‘But that's Mr Morgan,’ murmured a footman, who was carrying a tray of silver from the butler's pantry to the breakfast room. ‘It's young Mr Morgan, come home again!’
‘Owen Morgan?’ demanded the housekeeper. ‘Little Owen Morgan, who made his addresses to Miss Jane?’
‘The very same. But grown up, and made his fortune by the look of it!’ exclaimed the cook, delightedly.
By seven o'clock, the whole house was wide awake, and buzzing with the good news.
* * * *
Owen was welcomed with open arms. Rebecca wept, then beamed, then wept again, embracing and kissing him like a mother all the while. Even Ellis greeted him cordially, and shook him by the hand. But Jane merely hugged him in silence, her heart too full to speak.
Rayner was not there to greet his cousin, for he was making a tour of Scotland in the company of his wife and parents–in–law. Two years ago, he had finally married Isabel Graham, the little freckled thing who had grown up to become the undisputed belle of Warwickshire.
But Owen hardly so much as marked their absence, for he had eyes only for Jane. ‘I was so afraid you would pine,’ he said, as they walked in the rose garden, hand in hand, their fingers entwined. ‘I worried lest you might grow thin and pale. But these days, you're even lovelier than you were before.’
Jane blushed, then laughed. ‘There's rather more of me to be lovely,’ she admitted, somewhat ruefully. ‘I am too fond of sweets and pastries for my own good.’
‘You're beautiful.’ Owen smiled at her. Seeing her look so pretty, observing that her complexion glowed and that her eyes were bright, did his heart good.
Everybody noticed the change in him. Everybody saw it, and remarked that Owen himself looked older, much older in fact. There were fine lines on his forehead now. The crow's feet were spreading inexorably about his large, dark eyes.
But maturity suited him. It gave some distinction to his features. Rubbing away the childish roundness of his cheeks, it revealed the fine bone structure he'd inherited from his mother. Nowadays, he looked even more like the squire.
* * * *
‘My aunt looks tired tonight,’ observed Owen, as he and Jane took a last stroll before retiring to bed.
‘I'm afraid Mama has not been well of late.’ Jane sighed. ‘My father has consulted physician after physician. All have examined her, of course, and talked with her at length. But none can identify a particular ailment or complaint.
‘Their consensus seems to be, that her fatigue is the result of a constitutional weakness. Something which needs no treatment but rest and freedom from care.’
‘That's what medical men always say, when they cannot tell what causes those symptoms the patient has described.’ Sighing too, Owen shook his head. ‘She seems cheerful enough, however. In herself.’
‘She's delighted to see you.’ Jane hugged him round the waist. ‘As are we all, of course. Even my father welcomes you home again.’
* * * *
The following morning, after breakfast, Jane and Owen were the last to leave the table. As they dawdled over a third or fourth cup of chocolate, they were joined by Maria again.
‘Those wretched children!’ she complained, plumping herself down in her father's chair. ‘I have no patience with them! They defy their nursemaids, are disrespectful towards their governess — and are so saucy with me that I positively itch to smack them, hard!
‘But here is the conundrum. When they are with their Aunt Jane, they are as meek as little mice. As good as even the purest gold.’
‘Shall I go up and see them?’ offered Jane. ‘They may air their grievances then. Though their demands are never so unreasonable, we will doubtless reach an amicable compromise.’
‘Oh, leave them to howl.’ Crossly, Maria sucked her teeth. ‘Let Betty and Martha sort them out. As they are paid to do! Have you asked him yet?’ she demanded, meeting Owen's eyes.
‘I'm sorry?’ murmured Owen, smiling.
‘Don't be deliberately obtuse.’ Unappeased, Maria glared back at him. ‘He can hardly persist in his obstinacy now. At any rate, he cannot pretend you are just a child, who does not know his own mind. Or a heartless fortune– hunter, who seeks to dazzle and entrap a young and foolish girl.’
‘Maybe not.’ Owen shrugged. ‘I shall not speak to the squire yet,’ he said. ‘You see, I mean to leave Warwickshire before the end of next week.’
‘What do you intend to do then?’
