A Matter of Choice

Chapter 4

The next morning Mary entered the breakfast-room to find James had almost finished an early breakfast. He was obviously dressed for riding, and she greeted him thus:

"Yesterday you left me on my own and I had to sit with mama and three simpering fools who came to call on me. You cannot tell me you are deserting me to that fate again today! Not one of them had a sensible word in his head. Please take me with you."

"I cannot, for I am going to visit Samuel Hastings and make recommendations for improvements to the operation of his lands."

"Oh, I would love to come. May I please?"

"I'm sorry, it would not do. For one thing, he would not be expecting you. I am sure if he knew you were coming he would prepare a much superior luncheon than what he would present to me. And what would you do? We would be hours upon our business. Are you acquainted with his mama? I can not think you would be at all comfortable being alone with a lady you have not yet met for an entire afternoon."

"Oh, I should not care if I was served dry toast and tea! And as to being closeted with his mama for hours, why I should come out with you, of course," said Mary as she sat with her food that she had served herself from the sideboard.

"I'm sorry, Mary, but it is best that I go alone this time. Shall I tell him that you would like an invitation to come out and inspect his property to see if you think it suitable?" asked James with a sly look.

"For myself, I presume," said Mary, sticking her tongue out at him. "You know you are quite off the mark there. He is not dangling after me, I am happy to say. I still can't fathom why he came before, but now that Anne has gone he has only paid one visit, and that was as much to see you as anybody. So you see he has a little more sense than you gave him credit for."

"I have never doubted that he is a man of sense. My opinion of him continues to improve the more I know him. Let us just say that he was growing bored now that his studies are ended, and he wanted company, and wasn't that particular as to the company."

Mary cast him a reproachful look. "That is not much of a compliment to Anne or myself."

"But you are not looking for compliments."

"Quite true! Oh James, please take me with you. It is insufferable what I have to put up with. All the empty compliments. Anthony Smorsely, you know, the one that has the long pale face with spots, he wrote the most awful poem to me, and actually read it on one knee. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. He doesn't even know the first thing about me yet he is sure that I am an angel of the first order, who has dropt from heaven on gossamer wings, my sole purpose to enchant him!"

"I hope you managed to keep your countenance," said James, struggling with his composure.

"Yes, but it won't be long till I am most uncivil, and start telling them that they are all fools. Now I just say, ‘Thank you, you are most kind.' and then I try to speak of books or music or the beauties of the countryside, but they have no conversation at all."

"Poor dear Mary! You have my permission to send them all away."

"I have tried to. You may rest easy on that head, but these young men are so thick. They do not take a hint at all. How Anne could stand it, I know not." Mary shook her head.

"She and you are so very different. Society is the stuff of her life. She enjoys having all the young men at her feet, no matter if they are pretentious buffoons. I really must be off now. I have stayed here talking with you much longer than I had meant. Sorry that I can't take you, but tomorrow we shall do something together, just you and I, I promise."

"Yes, let us take a picnic down by the stream and stay out most of the day!" said Mary as James left the room in a hurry, giving her a parting smile and wave as he went through the door.

Mary did her duty and sat with her mother all morning in the small parlour she used for morning visits. When her three callers came she was employed at embroidering a cushion, and did not put her work down for the duration of the visit. She received many compliments on the fineness of her work and the smallness of her stitches, but she knew as well as the next person that her embroidery was quite indifferent. After a half-hour of listening to the young men trying to outdo each other, she excused herself, citing a promise to read to her father, which none could disclaim.

Her father was in the drawing room in his favourite chair, gazing out the window at the formal gardens beyond. This was his most loved view of the gardens, and he was content to spend much of his time in this spot. Moving was nothing but torture for him, so once settled there he stayed and the world came to him. Not that he suffered many visitors. He mostly just saw family and a few of his close and longstanding friends. He looked up as Mary entered the room.

"Ah, so you have not forgotten your father, even though you had visitors."

"Never, father. I had much rather read with you than entertain a hundred such visitors," said Mary as she came forward and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

"I can well imagine. Who in the world would want a hundred visitors, be they ever so conversant."

"You have put me in my place indeed, papa. I have heard so many empty compliments that I am starting to give them. I do beg your pardon," she said sitting next to him and picking up his book. "Now where did we leave off yesterday?"

"Don't mind the book right now, my dear. I would like to talk with you a spell. I can't stop thinking of James and how he is to be established."

"Father, do not worry about James. I think he will manage very well for himself."

"But how will he find a position? It is not the same as if he were a clergyman. There was a living ready and waiting for him. I do not know how to go about this. It is not the thing one talks about, a son wanting to be a steward. It is not the type of position that is generally advertised throughout the gentility. Lord Fairhaven is looking about for a secretary. How would that suit? Many a younger son has made a good venture into politics by that route."

"But James is not interested in politics, papa. He is interested in the land."

"Can he not through legal measures bring about reformation in farming practices and conditions?"

"Are those Lord Fairhaven's politics? I think not."

"True. Well I find myself at a standstill my dear. I can see no way to helping him."

"James does not desire great riches or fame or the acceptance of high society. He just wants to manage an estate well as will benefit both landowner and tenant. A simple life is all he seeks for his happiness."

"Would that I had bought a small property for him when I was younger and still had control of my capital, but the plan was for him to enter the clergy. I have failed him, there is no denying it." Sir Arthur shook his head and sighed.

"Papa, do not say so. James is the best of men and he will succeed."

