Friends and Lovers (17 page)

“Let us have lunch at a hotel,” Gwen suggested.

I bribed her out of this expensive idea by listing the menu Mrs. Pudge had waiting at home. I measured her up for the habit before she left. “You will be in the highest kick of fashion once this is done,” I told her.

“May I have pleats in the skirt?” she asked.

“A flared skirt is more flattering. Pleats are bulky, especially with a jacket over them.”

“Silver buttons, then?” she haggled.

“Why not? I have a set from an old habit of my own. You are welcome to them.”

“Isn’t it exciting to have new gowns?” she asked. “And you are so good at fashions too, Auntie. Even Lady Althea agreed your green morning gown was pretty.”

“I am flattered to hear it. Agreed with whom?” I asked, wondering if it were possible Menrod had uttered a word in its praise.

“With me, “ she replied. “You always look so nice.”

I enjoyed the outing tremendously. It was like being a mother, to have the children along with me, driving, going through the shops, and later preparing the habit. Gwen could be charming, when she took into her head to be.

IAs she grew up, it would be fun to outfit her, and take her around to parties. Ralph, my favorite, was not overlooked either, though he played second fiddle on that occasion. When we were done, I noticed he had wandered off from the room, to seek amusement outdoors.

I went after him, and found him pushing himself back and forth on an old swing that has hung from one of the lime trees out back forever. It had served the inhabitants of the cottage for eons, and even myself, once or twice when no one was around to watch me. He had to hang off the edge of the seat to get his short legs to the ground to push himself.

“Hold on tight, I’ll push you,” I offered, but was careful not to push too hard.

“Push me higher,” he urged, being more daring that I would have thought.

I pushed till his toes were not far from hitting the lower boughs when he reached the top of the arc. Squeals of delight accompanied each rise. We were so engrossed in the game, we did not see Menrod approaching from behind.

“Can this possibly be the cautious Miss Harris, indulging Ralph in such a dangerous activity?” he asked.

“Dangerous? It is not in the least dangerous. He is enjoying it,” I answered. His shouts showed clearly it was the case.

“If he should tumble, he will fall farther than he did from the pony’s back.”

I eased off on my pushing, let him subside to a gentle sway. “Is it teatime so soon? The children were about to go to you, but Ralph wanted a swing before he left.” I expected some show of ill temper from Menrod, after our last unpleasant encounter. There was no evidence of it. His manner was closer to conciliating.

“There is no hurry. I was passing by and decided to pick them up, to save a trip. Did you ladies get yourselves outfitted for the new gowns?” he asked.

“It was only Gwendolyn who was to get material, for her new riding habit, you know. Now that you have got her a pony, she will need a habit.”

“Another habit?” he asked.

“Another?
I thought she didn’t have one.”

“She would have me believe she had outgrown the new one she got before leaving India, but it looked fine to me. It was kind of you to indulge her.”

“Not at all. It was a pleasure,” I answered, angry as a hornet at being duped by the girl.

“Are you not having a new gown yourself, for the ball next week?” he asked.

“Your ball, you mean?” I verified, rather surprised at the question.

“No, Lady Menrod’s ball for her cousin, to be held at my house.”

“I shan’t require a new gown for that,” I answered stiffly.

“Palming us off with an old one, eh? I don’t think we are to take that as a compliment.”

“As a matter of fact, I shan’t be wearing a ball gown that night at all. We are not attending the ball.”

He stiffened up, adopting an offended face. “No doubt there is a reason for it?” he asked.

“The best reason in the world. We were not invited.”

He was very much taken aback. A frown formed between his eyes. Within an instant, it vanished, and a new expression was put on, a very conning expression. “Don’t tell me I forgot to mail your invitations!” he exclaimed, rather loudly.

“I don’t know whether it was an oversight or an intentional omission, but we did not receive cards from your stepmother. We are hardly the best of friends, however. We did not take it amiss, I assure you.”

“Don’t be foolish. Of course you are invited. The whole neighborhood is coming. They have even sent a card to Mr. Everett. I—I told Lady Menrod I would like to invite a few of my own particular friends, send the cards out myself. I believe I may have mentioned your name in with the others. That explains it. I shall send them out this very day.”

