Starting Over
Part XIII
Mr. Trent did not come the next
day. Either he had not had the time to come to Rampton, or he had realised that
Rosalind did not want him to propose. Rosalind hoped for the latter, but
knowing Mr. Trent for what he was she suspected that he had simply been too
busy to come.
She guessed that a man who was too busy to propose to the woman he admired was
not so much in love after all, and would be able to come to terms with her
refusal without any problems. This, in a way, cheered her. She hated to give
him pain, but since it was unlikely that his hurt would last very long she
could face it with more equanimity than she would have done otherwise.
Rosalind was too occupied to
worry much about Mr. Trent or any other young man anyway. She had to pack, and
she had to call on Mr. Deane to take her leave. Besides she wanted to make some
lavender oil before she left, and that meant having to harvest lavender in the
garden first.
Mr. Irving was not at the Manor
House when Rosalind went to visit Mr. Deane, for which she was glad. It gave
her the opportunity to say goodbye to Mr. Deane without any interruption. Mr.
Deane wanted to know how she had enjoyed the ball, and when she was to return
from Stratford. He looked very tired and frail, and so Rosalind said goodbye
after half an hour. She could not help wondering whether she would ever see Mr.
Deane again. The idea was so depressing that Rosalind was glad she had work to
do -- it would take her mind off these gloomy thoughts.
She was in the Rectory garden
picking lavender when Mr. Irving and Mr. Murray came to the Rectory. Mr.
Irving, perceiving her in the garden, immediately came towards her and offered
to help her.
"Thank you sir, but I can just
about manage," Rosalind said, but she caught herself saying it with a smile -- a
novelty. "I am almost finished anyway."
"Then let me carry the basket
into the house for you," Mr. Irving said.
After a moment's hesitation,
Rosalind said, "Very well, if you wish to do so. But the basket is not very heavy.
I could very easily carry it myself."
She picked another handful of
lavender, put it into the basket and handed the basket to Mr. Irving. "Here you
are."
"Thank you." He smiled at her.
"I am glad to be able to help for once. Usually it is you helping me."
"I cannot remember having
assisted you in anything," Rosalind said.
"You have a very short memory
then," Mr. Irving replied. "I was talking about your unremitting care for my
uncle." He held the door open for Rosalind to enter the house. "You cannot
suppose that your efforts have gone unnoticed."
"Mr. Deane is a good friend of
the family, and it would be infamous to let him down," Rosalind said. "I would
not do such a thing -- and calling on Mr. Deane from time to time is not that
much of use. His valet does most of the work. I am only there to keep Mr. Deane
happy if I can."
"And not even my presence keeps
you from visiting him," Mr. Irving said light-heartedly.
"Not even that," Rosalind
agreed. She asked Mr. Irving to hand over the basket, took the basket
downstairs to the kitchen, and washed her hands and took off her apron before
joining her mother and sisters in the parlour. Mr. Irving and Mr. Murray were
sitting with them, talking animatedly. Apparently, they had called at Effingham
Court before they had come to the Rectory.
Mrs. Acton wanted to know how
dear Lady Wilcox was doing, and was answered that Lady Wilcox was doing well
but that Miss Delaney had been unable to leave her room in the morning.
"Really? Poor Miss Delaney,"
Miranda exclaimed. The look in Miranda's eyes told Rosalind that she was
neither shocked nor surprised. This raised her suspicion. She had not forgotten
how Miranda and Miss Wilcox had discussed getting even with Miss Delaney
the previous evening.
"Is Miss Delaney ill?" Rosalind
asked. "She did not look at all out of sorts yesterday -- at all events this is
not the impression I had of her. She seemed to enjoy herself very much."
"I have no idea what has
happened to Miss Delaney," Mr. Murray said. "We have just been told that Miss
Delaney has to keep to her room today."
"How disappointing, sir,"
Miranda said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Rosalind was rather worried --
she was certain Miranda knew what had happened to Miss Delaney, and that her
accident had been a rather strange one.
"You do not look disappointed at
all, Miss Miranda," Mr. Murray said laughingly. "Besides, considering what I
have been able to discover there is no illness in the case."
"I am glad to hear it," Rosalind
said sincerely. She had felt inclined to have a look among her collection of
household medicines to see whether a certain laxative was missing, though how
Miranda would have been able to give it to Miss Delaney without causing
suspicion was a mystery to her.
"So am I," Mrs. Acton said. Her
tone implied that if she found out any of her children had had a hand in any
prank that had been played on Miss Delaney they would be very sorry indeed. The
mischievous sparkle in Miranda's eyes died.
"Perhaps she just has the
headache or something like that," Beatrice said soothingly.
"Nothing of the sort," Mr.
Irving said. "Her shoes are missing."
"Her shoes!" Rosalind
exclaimed. "But surely ... surely Miss Delaney has more than one pair of shoes?"
"She has, but they are all gone,
I have discovered." Mr. Irving said. There was a twinkle of mischief in his
eyes too, Rosalind realised.
"Did the servants at Effingham
Court tell you so?" she said. "I can hardly believe it." Lady Wilcox's servants
were not the kind to gossip with visitors.
"There was no need to tell me,"
Mr. Irving said. "When we arrived, we heard Mrs. Delaney upstairs, screaming at
her daughter's abigail, so the mystery was resolved before we knew there was
one."
"The poor girl!" Rosalind
exclaimed. "I do hope Mrs. Delaney will not dismiss her!"
"She is more likely to be
compelled to pay the value of the missing shoes before she may leave Mrs.
Delaney's service," Mr. Irving said dryly. "It may take her a couple of years,
considering the size of Miss Delaney's shoe collection. I know she prides
herself on never having worn the same pair of shoes twice."
Rosalind remembered what Mrs.
Delaney had said about the housemaid who had broken something and assumed that
he was probably right. That woman would not miss a chance to take advantage of
the poor maid. The idea of Miss Delaney spending a fortune on shoes alone was,
somehow, quite in keeping with the picture Rosalind had of her.
"But ... but surely ... surely they
did not think the girl had stolen them?" Miranda asked.
"They did, apparently, but then
Miss Wilcox owned up and said that she had hidden them. Both Mrs. Delaney and
Lady Wilcox were furious, and now Miss Wilcox has to spend a week in her room."
"How unjust!" Miranda exclaimed.
"How long will Miss Delaney have to stay in her room for purposely
ruining Judith's ball dress?"
"Did she do so?" Mr. Murray
asked. He did not sound overly surprised, Rosalind thought.
"She did spill her wine down
Judith's ball dress so that Judith had to change," Miranda said.
"Are you sure she did that on
purpose?" Mr. Irving asked.
"I do not know, but Judith was
sure." Miranda said. "I suppose hiding her shoes was her way of getting even
with Miss Delaney -- she does not deserve being locked up for a week."
"Well, perhaps she will be let
off sooner if she can bring herself to tell her mother where she put Miss
Delaney's shoes," Mr. Irving said with a grin. "Otherwise Miss Delaney will
have to stay in her room until either Miss Wilcox has revealed the hiding-place
of her shoes, or until some new shoes have arrived from London. She refused to
buy shoes anywhere else -- or to wear borrowed shoes until her own were found."
"There is a decided air of
fashion about Miss Delaney," Rosalind said. "Surely she does not wish to be
seen in outmoded shoes."
Mr. Murray laughed. "No, she'd
much rather be confined to her room for weeks on end," he said.
"Are you ... are you well
acquainted with Miss Delaney, Mr. Murray?" Miranda asked. By her tone of voice
Rosalind could tell that Miranda did not like it if he was.
"We have known each other since
we were children," Mr. Murray said. "Her mother is a close friend of my aunt's,
and so we were thrown together very often, the three of us."
"Oh. Has she always been so ... so
... sophisticated?" Miranda asked. Mr. Irving grinned appreciatively at the
question. So did Rosalind. She liked Miranda's choice of word.
"Certainly," he said. "She has
always been very ... sophisticated."
Rosalind became aware of an
overpowering feeling of relief. Mr. Irving had not said so outright, but he had
given them the impression that he did not really like Miss Delaney; no matter
how well-acquainted he was with her. They were not of a kind, it seemed -- or
were not any more. Rosalind could very well imagine him sitting with Miss
Delaney at a ball and poking fun at some unfortunate provincial. She was
certain he had often done so, in the old days. But meanwhile Mr. Irving had
changed, and Rosalind could no longer imagine him doing so. He was more likely
to give Miss Delaney a well-deserved set-down when her behaviour went beyond
the limit of what was acceptable.