"My dear, this room wants air. Pray, open the window and then read a spell. It will soothe me."

Mary read to her father until luncheon, but only half her mind was on her reading. The other half was wondering how her brother got on with Samuel Hastings and his estate. There was a friendship that would be of great worth to both men, and she was happy for her brother to be getting some support for his ideas. After luncheon she slipped out to the garden, where she sat and read in the rose bower, then collected armfuls of the bursting blooms to arrange in the drawing room and her mother's parlour.

The next morning, after she had breakfasted, she went to visit cook and bespeak a picnic lunch. She had arranged with James to meet in the orchard behind the stables at ten thirty, and there she went with the laden basket to sit on the wall in the sunshine and wait. Before long she heard a step, and looked up thinking to see her brother, but saw instead Mr. Hastings approaching.

"Good morning, Mr. Hastings. Are you looking for my brother?"

Samuel Hastings greeted her and indicated the affirmative.

"He is meeting me here at any minute. If you wait he will be along in no time."

Samuel Hastings thanked her and then, after a few moments of silence, started up a conversation.

"I would have supposed you to be indoors entertaining your morning callers," he said.

"Oh, pray don't tell me they are here again!" exclaimed Mary, showing a little of her vexation.

"Then I shall not tell you so, but I'm certain you will be sadly missed."

"I have made good my escape, you see. I am to spend the day fishing by the stream with James. Please do not let on to them that I am here."

"Don't worry on that head. I shan't see any of them again today for I have an engagement to fish with your brother also," said Samuel Hastings, sitting on the wall beside her.

"You are coming with us?"

"I hope that shall not be distasteful for you. If you would rather, I shall fish downstream from you, quite out of your view," he said with a smile that belied his words.

"Oh, I don't mind you at all," she answered. "It is just those fellows who are dangling after me so foolishly. I cannot make them understand that I have no interest in their suits. They pose and sigh and give me such looks that are meant to be of undying love I am sure, but just make them look sickly and cause me to nearly explode with laughter or vexation. You see me as I am, a young girl out of the schoolroom, not some object for matrimony."

"I am glad that you don't mind me at all, for I did not really want to fish on my own today."

"Is that what I said?" said Mary, colouring at her impertinence. "I'm sure it was impolite. No, do not laugh at me. I see you were only funning. I am glad that you are not offended because if you are to be my brother's friend, I think we should be friends also."

"I would like that very much."

"Then it is settled. As my friend then, how would you advise me to go about telling those young men to visit me no more, without being uncivil."

"What means have you tried? I fear you have been too kind to them," said Mr. Hastings seriously.

"Well, I have acknowledged all compliments politely, but without pleasure, then I have directly changed the subject. I have spent the whole time at needlework, barely attending to them. I have only spoken in answer to them. I have given hints, whenever possible, as to my lack of interest in suitors and in matrimony, but still they persist."

"It seems they are very thick indeed, or maybe it is just that your wealth and charms are more powerful than your words and deeds." Samuel gave her a smug look.

"I do not consider five thousand pounds wealthy! Oh, I see that you are teasing me again. Please don't; I asked for help. I am at my wits end."

"Well, in that case. We do not want to be left with a blithering idiot," Samuel laughed. "I'm sorry, do not give me such dark looks. I will be good. If you cannot tell them straight out to go away and not come back, then we will have to use some sort of strategy."

"I do not want to practice deceit."

"No, I would not ask it of you, but I reserve the right to practice a very little myself. You would not be involved in it at all. What I think we need to do is to steer them on another course. Is there some other pretty young lady in the neighbourhood for them to transfer their attentions to? You could invite her to come on a morning visit too, and then together we could lay some hints to convince them that she is much more desirable than you."

"Would it work? But who could I invite." Mary thought for a spell. "I must admit that I am not close friends to many of the girls hereabouts. My closest friend has gone to London, as have one or two others. Who is there that would do? Not Susan Ringly, because she would not thank me for such suitors, and Felicia Bradford is much too plain. Wait, I have it. Louisa Farnham! Her mother is invalidish and rarely goes out in society, so she has not much been seen. I am sure she has a good inheritance for, though her family is not rich, she is an only child. I have not seen her this past six months, but when I last saw her, her looks were promising. Only she will wonder at me inviting her, after such a time. You see she bored me so because of all her romantic notions."

"She sounds to be ideal. Now the only thing I would have you do is not wear such becoming gowns. Put on something drab and outdated and do not dress your hair quite as prettily as usual."

"But mama will not let me wear an old gown, and she has seen to it that everything I have is quite pretty," said Mary in a woeful voice.

"You must help yourself in some way."

"I will see what I can find. Now tell me, what is to be your part?"

Samuel Hastings looked back, into the orchard. "Here is your brother coming. I will tell you on another occasion. Let me know when Louisa is to come, and I will be there."

The three young people walked down through the orchard and over the meadow to the stream where they spent a convivial time fishing, conversing, and picnicking in the shade of an old elm. Mary was pleased to see how happy and carefree her brother was and how the friendship between himself and Samuel Hastings was flourishing. The two young men talked unceasingly about the concerns of Mr. Hastings' property, but Mary did not find this topic boring. She entered into the discussions whenever she could, either to clarify some point she did not understand or to add her own observations, which were well taken by the two men, and not scoffed at as the comments of a young and ignorant girl.

Late in the afternoon the three walked back through the meadow to the stables, all quite contented with having spent a most enjoyable day. James was happy to see his sister and his new friend on such terms of cordiality, and if he had any other thoughts on that developing friendship, he wisely kept them to himself.