‘I'd thought of going down to Bristol.’ Taking Jane's hand in his, Owen held it. ‘These days, you see, I understand commerce. I can afford to buy shares in cargoes to China, the Indies, the Americas. In due course, I might even become a shipper myself.’ Owen glanced back towards Jane. ‘Would your father let you become a merchant's wife?’
‘I don't see why not. He married a manufacturer's grand–daughter. He has interests in trade on his own account.’ Jane herself shrugged now. ‘He's done very well out of the French wars and the resulting blockades. Although he'd sooner die than admit it, to be sure.’
‘Ask him today,’ urged Maria. She shook her cousin by the wrist. ‘Dear Owen, why lose any more time? He spoke to you very pleasantly this morning. These days, he is almost disposed to like you. Strike while the iron is hot, I say.’
‘Should I?’ Considering, Owen bit his lip. ‘My dearest Jane, what do you think?’
‘I think my sister is right,’ Jane replied.
‘Very well.’ Owen stood up. ‘If you both deem it advisable, I'll seek an interview. I'll ask him today.’
* * * *
Ellis invited his nephew to be seated, which was in itself a very good start. So, without any prevarication, Owen grasped the nettle. He asked for Jane's hand in marriage.
Ellis pursed his lips. For a long moment, he considered. Finally, he spoke. ‘If you mean to support a wife,’ he began, ‘you will need a sufficient income. What assets do you possess?’
Quickly, Owen explained. ‘I am not a rich man,’ he concluded, modestly. ‘But I am at least well–circumstanced. I could maintain a wife and family in perfect comfort and respectability.’
‘How?’
‘I have invested in a wide range of securities, and from these I derive a good income. It is more than sufficient for my own needs, so — so I — ’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, sir.’ Owen met his uncle's unwavering gaze. ‘I ask for nothing of yours!’ he cried. ‘All I want is a wife! My cousin's fortune is not an issue here, so if you are disposed to withhold — ’
‘But it would not be an encumbrance, either.’ Heavily, Ellis sighed. ‘Your aunt thinks most highly of you,’ he muttered, as if to himself.
‘I love, esteem and admire her,’ rejoined Owen. ‘She has been a second mother to me.’
‘While to her, you are as dear as her own son.’ Ellis stood up. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Would you ask Jane to come and see me?’
‘You mean, you give your consent?’
‘I wish to speak to my child.’ Ellis opened the door of his study, then ushered his nephew out. ‘I need not call a servant,’ he added, drily. ‘You doubtless know exactly where my daughter is to be found.’
* * * *
Jane was beside herself with happiness. Flinging herself into Owen's embrace, she laughed, cried, laughed again, then burst into a flood of tears.
By the time Owen had at last kissed all these away, she was a little calmer. ‘He says we must wait for Rayner and Isabel to come home,’ she said. ‘Well, of course we must. Rayner will be your best man.’
‘Shall you ask Isabel to be matron of honour?’
‘Yes. She and Maria will share that duty, while Catherine and Louise Harding will be bridesmaids.’
‘I see. So this is to be a rather grand affair?’
‘Of course. My father can afford to entertain the whole county. So he shall.’ Jane hugged Owen again. ‘How everyone will stare!’ she cried. ‘They had me marked down for an old maid, you see. Owen?’
‘Yes?’
‘I'm almost thirty.’ Sitting down on a bench, Jane bit her lip. ‘Is that too old to begin a family?’
‘Of course not! My mother was at least that when I was born. You shall have two, four — six children!’
‘Three boys and three girls.’
‘Maybe.’
‘I can't believe it's all going to happen.’ Jane began to sniff again. ‘We've suffered so much,’ she wept. ‘There've been so many years of waiting, waiting, waiting! Owen, did you keep my journals?’
‘Of course I did. I kept them all. I preserved them in amber, every single page.’
‘Did you read them over and over?’
‘Yes, then over and over again. I know them by heart.’
‘Did you always mean to return?’
‘Of course! Every evening, when I looked towards the setting sun, my thoughts turned to you. Now, I said to myself, she is drinking her chocolate and planning her day. Soon, she will be up and dressed, ready to pay a morning call. Oh, my darling! You can't imagine how much I longed for you!’
