here, you see—there are all the Coles, and Mr. and Mrs. Butler."
Imogene had scarcely finished pointing them out, when her brother Anthony approached with a well-composed bow. For a moment, his eyes would shift between Clarice and his feet, until he finally managed to say, "Ms. Archer...I was hoping...I was very much hoping you would oblige me by being my partner for the next dance."
Clarice's first reaction was to look to Mr. Archer for his approval. Mr. Archer made no discerning expression—only looked to her to make the decision. So she returned her gaze to Anthony and said, "I...would like to. Thank you, sir."
Anthony smiled, something which Imogene had not seen for some time, as he took Clarice's hand to lead her into the dance. Imogene hardly knew what to say of it, as she could not read whether or not Mr. Archer was upset by it.
"I have suspected for some time," she began, "that my brother has wanted to make amends."
"Do you have any understanding of his intentions?" Mr. Archer asked.
"None. But...he has been inquiring after Clarice in a very genuine way." Mr. Archer made no reply, and his expression showed no improvement, so Imogene added, "You may believe, sir, that Anthony never is so apologetic. I have never known his manner to be so guilty, except when he is inquiring about Clarice. I can imagine it would...be difficult for Clarice or yourself to forgive him. But...I believe him to be truly sorry."
At that, Mr. Archer nodded. "You may tell him that if he should desire it, I would permit him to see her at any time, so long as I am present."
Imogene smiled. "I will tell him so."
&nb
sp; Mr. Campbell approached from behind. "Excuse me, sir," he began, "but I was hoping to request a dance from Ms. Cartwright."
Mr. Archer merely gestured that he was free to do so, and so Mr. Campbell offered his hand to Imogene, who took it and followed to the dance floor. It was the first time Imogene ever truly enjoyed dancing with Mr. Campbell—with all the awkwardness removed, she could appreciate how well he moved with the music, and exchanging free smiles was much less frightening than trying to divert her eyes. However, there were many times when she could not help but glance out of the corner of her eyes at Mr. Archer, who seemed to be watching their dance intently. Imogene had always been discomforted by his strictly formal demeanor he had before, but since seeing him so at ease in Penzance, his formality was now rather imposing.
After her dance with Mr. Campbell, she had a brief interlude with Jane at the punch bowl. Her friend had been surprised with how she and her cousin had reconciled, and shared her friend's relief in it. Imogene had then planned on sitting out for a couple dances to talk with her sister and Nell, when Mr. Archer approached her.
"Would you do me the honor of the next dance, Ms. Cartwright?"
He had caught her just while she was finishing the last of the punch in her cup, and she coughed. After a moment to recollect herself and calm her cough with the remaining punch, she said, "Certainly, sir."
Mr. Archer then dismissed himself for a moment to have a brief word with Clarice before the next dance began, leaving Jane to remark, "He does not seem the man you wrote about in your letters from Penzance."