A Matter of Choice
Chapter Twenty-Two
The following day, everyone attended Sunday service as usual. James now recognised more faces in the congregation than he had the previous Sunday. Not only were all the company from last night's dinner party in attendance, but many of the farmers and labourers whom James had begun to meet in the fields. James had trouble keeping his eyes from straying to the front pew where Miss Sidford sat beside her betrothed. She kept her eyes steadfastly upon the parson and did not look his way until the service was over and they were filing out of the church. She cast him a look as she passed and a smile flitted across her face. He returned her look with a nod and a smile, and would have followed her with his eyes all the way to the door but was interrupted by greetings from other acquaintances. When he finally made his way from the church, the Sidford carriage was making its way down the sweep, closely following that of the Prescotts.
The week that followed afforded no further respite for James. He was occupied with his duties from morning to night. He had little time left over to even think of anything other than the harvest, but some thoughts could not help but intrude. As he found his concentration slipping he had to admonish himself to keep his mind on the task at hand. By Saturday the hay was all cut and the reapers of the barley had progressed to the wheat and oats. James set out to inspect the tithe cottages to see which ones were in need of thatching with the newly mown wheat straw. He rode Sophocles through the lanes, enjoying the deep gold of the afternoon sun as it lit up the turning leaves of hawthorn and willow in the hedgerows. He could hear the lively song of sparrows from deep within the bushes, but the shy little birds did not make themselves seen. A gig approached and as it neared he realised one of its occupants was the very person who was continually occupying his thoughts.
Emily had let Ruth drive the gig again as she was unused to the location of the homes that they were to visit. Their last stop had been with the young mother and her brood of ragged children. She was still ill and they were discussing her case with some concern when they noticed a horseman coming towards them.
"I believe that is Mr. James Warrington," said Ruth. "How very fortunate! I was just thinking that he is the very man we need to speak to."
Emily did not answer her friend. The elation she had felt upon realising that it was indeed Mr. Warrington surprised her. She had hoped to meet him and give him the handkerchief that she had made, but she suddenly realised that she could not do so in front of Ruth. Her friend was not inquisitive, but she did not want to have to explain herself, nor did she want her gesture to be misinterpreted. It was better that the hanky remain in her pocket until such time that she should meet the gentleman on her own. It had happened so many times before it was sure to happen again.
James came alongside the gig and greeted the two young ladies. Ruth immediately began to relate the situation of the family they had been visiting while Emily sat quietly at her side.
"This family resides in one of the Wortham tithe cottages?" James asked with concern.
"Yes, and now the baby is ill as well as the mother, and I fear for them all," said Ruth.
"What does the father do?" asked James.
"We have seen neither hide nor hair of him," said Ruth with scorn. "He is a wastrel!"
"The young mother told me that he is always away looking for work," interjected Emily, "but he comes home without any money."
"It is the same old story," said Ruth disparagingly. "He knows he is a failure so he drinks whatever he earns to make himself feel better, and his family suffers all the more for it!"
"I will do what I can for the family," said James. "First the doctor must be summoned. Would you be able to spare the time to pass by his house on your way back to the parsonage?"
"We would be more than happy to," said Ruth. "Thank you so much. I knew you would help."
"It is the least any landlord can do. My uncle does not want people living in poverty and disease on his estate. Could you direct me to the cottage?"
Ruth explained to James the exact situation of the cottage as Emily looked on. Emily mused upon the fact that Mr. Warrington had not hesitated at all to offer his assistance. He had needed no lengthy explanation, no convincing of where his duty lay. She wondered how Lord Ralph would have responded had it been his cottage the family lived in.
Mr. Warrington took his leave of them and immediately headed straight for the cottage. Emily had thanked him as she bid him good day and he had smiled warmly upon her. She watched him disappear down the lane as Ruth flicked the reins and set the gig in motion again.
"Well that was a fortuitous meeting," said Ruth with satisfaction. "It is a pity there are not more men like Mr. James Warrington who understand their duty to the less fortunate."
"He is very good," said Emily softly.
Ruth gave her an appraising glance and continued, "I do hope we find the doctor in. I am very worried for the baby."
When James came upon the cottage, he was appalled at its disrepair. He saw a child in the yard and told him to tell his mother not to despair as the doctor was on his way. He then made note of repairs needed immediately; new thatch, shutters, and even front door, which was so warped and cracked that it barely served its purpose. He inspected the well and found the water to be foul. He suspected that run off from the outhouses was seeping in, which would necessitate moving the outhouses and digging a new well. He checked the water from the rain barrel, and found it preferable, though full of leaves. The young boy came out of the cottage again and James motioned to him.
