A Summer in Scarborough

by Blake Smith

  Mr. Caverleigh seemed pleased to dance with her, and converse with her, but upon the end of their dances, had no more inclination to keep her company. Anne wouldn’t have minded, save that his gentlemanly leave-taking left her exposed to the attentions of Sir Henry. She carefully kept out of his sight, thankful that the Assembly Rooms were, in fact, rooms, and she might move from one to another without drawing notice or censure.

  She was beginning to wonder if she should plead weariness, or perhaps a headache, and ask her mother if they might return to Number Twelve. But she was enjoying the evening, despite Sir Henry, and wished to see what sort of supper could be expected from a public ball.

  She stepped into the Yellow Room, looking at the dancers instead of at her path, and stumbled. A strong hand slipped under her arm and she looked up in dread.

  But it was Mr. Jeffries. He was smiling, but must have seen her thoughts in her face, for his own features darkened. “Miss de Bourgh, what is amiss?”

  He was still a stranger, so Anne said, “Oh, it’s nothing.” But Mr. Jeffries was not fooled and gently drew her to the side, where they were less likely to be overheard.

  “Are you certain?” he asked. “For you appeared rather frightened a moment ago. Has someone been behaving badly toward you?”

  Anne opened her mouth to repeat her denial, but what came out was, “I’m hiding from Sir Henry.” In the next instant, she clamped her lips shut, realizing what she’d said.

  But the damage was done. “Does this Sir Henry have a last name?” Mr. Jeffries asked, his voice soft but full of latent power.

  She nodded. “Sir Henry Thornton. He’s a large man, about forty-five years of age. He has sat much of the night next to my mother, except when she made me accept his offer to dance.”

  Mr. Jeffries’s expression was now carefully neutral. “And you dislike him?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. My mother likes him very much, from what I can see, and she will be angry if I’m impolite to him. He aided us a few days ago, when we met with trouble on the road.”

  “And that was not enough to gain your gratitude?” he asked, so mildly that she could not take offense.

  “It was,” she insisted. “I’m very grateful to Sir Henry for his help, but- oh, no; here he comes!” She dived through the curtain at her elbow and was happy to discover that it led to an unexceptional corridor in which a few groups of men and women- though no apparent couples- were standing about, chatting pleasantly.

  She couldn’t say if Sir Henry had spotted her, but Mr. Jeffries had followed her and was looking at her with mingled amusement and pity. Anne wasn’t sure she liked to be the object of either.

  “Miss de Bourgh.” She looked up into Mr. Jeffries’s laughing eyes. “In the interest of avoiding Sir Henry, will you honor me with the next two dances?”

  The scheme would answer perfectly. The next two were the last dances before supper, and then she could safely plead weariness. Likely, it would even be true by that time. So Anne smiled faintly and said, “I would be delighted.”

  As they returned to the ballroom, they met Sir Henry, who smiled broadly. “Miss de Bourgh, I have been looking everywhere for you! Will you do me the honor of dancing?”

  With Mr. Jeffries at her side, Anne was able to say pleasantly, “I’m terribly sorry, Sir Henry, but I’m engaged to Mr. Jeffries for the next two dances,” then continue on her way with no further apology.

  As they took their places, Mr. Jeffries bent to say in her ear, “Well done, Miss de Bourgh.”

  “Thank you. I have been wishing to give him a set-down since the beginning of the evening, and he cannot even say I was uncivil.”

  The dance began, and it was some moments before Mr. Jeffries was near enough to say, “Living with Lady Catherine must have given you a good deal of instruction on how to deal with encroaching mushrooms in a civil manner.”

  “Oh, no; my mother hardly bothers with civility,” Anne said without thinking, then realized what she’d said. “I mean- I’m sorry- I meant to say that she’s very well respected in our neighborhood, and the merest hint of her displeasure is usually enough to send them packing, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

  They were obliged to separate for the next series of figures, but Mr. Jeffries did not seem offended by her language. He remained close by her side for supper, allowing her to talk or be silent as she wished, and by the time she convinced Lady Catherine that they should depart- which took very little effort; her mother had taken offense at the seating arrangements at supper- Anne was feeling much calmer.

