by Ann Barker
It was quite a novelty for Emily to have companions with whom she could visit the shops. When she had been growing up, there had been very few other girls of her own age about. Then, with Patrick’s death, it was as if the outside world had become closed to her. Her mother had lost the will to live, and had gradually dwindled into an invalid, eventually needing nursing and constant care. She had finally died when Emily was twenty-three. After the family’s period of mourning was over, there had been no lady who had seemed to feel it to be her responsibility to bring Emily out, so she had stayed chiefly at home, going out to make necessary purchases for the house, or to take her Bible classes, or attend worship in the cathedral, but seldom being invited to social functions, apart from the occasional dinner with other clergy families.
This opportunity to show another lady the shops was a pleasure that seldom came her way, therefore, and she made up her mind to enjoy it, even though the sky had clouded over, and the day that had begun so promisingly now seemed set to deteriorate.
Mrs Trimmer seemed interested in all the shops, not just the ones that were noted for their good food, and Emily made up her mind to show her new friend the bonnet in the milliner’s shop window that had caught her eye. To Emily’s surprise, Sir Gareth also came over to the window, and to her embarrassment, raised his quizzing glass in order to get a better look at the head gear in question.
‘Yes, it is charming,’ Mrs Trimmer agreed. ‘Quite charming.’
‘I agree,’ Sir Gareth answered. ‘Charming, but definitely not for you, Miss Whittaker.’
He had not intended to insult her. In London, he was a gentleman whose impeccable taste had frequently been called upon by friends of both sexes. He had a fine eye for colour, and his own dress was always well chosen and appropriate for his dark colouring. Female acquaintances consulted him with regard to their choice of wall coverings, carpets, curtains and other furnishings. They invited him to their gardens, and asked his opinion about their flowerbeds. When they could, they persuaded him to go with them to the dressmaker or milliner so that he could enable them to be as well dressed as he was.
This expertise was sometimes something of a burden to him, for if he was not firm, he could find himself dispensing advice twenty-four hours a day. However, for certain favoured friends, he was prepared to offer his help, and so when he saw Miss Whittaker, a pleasant woman with whom his sister was disposed to be friendly, possibly intending to purchase a bonnet which would not flatter her in any way, he could not help speaking out.
To Emily, however, his remarks simply told her what she had already suspected: she was too old even to think of wearing something so pretty. She looked up at his face and, as he glanced down at her, he saw from her expression that he had hurt her. Before he could work out how he could have done it, they were addressed by two ladies who had approached them from behind.
‘Miss Whittaker, what a delightful day,’ said the older lady, whose name was Mrs Cummings. She was accompanied by her daughter Jennifer, and she greeted the canon’s daughter far more effusively than usual. As she did so, her glance flickered speculatively towards Mrs Trimmer and, more particularly, her brother. ‘Are you going shopping?’
Feeling disappointed, although she could not think why, Emily introduced her new acquaintances to the two ladies.
‘Are you shopping as well, Sir Gareth?’ Mrs Cummings asked.
‘Not as such, ma’am,’ the baronet replied politely. ‘I’m simply here to guard these ladies from all the perils that Lincoln might provide.’
‘How gallant!’ Miss Cummings exclaimed admiringly, and cast down her lashes.
‘And how are you enjoying Lincoln, Mrs Trimmer?’ the young lady’s mother asked. ‘Miss Whittaker and I know it well, do we not?’ By such means, Mrs Cummings managed to engage both Emily and Aurelia in conversation, leaving Sir Gareth free to entertain Jennifer, a circumstance which, from the girl’s expression, seemed to please her enormously.
In this way, they walked to the end of the street. Emily responded to Mrs Cummings’s pronouncements about the various shops and tried to suppress the resentment that she was feeling at her suspicion that that lady appeared to be taking over her new friend. At the same time, she was very conscious of the conversation going on behind her, Jennifer’s tinkling laughter being punctuated by the richer sound of Sir Gareth’s deep voice.
