Miss Hartwell's Dilemma (22 page)

Distracted by this question of polite usage, Mrs. Vaux followed her upstairs to the drawing room.

“I have known great houses,” she said, “where ceremony prevailed to the extent that one or two people might have the whole of one side of a lengthy table to themselves while host and hostess sat at either end. I consider it a shocking want of propriety, for naturally conversation is impossible and surely one’s duty to entertain one’s guests should come first. I believe I shall ask dear Mr. Raeburn to take the head. I shall sit on his left, with Augusta beside me, and dear Miss Tisdale shall sit on his right, with you next to her. Yes, that will be most satisfactory. If Augusta decides to be difficult, she will not find it easy to be rude crosswise across the table. Perhaps Ned might find some tall flowers to set between them?”

“In December, in this weather? I hardly think so. Do you expect Miss Raeburn to cause trouble?”

“She has been very good recently,” said Mrs. Vaux, looking worried. “I had quite cowed her with my chatter of the Fashionable World, as I told you, but last night she was excessively shocked to see her brother on such intimate terms with Miss Tisdale. I had some ado to stop her making a spectacle of herself.”

“You seem very well able to control her, dear Aunt.”

“Yes indeed,” said the widow with pardonable complacence. “One must be sympathetic to her fears but not allow oneself to be ruled by her vapours. Of course, it is a great help that she is so much in awe of the Haut Ton. I believe that if she knew my brother to be a viscount, she would eat out of my hand.”

“So long as you did not reveal that he is also an ironmonger. Well, you may tell her if you will, for I daresay I shall soon be married to Bertram, and no one will care then that the village schoolmistress can lay claim to an Honourable before her name.”

“You know, she is quite sensible and good-natured if she is not permitted to dwell upon her megrims,” Mrs. Vaux said thoughtfully. “I wonder whether...”

At that moment Miss Tisdale came in, her cheeks pink with excitement, nose red with cold.

“Matthew has proposed,” she announced, trying to be solemn as befitted one about to embark upon the holy sacrament of matrimony, but unable to suppress a smile of diffident joy.

“And of course you have accepted.” Amaryllis jumped up and ran to hug her. “Dearest Tizzy, I am so happy for you.”

“I had to tell you, but it is not to be generally known until Matthew can make provision for Miss Raeburn. And, of course, we shall not be married until the end of the school year. Matthew understands that I cannot desert you.”

“That is more than Bertram does,” exclaimed Amaryllis. “But you are frozen. Come to the fire.”

Mrs. Vaux embraced her more decorously, and wished her happy. “Does the vicar mean to tell Augusta at once?” she enquired. “I shall willingly take it upon myself to do so, if you wish.”

“Matthew is afraid she will be displeased,” said Tizzy, looking worried.

“And he is positively hen-hearted where she is concerned. She is bound to cut up stiff, but never fear, I can turn her up sweet,” said Mrs. Vaux confidently.

“Aunt, such unladylike language!” Amaryllis laughed.

“Augusta suffers from such an excess of underbred gentility that it makes me quite long to shock her, and I find all the dreadful things Henry used to say returning to me,” she retorted. “Just leave her to me, dear Miss Tisdale.”

“‘A faithful friend is a strong defence: and he that hath found such an one hath found a treasure.’ Ecclesiasticus I, verse 14.” Tizzy sounded unwontedly emotional, but she soon regained her usual dry manner. “Now I must write to my brother. I hope his delight that I am to marry a fellow student of Magdalene will overcome his astonishment that I am to marry at all!”

* * * *

The dinner party on Monday night began inauspiciously.

Miss Raeburn, a sharp-faced female of middle years, studiously ignored Miss Tisdale and confined her remarks to her next-door neighbour, Mrs. Vaux. In a larger company this would have been correct, but with only five at the table conversation might have been expected to become general.

The vicar, nervous but valiant, attempted to entertain his betrothed and Miss Hartwell with a description of his youthful travels in Scotland, which neither lady had visited. He was also enthusiastic in his praise of the food, and indeed Cook had outdone herself. A fricassee of veal and mutton-and-oyster hot-pot were accompanied by Brussels sprouts in a Bechamel sauce and carrots with lemon butter. The second course consisted of a galantine of chicken, an almond pudding, treacle tart, and poached pears with custard. Amaryllis suspected that somehow the servants knew of the betrothal, even if Miss Raeburn did not.