"How old are you, lad?"
"Fife." He stuffed a dirty finger into his mouth and sucked on it.
"Do you know where your father works?"
"Nope." The boy picked at a scab on his knee with the finger he had sucked.
"Can you help me? I need to find him. What is his name?"
"Jock, but I calls him dad."
"And what is your name?"
"Me dad calls me twerp, but me mum calls me Tom. Me mum's sick."
"I know, Tom, and I want to help. I am going to ask you to do something very important. Can you do it for me?"
"Yup." The boy looked at him expectantly.
"Did the ladies that were here draw some water from the well for you?"
Tom nodded vigorously.
"I would like you to pour that water out and draw water from the rain barrel instead."
The boy looked at him blankly. "Pour't out?"
"Can you do that?"
"Yup." Tom took to scratching his head, his eyes never leaving James.
"I must go now. Can you tell the doctor that if I don't come back while he is here, I will stop by his house? Can you remember that?"
"Yup."
James was not sure that the message would be relayed, but he could not wait for the doctor. He mounted Sophocles and rode from the yard as Tom looked on, very impressed, his finger back in his mouth.
After conversation with Robbie and his foreman, James had a good idea where to look for Jock, or as Robbie called him, that useless Grady. He also organised for a crew of thatchers and a carpenter to go to the cottage the following morning and undertake repairs. He eventually ran Jock Grady to ground at The Wild Boar, a flea-bitten tavern on the outskirts of Barstow.
"There he be," said the tapster pointing to a scrawny fellow sitting alone in a dark corner, nursing a tankard of ale. "And yer welcome to him."
James gave the tapster a knowing look. "You have extended him credit?"
"Aye, but no more. I'm no Johnny Raw to be thinkin' I'll see me money from him!" He spat on the pewter mug in his hands and set to polishing it lustily.
"If I settle his account, will you promise me one thing?"
"Name it!" said the tapster eagerly. "That's seven shillings sixpence I never thought to see agin."
"I would like you to never extend credit to him again."
"You can be bleedin' sure o' that, guv'nor!"
James picked his way through the tables and addressed Jock Grady who looked up at him, bleary-eyed.
"Is this the best way you can think to spend your time while your wife and baby are lying sick and the rest of your children are running about in rags with no one to care for them?" James asked in disgust.
Jock tried to focus, gave up, and hunched over his ale again. James pulled him up by his collar, upsetting the tankard, and dragged him out into the yard. For the most part the other patrons ignored the affair except for two fellows at the bar.
"Demmed waste of ale!" said the first in disgust.
"'Twer wasted already; Grady were drinkin' it!" answered his companion, with a spurt of drunken laughter.
When Jock realised he was in the open air with the late afternoon sun in his eyes, he started flailing around, throwing ineffectual punches that missed their mark. James grabbed him under the arms and heaved him into the horse trough. Jock emerged from the frigid water spluttering and swearing, but a good deal sobered up.
"What in bleedin' hell are ye doin'?" he yelled, advancing menacingly upon James. "I were just mindin' me own bleedin' business! Who in the blazes are ye?"
"Mr. Grady, I want you to stop right there and listen to me before you do something you will regret," said James forcefully.
"What bleedin' business is it of yers what I do?" asked Jock belligerently.
"I am the steward of Wortham, and you are my business as long as you are a tenant on the estate."
Jock Grady halted and took a step back. "Times're bad. I'll make the rent soon guv'nor."
"I'm not here about the rent. I'm here about your family. They are all ill, underfed, and unkempt. While you sit, drinking your pitiful earnings away, they are struggling for survival. It sickens me to even look at you. If it wasn't for the kindness and compassion of two young ladies, you might not even have a family to come home to by now! I thank the heavens that I was informed of their plight. Now I want you to sober up and come with me. You will be returning to your family where you belong, and on the way we can discuss just exactly what my expectations of you are."
After dousing his head in the trough a few more times, Jock Grady appeared a bit more sober and cognisant of the circumstances. For his part, his expressions of concern for his family seemed sincere. James led his horse and the two men walked in the lengthening shadows of the early evening; each step they took, Jock Grady became more remorseful and self-denigrating. James had to impress upon him that, rather than dwell upon his own iniquities, he needed to show strength of character and strive diligently to rectify his mistakes. He hoped his counsel was not lost upon the idle wretch. He knew well that once the guilt had eased, Grady was likely to fall back to his accustomed behaviour and he hoped the controls he was about to set in place would prevent that happening.
