Elizabeth Mansfield (6 page)

Prue stared at her sister, shocked. It was not at all like Letty to burst out in complaints. Letty had always been so gentle, soft-spoken, and accepting. “Oh, Letty,” she asked contritely, “is it really going to be as bad as that?”

Ashamed at having made an outburst, Letty shrugged and turned back to the window. Lady Glendenning sighed. “I know it’s difficult for you to have to accept so much from her,” she said. “Would it make things easier to bear if I told you that your aunt Millicent
loves
doing things for you? With no children of her own, she delights in being a surrogate parent to you all.”

“Does she?” Gussie asked in disbelief. “She always seems so … gruff.”

Letty turned around. “Does she
truly,
Mama?”

“Yes, she does. Truly. Her gruffness only covers up a tender heart. All the Glendennings are like that. Even your father spoke in that grunting way whenever his emotions were involved.” She sighed in melancholy recollection. “Dear man, he so hated to be thought sentimental.”

Letty, thoroughly contrite, ran to her mother and knelt down before her. “Oh, Mama,” she said tearfully, “I’m an ungrateful wretch.”

Lady Glendenning smiled down at the auburn head in her lap and gently smoothed her daughter’s tousled curls. “How can you be a wretch, you silly goose, when you are the very
best
daughter a mother could want?”

“Well, I
say
!” Prudence declared in mock offense. “What are
we,
your other daughters, to think of that, pray?”

Lady Glendenning laughed. “You are
all
my best daughters, as well you know. But, Letty, I’ve been thinking about what you said, and in a way, you’re right. One doesn’t like to feel beholden to a benefactor for
everything.
Perhaps we can find a way to provide you with your own abigail.”

“Our own abigail?” Prue gasped with delight.

Letty looked up at her mother hopefully. “Can we afford it? It would be heavenly not to have to face Miss Tristle every evening.”

“We might spare one of the maids …” Lady Glendenning said dubiously. The house was large and already understaffed, but she couldn’t bear to see Letty so unhappy.

The neglected Clara let out a cry of dismay. “No, that’s not fair! With Prue and Letty gone, that would leave too much housework for Gussie and me.”

The justice of the complaint was apparent to everybody. They all fell silent. Prue looked at Clara speculatively. Soon her eyes lit up, as a delicious idea dawned. “I have it!” she said with a giggle. “Let’s take Katie-in-the-kitchen!”

“Katie-in-the-kitchen?” Letty laughed. “What an idea! Prue, you’re a genius!”

Lady Glendenning looked at her daughters in confusion. “Who
is
this Katie? Are you speaking of Cook’s little cousin—the scrawny little thing who helps out in the kitchen?”

Clara nodded. “She’s the one.”

“But … what makes you think she’d make a satisfactory abigail?”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. Clara says that she’s very knowing,” Prue said, winking at Clara like a conspirator.

“I never said anything of the sort,” Clara said sullenly. “And if you take her with you, who will help Cook?”

“Cook won’t mind,” Prue said airily. “She’ll have two fewer mouths to feed when we go.”

Clara pouted again and flounced to the door in disgust. “I might have known I’d get the worst of it,” she muttered. “Now there’ll be no one in this whole household who’ll tell me
anything.
”

Katie-in-the-kitchen was sent for. She was indeed a scrawny girl, undersized for her sixteen years, but with a pair of shrewd eyes that looked out from her peaked little face and seemed to tell the world that here was a person not easily daunted. She was never at a loss for words. Even the surprising news that she was being invited to accompany Miss Letty and Miss Prue to Bath did not discomfit her. She cocked her head and looked from one to the other suspiciously. “Are you tryin’ to tip me a rise?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Prue assured her, the expression having been made familiar to her by Ned’s frequent use of it. “Why would we want to fool you?”

“ ’Cause I ain’t never been a abigail afore. And I don’t look so nice or talk so nice neither.”

“We shall give you a lovely blue bombazine dress and a brand new white cap, and you shall make a very fine appearance,” Lady Glendenning said soothingly.

“And as for not having been an abigail,” Letty added with a smile, “Clara tells us that you know everything, so you should have no trouble.”

Katie didn’t blink. “I ain’t sayin’ as how I know’d
everything,
but I don’t miss much. I suppose I could pick up the way of it quick enough. Don’t know that I’d be much good at dressin’ ’air, though.”

“That’s all right,” Letty said. “We’re quite accustomed to dressing our own hair.”

“Well? Are you willing to come along with us?” Prue demanded eagerly.

Katie smiled broadly. “Willin’? If you ’ad to work in a kitchen, you’d a know’d the answer to that. I’ll say I’m willin’! When do we start?”