Although he had not shown any
open disrespect towards Miss Delaney, he seemed to be greatly amused by the
prank Judith Wilcox had played on her, and a man would not be amused by such a
thing if the lady in question were truly a friend of his -- or even more. He had
not fallen for her good looks or her fashionable dresses, and since he had not
done so he grew in Rosalind's esteem. He was not a man to be dazzled by
appearances, and she respected him for it. It also meant that Miss Delaney
would never be able to catch him, which satisfied her. He was too good for Miss
Delaney and her likes.
Only when the gentlemen had left
Rosalind went back to the kitchen to put some lavender in bottles and fill the
bottles with oil. Lavender oil was not only useful but also decorative, she
thought. The bottles looked beautiful, especially when the light shone through
them.
When she had finished filling the bottles, she took them upstairs to the
stillroom, and then took the remaining lavender to the attic, where she spread
it on a bed-sheet to dry. When they got back, she thought, it would be ready to
be filled into sachets for their linen cupboards. And then, she thought with a
rueful smile, the summer would be almost gone. It was the beginning of July
now, and by the time she got back the month would be over. If they were lucky
they would get a fine August, but one had better not count on it. The weather
had been very fine and warm for weeks, and once it began to rain it would
probably not stop in a hurry. Rosalind only hoped that they would have a couple
of fine days in Stratford before the bad weather set in -- and that there would
be good weather until the farmers had brought their harvest home.
Old Mrs. Acton had a fine house
in Church Street, which was why her son sometimes called her "Shakespeare's
Neighbour". In fact, the site of The New Place, Shakespeare's house when he had
come back to live in the town where he had been born, was only a very short
walk from Mrs. Acton's house. The house itself had been demolished some decades
ago, but both Rosalind's father and grandmother could remember what it had
looked like.
The house in Church Street had
not been the Actons' home during Mr. Acton's childhood; Mr. Acton's elder
brother had bought it for his mother to live in when he had come into his
inheritance. Mrs. Acton did like her daughter-in-law, but thought that she
might not continue doing so if she had to live under the same roof with her.
So, for the sake of domestic peace and quiet, Mr. John Acton had bought the
house for his mother to live in, in the happy knowledge that this arrangement
suited everyone in the family and that the investment had been a good one
besides.
Mrs. Acton was in her seventies,
but anyone who did not know her very well was surprised when informed of that
fact, for Mrs. Acton certainly did not look her age. She was rather short, and
thin, and energetic, and old age had not, so far, taken away her energy. She
visited her eldest son regularly twice a week, and for that purpose she walked
from her house to his, which was outside Stratford on the opposite bank of the
River Avon.
She came out of her house when
Rosalind and her sisters arrived, and greeted them all with a hearty embrace.
Then she turned to Rosalind's father, who had escorted his daughters on their
journey.
"Well, Edward," she said,
scrutinizing his face. "You look tired."
"It has been a long journey."
Mr. Acton smiled. "And I am not getting any younger, Mama."
"Who is?" his mother retorted.
"Now, do come in and sit down. We don't want to be a spectacle for our
neighbours, do we?"
She took her visitors to her
cosy parlour, and there she demanded to know all the news from Rampton. When
she had been younger, she had often gone there to spend some time with her
younger son and his family, but she had grown decrepit of late (or so she said,
but her son suspected she only said so because she liked to be contradicted in
that matter) and had given up her journeys to Rampton and London.
"Our neighbour is very ill,
Grandmama," Rosalind said. "Mr. Deane, do you remember him?"
"The nice gentleman from the
Manor House? Of course I do! What is wrong with him?"
"He had a palsy-stroke," Mr.
Acton said. "Which has left him quite helpless -- he is lame and cannot speak."
"The poor man!" Mrs. Acton
exclaimed. "And him all alone in that big house of his!"
"Not quite alone, Mama," Mr.
Acton said. "His heir -- his great-nephew -- has come to live with him."
"Oh! That must be a comfort to
Mr. Deane," Mrs. Acton said. "Is he young? The nephew?"
"I daresay so, though I have
never asked him about his exact age," Mr. Acton said. "What do you think,
girls?"
"I should say he is some
twenty-five, twenty-six years old," Rosalind said.
"As old as that?" Miranda cried,
aghast.
"I am afraid so," Rosalind said
with an amused smile.
"But that is ... that is quite old!"
Miranda insisted.
"Indeed, so it is," Mr. Acton
said dryly.
"Are you well acquainted with
Mr. Irving then?" Mrs. Acton asked.
"One could say so," Rosalind
said. "He visits Papa quite frequently, and since I often visit Mr. Deane I
sometimes meet him at the Manor House."
"What kind of man is he then,
apart from being quite old?" Mrs. Acton asked. Her eyes twinkled with
amusement at Miranda's opinions on old age.
"He is very pleasant and
well-behaved, Grandmama," Beatrice said calmly.
"And handsome," Miranda added.
"Have you nothing to say about
him, Rosie?" Mrs. Acton asked. Rosalind shook her head.
"Beatrice and Miranda have
already told you what there is to know," she said.
"Rosie has taken him in dislike,
Grandmama," Beatrice said. "He insulted her, unwittingly, when he first came to
Rampton and she has not forgiven him ever since."
"This is not true," Rosalind
said hotly. "I have forgiven him for that, and I have not taken him in
dislike."
"Haven't you now?" Mr. Acton
asked, slightly surprised. "And there I too thought you had."
"Surely I cannot dislike a
gentleman who shows so much proper feeling when dealing with an aged and infirm
relative," Rosalind said. "He is very kind to Mr. Deane, and does a great deal
to help him, and he does deserve my respect. We may disagree on some matters,
but I am sure he is entitled to his opinions as well as I am entitled to mine."
"Certainly, my dear," Mr. Acton
said, looking at his eldest daughter with an odd expression in his eyes. He was
not making fun of her, she noticed that. It was something different. He
probably thought she was in love with Mr. Irving, Rosalind realised.
"It is not what you think,
Papa," she said, trying to allay her father's suspicion.
"You can have no idea what I may
be thinking," Mr. Acton said with a smile. "I was just glad to hear that you
have finally stopped feeling resentful towards Mr. Irving. As I have told you
before, I would have been sadly disappointed if any of my children had been
grossly unforgiving, and your behaviour was going into that direction."
The conversation then strayed
away from Mr. Irving, since Rosalind's grandmother wished to know about the ball
at Lady Wilcox's, and the following half hour was spent in pleasant
reminiscences. Mrs. Acton was also interested in Mr. Trent, whom she had met
once when he had come to Stratford with Mr. Acton, and in Lady Wilcox's
visitors, whom she did not know but who appealed to her sense of the
ridiculous.
"But I do not think they are
ridiculous," Beatrice said when her grandmother laughed at the story of Miss
Delaney and Judith Wilcox. "In fact, I do not think I have ever met anyone as
unpleasant as the Delaneys."
"Unpleasant they may be, but is
their pretension not laughable?" Mrs. Acton wanted to know.
"It may be, from a distance,"
Beatrice said. "But up close they are just insufferable."
"There will come a day when you
will laugh at them too," Mrs. Acton prophesied, and then took her
granddaughters upstairs to their rooms to rest and change their clothes for
dinner.
At the dinner table, she gave
them an account of all the family news that had not reached them yet. They
heard that Aunt Holbrooke was going to bring her eldest daughter out into
Society during the next Season, that Aunt Wallace was finally coming down from
Scotland and was going to spend a week or two in Stratford before going to
London to visit her sister, that Uncle John Acton might buy a commission for
his second son (who showed no interest in serious study but great interest in
the Army), and that Captain George Acton, Rosalind's youngest uncle, had
finally got a post to his liking, and was now to be found sailing somewhere in
the East Indies.
They were quite happy to go to bed that evening, and Rosalind fell asleep almost immediately, before she could worry about what she had said about Mr. Irving and what impression her words might have given her father and her grandmother. She was not going to see Mr. Irving any time soon, anyway, and neither was she going to see her father for a while after he had journeyed back to Rampton the next day. Things in Rampton could be well different by the time Rosalind got back, and it would not do to worry. Three weeks were a long time.
The "Stratford
Season", as Rosalind's father chose to call it, was in full swing when
they arrived at their grandmother's home. Mrs. Acton took them out almost every
evening - either to dine at their uncle's house, or at one of Mrs. Acton's
friends' house, or to dances in the neighbourhood. Mrs. Acton was a very
popular resident of Stratford, and her granddaughters from Rampton were
considered to be fine, well-behaved girls, just the kind one was pleased to
invite to one's parties. They could be relied on to behave unexceptionally, and
yet no one could have called them insipid. In general, they were said to do
their grandmother (and, naturally, their parents) credit.
