Vintage Love (213 page)

Suddenly there was a hush as the door of the broad room opened, and a handsome man with jet-black hair, sharp blue eyes, and a Byronic face came into the room, accompanied by another good looking man with reddish-brown, curly hair, and sensitive features.

The first man said, “Good afternoon, friends. I’m sorry to be late. But I went to get Mr. Dickens at his office and had to wait for him.”

The second man smiled good-naturedly. “I ask forgiveness. I’m in the midst of a new publication venture and it has been a busy day.”

The dark man, whom she realized was Ernest Layton, gave the group a pleasant nod. Then he took a stout, gray-whiskered man aside for a clearly important discussion.

Nancy took the opportunity to lead Joy to Charles Dickens and say, “May I present Lady Joy Nason, a staunch admirer of your books.”

Dickens smiled and bowed to Joy. “May I ask which of my books you like best?”

“
David Copperfield
,” she said at once, liking the handsome, kindly man. “But I’m sure you will be writing others that will equally catch my fancy.”

“You may count on it,” Dickens laughed. “I have a large family to support so I must write to pay the bills. Now I have a magazine which is costing me a good deal. One has to work diligently to pay for one’s pleasures.”

“Your books give others much pleasure,” she told him. “I read many of them in an isolated village in Scotland and they meant a great deal to me.”

The conversation ended as Ernest Layton called the meeting to order. Dickens sat at the head of the table next to Layton. Joy found herself seated a distance away, between Nancy and a thin man with a bald head and a mournful, red mustache. The minutes of the meeting were read with difficulty by a small man with, an unfortunate lisp. After that, regular business was discussed. Then Ernest Layton stood to address the meeting. He smiled at Joy, and said, “We are happy today to add a new and titled member to our committee, Lady Joy Nason!”

There was polite applause from around the table, and she was thrilled that Charles Dickens offered her a special smile. Ernest Layton continued to outline the bills he was attempting to introduce before Parliament, and spoke about the Society’s great need for more funds. He pleaded with those present to give whatever extra donations they could, and asked them to enlist the financial aid of friends. Then he asked Charles Dickens to speak.

The good looking, clean shaven, young Dickens rose and modestly accepted the applause. Then he launched into a grim description of the poverty which existed in London. He said, “We force these unhappy people to crime by giving them no choice but grinding poverty. We see a man in a coarse frock, cotton handkerchief, and other articles of clothing of the poorest description in prison; and his sentence is banishment or the gallows. Sheer need has led him into the depths of criminal depravity. Now he is faced with a lingering death in prison or the possibility of many years’ duration as a convict in distant Australia! We must make life better for those at the bottom or risk the security we feel so sacred at the top!”

The speech was given modest applause, and Dickens sat down. Joy approved of all that the novelist had said, but she was forced to wonder whether the stout, bewhiskered men with their cigars, and the overweight matrons in their prim bonnets truly had charity in their hearts.

Dickens left the meeting soon after his speech, excusing himself on the grounds of urgent business. The meeting came to an end at last, and Ernest Layton came to speak with her. She felt at once his great personal magnetism. He said, “We are glad to have your support, Lady Nason. Another titled name on our stationery will do much good.”

“I’m not an important person,” she protested.

He laughed. “Titles are always important. Nancy tells me you have much free time. I hope you may agree to become one of our active workers.”

Nancy spoke up, “You must convince her, Ernest!”

She raised a gloved hand. “One moment! What does active work mean?”

“Nothing too frightening,” he said with his usual charm. “Our workers prepare food and clothing for the poor. And they call on wealthy friends to ask for financial support for our work.”

“Do the workers have any actual contact with the poor?” Joy asked.

“No,” he said. “We have a paid staff, lifted from the poor. These people understand how to handle the delivering of food and other gifts.”

Joy thought this strange. “Wouldn’t it be preferable to have your workers donate their services?”

Nancy shook her head. “You wouldn’t want to be involved in that. Exposure to disease and filth in the slums! I couldn’t face such things. And I wouldn’t dare risk bringing home a plague to my children.”

