Lady of Lincoln

by Ann Barker

  ‘Now come and sit down, miss, and I’ll dress your hair,’ said the little maid, taking up Emily’s brush and comb. The girl worked quickly, and by the time she had finished, she had achieved a style that was both modest and becoming.

  ‘Thank you, Mary,’ Emily said gratefully. ‘You have done very well.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind doing more of this kind of work, miss,’ the maid admitted. ‘But you never seem to need me very much.’ She sounded wistful, and Emily, who had always congratulated herself on not giving the servants extra burdens, wondered whether she had actually deprived them of some of the more interesting tasks thereby.

  It was only as Emily picked up the bonnet that she gave a gasp of dismay.

  ‘What is it, miss?’ Mary asked.

  ‘My feet!’ Emily exclaimed, in a voice that was very like a wail. ‘What shall I wear on my feet?’ Her black boots were the newest and the most comfortable that she possessed, but she could not possibly wear a pair of black boots with a buttercup-yellow gown.

  Mary thought for a moment. ‘Wait a minute, miss,’ she said. ‘I’ve got an idea.’ She left the room, and came back a short time later with a pair of light brown boots in her hand. They looked much daintier than Emily’s black ones. ‘Those would do, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Why yes, if they fit me,’ Emily answered, sitting down so that Mary could help her on with them. They did fit and felt as if they would be very comfortable. ‘Where are these from?’ Emily asked.

  ‘They’re my best ones, and nearly new, miss,’ the maid answered proudly. ‘I’d be honoured if you’d wear them.’

  ‘Mary, this is very kind of you,’ Emily declared. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Certain,’ Mary replied. ‘I’ve seen how well you look after your own things, so they won’t come to harm. Besides, I’ll be right glad to think of them wandering around Gainsborough with that Sir Gareth! I wouldn’t mind a stroll in the moonlight on his arm!’

  ‘Mary!’ exclaimed Emily in a shocked tone.

  ‘Sorry, miss,’ replied Mary, not noticeably dashed, ‘but he is handsome, isn’t he? And what a fine pair of shoulders!’ Emily did not dignify this with a reply; but she noticed that Mary was grinning as she helped her on with her bonnet.

  The door bell sounded promptly at half past nine, and Emily’s heart suddenly started to beat rather quickly. Who would have come to collect her, she wondered. She glanced in the mirror one last time, and knew a moment’s indecision. Briefly, she wished that she was wearing one of her own, uninteresting gowns so that she could blend into the background, but it was too late to change now, so with some trepidation she left her room and walked onto the landing. She could see her father talking with Sir Gareth in the hall. Gathering all her courage together, she began to make her descent. The two men glanced up and both fell silent, and Emily, looking down at the baronet, saw on his face an expression that could only mean admiration.

  If those were his sentiments, they were undoubtedly hers as well. Today, he was dressed in a dark-green riding coat and buff breeches, and his clothes fitted him to perfection, his coat stretched without a single visible wrinkle across the shoulders that Mary admired so much. As for his boots, Emily could not remember ever seeing any so shiny before. Mary was right: he certainly was handsome. This very thought gave her cheeks a most becoming colour as she finished her descent.

  Canon Whittaker was the first to speak, and to his daughter’s great astonishment said, ‘Emily, my dear, how lovely you look! Very pretty indeed! Would you not say so, Sir Gareth?’

  ‘You have taken the very words out of my mouth,’ the baronet replied, lifting Emily’s hand and kissing it.

  ‘Thank you, Papa,’ Emily said. She had been preparing herself for all kinds of reactions from her father, ranging from a horrified insistence that she change immediately, to a sorrowful disapproval that she had squandered money on fripperies. So astonished was she at his unexpected praise that by the time she had remembered that Sir Gareth had also complimented her, it was too late to thank him without making it sound like an afterthought.

  ‘I do not recall seeing that gown before,’ remarked the clergyman, before she could make a decision one way or the other. ‘You must wear it more often. It suits you.’

  ‘I am glad that you think so,’ Emily answered tentatively, replying to the second part of her father’s speech and ignoring the first.

  ‘Are you ready, ma’am?’ Sir Gareth asked her.