Chapter Five

It took a week for Mary to set her plan in place. She had paid a morning visit to Louisa Farnham who was surprised and gratified at the invitation, and agreed to pay a call Tuesday morning. Her mother, having a cousin staying, could spare her for one morning's amusement. Samuel Hastings was easily notified as he rode out with her brother almost every day. On two occasions, he joined her morning visitors, paying little attention to her except to have her almost explode with laughter when their eyes met upon Mr. Smorsely reciting a new poem he had written in her honour. He conversed occasionally with the young men, but gave most of his attention to her mother, which both pleased and aggravated her. His drawing her mother's attention away from the rest of the company made it harder for her to avoid conversation with them, and she felt he did it to tease her.

Mary's hardest task was to find a gown to wear that was unbecoming. The afternoon before the visit she was employed in removing the fine ecru lace from the neckline of a pale yellow muslin and replacing it with dull grey ribbon that she had found in her workbasket. The next morning she dressed slowly, and put little care in her hair, only tying her curls in an untidy mass upon her head with more of the same ribbon, then sat on her bed until almost the last minute before she joined her mother in the parlour. When she entered the room, her mother's greeting was all that she expected.

"My dear, what have you been about dawdling all morning? And what has happened to your hair? Did not Jane go in to help you?"

"I sent her away, Mama. I had been wanting to try a new style, and she did not know how it was done, so I attempted it myself. I am not sure I have got it quite right."

"I don't know quite what it is meant to be, but you look like a hoyden. And your dress. What have you done to your dress? Where is all the lovely lace? Why does it have that dowdy ribbon? Go upstairs at once and change! I will call for Jane and she will help you. Hurry, hurry. Put on your green silk with the rosebud bodice and take that ghastly ribbon from your hair. Jane will pin it up in a trice. You cannot see your visitors dressed as you are. Hurry girl, hurry."

Just then the door opened and the butler announced their first visitor. Lady Amelia was undone, as there was nothing for Mary to do but go forward to greet Samuel Hastings who entered the room. He gave her a wink and then sat and talked to her mama, setting the flustered lady at her ease. Soon the whole party was assembled and everyone was engaged in polite conversation. When Lady Amelia rang for refreshments, Samuel Hastings moved over to a spot beside Mary and said in a low voice, "I thought you had agreed to wear something unbecoming?"

"I am! And as you can see, my hair is not dressed at all. Your arrival saved me from having to go and change, and have my hair fixed."

"Well you look quite charming, and that is not what we agreed upon. How is our plan to work?"

"Do stop roasting me. What do you think of Miss Farnham? Will she do?"

"Oh she will do quite well for them. She is pretty enough, and she has that mix of sweetness and artlessness that should serve our purpose. She will give them what little encouragement will be needed to shift their interests. It is always pleasing to have a girl show interest, and after all your disdain it will be refreshing."

"Disdain! I think I have been overly polite!"

The refreshments were brought in and there was no time for more private conversation. Mary was busy preparing the tea, and Samuel assisted her in passing the cups around, finally taking one for himself and choosing a seat next to Miss Farnham. Mary found herself addressed by Mr. Smorsely again, as he seated himself beside her.

"That is a most fetching gown, Miss Warrington. Most fetching indeed. You look like a wood nymph with your hair arranged in that manner. I believe you have inspired me to another poem. ‘Behold the wood nymph, fair and gold. What secrets lie within her eyes? She sits in her bower, with suitors bold. Her eyes rival the blue of the skies.'"

"Did you compose that this moment sir? How . . . nice."

"Well, I do admit I have been working it through this last half hour, ever since I laid my eyes on your beauty."

"Very quickly done sir, I commend you. Perhaps you can write one on Miss Farnham's appearance. To my mind she looks like a fairy princess, her delicate features, her soft blue eyes, her lovely pink gown. So dainty and so sweet. To be sure, there is inspiration for a poet, such as yourself. Do write one on Miss Farnham, I insist."

"She does appear prettyish, but nothing to rival you, Miss Warrington. How can I write a poem on her when I can think only of your beauty and goodness?"

"Such a poet as yourself? I am sure you can. Please take another half hour to regard her beauty. See how her cheeks bloom to pale rose when she is animated. I am looking forward to hearing your poem at the end of half an hour."

Mary turned her attention to her mother who had come to question her on a small matter, leaving poor Mr. Smorsely with no choice but to draw his chair closer to the group around Miss Farnham and study her countenance.

Louisa Farnham was enjoying herself. She was not out much in company at all, because of the state of her mother's health, but she was not shy. She was quiet and unassuming and able to converse easily with the young men who she had last seen when she was a schoolroom miss, and they had no time for her at all. She answered all Samuel Hastings comments on the summer weather and the beauty of the countryside hereabouts with a sweet smile, thinking all the time how even his teeth were, and how nicely his dark hair curled upon his forehead. She looked over at Mary and wondered again about having been invited by her. The offer of friendship was very welcome. She was usually so very lonely and isolated, with only her mother and the servants for company. And of course the servants couldn't really be considered company, although she did confide in her maid, for there was no-one else, and a bond close to friendship existed. But to have a real friend to confide in, and to be courted by numerous young men, these were answers to her dreams. She turned her head and found a young man with a long pale face and spots studying her intently. It was too bad that they all couldn't be handsome. Oh well. She gave him a little smile and turned her attention back to Samuel Hastings, agreeing with him that the roses in her garden, too, were more profuse than they had been in previous years.

