An Indelicate Situation (The Weymouth Trilogy)

by Lizzie Church

  Miss Brewer was similarly unimpressed by travelling arrangements which necessitated sharing the forward-facing seat with such a lowly individual as the governess and thus denying her the opportunity of a tête à tête with Mr Staveley as she had planned. Indeed, had she got her way it would have been Maggie and not Freddy who travelled with her back to the horses but Mr Staveley, despite his awkwardness, at least knew his manners. Governess or not, Maggie was still a female and had been included quite specifically on the Berkeleys’ invitation, so, in his mind if not in that of his lady, she should therefore be accorded the honour - and comfort - of the forward-facing seat.

  They set off through the busy streets and across the bridge to the southern side of the town from whence, after negotiating the narrow main street close to the harbour, they emerged into undulating open country which was fresh and green after some persistent summer rain.

  ‘I find a carriage ride quite charming on a warm afternoon, when one can sit comfortably with the hoods quite down and enjoy the breeze without becoming chilled.’

  Mr Staveley felt obliged to agree, despite struggling manfully to ignore an unpleasantly queasy feeling elicited by the rocking motion of the carriage on the road and exacerbated, in all probability, by the stench of soot and grease emanating from the folded hood to his rear.

  ‘And where b...better than to enjoy a ride through Weymouth, Miss B...Brewer,’ he volunteered, trying to look as if he meant what he was saying. ‘The countryside round here is quite m...magnificent, would you not agree? Although I must say that the state of the roads hereabouts is quite app...appalling.’

  Maggie noticed that Mr Staveley’s features were gradually taking on a rather unpleasant greenish tinge. She thought that she should rescue him.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said, coughing a little into her handkerchief. ‘I’m afraid that I must agree with you about the state of the roads. I wonder - I am so sorry - could you possibly ask the coachman to stop for a moment please, Mr Staveley? I regret that I am much in need of some respite from the rocking.’

  Miss Brewer, obviously unimpressed by her enforced companion’s delicate sensibilities, tossed her head in annoyance and emitted an irritated ‘Tut’. Mr Staveley, however, executed Maggie’s request with some alacrity and was kind enough to offer to step down with her from the carriage for a moment as well. This was a little much for Miss Brewer, who determined on following suit and offered him an elegantly gloved hand for assistance in descending the steps. In a way the moment was well chosen, for the coach had stopped at the brow of a slight incline just next to the start of a little trackway which, when they rambled along it for only a very few yards, opened up a glorious sparkling vista of the Dorset coast which would otherwise have quite passed them by. Even better, now that they were in a position to see ahead of them, it was apparent that the small incline which they had just surmounted was the precursor to a much longer, steeper hill which the coachman assured them would require the gentleman to clamber up on foot.

  ‘Then I shall m...meet you at the top,’ said Freddy, trying not to look too pleased. ‘I cannot think that it will b...be so very much further after that.’

  The carriage had been a little later than expected in returning for its second trip by dint of the crush of several carriages all turning up at Belvoir at exactly the same time, and what with the unscheduled stop and the need to await a puffing Freddy as he followed the carriage up the hill it turned out that the three of them were amongst the last of the guests to arrive. They arrived at the iron gates to the driveway at last, however, and were immediately rewarded by a most delightful view of Belvoir House and its extensive grounds framed in the brilliance of a clear blue sky. Maggie fell in love with it as soon as she saw it.

  The house itself looked quite modern. It was not especially large but Maggie could see that it was beautifully proportioned, with columns of Portland stone supporting an elegant porchway up a short flight of steps to a magnificent front door. It was through this that, after a kind greeting from their host and hostess, they were escorted straight away to enjoy a glass of wine in the coolness of an elegant saloon. It had tall windows on two sides, overlooking the gardens to the front and into an orangery to the side, filled with tropical plants. Mrs Staveley was already in residence there, drinking some lemonade in company with Mr Brewer and another elderly lady or two. She had the distinctive air of someone who was harbouring a great secret. Maggie caught her eye for a second. ‘They are taking my life away,’ mouthed Mrs Staveley as she passed, ‘they are taking my life away from me and bleeding me quite dry.’ Maggie wondered whether perhaps the old lady had indulged herself with a little too much wine and brandy in her lemonade and decided that, on balance, it might be politic to avoid her. So, knowing none of the other guests there at all – even Mrs William was not to be seen - and acutely conscious of the barbed glares of Miss Brewer, who was standing nearby, she therefore decided that it might be a good idea to look out of a window and pretend to take an interest in the view. Indeed, it turned out there was no need for any pretence - it was easy to take an interest in the view, for Belvoir House was blessed by such extensive and beautiful grounds, and such an enviable position overlooking the sea, that it would have required an onlooker of much more steely a disposition than Maggie’s was to affect an indifference towards it. So rather than simply standing in the window, which was cut down to the ground, and looking out of it, she immediately found herself stepping through it into the bright August sunshine and taking a little tour of the gardens on her own.