Thus, the first week of their
visit at their grandmother's passed very quickly, and although Rosalind rarely
had the time to think about Mr. Deane (and, to be honest, about Mr. Irving too)
during the day, she did think of them a great deal during the night. She
worried about Mr. Deane's state of health, but at the same time knew that her
father would have let her know immediately if anything had happened to him. As
for Mr. Irving, she wondered how he was doing. Now that she was not in Rampton
to look after his great-uncle, would he manage? True, she had never done that
much for Mr. Deane, but Mr. Irving had always seemed to rely on her advice.
Rosalind could be sure that her
father and her brothers would take turns in visiting Mr. Deane, but this was
just not the same. She knew that her father had not the smallest idea of how to
tend to a sick person, and her brothers knew even less. So whom would Mr.
Irving ask if any problems arose? Rosalind did not question Mr. Bates' skill as
a physician, but apart from prescribing the medicine he thought was needed he
did not concern himself with the care for his patients, as Rosalind had often
observed in the past.
Rosalind did not doubt Mr.
Irving's goodwill towards his uncle, or his eagerness to do for him what was
right and proper. But when all was said and done he was just a man, and in
Rosalind's experience men hardly ever knew how to take care of an ailing
relative. Hopefully Mr. Irving had the good sense to ask for her mother's
advice -- she knew a thing or two about nursing,
and would be able to give him some valuable hints, should he need them.
Rosalind did not only worry
about Mr. Irving's ability to look after his great-uncle. There were the
Delaneys, who were still staying at Effingham Court. Even though Rosalind knew
that Mr. Irving was not especially interested in Miss Delaney - he had made
that clear during his last visit at the Rectory before they had left - it was
more than obvious that Miss Delaney was especially interested in him.
Rosalind suspected that the main reason for Mrs. Delaney's removal to Leamington
"for her health" had been the fact that her friend, Lady Wilcox,
lived near Leamington - and that Lady Wilcox lived near Rampton Manor and could
be depended on to invite her friend to stay for as long as she liked. Rosalind
had met matchmaking mamas before, of course, during her short London Season,
but never before had any of those stooped to such measures. Both Mrs. Delaney
and her daughter would be well served, Rosalind thought maliciously, if some
other girl snatched Mr. Irving right from under their noses. Still, one could
not trust the Delaneys. They weren't the ones to play fair. One thing was
certain; they would not allow him to be snatched away without a fight. Much as
Rosalind pitied him, it seemed as if Mr. Irving was destined to marry Miss
Delaney one day, whether he liked it or not. The thought was almost enough to
put her off her food.
It was at the beginning of the
second week of their stay. Rosalind and her sisters had been shopping in Henley
Street and were just on their way back to their grandmother's house. When they
were about to pass the Garrick Inn, a young gentleman stepped out into the
street in front of them. Miranda recognised him at once.
"Mr. Murray!" she
exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise! What brings you to Stratford?"
Mr. Murray smiled, and greeted
Rosalind and her sisters before answering Miranda's question.
"It is an educational trip,
Miss Miranda," he finally said. "My cousin and I agreed that there
was a serious gap in our education that needed to be remedied, and so we came
here."
"You mean Mr. Irving is
here too?" Miranda asked eagerly. Rosalind was glad that Miranda had done
so - that way she was able to find out what she wanted to know without
appearing too keen herself. Younger sisters had their uses.
"So he is, and I do not
know what he means by keeping me waiting," Mr. Murray said, giving the inn
door an accusing glare. However, the door did not open, and so he turned to
Rosalind and Beatrice, asking them whether they were enjoying their stay, and
was about to ask Miranda the same question when Mr. Irving finally left the inn
and joined their group. He seemed very happy to meet them, and immediately
asked the Acton sisters whether he might escort them to their destination.
"We are on our way back to
my grandmother's house in Church Street," Rosalind said. "You are
welcome to come with us if we are not detaining you. Mr. Murray informed us you
had a purpose in Stratford."
"So we have," Mr.
Irving said. "He said that no one with some pretensions to learning should
omit a visit to the Shakespeare sites in Stratford, and I must say I quite
agree."
"I hope you will find your
visit beneficial," Rosalind said with a laugh.
"I do not doubt it," Mr.
Irving said. "One should take every chance of improving one's mind."
"Mr. Deane is in good
health, I hope," Rosalind said after a short pause.
"His condition is unlikely
to change for the better, but Mr. Bates has assured me my uncle is not going to
get much worse at the moment," Mr. Irving said. "Had he not told me
so, nothing would have induced me to leave my uncle. Even as things are, we are
not going to stay in Stratford for long. We are going to return to Rampton the
day after tomorrow."
Rosalind felt a pang of
disappointment at this piece of news - she realised she had hoped Mr. Irving
would stay longer. But he was certainly right; he could not stay away too long.
Mr. Deane might need him. Luckily the distance between Rampton and Stratford
was a rather easy one, and could be accomplished quickly, so if there was an
emergency at Rampton Manor Mr. Irving could go back almost at a moment's
notice.
"You do not have much time
to enjoy the sights of Stratford then," Rosalind said. "Not that
there are many. What exactly do you want to see?"
"Shakespeare's birthplace,
naturally," Mr. Irving said. "And his tomb - it is in Trinity Church,
isn't it?"
"It is." Rosalind
said. "The Birthplace is in Henley Street, not far from here."
"Are there any other places
of interest?" Mr. Irving asked.
"You may wish to have a
look at Shakespeare's school," Rosalind said. "Though my father says
that it is doubtful whether Shakespeare actually attended it. Still, it is a
beautiful building - we are going to pass it on our way to my grandmother's
home, so you may judge for yourself. We will also pass the site of New Place,
which was Shakespeare's house when he returned to Stratford - but the house has
been demolished."
"It seems a shame."
"It does, but my father
says the building was unsafe and there was no other way of dealing with it. -
Still, the whole town has not changed much since Shakespeare lived here. One
can easily imagine what it must have been like during his lifetime."
They passed the Guild Chapel,
and Rosalind drew Mr. Irving's attention to the Chapel and the adjacent school.
Mr. Irving said what was proper, and the nature of his remarks convinced
Rosalind that he was really interested in what he saw and had not just said so
to impress her and her sisters, though why he might have wished to do so she
was unable to determine.
When they arrived at Mrs.
Acton's house, Mr. Murray and Rosalind's sisters were still somewhere behind
them, absorbed in a lively discussion of something or other. Rosalind stopped,
looking back at them, and Mr. Irving said, "So this is where you are staying."
"This is my grandmother's
house, yes."
"I'd like to pay Mrs. Acton
a visit before I have to leave Stratford," Mr. Irving said. "Mr. and Mrs.
Acton have charged me with a letter for her."
"My grandmother is very
fond of company," Rosalind said. "I am sure she will be delighted to
make your acquaintance, sir. She likes to have news from her children, too --
she always looks forward to their letters. You can be sure of a warm welcome in
her home."
"At what time does she
receive visitors?" Mr. Irving asked.
"You may come in at once,
if you like," Rosalind said. "Most of her callers come at around this
time." This sounded a bit too keen even in her ears, and as Rosalind
became aware of it she blushed. "Unless you have other plans for this
morning, that is," she added, trying to sound nonchalant.
Mr. Irving gave her a smile, but
seemed to sense her embarrassment. "I am afraid I do not have the letter
with me at the moment," he said. "I will have to come back
later."
"Oh ... well, yes, in that
case you had better..." Rosalind said and broke off. "It would be a
waste of time for you to come in with us if you have to come back anyway, and
it is not as if you had come to Stratford to see us ."
"Er, no, I didn't." Mr.
Irving laughed when he saw the indignant expression in Rosalind's face.
"There I go again - I have offended you."
"No, you haven't,"
Rosalind said, after considering for a moment. "Your cousin said you had
come to Stratford to see the Shakespeare sites, and naturally you want to make
the most of your visit, and not spend all day in my grandmother's parlour -
especially since you have to go back the day after tomorrow."
"I am glad you understood
what I was trying to say, Miss Acton." Mr. Irving said. "But let me
assure you that I am glad to have met you here. You are sadly missed in
Rampton. The place is just not the same without you - and in meeting you here,
I have become aware just what we are missing at the moment."
Rosalind blushed. "Mr.
Irving, I ... I do not know what to say. Surely it cannot make that much of a
difference to the people in Rampton whether I am at home or not."
"Perhaps not to everybody,
but to some people it does make a huge difference," Mr. Irving said.
The conversation had taken a
dangerous turn, and so Rosalind was glad when her sisters and Mr. Murray
arrived and Mr. Irving had to take his leave. She hated blushing like a
schoolgirl, and yet this was what had happened several times while he had
talked to her. He probably believed she was incurably stupid, Rosalind thought
as she entered the house and took off her bonnet and pelisse. As the morning
wore on, Rosalind even began to share that opinion. There was no other
explanation for the way she behaved.