One of the other young men blushingly said that in her pink dress she would rival any rose, and Samuel found himself free to sit back and look about him. Making insipid conversation for so long had been trying, but it seemed to be working. The other young men were now talking with Miss Farnham, and Smorsely was looking positively spellbound, which was surprising because he knew Smorsely to be Miss Mary Warrington's most fervent admirer. At this rate he would not have to stoop to deceit, and for that he was thankful. If pressed he would have put it about that Miss Warrington was hanging out for a Lord, but if things went the way he wanted them to go, it would have looked like he had done it to serve his own ends. So far the only lie he had made was when he had told one or two of the young fellows that he admired Miss Farnham's looks much more than those of Miss Warrington. He rose, and joined Mary by the tea table, sitting in the chair vacated by Mr. Smorsely.

"Whatever has happened to Smorsely? He looks quite overcome."

"I believe he is thinking very hard. I sent him on a mission to compose a poem on Miss Farnham's beauty. I do hope it works. I likened her to a fairy princess."

"I see. And he shall come back spouting about ‘yon pale and delicate flower.'"

"You appeared to be impressed with the ‘pale and delicate flower' yourself. You were by her side monopolising her conversation for a full half hour."

"Yes, I did appear so, didn't I?"

"I hope you were pleased with her."

"Very."

"Oh! You are incorrigible. Look, here is Mr. Smorsely coming back. Do please try not to make me laugh."

"Miss Warrington, I have completed the task you set me. You were right. I was able to find inspiration in Miss Farnham's beauty. Listen. ‘In faerie glade, the sweet princess sits, dew like jewels upon her gown. But her fair beauty cannot compare, with the golden wood nymph I have known.'"

Mr. Hastings covered his mouth and turned away, making a distressed choking sound. Somehow Mary kept her gravity and said, "Are you unwell, Mr. Hastings?" which almost undid her and only caused Mr. Hastings' choking fit to increase.

"Must have choked on a biscuit," said Smorsely, getting up and pounding him on the back. "How's that then? Feel better, Hastings old fellow?"

"Much obliged," said Samuel, turning back and wiping his streaming eyes.

"I didn't know you were eating a biscuit," said Mary, barely able to contain herself.

"Yes, quite a dry biscuit. I think . . . more tea?" He gave Mary a level gaze and held out his cup.

"What thought you of my poem? Of course it will be longer, that is but a start. I am truly inspired! A second muse as a foil to the first! I will spend all night in writing and not sleep, and on the morrow bring to you my humble offering."

"My dear Mr. Smorsely, I am afraid you have quite misunderstood the matter! This was not what I had intended!" cried Mary, aghast.

"I believe," said Samuel Hastings, " what Miss Warrington is attempting to express is that you have gone about the subject all wrong."

"What ever do you mean?" asked Mr. Smorsely, affronted.

"I mean no offence. It is just that she desired you to dedicate the poem to Miss Farnham's beauty alone. In this one instance take Miss Farnham as your sole muse. Think on nothing beyond her eyes, her hair."

"Oh but how can I? Miss Warrington asks too much of me."

"And yet she asks it, Smorsely. And as a gentleman do you not feel it is your duty to fulfill her wishes?"

"Oh, yes. Miss Warrington, you know you only have to ask and I will do as you bid. I am your servant here thrown at your feet."

"Mr. Smorsely, do please get up," Mary cried hastily as he attempted to kneel at her feet. "People will wonder at your intentions. I am become quite overset."

"I feel ‘de trop'," said Samuel Hastings. "I shall return to Miss Farnham and enquire if she needs more tea, or perhaps a biscuit."
Mary gave Mr. Hastings a pleading look, but to no avail. He was again at Miss Farnham's side, making his polite enquiries. He was supposed to be helping her and he had left her on her own with Mr. Smorsely, who, luckily, had seated himself again, but was leaning in so close to her as he began talking again, that she instinctively moved her seat back a bit, wishing her mother was not sitting quite so far off. Her mother sat in the light that streamed through the window, working on her tapestry frame, so intent on her work that she was oblivious to her surroundings.

"My dear Miss Warrington, you do understand my feelings. Can there be any doubt? You must know my fondest wish."

"Yes," said Mary, quickly forestalling him. "Your fondest wish is to please me. And it will please me if you go. Go and compose a poem worthy of Miss Farnham. I am quite in transports over her, and only you can do justice to that flaxen hair, those eyes."

"Yes, her hair is very . . ." Mr. Smorsely looked over at her doubtfully. She was pretty, he supposed, but this would really press his talents. Miss Warrington was like a well-spring for him but so far Miss Farnham left him blank. Was it that her beauty was overpowering his thoughts? Miss Warrington was in transports, she said, and he had never seen her so animated about something before, so there must be truth to it. There must be beauty beyond anything he could fathom, and he would have to discover it, to please Miss Warrington. "Her eyes are blue as bluebells, I think."

"No, not so dark. Light and clear. Go closer so you can discern their shade."

At this moment, James Warrington entered the parlour. He had heard that Samuel Hastings was in the house and had come in search of him. As he stepped through the door he was brought up short, surprised at the number of people in the room. There was a pale girl in pink who he had never seen before, at least he had no recollection of her. His friend appeared to be taking quite an interest in her, as did a few other young fellows that he had seen visiting his sister before. Mary was over at the tea table in earnest conversation with Mr. Smorsely, her most rapt suitor, and his mother was calmly embroidering her tapestry in a shaft of sunlight that fell through the long window behind her. The whole room looked in his direction, and he bowed in greeting then went over to his mother and kissed her cheek.

