by Sarah Thorn
Helen must have told him who Christopher was. ''I will soon be his wife. Goodbye, Edward.'' Don't go, kiss him, pull him to you and kiss him, a voice said to her. But her body turned away and took her into the crowd.
*****
Christopher was at the bank, and his mother had gone out to a women's luncheon. Around twelve o'clock there was a loud bang at the door. Emily sat and waited for Rodgers the butler to answer it, but when the person knocked again, she remembered it was his day off, and apart from cook she was alone in the house. She put her sampler down on the sofa and went to the door.
She recognized the man standing in front of her. It was the man with the big nose and exaggerated sideburns that she'd seen at the Duke of Marlborough's ball a year ago. He was the man Edward had first spoken to before he'd spoken so badly of her.
''Miss Emily Lucas?'' he asked. She nodded. ''Splendid. I'm afraid the man I'm with is a very slow walker,'' he said as he pointed down the street.
''Father, father, oh father,'' she said as she bolted out of the door and down the street. He was frail, and she almost knocked him over in her enthusiasm.
''Emily. Oh, it's so good to see you,'' He put his arm around her, and she helped him up the garden step and into the house. She shouted to the cook to bring some tea and sat her father in the most comfortable chair in the drawing room.
''I cannot believe it's you, father.'' His eyes were less swollen than the last time she had seen him, and his lips had recovered but he had lost more weight, and he looked like a bag of bones.
''How did you manage to get out of that terrible place?'' she asked.
''May I introduce myself,'' the other man said. ''I am the Bishop of Denningsborough. Do you know a man called Edward Dirksen?''
''Yes, I do,'' Emily said.
''Well if it weren't for Mr. Dirksen, your father would still be in that horrible place.''
''I don't understand,'' Emily said, looking at her father and then the Bishop.
''Mr. Dirksen is a very active member of a group in the church that looks after the needy.''
''Yes, I know, he mentioned some church group he was involved with.''
''Well, via that organization, Mr. Dirksen has campaigned tirelessly for your father's release.''
''Are you alright?'' her father asked, as Emily's complexion turned white.
''In the prison with your father was a vicar by the name of Peter Wright. He too got into trouble financially, and they ended up in the same cell.'' The Bishop stopped speaking when the cook arrived with the tea. She placed a cup and saucer in front of each of them and the tea pot close to Emily. ''I visited Reverend Wright very often,'' the Bishop continued, ''and in the process got to know your father. It came to my attention via the church organization that Mr. Dirsken was trying to secure your father's release. I met Mr. Dirksen on two occasions. We talked about the best way to go about getting your father and Revered Wright freed.''
Emily was struggling to keep up with developments. Edward had done all this, and he'd never told her, even when they'd spoken at the last ball. Why hadn't he said something?
''During one of my visits, Reverend Wright told me your father had been badly beaten by some men who came to the prison. The same men who had stolen all your father's money, his former accountants.''
Emily looked at her father who nodded.
''Unfortunately, these men also threatened your life, Emily.''
''What?'' Emily gasped. She was about to pour the tea but stopped as her hands began to tremble.
''They told your father that if he talked to the police about them, they would harm you.'' The Bishop stroked his sideburns and fiddled with a large ring on his little finger. ''Those same men turned up at the Duke of Marlborough's ball last year. Luckily I was able to warn Mr. Dirksen, and he threw them off your track by telling them that you weren't Emily Lucas.''
''He told them I was just a woman from a local village and that he barely knew me,'' Emily said, completing the Bishop's story. ''I need to go out now. Will you come with me?'' she asked.
''To where,'' her father asked.
''To Cobham Hall.''
*****
Emily jumped out of the coach before it had come to a halt and ran to the door. The door knocker shook on its base as she hammered with it. The butler looked startled when Emily ran past him without saying anything. ''Edward, Edward,'' she shouted frantically running from room to room.
''Mr. Edward is outside in the garden,'' the butler pointed out.