  Her meanderings took her down a steep pathway away from the house. The path was hot and dusty. All around her were the drones of buzzing insects, flying lazily from plant to plant, and the occasional startled cry of a songbird as she disturbed the undergrowth with her gown. Everywhere were features to delight – smart terraces, little hidden valleys, unexpected vistas opening up to the sea. There were stands of timber and flowering shrubs, and large lawned areas, dotted with tropical trees and plants, which dropped gently down towards the deep blue seas beyond. A little stream, linking a series of small ponds surrounded by lush tropical vegetation, babbled delicately as it caressed the stones and rocks in its path. The slight splash of the water merged with the mewing of the gulls and the faint rhythmic lapping of the sea way below to provide a musical backdrop to the whole landscape. Maggie took a seat close beside the stream, in the shade of some large leafy plants, and stared dreamily out over the waters. What a magical place! She could hardly believe that it was real. A deep sense of calmness was all around her. She felt so warm and still and tranquil that she found her eyelids growing heavy. It would have been the work of only a moment for her to drop right off to sleep.

  Deciding that this was probably not a suitable thing for a young lady to do at a garden party, however, Maggie reluctantly roused herself and made her way up some stone steps which led back up the slope towards the house. She came across Mr and Mrs Berkeley, who were now on a lawn in front of their drawing room teaching some of their guests how to play pell-mell, and stepped over to watch them for a while. As she did so she heard the crunch of gravel on the driveway behind her. An elegant curricle had just appeared. It was being driven in flying style by a single young gentleman who was now screeching to a halt to the accompaniment of flaying hooves. Mr Berkeley went across to greet him. Mrs Berkeley remained on the lawn and invited Maggie to share the lesson but before she had a chance to give her a response Maggie spotted Mr Wright in the distance. He was extricating himself from a group of acquaintance who were standing in the shade and walking casually but apparently intentionally in her direction.

  Now, a young woman of Maggie’s intelligence might have been expected to take a moment to reflect on this situation, and to determine that, on balance, it might be wisest to remain in Mrs Berkeley’s kind company rather than to quit it and attach herself to her employer instead. After all, Mr Wright was a married gentleman and his intentions in seeking her out so obviously must therefore b
e thought – well, a little suspect, to say the least. So a wise young lady might well have been expected to remain with Mrs Berkeley on the lawn. But for whatever reason – maybe the wine or the heavy sunshine had gone to her head, maybe she was just feeling a little reckless, or alone – Maggie decided to forego any chance of thinking about what she was doing and thereby of reaching a mature and sensible decision. She simply smiled at Mrs Berkeley, declined her invitation, and walked casually but intentionally towards Mr Wright in her turn. Their routes met just by a little pathway leading into the shrubbery. Glancing quickly around and apparently satisfying himself that no-one was watching, he looked pointedly at the little path and, once they were both upon it, turned to Maggie and offered her his arm.

  Mr Wright had looked about him before disappearing onto the pathway but his movements – and hence those of his companion – did not go entirely unseen. Two people, at least, happened to spot his rather surreptitious activities, and wonder. The first was Mrs Berkeley who, having been just a little surprised that Maggie should decline her overture, was maybe attuned to seeing what she was intending to do. The other was Mrs William Wright herself.

  Maggie, blissfully unaware that anyone had spotted them at all, was conscious of a most pleasant sensation which appeared to be stemming from the pit of her stomach – a sensation which so closely resembled that of her first foray into the boudoir of her best friend’s mama when they were both just eleven years old, there to try out all the powders, paints and diverse ointments which they discovered awaiting exploration on her sizeable dressing table by the window, that just for a moment she felt almost like a child again. It was a pity that this particular foray had led to some unintended consequences in the form of a supperless evening in solitary confinement and an early retreat to bed. Had it not been for this unfortunate conclusion the sensation would surely have been even more delightful than it was.

  ‘Did you put on that gown especially for me, Miss Owens?’ were Mr Wright’s opening remarks. ‘It is certainly most becoming.’

  If Maggie thought this a little forward she certainly did not mention it.

  ‘Now why should you think that I would do such a thing, Mr Wright?’ she asked him, demurely. ‘After all, I am only your governess and you are a married gentleman.’

  Mr Wright felt more than equal to a rejoinder such as this one.

  ‘All the more reason for you to do so, then, I should say,’ he replied, squeezing her arm a fraction as he held it. ‘Perhaps I am in a position of power over you. It would therefore be most important to please me – do you not think?’

  Maggie gave him a sideways glance.

  ‘I should always hope to please you, sir,’ she said, decorously. ‘I trust that Will and Augusta are progressing as you would hope. After all, I am most anxious to do whatever you might wish.’

  Mr Wright laughed a little.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I wonder if you know what I wish for at this very moment?’

  ‘No indeed. How could I? Perhaps a discussion on the children’s next lessons? Or maybe to plan for Perry’s introduction to the schoolroom?’

  ‘Do you know, Miss Owens, I had thought you a particularly intelligent creature, with those deep brown eyes and thoughtful gaze. I had put you down as a most intelligent young woman indeed yet I find that you have not guessed my desire at all.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should tell me, sir. Perhaps my education has been sadly lacking in the art of divining a gentleman’s desires?’