Again and again she caught
herself sitting down in the window-seat overlooking the street, and peering out
to check whether Mr. Irving was anywhere in sight. Whenever she passed the
mirror in the hall, she scrutinised her reflection, wondering what she could do
to improve her looks -- she felt that her dress did not make her
look her best, and besides her hair was a mess.
Even her grandmother sensed that something was wrong with Rosalind, and since
Miranda had lost no time in informing her whom they had met on their way home
from Henley Street she did not find it difficult to draw her own conclusions.
"Perhaps you would like to
borrow my shawl," she asked Rosalind with a sly smile. "The Norwich
silk shawl I showed you the other day -- would
you like it? I do believe it would become you, my dear."
"I would like it very much,"
Rosalind said, but also reminded her grandmother that the shawl was too fine to
be worn on a weekday -- glad that she had found an excuse before
her grandmother had got any strange ideas. "I did consider putting on
another dress though -- this one does look a bit
crumpled, don't you think?"
Her grandmother agreed, and
Rosalind went off to her room. She was only half dressed when she heard the
doorbell ring, and after cursing herself for having left the parlour at such an
inopportune moment, she made haste to make sure that she did not miss much of Mr.
Irving's visit.
When she returned to the parlour
she found that the visitor was her uncle and not Mr. Irving. For a moment she
could not decide between disappointment and relief --
disappointment because the visitor was not Mr. Irving, and relief because she
had not missed Mr. Irving's morning call after all. She sat down on the sofa
next to her grandmother and politely took part in the conversation for a couple
of minutes. Her uncle had been so kind as to bring her a book on herbology he
had found in his library and Rosalind felt that anyone who took such pains to
please her deserved to be treated with a proper amount of civility. She could
not wait for him to leave, however, so she could have a closer look at the
volume he had brought her -- and maybe forget about Mr. Irving for a
while. Why was he keeping them waiting?
They were just discussing the
dinner party Rosalind's aunt was planning for the next day when the doorbell
clanged again. This time the visitors were Mr. Irving and Mr. Murray.
Rosalind caught herself smiling
happily, and blushed when she realised that her grandmother's gaze rested on
her. Embarrassed, she lowered her eyes, and wished she could leave the room. In
time she realised that her grandmother expected her to introduce the gentlemen,
and rose. No one should be able to think her lacking in manners. Lacking in
brains, obviously, but not in manners.
"Grandmama, Uncle John,
this is our new neighbour in Rampton, Mr. Irving -- and his
cousin Mr. Murray, who is staying with him at present. --
My grandmother, and my uncle, Mr. John Acton."
While receiving her visitors'
greetings, Mrs. Acton gave both of them a measuring look, and seemed to take a
fancy to them immediately.
"Do be seated," she
said kindly when the young gentlemen had exchanged civilities with everyone
present and Mr. Irving had given her her letter from Rampton. "My
granddaughters have informed me that you have come here to visit the
Shakespeare sites."
"So we have, ma'am," Mr.
Murray said. "We have visited the Birthplace already."
"I hope you were not
tricked into buying pieces of Shakespeare's chair," Mrs. Acton said dryly.
"They do sell them there, but I'd like to see the size of that chair,
considering how many pieces have been sold already. It could hardly fit into
that small cottage in Henley Street."
Mr. Irving laughed. "I
thought the same, ma'am," he said. "All in all, I must say I was
disappointed. The place did not live up to my expectations."
"I should have warned
you," Rosalind said. "In my defence I must say that I was quite sure
you would have wanted to see the Birthplace no matter whether I had warned you
or not."
"You were quite right to
think so," Mr. Murray said. "Still, I thought the house was rather ...
neglected."
"I prefer the term squalid,"
Mrs. Acton said. "Squalid and dilapidated. If they go on like this, the
whole place will have to be pulled down just like New Place. I am not sure I'd
feel sorry to see it go either."
"It is an eyesore,"
her son agreed. "Something ought to be done about it. It must give
visitors a strange idea of how things are in Stratford."
"I think it would be a
shame if the building was demolished," Mr. Irving said. "It should be
restored rather than pulled down."
"If you can find someone
willing to spend a fortune on that ...that
ruin," Mrs. Acton said. "No doubt it was a fine house when
Shakespeare was alive, but centuries have passed since then, and I am sure he
would not recognise it if he saw the state it was in now. --
But I do not know too much about the matter. My younger son --
the Rector -- is the Shakespeare expert in this
family. I am certain you will get several evenings' worth of discourse out of
him if you introduce the topic." Mrs. Acton laughed. "He is an
ardent admirer of Shakespeare's work."
"He left us in no doubt
about that," Mr. Murray said smilingly. "But it is a pleasure
listening to him."
Mrs. Acton nodded, apparently
satisfied with Mr. Murray's praise of her son. She then asked the young
gentlemen what there plans for the day were, and suggested they should take a
walk to Shottery to see Anne Hathaway's cottage the next day.
"It is just another
run-down cottage, really, but there are Hathaways living there still," she
said, "and the countryside is really beautiful. I was planning to walk
there with my granddaughters, but right now I am not feeling up to doing so,
and it would be such a shame if they were to go without this outing."
Rosalind did not believe for a
moment that her grandmother was not feeling up to walking to Shottery. It was
much more likely that the old lady was trying to throw her granddaughters in Mr.
Irving and Mr. Murray's company, and although she liked the notion of spending
the day with Mr. Irving she would have been happier about it if the idea had
been his.
Mr. Irving, taking Mrs. Acton's
hint, quite properly replied that the idea sounded tempting, and asked whether
the young ladies could be spared the next day.
Mrs. Acton gave the girls her
permission to go, and Rosalind's uncle added that he would consider himself
honoured if the young gentlemen would dine at his house the next evening. Both Mr.
Irving and Mr. Murray accepted his invitation, and then took their leave.
There were no gloomy thoughts in Rosalind's head that evening -- she was looking forward to the walk to Shottery and the dinner in her uncle's house now that she knew Mr. Irving would be there too. She did not dare question her feelings for Mr. Irving, though. Somehow she felt it was safer not to do so -- she might unearth some annoying truth if she did. It was much easier to assume that Mr. Irving had brought good news from Rampton, and that she was happy to hear everything was well there. This had to be the explanation for her delight in seeing Mr. Irving. Yes, this certainly had to be it.
Rosalind awoke to the patter of
rain against her window the next morning.
"I don't believe it,"
she said with a groan, and turned over in her bed, trying to fall asleep once
more. She would have given anything for rain on the day when they had gone to
Kenilworth Castle -- she knew for a fact that she would have
given worlds, and probably her first-born into the bargain, and those had only
been her first thoughts on the matter -- but it
had not rained. Today, when she had been looking forward to walking to Shottery
with Mr. Irving and his cousin ever since they had decided on doing so, it
rained. Someone up there hated her.
Seeing that it was no use trying
to go back to sleep, Rosalind got up, washed and put on her dress, though she
did not see much of a point in doing so. She might as well spend all day in
bed, considering. There was not much good this day was going to bring, after
all. Fine, there was the dinner at her uncle's to
look forward to, but nothing else it seemed.
Rosalind was not surprised to
find her sister Miranda in a very similar mood to her own when they met at the
breakfast table.
"Why did it have to
rain today?" Miranda complained, giving her sister Beatrice a glare
because she had dared to smile. "Why not tomorrow? They might be obliged
to stay longer if it rained tomorrow."
No one needed to ask who they
were.
"The road to Rampton is in
excellent repair," Beatrice pointed out. "A bit of rain will not keep
anyone from travelling on it."
"It might serve as an
excuse if one was searching for one," Miranda said. "I know I'd make
use of it, certainly."
"We know you would,"
Rosalind said curtly. She was not in the humour to cheer her youngest sister up
-- or to intervene to prevent a quarrel
between her sisters.
"Perhaps it will stop
raining before long," Miranda said, peering out of the window to see if
there were any signs of the weather improving.
"It does not look like
it," their grandmother said mercilessly. "But one should never give
up hope," she continued when she saw the look of disappointment in her
granddaughters' faces. "The path to Shottery will be wet and muddy,
though. I would not try to walk on it, unless I wanted to ruin my dress and
shoes."
"We might walk along the
road," Beatrice said. "That'll be better. We need not give up the
notion of a walk altogether."
Sometimes Rosalind loved her
sister Beatrice. She had such good sense. But since the rain showed no sign of
stopping any time soon, even Miranda had to give up the idea of walking to
Shottery, though she only did so reluctantly. While she still lamented the fact
that they were not to see the gentlemen before the evening at their uncle's,
the doorbell rang and her grandmother's maid announced Mr. Irving and Mr.
Murray. Miranda's face brightened instantly, and so did Rosalind's, she feared.
