by Joan Smith
I could go on and on—every table held a dozen intricate bibelots. There were silver bowls, crystal candle holders, vases of flowers, dishes of bonbons and nuts, small statuary, snuffboxes. Each room in the house, at least the dozen or so we saw downstairs, was equally elaborate.
After being given our choice of any wine in the world, we were told we would want champagne for this grand occasion. “What occasion is that, Mr. Everett?” Mama asked. She liked the place, but bewilderment had set in at such a surfeit of finery.
“Why, your first visit, to be sure,” he replied.
We ate our way through a dinner that would have filled a whole battalion of Dragoons. Every meat and every delicacy known to Western civilization was on the board. The board was plenty large enough to hold them all. It cost him only ten guineas, due to his connections in the lumber business, and having it hauled free from London by a tranter indebted to him. We all sat at one end of this monumental table, each with a footman behind us, whose function was to dart down the table’s length, retrieving tasty morsels to tempt us.
“Pass Miss Harris the prawns, lad,” he would say, then, before I had got a prawn on my plate, the footman would be ordered to look sharp, and bring me the asparagus, the butter boat, the broccoli, the peas, and where was the ragout, eh?
“You quite throw our simple party into the shade, sir,” I mentioned between servings.
“Don’t apologize. An excellent sort of a do, in its own way,” he said leniently,
“I won’t be able to eat for a week,” Mama said, refusing the smoked salmon.
“I do not eat so well every night,” he admitted, then went on to outline what his normal meal could consist of—no more than a dozen varieties of dishes, with no dessert, as often as not. “No, I tell a lie. I always have a fresh fruit to top off on.”
The fact of this evening’s being a special occasion was raised more often than our maiden visit to his home could account for. I began to dread the matter of my moving into Oakdene would come up before I got safely home. I was not mistaken.
After our Bacchanalia of champagne and dinner, Mama was invited by the host to take a tour of the kitchen and pantries. I assumed I too was to go along, but was restrained from following the housekeeper by a crippling grip on my elbow.
“I have something I want you to see in the saloon,” he said archly.
“I have not seen half the objects there,” I said. “I caught a glimpse of a lovely painting, behind a statue by the green fireplace. A Canaletto, I think.”
“No, it is a genuine Italian thing,” he assured me gravely. “I bought them all from a reputable dealer in London. But it is not the paintings I want to show you.”
As he spoke, he drew a box from a silver bowl that rested on a table. It was white velvet outside, in that telltale shape of a ring box. I knew my moment of exquisite misery had come.
My eyes were assailed by a diamond large enough to wear out a finger. The double row of sapphires and rubies that encircled the diamond would fatigue the whole hand. He drew it from its satin nest and lifted my left hand, trying to put it on the proper finger.
“No, really, Mr. Everett, I cannot accept this.”
“You don’t have to consider it an engagement ring. No strings attached, though you know by now what my intentions are where you are concerned, Wendy.”
“I could not take it without being engaged,” I answered, aghast.
“Suit yourself,” he answered merrily. “I won’t cast a rub in your way if you care to consider yourself the future mistress of Oakdene.”
I am sure I behaved very badly, but at least I felt no desire to laugh, and it was truly a laughably enormous pledge of his troth. We pushed the ring back and forth between us, he insisting I accept it, even if I were not yet ready to accept him into the bargain, and I insisting I could not possibly do anything of the sort. I was very much aware of the debt of gratitude I owed him—for the trip to London, the box stairs, and a dozen other unwanted gifts of fruit and flowers he had delivered to Lady Anne’s cottage over the past year or so. He was so kind, so generous, so good-natured, I felt a veritable vixen to have to tell him at last that I had no intention of getting married at all, to anyone.
He took it all in stride, “Have another look around you,” he invited. “You won’t do better than Oakdene,” he tempted, as though it were a house I would be marrying, and not a man. “I’ll try you again a few weeks from now,” he warned, finally returning the ring to its box, and the box to its silver bowl.
“You’ll find me a dogged salesman. I don’t give up on one refusal. Many is the deal has taken me more than one or two tries to pull off. I didn’t get where I am by being thin-skinned. Would it be an emerald you’d prefer?” he asked. “They had a dandy one at Rundell and Bridges—cost a trifle more than the diamond, but you will never find me a skint.”
“No, no. The ring is beautiful.”
“If it is the wee ones you are worrying about, never give it a thought. We’ll have a few of the chambers abovestairs painted pink and blue for them. We’ll never know they are in the house. They won’t bother us in the least.”
It was precisely the way they would be raised at Menrod Manor, and precisely what I hoped to avoid. “The children are not a bother to me. I love children.”
“I’m fond of them myself.”
When Mama returned, Mr. Everett showed us some plans he was drawing up for a Chinese pagoda that was to serve the job of belvedere in one of his gardens, at a cost of £1,265. Mama said it was beautiful, very handsome indeed, and I assured him it would be a fitting addition to Oakdene. This done, we were returned to Lady Anne’s cottage, to view the new box stairs.
“Why don’t you come inside with us, and see the job?” I asked when he began to re-enter the carriage.