In the darkness of her bedchamber, Emily was finding it difficult to sleep. Her mind continually conjured up the image of the baby, his little face so wan and pale, his cries so pitifully weak. Luckily, the doctor had been in when she and Ruth had stopped at his home, and he had called for his gig immediately. There had been little more that they could do, so after making plans to go with Ruth again the following Saturday, Emily had dropped her at the parsonage and collected Alice, listening abstractedly to her profusions of delight in all the new words she had learned as Shadow faithfully took them back to the ornate splendour of Barstow Hall. Upon entering her home, Emily had been instantly oppressed by the great contrast between her life, and the life of the downtrodden woman in the cottage. An evening at the pianoforte playing the most uplifting melodies in her repertoire had done nothing to dispel the mood.
She got up and went over to the window, pulling back the curtains and leaning on the sill. A chill draught seeped through the sash, but she ignored it. The moon was all but obscured; just a dim haze of light penetrated the masking cloud. Emily gazed out into the still darkness in the direction of the river and the old stone bridge.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emily sat in Church intently listening to Reverend Chesterton's sermon. He was preaching of the parable of the Good Samaritan, but his emphasis lay on the ones who walked by on the other side. People who were in a position to help but could not spare the time. Emily looked over at Lady Prescott who gazed up at the parson with a devout expression on her face and wondered for the first time if she was even listening to the words. If she ever truly listened to the words, or if it was only the cadence of the deep, rich voice that drew Lady Prescott's attention.
As she filed out of the church, Emily smiled over at Ruth and then looked behind her for Mr. Warrington, whose eyes were already upon her. She felt pleased that he was watching for her, and smiled more warmly than she had intended. There was something about his expression that made her feel like smiling. When she joined her parents outdoors she hoped that the carriage would be delayed so that she would have the opportunity of a word with him, but it was there directly. She looked back as they drove away and was in time to see him come out onto the church porch and look about.
"You are not attending to a word I say, Emily!" came her mother's admonishing tones.
Emily turned her head and looked at her mother apologetically.
"Whatever were you staring at?"
"Just at the people coming out of the church," said Emily quietly.
"Whatever for? Anyone of any worth was upon the lawn already, or getting into their carriages. It is not lady-like to stare. I thought you might be looking at Anastasia's gown. It was such a bilious green!"
"I had not noticed," said Emily truthfully. She had not seen Anastasia or Cordelia, and she could not even recall the colour of Lady Prescott's pelisse. She suddenly recollected that Mr. Warrington was wearing a brown topcoat, but that was really of no consequence.
Later that afternoon, at the Prescott Sunday tea, she asked Lord Ralph what he thought of the sermon.
"Blast it, Emily, I don't actually listen to the things," he expostulated.
"I think it might have done you some good if you had," said Emily.
"I've heard that Good Samaritan story times out of mind," cut in Sophie. "Cannot the dear Reverend think of something more enlightening to preach about?" She looked to Lord Ralph for support.
"It may be that he feels the need to repeat himself because he is not being heard," said Emily.
"What in heaven are you on about?" asked Lord Ralph.
"If you had a tenant in one of your tithe cottages who was ill and destitute, what would you do?" asked Emily.
"Why should I do anything? My steward would deal with the matter, and hopefully send him out on his ear," said Lord Ralph.
"But what if it was a woman, with small children? You would not leave them on the roadside with nothing."
"It is none of my business what they do. My steward manages everything. My mother may take them some soup if they were ill, and send a servant in with it. Ladies do that kind of thing now and then, I believe."
"Oh yes! Emily is forever going about with Ruth Chesterton and taking fruit and restorative jellies to the poor!" said Sophie. "I thought of going once, so I sent my Molly with a basket of apples, and the next thing I knew she was suffering from a putrid sore throat, and laid up for days with a fever. It is a blessing I did not go!"
"If you know how it is done, why are you asking me?" said Lord Ralph to Emily. "But I can't like it that you go into cottages where there is disease. I would not want to catch some vile infection from you. Send a servant girl instead."
"I will continue doing as I do," said Emily firmly, and she got up and walked over to the pianoforte, even though Lady Prescott had not yet requested her to. She began playing with a fervour she was not used to displaying.
"What put that bee in her bonnet?" asked Lord Ralph.
