Friends and Lovers (11 page)

“It is impossible to prove an innocent person guilty. My weekends are all accounted for. I am always in town on Saturdays, and in church on Sundays.”

“Are you telling me you don’t mean to call him off?”

“I didn’t sic Culligan on you. I told him
not
to follow that tack, when he suggested it. I’ll speak to him.”

“You might have known when you hired a man of that kidney what would result.”

“It happens Sir Nathan did not offer me his valuable services gratis. I do not approve of these questions Culligan has been asking, but for the rest, your personal conduct is a valid point to be raised in the case. You think so too, or you would not have gotten rid of Mrs. Livingstone.”

“A precaution merely. I will leave no stone unturned to secure guardianship of my niece and nephew. Every trip I make to this cottage confirms me in my belief they would be poorly off here. Your lack of judgment, quite as much as your oft-lamented lack of funds, would be to their detriment. I wish you will reconsider your decision.”

“Every trip you make here confirms in my mind that I too was correct. You are
bribing
them to like you, with wooden horses and bags of sugarplums. You consider yourself above the law. Because you have taken into your head they would be a congenial amusement for a few weeks, you think by some divine right of peers you ought to have them, automatically. That I, with perfectly equal claims so far as kinship goes, even
ques
tion
your whim has got you outraged.

"I
have
reconsidered my decision, Menrod. I am more convinced than ever that you would make a perfectly wretched guardian. I used to think it a pity your interest would be so short-lived; I come to see the only hope for their living a normal life is your losing all interest as soon as possible, and turning them over to servants. But then, without the comfort of a Mrs. Livingstone nearby, no doubt you will soon be darting back to London. Good day.”

“You will be happy to hear I am to spend the entire spring at the Manor. Good day to you, Miss Harris.”

He arose and strutted from the room at a gait similar to Mr. Everett’s with his knees very stiff. His eyes glanced with satisfaction to the left, where the stairs were returned to their former gloominess.

I dashed a terse note off to Culligan, informing him that if he continued with the course I had forbidden, he could consider himself dismissed.

The next morning, we received a call from the Dowager Lady Menrod. She brought the children with her, which was no more than a pretext. Her real motive was to hint there was a match brewing between her cousin and her stepson.

“Menrod has taken the decision to spend a few months at home,” she announced happily. “Lady Althea was to return to London, but has sent off instead for some lighter clothing and her mount. She will be riding with Menrod. They are both fond of riding. I am to have a little ball next month, at the Manor. Menrod tells us the Dower House is too small.”

The children were not greatly interested in these bits of gossip. Ralph had squeezed himself in beside me on a chair built for one, while Gwen sat waiting for some attention.

“Lady Althea is making me a new gown for my doll," she announced, glancing around the room for some reaction to this stunning intelligence.

“Such a beautiful doll her uncle bought her in London, with real hair,” Lady Menrod said, smiling on the child.

“But I take Goldie to bed with me,” Gwen confided. “She is softer, and it doesn’t matter if her gown gets mussed.”

I only half listened to her. It occurred to me that the reason for Mrs. Livingstone’s holiday was not as I first thought. It was the quest for Lady Althea’s hand that accounted for it. It was not long dawning on me that the new match had another reason than the birth of love between the two principals. Lady Althea had been coming to the neighborhood forever with no luck. If Menrod was proving amenable to her charms now, it was because he had discovered those precedents spoken of by Culligan, and was getting himself a wife to establish the necessary family unit.

A panic surged in my breast. He had all the other advantages—in birth, social position, wealth, he outclassed me. If he meant to offer a wife as well, my slight chances for success dwindled toward zero.

“Will you read me a story?” Ralph asked.

“There is company present, Ralph. I cannot do it now.”

“We could go upstairs in the big chair,” he pointed out.

When he repeated his request a moment later, Lady Menrod was obliging enough to excuse us. “Read to him if you wish, Miss Harris. He is always pestering Lady Althea to read him stories.”

This frightening statement got us up the stairs very quickly. He snuggled cosily on to my lap.

“Do you often see Lady Althea?” I asked.