Ernest Layton gave an approving nod. “Nancy has answered your question better than I could have.”

“What about services for the ill? Medical aid.”

The handsome man looked uneasy. “Only on a limited basis. Again this is done by hired women who have experience in nursing and midwifery.”

Joy was puzzled. She said, “I did actual nursing among the poor in a village in the North of Scotland. I liked knowing the people.”

“London is another story,” the handsome man assured her. He took out his watch. “I really must be going. I have my carriage and I always see Nancy home. I understand you are living in Berkeley Square. I shall be passing there, may I drop you off?”

She accepted his offer and after they had taken Nancy to her door, she and the politician had a lively talk about government as they drove on. He was clever and sharp in an argument, but somehow she felt he was a trifle shallow.

As they drove through the wide avenues of wealth so distant from the poverty with which he was concerned, she challenged him, “Are you really interested in the unfortuante or are you using them as a cause to forward your career in politics?”

He looked amused. “I should be angry at such a question.”

“Are you?”

He said, “I’ll answer you with sincerity. If I were just interested in my own advancement I could espouse many other causes. We are living in an age of great change! Railways, factories, and international affairs are rapidly gaining favor as matters of parliamentary interest. I have chosen the poor.”

She smiled ruefully. “You seem honest. But I knew someone else who served the poor. And served them without your bombast!”

“In London one needs bombast to be noticed. I have to make people aware of what I’m trying to accomplish.”

When they reached her home he saw her down from the carriage, then stood with black tophat in hand and said, “I have much enjoyed meeting you, my lady.”

“Thank you for the drive home.”

“If a great lady like yourself would deign to have dinner with a mere member of Parliament I’d like to meet you again.”

She said, “Call on me. I want to know more about your charity group.”

“Will you join us?”

“I will help,” she said. “But I do not wish my name to be used.”

His face shadowed. “Why not?”

She reconsidered, “Then use it with discretion.”

“Depend on that,” he said, brightening. And he saw her to the door before he drove away.

It was the first of many times they would be together. Soon she was Joy to him, and he became Ernest. She donated a large amount to his fund and offered to work among the ill. But he would not allow this. He frequently came to Berkeley Square for quiet dinners with her. And in turn, he took her to several famous restaurants, escorted her to concerts, and to a play which Charles Dickens had insisted they should see.

One night, as they were driven through the dark London streets after dining at the Strand, he said, “Is it not apparent to you that we are well met?”

She studied his handsome face in the semidarkness of the carriage’s interior. “We do agree on many things.”

“I wish you would marry me,” he said very solemnly.

She was startled by his abruptness. “Ernest!”

“I didn’t mean to be so blunt,” he said. “But I have given this much thought. A wife such as you would give me added inspiration in my work for the needy.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I must think about this.”

He squeezed her hand and leaned close and kissed her. “I beg you think only of acceptance.”

When she reached her bedroom, she found herself in a state of confusion. To become the wife of a member of Parliament devoted to helping the poor seemed an ideal role for her. But she did not like the way in which his charity was conducted. And perhaps the most powerful force of all that kept her from thinking of a marriage to Ernest, was her memory of the self-sacrificing John Hastings!

As a first step, she tried the handsome politician out on her family. Their reactions were varied and startling. Lady Susan was at once taken with Ernest. Of course he had been careful to flatter her whenever they met.

Her mother’s opinion was, “You’ll soon be twenty-seven! You’ve nothing but scandal behind you. Here is your chance to set your life in order with a fine man. You mustn’t let it slip!”

Hilda admitted Ernest was attractive but was a good deal less for the match. Her sister-in-law said, “He has immense sexual appeal! It’s a wonder he hasn’t tried to bed you down!”

Joy smiled. “I think him capable of it. But he is most wary with me. He plays the perfect gentleman so well I think it is truly play-acting.”

James scowled when she questioned him about Ernest. He told her, “I have heard that his charity group has done much good. But there is something about him makes me uncomfortable. He seems too good to be genuine.”

Meanwhile Ernest continued to plead with her to marry him. She found him good company, and also was impressed that he and Charles Dickens were friends. She did not think Dickens was likely to be easily deceived. That was in Ernest’s favor.