"It is all Ruth Chesterton's doing," said Sophie. And even though she had no reason to suppose it, but wanted to make Lord Ralph uneasy, she added, "I think maybe Mr. James Warrington is giving her ideas."
"What sort of ideas?" asked Lord Ralph roughly.
Sophie wasn't at all sure what she had meant by that so she just said slyly, "I think she is quite taken with him."
"That is utter nonsense," said Lord Ralph. "She is not taken with anybody."
Sophie's face puckered up, and Lord Ralph reached out and patted her shoulder consolingly. "I didn't mean to be short with you. I do apologise; please don't cry. Emily has put me in a foul temper with all her pointless questions, that's all."
Sophie pulled a lacy handkerchief from her reticule and made to dry her eyes. She looked up at Lord Ralph appealingly through her lowered lashes just as her brother joined them.
"What's the matter, Soph?" he asked. "You look as if you are about to . . ." He stopped in mid sentence as Sophie kicked his shin under the tea table. "Well, dash it, you did have the most sickly look on your face!"
The next few days, Emily took to going for early walks out to the old bridge. She knew it was not near early enough, but she worried that if she went out at sunrise again, it would seem that she had done so on purpose to meet him. She did not want to appear forward, after all, all she wanted to do was return, or rather, replace Mr. Warrington's handkerchief, and ask if he had any news of the unfortunate family. By Thursday, she had completely given up. The whole idea had been foolish from the start. Maybe on Saturday when she went with Ruth they would meet again, and she would just give him the thing in front of Ruth. What was she worried about anyway? Ruth would understand her motives and not jump to silly conclusions like Sophie would.
It was a temperate day, and after she had practised for a few hours in the music room, Emily collected her book from her bedchamber and set out for a walk. Once across the bridge she followed a bridle path up the river. On one side of her was the meandering water, on the other the hedgerow, and beyond the hedges mown fields stretched, all stubbled from the shorn hay. She walked quite a bit further than she had intended, until she came upon a grove of elms. Some time in the past a large tree had been felled leaving an open, grassy spot, and a dry stump at the perfect height for sitting. Emily took off her pelisse and folded it to use as a cushion, and made herself comfortable. She opened her book and slipped into the story. Anne had gone to Lyme with the Musgrove girls, Charles and Mary, and Captain Wentworth. She was descending the steps when a man passed by her on his way up, and was impressed with her looks. This caused Captain Wentworth to look in her direction, and he noticed her improved looks as well.
James left Sophocles at the edge of the field and inspected the aftermath to see if it was grown enough to put cattle on it yet. They thrived on the fresh, young shoots. Noticing that the river was on the far side of the hedge, he went through a gap that opened to the river path. There was a grove of elms beside the river, and there, completely engrossed in her book, sat Emily Sidford. She was wearing a walking dress of a rich ochre hue, and no bonnet. Her hair was put up simply, and wisps fell forward about her face as her head bent over the book. He stood and stared, not daring to breathe, lest he make some noise to disturb her. He could hear the slow moving river, the occasional twitter of a bird in the hedge behind him, the leaves rustling high in the trees. She turned her page, and as she did so, chanced to look up.
"Oh! I had hoped to see you about these last few days. I had all but given you up," she said setting her book aside and jumping spontaneously to her feet. She suddenly recollected herself and coloured a little. "That is to say, good afternoon, Mr. Warrington."
The pleasure James felt at her initial warm greeting sent his heart soaring. That she hadn't been startled when she had looked up to see him standing before her, or affronted at him for not announcing his presence gave him a great measure of relief and removed any awkwardness he would otherwise have felt. "Good afternoon to you, Miss Sidford. We do not still need to stand on ceremony with each other, surely? We seem always to be meeting in this manner and I feel that we are now well acquainted. Your first greeting was very charming; there was no need to revise it."
She coloured again, but did not turn away or lower her eyes. "I have been wanting to ask you about the family in your cottage. Do you have word of them? I have been so very worried about the baby." Her real concern showed on her face.
"The baby is recovering," said James as he closed the distance between them, and motioned for Emily to sit once more. "May I?" he asked as he sat on the grass beside her stump. "I hope I am not interrupting your reading, but if you are interested I will tell you how the family is faring."
"Please do."
"The doctor, Mr. Briggs, was worried for the baby's life. He took the baby that very evening to the home of a wet-nurse where he could be clean, well fed, warm and away from disease. The poor thing was almost starved. Mr. Briggs credits you and Miss Chesterton for saving his life. The only nourishment he had received in the past few days was the soup that you had fed him."