  ‘Oh yes, certainly. We must not keep the others waiting. Goodbye, Papa.’

  ‘Goodbye, Emily,’ answered her father, surprising her very much by leaning forward and kissing her warmly. ‘Have a lovely outing.’

  ‘You look puzzled,’ said Sir Gareth, when they had got outside. He extended his arm to her and after a brief hesitation she took it, reflecting that when Dr Boyle had done so quite recently, she had quite deliberately put her hands behind her back.

  His comment took her aback, and before she could think of another reply, she found herself saying, ‘To be honest, I was preparing myself for Papa’s disapproval.’ Then she felt disloyal for voicing such a sentiment.

  ‘Of your gown, or of your going on an outing?’ he asked her.

  ‘Of both, I suppose, but chiefly of the gown, I confess.’

  ‘Perhaps you have tried too hard to make up to him for the fact that he lost his son,’ the baronet suggested.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked him.

  ‘Of course you could not become a priest instead of Patrick, but you have in every other way sought to do the kinds of things that you believed that Patrick would have done, and of which your father would have approved. The consequence is that your father has readily accepted your self-effacing diligence, but has never until today seen you for the very attractive woman that you are.’

  ‘Oh,’ whispered Emily, blushing at this mild compliment. Glancing down at her rosy face and shy smile, the baronet suddenly felt his heart give a little lurch. If such a modest compliment gave such pleasure, he wished that he had said something more extravagant. Fortunately, since Emily could not think of a response, they soon turned the corner and saw Mrs Trimmer’s elegant barouche standing outside. A little further away, two grooms were looking after a fine black horse, a chestnut with a lighter mane, and a piebald pony.

  Mr Trimmer and his two sons were talking to one of the grooms and, as Emily drew nearer, she could see Oliver shuffling impatiently, whilst James was saying ‘Papa, why can I not go on my pony as well? I don’t want to go in the barouche.’ Involuntarily she smiled and glancing briefly up at the baronet, saw that he was smiling too.

  At that moment, Mrs Trimmer came out of her front door looking very attractive in a gown of deep rose, with a shawl of a lighter shade of pink. ‘Emily, how lovely you look, and what a pretty gown!’ she exclaimed, without a blush.

  ‘Thank you,’ Emily answered, a little self-consciously. ‘You are looking delightful too, Aurelia.’ She could not help wondering whether it was entirely appropriate that the wife of a clergyman should be so unashamedly duplicitous!

  ‘Would you like to step inside for a few minutes?’ asked Mrs Trimmer. ‘Annis and Stuart should have been here by now, but I must admit that I am not entirely surprised that they are late.’

  ‘They will be here quite soon, I’m sure,’ replied Sir Gareth reassuringly. As soon as they had arrived at the Trimmers’ house, Emily had drawn her hand out of his arm. She was surprised, and a little annoyed with herself, at how much she missed that contact.

  ‘You are very optimistic,’ murmured his sister. ‘Do you have any grounds for your belief?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Gareth replied. ‘Very good grounds. The time is now almost ten o’clock. I informed them that we wanted to set out by nine, and they are merely an hour late.’

  Both ladies laughed at that. ‘Gareth, for shame!’ his sister exclaimed, as soon as she was ready. ‘Such deceit!’

  ‘My dear sister, you would be surprised how mendacio
us I can be, given the necessity,’ answered the baronet blandly.

  Sure enough, moments later, and before the members of the party already assembled could go inside, Lord Stuart and his cousin came through the Exchequer gate, with a groom leading the gentleman’s horse. To Emily’s surprise, however, they were accompanied by Dr Boyle.

  Dressed in a riding coat of hair brown, he looked more rodent-like than ever; and this expression was accentuated when, on catching sight of Emily, he poked out his nose and, as soon as he was close enough, exclaimed, ‘Miss Whittaker! Where upon earth did you get that gown?’

  Emily flushed with mortification, a feeling which was only increased by the sound of Mrs Hughes’s smothered laughter.

  Before she could say anything, however, she heard Sir Gareth’s deep voice, but speaking in the accents of a society drawl that she had not heard upon his lips before. ‘Gad, Dr Wen—’

  ‘Dr Boyle, sir,’ interrupted the doctor, not sure whether to take offence or not.