Although it was not quite what she had wanted to do, she decided it could do no
harm to show that one was pleased to receive a visitor. It was certainly more
civil than giving them an indignant stare for having the impudence to call on
one.
"Mr. Irving! Mr.
Murray!" Miranda exclaimed. "We were so disappointed when we saw the
rain this morning! It is most provoking!"
"So it is," Mr. Irving
said and turned to his cousin. "Did I not tell you that we would find some
very sympathetic company in Church Street?" he asked.
"So you did. As well as
agreeable, I might add." Mr. Murray laughed.
"That goes without
saying," Mr. Irving said with a smile. "You see, Miss Miranda, we
were very disappointed too."
"It seems a shame that you
will have to go back to Rampton without having seen Anne Hathaway's
Cottage," Miranda said. "Can you not stay longer? What if it clears
up tomorrow?"
"I am afraid I cannot
stay," Mr. Irving said. "I promised my uncle I would be back by tomorrow
evening, and I do not go back on my promises. Not if it lies within my power to
keep them."
"Very proper of you,
sir," Rosalind said.
Mr. Irving smiled. "I am
happy to have gained your approval, Miss Acton," he said. "Especially
since you bestow it so rarely."
"Oh, I am quite ready to
bestow it every time it is deserved," Rosalind said lightly. "Which
does not happen quite as rarely as you think, sir."
"It does, whenever I am
concerned," Mr. Irving said with a challenging grin.
"I have to say we are not
well enough acquainted for me to generally approve of you," Rosalind said
laughingly.
"True. So I guess I ought
to be content with what I get."
"This sounds like a
sensible motto, sir."
Mr. Irving looked as if he
wanted to say something in reply to that, but seemed to think the better of it.
Instead he turned to Rosalind's grandmother, and discussed Stratford's
possibilities of entertainment in bad weather with her.
"I am afraid Stratford is a
very dull place," Mrs. Acton said. "Especially when it is
raining."
"So what do people do when
it is raining, ma'am?" Mr. Irving asked.
"I do not know what people
may be doing," Mrs. Acton replied. "For my part, I try to stick to my
regular schedule every day, and if for some reason or other the weather prevents
one of my schemes, it never takes me long to find something else to do --
some work I have put by for a more convenient moment."
"I have often wondered how
it is possible for ladies to be always busy," Mr. Murray remarked.
"My mother, for instance -- she is forever working on something
useful. I honestly do not know how she can always find something to keep her
occupied, but the fact is that she does."
"I know," Mrs. Acton
said with a smile. "Gentlemen need not bother themselves with the things
that ought to be done in a household, and so they do not see our work unless we
cease doing it. But the same goes for us ladies - we do not know what
keeps a gentleman busy all day either."
"Oh, but we do know what
keeps my father busy," Miranda interrupted her, eager to take her part in
the conversation.
Mrs. Acton chose not to
reprimand Miranda for her incivility and merely said, "Well, yes, my dear,
but your father has a profession. I was talking of gentlemen of means, like
your Uncle John, and your grandfather before him."
She then proceeded to offer the
gentlemen refreshment, and after having inquired into their plans for the day
now that their outing to Shottery had had to be cancelled, she returned to the
task of mending a tablecloth, leaving the entertainment of their guests to her
granddaughters. Mr. Irving and Mr. Murray had no plans for the day. Since they
were not acquainted with Stratford, Mr. Murray said, they were at a loss as to
what to do.
"Is there anything worth seeing in
Stratford that we have not seen already?" he
wanted to know.
While Beatrice and Miranda made
several suggestions, Rosalind remained silent.
"Can you suggest something, Miss Acton?"
Mr. Irving asked. He seemed anxious to let her have her say.
"Nothing that my sisters have not
mentioned already," Rosalind said. "Though,
if I were at home right now, I might try to pass my time by reading up new
recipes -- or writing them into my collection.
Neither of these looks like a feasible option for you, however."
Mr. Irving smiled. "This
brings us back to the topic of ladies who keep themselves busy all day."
"You do me too much credit,"
Rosalind said. "I am not the model of efficiency everyone
thinks me to be. Nor do I think many ladies are."
"But one should always allow people their
own beliefs in the matter," Mr. Irving said with a smile. "Especially
when those beliefs are favourable. It can do you no harm if people do believe
you to be a model of efficiency."
"Only it would seem like lying to me,
since I know I am not." Rosalind said.
"I know. You are very honest, Miss Acton.
A rare quality, I am sorry to say, and therefore all the more refreshing."
"This statement does not give me a very
favourable opinion of the people you usually associate with, sir."
"Does it also impair your opinion of me?"
he asked. He sounded almost anxious, Rosalind thought.
"No," she
said earnestly. "You did imply that honesty was a quality
you liked in people, and that is a point in your favour."
"I am glad to hear that I am not sunk
below reproach again," he said, smiling. "After
all the efforts I have made to appear in a better light to you, that would have
been disastrous."
"Is not disastrous a very strong
word?" Rosalind asked.
He shook his head. "It
is exactly the word I was looking for," he said.
"If anything, it is too harmless --
it does not come close to how I would have felt if I had ruined our friendship again."
"You would have to do more than speak
unguardedly to make that happen," Rosalind reassured him. "One
may disagree with one's friends at times, but that does not
harm the friendship."
"Sometimes it does,"
Mr. Irving said. "I have often experienced it with friends
of mine -- that their outlook on life suddenly made
them odious to me."
Rosalind remembered what he had
once told her about those friends he had had when she had first met him in
London. She had no doubt that those were the friends he was talking about.
"Perhaps the friendship was not a true
one," she said. "Maybe
those people were only temporary companions, not friends. If so, having to do
without them does not seem like a great loss to me."
"Maybe you are right,"
Mr. Irving said. "It does not seem too much of a loss to me
either."
He and his cousin stayed for a
few more minutes, and then left, not without informing the Acton sisters that
they were looking forward to meeting them again at their uncle's
house in the evening.
"They are both very amiable gentlemen,"
Mrs. Acton remarked once they had left. "Of
course, Mr. Deane is a very pleasant gentleman too, so a nephew of his could
only be amiable too."
Rosalind refrained from pointing
out that there was no blood-relationship between Mr. Deane and Mr. Murray, and
that therefore Mr. Murray's amiability had to come from a different
source.
"Mr. Irving seems to like
you very much, Rosalind," her grandmother continued, giving Rosalind a
sidelong glance to see what her reaction would be.
"He is grateful for the
help I offer his uncle," Rosalind said, trying to sound indifferent.
"And you really think that
is all?" her grandmother demanded. "It is about time someone told you
a thing or two about life, my dear. Or men, at least."
"Thank you, grandmama, but
I think I know enough about life in general," Rosalind said. "And
there is no reason for me to increase my knowledge about men."
Her tone, she hoped, made it
absolutely clear to her grandmother that she did not wish to discuss Mr. Irving
and his liking for her with anyone.
Apparently her grandmother took
the hint. She recommended the girls to find something useful to do until it was
time to get dressed for dinner at their uncle's house, and asked Rosalind to
read something to them while her sisters helped her with her sewing.
Thus she prevented the
conversation from taking any direction anyone in the room might not like, but
Rosalind could feel her grandmother's eyes on her very frequently, even though
the old lady looked away whenever Rosalind tried to catch her staring at her.
Rosalind knew that her grandmother would corner her sooner or later, and that
she would have to tell her all about Mr. Irving and herself then (or at least
as much as she chose to reveal), but she hoped this would happen later rather
than sooner -- preferably on the day she would start
her journey back to Rampton. It was not that she did not want to confide in her
grandmother -- but she was not so certain what she
should confide in her. She had not yet decided what part Mr. Irving was going
to play in her thoughts -- let alone in her life. As long as she
was not sure about that, Rosalind felt, she had better not confide in anyone. Mr.
Irving had made a fool of her once, and she did not feel inclined to repeat the
experience.
Even though Mr. Irving had
called on them in the morning, she felt that the time that passed between his
departure from Church Street and their meeting again at Rosalind's
uncle's house was by far too long. She did not
even want to imagine what it would be like once Mr. Irving and his cousin had
left Stratford and returned to Rampton. His absence had not bothered her so
much before, but now it did. She knew that from the moment he and Mr. Murray
were gone, she would count the days until she could go back home too.
When Rosalind dressed for the
dinner party at her uncle's house, she almost regretted that she
had no new gown to wear for the occasion. For a moment she seriously considered
putting on the gown she had worn at Lady Wilcox's ball,
but then decided against it. No matter how becoming it was, it was too fine for
a mere family party and she knew her grandmother as well as her aunt would
remark on it. She therefore slipped into the evening gown her mother had bought
her for her short stay in London. She had not worn it very often, and in the
meantime it was probably hopelessly outdated, but it was the best she had apart
from her new ball gown. In the end, Rosalind asked her grandmother for the
shawl she had offered her the previous day, and her grandmother immediately
permitted her to wear it. It suited her very well, Rosalind thought, and
although she was not normally given to vanity she had to admit to herself that
wearing it she was looking as fine as it was possible for her to look. Which
was not much, in comparison to such real beauties as Miss Delaney, but luckily
for her Miss Delaney would not be there that evening.