  CHAPTER eight

  Anne opened her eyes and shut them again. She could not see the clock, but from the sunlight streaming through her window, the hour was shockingly advanced. She looked about, fully expecting to see Mrs. Jenkinson seated nearby, worrying over her and thinking that she must be utterly exhausted by the ball.

  Anne would not lie even to herself on the matter- she had been quite weary, and glad to sleep late. But she stretched and rose from her bed, wincing at the slight soreness in her limbs and smiling when no worse ailments presented themselves. Not that she would ever convince Lady Catherine or Mrs. Jenkinson that she had not been completely overset by the exertions of the evening.

  A quiet day awaited, no matter what she wished, so Anne donned a comfortable morning dress with the Harris’s assistance. There would be no walking by the sea, or shopping, alas. No doubt much of her day would be spent in receiving calls from the gentlemen she’d danced with last night. She would be happy to talk further with Mr. Jeffries and Mr. Caverleigh, and hoped only that Sir Henry would confine his conversation to less gruesome subjects than he had previously.

  She descended the stairs and found her mother in the breakfast room. Lady Catherine was engaged in reading the newspaper, and it was a moment before she set it down and looked at Anne. “Well? How are you feeling this morning? You looked very tired last night when we arrived home.”

  “I was,” Anne said, “But I slept well, and am feeling quite well.” If only I was not obliged to sit at home and be called upon, I would walk by the sea, she wanted to add, but had not the courage. Her wish would be instantly negated by Lady Catherine, she already knew. So she busied herself with assembling a small breakfast from the sideboard.

  Lady Catherine looked askance at the bread roll and cup of tea that Anne had taken. “You cannot be feeling well if you intend only to eat that. Take some of the sausages.”

  Anne shook her head. “No, thank you. You know I become ill if I eat too heavily at breakfast.”

  “You will certainly be ill if you starve yourself,” Lady Catherine argued.

  Anne pressed her lips together and took the smallest sausage. Perhaps she could manage to eat some a little later, though she had no expectation that her mother would be satisfied by anything less than Anne’s eating a full meal.

  Lady Catherine, of course, was not satisfied, and Anne’s patience was soon at its limits. “Your Ladyship, I would like to write a few letters before we are inundated by callers, as I think we will be. If you’ll excuse me, I shall be in the drawing room.” She curtsied and left before she could say anything untoward; Lady Catherine was a trying companion at the best of times, and Anne disliked to be confronted with her forceful speech so early in the morning.

  But it was not, in fact, very early, and Anne only had time to write a short, civil letter to Mrs. Collins, saying that they had arrived safely and hoping all was well in Hunsford; and a longer letter to her friend Miss Watson, who had been deemed by Lady Catherine to be a suitable companion until her father began arguing over the boundaries of his property with Mr. Collins. Lady Catherine had not thought to forbid Anne to be in Miss Watson’s company, so Anne seized upon the excuse of writing to her as an escape from both the orders of Lady Catherine and the anxious solicitude of Mrs. Jenkinson, who insisted upon draping a shawl around Anne’s shoulders, for which she was thankful; and placing a screen between her seat and the window, for which she was n
ot.

  Anne finished sealing her letter to Miss Watson a bare instant before the first of the callers was announced. It was Mr. Caverleigh.

  Anne greeted him pleasantly, happy that the first person to see her was one to whom she could be merely civil. She had no interest in Mr. Caverleigh, yet he was polite and easy to converse with.

  Mr. Caverleigh’s visit was unexceptionable, mostly because Lady Catherine had excused herself shortly before the gentleman’s arrival. So Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson were left to carry on the conversation with him, which suited Anne very well. At least Mrs. Jenkinson could be depended upon not to say anything uncivil to a younger son.

  Lady Catherine returned shortly after Mr. Caverleigh’s departure and a moment before Sir Henry was announced. Anne gritted her teeth and determinedly searched in her workbasket for something with which to occupy her hands.

  A delicate piece of whitework would do very well, and Anne took it up as soon as she sat down from her curtsy. Unfortunately, this drew Sir Henry’s attention, and before she could direct him to a seat far away from her, he’d sat down beside her.