“Sometimes. Nobody reads to me at home. There are books there, to look at the pictures.”

I had a vision of the poor tyke, sitting alone, thumbing disconsolately through books while I sat alone at the cottage here, missing him. It was dreadfully unfair, and that Lady Althea was usurping my rightful place was even worse.

I could read only a short story on that day, because of the company below. “What will you do when you go home?” I asked, feeling a wave of pity and grief to see him go.

“Uncle is going to look for a pony for me.”

“A live pony! Oh, Ralph, you are too young.”

“Uncle says he and Papa rode young, so I am to have a mount. I will call him Rufus. That was Papa’s mount’s name in India.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”‘

“No, I am not afraid,” he answered gallantly, but afraid or not, I thought it a dangerous venture, to put a child on a mount. “I asked Uncle if I could have a live pony, since I can ride the wooden one now.”

This smacked of bribery, buying them anything they wanted, without thought to the possible consequences.

Tea had been served during our absence. The guests were preparing to leave. “Come along, Ralph,” Lady Menrod called. “Cousin Althea is going to take you children into the village this afternoon, after she and Menrod are back from their drive.”

“She is going to buy us some ices,” Gwen said contentedly. More bribery!

“We will have a cake next time you come,” I told her, to get in on the bribery myself.

“I like it with whipped cream.”

After they had left, I sat down with my mother to discuss the visit. “You know what this is all about. Menrod will offer for Lady Althea in order to have a mother to put forward in Chancery.”

“How sly of him! Now you
must
have Mr. Everett, Wendy.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“It would be an excellent match, getting us out of this dark, draughty cottage. But such magnificence at Oakdene; I am not sure I could ever become accustomed to it.”

“You could buy yourself a pair of green glasses, to cut down on the glare.”

“Ah, well, I don’t suppose Menrod has any real notion of offering for Lady Althea. It is all a ruse, of the sort Culligan tried to push on you, letting on to marry, for the looks of it.”

“If that is his trick, you may be sure Althea knows nothing of it. She means business. Lady Menrod certainly thinks it will come to a match. He is of worse character than I thought, if that is what he is up to. I wonder if it is.”

“What bothers me is the ball. I daresay it is to publicize the match. You don’t suppose they will take into their heads to invite
us?”

“I should hope so indeed! How could they possibly not, when we are connected to Menrod? There is no reason to miss out on an excellent party only because of the legal battle. I shall certainly attend if we are asked.”

“I could always say I have a migraine.”

“Mama, don’t be such a peagoose. You will not be expected to stand up with him. You can sit and play cards with your friends.”

“I can do that at home, without having to buy a new gown and be perfectly miserable at the Manor.”

“Why should you be miserable?”

“It is so very fine, with all those carpets one is afraid to step on, and the upholstery so historical it would be a crime if you spilled a drop of wine, and one is bound to do it, when she knows she must not.”

“You didn’t feel this hesitation to dine at Oakdene. The Manor could not possibly be more richly appointed than that.”

“It is not the same. You can feel so very comfortable with Mr. Everett. Menrod is always
angry
about everything; Mr. Everett is never angry. I never met a better-natured man, excepting your papa, who was a saint. It is no small thing to find a good-natured husband, Wendy. The best-looking fellows grow fat and bald in the end, like the homely ones, and what you are left with is their natures. When you marry, be sure you find a good-natured man. Like Mr. Everett,” she added slyly.

I actually considered this course for a few moments. One would always be very comfortable with him, as she mentioned, except when it was necessary to be seen with him in high company. For him to be telling guests how much he paid for everything would be an embarrassment. One would be surrounded with every luxury imaginable. A bright, secure, rich future danced before my eyes.

Then Mr. Everett danced stiff-kneed into the picture, making it all impossible. The only possible marriage I could envisage with him was a marriage of convenience, one that allowed me complete absence from his bed. I doubted even his good nature extended that far, however.

“Well, what do you say?” she asked hopefully.

“I don’t know why I cannot bring myself to accept him. I need a good shaking, don’t I? It is just that he is so common in his ways—unrefined.”

“We could polish up his manners, between the two of us.”

