Marrying Miss Martha (17 page)

“Your servant, ladies.” He bowed to each of the sisters in turn then looked thoughtfully at the third lady, guessing who she was, but pretending not to know.

She gazed back at him limpidly, then lowered her eyes in assumed modesty. Who would have thought that Peter Brindley would turn out like this? He was the first person she had met since returning to Tapton who had the slightest pretension to being fashionable. Those peg-top trousers were all the crack, for the son of one of her mother's new friends had a very similar pair. And if his father wasn’t a gentleman, all she could say was that the son had somehow transformed himself into one.

Her self-righteous brother might not associate with the Brindleys, and indeed she had always been afraid of old Mr Brindley when she was a child and found him only slightly less fearsome now, but she didn’t intend to let that hamper her with regard to the son.  

“Have you met Miss Seaton?” Martha asked.

“Not for many years. I doubt I’d have recognised you, you’ve changed so much, Miss Seaton.”

Georgie simpered at the obvious admiration in his expression and gazed at him through her eyelashes.

Watching her antics made Martha feel quite nauseous. This pose made Georgie hold her head at a very odd angle, however effective a way it might be of showing off her fine blue eyes.

Mr Brindley noted his hostess's scornful expression and hastily abandoned Georgie. He had to keep the older women on his side or he’d not get near the younger one. “I came to say a proper thank you for rescuing me.”

“Your father already did that.” Martha stared at him coolly.

“That was the reason I had to come. He told me about offering you money and—well, I wished to apologise. He didn’t mean to insult you, I’m sure, but he has no idea of how to go on in genteel society.”

Martha could not prevent herself from snapping, “I don’t like to hear a son criticising his father.”

“I just wanted to explain.”

“May I offer you a cup of tea, Mr Brindley?” asked Penelope, seeing no way out of extending this courtesy to him.

“That would be most kind. As long as someone will sweeten it for me. I'm not yet very proficient with my left hand.”

“I’ll do it!” Georgie put down her own cup so quickly she splashed tea into the saucer.

“You’d be better seeing to your own cup,” said Martha sharply, “or you'll spill the rest. My sister is quite capable of adding sugar to Mr Brindley's tea.”

Twenty minutes later, just as their visitor was very correctly standing up to take his leave, the doorknocker sounded again. Georgie looked up expectantly, not at all averse to more company, but sagged back in her chair when she saw it was only her brother.

At the sight of the other man, Ben’s expression became chill and disapproving. He made the tiniest possible inclination of his head. “Brindley.”

“Seaton.” Peter bowed himself out as quickly as he could.

The appearance of her brother brought the sulky expression back to Georgie's face and she turned ostentatiously away from him to study the ornaments on the mantelpiece as if she’d never seen them before.

Once the door had closed behind the unwelcome guest, Ben said in tones of strong disapproval, “I didn't think to find you entertaining that worthless fribble.”

“He called to thank us for helping him,” Penelope said. “We could scarcely turn him away. And he’s not that bad. He has excellent manners, at least.”

“And he dresses well,” Georgie couldn’t help saying.

Martha didn’t mince her words. “Clothes don’t make the man. And personally, I’d still have liked to turn him away. I don’t like the connection with his father. I shall tell Sally we’re not at home if he calls again.”

Ben regarded her with warm approval. “You’re a woman after my own heart, Miss Merridene.”

Which brought more colour into her cheeks. “What can we do for you, Mr Seaton?”

“Miss Penelope left a message that she wished to speak to me and I thought I’d escort my sister home afterwards.”

Georgie stood up. “I’ll go and get my outdoor things.”

When she was out of hearing, he looked pleadingly at the two women. “I wonder—could you help me do something about Georgie’s clothes? The ones she’s wearing are surely not suitable for a girl of her age, and correct me if I’m wrong, but they don’t even flatter her.”

Martha didn’t try to hide her delight at this request. “We’d be happy to. Indeed, I was going to speak to you about that myself. When we open our school we’d prefer her to dress more simply.”

“There’s a dressmaker in town—Miss Briggs—all the ladies seem to patronise her. Perhaps she could alter Georgie’s clothes or make her some new ones? The cost is irrelevant. I just want her to look her age.”