  ‘Boyle, then; where the deuce do you think she got it? Off a mulberry bush? It’s from a modiste’s of course.’

  ‘Yes, I dare say,’ the doctor agreed. ‘But when did you get it, Miss Whittaker, and from where?’

  ‘Upon my soul, Doctor, you are impertinently curious about where a lady gets her gowns,’ declared Aurelia, her brows soaring.

  The doctor flushed an unbecoming red. ‘Just so; I beg your pardon, ma’am.’

  ‘It is not my pardon you should be begging,’ Aurelia told him roundly. ‘Emily will be far more forgiving than I, if she permits you to give her your arm for so much as a step today.’

  ‘Of course,’ the doctor answered in mortified tones. ‘My apologies, Miss Whittaker.’

  Mrs Hughes was not so easily satisfied, however. Scenting a mystery, she said curiously, ‘Miss Whittaker, I trust that I too, will not be condemned for unseemly curiosity, but I confess that I should be interested to know where you procured such a charming gown. If Lincoln boasts such fashionable modistes, I might be tempted to purchase something on my own account while I am here.’

  Emily stood silently, unable to think of anything to say. For her own part, she would have been happy to say from the very beginning that she had borrowed the gown from Mrs Trimmer. Now that Aurelia herself had come so powerfully to her defence however, she could not help but realize that to reveal the truth at this juncture would not only make her look foolish, it would make her friend look foolish too.

  Before the silence could become embarrassing, however, Sir Gareth spoke again. ‘Annis, my dear, you have no need to question Miss Whittaker any further. I can tell you everything you wish to know about this gown.’ To Emily’s consternation, he walked slowly around her, quizzing glass in hand, whilst Aurelia tried not to look anxious. ‘Firstly, I can tell you that it was not made in Lincoln. It is from a London modiste; Mme Claudine, I would say, if I had to hazard a guess. Secondly, it displays the unmistakable stamp of my sister’s taste, and I would say that she probably gave advice on the colour and style. My guess, Annis, would be that Aurelia procured it from London on Miss Whittaker’s behalf. Am I correct, Aurelia?’

  Mrs Trimmer laughed and clapped her hands, as much from relief as amusement. ‘You are quite correct, Brother,’ she told him. ‘I certainly ordered the gown myself from Mme Claudine. See how well it becomes Emily. Did I not make a good choice, Mrs Hughes?’

  ‘Very good,’ answered that lady briefly. She was by no means pleased to see how pretty Emily looked, or to hear how promptly Sir Gareth had defended her, or even to discover in what good standing Emily appeared to be with the Trimmers. ‘Shall we set off now? We do not want to stand in the street talking about Miss Whittaker’s gown all day, surely.’

  There was general agreement with this sentiment, if not with the way in which it had been expressed, and Sir Gareth and Lord Stuart stepped forward to help the ladies into the barouche. James had been reconciled to travelling with the ladies, since he had been promised that he could sit next to Phillips, the driver, for both journeys.

  ‘I suppose Wayne could have come after all,’ Mrs Hughes remarked, noting that there was an empty seat. ‘I told her that she must stay behind because there was no space.’ Mrs Trimmer, naturally, had taken the front facing seat, so that she could keep half an eye on James. Mrs Hughes had arranged herself next to her hostess, leaving Emily with no alternative but to face the back.

  She did not mind. This was such an unusual treat for her that she did not care which way she sat. As she observed the gentlemen mounting their horses, and her eyes chanced to take in how athletically Sir Gareth took to the saddle, she realized, colouring, that this position had unforeseen benefits!

  ‘Poor Miss Wayne,’ Mrs Trimmer was saying. ‘Indeed there is plenty of room. We could send for her now, if you wished.’

  ‘Good heavens no,’ responded Mrs Hughes. ‘I only keep her for form’s sake; I take no pleasure in the woman’s company, you know. Besides, she set off quite early this morning to go for a long walk. I think that she is planning to visit the cathedral later.’ Her tone suggested that she could not understand why anybody could possibly want to do such a thing.