When they entered their aunt's
drawing room, Rosalind immediately looked round to see whether Mr. Irving and
his cousin had already arrived, but to her disappointment they had not. Merely
some neighbours of her uncle's had gathered in the drawing room, and
were discussing some local gossip which was of no interest for Rosalind.
Upon being told that Rosalind
was considered an expert in household remedies, one of her aunt's
neighbours asked her to sit down next to her and swamped her with questions.
Rosalind answered them as well as she could. They exchanged their opinions
regarding the correct method of brewing ribwort syrup, and whether or not it
was preferable to elderberry jam as a remedy for colds. Only with a great deal
of self-control Rosalind managed to show polite interest in the conversation,
and did not look at the clock on the mantelpiece every five seconds. Had
circumstances been different, she would not have minded discussing such a topic
with anyone, but right now she was waiting for Mr. Irving to make his
appearance and could not spare a thought for anything else.
"I do not know why,"
Mrs. Hodges, her uncle's neighbour said. "But
somehow my ribwort syrup never works out."
"A great deal depends on an even
temperature during the fermentation process, ma'am,"
Rosalind said.
"Oh! That might be it, I suppose,"
Mrs. Hodges said. "I must try to find out how to ascertain
that."
"Just bury it in your garden, that should
do the trick," Rosalind said.
Mrs. Hodges laughed, not taking
Rosalind seriously.
"I am in earnest, ma'am,"
Rosalind said.
"Indeed? And what incantations am I
supposed to say when burying it," Mrs. Hodges said, still smiling.
"Whatever you can think of,"
Rosalind said coolly. "I said it had something to do with a
constant temperature, nothing else. There is no need to bring superstition into
the matter."
At that moment, the drawing room
door opened and her aunt's maid announced Mr. Irving and Mr.
Murray. While Rosalind's uncle introduced Mr. Murray to her
aunt, Mr. Irving looked in Rosalind's
direction and gave her a smile that warmed her heart. Only when her aunt
claimed Mr. Irving's attention, Rosalind realised that she
had been smiling back at him.
"Are you acquainted with these gentlemen,
Miss Acton?" Mrs. Hodges wanted to know.
"Yes, they are our neighbours in Rampton,"
Rosalind said.
"I see. And what brings them to Stratford?"
Mrs. Hodges asked. Rosalind interpreted the glint in Mrs. Hodges'
eyes correctly -- she was eager to hear some gossip.
"I believe they both admire Shakespeare,
ma'am," she
merely said.
"Oh. I suppose this is as good an excuse
as any," Mrs. Hodges said, giving Rosalind a sly
look.
"It would not serve for Worcester, though,"
Rosalind said dryly. "Or ... Southampton."
"It is a good thing your grandmother lives
in Stratford, then," Mrs. Hodges said.
Rosalind gave Mrs. Hodges an
indignant look, and was still trying to think of a suitable retort when
Beatrice came up to her and asked her to assist her with her dress --
she had torn her flounce, she said, and needed Rosalind's
assistance to fix it.
With a quick curtsey, Rosalind
excused herself and followed her sister to the adjoining room, which was the
room her aunt usually spent her mornings in.
"I cannot see any tear in your dress,"
Rosalind said to her sister.
"Of course not,"
Beatrice said. "I merely had to get you away from Mrs.
Hodges before you said something really rude to her. You were within an inch of
doing so, were you not?"
"Intolerable woman,"
Rosalind exclaimed.
"Shhhh, my dear, she might still hear you,"
Beatrice said.
"You know what she said? What she ... what
she implied?"
"I overheard enough of your conversation
to realise that she has managed to upset you,"
Beatrice said. "Which was why I knew it was imperative
for me to get you away from her."
"She implied that ... that we were the
reason why Mr. Irving and Mr. Murray came to Stratford,"
Rosalind said.
"Oh, I am sure she is not the only person
who thinks so," Beatrice said calmly. "Though
perhaps not many people here are vulgar enough to voice their suspicions. --
Have you calmed down?"
Rosalind nodded.
"Good. Then we can join the party again."
Beatrice smiled. "Cheer up, Rosie. The evening will soon be
over, and tomorrow Mr. Murray and Mr. Irving will leave. No one will tease you
about either of them when they are gone, I am sure."
"But I do not want them to leave,"
Rosalind said quietly.
"I know,"
Beatrice said. "But we will meet them again soon, won't
we?"
Rosalind suddenly remembered
that Beatrice had been separated from Mr. Wilcox for quite as long as she had
been separated from Mr. ... from Rampton, and had never complained. Mr. Wilcox
had not even come here to see her, so Beatrice was much worse off than they
were. She wondered how Beatrice could stand it.
Beatrice gave her an encouraging
smile, and opened the door. Rosalind took her sister's
hand and squeezed it for a moment, and then she went back into the drawing
room. Mr. Murray was sitting next to Mrs. Hodges and, from what Rosalind could
see, was regaled with the careers of Mrs. Hodges'
numerous children. Mr. Irving was still talking to Rosalind's
aunt, but turned to look at her when she came into the room. Although he almost
immediately turned back to his hostess, Rosalind felt as if everyone in the
room had seen him and was now wondering about the exact nature of their
friendship. At least Stratford was not Rampton, Rosalind thought. Beatrice had
been right -- Mr. Irving would leave the next day, and
she would leave soon as well. If the tongues in Rampton had been set wagging,
things would have been much worse.
Rosalind sat down next to her
grandmother, and listened to the advice she imparted on Mrs. Cleveland, another
neighbour of her uncle's. Mrs. Cleveland was a young mother, and
was always grateful for good advice -- her own
mother, she told Rosalind, lived in Yorkshire, and her absence was often felt
keenly.
"I do not know how I would go on without
dear Mrs. Acton," Mrs. Cleveland said to Rosalind. "She
has often saved me from committing the worst mistakes! I have always found her
advice extremely useful."
"You flatter me, Mrs. Cleveland,"
Mrs. Acton remarked. "Though I have to admit I know a thing or
two about children and their upbringing."
"I am sure you do, Grandmama,"
Rosalind said.
At the dinner table, Rosalind found
herself seated next to Mr. Irving. She did not know whether her aunt had had
any purpose in doing so, but she hoped it had been a mere coincidence. Mr.
Irving seemed well pleased with that fact, at any rate.
"I was almost afraid we would not be able to
speak a word with each other tonight," he said
quietly.
"Would that have been such a
disappointment?" Rosalind asked.
"A severe one."
He smiled. "Especially since I will have to do
without your conversation until you return to Rampton."
"There is a great deal of conversation to
be had there, however," Rosalind said. "You
are surely not dependent on mine."
"I was talking about sensible
conversation," Mr. Irving said.
"There is a great deal of sensible
conversation to be had there as well,"
Rosalind said, smiling. She could not but feel flattered that Mr. Irving seemed
to miss her.
"You do not like to be praised, Miss
Acton. Why not?"
"I think I told you why, did I not? I do
not feel I deserve any praise."
"What, never?"
Mr. Irving asked. "I can hardly believe that! That would be
taking modesty too far."
"Well, sometimes I do deserve it, I
suppose," Rosalind said. "But
I am never really comfortable with it."
"Perhaps because it happens too rarely,"
Mr. Irving said. "Someone ought to mend matters in that
quarter, Miss Acton. People should not take you for granted."
"I am quite content with things as they
are," Rosalind said quietly. "I
am not a drudge -- I am not taken advantage of. I like
being helpful -- it is the only thing I can do really
well."
"I have to admit that I sometimes felt we
were exploiting your kindness. It made me feel really guilty at times."
Mr. Irving said.
"There is no need, I assure you,"
Rosalind said. "For my friends, I will undertake
anything."
"You are a very loyal friend,"
Mr. Irving said. "Those able to win your friendship must
consider themselves extremely fortunate."
There was something wistful in
his tone of voice, Rosalind thought. Their conversation was taking a direction
she did not quite like.
"When are you going back tomorrow?"
she asked him after a short, uncomfortable pause.
"Early in the morning,"
Mr. Irving said. "I want to be back with my uncle in the
afternoon. I cannot help but think that it must be very tedious for him, alone
in that house and with only the servants to keep him company. I have grown very
fond of the old gentleman, can you believe that?"
"I never doubted it,"
Rosalind said. "Everyone who knows him is fond of him, so
why should there have been an exception? It seems a pity that you never had the
chance to meet him before his stroke."