Footsteps heralded the return of his sister so he changed the subject. “What did you want to see me about, Miss Penelope?”

“Daniel Porter—and men like him. I’m eager to help him and his friends with their reading.”

“I thought you’d be doing that later after you’d settled in with the school.”

“Why wait? It’s so important for everyone to be able to read fluently.”

“I agree. Very well, we’ll start as soon as we can arrange it. Jason and I will select the men and you can hold the classes in the old mill house behind my residence. We only use it for storage nowadays and some of the men eat their midday meals there. I could send Daniel Porter over to escort you there after work, since you know him already. We don’t want you walking through the streets on your own after dark. I’ll escort you back home myself.”

Her face lit up. “That’d be wonderful! I’ll be happy to start as soon as it’s ready.”

“I’ll let Jonas know. He’ll be pleased, I promise you. You must tell us what materials you’ll need.”

She was very pretty when she smiled like that, he decided, and seemed to have more character than he’d first thought, but somehow he preferred her sister’s looks. He turned to look at Martha, admiring that strong face and stubborn chin, then realised he was staring again and looking away hurriedly.

He and Georgie walked home so briskly she was out of breath even going that short distance.

“You’re getting fat and lazy, Georgie,” he said as he opened the front door.

“I’m not fat!”

“Not yet, no, but you will be if you go on at this rate, sitting around all day. You’re definitely plump.”

“Well, there’s nowhere to go for walks in this stupid town, except round and round the square.”

“You could try going up on the moors. I’d be happy to take you on Sunday. I did offer last week”

“No, thank you. I don’t enjoy your company.”

She was very cool to him all evening, which was nothing new.

Not for the first time he wondered what the hell he was going to do with her after this last year of schooling ended. He didn’t intend to send her back to Belinda, who seemed to have brought her up to think of nothing but frivolities and fashion. And anyway, his stepmother didn’t want her and sounded from her two brief letters to be enjoying her new married status hugely and to have little thought for what her daughter was doing, for she had only enquired about Georgie as an afterthought at the end of the letter.

Belinda hadn’t written to Georgie this time, which had upset his sister, he knew. Sometimes she looked as if she’d been crying, only she denied it when he asked. He wished there was some way he do more to help her—only she wouldn’t accept his help.

And he had other troubles taking up his time. He still kept a guard on the mill, and had men watching over Daniel Porter, who was doing a grand job with the machinery.

* * * *

The following day Georgie worked sullenly, staring at herself in the mirror whenever she could. In the end Martha grew tired of her half-hearted efforts and said roundly, “What on earth is the matter with you today? I swear you haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying.”

“Ben says I’m getting fat.”

There were tears in Georgie’s eyes and Martha didn’t fall into the error of making light of this worry. She’d been plump at that age, too, and had once cried herself to sleep when Edward teased her about it.

“Ben says my clothes make me look fatter.” She waited, eyes fixed pleadingly on Martha’s face. “He’s not right, is he?”

“The clothes aren’t as flattering as they could be, I’m afraid.”

Georgie looked down at herself in bewilderment. “But Mama said they were the latest fashion. She had them made specially so that I’d look nice when Ambrose came calling.”

Was it possible that the mother had been making Georgie look plump deliberately in order to make herself look more attractive in comparison? Or did she just have appalling taste in clothes? Martha knew she shouldn’t make judgements about people she’d never met, but Georgie’s mother sounded to be an extremely selfish woman and if she’d been doing this on purpose to her daughter, it was cruel.

“Those clothes are the latest fashion for ladies of more mature years, perhaps, but they’re not really suitable for girls of your age.” She saw the tears overflow and roll down Georgie’s cheeks and couldn’t help putting an arm round her. “Shh now. Don’t cry. We can easily do something about it.”

“I’m not going back into children’s clothes! I want to look grown-up. I don’t like being a child. No one talks to you and you can’t go to parties and there’s nothing to
do!”

What hours of loneliness did that outburst reveal? Martha wondered. “Well, you’ve got me and Penelope to talk to now. And I do understand how you feel because I was plump myself at your age, but grew out of it.”