After dinner they all went up to the drawing room. The vicar’s sister glanced about it and pronounced it a tolerable good sort of sitting-room, though not so fine as the one at the vicarage. She then cornered Amaryllis and proceeded to interrogate her about her acquaintance with Lord Pomeroy.

“I was greatly shocked to see you stand up with him a second time,” she said condescendingly. “It looked most particular.”

Amaryllis threw a harassed look at her aunt. “Lord Pomeroy is a particular friend of mine,” she retorted. “I have known him forever. I believe he was introduced to me by my father, the Viscount Hartwell, who never objected to us standing up together more than once at Almack’s.”

Miss Raeburn was momentarily startled, but made a quick recovery. “I am sure manners are different in Town. In the country, you know, my dear Miss Hartwell, we are sadly Old-Fashioned. Lord Hartwell is your father? I wonder Eugenia never mentioned it.” She sounded suspicious.

Amaryllis put her hand to her mouth in feigned alarm.

“Oh dear,” she exclaimed, “I have let it out. Papa has emigrated to America, on account of his democratic principles, and he does not wish anyone there to know that he is a peer.”

“I assure you not a word of this shall pass my lips.” Miss Raeburn was drinking it in, apparently not wondering how the revelation might flow from her lips to the population of America. “I do not quite follow...That is, I expect it is your Democratic Principles that have caused you to open this school?”

“Not at all.” Amaryllis spoke with great disdain. “I despise the very idea. I am dedicated to the Education of Women. I hope I do not greatly shock you, Miss Raeburn?”

“No, no,” she gasped. “Lord Hartwell...Lord Pomeroy...”

“Pray do not mention either of those gentlemen again,” said Amaryllis firmly, tiring of the sport. She saw her victim eyeing Tizzy speculatively and considered declaring that lady to be the daughter of a duke, also devoted to the Education of Women. However, such a rapper was not to be compared with the taradiddles she had already indulged in, and it seemed likely to land her in the briars. The rest must be left to her aunt. “I believe I shall ring for the tea tray,” she said with a sigh. “Do you care to drink tea?”

After their guests left, and Tizzy had retired to her chamber, Mrs. Vaux took her niece to task. “I did not care to hear you making a May game of Augusta,” she said with gentle severity.

“It was not well done of me, perhaps, but she was being odiously condescending. She will not try to come the high and mighty over me again. I only wish I could do something about her rudeness to Tizzy.”

“She is afraid of Miss Tisdale, my love, afraid of losing her brother and her home.”

“Why, I believe you begin to like the woman, Aunt  Eugenia.”

“I sympathise with her position, which is not easy.”

“Forgive me, dear Aunt. Of course it is not unlike yours, before Godmama offered you an allowance on my marriage. But you must have known I should never abandon you.”

“No, dear, but I should not have liked to be a poor relation in Lord Pomeroy’s house, any more than she cares to be dependent on her brother after his marriage.”

“Then what are we to do? I shall not let her spoil the match.”

“No, we cannot allow that. Do not worry, I have an ace up my sleeve.”

“And you always abhorred cards! Very well, I shall not worry, but I hope you will have the matter settled before Bertram returns next month.”

“You are going to marry him, are you not, Amaryllis?”

“Undoubtedly. He insists on an answer when he comes, so perhaps we shall have a double wedding in June.”

“I am so glad he will not let you dither any longer.”

“So am I,” muttered Amaryllis. She went up to bed dissatisfied with herself and the world.

The weather continued cold but fine. Every day Amaryllis went for long walks through the frosty fields, returning hungry and rosy-cheeked but still discontented. On Saturday, the day before Christmas Eve, she found herself shortly after noon on the outskirts of Finchingfield. Usually she turned back before she had gone so far, and she doubted her ability to walk all the long way home before dark.

Passing the duck pond on the green, its water glinting icily, she went into an inn near the guildhall. She ordered a bowl of soup and a carriage. The landlord was happy to oblige, boasting of his wife’s pea soup, a local speciality, while apologising that the only vehicle he had available was a gig.

“We’ve rugs a-plenty to wrap about ‘ee, miss,” he assured her, showing her to a seat near the fire in the coffee-room.

“So it gets me there, it will suffice,” she told him.