"A fine chaperone you are, ignoring your guests."

"My dear, they seem to be enjoying themselves. Is anything wanting?"

"I don't mean to criticise. I am only teasing you. They seem very comfortable. You have come a long way with this tapestry since I have come home."

"Yes, it is most intriguing. A mythical history. I have just completed this unicorn. I am happy with the thread I chose, such a true silvery-white."

"It is lovely. I am always impressed at the beauty of your work."

"It was to be for you, to hang in your parsonage," his mother said simply and without rancour.

"I would be honoured if it were still for me. I have no home to hang it yet, but when I do it will have a place of honour."

"Of course, my love. It has always been for you. That will never change. I do hope you will soon find some establishment, though I do so like having you at home."

"I too, mother," he said, giving her another kiss. "Now I will see how Mary does. She is stuck with Smorsely, and I know she can't be happy with that."

James walked over to Mary in time to overhear her saying, "Notice the heart shape of her face, and the gentle blush of colour on her cheeks."

"Is it not more of an oval?"

"Most definitely a heart. And the delicate features, just look."

"Yes, I begin to see her as you do."

Mary turned as her brother reached her side. "James, what a surprise. I thought you were out in the fields for the day."

"There was a matter I wanted to discuss with Hastings." He nodded in the direction of her companion, " How do you do, Smorsely."

"You servant," said Smorsely, bowing low to him.

"Mr. Smorsely and I were just discussing my new friend, Miss Louisa Farnham. Is she not the most lovely thing you have ever beheld? Would you like me to introduce you?"

"I will meet her presently, when I go to see Hastings. Now I would like to talk with you, Mary. I haven't seen you all day."

"I was just telling Mr. Smorsely to study her beauty and compose me a poem."

"By all means, Mr. Smorsely. I recommend that you do so. Such beauty must be put into verse, and the sooner the better."

Poor Mr. Smorsely was left with no choice but to comply. He sadly offered his chair to James and took himself nearer to the much-lauded Miss Farnham to see if he could understand her beauty. "What are you about? She is mildly pretty, yes, but hardly what one would call a beauty."

"Merely trying to re-direct his thoughts. You can't know what it is like to suffer his compliments and poetry and sighs day after day."

"Is that why your hair is in that unusual style? You look twelve years old like that!"

"Yes, but to him I look like a wood nymph."

"He's going to be a hard nut to crack. The other fellows seem to have taken to her though, even my friend Hastings."

"Yes he has barely left her side!" she said with feeling. "Oh James, I am so cross with him."

"Because he is attracted to your new friend? Surely you do not care."

"Oh it's not that!" she said hurriedly. "It's because he left me alone with Smorsely, when he knows exactly how I feel about him! Smorsely was almost down on his knees in front of me. It was so mortifying. And he just left us to go and offer her some tea, but he never came back for any!"

"I suppose she didn't want any. Say, how long is this supposed to go on? Can't we get all these people to leave? They must have been here for two hours by now, and if you keep them much longer you will have to offer dinner."

"That would be insufferable. Don't any of them know the correct length of a polite morning visit? Could you tell Mr. Hastings to come over here? I need to speak to him."

"Stay calm, Mary. I will send him. Look, one of your other beaux is coming over."

James got up and his seat was taken by a shy Mr. Brown, who Mary listened to patiently as she watched her brother talk to Samuel Hastings and be introduced to Louisa Farnham. In a few minutes Mr. Hastings joined Mary and Mr. Brown, who had begun to tell Mary about a new hunter he had recently purchased, a high tempered steed by all accounts but he felt he was up to the challenge.

"Mr. Brown, Miss Farnham desires tea, if you would be so good as to take it her," said Samuel, passing a cup to Mary.

Mary poured the tea and handed it to Mr. Brown, who took it with a smile and a nod. Samuel seated himself and looked at Mary enquiringly.

"I thought you were going to help me!"

"Did you want Mr. Brown to stay? I'm so sorry. I didn't realise that you cared for any of these fellows. I thought you wanted them all gone. I can go and get him back for you."

"I know you mean to be funny, but I'm not in the mood for your jokes. How could you leave me alone with that . . . that . . ."

"Counter coxcomb?"

" . . . fish faced fool, when he was practically declaring himself to me. You said you would help me. Instead you go off and make up to Louisa Farnham. I didn't invite her for you, I invited her for them."

"I went over there because they were starting to stare, what with my choking, which you were no help with, and Smorsely's pounding me and then falling on his knees. I had to make up some story quickly to stop speculation."

"Speculation on what? I don't believe anyone even noticed. You just left me with him out of spite."

"Are you truly angry with me? I am sorry. I meant nothing spiteful, I promise. But you let him pound me and talked about biscuits when I was exploding with laughter, and you kept a straight face the whole time. Are his poems always quite so well done?"

"I will give you his next to keep as a memento."

"There, I knew you could not stay angry. How generous you are but I could not ask you to part with such a treasure. I am sorry. I did leave you at that moment to tease you, but I thought you could handle him. Was it so very bad?"

"I managed to redirect his conversation, but it has never come so close as that. I was near telling him what I truly think of him and to go away and never come back, and if I had done that I would have hated myself for my cruelty, and you too."

"I don't ever want you to hate yourself, or me either. What can I do now to make up for it?"

