by Kira Stewart
“Henrietta, you have been very quiet today, and quite unlike you. We have hardly spoken a word. I do not think we even said hello?”
Tom smiled a most generous and warm smile at the girl. Despite the length of time since he had seen her, he had fond affection for the girl, and seeing her up close, suddenly realised that the missing years had changed her into quite a lovely young lady. He looked at her with new eyes.
“Why look at you, you are grown to be quite a young woman. I bet you have a dozen suitors in the village?”
Henrietta, startled by finding herself suddenly alone with the object of her affections, struggled to speak, feeling herself blush under his gaze.
Puzzled by her reaction, he tried to find common ground.
“Are you still writing, Henry?”
Feeling the anger push aside her embarrassment, the girl found her tongue at last.
“If you mean my silly girlish scribbling, then yes, Mr. Langton, I am still writing, but nothing you would care for. Now, please excuse me, I must take this shawl to my mother.”
As she turned, he held her back, gently by the shoulder.
“Henry, what is all this? And what is all this with the Mr. Langton? Cannot I be plain old Tom again? We used to be good friends, did not we, you and I? You should not take notice of all that silly talk just now at the table. I was only jesting. You know I always enjoyed your stories. Now, let us part as friends, eh?”
Poor Henrietta was on the verge of tears, her head a whirl of mixed emotions.
“We find you quite changed yourself, Mr. Langton. One could never have imagined your humble roots. I do hope that your stay with Lord Elmore and his daughter will be a pleasant one.”
It was all she could manage to muster, before the door opened and William stepped into the hallway looking for her. The boy had been sitting on his own for most of the evening. Etiquette had dictated that he not be too forward on such an occasion as a guest in the household, and his shyness and inability to join in the conversation had kept him quiet for the rest of the meal. He had made an excuse to leave the table, in a hope to see Henry.
“Are you all right, Henry?”
He noted the other man’s hand on her shoulder, before it was quickly removed, and he instinctively and protectively moved closer to her.
Looking at the faces of the two stood in the hallway, he could sense something was wrong.
“It is quite all right, William. I will be through in a minute. My conversation with Mr. Langton is at an end, if you will excuse me, Mr. Langton?”
Confused, the boy lingered for a moment, before returning back to the dining room.
“I must take this shawl to mother.”
Turning to leave, Tom once again placed his hand on her shoulder.
“I am sorry if I have upset you, Henry. I honestly did not mean to. At least you have a new champion. I knew you would have a suitor, although...”
Tom bit his lip. He was about to mention the boy’s stutter, thinking Henry could do much better than to find such a poor specimen as William, but it was not his place to say such things.
Henrietta could feel her anger rise.
“William is not my suitor; we are friends only. I know what you are thinking, but you are wrong. William is a kind and gentle soul, and if I was looking for a suitor, then he would be the one who I would choose. He is the most pleasant and kindest man I have ever had the fortune to meet.”
The young man smiled. The comment was aimed at him and had hit him right on target, and he quickly acquiesced. Henry looked magnificent when she was angry, her eyes flashing green, her hair wild around her pretty face. For a moment, he felt almost envy for the young man, having someone like Henry to champion his cause.
“I am sorry to have upset you, Henry, it was not my intention. May we at least shake hands, and let bygones be bygones?”
Holding out his hand, Henry hesitated to take it, remembering the last time they done so. Still, if this was the last time they were to meet, she could at least be grown up about it.
His hand was warm as it enveloped hers, small within his.
For a moment, a shadow seemed to cross his face, and she wondered if he too remembered the promise they had made so many years ago.
For a moment, Thomas Langton was stirred by something in the girl’s natural beauty. She had a fine temper and a mind of her own, much better than the women he met in Bath.
“I must get back to my mother.” She indicated the shawl, and releasing her hand, stepped back through the hallway and back into the parlour, before he had the chance to say anything further.
And the moment was gone.
Tom Langton sighed and shook his head. He could never understand young women. He had been looking forward to seeing his old friends again, and although he had not thought much about Henry whilst at college, the memories of his youth came flooding back with a bittersweet sensation.
He had expected everything at the rectory to be just as he had left it—even though he himself had changed. This place was his childhood home—a place he thought of with great sentiment on those few times he had felt alone. But he was now a man, and must put such sentimentality behind him. He had forgotten how small Redmond was, compared with Bath and London. He loved the Maldons dearly, but had suddenly noticed their clothing and habits as far inferior to the Abbotsford’s. He mixed in different circles now, and although he did not like to admit it, was becoming quite a snob—surprising for one of his humble background.
It was clear, there was nothing to keep him here, or at least come back for. Throughout the wedding and the breakfast, his conscience had plagued him, feeling guilty for his feeling superior to his old friends, but feeling it nevertheless. Henry was right. He had changed, and had quite outgrown his youth.
She had quite made up his mind; he must forget all about the Maldons. Such acquaintance and sentiment would only hold him back. Great things were now expected of him.
Still, as he left with his mother that afternoon, he still felt a final tug at his heart, as the door of rectory closed behind him, seemingly for good.
