"Only think how much harder 'twould be had I not secured the post in Kent," said Ruth, summoning a bright smile. "I was thinking, Grace, that we might bring the price down to fifteen guineas for the drum table. Would you change it, please? And there's Mr. Allington's desk. I was sure it would sell to that farmer yesterday. I suppose that must be reduced, too." And she thought that if only it had not rained so, they could have done much better.
Grace Milford wrote a painstaking "15 gns." on one of her paper squares and went to put it on the drum table and remove the sign that read "28 gns."
"Be lucky to get ten guineas for the master's desk, I think, ma'am," she said.
Ruth nodded reluctantly. "But the big desk and the reference table in the book room are both fine antiques. They should surely fetch a hundred guineas if—"
"If we'd time to wait for better weather
and
the proper buyer, maybe. But we've only today! And by the time we reach the farm— Is it far from Lac Brillant?"
Ruth said absently, "Farm… ?"
"Aye. The farm where the boys are to stay. Proper excited they be. You
did
say 'twas a farm?"
Looking anywhere but into those honest eyes, Ruth felt her face getting hot. "Er—did I? What I meant to say was I had found a place for them near Lac Brillant where they'd be properly cared for, but—" She was grateful to be rescued by the sound of hoofbeats and the grind of wheels. "A coach!" She flew to the windows. "It
is
! We've a
customer
! Oh, my! A most elegant lady—no, two ladies! Pray, dear Grace! You have such power in prayer. Pray they will buy
lots
of our lovely things!"
The prospective buyers were elegant indeed. The younger of the pair was about her own age, Ruth judged, and of a rare beauty with great dusky eyes, high cheekbones, and a full-lipped rather wilful mouth. Tall and blessed with a generous bosom and a tiny waist, she moved with assured grace. Her dark curls were quite short under a ruffled cap threaded with a scarlet riband. Matching ribands were tied about the falls of lace on the sleeves of her pink muslin morning gown, and she carried a pink reticule richly embroidered with red and gold silks. Her companion was younger, shorter, and rather plump, with a round face, big blue eyes, and a giggle. Her green gown was sadly over-embellished with bows and rosettes, and not improved by the elaborate blue and white shawl draped around her shoulders.
"We are come," said the dark lady as Grace showed them into the withdrawing room, "in response to the sign in the lane. I trust," she added, her glance flickering over the upholstered furniture and lingering briefly on the drum table, "that these are not the only articles you mean to sell?"
Her tone was disdainful, her manner haughty, and she did not give her name. Her friend appeared to find the situation hilarious, and whispered and giggled as Ruth led the way into the book room.
The plump girl's eyes shot to the desk, and she interrupted her own amusement to squeak, "Only look, Lady Dee! Just what you wanted!"
The dark lady gave her an irked glance and said disparagingly, "It might serve, but—dear me! Not at that price! Fifty guineas, indeed!"
Her heart sinking, Ruth pointed out that the desk was an antique piece and beautifully made. "As is the reference table, ma'am."
The plump girl said, "Oh, that is lovely. See the carving, Dee."
"Lady Dee" sniffed. "I see that 'tis prodigious overpriced. If this is all you have, Mrs. Lingways, I fear 'twas a waste of my time to stop here."
Ruth began, "My name, ma'am, is—"
Ignoring her, Lady Dee observed that the rug by the fireplace was fair, and that she might take it if the asking price was "not absurd."
Ruth gritted her teeth. The rug had been brought home by Jonathan after one of his voyages, and was a thing of beauty. " 'Tis from Persia," she said, "and—"
"I will give you ten guineas for it," said Lady Dee. Oblivious to Grace Milford's outraged gasp, she sailed into the hall, proceeding at speed through the dining room with its handsome mahogany furnishings, and into the study. Thomas Allington's desk she dismissed with a shudder, the bishop's chair in the corner received a thoughtful look, and she walked on.
A quarter of an hour later, Ruth was seething, Grace was red-faced and bristling with indignation, and Lady Dee's friend had ceased to giggle and was casting longing backward glances at the book room.
My lady swept towards the entrance hall, and Grace hurried past and reached for the front door handle.
Lady Dee paused, and regarded Ruth in a considering fashion. "I collect that you need the money, poor thing," she said loftily. "So despite my better judgment I will do what I can for you. You may have fifty pounds for the reference table, desk, and Persian rug in the book room, the drum table in the withdrawing room, and the display cabinet in the dining room."