At last, they reached Mrs Cummings’s carriage, and Sir Gareth politely handed the ladies in. ‘It has been so agreeable to meet you, Mrs Trimmer,’ said Mrs Cummings, smiling graciously. ‘So pleasing to have some interesting female company nearby, for a change. You must call and see us very soon, and of course bring your husband and your brother. We have some delightful gardens which you will enjoy exploring.’
‘Thank you, you are very kind,’ Aurelia replied, smiling. ‘My sons will enjoy doing so as well.’
Mrs Cummings opened her eyes very wide. ‘Oh, you have sons!’ she exclaimed. ‘Well, I am sure they will … will …’ Her voice tailed off.
Mrs Trimmer’s eyes took on a decidedly martial sparkle, but before she could say anything Sir Gareth said with a twinkle, ‘It will, however, be difficult to call upon you when we do not know your direction.’
‘Oh, Miss Whittaker knows where we live,’ said Mrs Cummings carelessly.
‘Then she must bring us next time she visits you,’ Sir Gareth responded, bowing.
As the carriage was leaving with a clattering of wheels along the cobbles, Mrs Trimmer stared after it in indignation. ‘Oh, you have sons!’ she said, mimicking Mrs Cummings’s plummy tones with a fair degree of accuracy. ‘Detestable woman! Why, anyone would think that they were Barbary apes, from the way that she was speaking!’
Sir Gareth pursed his lips. ‘Well, now that you come to mention it,’ he murmured.
‘Oh, you!’ exclaimed Mrs Trimmer, laughing and hitting her brother in the midriff with her reticule. She turned to Emily apologetically. ‘I am sorry for speaking in such a way, for I gather that Mrs Cummings is an old acquaintance of yours, but really, I cannot allow anyone to speak disparagingly about Oliver and James.’
‘I suppose that is why you have inflicted damage upon me which may be lasting and, who knows, even fatal,’ the baronet remarked, rubbing his midriff.
‘Nonsense,’ answered Mrs Trimmer calmly. ‘You are not hurt at all. In any case, you know that I am referring to strangers and bare acquaintances, not to those who, like yourself, know and love the boys already.’ She looked at Emily. ‘I do beg your pardon,’ she said. ‘We are monopolizing the conversation with family concerns, which must be dull to you.’
‘Not at all,’ Emily replied, feeling a little envious of their closeness. ‘It is simply that I am not used to the kind of informal relationships that you enjoy. And please do not worry about speaking about Mrs Cummings. I … I have sometimes found her a little trying, myself.’
‘Miss Cummings seems to be a sweet child, however,’ Sir Gareth remarked casually.
The three companions passed the last of the shops and continued walking, keeping the cathedral to their right. ‘How old is this place?’ Sir Gareth asked Emily after they had walked in silence for a short time. ‘Part of the west front looks Norman, but the rest of the building is not, surely?’
Emily proceeded to tell him about the construction of the cathedral, a subject that interested her very much. As they walked, however, the deterioration in the weather continued, so that by the time they reached Emily’s house, drops of rain had begun to fall. Bidding a brief farewell, Mrs Trimmer, no doubt concerned for her charming straw bonnet, hurried off in the direction of her own home at what looked suspiciously like a run. Sir Gareth, however, apparently oblivious to the rain, escorted Emily right up to her front door.
‘Would you like to come in?’ she asked him, not wanting him to get wet, but then feeling dreadfully bold, for she knew, as the baronet did not, that her father would certainly not be within at this time.
‘Thank you, no,�
� he answered, stepping close to the porch so as to shelter a little. ‘My sister will be expecting me to follow her.’
‘I … thank you for bringing me home,’ Emily stammered. She was now faced with a dilemma. The front door was rather heavy, and somewhat prone to shut of its own volition; so as long as Sir Gareth stood here almost in the doorway, she was obliged to hold the door open whilst she was speaking with him. Consequently, they were standing rather close to one another, and this had the effect of making her feel confused. If only he were not so very attractive!
So flustered was she that she actually missed most of what he was saying, only catching his last few words: ‘… quite magnificent.’