  Emily glanced at Mrs Trimmer and then had to look away. She could tell that they were both wondering whether Miss Wayne disliked her employer’s company as much as Mrs Hughes disliked hers! All at once, Emily recalled her idea that Miss Wayne might make a suitable governess for James and Oliver. She resolved to try to speak to Aurelia about it that very day.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was about seventeen miles to Gainsborough, and they reached the little country town shortly before midday. The gentlemen rode beside or just behind the carriage for the most part, a fact which soon became apparent to Mrs Hughes. Her attempts to keep them in her eye became quite ludicrous at times. Of course, she could not keep turning around, for that would have been openly rude, but she did turn as much sideways on the seat as she possibly could. This meant that at one point, when they went over an unexpectedly bumpy place on the road, she was very nearly thrown onto the floor of the carriage, and rapidly had to take up a more sensible posture in order to avoid being made to look even more ridiculous.

  Lord Stuart rode his horse with the careless ease of one who has been taught to do so from the cradle. Out of all of the horse-riders, it was he who rode alongside the barouche most frequently, sharing his attentions equally between all the ladies. Dr Boyle attempted to do the same, but he did not have the same facility on horseback, and after nearly falling off on one occasion, he kept to riding behind the barouche.

  Oliver trotted gamely along on his pony, and Emily noticed that either his father or his uncle always stayed close by, keeping a careful eye on him. Emily could see the gentlemen quite clearly most of the time, but she took care not to stare at any of them, although Sir Gareth certainly cut a very fine figure in the saddle. This determination of hers was made rather difficult, however, because for some of the time, there was an excellent view of Lincoln Cathedral that was different from the one to which she was accustomed. Strangely enough, this view often seemed to be just behind Sir Gareth.

  After gazing at the building for a little while, Emily became conscious of being observed, and glancing away from the cathedral, her gaze met that of Sir Gareth, who guided his mount alongside the barouche.

  ‘A magnificent spectacle, wouldn’t you say?’ he declared, a twinkle in his eye.

  At once, there came into Emily’s mind a memory of how they had stood on the threshold of her house, and she had breathed the word ‘magnificent’ whilst looking straight at him. ‘What can you mean, sir?’ Emily asked defensively, her cheeks suffused with colour. She looked across and saw to her relief that Mrs Hughes and Mrs Trimmer were engaged in conversation.

  ‘Why, the cathedral, of course,’ he answered. ‘What other spectacle did you have in mind?’

  Confused, she did not know how to answer him. She was relieved when Mrs Hughes claimed his attention, and she wa
s able to calm herself by looking at the passing scenery.

  On arriving in Gainsborough, they made their way immediately to the White Hart. ‘How odd,’ murmured Mrs Hughes. ‘We are staying at the White Hart in Lincoln, too.’

  ‘Dashed odd,’ her cousin agreed. ‘We’ll have to take care we don’t forget where we are, eh Blades?’

  ‘You should be quite safe, Stuart,’ the baronet responded. ‘If you do not see the cathedral, then you will know you are in Gainsborough.’

  ‘Ah, but that won’t work,’ the young lord pointed out triumphantly. ‘Y’see, you can’t see the cathedral from the White Hart in Lincoln. Too dashed close, don’t you know?’

  ‘You’ll just have to ask someone if you’re not sure,’ the baronet told him.

  ‘But no one would be so confused by the name of the inn that he would forget which town he was in,’ the doctor protested.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Lord Stuart returned. ‘Take me for instance; went out for a night’s gambling with a few fellows. Popped into Old White’s; drank a bottle of as smooth a red as I’ve tasted in a long time – have you had any from there, Blades?’

  ‘Not recently,’ Sir Gareth answered, keeping his eye on his two nephews whilst their father was seeing to the disposal of the barouche.

  ‘Well, make sure you do before it’s all gone. Anyway, left White’s, popped in to Boodle’s – or was that another night? Never mind; thing is, I chanced to bump into Freddy Gorringe – you know him?’

  ‘Slightly,’ the baronet replied.

  ‘Went to his lodging for a hand of cards. Had devilish bad cards, too. No luck all evening.’ He stopped speaking, and beamed around at the other members of his party who were preparing to go into the inn. Aware that some of them at least were looking at him expectantly, he said, ‘What? What is it?’