“You did? Truly?”

“Yes, truly. The materials of your clothes are pretty and they could probably be altered quite easily.” She realised Georgie wasn’t listening and was still sobbing quietly and despairingly against her about nobody loving her, so held her close.

“No wonder you’re upset.” Martha stroked the soft, dark hair. “Men aren’t always tactful, even when they’re trying to help, but I’m sure your brother didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Ben wasn’t trying to help. He doesn’t c-care about me. He didn’t want me here. No one wants me. You’re the first person to cuddle me since Father died.”

“Of course Ben wants you. Why else would he bring you back here to live?”

“Because there was nowhere else to send me and he’s my guardian.” More sobs shook her.

Martha began patting Georgie’s back and rocking her slightly. “Shh, now. He does care, I’m sure. Look, why don’t we visit the seamstress and get your clothes altered?”

“What does a seamstress in a small town know about fashion?”

“If we went to see her, we could find out, couldn’t we? I have to go shopping this very afternoon, so why don’t we call on her then?” She pushed Georgie to arm’s length and smiled at her. “I used to like pretty clothes too, but we didn’t have much money so I’ve always had to be very practical.” She looked down at her dark skirts and pulled a wry face. “Don’t tell Penelope I said that. I’d much rather spend the money making sure she looks her best than on myself.”

Georgie was leaning against her once more, as if desperate for the contact. As she listened an occasional hiccup shook her. “Why?”

“She’s young enough still to find a husband. I’m not.” Then Martha realised she’d been exchanging confidences with one of her pupils and bit off more words. “Don’t tell anyone what I said, please, Georgie. I shouldn’t have told you, only you’re almost grown-up and I wanted you to know that I do understand how you feel.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Martha pulled out a handkerchief. “Here. Wipe your eyes and then you can go home and fetch one of your other day dresses. We’ll take it to the seamstress later and see if she can alter it to make it more flattering. If that one turns out well, we’ll take your other clothes to her.”

Georgie plied the handkerchief, then handed it back with a gruff, “Thank you. I’ll go home right away for the dress, if you can manage without me.”

“That’s a good idea.” Martha watched her go, thinking how much prettier the girl looked without that sulky expression.

As the front door banged shut, she smiled wryly and continued her work, getting on much faster on her own. Once she stopped to look at her own dark-clad figure in the mirror and sigh. Perhaps Pen was right and she should wear her hair in a softer style. Why not? It never did any harm to look your best.

But it was still Pen who mattered, pretty Pen, who surely still had a chance to marry.

* * * *

As Georgie walked along behind the church, she was so lost in thought she nearly bumped into a gentleman who had stopped to bow to her. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Brindley. I was thinking about something.”

Peter smiled. “I hope they were happy thoughts.”

She shrugged and gave him a half-smile.

“May I escort you somewhere, Miss Seaton? I’m finding time hanging a bit heavily on my hands at the moment and would enjoy some company.”

She hesitated but couldn’t resist that appeal, since loneliness was her own problem. “Just to the end of the street. I don’t think my brother would like me to walk with you.”

“Yet I would love to walk with you.” He smiled at her, surprised to find that this was the truth.

“Oh.” She blushed and stood feeling flustered.

“Anyway, you’re surely old enough to decide for yourself who your friends are, Miss Seaton? Or am I mistaken and do you look older than your years?”

“I’m seventeen,” she said at once. “And you’re quite right. My brother has no right to tell me who I may talk to. Mama never did so.”

He walked along beside her, speaking cheerfully of London and when they got to the end of the narrow street behind the church, she stood there as if unaware that time was passing. Eventually he judged it best to leave her in case anyone saw them together and tattled about it to Seaton. “Sadly, we’re at the end of Church Lane, so must part company. Perhaps we’ll meet again from time to time?”

“Oh, I do hope so.”

He walked off, whistling cheerfully. Seventeen and a charming companion. Quite old enough to marry—and an heiress to boot. The whistling faded to nothing as he suddenly realised that he didn’t want to do things his father’s way. She was a pretty little thing, or would be if she knew how to dress. It’d be unfair to treat her as if she didn’t matter personally. That was the way his father treated him.