She ran to the back door and out into the garden. Again she shouted his name. Edward stopped reading the newspaper and looked across the terrace. When he saw Emily, he jumped to his feet. ''I'm here.''
''Oh, Edward,'' she shouted as she ran to him. ''Edward, I'm so sorry, I have been terrible to you. Please forgive me. You must take me back. I don't want to live without you.'' She reached him and flung her arms around his neck.
''Calm yourself, Emily,'' he said.
''But how can I be calm after what I have done to you. I am a terrible person.''
''No, you are not. You are an adorable woman who I love very much, but thought I'd lost.''
''Will you ever forgive me? The Bishop and my father have told me how hard you have been working to secure my father's release. I will be forever in your debt.''
''The last time I spoke to you, you were engaged to another man,'' he reminded her.
''I want you, not him. The engagements off, as of this moment.''
He kissed her. ''In that case, why not get engaged to me instead?''
''Yes, yes, oh yes please,'' Emily said, ecstatically.
''Mr. Dirksen, thank you for all you have done to secure my release, I will be forever in your debt,'' Emily's father said when he and the Bishop had caught up.
''Not at all, sir. I am pleased you are now a free man.''
''But how exactly did you secure his release?'' Emily said still slightly confused. ''My father was convicted by a court, how did you get the decision reversed?''
''That was easy. You remember your father built a large extension onto this house?'' Emily nodded. ''I still have all the paperwork including a letter from Mr. Benjamin Harvie the accountant that your father employed at the time,'' Edward spoke slowly and deliberately. ''In the letter, Mr. Harvie informed me that I should pay the invoice for the work done into a different bank account than the one I had originally been given. As the letter was from a firm of professional accountants working on behalf of your father, I duly did as he requested.''
''And?'' Emily interrupted eagerly.
''It was a very large amount, I believe it was the largest job your father had ever done.'' Emily's father nodded. ''When I heard what had happened to your father, I went to the authorities and told them how much I had paid and asked them to investigate.'' Edward looked to see if Emily was still following. She was nodding keenly so he continued. ''They found that the account was in the name of Mr. Harvie himself, not his company. They also had no record of Mr. Harvie ever having declared this amount, and many other amounts which had flowed into his account, to the taxman. Mr. Harvie was arrested for tax evasion two days ago, and your father duly released.''
Emily sighed with relief. ''I have just one more question,'' she said. ''You didn't know about my father's plight until I told you, is that correct?'' Edward nodded. ''Then in effect, you did this for me.''
''I suppose so. But don't tell your father,'' he said with a grin.
''I love you, Edward Dirksen.'' Emily said.
*****
THE END
REGENCY Romance - An Intriguing Invitation
''Jane, Jane, there's a ghost in the corner. Help me, help me,'' Jane's mother screamed. Jane ran into the room and saw her mother sitting up in bed, clutching a blanket to her face. She took her mother's hand and lowered the blanket.
''Sssh,'' she said taking her mother into her arms and cradling her. The doctor had told Jane that there was no hope for her mother. The first time Jane had no
ticed it was when her mother had gone out and forgotten to put the fire guard in front of the fire. Her mother never did that. All her life Jane had listened to her mother telling her never to leave the room without putting the fireguard in place. Jane had come home early to find the hearthrug smoldering after a piece of hot coal had been spat onto it.
Then there had been the time when Aunt Emily had visited, and her mother had thought she was the milk seller. It had been two years since the fireplace incident, and Jane knew that she would soon have to give her mother up to the local sanitarium. She'd told the doctor that she would look after her mother herself, at home, until the end of her life. But the doctor had explained that there comes a certain point when the law takes over. He told Jane that her mother would become a danger to herself and to Jane and that she would eventually be sectioned to a secure mental hospital.
''It's okay, mum. I'm not afraid, and if there were a ghost here, I jolly well would be afraid.'' Her mother muttered and lay her head back down onto the pillow.