"Please, please, please, can you contrive it so that everyone leaves as soon as can be. I am finished with this."

"Consider it done."

Samuel gave her a smile and leisurely walked over to the small group. Mary leaned back in her chair and sighed. She hated getting angry; why did things have to be so hard sometimes? She closed her eyes and opened them to find Miss Farnham seated beside her, looking a little anxious.

"Are you well, Miss Warrington?"

"A little fatigued, that is all."

"I am sorry, but I feel that I have neglected you. You invited me to visit and yet we have barely had time to talk. I do so want to get to know you better. Will you visit me soon?"

Mary assented, and after a short chat, Miss Farnham's carriage was called for and she made her adieus. The other visitors followed suit and soon Mary found herself alone in the parlour with only her mother, who after seeing all the visitors off and commenting to Mary about her pleasure in the morning party, soon resumed her needle work.

Samuel Hastings did not leave, but went to the stables with James as soon as he had seen the last of the young men on their way.

"Just what were you about in there?" asked James as they sat together on the bench behind the stables.

"I was helping your sister. We devised a plot to discourage her swains, or rather redirect them, because discouragement was not working."

"You appeared to be quite taken with Miss Farnham yourself."

"Nothing could be further from the truth, but unfortunately I did have to appear to be, for the plan to work. Apart from a few interesting moments with the illustrious poet, my morning was taken up with uttering the insipid nothings of social conversation to a girl with little to recommend her, and giving the impression that I thought her looks superior to your sister's, which should really put my taste in question, if people were more discerning."

"I am glad to hear it, only do be careful what you are about. You don't want to raise any hopes or expectations with Miss Farnham. She should not be hurt in this game of yours and Mary's."

"I will only engage in polite conversation, which, if it has me at the point of falling asleep from boredom, can barely raise the expectations of a young romantic girl."

"I can only hope that you know what you are about."

Chapter Six

It was late August, and the afternoon sun beat down upon fields of golden hay, whitening barley, and yellow wheat. From the hill James could see a patchwork of ochre, russet, and umber, bordered by the green of hedgerows or the silvery grey of rock walls. Through it all meandered the stream, glinting blue with flashes of reflected light. The scattered oak and elm were a dark and dusky green; in a few weeks their colour would be turning. It was the time of harvest, a time James loved, but he felt a deep frustration. He was still not settled. No position had yet been found for him and he had not been allowed to be useful on the family estate. All around him the same ineffectual methods were in place, the tenant's squalor had not improved, and the same old tools and rickety carts were in use. They worked grudgingly without pride in their endeavour for without personal gain, what was it to them whether one field or two was cut in a day? At least Samuel had listened to him, and done what was within his means to do to make a start in the right direction. James was confident that in a few years Samuel would be able to turn around his fortunes and have a very tidy estate. For now, though, roofs had been repaired, wagons replaced, and the goodwill of the tenants restored. New strains of grasses were to be planted for the winter fallow.

James walked down through the meadow, the grass now tall and dry. A pheasant burst from the scrub before him. He watched its short and blustery flight absently, his mind still full on his problems. If only Samuel had a larger estate, and a little more money, then he would already have employment. James looked up and saw his sister in the distance, running through the meadow towards him. Mary! Just seeing her raised his spirits. He quickened his pace, hurrying forward to meet her.

"I am come to fetch you!" she called gaily, as soon as she was within earshot. "I guessed that you would be wandering out here."

"Is Samuel Hastings come for me?"

"If he had, he would be here with me," said Mary. "I have not seen him these last few days. He is probably visiting Miss Farnham. There is no accounting for it. He seems to be quite taken with her, and I had thought him a man of sense."

"Isn't it just part of the plan?"

"The plan was for the bothersome fools to be taken in by her, not him."

"And are they still visiting?"

"No, they have quite fallen off, even Mr. Smorsely, thank goodness. I feared that he would arrive this morning with reams of poetry to read to me, but no. I feel my time is my own again. I can spend the morning with my mother without fear of interruption."

"Then it has worked. Samuel probably is busy with the harvest on his estate."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that," Mary said, brightening.

"No, you are too full of your own concerns. Our friend has done a lot for you, and now it is little wonder that he attend his own pressing business. So what is it that has brought you running out in search of me?"

"I almost forgot! Father wants you. He did not say what it was about, but I do know he received a letter today in the post and it was not from either of our brothers or from Anne."

"And so you conjecture that this letter explains his wanting me."

"Oh yes, for usually he is happy to wait for you to come to him."

"And how did he seem? Was he distraught, anxious, concerned?"

"He was quite calm. You know how he does not let on what he is thinking. He was sitting in his chair looking out the window at the roses when I entered. Thomas had summoned me. He said, ‘Mary I would like some of those large red roses in here, they are so fragrant, but before you go to the garden can you find James and bring him to me?'"

"There is no telling, from that."

They had reached the orchard wall. James reached up and picked an apple for each of them, then they made their way up through the yard and entered the house by way of the kitchen, eating their apples as they went.