“Yes, he is very biddable. He removed two of his fobs from his watch chain as soon as ever I mentioned them. I daresay he could be transformed into a fine gentleman, with some coaxing.”

Mrs. Pudge had strolled in during my speech, and had to hear what was being discussed. “What you are faced with is what Christian encountered on his pilgrim. You have your neighbor Obstinate, being Menrod, and your neighbor Pliable, being Everett.”

“Which did Christian choose?” Mama asked.

“He had the good sense to spurn both of them. Nobody wants too pliable a man, for he don’t stand for anything. He can be talked hither and thither at a whim. An obstinate man, on the other hand, won’t listen to good reason. There’s little enough to choose betwixt and between them. You’re better off an old maid, miss.”

“There was no question of my receiving an offer from Neighbor Obstinate, Mrs. Pudge. That was not the point.”

“That’s something, anyways,” she said, and left to nag her pliable spouse into washing the dining-room windows.

I gave no thought to her sanctimonious mutterings. She had become like a squeaky door, always whining but little heeded. That evening, after dinner, Mr. Everett dropped in for a visit. His first talk was of architecture, some new moldings that were being installed in the kitchen. Before long, he broached a more interesting subject.

“What do you think of the scandal about Menrod?” he asked calmly.

“What scandal?” I demanded at once, every sense alive with curiosity.

“Why, the kitchen girl at the Manor he has got in the family way. Shocking thing, a man in his position. He ought to be horsewhipped. He shuffled her off home to her family at Newbury, but it was his work. That will serve your case well, Wendy.” He had slipped into using my first name at Oakdene, and continued it regularly without censure now.

“He has only been home a little over a week. It cannot have happened so soon.”

"It happened five months ago, from what they are saying in town. She was sent home two months ago, before her condition became obvious. To turn her from the door is worse than the rest. He ought to have shown more responsibility,” he condemned.

“I cannot believe it of Menrod,” I said. He kept a mistress, but to treat his helpless servants so was worse. He did not have a reputation of that sort.

“He was not home five months ago, was he, Mama?” I asked.

“When would that be—around the end of October?” she asked, doing the required calculations.

“About that time, yes. He was home last summer for two weeks. He dropped in for a day or two at Christmas as well.”

“Summer was too early, and Christmas too late. They have got the date of it wrong,” she decided.

“They have got the paternity wrong. Which girl was it?” I asked Everett.

“A squinty redhead is what I heard,” Everett answered. “Nel something or other was her name. Nel Scott, I think.”

"That ugly patch who was hired a year ago? He would not touch her with a pair of tongs. This must be a joke,” I declared, incredulous.

“All cats are gray in the dark, as they say,” Everett mentioned.

“No joke for her, poor girl,” Mama said.

“It is Culligan’s questions that have put this idea into circulation. This is really too bad of him.” A worry equally as great as the inequity of traducing Menrod was what he would say, or do, when he heard about it. If he wanted those children badly enough to marry Lady Althea, he must want them very badly indeed. I knew, as I sat talking to Everett, I would not marry to inherit the whole country, let alone two children, only one of whom I truly loved.

“Very likely it is,” Everett agreed. “You don’t believe it of him, then, Wendy?”

“No, I do not. I will change solicitors. I shall disassociate myself from that muckraker entirely.”

“I formed a poor opinion of the man myself,” he admitted.

The damage was done, but my displeasure might indicate to the neighborhood my opinion of the man who started the rumor. I sat in some trepidation of Menrod’s next visit, and none at all of Everett’s unnoticed remark that he had formed a poor opinion of Mr. Culligan.

When Menrod came to the cottage the next day, I learned my error. It was not the Nel Scott scandal that brought him, but something else; namely, my “engagement” to Mr. Everett.

Lord Menrod came stomping to the cottage door fairly early in the morning. I was at work in my conservatory. The ministration of my plant family is generally my first occupation of the day. I go there immediately from breakfast to tend them before beginning less pleasant duties. I was in hands with some messy repotting work when he arrived. My aspidistra was ready for a larger home than the eight-inch crockery pot in which it resided at the time.