He was a poor liar, but a fast thinker to make up for it. We had been omitted, for what reason I do not know, unless the ladies thought we would attend on Mr. Everett’s card. That was the only thought I could think of. I accepted his story at its face value, and told him we would be happy to receive the invitations.

He hastened on to a less prickly topic. “Ralph is making good headway with his riding lessons. It would have been poor policy to make too much of his spill. I have a theory that the only way to proceed is to remount immediately after a fall, before the fear has time to grow out of proportion.”

"I have discovered something you have in common with Mr. Everett at last. He told me the same thing. I have a theory too, that till a boy’s feet reach the stirrups, he ought not to be made to ride.”

“He was not
made
to ride.
He
suggested it. It was surely not necessary for you to complain to Everett about a family matter,”

“It was mentioned in passing—by my mother, actually.”

“She must be on better terms with him than she is with me. I have noticed she seldom utters a word, if she can help it. Does she dislike me so much?” he asked bluntly.

“She never said so, if she does. I believe you said something nasty to her at the time of Hettie’s marriage to Peter. I don’t know what it was, but she has said more than once you cut up stiff over it.”

He rubbed his chin, in an effort to retrace that ancient conversation. He soon shrugged his shoulders and dismissed it. “I was not particularly pleased at the match. The family felt Peter, as the younger son, ought to have looked out for some well-dowered lady. I did not
forbid
the match, as I could have done.”

“Why did you not?”

“He told me he couldn’t live without her—romantics are allowed such exaggerations in the throes of love. Of course even he did not mean it literally, but he convinced me that for him, life would not be worth living without her, so I reluctantly gave them my blessing.”

Ralph’s swing slowed to a stop. He jumped down and came to us. “Why don’t you run inside and call your sister?” Menrod suggested.

“Will you come in?” I asked, for politeness’s sake.

“Let us wait here, the weather is so fine. Do you want a push while we wait?” he asked, indicating the swing. The suggestion surprised me, such a quaint notion, to spring from Menrod’s worldly head.

“No, but I shall take advantage of the seat. I am tired from shopping all morning.”

I arranged my skirts carefully around me, not entirely unconscious of the picture I made. The lime orchard is the prettiest feature of our landscape here at the cottage. The roses that climb over the cottage front, once an item of great beauty, do not flourish as they did in days of yore, though they are pretty for about a week in early June. I was a trifle put out to see Menrod stroll away from me, behind, where he would see nothing but my back.

Soon I realized he had gone around to push me in the swing, despite my declining his offer. He began at first with a gentle pressure, just moving the swing a foot back and forth. It was too foolish to object to this, so I said nothing. The pushes increased in force, till I was sailing through the air, my skirts ballooning around me.

“That’s high enough, Menrod,” I ordered. “Stop now, please.”

He pushed harder, harder, till I actually had some fears for my safety. On the swing forward, my toes disappeared in the leaves of the tree. My protests too rose higher, till I was shrieking like a fishwife, holding on for dear life to the cords between my fingers. I could feel my hair slipping away from its pins, and was helpless to get it under control. My skirts were blowing straight into my face, causing a disgraceful show below.

Then, when I was distracted with fear and embarrassment,
then
he strolled around to the front to observe me. As the momentum decreased, and I settled down to a still high but no longer dangerous arc, I was able to see the expression on his face. He looked demonic, with a satirical smile on his lips and laughter in his eyes. I was so angry I leapt off before the swing was anywhere near stopping.

My precipitous flight from the seat sent me catapulting forward, where I stubbed my toe and would have hit the ground, had he not had the presence of mind to catch me. His hands grasped my upper arms tightly, while my head bumped against his chest. I was gasping for breath.

“Why in the devil did you do that?” I demanded angrily.

He held me back to examine me. With his head perched on one side, he answered, “Curiosity,” in a reasonable tone.

“Next time you want to test some theory about motion, please submit someone else to the experiment.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a theory of motion I was testing. Let us say, rather, it was emotion.”

