by Joan Smith
A panic surged in my breast. He had all the other advantages—in birth, social position, wealth, he outclassed me. If he meant to offer a wife as well, my slight chances for success dwindled toward zero.
“Will you read me a story?” Ralph asked.
“There is company present, Ralph. I cannot do it now.”
“We could go upstairs in the big chair,” he pointed out.
When he repeated his request a moment later, Lady Menrod was obliging enough to excuse us. “Read to him if you wish, Miss Harris. He is always pestering Lady Althea to read him stories.”
This frightening statement got us up the stairs very quickly. He snuggled cosily on to my lap.
“Do you often see Lady Althea?” I asked.
“Sometimes. Nobody reads to me at home. There are books there, to look at the pictures.”
I had a vision of the poor tyke, sitting alone, thumbing disconsolately through books while I sat alone at the cottage here, missing him. It was dreadfully unfair, and that Lady Althea was usurping my rightful place was even worse.
I could read only a short story on that day, because of the company below. “What will you do when you go home?” I asked, feeling a wave of pity and grief to see him go.
“Uncle is going to look for a pony for me.”
“A live pony! Oh, Ralph, you are too young.”
“Uncle says he and Papa rode young, so I am to have a mount. I will call him Rufus. That was Papa’s mount’s name in India.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”‘
“No, I am not afraid,” he answered gallantly, but afraid or not, I thought it a dangerous venture, to put a child on a mount. “I asked Uncle if I could have a live pony, since I can ride the wooden one now.”
This smacked of bribery, buying them anything they wanted, without thought to the possible consequences.
Tea had been served during our absence. The guests were preparing to leave. “Come along, Ralph,” Lady Menrod called. “Cousin Althea is going to take you children into the village this afternoon, after she and Menrod are back from their drive.”
“She is going to buy us some ices,” Gwen said contentedly. More bribery!
“We will have a cake next time you come,” I told her, to get in on the bribery myself.
“I like it with whipped cream.”
After they had left, I sat down with my mother to discuss the visit. “You know what this is all about. Menrod will offer for Lady Althea in order to have a mother to put forward in Chancery.”
“How sly of him! Now you must have Mr. Everett, Wendy.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“It would be an excellent match, getting us out of this dark, draughty cottage. But such magnificence at Oakdene; I am not sure I could ever become accustomed to it.”
“You could buy yourself a pair of green glasses, to cut down on the glare.”
“Ah, well, I don’t suppose Menrod has any real notion of offering for Lady Althea. It is all a ruse, of the sort Culligan tried to push on you, letting on to marry, for the looks of it.”
“If that is his trick, you may be sure Althea knows nothing of it. She means business. Lady Menrod certainly thinks it will come to a match. He is of worse character than I thought, if that is what he is up to. I wonder if it is.”
“What bothers me is the ball. I daresay it is to publicize the match. You don’t suppose they will take into their heads to invite us?”
“I should hope so indeed! How could they possibly not, when we are connected to Menrod? There is no reason to miss out on an excellent party only because of the legal battle. I shall certainly attend if we are asked.”
“I could always say I have a migraine.”
“Mama, don’t be such a peagoose. You will not be expected to stand up with him. You can sit and play cards with your friends.”
“I can do that at home, without having to buy a new gown and be perfectly miserable at the Manor.”
“Why should you be miserable?”
“It is so very fine, with all those carpets one is afraid to step on, and the upholstery so historical it would be a crime if you spilled a drop of wine, and one is bound to do it, when she knows she must not.”
“You didn’t feel this hesitation to dine at Oakdene. The Manor could not possibly be more richly appointed than that.”
“It is not the same. You can feel so very comfortable with Mr. Everett. Menrod is always angry about everything; Mr. Everett is never angry. I never met a better-natured man, excepting your papa, who was a saint. It is no small thing to find a good-natured husband, Wendy. The best-looking fellows grow fat and bald in the end, like the homely ones, and what you are left with is their natures. When you marry, be sure you find a good-natured man. Like Mr. Everett,” she added slyly.
I actually considered this course for a few moments. One would always be very comfortable with him, as she mentioned, except when it was necessary to be seen with him in high company. For him to be telling guests how much he paid for everything would be an embarrassment. One would be surrounded with every luxury imaginable. A bright, secure, rich future danced before my eyes.
Then Mr. Everett danced stiff-kneed into the picture, making it all impossible. The only possible marriage I could envisage with him was a marriage of convenience, one that allowed me complete absence from his bed. I doubted even his good nature extended that far, however.
“Well, what do you say?” she asked hopefully.
“I don’t know why I cannot bring myself to accept him. I need a good shaking, don’t I? It is just that he is so common in his ways—unrefined.”
“We could polish up his manners, between the two of us.”
“Yes, he is very biddable. He removed two of his fobs from his watch chain as soon as ever I mentioned them. I daresay he could be transformed into a fine gentleman, with some coaxing.”
Mrs. Pudge had strolled in during my speech, and had to hear what was being discussed. “What you are faced with is what Christian encountered on his pilgrim. You have your neighbor Obstinate, being Menrod, and your neighbor Pliable, being Everett.”