She took long walks by herself. One afternoon she came to a park and found a travelling carnival there. She smiled as she thought of the fairs she’d attended in the country. And she wandered among the fair tents, noting the various attractions. She halted before a tent with a canvas depicting a large, fat woman. The elderly, harsh-voiced barker cried out, “I guarantee Littly Emmy weighs not an ounce less than three hundred and seventy-five pounds! She’s the wonder of the world! And it only costs a penny to see her, ladies and gentlemen! Just one penny!” Trade was brisk as he collected pennies from children and adults.

Joy moved on to the Punch and Judy show. This was a shabby Punch and Judy compared to the ones she remembered. Next she stopped by a game of darts. A man walked by with an advertising sign hanging from his neck. The board advertised, “Good food at the Eagle Tavern.” She was reading the sign when her pocketbook was suddenly snatched from her hand.

A woman called out. “A lad took it! I saw him, Miss!”

Then a man cried, “Someone’s after him!”

Joy stood bewildered by the swift happenings. After a moment a tall man came to her from the confused crowd, and handed back the pocketbook. He wore the red tunic and blue pants of a soldier.

“There you are, Miss,” he said. “The lad got away but the main thing is you got this back!”

“Thank you,” she said, embarrassed as the crowd stood watching them.

He moved her away from them a little so they were alone. He smiled, and she saw he had a long sabre scar on his left cheek. He said, “London can be dangerous! I’d just as soon take my chances with the thugs in India as with some of the crooks in London.”

She said, “You have served in India?”

“Yes. And I’m about to be shipped out again. Keeps you busy when you take the Queen’s shilling!” He was staring at her oddly now, and apologized, “Sorry, but you look mightily like someone I once knew. Long ago. Daughter of Sir Richard Canby. Would be Lady Canby, by now!”

She looked up at him in amazement. “But I am Lady Joy! Who may I ask, are you?”

“Name is Rod Smith,” the soldier said, his cap removed now. “You wouldn’t recall me. I was a stable boy in Surrey.”

She gave him a long study. “Yes. I do remember you. You haven’t changed all that much!”

“Nor have you, if I may say so, my lady,” he said shyly.

They talked about Surrey and the things they both recalled about those good days. She found it a warm experience. Finally she said, “I have enjoyed meeting you again, Rod.”

The young man looked at her sadly. “It seems we’ve grown more apart then ever. Now you’re a great lady and I’m only a poor soldier.”

“Don’t think about it that way,” she said. “Let us be glad we’ve met and that we are still friends!”

He looked happier. And putting on his cap, he said, “Will you do me a great honor?”

“What?”

“We may never meet again,” he said. “There’s a pond close by. They rent boats. Let me take you out for a while. We can go on talking about the old days. It would mean a lot to me. And afterward there’s a nice pub I know where some of my pals take their wives and lady friends to have a spot of food.”

She could have dismissed him easily. Given him a dozen reasons why it was not wise. Yet it seemed an innocent pleasure that they should try to recapture memories of their youth. She knew many would not approve, but she was a free person.

“All right,” she said with a smile. “Let us find the pond and the rowboats.”

They left the noisy confusion of the fair, and went to a quiet area of the park. He rented a boat and rowed her out on the pond. Then he let the small craft drift as he sat with his arm around her, and they talked. There was no stiffness between them. All status had vanished. Later he took her to the pub. It was clean and comfortable, and she enjoyed the food. Then he insisted on renting a carriage and seeing her home. She said goodbye to him on the steps of her home in Berkeley Square.

“Goodbye, Lady Joy,” he said soberly.

“Goodbye, Rod,” she spoke in a soft voice. “Take care of yourself!” And she quickly kissed him and went inside.

She made her way upstairs and without her mother or anyone else seeing her. She was in a strange mood. It had been an exciting experience and one with a touch of sadness. Some would say she had been reckless with her reputation, and lowered herself by spending the day in the company of the man whom she’d known as a boy. But she felt she had done right, and she would always think of Rod with a deal of warmth and affection.