Jane and her mother lived in a small cottage in a village called Wendlebury. It was a quaint cottage with a front garden and a large vegetable garden at the rear. Her mother now slept in the lounge as she was incapable of climbing the stairs. Jane worked on a farm to earn enough to keep herself and her mother. The village was tied to the Duke's estate. Everyone living in the village, except Dr. Brown, was a tenant of the Duke of Longford.
Jane answered a knock at the front door and was pleased to see her best friend.
''Oh, Charlotte, it's so nice to see you,'' she said hugging the tall women.
''How is your mother?'' she asked.
''She's bad today, quite tiring me out,'' Jane said with a sight.
''Never mind, a cup of tea and a biscuit will help,'' Charlotte said as she hung her bonnet and coat on the hook next to the round mirror in the corridor. She looked in the mirror and shook her head. ''I can't seem to keep a hair in place,'' she moaned, sweeping a few strands of her black hair behind her ears.
They walked down the short corridor, past the staircase and into the kitchen. There was a roaring fire which Charlotte was grateful to see. Despite being April, it was still bitterly cold outside. ''Sit down and warm yourself,'' Jane said. Charlotte sat on one of the two Windsor Chairs that faced the hearth.
''So what she been doing?'' Charlotte asked of Jane's mother.
''I suppose you would call it hallucinating. Saying all kind of silly things. First there was a giant spider in her bed, then a troll under the bed, and just before you arrived, a ghost in the room.'' Jane hung the black kettle on the hook over the fire.
Jane looked tired, Charlotte thought. Her friend was a beautiful woman and at times, Charlotte recognized that she was jealous of Jane's looks. Jane had a very pretty face, almost aristocratic. Her features were fine like a Meissen figure. She had a long slender body but an ample bust and curvaceous hips. Usually, her green eyes shone with enthusiasm for life, but today they seemed dull.
''What has Dr. Brown told you about her?'' Charlotte asked as she held her hands to the fire.
''All I know is, I will have to look after her until she is so bad she is sectioned and taken away.'' Jane stared into the fire for a moment. ''It's terrible, really terrible of me, but I wish she would die.''
''I can understand that,'' Charlotte said. Her father was a tenant farmer, and he'd brought her up to respect life, but also to realize that everyone is mortal and that there comes a time when it is better to pass away than to suffer. ''It's very hard for you isn't it?''
''Yes. Listen to me, getting all melancholy,'' Jane said. ''Let's talk about something else.''
''There's going to be a Spring Ball,'' Charlotte said.
''Oh, where?''
''In the village hall. Everyone has been invited to it. Haven't you got an invitation?''
Jane put two cups and saucers on the pine table and reached for the milk jug. ''No I haven't seen anything. No invitation, it's the first I've heard about it.''
''You know it really is quite extraordinary how you are always left out of things in the village.''
It was a familiar story to Jane. ''Yes, sometimes it does seem that way,'' Jane said.
The kitchen was the largest room in the house. In addition to two Windsor Chairs, it had a long pine table and a set of matching chairs around it. There was a stone sink with a draining board below the window, and a pine dresser and rack on the long wall opposite the hearth. The back door was in the corner next to the sink.
The kettle started to boil, and Jane took it from its hook and poured the steaming water into an earthenware teapot. ''I'll get you an invitation to the ball,'' Charlotte said.
''Oh, there's no need. I'll have to look after mother anyway.''
''Nonsense, you never go out. Get Mrs. Johnson to come and sit with her. Jane your twenty-seven, practically an old maid. It's time we found you a husband.''
Jane didn't like the sound of 'old maid.' She was all too aware of her age.
''You know I really can't understand it. Your beauty knows no bounds, yet you have no suitors. Most extraordinary.'' Charlotte held out her cup, and Jane poured the tea.
*****
''Mrs. Johnson, you know where everything is. Help yourself to anything from the kitchen.''
''Very kind of you,'' the plump lady said. She was the same age as Jane's mother, forty-five. She was the local district nurse, and when she'd found out about Jane's mother, she'd taken pity on Jane, and offered to come and sit with her when Jane wanted to go out.