Mr. Irving sighed. "This
thought has occurred to me very often lately," he
said. "Especially after all the things I have
been told about him. It should be a lesson to me never to let any chances go by
without making use of them."
"This sounds like a useful lesson to me,"
Rosalind said. "Though, perhaps, one would prefer to
learn it in a different, a less painful way."
"I certainly would have preferred to do
so," Mr. Irving said. "Luckily,
life does provide one with second chances from time to time. Getting to know my
uncle as he is now is still better than not getting to know him at all."
Although Mr. Irving had spoken of Mr. Deane, Rosalind was not certain whether he had spoken of Mr. Deane only. It was a good thing, she suddenly decided, that he was going to leave the next day. She had only just begun to trust him a little -- he should not expect any more than that. In fact, she hoped he did not expect any more than that.
After dinner, Rosalind and her
sisters went to the drawing room with the other ladies, while Mr. Irving and Mr.
Murray stayed in the dining room with Rosalind's uncle
and his male guests. Even when the gentlemen joined the ladies, Mr. Irving
talked no more to Rosalind than civility required --
he had probably noticed her embarrassment whenever he had tried to speak to her
before and had decided to leave her be for the moment. Rosalind knew she ought
to be glad about this decision of his, but for some reason or other she was
not. To say the truth, she was disappointed. Mr. Irving was to leave Stratford
early the next morning, and did not make use of any chance to talk to her, or
spend a few minutes with her, even. Perhaps he was not as much interested in
her as she had believed. The discovery did nothing to relieve her --
instead, she felt miserable.
Rosalind's
aunt had set up some card tables, and Mr. Irving sat down to a rubber of whist
with Rosalind's uncle and cousin and another gentleman.
Rosalind was obliged to play Speculation with some of the younger guests, but
she could not really concentrate on the game and consequently lost miserably.
The evening was not destined to be much of a success, Rosalind thought.
Shortly before Mr. Irving and Mr.
Murray left, Mr. Irving did speak to Rosalind once more, though merely to offer
her his service if she had any letters or parcels for her family that she
wished him to take to Rampton with him.
"Thank you, sir,"
Rosalind said, "but I posted a letter to my parents
yesterday morning, just before we met you." Her
tone of voice betrayed her resentment at having been left alone all evening,
she was afraid. Mr. Irving looked bewildered, but undaunted. He had clearly no
idea what he had done to deserve her being annoyed with him. Rosalind herself
would have been hard put to name a proper cause for her indignation.
"I would be grateful if you could take a
parcel with you for me, sir," Rosalind's
grandmother intervened. "Will you call in Church Street tomorrow
before you leave?"
Mr. Irving, with a grateful
smile, said that he was happy to be of service, wished everyone a good night
and left.
Soon after that, Mrs. Acton and
her granddaughters also left the party. Back in her grandmother's
house, Rosalind went to her room immediately. She had noticed her grandmother's
eyes on her more than once that evening and knew that it would not be long
before she would demand some answers from her. She had underrated her
grandmother's curiosity, however. A closed bedroom
door was no barrier for her. Rosalind had just put on her night dress and was
about to get into her bed when there was a knock at the door.
"Are you still up, Rosalind?"
Mrs. Acton demanded and Rosalind, aware that the candlelight was visible
outside and lying was therefore no option, replied, "Yes,
I am, Grandmama."
"May I come in then?"
Mrs. Acton asked. Rosalind knew that there was no point in refusing. If she did
not talk about Mr. Irving tonight, she would have to talk about him tomorrow.
One had better get it over and done with, and Rosalind preferred to do so
without her sisters eavesdropping. Since they were in bed by that time,
Rosalind did not have to fear that eventuality.
"Certainly, Grandmama,"
she therefore said and slipped under the duvet. If she had to pour her heart
out to her grandmother, fine, but that was no reason for her to freeze to
death. One rainy day had been enough to make the house chilly, she thought. It
would not be long till autumn now. There would be a great deal of work to be
done once she got home.
Her grandmother was still fully
dressed. She came into the room, sat down on Rosalind's
bed next to her and said, firmly, "Now,
tell me all about it. Without roundaboutation, if you please."
Rosalind was about to say that
she did not know what her grandmother meant, but decided against it. Without
roundaboutation, she had demanded, and if there was one lady in the world
who meant what she said, it was Mrs. Acton.
"What do you want me to tell you?"
she merely asked.
"Everything," old Mrs.
Acton said. "From beginning to end. Where did you meet
Mr. Irving for the first time?"
"In London,"
Rosalind said before she could stop herself.
"Ah, so that was it,"
Mrs. Acton said, nodding.
"What?"
Rosalind burst out.
"I merely thought, like your father, I
have to add, that your first meeting in Rampton was not enough to excite such
resentment as you seemed to feel for Mr. Irving. Such resentment as that can
only have one reason -- it is the bitterness of a woman scorned."
Rosalind laughed. "You
must be joking, Grandmama. A woman scorned, indeed!"
"Am I laughing?"
Mrs. Acton asked, looking grave. "I was
not born yesterday, Rosalind. I have seen a great deal, and I know that you
have lost your heart to the young man -- you
probably lost it to him a long time ago, though maybe you were not aware of it.
So what happened between you when you met in London? And do not try to fob me
off with some weak excuse or other. I want to know everything, and I will have
it out of you, even if it takes all night."
Rosalind decided that it would do
her good to unburden herself, and so she told her grandmother about the fateful
evening in London, about the wager Mr. Irving had had with his friends, and how
he had succeeded in winning it. She told her grandmother how she had found out
about his deceit, and how humiliated she had been upon finding out. All the
while she kept a watchful eye on her grandmother. That Mr. Irving had become a
favourite with Mrs. Acton she knew, but she also knew that her grandmother was
likely to change her mind when she found out about his former misbehaviour. Her
expression did not betray any of her grandmother's
thoughts however.
"But he has changed since then, Grandmama,"
Rosalind finished her story, ready to quarrel even with her grandmother in Mr.
Irving's defence.
"So it would seem,"
Mrs. Acton said slowly, looking anything but convinced.
"I am not sure how his change of heart
came about," Rosalind said, "but
he says he has got rid of those friends of his who got him into trouble so
often. He says he is disgusted with what his behaviour was then, and do you
know what? I really believe him this time. If he had not changed, I doubt he
would have come here and stayed with an infirm old uncle for weeks, taking care
of him as if he were his father and not a great-uncle he has never seen before."
"He stands to inherit this uncle's
estate," Mrs. Acton said.
"But he is going to inherit Mr. Deane's
estate anyway," Rosalind pointed out. "There
was no need for him to come to Rampton to win his uncle's
favour and secure that inheritance for himself by doing so."
"True. So unless he proves himself to be
the same rogue he has always been we shall believe he saw the error of his ways
and is now making an effort to make amends," Mrs.
Acton said. "How do you feel about him now?"
"You are not angry with him?"
Rosalind asked in disbelief. She doubted that the story of Mr. Irving's
former misconduct had had no effect on her grandmother.
"I am furious,"
Mrs. Acton said. "But I have asked you a question."
"I am not certain what my feelings are,"
Rosalind said. "I ... I like him."
"More than just that, I think,"
Mrs. Acton said, with a laugh. "I will not dwell on what Mr. Irving did
to you in London -- since you seem to have forgiven him,
there is nothing for me to say. You did not make things too easy for him, it
seems, nor would he have deserved it if you had. It seems that though you love
him you have not yet lost your head over him -- my
congratulations."
Rosalind realised that her
grandmother was about to embark on a lengthy sermon, and she was right.
"Right now you are making him suffer, and
I cannot say I blame you for doing so. I will only say as much, Rosie --
if you still love him, as I am sure you did fall in love with him in London,
even if you only spent one evening with each other --
if you still love him, you had better give him a hint of your affection for
him. He is being very patient at the moment, but there is an end to every man's
patience. Secure him before he gets fed up with his passion for you and decides
to get rid of it by falling in love with someone else. Be sure that he will
find someone else -- a gentleman with his address and, one
has to add, his fortune, will not have any difficulties in that respect."
"You ... you will not tell him I told you
about our first encounter in London?"
Rosalind asked her grandmother anxiously. Right now she could think of nothing
worse than her grandmother lecturing Mr. Irving on the subject of rascals in
general and his own misbehaviour in particular.
Mrs. Acton laughed. "Are
you afraid I will rake him down for a thoughtless prank he committed some years
ago?"
"You said you were angry with him,"
Rosalind explained. "And I know you well enough to know that
you would not hesitate to give him a piece of your mind."
"I may be vexed, but since he seems to be
in a fair way to making amends for what he has done I see no reason why I
should dwell on the past," Mrs. Acton said. "I
am sure I will have forgiven him completely by the time he leads you to the
altar."