This word seemed to be so much in tune with her thoughts concerning his appearance that she found herself simply repeating it whilst looking up at him. He grinned down at her. ‘I was referring to the view from the cathedral tower in good weather, Miss Whittaker,’ he explained, his dimples more pronounced than ever.
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Emily, feeling as if she was all one blush from her head to her feet. ‘Of … course! That … that is what you meant. I knew it all the time …’ Her voice tailed away.
‘Of course you did,’ he answered her soothingly. ‘After all you could not possibly have been lost in the pages of some unsuitable novel, could you?’ She stared at him, quite unable to think of an answer. After a moment or two he spoke again. ‘As an excursion is clearly impossible today, may we presume upon your good nature on another occasion?’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ Emily replied, by now quite desperate to close the door on him before she embarrassed herself any further. ‘Please, do hurry home before it really begins to rain hard.’
Sir Gareth smiled and tilted his hat. ‘I am not made of icing sugar, Miss Whittaker,’ he said with a twinkle. ‘Anyone would think that you wanted to get rid of me.’ Then, after bidding her good day, he hurried after his sister.
CHAPTER NINE
Emily did not see Sir Gareth again until the following Sunday, when she attended the morning service in the cathedral. She sat in her usual place, and kept her head down when he entered, escorting Mrs Trimmer and the two boys. But even with her gaze averted, she noticed that he was looking very elegant in a coat of charcoal grey cloth that matched his eyes, and her heart churned inside her in the most disconcerting way.
It was very annoying that this should happen, she reflected, for ever since that meeting with the Cummingses in Bailgate, she had been telling herself very firmly that she should stop thinking about the baronet immediately. He did not belong to her world; he was clearly destined for someone like Jennifer Cummings. She would be very well advised to put him out of her mind. So she had kept out of his way, avoided all the Trimmers, and even responded to Aurelia’s kind enquiry with a message that she had a headache and needed a day or two’s quiet.
Then she had applied herself energetically to her duties, both at home and with the Bible class, forcing herself to think about other things. But now, she only had to see a shaft of sunlight picking out the silver flecks in his hair and she was as captivated as she had ever been.
She recalled a conversation that she had heard years ago between two girls who lived in the Minster Yard. They were both married now and living far away, but at that time one of them had become infatuated with one of the younger clergymen who had come to serve in the cathedral. When it had been revealed that he had become engaged to be married, she had cried her eyes out. ‘It’s no good,’ she had wailed. ‘I know that he is not for me; but it does not seem to make any difference. When I see him, my heart beats twice as fast as it should, and I feel myself blushing. When he is not there I look for him, and I have to stop myself from walking past his house all the time, just so that I will catch a glimpse of him.’
At the time, Emily had thought that the girl was rather foolish. Now, she could recognize many of the same symptoms in herself. No wonder novel reading is frowned upon, she concluded. I will beat this infatuation. I’m thirty years old, after all; not a silly schoolgirl!
With all the determination that she possessed, she concentrated on the Dean’s sermon so fiercely that afterwards, that good man read carefully through his notes to try to find out what he might have said concerning the lost coin that had made Miss Whittaker look so annoyed.
After the service when everyone left by the west door, Emily hung back a little, not wanting to risk being made to feel small again by Mrs Cummings. As she was lingering inside, she heard a voice speak her name, and turning, she saw Dr Boyle standing next to her.
‘Miss Whittaker, what a pleasure to see you again,’ he declared.
Observing him now, having had a chance to admire Sir Gareth’s looks, she thought that he looked more like a weasel than ever; but he was a friend of comparatively long standing, so she smiled back at him and said, ‘It is a pleasure to be home, Dr Boyle.’
‘I trust you left Mrs Fanshawe in good health?’ he asked her, as they walked to the door together.
‘She seemed very well the last time I saw her,’ Emily informed him. ‘I have also had a letter from her which gives the same news. I think that the presence of her husband has done her as much good as the sea air.’
‘Ah yes,’ the doctor agreed, bending gallantly over her hand in the doorway. ‘True affection must always make a difference.’