Unknown to both of them, their friend, Samuel Hastings, was not about his own business but was still very much involved in helping Mary gain her freedom. For the last few mornings he had waylaid Mr. Smorsely on his way to visit Mary, and convinced him to instead join him on a morning visit to Miss Farnham. Each time he claimed to have prior knowledge of Miss Warrington's intention to visit her new friend that morning, that he had already stopped by her house, to see James, of course, and that she was not at home. Each time he had to come up with a new reason for why she was not to be found at Miss Farnham's house. The other young men were already there, of their own accord, having apparently decided that they preferred Miss Farnham's warm smiles and evident appreciation of their attentions. Mr. Smorsely had completed his poem, and wanted to read it to Miss Warrington, but Samuel kept suggesting improvements and more accurate observations before this could take place. This morning had been his most difficult. He had met Mr. Smorsely just at the gate and had greeted him thus:

"I am afraid, sir, that we have come this far in vain again. I have spoken to the butler and he informs me that Miss Warrington and her brother have gone out in the gig. That sounds like they are visiting, don't you think?"

"They could be out for a drive, or gone into Huntingdon," sputtered Smorsely.

"Huntingdon in a gig? I think not. That is above twelve miles, they would take the chaise."

"Do you think this time she is really gone to Miss Farnham's?"

"Indeed. And if they are just tooling around in the lanes we are sure to run into them. So how is your epic coming along?"

"If you are referring to my poem, it is not quite an epic, but I believe it is done."

"Let us ride together and you can recite it me on the way."

They turned their horses and trotted down the road. Mr. Smorsely becoming quite animated in his eloquence. They had soon covered the three miles to Miss Farnham's residence, and gave their horses up to the stable boy.

Samuel Hastings sighed, and then squared his shoulders to the task ahead. He would put in half an hour and then return home to tend to his estate. There were some quite pressing matters regarding the harvest and it was very evident that his old steward was no longer up to the job. If he was to make half of the improvements that James had suggested he would have to expend a deal of cash. Replacing the old fellow was out of the question, more like he would have to retire him and take over the duties himself until he was able to recoup his losses. Hardly a time to be contemplating marriage. At any rate they were both too young. In two years his fortunes should be turned around, and she would be eighteen. Until then he would bide his time and get her to know him and care for him.

From the day he had seen her shopping in Huntingdon with her sister, his interest had been piqued, and later, when he had visited Huntsfield, her cheerful good nature had drawn him to her. He had felt he wanted to talk to her more, to know her, but he sensed her withdrawal from him and every other man in the room. Her lack of interest in the social games brought him to realise another dimension of her character that endeared her to him all the more. He desired her friendship, but realised that if she thought he was wooing her, he would not stand a chance. That morning in the orchard, when she gazed at him with such candour and asked if they could be friends, her eyes, not blue as the blind Smorsely thought, but a dusty green with amber flecks, showed all her youth and trust, and at that moment he was lost. Now here he was, encouraging this callow youth to spout his fatuous poetry and preparing to spend half an hour he could ill afford with one of the most bland females of his acquaintance, and all because he had promised that he would help rid her of unwanted morning callers.

As Samuel Hastings was being ushered into the morning room at Miss Farnham's, James Warrington was entering the drawing room of Huntsfield Hall in answer to his father's behest.

"I have received a letter by this morning's post that will be of great interest to you."

James sat on a chair by his father's side and took the proffered letter. "Mary was certain that this letter was your reason for desiring my presence. It seems she is right, as she usually is. Shall I read it, or do you want to tell me the contents?"

"I shall tell you who it is from, your great uncle, Sir Edward. He is my grandfather's son by his second marriage, and only five years separate us. Do you recall the summer he visited us? You were but twelve at the time, but you went out riding with him on more than one occasion."

"I recall. We fished also, but caught nothing, I believe, it being too hot. Was it his only visit?"

"Yes. His estates are in the north, in Cumberland. Rugged terrain in the foothills of the Cumbrian Mountains."

"I recall. He told me of his sheep. And that visit, did he not come by on his return from London, where he received an honour of some sort?"

"Yes. He was knighted. It had to be something of great moment for he was never a man for travel. I have only once been to Colhaven, and that before I was wed. I went with him when he inherited. The property came to him from his mother's side, and it was his first view of it. I found it harsh and wild, but he loved it and devoted himself to building up the estate. He married a local squire's daughter, but the marriage did not bring children. That is his history, and now we come to the present news of his letter. Please read it aloud from the second paragraph, the first holds nothing of import, only the usual greetings."

James opened the letter and found the spot where his father wanted him to start. The hand was close and cramped, but after a few moments of study, James became acquainted with the style of it, and started to read.

I must tell you, Arthur, that I have had to quit Colhaven. As you can imagine it was with deep regret, but the doctor was adamant. Two winters past I was taken by a severe pneumonia, and left weakened. Doctor Garvey assured me I would not survive another winter in the north, and as much as I love Colhaven, I saw reason in his advice to relocate to a warmer clime. And also I had to consider my dear Felicity, who was not desirous of becoming a widow yet, not liking the black of widow's weeds. But I digress. I set my agent to the task of finding a property in the south, for you know I could never confine myself to a city and settle in Bath or Harrogate where most valetudinarians retire. I have settled now, here in Worcestershire, at Wortham Lodge. It is a pretty property. To the south-west I have a view of the Malvern Hills, certainly not my Cumbrian Mountains, but enough to lift my spirits whenever I behold them. My dear Colhaven I have left in the care of my estimable Steward, Horace Bentley, upon whom I have relied so much over the years. I thank God that I have a man like him to manage the place or I own I should never have been able to leave. Also my heir, Percival Braithwaite, has the task of inspecting the property twice yearly. I am hoping that these visits give him a love of the place, but I despair of that for he seems a most worthless fribble, thinking only of society and fashion. He is not a bad man, but a bit of a wastrel, and I have often pondered the sad fact that one cannot chose one's heir, for there's many a man that I would chose over him. My dear Felicity entreats me not to be troubled over what I cannot control, but to think that one day Colhaven will be his, is sometimes more than I can bear. However, again I find myself drifting from the purpose of my letter.