6.
A year passed quickly, with no further word or contact from young Tom Langton.
Of course, the Maldons still heard about that particular young man. Gossip was soon spread around small villages like Redmond, by the villagers who loved to hear news of their famous sons and daughters, even embellishing a tale or two, if the stories they were hearing weren’t exciting enough.
At first, there were rumours that he was going to become engaged to Suzanna, Lord Elmore’s daughter. Henrietta had first heard the news from their cook Annie, who in turn, had heard the gossip in the local Inn. The girl had fretted at first, and consulted her father’s newspaper every morning for some printed affirmation of the news, but none came. And then, the news came that he had gone back to Oxford, and apparently left poor Suzanna heartbroken. Henrietta preferred this snippet of gossip, but also criticised the man for being such a cad, whether there was any truth in the rumours or not.
Her schooling had finally come to an end, and she and Kitty were now back at the rectory for good. Only a couple of the boys remained, one of them still William.
He had never mentioned the encounter with her and Thomas Langton at the wedding breakfast. The young man in question was now living far away, and it would be no use in bringing up the past. Their friendship continued in the same amiable way, with no step forward. The young man could not hope to be married before he could support a wife, and his fragile health had prevented him progressing quickly. Henry was safe for a while, and although William often read her poems of love, sometimes his own, his natural shyness prevented any further attempt at intimacy, much to the girl’s relief.
Mrs. Maldon began to worry about her youngest daughter. She would often find the girl sitting by the window and looking out at the world, with a particularly melancholic expression or quietly withdrawn, her nose in a book and her mind far away from the real world. She neit
her approved nor disapproved of her daughter’s friendship with young William. In fact, the Maldons considered themselves a second family to the boy, but she did not want to see her daughter bound to such a fragile young man. Yet, the girl seemed disinterested in other boys, indeed she could have had her pick from the boys in the village. Mrs. Maldon had hoped for her to become friendly with the local doctor’s son, but it came to nothing.
As for Henrietta, she did not really understand what was wrong with her. Angry and sad with a great longing inside, an empty ache that even her books could not fill. She was dearly fond of William, but he did not fill her heart.
When a letter came, suggesting that she spend some time with her sister and husband near Bath, it could not have arrived at a better time.
Whilst Henrietta had spent her time brooding, Jane, now pregnant, was near her time and needed a spare pair of hands to help her prepare for the new addition. Concerned for her eldest daughter, knowing too well the trials and tribulations of childbirth, Mrs. Maldon arranged for herself and Henrietta to spend several months at the vicarage, in the pretty village of Ingle, near Bath. Not only was she concerned for her eldest daughter, but also for Henrietta, too. A change of air and scenery would do her good, especially away from young William. Perhaps she would form a new acquaintance?
William of course, was loath to see her leave, but he had promised to start helping Mr. Maldon with some of his parish duties, with the promise that one day, he could perhaps take over as curate in the not so distant future.
With the promise of writing as often as she could, Henrietta and her mother set off, waving goodbye to a solemn faced William, who stood and watched until their carriage was far out of sight.
•••
The vicarage at Ingle was very pleasant indeed. There was a small walled kitchen garden and an orchard with pears, apples, plums, and cherries.
Jane was pleased to see her sister and mother, and when her time came, the labour was long and arduous.
The baby, Elizabeth, was round and chubby, and occupied Henrietta’s time. Her sister Jane was more than happy to relinquish the care of her firstborn to her sister and mother, thinking she had played enough part by the giving birth. It had not been an easy labour, and she was not enamoured of repeating the process quickly.
Although it was now going out of fashion, Mrs. Maldon persuaded her daughter to send her new baby to a wet nurse in the village. She had done the same with her own children, and for the first three years of their lives, they had lived with Mrs. Pearson, a kindly woman with two children of her own. It had done her children no harm, and it had freed her from the day to day labours of looking after young babies, although, both parents had seen the children every day.
Not being a natural mother herself, and rather weak from the effort of childbirth, Jane soon agreed.
The days were fair, and Henrietta and her mother and sister, would spend some time each day visiting the child.
The summer soon turned to autumn. Henrietta kept her word, and wrote every week back home to William. In return, the young man sent his words of love and wished her a speedy return. The girl was in no rush to return home. It suited her being courted from a distance, where there was no pressure upon her, except for in the written word. In her writing, she made sure she stuck to the safe topics of the weather and young baby, as well as any gossip from the village.
One evening, when Jane was feeling much stronger, her husband Harry, announced that the ladies were in for a great treat. His benefactors had invited him and his family to stay with them in Bath, to speed Jane’s recovery, and they were to go at the end of the month.
There was much excitement and consternation amongst the women. What on earth should they pack and what would they wear? Mrs. Maldon still had sufficient money left over from her small inheritance, for them to visit the nearest town and buy material for new dresses, but they would need to find a dressmaker at short notice.