  “Very fine work,” he commented. “But you do everything well, Miss de Bourgh.”

  “I disclaim any extraordinary merit,” she said firmly. “You have seen me only at the activities in which I have any skill- dancing, because I enjoy practicing it; and sewing, because I have been obliged for so many years to sit still and do nothing else. Were you to examine me in music, drawing, or any number of other accomplishments, you would find me sorely lacking.”

  But Sir Henry was not put off by this unusually forthright speech. “It is the custom not to disagree with a lady, but I shall do so regardless. You could not fail to excel at any accomplishment that it was in your power to learn.”

  Anne said nothing, disliking his manner- so forceful yet so flattering- and she did not use the word in a complimentary sense! He reminded her of Mr. Collins, of all people, if Mr. Collins had a larger fortune and had traveled beyond the borders of the kingdom.

  Lady Catherine, who had never before engaged in conversation as a sop to propriety, shifted in her chair. “You are very kind, sir,” she said. “Because of her health, Anne has not been allowed to learn a great many things, yet she is an intelligent girl. I am certain that she will derive lasting benefit from being at Scarborough, and become even more accomplished as a result.” She glared Mrs. Jenkinson into silence when that lady, looking even more anxious than usual, opened her mouth, no doubt to speak of how delicate Anne had been all her life.

  Anne was amused by their by-play, and less amused when Sir Henry said, “You are certainly correct, Your Ladyship. Miss de Bourgh is a lady who begins life a cut above all others, and only improves from that point. I do not offer false compliments when I say such things,” he added, turning to Anne. “You should be pleased by your accomplishments.” And he took up her work in one hand, as if to examine it.

  Anne flinched. “Sir!” For he had mistimed his movement, and caused her to prick her finger with the needle. A spot of blood, rusty red against the white cloth, spread over the flower petal she’d been embroidering. She snatched away her hand and though it was terribly rude, put her fingertip to her lips.

  Lady Catherine looked appalled. “Anne! Cease that at once! You should not be so clumsy.”

  Anne glared at her, but forbore to point out that it was not she who had moved her work suddenly and without warning.

  Sir Henry looked abashed, save for his eyes, which glittered hard and flinty. “I ask your pardon, Miss de Bourgh; I wished only to see what it was you are working on.”

  “You need only ask,” Anne said dryly, and handed it over.

  He made some very pretty remarks on her skill and taste, and the rest of the visit was mercifully short and polite.

  The moment he was out of earshot, Anne was assailed by both Lady Catherine and Mrs. Jenkinson, and none of their attentions were to her liking.

  “Anne, how could you be so rude to Sir Henry?” Lady Catherine demanded over Mrs. Jenkinson’s solicitude for Anne’s injury.

  One would have thought from her mother’s tone that she’d spoken to the man like a common fishwife. And Mrs. Jenkinson was behaving as though Anne’s finger had been cut off; she was insisting that hot water be fetched and the injured digit bathed before being bandaged.

  At least Anne could tell Mrs. Jenkinson to leave her be. “Thank you for your attention, ma’am,” she said coolly. “But as you can see, the bleeding was not very severe, and has already ceased. I shall take no lasting harm from the incident.”

  Her remarks convinced Mrs. Jenkinson to retire in good order from the field of battle, and Anne turned her attention to Lady Catherine.

  “Your Ladyship, I have no idea what you are talking of. I was civil to Sir Henry, until he caused me to stab myself with my needle.”

  “You were no such thing. Pretending that you have no accomplishments, and speaking as though he had no right to speak to you on the subject.”

  “But he has no such right,” Anne snapped, her amusement turning to anger. “He is a stranger to me, and should not speak so familiarly.”

  “He is not a stranger to me, having been acquainted with Sir Lewis, and I will not have you treat my friends in such a manner!”

  Had anyone ever bested Lady Catherine in an argument? Anne thought not; her mother would simply continue the argument, shifting the topic if she felt that she was losing. “I shall be civil to Sir Henry,” she said. “But I cannot like him. Do not expect me to also count him among my friends, though he may be one of yours.”