"Grandmama!"
Rosalind exclaimed. She had never, till that moment, thought of that
possibility. Could it really be that Mr. Irving had marriage in mind? If so,
what was his motive? Was he truly in love with her, or merely trying to restore
her reputation? He had compromised her, true, but since no one --
well, not many people -- knew what had happened, there was no
need for such drastic measures as that. Rosalind was sure that she would not
marry him if he merely wished to do so out of a sense of obligation.
"Rosalind, if you think you can fool me
into believing that you do not want him to marry you you'd
better think again," Mrs. Acton said sharply.
"I -- I have
never thought about it, that is all,"
Rosalind said, confused.
"Do think about it now,"
her grandmother advised her. "Sooner or later he will ask you, and then
you had better have an answer for him. I will not give you any advice on how
you should answer it -- just remember that every man's
patience has its limits."
Rosalind could not sleep and
blamed her grandmother for it. She lay awake, thinking about the things that
had been said in their conversation. Her grandmother had been right about
several things, Rosalind had to acknowledge that. For one, she had put a name
to Rosalind's feelings for Mr. Irving. Love.
There was some truth in this.
Would Mr. Irving's betrayal in London have hurt her as
much if she had been indifferent to him? The truth was, Rosalind thought, that
she would not have allowed him to kiss her if her heart had not been his. The
disillusionment that had followed had been the most humiliating experience in
her life, and one that she'd rather not repeat.
He had not only hurt her pride --
he had broken her heart that evening, and it was no wonder that she was
reluctant to acknowledge her affection for him now. The last thing she wanted
was to have her heart broken again -- and
although he had changed, there was this tiny doubt that he might not be in
earnest, or that he did not return her feelings. Rosalind knew that she would
not be able to bear it if he trifled with her again. She had rather keep him at
arm's length for the rest of her life than
find out that he had been playing with her once more.
So yes, she was acting like a
woman scorned, and with good reason too, she believed. But Mr. Irving knew he
had treated her badly -- he could not blame her for behaving the
way she did. Surely he must have known that, if he were in earnest, he would
have to be patient and make an effort to win her trust. He was not a fool --
had never been.
Her grandmother had been right
about one more thing -- Mr. Irving was indeed very patient with
her, and so much forbearance was commendable. Mr. Irving was a brilliant match,
and he knew it. So did Mrs. Delaney and her daughter --
they had not come to Rampton for no reason at all.
From a prudential point of view,
a country parson's daughter like herself should consider
herself extremely fortunate that a gentleman like Mr. Irving showed any
interest in her. That he did not press matters was a sign of respect --
or was it? Perhaps it was just a sign that he was not as serious as her
grandmother thought he was. Maybe he had no intentions concerning Rosalind --
but would oblige his mother and marry Miss Delaney instead. If he had not
proposed to her yet it was not for want of encouragement.
Rosalind sighed. Why did she
have to spoil things for herself by thinking too much? What was wrong with
enjoying his attentions as long as they lasted, and letting him go without
regret once they ended? Could she not, for once, take things less seriously, or
expect good things to happen without anticipating the worst?
When it grew light outside,
Rosalind got out of bed. She decided to get dressed and go for a long walk to
clear her mind. There was no use staying in bed if one could not sleep, and she
feared facing her sisters looking like a hag -- which
she would if she did not get any fresh air soon.
After a long walk, Rosalind
returned to Church Street only to find Mr. Irving sitting in her grandmother's
parlour.
"Good morning, sir,"
Rosalind said as she entered the room, painfully conscious of the mess that was
her hair, and the mud all over the hem of her gown. She had not expected to
find him in the parlour so early and all by himself, and was embarrassed that
he should see her in such a state.
He rose from his seat. "Good
morning, Miss Acton. You have been out already?"
"Yes, I woke up early and decided to go
for a walk," Rosalind lied. "I
hope you will excuse my coming here in all this dirt --
I did not expect to find anyone here."
"I can find no fault with your appearance,"
Mr. Irving said with a smile. "Did you have a pleasant walk then?"
"It was very pleasant, thank you."
Rosalind blushed, realising that Mr. Irving might think her grandmother had
left them by themselves on purpose. "Does ....
does my grandmother know you are here, sir?"
"The servant said she would join me in a
minute."
"Good .... well, and you are leaving
today?" Rosalind sat down in the chair farthest
from Mr. Irving, and studied the pattern of her grandmother's
carpet to avoid looking at him.
"I am."
Awkwardness was a catching disease, Rosalind thought. Within two minutes, she
had been able to pass it on to Mr. Irving.
"My sister Miranda will be disappointed.
She did hope there might be a reason for you to stay."
"There is one very good reason for me to
stay," Mr. Irving said earnestly. "Unfortunately
it does not outweigh the reason for going. I wish I could remain in Stratford
for a while, but my duty calls me to Rampton."
"Duty should not give way to inclination,"
Rosalind said, aware that this statement sounded like one of her father's
less successful sermons. She was a parson's
daughter through and through, it seemed.
Mr. Irving smiled. "I
quite agree with you," he said. Rosalind was not sure whether
he was in earnest or making fun of her, though a glint of amusement in his eyes
hinted at the latter.
"Well, at least you will have fine weather
for your journey," she remarked. "Sunny,
but not too warm."
"The road will still be muddy though,"
Mr. Irving said, humouring her and sticking to polite small-talk. "We
will not be able to travel quite as quickly as we intended. Yet I still believe
we will be at home in time for dinner."
"The rain yesterday was most unfortunate,"
Rosalind said.
"So it was. I hope we will get another
opportunity for our walk to Shottery," Mr.
Irving said.
"Are you planning to come back to
Stratford in the near future, then?"
Rosalind was surprised to hear that.
"I cannot tell. It depends on my uncle and
his state of health," Mr. Irving replied.
That moment, Mrs. Acton joined
them, carrying a small parcel. "I am so sorry to have kept you waiting,
sir," she said. "I did
not expect you to call on us quite so early."
"I hope my visit is not inconvenient,"
Mr. Irving said. "I should have waited until my cousin had
finished his breakfast, but I was impatient to ... to be
off." Rosalind suspected that he had wanted to
say something different than that, but maybe that was just wishful thinking on
her part.
"Oh no, you are not causing us any
inconvenience, on the contrary, you are most obliging,"
Mrs. Acton replied. "My son asked me for a book that used to
belong to his father, but I could not find it while he was staying with us and
promised to send it to him as soon as I did. He will be very happy to receive
it at last."
"I am glad to be of assistance, ma'am."
Mr. Irving took the parcel, and put it into his pocket.
"So, are we going to see Mr. Murray too
before you are leaving, sir?"
"Certainly. He is afraid he did not say
goodbye to you properly yesterday, and is anxious to do so before we leave."
"So very kind of him,"
Mrs. Acton remarked. "Your company will be greatly missed, let
me assure you."
"I am sorry that it should be so,"
Mr. Irving said.
"Not flattered?"
Mrs. Acton asked shrewdly. Mr. Irving laughed.
"A little, perhaps,"
he admitted.
Beatrice and Miranda came into
the parlour at that moment, and since they engaged Mr. Irving and their
grandmother in some lively conversation Rosalind was glad to leave the room and
go upstairs to change her dress and sort out her hair. By the time she rejoined
the party in the parlour, Mr. Murray had arrived and the carriage that was to
take Mr. Irving and Mr. Murray back to Rampton was waiting at the door.
Rosalind tried to show a
cheerful front, but somehow her acting talent, which had never been
considerable anyway, failed her. She did not want Mr. Irving to leave, even
though their encounters in the morning and the evening before had been awkward.
She wished she could tell him why she had been so ill at ease on both
occasions, but since they were in company this was not possible --
and, upon reflection, she had to admit that telling him in private was totally
inappropriate. She would have to keep her thoughts to herself.
Mr. Irving waited until her grandmother
and sisters were on their way outside with Mr. Murray before he turned to
Rosalind.
"Miss Acton," he
began, and something in his voice told Rosalind that their leave-taking
distressed him as much as it affected her.
"Sir?"
Rosalind said, looking up at him.
"This is going to be the longest week in
my life," he said earnestly and took her hand. "Will
you do me a favour and make sure you get home safely?"
"I will do my best, Mr. Irving,"
Rosalind said, smiling. He was concerned about her --
that was a good sign, she supposed.
"Well .... I had
better leave," he said, showing no inclination to
follow his own advice. "Good bye, Miss Acton. Take care."
With these words, he took her hand and kissed it.
"Good bye, Mr. Irving,"
Rosalind whispered, blushing furiously. "Until we
meet again then."
©2006, 2007 Copyright held by
the author.