“Which did Christian choose?” Mama asked.
“He had the good sense to spurn both of them. Nobody wants too pliable a man, for he don’t stand for anything. He can be talked hither and thither at a whim. An obstinate man, on the other hand, won’t listen to good reason. There’s little enough to choose betwixt and between them. You’re better off an old maid, miss.”
“There was no question of my receiving an offer from Neighbor Obstinate, Mrs. Pudge. That was not the point.”
“That’s something, anyways,” she said, and left to nag her pliable spouse into washing the dining-room windows.
I gave no thought to her sanctimonious mutterings. She had become like a squeaky door, always whining but little heeded. That evening, after dinner, Mr. Everett dropped in for a visit. His first talk was of architecture, some new moldings that were being installed in the kitchen. Before long, he broached a more interesting subject.
“What do you think of the scandal about Menrod?” he asked calmly.
“What scandal?” I demanded at once, every sense alive with curiosity.
“Why, the kitchen girl at the Manor he has got in the family way. Shocking thing, a man in his position. He ought to be horsewhipped. He shuffled her off home to her family at Newbury, but it was his work. That will serve your case well, Wendy.” He had slipped into using my first name at Oakdene, and continued it regularly without censure now.
“He has only been home a little over a week. It cannot have happened so soon.”
"It happened five months ago, from what they are saying in town. She was sent home two months ago, before her condition became obvious. To turn her from the door is worse than the rest. He ought to have shown more responsibility,” he condemned.
“I cannot believe it of Menrod,” I said. He kept a mistress, but to treat his helpless servants so was worse. He did not have a reputation of
that sort.
“He was not home five months ago, was he, Mama?” I asked.
“When would that be—around the end of October?” she asked, doing the required calculations.
“About that time, yes. He was home last summer for two weeks. He dropped in for a day or two at Christmas as well.”
“Summer was too early, and Christmas too late. They have got the date of it wrong,” she decided.
“They have got the paternity wrong. Which girl was it?” I asked Everett.
“A squinty redhead is what I heard,” Everett answered. “Nel something or other was her name. Nel Scott, I think.”
"That ugly patch who was hired a year ago? He would not touch her with a pair of tongs. This must be a joke,” I declared, incredulous.
“All cats are gray in the dark, as they say,” Everett mentioned.
“No joke for her, poor girl,” Mama said.
“It is Culligan’s questions that have put this idea into circulation. This is really too bad of him.” A worry equally as great as the inequity of traducing Menrod was what he would say, or do, when he heard about it. If he wanted those children badly enough to marry Lady Althea, he must want them very badly indeed. I knew, as I sat talking to Everett, I would not marry to inherit the whole country, let alone two children, only one of whom I truly loved.
“Very likely it is,” Everett agreed. “You don’t believe it of him, then, Wendy?”
“No, I do not. I will change solicitors. I shall disassociate myself from that muckraker entirely.”
“I formed a poor opinion of the man myself,” he admitted.
The damage was done, but my displeasure might indicate to the neighborhood my opinion of the man who started the rumor. I sat in some trepidation of Menrod’s next visit, and none at all of Everett’s unnoticed remark that he had formed a poor opinion of Mr. Culligan.
When Menrod came to the cottage the next day, I learned my error. It was not the Nel Scott scandal that brought him, but something else; namely, my “engagement” to Mr. Everett.
* * *
Chapter 10
Lord Menrod came stomping to the cottage door fairly early in the morning. I was at work in my conservatory. The ministration of my plant family is generally my first occupation of the day. I go there immediately from breakfast to tend them before beginning less pleasant duties. I was in hands with some messy repotting work when he arrived. My aspidistra was ready for a larger home than the eight-inch crockery pot in which it resided at the time.
Mrs. Pudge brought him to me. “Your mother is up in the cheese room, rotating the cheeses, so his lordship says he’ll talk to you,” was her countrified manner of announcing our guest.
There was no trusting the smile Menrod wore. Had it been satirical, I would have expected a hot blast of vituperation to follow soon. It was nothing of the sort. He looked genuinely amused, so unusual an expression to be seen on his dour face that I demanded an explanation for it.
“Why, one does not come to offer congratulations, wearing a frown, Miss Harris,” he replied. He looked around at my specimens, selected a rattan chair, and waited for me to be seated. I remained standing.
“You spend a good deal of time here, I think?” he asked patiently. “You might be a personification of Spring, amidst all this verdure. Quite the symbol of a spring day.”
“I more usually think of you as a whole month of spring—March, with its gusty howls. I mistrust your coming in like a lamb this morning. It hints at a more ferocious departure.”
“I fully expect we will be drawing our daggers before I leave, but we will do it elsewhere, so as not to shock your plants.”
“Kind of you. They are not accustomed to much violence, which is why I prefer them to most people. They are never ill-natured or abusive. They behave themselves with great propriety, and prosper with a little tending and affection.”
“Affection?” he asked, his eyes widening. “Who would not?”
“Care, is what I mean.”