Ruth stared at her.
Grace tugged at her sleeve. "But, ma'am," she hissed audibly. "The other gentleman said he would come back, surely."
Lady Dee favoured Grace with a look of loathing. "Come, Hetty," she ordered.
Grace opened the front door.
Ruth thought achingly, 'Fifty pounds! Not even fifty guineas! And they are worth at least three hundred guineas!'
The two prospective customers went onto the front steps.
The plump girl muttered, "Dee, if you do not want—"
My lady swung around. "Very well, Mrs. Lingways. You drive a hard bargain, but clearly my friend is taken with that foolish rug, and I will be generous in the name of Christian charity. One hundred pounds for all the items I named, plus the brass bird in the withdrawing room fireplace."
It was an improvement certainly, but still Ruth hesitated. Perchance someone else
would
come. This unpleasant young woman shouldn't have all those beautiful things for such a niggardly price. But—there was so little time left. Perhaps no one else would come. And a hundred pounds would enable her to give Samuel Coachman and William their back wages, and pay Grace for the first time in many months. She would even be able to repay their kindly benefactor, Dr. Osbrink, and Grace could settle the grocer's bill in Shoeburyness, and arrange for the hire of a coach to take them as far as Croydon. She stifled a sigh. "Very well, I accept."
Grace hissed, "But—ma'am! The
other
gent!"
Lady Dee snapped, "I shall take the rug, the drum table, and the brass bird with me. Hetty, go and call my footman. The rest," she went on as her friend trotted dutifully away, "I will send my people to collect later this afternoon. I will pay you now, however, so that you cannot dicker for a better offer once my back is turned."
Ruth flushed. "As if I would do such a—"
"Here." A fumbling in the pretty reticule and a fat purse was extracted from which my lady removed two banknotes already written in the amount of fifty pounds each. "Take them, do," she said impatiently, "before I repent of my poor bargain. Good God!
Now
why must you look displeased? You have seen banknotes before, surely?"
Troubled, Ruth said, "My late husband would never accept paper money."
"What nonsense! This is 1748, not 1478! Should you expect that I would carry such a sum in gold pieces?" She gave a scornful titter. " 'Faith, but I would need a coal scuttle!"
With quiet persistence, Ruth said, "Perhaps your ladyship could pay for the articles when you come back to—"
"Whilst you haggle with your other buyer and then claim the sale was not final, eh?" With the words it was as if a blight fell upon Lady Dee's beauty. The lovely eyes narrowed and became hard, her chin jutted, and the line of her mouth thinned so that suddenly Ruth felt sorry for her husband. "I have already wasted too much time," my lady declared. "Make up your mind, madam, or I'm done with you."
Humbling her pride, Ruth accepted the notes. With no more of a farewell than a derisive, "I should think so!" Lady Dee turned to give instructions to the waiting footman, then hurried to her carriage.
Once inside, she turned to embrace her friend with a squeal of excitement. "
What
a bargain!" she trilled. "Those articles are splendid, and worth closer to four hundred guineas than a paltry one hundred! That stupid woman could have no notion of their true value! Only think, Hetty! I am finished with searching for something to please my tiresome papa-in-law. He will love that desk and fancy I paid a great sum for it."
"Perhaps Mrs. Lingways was desperate," Hetty murmured. "I could not but feel sorry for her. She seems so young to be a widow. And very pretty did you not think?"
"La, but how silly you are! Why should you feel sorry for such an insolent woman? As for looks, I thought her plain as any pikestaff. Really, Hetty! Sometimes I think you need spectacles, like your mama!"
Hetty stammered and giggled, and not until they were well on their way did she venture to point out that dear
Lady Dee had not obtained a written receipt for her one hundred pounds.
This very sensible reminder startled her ladyship, but only for a moment. "Pish," she said. "The widow Lingways would not dare to cheat a lady of Quality. And even if she should, she would catch cold at that, for we know where she is to be found, and I would have her clapped into Newgate before she could wink her eye!"
The grocer in Shoeburyness was overjoyed when his bill was paid in full, and Grace Milford went back onto the street torn between relief at having been spared the embarrassment that usually attended her visits to the aromatic little shop, and regret that dear Mrs. A. had been obliged to sacrifice her belongings. Momentarily dazzled by the bright spring sunlight, she was pleasantly surprised when a familiar voice spoke in her ear.