Wortham Lodge is, as I have said, a pretty property, and bids fair well to be a prosperous little estate, if well managed. You know what sorry shape Colhaven was in when I took possession and how through diligence I managed to bring it up to scratch over the years. Wortham Lodge is not so misused, and yet it has been run down these many years. The previous owner had lost his blunt on the change and was forced to sell to satisfy his creditors, keep his head above water, so to speak. My health has still not recovered fully, and my age is against me, I fear. I am not up to the task ahead of me, but I cannot sit still while good farming land stands idle and my tenants are scraping to subsist. It goes against the grain with me. To make matters worse, the steward I have acting for me does not seem trustworthy. He is but a paltry, slimy fellow, not of the stamp of my trusted Bentley. My health is such that I cannot go out about the estate and make inspections. Now we are about come to the main point of this correspondence. My dear friend, the Reverend Albert Chesterton, the parson of our parish here and a very good man, was this spring in Oxford with a young student of his who was taking orders. He chanced to hear of a Mr. James Warrington who had been supposed to take orders at the same time, but had withdrawn his name. As it happens, this same James Warrington was able to put his student in the way of a curacy in your part of the world. On his return he gave me the particulars of the case, inquiring whether this said James Warrington was of the same family as myself. I could not but think that he must be your youngest son, who I met ten years ago, for I recall he was meant for the clergy. If this is the case, I have a proposition to make you, for I remember the boy very well and was exceedingly impressed with him at the time. My goodness but this is getting to be a long missive. My hand is become quite cramped and I must put it aside till tomorrow.

August 30

I apologise for the break in the writing. As I was saying, I took a great interest in your young son. He showed good sense, and an amazing knowledge of the land for one so young. If he has grown as I expect him to have, then he is the very man to solve all my present troubles. Now, I do not know the particulars of the case, his reasons for not becoming ordained, or anything of his future plans, but I was struck by an idea that would suit me and I hope would be of interest to him. I have been pondering it these few weeks, and my dear Felicity has urged me to waste no time and put my pen to paper. She is quite as excited with the idea as I am and all that is needed is to ask for your approval to broach the subject with him. This is the plan. I am in need of someone to oversee my estate for me, to deal with my Steward, and to help me to set this estate to rights. What better than to bring a young deserving relative to live with us who could fill this position in our time of need. With these worries hanging over my head, my health does not improve. My young nephew would be well recompensed for his duties and also be welcomed into our home as a most desirable addition to our family circle, and a very small circle it is. Not having children of our own has been a big regret for us, and now, in our later years, we feel it more deeply than ever. The company of a young relative in our home, living with us, would be such a blessing. If you feel that my request is eligible, if I am not overstepping the rights of an uncle, if you feel that your son James would be desirous of a position of this sort, if he is indeed free and able to take on this task, please lay my request before him and send me a reply as soon as he has been apprised of the situation and has taken the time that he needs to contemplate the offer and come to a decision. It is my sincerest wish that he will be able to oblige me. I must only add that my dear Felicity and I lead a very quiet life. We do not entertain, and are visited only by our closest friends the vicar and the doctor who come by most days, and a coming visit from my heir and his sister is planned for the Christmas season. The neighbourhood does have a number of good families and my friends inform me there is a pleasant society. I am on bowing acquaintance with these families who I see of a Sunday, in church. Of course my health does not permit me to go out in society, and Felicity maintains that she does not miss it in the least. We are happiest by our own fireside, but what I am trying to say in a most roundabout way is that, if my nephew does take up my offer, he need not fear that he will live in isolation with only two old people for company. If it is society he desires, he need not fear for the lack of it. I must leave off now, as the cramp is returning to my hand. I will wait in hope that my wishes will be answered and that my nephew may do me the great favour to come and help me with my dilemma. I sign off with all my and Felicity's best wishes for you and yours.

Sincerely,
Sir Edward Warrington.

James could barely contain himself as it dawned on him what his great uncle was offering. He finished the reading out loud, scarcely sure of what he had read, and then went back over the offer again reading silently just to prove to himself that what he had just read was indeed true and he was not dreaming. He looked up at his father, into his shining eyes. Sir Arthur smiled softly.

"This is wonderful," said James, in awe. "What a truly remarkable man my great uncle is, to remember me. To think of me in this matter. It is just the very sort of position I have been desiring. Better, because I will be within the family."

"It is irreproachable, as a situation for you," said his father. "Even your brother would approve. No-one could look askance at your coming to the aid of Sir Edward in his poor health."

"That is of no consequence to me. What is so singular is that he had heard of me from the parson and that the event should lead to him to make me this offer, only having seen me as a simple twelve year old. How did he so know what was in my heart and soul to offer me what I most wanted in the world?"

"You made quite an impression on him at the time, and so he told me then."

"I will write to him without delay. I am entirely at his disposal and will leave as soon as he is ready to receive me."

James took his father's hand and leaned over him to plant a kiss on his forehead, then he left the room for the study, in search of writing materials. He was an hour closeted in the study, composing his letter. When he was done he called Thomas and arranged for it to be sent by special post. The stable boy was dispatched with the important document, and James stood in the doorway, watching as the boy disappeared down the drive into the summer evening - the simple act that was about to change the course of his life

© 2002 Copyright held by the author.

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