“I’ll be along tomorrow morning,” he answered.
It was unusual in the extreme for him to refuse any offer to enter our cottage. I sensed a skittishness in his manner, and chalked it up to disappointment at my refusing his offer. Just because he did not show his feelings was no indication he was less sensitive than others. I really felt badly about Mr. Everett, till I went into the hallway and saw what he had done to our stairs.
He could not overcome his bent for finery. Despite his promises, he had sent the carpenters up to install a large brass railing, terminating in a dragon’s head, with a ring hanging from it, like something used to tether horses. The spindles had been twisted into spirals, or perhaps what I stared at was snakes winding themselves around branches. It was perfectly hideous, and atrociously expensive. This was bad enough, clashing so dreadfully with the ancient timbers of the rest of the house, but there was worse. The whole side wall of the staircase had been painted white, with gilt rosettes attached at random intervals to embellish the whole.
“How lovely!” Mama said. “We are rid of the boxed-in walls at last, Wendy. I shall run up the stairs this instant.”
She did as she said, to return a moment later praising the feeling of airiness, the freedom and ease of vision that had been gained by the change.
“Menrod will kill us,” I moaned.
“He’s going to put a red carpet-runner down the stairs tomorrow,” Pudge said. He and his wife made free with us. If I did not mention it, the Pudges were there with us. “The lads didn’t have time to do it tonight. It took them forever to get the metal bannister installed.”
“There was enough noise to give you the megrims,” Mrs. Pudge added in tones of pique.
Without hearing a single blow of hammer, I found my head throbbing most painfully. Menrod was coming at ten o’clock in the morning. There was no way this monstrosity could be undone in time to keep it from him.
“Get the fire screen from the sitting room and cover up this thing at once,” I said weakly,
“Cover it up? It is the only decent corner of the house,” Mama objected.
In an extravagant, modern style, the stairs might have done well enough in an hotel. In ou
r humble, small, dark cottage, they stood out like a diamond tiara on a scarecrow. The red carpet would be the coup de grace.
I arranged the fire screen at an angle that hid as much as possible of the job from anyone entering at the front doorway, as Menrod would be doing in eleven hours. I had a fairly sleepless night, comparing the efficacy of painting the whole with a dark brown paint, versus moving large clothespresses into a hallway scarcely wide enough to allow two people to pass. In the end, I took the decision to send a note to Menrod Manor very early, canceling the meeting. I disliked to have to ask Everett to undo his job, but if I did not, Menrod would surely do it for me, in a much less gracious way.
By morning, I had changed my mind. I went outdoors and came in at the front door myself, looking to see how visible the job was. If Menrod could be distracted as he entered, I felt the fire screen would do well enough. It had to be placed at a ludicrous angle, jutting into the debouchment of the stairs, in order to cover the bannister, but there was nothing else for it.
All my scheming and worrying were in vain. He entered by the side door, as he happened to catch a view of me watering my plants in the conservatory on his way to the stable. He was about ten minutes early, which accounted for my not being waiting in the hall, to distract his attention.
“How very charming,” he said, casting a quick glance over my miniature jungle. “This little conservatory is the only change that has been made to the cottage since its being built in 1600. It was added by a plant-loving ancestor in 1750. She was crippled, which accounts for its being attached to the house rather than freestanding, in the normal way. You have probably noticed there is a wider-than-usual doorway, to allow her Bath chair to be pushed in.”
“I have often wondered what accounts for the generosity of that doorway,” I replied, breathing a sigh of relief that he had entered this way. My relief soon turned to apprehension. Unless I could hold him here for the entire visit, he would have a completely unhampered view of the stairs when we passed through to the sitting room. My camouflage was arranged to impede the view from the front door only.
“It is actually balmy in here,” he went on. “Such a pleasant change.”
“Why do we not sit down and have our discussion here?” I invited at once. “Those rattan chairs by the window squeak abominably when first occupied, but are comfortable.” Without waiting for his answer, I took the three steps that put me at the chairs, and occupied one of them.
“How are the children today?” I asked.
“Gwen is suffering from an overindulgence in Chinese cake; Ralph is fine. Too many sweets are not good for them.”
“I agree. It was only for their first visit they were so indulged. We do not habitually dine on cakes and tarts. I want to discuss with you again this business of guardianship of the children. I thought...”
With a weary sigh, he raised a hand to stop me, much as Mr. Everett does, except that his hand was more carefully manicured. “Let us get this settled once for all. The children will make their home with me. You live only two miles away. You may see them any time you wish, either here or at the Manor, with the exception, of course, of those hours when they are at classes. You will have all the advantage of their company, without the inconvenience and expense of having them at the cottage to live.”
"They will be at classes for the better part of the day—Gwen, at least, and Ralph the same in a few years. They can hardly come down to us for an evening visit. That curtails their company rather severely.”
“Surely you do not plan to deprive them of an education?” he asked, with a startled stare. "They would be at classes either here or at home. What is the difference?”
“The difference is that I planned to teach them myself.”
“You have mastered Latin and Greek, have you?” he asked ironically. “Higher mathematics, history, French... An amazing accomplishment, when one considers your sister was as ignorant as a swan.”