“If your aim was to see how angry you could make me, then let me tell you...”

“Angry enough to put a sparkle in your eyes and a blush on your cheeks, at least, which is an improvement over your customary composure.”

“Thank you,” I sniffed, in an attempt at satire.

Gwen and Ralph had come running up during the fracas, “Why are you holding Aunt Harris, Uncle?” Gwen enquired, in a clear, piping voice.

“To prevent her from scratching my eyes out,” he answered,

I wrenched free from his hold. “Your uncle is in a playful mood today, children,” I explained.

“Not at all,” he contradicted. “I was conducting an experiment.”

“What did you find out?” she asked, with a curious look from one of us to the other.

“I merely confirmed that your aunt has a temper. You interrupted us before we were through,” he answered, with a soft smile curving his lips. His eyes regarded my face for a long moment, then he tucked a stray lock of my hair behind my ear. “It looks better in disorder, but less like Miss Harris. These tokens of abandonment

      Do more bewitch me, than when art

      Is too precise in every part.

Why don’t we try it à
la victime
for the ball?”

He bowed and left before I thought of a retort to this brash speech. “Come along, urchins,” he called over his shoulder to the children. “And say thank you to Auntie. We must not forget our manners.”

The children obeyed, but Menrod so far forgot his manners as to leave without apologizing.

We had two minor excitements the next morning. The noisier of the two by far was the disappearance of Lady. She had been restless of late, due to her maturing state. In theory she was restricted in the house to the kitchen and Mrs. Pudge’s chamber, but in fact it was not unusual to see her parade through the place, upstairs and down, as if she owned it. When Mrs. Pudge came asking whether we had seen her, I suggested she try the bedrooms.

“I believe she hears the mice in the thatched roof, and sits on the bed, wondering how to get at them,” I mentioned.

“She might be out back, trying to get at the roof from a tree,” Mama suggested.

Our housekeeper flapped off to check out this possibility. Around ten, she came back to ask if we had seen Lady. “She’s not had her breakfast. She never goes off without her breakfast. She was curled up on the end of my bed last night, and this morning when I got up, she was gone. Pudge left the door ajar.”

“She could not have left the house, though,” Mama pointed out.

“Pudge is as blind as a bat. He was out early this morning, getting fuel for my stove. She walked right past him, though he won’t admit it. If there’s nothing special you want me for, I’m going to take a walk around the orchard. She must be starved by now.”

While she was gone, our second excitement occurred. With Mrs. Pudge out hunting Lady, and her husband in the kitchen doing her work, I was consigned to the role of butler. My first admission was Lord Menrod and the children.

His excuse for coming was to allow Gwen to show off her new pony, and Ralph his improved skill in the saddle. I noticed my niece was outfitted in an elegant green riding habit, by no means too small for her. The minx had got me to provide her a new one, when her own was better than mine. I do not often get to ride, but occasionally a neighbor’s mount is put at my disposal.

“Will you come out and watch us ride, Grandma?” Gwen asked.

We were happy to go, especially on a fresh morning in April when spring was just arrived. Gwen would be a fine horsewoman in a few years. She had a good seat, an easy hand, and no fear of her mount. Menrod proudly proclaimed her a “natural,” while I loudly praised Ralph’s scanty progress.

It was a pity the boy of the family could not be the athlete. They rode in circles around the family garden, then were allowed to trot down through the orchard. With nothing but Menrod’s company to amuse her, Mama soon found the wind was rising, and went indoors.

“You will stay out and watch the children, Wendy?” she asked.

“We’ll stay, Mrs. Harris,” Menrod answered quickly.

“Do you want another turn on the swing?” he asked with a bantering smile, setting off at a slow pace toward the orchard, following the children.

“I am not dressed for it,” I answered. “Trousers ought to be worn by any damsel foolish enough to let you push her.”

“Here I had hopes you referred only to a lack of lace on your petticoats. I
do
believe ladies in swings ought to be plentifully supplied with lace on their undergarments—’tempestuous petticoat,’ the poet calls them. It is an international thing—you see it in the Watteau paintings Everett has as well. You favor a spartan toilette, Miss Harris.”