Tears came to Emily's eyes. "It is Ruth, not I, who deserves the credit. She had word of the family's distress. She organised the outing. She advised me what to bring."
"But you understood the need," said James softly. "You chose to go, and your intervention helped save a life. There is no denying that."
"All my life I did not even imagine that people could live in such squalor. Truth to tell, I did not think of anything past my own existence. It took me so long before I joined Ruth on her rounds. I received no encouragement from home, but I finally decided it was something I must do. And when I first entered that house all I wanted to do was to run from it. To go home and never come back," she confessed. "The second time, the time that we met you, I dreaded going. I almost put it off, but I had promised Ruth, and so I went. I am really not the selfless person that you think I am. That is all Ruth. Without her, I would never have been there. I cannot do it on my own. My stomach was churning the whole time I was there. It took every ounce of my fortitude to hold that baby and try to make him eat. I was filled with revulsion!" Emily broke down sobbing.
James looked at her in distress. He longed to take her in his arms and console her, but he knew that he could not. "You are not a selfish being. You are good and kind and care for others, or you would not have been there. If you had never seen destitution before it is no wonder it revolted you, but I know, Miss Sidford, that it was not the people who gave you disgust but their situation. I saw the concern in your eyes when you asked me about the baby."
Emily dried her eyes on her skirts, declining his offer of a handkerchief, she was not going to dispose of all his handkerchiefs for him, and looked directly into his eyes. He felt a twinge deep inside at the sadness that he saw there. "How can we let that happen to people? I know they are common, and not our sort, but should they not be treated fairly? Ruth has devoted so much time to assisting the poor, bringing them food and clothing, nursing and caring for them, finding them help, and I who have so much more than she, I have done next to nothing."
James reached out to take her hands, and then thought better of it. He instead peeled bark from the tree stump. "There are more ways to help the poor than what Ruth does. I am not saying that she does not do good, she does all that is in her power, but in reality it is no more than a dressing to the wound." Emily looked at him questioningly. "We must try to prevent the occurrence of poverty. That is the duty of every landowner." He took a deep breath and then continued. "You will soon be in a position, Miss Sidford, as Lady Prescott, to do more good than is possible for you now. Your concern for what you feel is your inability to help indicates that you have a strong desire. I trust that you will succeed." He hoped he had not offended her by speaking so openly. His appeal had been difficult for him to deliver. In impressing upon her the power for good she would have as Lady Prescott, he realised he had enlarged the gulf between them in his own mind. The last thing on earth that he wanted was for her to become Lady Prescott, but he had to reconcile himself to the fact that it was inevitable. He had no control over that outcome, and to make matters worse he had just now given her one more reason to marry Lord Ralph.
Emily was silent for a few minutes, thinking about her conversation with Lord Ralph on Sunday. Would she, when she married him, be able to convince him of the necessity of caring for his tenants? Finally she responded. "Mr. Warrington," she said lightly, "you seem always to show me things I had never before thought of. I am much indebted to you. I hope you will excuse the foolishness of my display just now. Tell me what more has been done for the family."
"I sent thatchers and carpenters, and a woman to clean the house and care for the children. Mrs. Grady is on the mend, though her recovery is still slow. Mr. Grady I have given employment on one of my crews. I am paying him no money but I have supplied coal and food to his family instead."
"That is very good of you."
"It is no more than my duty," said James. He was silent for a moment. When he spoke again he changed the subject. "What book was it that I interrupted you reading?"
"It is only a novel," said Emily, picking it up.
"I enjoy novels very much." James smiled.
"Have you read any by this author? She only calls herself ‘A Lady' and does not give her name. Her writing is decidedly to my taste."
"Yes, I have read one or two of her books. They are a great favourite with my sister. The author displays much wit and great observation. Her characters are very well drawn. Which are you reading?"
"It is her latest published. Persuasion. Have you read it?"
"No, I have not had that pleasure."
"Would you like to borrow my copy when I am done?" offered Emily eagerly.
"I should like that very much. In the winter I will have more time for reading than I do now."
The late afternoon sun was getting lower. James was much taken by the way it burnished Miss Sidford's hair, bringing out red lights that he had never before noticed in her dark tresses. With much regret he arose and said, "I fear I have kept you too long. You still have some distance to cover to return home."
Emily looked about, just noticing the lateness of the day. "The time has passed quickly, but you are correct, I must be on my way."