At half past seven, Charlotte knocked on the door. ''Are you ready?''
''Yes, I think so,'' Jane looked at her face in the mirror. She was as pleased with her preparations as she could be.
''Here's your invitation,'' Charlotte thrust it into Jane's hand.
''How did you get it?''
''I just asked Mr. Jakes, the organizer, why he hadn't sent you an invitation.''
''And? What was the reason?''
''He just dithered. He couldn't tell me why. So I told him to jolly well make you one. As my father is the largest man around here, he obliged.''
''You threatened him?''
Charlotte smiled. ''What's the point of having a father who is six feet seven and a former champion bare-knuckle-fighter if you don't use it to your advantage now and again.''
''Charlotte Jones, you are quite impossible.'' Jane took hold of Charlotte's arm, and they set off towards the village hall.
The Spring Ball was an annual affair. It was the way the villagers celebrated the end of winter and looked forward to a good summer harvest. It wasn't a nobility ball, and it certainly wasn't part of the season of balls high society attended. It was a village event. For the working class and the odd member of the middle class. Jane didn't know which she was. Her father had died when she was just a baby, and she knew that her mother had had to move from a much larger house. She'd never talked to Jane about it. All Jane knew was that her mother and father used to be well off and respected. Now Jane was a simple agricultural worker and the daughter of one of the Duke's tenants. She'd never allowed herself to think what she could have been.
The two ladies walked in front of a row of cottages, across the road and over the village green. It was twilight, and the grazing sheep looked strangely luminous in the fading sunlight. At the other side of the green, they saw a few men standing outside the Wheatsheaf Inn. Each had a pint of beer in his hand; they were obviously drinking in some cheer before the ball. ''Good evening ladies,'' one of them shouted.
''Don't talk to her,'' another said, pointing at Jane. ''She's not worth it.''
Jane heard him, but she was used to that kind of treatment. She'd put up with since she was at school. She'd been bullied many times by the children of the village, and now they were grown up not much had changed.
''Why do they treat you like that?'' Charlotte asked. Charlotte had gone to a different school; they'd become friendly when Jane went to work on the farm.
> ''I have no idea. Really none. I'm used to it.''
They walked another hundred yards and arrived at the village hall. It was a simple building, consisting of an entrance hall, a small kitchen, and a large dance hall. Jane looked around her and saw a small orchestra sitting on a raised stage to the right of the hall. In front of the orchestra was a dance floor, it was already well occupied. The ladies of the village all seemed to be wearing their Sunday best dresses. High waist lines and puff sleeves in a mixture of pastel colors with various shades of trim and bows. The men wore half-length coats, some in trousers, some in breeches and the odd fellow in knickerbockers, which Jane loathed.
A young man walked up to Charlotte. ''Would you do me the honor of putting me on your dance card?'' Charlotte looked at him and declined. That's the kind of woman Charlotte was. Only twenty-one, yet self-confident. They went to sit in the ladies tea room. It was awash with the smell of perfume and powder, and the noise was quite deafening. Jane was aware that one or two people lowered their voices and nodded in her direction. They didn't know anybody, so they left and stood at the back of the dance floor. Jane looked around to see if a gentleman took her fancy, but she didn't like any of them. Most of them seemed to be quite rough, and a bit the worse for wear.
As the evening wore on, Charlotte's dance card filled up and Jane found herself standing alone, watching her friend dance. Nobody spoke to her, and not a man came up to her and asked her to dance. Not one.
''One more dance and that'll be it,'' Charlotte said. ''Mr. Charles Worthington.''
Jane burst into tears and ran out of the hall onto the village green in front of it. She leaned against a tree and cried. Charlotte followed her. ''What's the matter?'' she asked.
''See, that's why I don't go out. I hate it. Nobody bothers with me. I'm twenty-seven, and I might as well stay at home and call myself spinster. Not one man asked me to dance.''
''Extraordinary, because you were the most beautiful woman at the ball. Quite incomprehensible.''