‘I thought of you, too. Constantly.’
‘I know you did. Jane, has your father heard from Rayner today?’
‘Yes, he has. They expect to be in Warwick on Friday evening.’
‘So the banns can be published, and the wedding could be about a month from now.’ Owen hugged his fiancée to his breast. ‘Well, Mrs Morgan? How do you like the sound of your new name?’
‘Jane Morgan. It sounds plain but honest.’ Ruefully, Jane shook her head. ‘Will you be ashamed to go to church with such an old woman?’
‘What old woman? You look hardly twenty five.’
‘Nonsense. You say that to flatter me. You look at me with the eyes of love. But the rest of the county does not.’
‘I don't care what the rest of the county does, thinks or says. The opinions of a pack of booby squires do not interest me in the least.’
‘Just as well.’ Jane became serious now. ‘I told my mother we would sit with her for a while this evening,’ she said.
‘How is she today?’ asked Owen.
‘A little better, I think. Less feeble, less tired. There's one blessing, anyway — her body may be weak indeed, but her mind is active as it's ever been.’ Standing up, Jane began to walk towards the house. ‘She means to invite your uncle to stay.’
‘That's kind of her.’
‘Then, after we are married, my father intends to take her for a holiday. To the Lake District, then to the coast. The latest physician recommends it, she looks forward to it, so I'm sure it will do her good.’
‘I do hope you're right.’
‘You don't think it's a good idea?’
‘I don't know.’ Owen shrugged. ‘Since my return, I have observed your mother narrowly. From these observations, and from what you have said, I have deduced that the problem must be her heart.’
‘It is failing, you mean?’
‘I hope not. But it's certainly weak. Undue exertion, a sudden shock, a fright — any of those might prove fatal to one in my aunt's delicate state.’
‘Have you spoken to my father about this?’
‘Of course not. He retains the services of eminent physicians. He would despise the opinions of a half–trained apothecary.’ Owen shrugged. ‘In any case, I may well be wrong.’
‘All the same — ’
‘As her physicians say, my aunt needs rest, a wholesome diet, and freedom from anxiety. If she is careful, she could live for many years yet.’
‘You're sure of that?’
‘Perfectly.’ Encouragingly, Owen smiled. ‘We can play our parts, can we not? In fact, my dear Jane, Maria was telling me only this morning that you have relieved my aunt of her cares with regard to the factories in Birmingham. You now oversee the management of those yourself. Is that not correct?’
‘My father and I direct their affairs between us.’
‘So you have taken a great burden from your mother's shoulders, and educated yourself in the process. You will be of inestimable value as the wife and partner of the most ambitious merchant adventurer Bristol has ever seen, will you not?’
‘I hope to be.’ Jane shrugged. ‘Poor Mama,’ she whispered, wretchedly.
‘Don't fret about this.’ Owen took Jane's hand in his. He would not let her be sad! For he had come home to be happy. Not to mourn his aunt.
Chapter 8
The holiday in Scotland had not been a success. The weather, of course, had been awful. The roads, such as they were, turned to mire in the rain, bogging down both carriages and baggage wagons up to their axles, and causing the drivers to swear like military men. The inns were variously grubby, dirty or downright filthy, and the service therein universally execrable. Rayner and Isabel arrived home tired, cross and irritable, at odds with everyone and everything.
Although he tried, Rayner could not like his father– in–law, whom he considered a dull, Colonial bore. Mr Graham loved to shoot, but Rayner hated all field sports, and he had bitterly resented being obliged to spend whole days trudging damply through the Scottish mists, looking for animals to kill. Isabel found her mother's company equally tedious.
As for the young couple — they were no longer in love, and these days they often found themselves reflecting that they did not even like each other very much.
Their home, a gracious, modern house once the property of the Lowell family, but acquired by Ellis Darrow some years since, had been their wedding gift from the squire. Isabel had natural good taste and, lacking any other occupation, she had fitted the place up so beautifully that it was now the envy of all her friends, and admired county– wide. It wanted only a brood of children to make the idyll complete.