As promised, the soup was delicious. Its soothing warmth spread through her, making her reluctant to face the cold air outside. At last she could postpone her departure no longer. She went to stand in the window while the gig was brought to the front of the inn.

She was halfway to Wimbish. It would be as easy to go there as back to Castle Hedingham, she thought. If she were not a gently bred young lady, she would bid her driver go west, not east. What would Lord Daniel say? Would he scowl and demand to know her business or would he...

The sound of hooves broke in upon her musing. It was not the expected gig but a coach and four, coming up the hill from the green. With a shock, she recognised the driver. It was Grayson. Inside the carriage, through the misted windows, she saw the silhouettes of a gentleman and two small girls.

“Stop!” she whispered.

The carriage drove on past the inn, out of sight.

“The gig, miss,” announced the landlord, and she went outside to be helped up onto the seat and bundled in rugs.

“Thank you,” she said numbly. “I shall be quite warm.”

The innkeeper looked at the frozen misery on her face and wondered, but he bade his ostler whip up the single horse and they clattered down the hill.

The brief winter day had faded by the time she reached home. The lights in the windows looked warm and welcoming. She paid the ostler and hurried into the house.

Mrs. Vaux was trotting down the stairs as Amaryllis entered the vestibule. “It is you, Amaryllis,” she cried. “I heard a carriage. I have been in quite a worry for it has been dark at least half an hour, and you are not used to be so late.”

“I went farther afield than I had intended, and had to hire a gig to bring me home.”

“A gig! You must be chilled to the bone. Come up to the fire quickly. I have such a deal to tell you.”

Amaryllis obediently followed her up to the drawing room. “Where is Tizzy?” she asked listlessly, standing before the fire and holding out her hands to the flames.

“If you had spent more time at home this week, you would know that she has been meeting Mr. Raeburn in the church. A shocking place for a vicar and a vicar’s daughter to rendezvous, is it not? But I am very nearly ready to break the news to Augusta. I have been visiting her every day, preparing the ground, as Ned would say, and today—you will never guess—today she invited us to dinner on Christmas Day.”

“All of us?”

“I had to be very firm with her. She invited you and me, and I told her that we could not possibly accept any invitation that did not include Miss Tisdale. She realised how excessively improper it would be to withdraw the invitation, so we are all to go. It seems to me that Christmas Day, being the season of goodwill and peace on earth to all men, it ought to be to all women also. Is it not odd how the Bible talks of men all the time and mentions women so rarely?”

“Very odd. You think, I collect, that on Christmas Day even Augusta Raeburn must be charitable enough to accept without hysterics the news that her brother is to marry Tizzy.”

“Yes, but I have another string to my bow.”

“I understood you to have an ace up your sleeve, but a second string to your bow will do very well. You are not cooking up another Bedlam tale, I trust?”

“No. It would not answer, besides being quite untrue. Are you sure you are going to marry Bertram?”

“Yes,” said Amaryllis drearily. “I believe I shall go and lie down for an hour or two before dinner.”

“Daisy shall bring up a hot brick for your feet and a cup of tea, my love. You will soon feel quite the thing.”

More than willing to let her aunt believe that her low spirits were the result of freezing in the open gig, Amaryllis plodded upstairs to her chamber.

The weather changed overnight. The rising sun was a pallid circle scarcely visible through a grey haze, and by the time the ladies set out for Church it had disappeared behind a pall of clouds.

Though it was warmer outside, the stone-flagged church was bitterly cold. Villagers and farmers filed into their pews, their holiday clothes hidden under warm wraps. St. Nicholas’s was gay with holly and mistletoe and branches of evergreens. Mr. Raeburn abandoned his usual Christmas text of “On earth peace, goodwill towards men” and preached instead a heartfelt sermon on “It is not good that man should be alone.” Miss Tisdale hid her scarlet cheeks under her bonnet.

That afternoon, Amaryllis went over her accounts and then, feeling a little cheered, wrote a long letter to her father. She told him of Tizzy’s betrothal and that she expected soon to be married herself, and asked for his blessing. Only when she reread her words did she realise that she had not mentioned whom she meant to wed. To save her father’s purse she had written small and close. There was no room for insertions. She sealed and addressed it as it was, wondering what conclusions Lord Hartwell would draw about his future son-in-law from her omission.