“When a lady begins to lavish her scanty affections on a plant, it augurs some unhinging of the mental faculties. I begin to comprehend the announcement in this morning’s paper.”
“What announcement is that?” I asked, noticing he carried the Reading journal.
He handed it to me, folded with page three at the front. He pointed to a small article in the gossipy part of the sheet, which is called the “Social Notes.” I read with considerable astonishment that Mrs. Harris was happy to announce the betrothal of her daughter Gwendolyn to Mr. Everett, of Oakdene, Reading. No words were possible. I just stared, my mouth opening and closing like a newly-hatched sparrow.
“Your shame is not of the sort forecast by me after all,” he rattled on easily, enjoying himself very much. “No suspicious weekends in London after all, eh, Miss Harris? Tell me, am I to congratulate or commiserate with you on the announcement? It appears to have taken you by surprise.”
“This is impossible! There is some mistake! I have not accepted Mr. Everett’s offer. Who did this? Menrod—is this your work?” I asked, with some temporary derangement of the brain.
“No, no. A few weekends with him in London was the best I had to offer. Word of it must have gotten around, and he is doing the right thing by you.” His thin lips were stretched wide in a smile. His eyes were crinkled at the edges with laughter.
“He would never have undertaken to have published this without my consent. I told him I did not accept, very positively.”
“He actually did offer, did he? I half thought it was only a threat, to make me hand over my children.”
“They are not your children. They are ours.”
“A novel notion—but it is Everett who has won your hand.”
“Mine as much as yours, is what I meant,” I added hastily, as his smile stretched ever broader at my incoherence.
“What a delightful mystery. Who can have done it?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.
“It must be Mama. I’ll go up to her this instant.”
I dashed out of the conservatory, up the demmed dark, low stairway to the cheese room, under the eaves. I did not notice Menrod had taken upon himself to follow, till I heard his head bump on the tamarack beam, and heard the undignified expletive that followed the accident.
“You must excuse our stairway. It was used to be brighter, till our landlord took the ludicrous idea to enclose it.”
“People must have been shorter two hundred years ago,” he mumbled.
The attic stairs have a greater clearance than the others. We got to the cheese room without further mishap. “Mama, have you seen this?” I asked, shoving the newspaper into her hands.
She took it, read, frowned, then smiled beatifically. “So you have come to your senses at last and accepted him. Good. I could not be happier. That will teach Men—”
Menrod reached the top of the stairs at that point. I was six stairs before him. She came to an embarrassed halt. “I thought you were alone, Wendy,” she said.
“Menrod brought the paper to me. You did not send this notice in to them?”
“I? How should I? I didn’t know a thing about it till you showed me this. But there is no harm in an announcement after all. We would have had to do it sooner or later.”
“I am not engaged! I told you I don’t plan to marry him. Who could have done it?”
“Mr. Culligan?” Menrod suggested mischievously.
“That’s who it was. I shall drive straight into Reading and fire him.”
I turned sharply and bounded down the stairs, along the hall to the next set of stairs. I heard Menrod coming after me, hastening his steps, but did not wait for him. His bump on the flight down was harder than on the way up, because of our haste. I really feared, or hoped, he had knocked himself out. He was sent reeling back, and wore a red mark on his forehead when he reached the landing.
“You forgot to duck. What a pity,” I exclaimed. He glared mutely while drawing out a handkerchief to dry his forehead for
blood. Finding none, he said, “It is nothing. A tap only. You are going to Reading now, at once?”
“The sooner the better.”
“I am headed that way myself. I shall take you.”
“Thank you. Your team will make better time than ours. I want my anger to be at full boil when I arrive.”
“My being in the carriage with you will assure it. Are you not going to wear a bonnet?” he asked, when I took a step toward the door without one.
“Of course I am.”
I went to the closet to fetch the necessary items, rammed my navy-blue felt on my head, accepted Menrod’s help with my pelisse, and went out the door.
“I shall sue him. Is it possible to sue a lawyer?” I asked.
“Certainly it is. They are not above the law. It is also possible to knock their teeth down their throats.”
“I do not plan to attack him physically,” I said, as he held the carriage door for me.
“I owe him a little something as well. He has been propagating more than one unfounded rumor.”
“Oh, you mean about Nel Scott, I daresay. I hope you believe I had nothing to do with that odious lie. In fact, I ought to apologize, I suppose, though I had no way of knowing what he was about.”
“Yes, you ought.”
“I am sorry. I mean that, even if I am cross. It was an awful thing for him to do.”
“I accept your apology, even if I too am cross.”
After a few moments’ cross silence, I asked, “Who was the father, or do you know?”
“We have the culprit. A peddler she met in town. He would have married her, but for the problem of a wife and a few children at home. Another inaccuracy in the story is my having discharged her. She wanted to return to her family. It seems there was a lad so undemanding as to offer her marriage, despite her condition.”
“And her looks—the squint, I mean.”
“I did not see the groom, but if rumor is correct, he cannot afford to be choosy in the looks department. ‘A face like a bulldog,' my footman told me. This is quite a place for peculiar matches, is it not?”