Looking up, she saw Sir Gareth, his sister and Mrs and Miss Cummings standing a few feet away. Sir Gareth was listening attentively to something that Jennifer was saying, but his eyes flickered towards the door, and Emily knew that he had seen them. She noticed, with a pang, that Jennifer was wearing what she had thought of as ‘her’ bonnet, and that she looked ravishing in it.
The fact that the doctor was with her lent her courage, and laying her hand on his arm in a way that she had not done before, she said to him, ‘Come, sir, I think you have not met the latest arrivals in the Close.’
Mrs Trimmer was very pleased to meet the doctor and asked him to leave his direction at her house. ‘I am sure that if you attend my friend’s family, you must be more than competent,’ she said, smiling.
‘You are too good, ma’am,’ the doctor replied, gratified.
Mrs Trimmer began to ask the doctor about a treatment for influenza which she had heard of elsewhere, and whilst Mrs and Miss Cummings were speaking with the dean and his wife, Sir Gareth came over to Emily’s side.
‘Tell me, are there really three hundred and twenty-seven steps up to the top of the tower?’
‘Yes really,’ she answered with a smile. ‘Do not tell me that you are losing enthusiasm, sir.’
‘Certainly not,’ he replied with mock indignation. ‘More screwing my courage to the sticking place, really.’
‘Please do not limit your interest to climbing up the tower,’ she begged him. ‘There is much more to be seen in the cathedral.’ Then it occurred to her that he might think that she was fishing for the chance to show him round, and she coloured. ‘That is to say … of course, you know that that is the case for you are now in it,’ she said hastily. ‘At least, you were until a few minutes ago.’ Then she wanted to slap herself for sounding like a silly middle-aged spinster.
‘So I was,’ he agreed. ‘I do seem to have an unfortunate ability to embarrass you,’ he went on, confounding her.
‘No, no, not at all,’ she responded, still sounding flustered.
‘To distress you, then,’ he said.
‘To distress me?’ she echoed blankly.
‘Mm. When we were shopping the other day, I managed to upset you in some way, and I have been trying to decide how I might have done it.’
‘No, no, there was nothing; nothing,’ she told him, trying to speak calmly. ‘It was not anything that you had done …’ Her voice tailed away, and involuntarily, her gaze lit upon the bonnet that adorned Miss Cummings’s golden head. The beauty turned and smiled winningly.
The baronet smiled back, looked at Emily again and said ‘Ah,’ a note of understanding
in his voice.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said startled.
He looked at her without speaking for a moment, then said, ‘I’m very sorry if you were hankering after that bonnet, but the truth of the matter is that it’s not your colour.’
Again she said, ‘I beg your pardon,’ this time in a voice that was frankly puzzled.
‘I said, it’s not your colour. Take it from a man who knows. Cream, perhaps, or gold, or straw colour, but not white. It would not flatter your complexion at all, believe me.’
At that moment, Aurelia approached them, saying, ‘Do not forget, Emily, you and your father are to dine with us on Tuesday.’
Forget? When it was the first dinner invitation that she had received and been able to accept in months? ‘I shall not forget, Aurelia,’ Emily replied quietly.
‘Are we upon first-name terms, now?’ Sir Gareth asked, grinning at her.
She looked up at him, coloured, said ‘Excuse me,’ and hurried off home.
‘Gareth, how could you so put her out of countenance?’ his sister asked him later.
‘I’d be able to tell you a good deal better if I had any idea to whom you were referring,’ he answered her lazily. They had enjoyed a good meal, the boys were upstairs, and Mr Trimmer was in his study. Sir Gareth, choosing not to sit in the dining-room in solitary state, had brought his glass of port through into the drawing-room.
‘I am speaking of Emily Whittaker, of course,’ his sister replied, her eyes on her sewing.
‘I still don’t understand what you mean,’ he told her, after he had taken another sip of wine.
‘You know perfectly well,’ his sister retorted, putting down her work. ‘She has said herself that she is quite unused to the kind of banter that comes so naturally to you. You embarrassed her very much, and for what reason? You knew perfectly well that she and I were on first-name terms already.’