Carola Dunn (6 page)

“Oh aye, t’menfolks is all gossips at heart. Why, wasn’t our Tad out this morning on an errand for Mr. Hayes and come back full o’ what Mr. Walsingham’s valet told him.”

“Mr. Walsingham’s valet?”

“Aye, miss, t’gentleman as walked you home just now.” Sukey knew her mistress was dying to know what had been said but would not lower herself to ask. She took pity on her. “Seems as he’s Viscount Stone’s fav’rite nephew an’ stands to inherit, for my lord has no nearer kin. He won’t get no title, being as he’s a sister’s child, but house and land—Stone Gables ‘tis called— an’ all. A nice gentleman, is he, miss?”

“Oh, yes,” said Jessica dreamily. “Very nice.”

“Matthew his name is. Tad says.”

“The valet’s name?”

“No, he’s Renfrew. Mr. Matthew Walsingham. And a very nice name, too, Miss Jessica.”

Jessica smiled at her. “Why, I do believe you’re teasing me, you wicked girl. I like him, but I only met him yesterday, after all, and I daresay I shall meet others I like as well.”

“That’s as may be, miss.” Privately, Sukey doubted it. She was a romantic at heart, a believer in love at first sight. Hadn’t she been faithful to Tad since the very first day she went to work at Langdale, when she was a twelve-year-old scullery maid and he a lad of sixteen?

Miss Jess was catched, she reckoned. Whether Mr. Matthew Walsingham was worthy of her remained to be seen.

At that moment. Sir Nathan was heard taking the stairs two at a time and calling his sister. “Jess? Can I come in? Tad says we have an invitation for this afternoon.”

“The Barlows are walking up Beechen Cliff, with several others. Kitty Barlow particularly asked that I invite you to go too.”

“She’s the short, jolly girl, isn’t she? Who else will be there?”

“Her brother, of course, and Lord Peter, I think. He was there. And a number of people whose names I don’t know. Oh, and Mr. Walsingham.” Jessica saw Sukey smile at this apparent afterthought and willed herself not to blush.

“Walsingham’s going? I’ll go with you then. You met him in the Pump Room?”

“Before I reached it. Tibby disappeared again and he kindly squired me there and coming home.”

“Dash it, this obsession of Miss Tibbett’s is becoming ridiculous. I’ll have to have a word with her,” he said, frowning.

“Pray don’t, Nathan. She would be sadly mortified, and I’m not likely to come to any harm in the streets of Bath.”

“It’s all very well if you happen to meet up with a respectable gentleman like Walsingham, but supposing it had been Alsop?”

“Who is Alsop?”

Nathan flushed. “A fellow I met in the card room last night and called on this morning. He may be a baron but he’s a bit of a Captain Sharp.”

“You mean he cheats at cards?”

“I admit I wouldn’t wish to introduce him to you, but you need not look at me so. Remember that I’m no pigeon for the plucking; I was in the army for three years.”

“How do you suggest I avoid the acquaintance if he is a friend of yours?” Jessica kept her voice interested rather than reproachful and was rewarded with a rueful grin.

“Oh, very well, you win. I shall drop the acquaintance. He was not half so amusing this morning as last night, anyway. Walsingham
’s
much more interesting to talk to, and there’s nothing ramshackle about him. I’m going to ask Mrs. Ancaster for something to eat before we leave.”

He dashed off. As Jessica changed into the blue gown and admired Sukey’s transformation of her bonnet, she thought back over the conversation and found herself pleased with it.

In the first place, Nathan did not appear particularly attracted to Kitty Barlow, a delightful girl but from a worldly point of view not a desirable match. Secondly, he had the common sense to drop without a fuss an acquaintance whose friendship must damage his reputation if not his purse. And third—she smiled at herself in the glass as she tied the bow beneath her chin—third, but certainly not last, he liked Matthew Walsingham.

Humming “A North-Country maid,” she went down to join him.

Miss Tibbett was sitting with him in the dining room, drinking tea while he consumed the remains of a sandwich. She looked rather self-conscious, and Jessica guessed that Nathan had taken her to task, though not too severely, as she was far from cast down. In spite of having asked him not to, Jessica considered it showed an admirable sense of responsibility. It could not have been easy reminding his own former governess of her duty, but after all Tibby, however dear, was an employee, not an aunt. She really was shockingly vague.