No children had been forthcoming. But Isabel was young and strong, Rayner was hearty, and there was plenty of time yet.
Invited over to Easton Hall, the young couple found everyone fizzing and buzzing with energy and happiness. Even Rebecca seemed bright–eyed and vivacious, and was up and busy just like in the old days, before she became ill.
‘Your Mama is brought back to life with a vengeance,’ observed the young Mrs Darrow, as she watched Rebecca practically flirting with her handsome nephew, and playfully tapping his arm with her ivory fan. ‘It's just as I've always maintained. There's nothing wrong with the old biddy. She merely suffers from boredom and ennui. As who would not, married to that tedious old man?’
Rayner made no comment. Nor did he deign to smile. This annoyed his wife extremely, for these days the belle of Warwickshire also fancied herself as something of a wit. She liked to have a receptive audience. At supper that first evening, therefore, she regaled the company with droll accounts of her doings north of the border. She extolled the beauty of the glens, but then expatiated at length on the ferocity of the mosquitoes, which seemed to infest every single one.
‘They're the most diminutive little brutes,’ she admitted, as she removed one long glove to display a row of great red weals, which disfigured her white flesh.
She glanced towards Owen. ‘You're laughing at me now,’ she pouted. ‘Well, perhaps you have reason! In India, I dare say, the mosquitoes are as big as sparrows. Or even speckled hens.’
‘They are certainly rather fearsome beasts,’ agreed Owen, smiling. ‘But they never bothered me.’
‘How fortunate for you. They would doubtless have eaten me alive.’
Drawing on her glove again, Isabel leaned back in her chair. Thus, her beautiful figure was displayed to the best advantage. The diaphanous evening gown, high–waisted and cut rather lower than any respectable matron might have thought proper, clung to each and every curve. These were firm and rounded. Moulded like Grecian marble, in fact. Indeed, statuesque was a word which might have been coined especially to describe Isabel.
The freckles had disappeared completely. ‘But that's all owing to the judicious application of Gowland's Lotion,’ whispered Maria to Owen, who sat next to her at tea. ‘Two years ago,
she was absolutely mottled.’
‘Well,’ thought Owen, ‘she's not mottled now!’
As far as Owen could see, Rayner was more or less indifferent to his wife's charms. While even Ellis Darrow's gaze was drawn again and again to his beautiful daughter–in– law, whilst even the old, proverbially uxorious squire could not resist letting his rheumy eyes wander, Rayner himself was more interested in quizzing his cousin about India. He wished to know all about the domestic lives of the maharajahs, and he was completely enthralled by the gory details of a tiger hunt.
Owen enjoyed telling traveller's tales. So now, his dark eyes sparkling and his features animated, he gave an account of a royal wedding, of a fabulously wealthy rajah to two sisters from a neighbouring state. A natural storyteller, soon he had his audience in the palm of his hand. Even Ellis stopped reading the newspaper, and listened entranced.
When Owen came to describe the dresses and accoutrements of the two brides, Isabel's green eyes became quite round. ‘Diamonds as big as walnuts?’ she whispered. She glanced down at her own little rings. ‘Rubies like hen's eggs?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Owen smiled at her. ‘The poor princesses were quite weighted down with jewels and cloth of gold. They could hardly stagger along.’
Isabel's eyes glowed with greed. She smiled back at him. ‘Were the princesses particularly beautiful?’ she enquired. ‘I ask, because I have heard that some of the native women in that country are exquisite.’
‘I'm afraid I cannot satisfy you there. I never saw a woman of the respectable sort without her veil.’ Owen shrugged. ‘Most women in that part of the world spend their entire lives in purdah. They are occasionally taken out, usually in a litter or bullock wagon. But even then they are heavily shrouded and veiled.’
‘So you hardly ever saw a female face?’
‘I encountered many bazaar women, of course. Also sweepers, servants, nursemaids and the like. Some of them – the young ones especially — were extremely pretty.’
‘Did you meet any English women?’
‘One or two. They were usually the wives of senior officials. Now and again I was introduced to somebody's niece, or daughter.’
The Ash Grove Page 11