James took her hand and helped her to her feet. It felt so good in his. He was careful not to hold it too long; he did not want to make her uncomfortable in any way. "May I escort you home?" he asked.
"I will be quite all right on my own, but I do thank you. I'm sure I interrupted some important work that you were doing."
"I am to be denied again!" James had such a sparkle in his eye, Emily knew that he was ribbing her. "I was only checking the aftermath in the fields, and it was a very welcome interruption."
"Aftermath? You see, you have done it again. I have no idea what aftermath is," laughed Emily as she put on her pelisse.
"Nor should you. You are not a farm girl nor a milkmaid."
"But I really would like to know," said Emily frankly. "I long not to feel so ignorant."
James laughed. "When the hay is cut, new young shoots begin to grow. Cattle relish the fresh sprouts. I was inspecting the fields to see if the growth was enough to pasture the cattle on them yet."
"You see, you needed to tell me," said Emily, smiling. "I never should have guessed that, and for the next week I would have been surmising the strangest of things."
"I am happy that I was able to prevent an inordinate waste of your time over such an insignificant matter," rejoined James with a grin.
Emily started on her way up the path when she suddenly remembered her true reason for searching Mr. Warrington out. She turned and called to him. He stopped on his way back through the gap in the hedge and looked at her questioningly.
"I almost forgot," she said hesitantly when she had reached him again. "You were correct in stating that your hanky would be stained beyond redemption by the bramble juice. I have taken it upon myself to make you a new one." With that she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and held it out to him.
James reached for it, momentarily bereft of speech by her unexpected action. Emily turned and ran back up the path before he could do more than shout a belated "Thank you" after her retreating figure. He looked down at the large square of fine white linen in his hands. In one corner were the initials, JW, neatly embroidered in a mossy green, and below them, in varying shades of darker green, three oak leaves. He held it up to his face and breathed in the lingering fragrance of rose petals. He was overwhelmed that she would have sewed this especially for him, with such care and detail. Did she even imagine how much he would cherish this gift? No, he thought not, or she never would have bestowed it upon him. To her it was merely a kindness to repay a kindness; to him it meant so much more.
He returned to his horse who was patiently awaiting him, grazing on the tender sprouting grasses.
"It's not for you, old boy, it's for the cows," he said as he fondly rubbed the bridge of Sophocles' nose. "Thank you for being such a gentleman. I'm sorry I took so long, but if you knew who I was with I'm sure you would understand." He threw himself up onto the saddle and, with a glance back in the direction of the river, turned his old friend towards home.
Emily slipped into her house with barely enough time to dress for dinner. Alice was anxiously awaiting her to help her with the procedure.
"Your mother has been asking after you, miss," she said in a worried voice. "She even sent me out to look for you in the garden."
"Oh dear! Was she cross?"
"She did appear somewhat overset, miss. It seems you missed an engagement," said Alice as she helped Emily out of her walking dress and into a pale green muslin with puff sleeves and lace trim. "I thought your mother would like to see you in this; you do not wear it often but I have heard her remark how pretty it is."
Emily smiled her appreciation at the girl and then silently tried to recall an engagement she may have made for that afternoon. Nothing came to mind. ‘Even so,' she thought, ‘whatever it was I'm glad that I forgot it because I had a very pleasant walk.' She sighed, hoping that dinner would not be an uncomfortable affair. She let Alice arrange her hair in an elegant style and even allowed her to thread a creamy ribbon through it. Everyone else was already present in the dining room, but she had just managed to avoid being late.
Her father, who had been out all day himself and just lately arrived, greeted her with, "You look very well this evening dear," indicating that he was as yet unaware that Emily was out of favour. Her mother sniffed, and her aunt Letty smilingly agreed with her father. As soon as the servants had quit the room, her mother turned to her and let her know exactly what she thought of her transgressions.
"Young lady, I hope you have a very good explanation for your behaviour this afternoon," she began in frigid tones that made the general sit up and take notice. Letty gave Emily a comforting smile. "Lord Ralph arrived at 2:30 to take you out in his new phaeton. He said that you two were to take a drive and then visit Sophie Farquar. He was left kicking his heels for close to half an hour while I searched high and low for you. Where on earth were you and why could you not see fit to be here at the appointed time?"
"Mama, I do apologise," said Emily contritely. "I have no recollection of a plan of that nature." Emily dimly remembered Lord Ralph mentioning a new phaeton, but did not recall agreeing to an outing. It would be just like Lord Ralph and Sophie to make the plans while she was playing and then forget to inform her of them. "If I had been aware of an engagement you can rest assured I would have been here ready and waiting, sitting with you in the parlour at the appointed time."