Afraid that Tibby might feel it necessary to apologize, Jessica rushed into speech. “Have you heard about this afternoon’s expedition? The view will be worth the climb, I believe.”

“So I understand. I look forward to seeing it.”

“Do you go with us then? I’m glad. Nathan, if you are quite sure you haven’t missed a single crumb, we ought to leave or we shall keep the others waiting.”

They were passing Number 9 when Mr. Walsingham stepped out of his front door and joined them. Nathan at once engaged him in conversation and the two of them dropped back a little, leaving the ladies to walk ahead except when there was a street to be crossed. Disappointed, Jessica persuaded herself that it was just as well—it would not do to be seen always on Mr. Walsingham’s arm on such short acquaintance.

She had many opportunities that afternoon to remind herself of this philosophical conclusion. Mr. Barlow was determined to stay by her side. Annabel Forrester, a demure brunette with a languidly elegant air, promptly appropriated Mr. Walsingham, and Jessica had the doubtful felicity of hearing them talking and laughing behind her. Miss Forrester, she decided, had the most inane giggle she had ever heard, and Mr. Barlow was not nearly so amusing as she had thought him last night. Nonetheless, she contrived to appear as if she were enjoying herself immensely.

Kitty Barlow also appeared to be content with her lot though she was paired with Lord Peter. She chattered away, disregarding his silence and not bothering to strain her neck by peering up at his face. A heron keeping company with a perky little sparrow, Jessica thought, while Tibby and Mrs. Barlow were a blackbird and a plump turtledove. She tried to think of a similar comparison for Miss Forrester and Mr. Walsingham, but alas, they simply looked like a handsome, fashionable young couple.

Nathan had a red-head on his arm. Miss Maria Crane, a pert young lady with a dazzling repertoire of coy glances and flirtatious repartee. Eavesdropping, Jessica was surprised at how well her brother managed to keep up his end of the conversation, if conversation it could be called. He must have learned more than soldiering in America, among the Southern belles. He flashed her a glance of amused derision as he flattered Miss Crane with an extravagant compliment likening her copper locks to the sun rising in his heart.

When they reached the steep part of the hill, Mr. Barlow excused himself to assist his mother up the slope. Nathan was quick to offer his arm to “Aunt” Tibby, and after a momentary pout of disappointment, the red-head joined Jessica. She turned out to be quite sensible when she was not playing the coquette, and they had an interesting discussion of the use of perspective in sketching a landscape.

The view from Beechen Cliff was indeed superb. The entire party gathered in a group to admire it, and Jessica found herself beside Matthew Walsingham.

“I wish I had brought my sketch book after all,” she said. “It would be worth the attempt, though I know my efforts would prove inadequate.”

The hillside fell away to the Avon in the valley. On the other side of the river, the town spread its crescents and rows of honey-coloured stone terraces, punctuated by church spires and the Gothic magnificence of the Abbey. Beyond rose the green slope of Lansdown Hill.

“You can return another day to draw it,” Mr. Walsingham pointed out. “I’d be happy to carry your paraphernalia for you.”

“Oh yes, we must come again.” Maria Crane materialized between them. “I shall ask Mama to organize a picnic and we shall have a sketching competition. Pray say you will be the judge, Mr. Walsingham?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. Jessica was quite sure she had darkened them.

Kitty Barlow spoke to Jessica at that moment, and the next time she looked round Mr. Walsingham was firmly attached to the red-head. He gave Jessica a wry smile and raised his shoulders a fraction of an inch in a hint of a helpless shrug, but that was little consolation when she heard him plying Maria with compliments as outrageous as Nathan’s. How did the girl manage to elicit such nonsense from usually sane males?

At least, Jessica was glad to note, Mr. Walsingham’s slight limp didn’t appear to be any the worse for the exercise. Nor had she heard him coughing, though Mrs. Barlow was decidedly breathless after climbing the hill.

Walking back down the slope, they found Mr. Walsingham’s curricle waiting where the path met the lane leading to the bridge. Miss Tibbett volunteered to chaperon the young people so that the groom could drive a grateful Mrs. Barlow back to her lodgings.

“You’ll all come in for a dish of tea, I hope,” she invited as Mr. Walsingham handed her into his carriage. “The kettle will be on the boil by the time you reach Westgate Buildings. Thank you, sir, so kind, and such a splendid vehicle. Why, I shall be the envy of everyone.” She beamed and waved as the curricle rolled down the hill.