" 'ullo, 'ullo, 'ullo! This is my lucky day! Just who I 'oped ter find."
With a tricorne under his arm and a broad smile on his square countenance, Enoch Tummet made an awkward but energetic bow.
"Well, I never did!" said Grace, blushing, and fluttering her lashes coyly. "Mr. Tummet, as ever was! What brings you all the way up here?"
He proceeded to escort her along the street. 'Told you as I'd come 'fore you runned orf. Gotta keep me ogles on a pretty girl like you, Miss Grace, or some young and 'andsome Buck will snatch you away."
Far from displeased, Grace giggled and said, "How clever of you to find me. Did you call in at Lingways first?"
He admitted this, then added with a rather odd note to his voice, "Good thing, too. Not that I dared to say nuthink to yer lady. But I see that there sign you got stuck out on the lane, and I says ter meself, 'E. Tummet,' I says. 'This 'ere must be looked inter. Quick-like.' So I ups and asks your Sam Coachman where I might 'ope ter find a certain 'andsome young female." He winked and gave Grace a nudge with his elbow. "Meaning you, ma'am. And being a downy file, Sam Coachman told me. So—gooseberry-jam, 'ere I am!"
With a coquettish smile, Grace turned into the yard of the livery stable.
Tummet seized her arm and drew her into the shade of a laburnum tree. "Sam says as you're orf terday, Miss Grace. That right?"
She nodded. "The greatest piece of luck, Mr. Tummet. That letter your Mr. August writ done the trick proper! I'm to hire a coach this very minute. Mrs. Allington's been give a pretty cottage to live in, and the exact wages she was asking! And
I'm
allowed to go down and look after her!"
"Very 'appy fer the lady, I'm sure. All packed up, is you?"
"Yes." Touched because of his mournful expression, she said, "We ain't going to the end o' the world, y'know, Mr. Tummet. Leastways, I hopes you don't find it so."
"Even if it was, I'd find it," he declared. He still looked sombre however, and he said with rare gravity, "Not to stick me nose in where it ain't wanted, but—why don't yer lady 'ave Sam Coachman drive you dahn?"
"Well, Lady Buttershaw arranged it all, as you know. And she thought it best that Sir Brian Chandler didn't find out Mrs. Thomas Allington was used to be Miss Ruth Armitage. So our coachman is to bring us only this far. Then we'll travel by a
hired
carriage to Croydon, and—"
"
Croydon
! Cor, luv a duck! She really reckons on being follered, does she?"
Grace said uneasily, "Not followed, exactly. But Sir Brian Chandler's heir was proper put out when Mrs. A. was hired. Very rude, he was."
Tummet nodded. "That'd be Mr. Gordon Chandler. A bit stiff-rumped sometimes, but—"
"Mr. Tummet!" exclaimed Grace, scandalized.
"Whoops!" he exclaimed. "I'm a commoner and no mistaking!" His impenitent grin won her to a smile again, and he went on, "So Mrs. Allington don't want Mr. Gordon Chandler follering Sam Coachman back 'ere and asking all manner o' questions and finding out about Captain Armitage, is that it?"
"Lady Buttershaw says there was so many wicked things said about the poor Captain, and Sir Brian won't bear with any least sniff o'scandal…" Grace shrugged. "My dear Mrs. A. fought so hard to win the old gentleman over, Mr. Tummet. It'd be cruel hard if she was to lose the commission now."
"Then you better tell yer lady to take that there sign dahn, mate. 'Fore she sells something! Else there'll be another scandal, quick-like!"
Frightened by his stern manner, Grace cried, "Why? 'Sides, she already sold some things."
"Oh, Lor'! She shouldn't oughter 'ave done that, Miss Grace."
"Why ever not, I should like to know? They was all her own things, what Mr. Allington had give her, and what belonged to her and her papa, rest his soul. Now why must you shake your head and look so glum as any goblin?"
"Because them things
wasn't
hers, Miss Grace! Not 'cording to law, they wasn't. And afore you starting snipping orf me poor nose, I'll remind you, marm, as I were once a bailiff, and I knows. Fact is, I'm surprised there ain't been a execution at Lingways."
"If you means a man sent to guard the house, there—"
"Not just the '
ouse
, marm.
All
the property's been took over by the Court, so as to pay back the creditors."
"And very cruel, I calls it! Besides, Mrs. A. knows about it. They've got their money. Or will have, when it's sold."