This did nothing to mollify her mother. "It is unlike you to be so forgetful. Of all people to slight, that you should chose Lord Ralph is extremely upsetting. I had not thought you capable of it."
"Mother! It was unintentional."
"Remember this, Emily. Lord Ralph must be shown deference at all times. It does not do to fly into the boughs over some disagreement you may have had."
"But I am not angry with him. I did not avoid the engagement out of spite; I was not aware of it," said Emily with some asperity.
"Do not take that tone with me. Lord Ralph was sure that you had taken exception to something he had said and were now in high sulks. Oh, how I wish that silly old aunt had not died and that you two were married already. Once you are married you can be at outs with him, but before, that is just not politic." Mrs. Sidford took a sip of her wine and gave Emily such a glare that it was difficult to misunderstand her meaning. Emily must do nothing to jeopardise the engagement. Lord Ralph must not cry off. "You shall apologise at the earliest opportunity. Wear that gown when next you see him; I'm certain he will like you in it."
"I have nothing to apologise for," said Emily resignedly, "but I will apologise."
The general had been following the conversation whilst eating goodly portions from the platters of pheasant and beef, liberally drenched in rich sauces. He turned to his daughter and said, "You may have managed to put your mother off the scent and take her down a false trail, but I have not forgotten the major point. Where exactly were you Emily?"
"I went for a walk."
"I asked the servants to look for you in the gardens. No one reported seeing you walking about the grounds," said her mother.
"If you were not in our park," asked her father, "then where did you see fit to walk?"
"I walked down the lane to the old bridge, and then up the river path."
"You went off the grounds and did not deem it necessary to inform your mother, or leave a message with a servant?" asked her father. His face was beginning to purple with anger.
"I'm sorry. It was remiss of me. I will not do it again."
"And just who did you have for escort?" her father thundered.
"You surely did not go out alone into the countryside?" asked her mother, shocked. "Remember what happened the last time you ran off on your own? You were waylaid by a complete stranger!"
"Mother I was not waylaid! You know that very well."
"You were lucky it was someone innocuous like Mr. Warrington," answered her mother. "It could have been far worse."
"I will take a servant with me next time, and I will inform you of it. I promise," said Emily in consternation.
"There will be no next time," said the general. "I will not have my daughter walking about the neighbourhood like a hoyden, servant or no! I have a good mind to disallow you from going with Ruth Chesterton on her parish duties."
"No father!"
"In going about with Ruth," interposed Letty, "Emily is doing just as she ought. There is nothing indecorous in her behaviour. It is the accepted duty of every young lady of good breeding and I know that Lady Prescott is pleased."
"That is very true," said Maude Sidford. "Penelope was telling me just that the other day. ‘Emily is acting like a true lady,' she said."
"Would she think gallivanting over the countryside the behaviour of a true lady? I think she would be horrified. Emily, you may continue to assist Miss Chesterton, but your rambles are at an end. There is no need to go further than the confines of our own park. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, father." Emily knew nothing could be gained from arguing, but she felt a pang at losing that particular freedom. The rest of the meal was a silent affair; both her parents were not disposed to talk with her, and Letty was unsuccessful in her attempts to start up any form of conversation. After dinner the sombre tone had not lifted and the scene in the drawing room was far from companionable. Maude Sidford took up her embroidery and attended to it with diligence, occasionally making remarks on how Emily must endeavour to show Lord Ralph increased attention. Letty attempted to console Emily by saying that if she did not mind going for very short walks, she herself was more than willing to accompany Emily, but she could not manage anything more distant than the old bridge. Emily appreciated her aunt's kindness but was disinclined to talk, and as soon as her father joined them, sat at the instrument and played until her mother admonished her that the melancholy strains of the concerto were enough to make one want to sink into the ground. She then excused herself, citing a headache.
"Well it is no wonder you have a headache," countered her mother. "What do you expect after jaunting about as you did this afternoon?"
"For my part," said Letty, "I think the walks have done Emily a world of good. When I returned from London she was looking wan and peaked, but now she has such an attractive, healthy glow."