It was impossible not to like the Barlows. Jessica chose to walk the rest of the way with Kitty rather than demean herself by a deliberate attempt to catch Matthew Walsingham, now that he was momentarily free. She was rewarded when he made use of that moment to escape from Miss Crane. He offered Miss Tibbett his arm and listened with obliging respect to a lecture on Roman architecture.

“A charming young man,” Miss Tibbett announced when at last they returned to 15, North Parade, “and he even asked intelligent questions.”

“I’m meeting him tomorrow morning to go for a spin in the curricle,” Nathan added.

As she went up to her chamber to change for dinner, Jessica wondered whether Mr. Walsingham preferred a demure damsel like Annabel Forrester or a coy flirt like Maria Crane. After managing Langdale for two years, she knew herself incapable of playing either part with conviction, even to compete for Mr. Walsingham’s attention.

With what high hopes of the afternoon she had earlier descended the same stairs, merrily humming a tune. She should have remembered the third line of the verse:

“She wept and she sighed and she bitterly cried.”

No, it had not been bad enough for that. Laughing at herself, she sang, “The oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree, they flourish at home in my own country.”

“Had a good time, did you?” asked Sukey indulgently.

“Yes, I did,” Jessica said, surprised to realize that it was true. After all, Mr. Matthew Walsingham, whatever her designs upon him, was as yet no more than a pleasant acquaintance.

The Franklins and Miss Tibbett spent the evening at home. They could not afford to gad about every night and, as Miss Tibbett pointed out, if people became accustomed to seeing them do so, it would occasion comment when they did not.

“Let them suppose that we prefer a peaceful evening now and then,” she advised, “and no one will think twice about it.”

She and Nathan settled down to a game of chess, while Jessica fetched her sketch book and practised drawing the prospect from Beechen Cliff from memory. If the picnic and sketching contest actually came about, she intended to be prepared. She had not cared for the confident gleam in Maria Crane’s eyes when she proposed it.

The next day she took her sketch book with her when she set off for the Pump Room. As she expected to meet some of her new friends there, Tibby was excused from attendance. Instead, Sukey pattered along at her side, leaving a disgruntled Tad to dust the parlour.

After an hour or so chatting and strolling about the Pump Room with Kitty, Maria, and Annabel, Jessica collected Sukey and went out to draw the Abbey. They found a conveniently placed stone bench. The maid was quite content to sit in the warm sun watching the passers-by while her mistress busied herself with pencil and paper.

Jessica had scarcely blocked in the outlines of the octagonal tower and made a start on the first angel when she became aware of a presence behind her.

“A good beginning,” said Mr. Walsingham approvingly. “You have an eye for proportion.”

She glanced up at him, smiling a welcome. “I like drawing buildings. They don’t move, like people and animals, and they don’t fade into the distance like views. Have you yet taken the waters today, sir?”

“Well, no, not yet,” he admitted, looking sheepish. “I was...” His words were interrupted by a racking cough.

“You were just on your way to the Pump Room,” she prompted.

“As a matter of fact, what I was going to say is that I was hoping to give you a tour of the Abbey first.”

“And then conveniently forget your medicine afterwards? Shame on you, Mr. Walsingham.”

“Very well, ma’am, I shall go and drink a glass if you promise to wait here until I return.”

“Since the light and shadow are just as I want them, I can safely promise—unless you fall in with Miss Forrester or Miss Crane and forget the passage of time.”

He blenched. “Are they both in the Pump Room?
Must
I go in there?”

“You must, sir.” It would be interesting, Jessica thought, to see if the young ladies she was beginning to consider rivals would prevail despite his apparent dismay. If he preferred their company to hers, nothing in the world could make her pursue him however rich his uncle and however desperate her straits.

“You are cruel, fair maid,” he said with a sigh, “but behold, I obey.”

Was she quite shatterbrained, Jessica wondered, to send him away? Even if he liked her better than the others, a visit to a church could hardly compete with the attractions of the fashionable gathering in the Pump Room. Very much aware of the passing minutes, she returned to the angels on their ladders to heaven.

CHAPTER SEVEN

What was Jessica Franklin about? Matthew wondered. Was she really so concerned for his health that she would risk losing his company, or did she simply not value his company as much as he had hoped? He didn’t think she was so sure of herself as to suppose she could simply crook her little finger and have him come running.