Then, there was the design of such dresses. Many hours were spent looking through ‘The Ladies Magazine’ and ‘Le Beau Monde’ for details of the latest fashion. A few weeks was not long enough to ensure several new dresses could be made. There was just time perhaps for one new dress each, and some sprucing up and freshening of the old. It was amazing how a new ribbon, velvet, sash, or brocade, could transform an old dress into the latest fashion.
The ladies set to work with some excitement. Even Henrietta could not help but feel a certain excitement about a trip to Bath.
7.
The day finally arrived for the journey to Bath. Although only fifteen miles away, Harry Stephenson’s small curricle, drawn by two ponies, would not accommodate the four of them, so his benefactor, a Mr. James Everton, sent his rather stylish barouche to ferry them to his smart townhouse in Bath.
Mrs. Maldon could hardly believe her eyes, as the smart carriage drew up outside the small vicarage and a smart coach man waited upon them.
“Glory be, Jane. If only Mr. Maldon could see me now. I shall feel like royalty riding in that carriage. Mr. Maldon’s coach shall never feel quite the same again, I do declare, although I must admit it is rather comfortable.”
The Everton’s townhouse was more on the scale of a small mansion house, and was positioned in the most fashionable crescent in Bath. From the elegant pillars that flanked the front steps, to the smart window boxes, no expense had been spared. The group was shown into the light and airy drawing room on the ground floor by the butler dressed all in black with a white cravat. Once they were settled, the door opened once more, and in scampered their small pug dogs, followed by a very smart footman carrying the tea things. Mrs. Maldon, having a fear of most four-legged furry creatures gave a small cry, as one of the pups jumped up onto her lap.
The footman quickly shooed the animals out of the room.
“I am very sorry about that, Madam, but Mrs. Everton does let them have the run of the house. I should advise you to ensure the doors to your bedrooms are kept firmly closed at all times.”
Mrs. Maldon smoothed down her skirts where the dog had sat upon her. She was most put out by the incident.
Their hosts were not at home, but would join their guests later over dinner.
The ladies marveled at the delightfully feminine furnishings, as they perched on a pink velvet chaise lounge and drank their tea from fine blue and white Delph China cups.
“What extreme good taste your benefactors have, Mr. Stephenson. I should think those velvet drape curtains alone cost a pretty penny.”
Mr. Stephenson gave a small cough.
Jane looked uncomfortable, and whispered in a low voice so the waiting footman would not hear.
“Please do not keep mentioning the cost of everything, mother, it is quite vulgar.”
Mrs. Maldon sighed.
“I do hope our dresses are adequate, Jane. This is a much finer house than I had imagined. If only we had the time to prepare better, have the opportunity to purchase more new dresses. My best is the green velvet, and I am not sure now, whether or not I should have had the long sleeves fitted, or the short. What do you think Henrietta? And do try and sit up straight. You will not find an eligible young man if you stoop so, and there are bound to be so many eligible young men in Bath.”
Henrietta sighed. The break in Bath was not going to be as enjoyable as she had first hoped, with her mother constantly watching and pushing her for an advantageous match. Adjusting her posture, she addressed her mother, not wanting to cause a scene in front of the servants.
“I think the short sleeves will be fine, mama. You can always wear your silk pelisse or shawl over it. And do not forget your new dress has the full sleeves.”
Mrs. Maldon smiled with relief.
“Of course, Henrietta, I had quiet forgotten the new dresses. Mr. Maldon will think it such an extravagance, but if we can find an eligible young man for Henrietta, then the expense will have been well worth it.”
Jane and Henrietta exchanged looks as the butler entere
d.
“If you will allow me, I will show you up to your bedrooms.”
The group followed the butler upstairs to the first floor rooms. There would be no sharing, except for the married couple. Henrietta was relieved to close the bedroom door behind her, as they all retired for a rest, before it was time to change and meet their hosts.
The bedroom was large and beautifully furnished. A wooden sleigh-type bed with pretty white muslin drapes was set within a decorated alcove. There was a wooden dressing table, set with a wash basin and mirror, and also a little writing desk and chair. There was also a pretty gold embossed chaise lounge for sitting on. A separate door led to the dressing room, where her trunk had already been unpacked by one of the young maids.
Sitting at the small desk, Henry pulled out a sheet of fine white vellum paper, and setting out a pen and bottle of ink, started to write a letter home to William. The poor boy had been quite saddened when she left, and she thought a description of the fine house would help lift his spirits.
Poor William, she had thought little of him in the weeks she had been away. Once he started working for her father, his thoughts might turn again to marriage. There had already been hints from her father that he might take on one of the smaller churches in the Parish. She immediately put the thought out of her mind. Anyway, if her mother had her way, she would choose the first suitable rich young man they would happen to meet in Bath, and marry her off straight away. Although her mother was fond of William, he was not a match for her daughter.
Suddenly tired, Henrietta lay on the bed. Closing her eyes, an image of Thomas Langton popped into her head. She had never been able to shake him out of her heart or mind, even though it was well over a year since she had last seen him.
She wondered if he would be in Bath. The family had never heard of him since Jane’s wedding. He was probably married himself by now, but surely if he had, they would have probably heard through the village gossip.