When Emily returned to her bedchamber she threw herself upon her bed. No matter today's outcome, she had no regrets about her afternoon walk. She did not feel disappointed at missing the outing with Lord Ralph. Rather, she felt relieved. It would, no doubt, have been tiresome, and she had enjoyed the tranquility of the path beside the river. She had enjoyed reading among the trees as the water slipped slowly by her, and she had enjoyed her conversation with Mr. James Warrington. Thinking back, she supposed it was odd that she had not felt uncomfortable. She had told him some truths that she had admitted to no one, not even Ruth, and she had cried openly in his presence. She ought to have been mortified at her behaviour, but she was not. His manner with her was so open, so natural, that she felt secure and reassured in his presence. He listened to her like no one else did, and he talked to her about things that mattered. He encouraged her, he never belittled her, and he was always kind. She knew what it was to have a friend, and she felt all the value of such a rare commodity in her life.
She thought again of what Mr. Warrington had said about being able to use her position as Lady Prescott to do something of real value. She knew that the present Lady Prescott did nothing but the obligatory soup visits. Would she be allowed to do more? She, after all, would be Lady Prescott; she would no longer have to defer to Lady Prescott, would she? If she could convince Lord Ralph that it would be a social advantage to behave benevolently, there was a project that she would dearly like to initiate.
Ruth had long wanted to set up a school, and had talked much of it in their last two outings. She intended to start a school for the children of the farmers and labourers. According to Ruth, what really set the lower classes apart from the gentry and caused such disparity of wealth and advantage was the way they spoke. Girls who were educated and taught to speak the King's English were able to get superior employment than those whose English was coarse, no matter intelligence or ability. Emily reasoned that this must be true because all the upper servants spoke in a much more refined way than the scullery maids. She had only recently become aware of this when she had gone out at dawn and come home to witness the house being set up for the day. If she were able to assist Ruth in realising her dream, then maybe marrying Lord Ralph would not be such a meaningless act.
Emily was a little shocked with herself. She had never really phrased it in her own mind that way before, but she had to admit there was not much meaning in marriage to a man that one had nothing of real value in common with. She had always accepted the betrothal, just as she accepted her parents, her home, and her neighbours. It was life as she knew it. And anyway, who else was there to marry? Bertie Farquar, Geoffrey Billingsworth, and George Lampton would make no better a husband than Lord Ralph Prescott would. She had always been glad that the decision was made for her and she didn't have to go to London and put herself on display in the marriage mart. But she was beginning to realise that there was a flaw in her reasoning. There were other men who would make better husbands than Lord Ralph, even here. She had to admit the Mr. James Warrington would be a far superior husband than Lord Ralph, but not only him, even Mr. William Turnbull and Mr. Grantham, former students of Reverend Chesterton's in whose company she had dined, were kind and intelligent men who surpassed Lord Ralph in marriageable attributes. Well, excepting station and fortune, that is. They would never be acceptable to her family. And anyway, young ladies had to wait to be asked, they could not chose whomever they wished to propose to them. Besides, some people married for reasons other than securing their future or social advantage. Some people married for love, and she had a feeling that Mr. Warrington and the other two were of that persuasion.
Alice came in to help Emily undress, but she sent her away, telling her to get some sleep. It wasn't quite as easy to get out of her gown on her own as she thought it would be, but she managed and hung it up in the wardrobe. She sat in her nightdress brushing out her hair, contemplating her impending marriage. In a year and a half she would have to comply; she could put it off no longer. She had to admit, finally, that she had been putting it off, that as much as she accepted it, she was averse to marrying Lord Ralph. Her future loomed before her in all its dismal dullness. She had no choice but to accept it, only now she realised that she did have a choice in whether she would settle into the ennui of married life at Wilverton, or if she would make something of it. James Warrington had shown her that she could use her position to affect changes in the lives of the less fortunate, and she fully intended to try. If only she would not find her way blocked by her husband and his mother.
That was for the future, now she had to contend with this new restriction of not walking outside of her own property. Thankfully Aunt Letty had supported her right to accompany Ruth on her visits to the poor. It was true that her own park provided ample space for long walks; what was no longer possible was chance meetings with her friend, Mr. Warrington. She was glad she had remembered to give him the handkerchief today, for she knew not when the occasion of their being alone together would arise. It was funny, but that moment when she had presented him with her gift was the only moment that she had felt shy in his presence and she had run off without waiting to see how he had received it. Had he liked the oak leaves? She wished she had stayed to see the expression on his face. She lay in bed and relived the moment, let their whole meeting play out over and over, and as she finally drifted off to sleep her last thought was the hope that on Saturday, when she was with Ruth, she would meet him again.
© 2002, 2003 Copyright held by the author.