  They had reached the thickest part of the shrubbery by this time and perhaps it was the lack of sunshine that made Maggie shiver as William stopped in his tracks, tilted her chin with his finger, took her in his arms and kissed her long and hard on her lips. She could feel his hand as it stroked her neck. She could feel a swell of excitement as the other hand slid down her back caressingly. But just as she was wishing that the moment could continue for ever, just as she was wishing that the embrace would never end, end it did, and abruptly, as she suddenly became aware of the sound of footsteps coming towards them, crackling on some lying twigs nearby. They were treading stealthily from the direction that she and Mr Wright had themselves come from only a very few moments before.

  ‘Quickly,’ whispered William. ‘Slip between those bushes there. I will walk towards them on my own.’

  There was not a moment to lose. The footsteps were getting ever closer. Indeed, their owner should no doubt have seen them already had it not been for a lucky bend in the path, which still hid each party from view. Maggie pushed herself between the bushes that William had indicated and held her breath.

  ‘Ah, there you are, my dear,’ she could hear him say cheerily. ‘I had thought you had come this way and was trying to find you – but I see that I was mistaken.’

  Maggie could then hear the ponderous articulation of Mrs William. It was stemming from a spot not three yards away from her.

  ‘And why on earth would you think that I had come along here, William?’

  It was not an unreasonable question, but one that William was more than capable of parrying.

  ‘But you are come along it, my love. Do I not see you with my own eyes?’

  From her vantage point within the shrubs Maggie thought this an extremely impressive response. She would like to have giggled but she could just detect the portly form of Mrs William through the leaves, luckily angled slightly away from her but still looking curiously menacing for all that, and desisted. Indeed, for one awful moment it appeared that her gentle employer was looking round, trying to detect whether there was something else – or someone else - who was in the shrubbery and who really should not have been in there with William at all.

  ‘But I am only here because I saw you come this way. I thought that awful governess was with you.’

  ‘Miss Owens? Why, yes, I think she did follow me in for just a second – her shoe had become undone and she wanted to fasten it away from prying eyes, I believe. She only followed for a yard or two – until she could be certain that no-one else would see. I just carried on along here. She must have found an alternative way out. There are plenty of pathways in this shrubbery after all.’

  Maggie could see that Mrs William was not totally convinced but, her husband treating her to a similar display of affection to the one he had just shown her, she apparently decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and put her suspicions behind her. Giggling like a young girl, she hit him soundly on the buttocks, called him not to be so stupid, and exited the shrubbery with him, arm in arm together.

  Considering the traffic attracted to it that afternoon it is probably fortunate that Mrs Berkeley’s shrubbery was as extensive as it was. For no sooner had Mr and Mrs Wright disappeared from Maggie’s view and she was just beginning to wonder whether it would be safe for her to exit her hiding place than another set of footsteps became apparent and she was obliged to remain secreted there for a few moments more.

  This time the footsteps belonged to two people. One of the people was known to her, for they heralded the dainty form of Miss Brewer, tripping along fairy-like in her soft kid slippers and almost sheer, white muslin gown. The other was not known to her at all, though she recognised in him the driver of the curricle that had recently come to a standstill on the drive, and he was apparently more than well known to Miss Brewer.

  ‘No, no, Augustus,’ she was lisping, ‘it was ’05, I swear, as I had only come out of school the previous summer and become betrothed to Berkeley a few weeks before I met you.’

  The gentleman she was talking to gave a hearty laugh.

  ‘Well, how ever many years it is it’s a monstrous long time, Miss Brewer. I had expected to find you married and with children by now. Yet here you are, exactly the same, and looking even more beautiful and provocative than ever. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw you at the ball.’

  At this point Miss Brewer apparently bestowed a pout upon her companion, for he laughed again, rewarded the pout with a careless kiss of his o
wn, and placed his arm around her waist as they continued their ramble along the path.

  In spite of her own near miss, Maggie was finding her role as hidden spy a most entertaining one. She remained in her hideout for a few minutes more, allowing herself the idle luxury of wondering who else might stumble along the same way to provide her with some amusement, but then decided that she may well be missed were she to remain at her post for the rest of the afternoon. So she made up her mind to move, pushed her way back through the heavy branches, and set off down the path in the direction from which she had come. Well, this at least was her intention. In fact, it did not prove quite possible for her to set off down the path, for no sooner had she extricated herself from the bushes than she found that she was being held back by a treacherous branch from that same hideout, which had somehow managed to attach itself to the rear of her gown and was threatening to rip it quite to shreds should she have the temerity to continue on her way.

  It should have proved quite straightforward to extricate a piece of branch from a gown but for some reason Maggie found that she was quite unable to do so. She looked behind herself and sighed deeply. It was apparent that her hideout had also been the chosen home of some low-hanging brambles and it was their spiky tendrils that were holding her in their viciously tenacious grip. Indeed, so determined were they to retain her where she was that no sooner did she loosen one fragment than another piece grasped her in its stead. She looked again and groaned. Of all the bad luck. Why did these things always seem to happen to her?