“Hettie was no more ignorant than any other lady of her class. Gwendolyn will not be a student of Latin and Greek, unless you plan to turn her into a blue philosopher, some sort of intellectual freak,” I answered hotly.
“I do not consider accomplishments freakish, in either a lady or a gentleman. I have a theory that ladies can profit from higher learning quite as well as men. Their education is sadly neglected. A smattering of literature, a daub of poorly-pronounced French, water colors, and stitchery. That is poor preparation for life.”
“Nearly as poor as Latin and Greek, for a lady who will live out her life in England.”
“You know my views in this matter—the larger matter of where they will live. I can offer them everything; you—practically nothing. You mentioned taking it to the courts. Save your time and money. You’ll catch cold at that. You will gain nothing but my ill will. One hesitates to throw his charity in the face of its recipients, but you are of course aware who provides this home in which you live.”
“This dismal, mouse-infested, dark, and draughty cottage in which we live is well paid for at ten guineas a year,” I answered, with more anger than common sense,
“You would think otherwise if you tried to hire an alternative accommodation. It is a charming spot, every detail of the place authentic. You are outstandingly fortunate to have the privilege of living here.”
“A privilege we share with two dozen mice in the thatched roof.”
“The occupant has some responsibility too. It is possible to be rid of mice, by a judicious use of traps and poison.”
“Yes, or by a good dry slate or shingle roof.”
“Out of the question. The thatched roof is the making of the place. It would lose ninety percent of its charm if I changed the roof. Well, can we consider the matter resolved, then? I keep the children, you visit them when you wish, at your own convenience and their availability, giving due consideration to their studies.”
“The matter will not be resolved in this high-handed fashion, milord. That is an ultimatum, not a compromise. Outside of your wealth and social position, you have little enough to offer. By your own admission, you consider them a nuisance. You spend more than ninety-five percent of your time away from the Manor. They would be abandoned to servants.”
“Lady Menrod is always at home, at the Dower House. Naturally I shall hire governesses, tutors, whatever they require. As they grow older, they can accompany me on some of my trips. They might profit from a summer by the sea, at Brighton.”
“If you really want to do what is best for them, you would let them stay with Mama and myself, where they would be every hour of every day with family who love and care deeply for them.”
“Miss Harris, there is no if about it. I do plan to do my best for them. I can do better than abandon them, to use your hard word, to a crotchety spinster and a widow, who have never been beyond ten miles of home. You know nothing of the world. Your interests are confined to this neighborhood, your few friends such people as Mr. Everett.”
“There is nothing wrong with Mr. Everett. As we are getting right down to brass tacks, Menrod, shall we take a look at your friends? Much of the society at the Manor is not suitable for children to meet. The whole neighborhood knows you had Mr. Kean and a bunch of actresses there last year. Women of that sort...”
"They were employees, hired to entertain my guests.”
“Yes, your male guests, and there was more than theatrics going on, to judge by local gossip.”
“When you base your opinion on gossip, you make rational conversation difficult. Facts are what we are both interested in, I hope. You may be sure a gentleman never entertains his lady friends in the nursery, at any rate.”
“Leaving the actresses aside, and omitting what rakes and scoundrels you associate with beyond this neighborhood, we are still left with your mistress. Mrs. Livingstone, I believe, is the woman’s name?”
He turned a furious eye on me, his head jerking up, to allow him to look down his sliver of a nose at me. “Have you something against Mrs. Li
vingstone?” he asked.
“Yes, the fact that she is your mistress, an extremely loose woman. Of more interest is the light the alliance sheds on your own character, for I cannot think that even you would be so low as to take the children to her. When a man is so steeped in lechery he must provide himself with a fancy at hand for the few days a year he spends at home, it stands to reason he is equally well provided for in those places he spends most of his time. A string of women stabled like horses across the country must cause the most lax judge to open up his eyes.”
“Are you daring to question my character?” he demanded, jumping to his feet and bumping his head on a low-hanging pot of ivy.
“I am stating a well-known fact. If it impugns your character, you must not place the blame on me. You did not hesitate to call me a crotchety, insular, ignorant spinster. We shall see which impediment the judge considers more serious: my lack of knowing Latin and Greek, or your lack of morals.”
“You are extremely foolish to come to cuffs with me, Miss Harris. If you are serious about wanting custody of the children, you had better hire yourself the best lawyer you can afford, and be prepared to curtail your expenditures accordingly. They don’t come cheap.”
One says the stupidest things in the heat of argument. I chanced to think of Mr. Everett, who must surely have as much money as Menrod, and was much more eager to spend it. Though I would not take a penny from him, I used his name in vain, or implied it at least. “You are not the only one wallowing in gold,” I said airily. “I have wealthy friends who would be happy to help with the finances.”
“A lady who accepts gifts of money from a man is hardly in a position to dredge up the word mistress as an insult against others,” he pointed out.
“Unless the man has offered her marriage,” I shot back unwisely.
“If you think for one minute I would let that commoner be father to Peter’s children, you are insane,” he said. “Good day.” He stepped out the door.