  “You are my daughter, and my friends cannot be anathema to you.”

  Anne was saved from replying to this absurd statement by the footman’s arrival. The man paused, as though waiting for the ladies to cease their argument, then announced, “A Mr. Jeffries, come to call on Miss de Bourgh.”

  Anne set aside her work and rose, happy to greet someone- anyone!- who might save her from Lady Catherine’s wrath.

  And Mr. Jeffries was looking well that morning, dressed properly in riding clothes. His Hessians gleamed so Anne fancied she could see her face in them, and his coat fitted across his shoulders to a nicety. He smiled at her, then bowed to each of the ladies, first to Lady Catherine, then to Anne, and even to Mrs. Jenkinson, who looked surprised and pleased at being included in the forms of politeness.

  With much less reluctance than she’d greeted Sir Henry, Anne gestured that he should sit beside her. He did so, subtly altering the position of the chair so he could see all three ladies as well as the door. Anne suspected they made a fine tableau.

  “You are looking well, Miss de Bourgh,” he said. “I’m pleased the ball was not too much for you.”

  “I enjoyed myself very much,” she allowed, “though I am little accustomed to balls.”

  “I would not have known it, to look at you,” he said, then looked a little silly. “What I mean is, you seemed very comfortable in your surroundings last night. I thought you must be often going into the highest society.”

  She smiled. “Very little, I’m afraid. Rather, I have often been staying at home.”

  “Indeed?” he said. “Well in that case,” turning a smile upon Lady Catherine, “I must congratulate Your Ladyship. Your instruction and example to Miss de Bourgh must account for her excellent manners.”

  “Thank you,” Lady Catherine said with her usual haughtiness. “Anne has been educated according to her station in life, and it would be absurd to think her unequal to last night’s company.”

  Mr. Jeffries assented to this, then there was a slight pause in the conversation. Thankfully, he happened to glance at Anne and had the wit to see the work in her hands. “May I see what it is you are working on?”

  Anne put it into his hand with much happier feelings than she’d endured Sir Henry’s questions on the subject. “Merely a design of flowers, as you can see.”

  “I think it is very pretty,” he said, turning it over in hi
s hand. “But what is this?” For he had spotted the bloodstain.

  “I pricked my finger,” she admitted.

  “Is the piece not ruined?” he asked. “I hope it may be salvaged.”

  “Oh, no; I shall have it soaked in cold salt water, and it shall be as good as new,” she assured him. “It is simply tiresome, to have one’s work interrupted by such a tiny thing.”

  “And tiresome to be talking of it,” Lady Catherine interrupted. “Really, Anne, I am sure Mr. Jeffries has no interest in household matters.”

  Anne was silenced, and before she could think of another subject, Lady Catherine began her interrogation of Mr. Jeffries.

  “What is your age?”

  “Seven-and-twenty, Your Ladyship.”

  “And you are the brother-in-law of my niece’s friend?”

  Mr. Jeffries must have seen which way the wind was blowing, and there was a touch of irony in his voice as he said, “If the niece in question is Miss Darcy, then yes, I am.”

  “Yet you do not bear the family name; were you adopted?”

  “Yes, Your Ladyship, by my aunt and uncle. Sir William and Lady Jeffries, of Salford Hall in Berkshire.”

  Lady Catherine looked impressed against her will. Anne was likewise pleasantly taken aback. She had not realized Mr. Jeffries was heir to a baronetcy; it was not a high rank, to be sure, but she had thought his uncle only a wealthy man who had acquired a fortune in trade, or some such thing. And the Salford estate was known even to her as a large and beautiful place of long standing.

  But Lady Catherine seemed determined to discover some defect of Mr. Jeffries. “Were you educated?”

  “Yes, Your Ladyship; at Harrow, then Cambridge for two years. Much of my time these past few years has been spent at Salford, learning to manage the estate. Shall I regale you with tales of my adventures in culling sheep and repairing tenants’ cottages?” Yes, the hint of sarcasm was growing stronger, and Anne hoped he might not be entirely insulted by Lady Catherine’s impertinence.