They started the following morning. An impressive number of trunks and boxes were tied to the top of the Upsham coach, and three young ladies were helped aboard: first, Prue hopped up, her red-gold hair bouncing and her spirits soaring in joyous anticipation; next, Letty stepped up, subdued, brave, and determined to show a cheerful facade to the world and to make herself forget what might have been; and last, the diminutive Katie, dressed in the finest gown she’d ever worn, her head erect as a queen’s, permitted herself to be helped aboard as if she’d been to the manor born. Right on schedule, as a nearby steeple bell chimed noon, the coach lumbered off down the street bearing its occupants to adventures that would turn out to be quite different from their various expectations.

***

It was not until three days later that Roger Denham paid the promised call on his mother. She lost no time in informing him that she wanted his escort to Bath. He readily agreed to provide it, but when he realized that she expected him to remain with her for several weeks, he firmly declined. Bath, he told her, was a dowdy, outdated, stodgy locality where neither good sport nor good company could be found, and he had no intention of rusticating there when he had everything he needed for contentment and amusement right here at home.

His mother then launched into a full explanation of her reasons for asking him to remain at Bath for so long a time. She wanted him to see Letty again. She told him bluntly that his pursuit of Letty had been inadequate—if not downright insulting to the girl. He had accused his mother of believing that his charms were such that no girl could refuse him, but was
he
not guilty of the same sort of conceit if he expected a girl to fall into his arms after a mere three-week acquaintance? “Did you ever have a sincere conversation with the girl?” she asked. “Have you ever spent more than two hours at a time in her company?”

Roger had to admit that he had not.

“Then what was the poor child to think of your proposal? Only that you wanted a suitable wife and didn’t care much who she was.”

“Well, that’s really the truth of the situation, is it not?” Roger reminded her reasonably.

His mother looked at him disapprovingly. “It needn’t be, if you’d only try to know her better,” she suggested.

“If you have any expectations of my falling in love like a schoolboy, you’re out in your reckoning, Mama,” he told her flatly.

She sighed in discouragement. “I suppose I cannot expect too much,” she said, “but you needn’t have let the girl know how completely indifferent you are.”

“At least my approach was honest. You wouldn’t want me to mislead her into expecting more of me
than I can offer her. If she’s looking for a love match, she is right to refuse me.”

“She has a right to expect some interest and affection from a suitor, even if some elements of romance are lacking. Marriage requires intimacy, in any circumstances.”

Roger had to admit she was right. He had not gone out of his way to attach Miss Glendenning or to convince her that he had every intention of being a gentle, thoughtful, generous husband. He was certainly aware that the prospect of marriage could be frightening for an innocent young woman, and the prospect of marriage to a stranger might well seem terrifying. He had been thoughtless and unfeeling.

Once his mother had won this point, she was able to convince him to reconsider. Bath was very small, by London standards, and people mingled with each other constantly. He would find many opportunities to see Miss Glendenning, to draw her into conversation, to develop an understanding, to teach her to trust him, and to permit them both to feel comfortable with each other. Surely, she argued, he owed this chance to the girl and to himself.

Reluctantly, he agreed to remain in Bath for a fortnight. If, as he suspected, Miss Glendenning was quite indifferent to him, he would then return to London and the subject would be dropped. If, on the other hand, his renewed suit showed promise, he would abide by his mother’s judgment and remain until the time was ripe for him to make his offer again. He chaffed a bit at the terms, but he had to admit they were sensible.

Roger left his mother’s house with a feeling of resentment against all women. How they managed to cut up a man’s peace! Until the subject of marriage had come up, he had been quite content. What was wrong with a bachelor’s existence? He had everything a man could want—his home was comfortable, he had an army of servants to minister to his every need, a host of friends to provide amusing conversation and companionship, a mistress who was available when he desired her, and the freedom to spend his time exactly as he chose. A wife would only complicate his days and disturb his routine. What could a wife provide that he did not already have? His mother had given him the answer to that question—an heir. A man must do his part for posterity. Unfortunately, for him that meant spending a fortnight or more of numbing boredom at Bath. Oh, well, if it couldn’t be helped, he told himself, he might as well accept it with good grace. With a shrug, he hurried off to his club to make as merry an evening as possible of his last night in London.

The Glendennings’ arrival at Bath coincided with the arrival of a week of chilling rain, a circumstance that not only dampened considerably the town itself but the high spirits of its newest inhabitants as well. As a result, Prue, who could not be restrained from venturing out to do a bit of exploring of her new surroundings, shortly came down with a head cold and was confined to her room until, her aunt told her firmly, all her symptoms had disappeared.

When three days of gloomy downpour had passed without the least sign of clearing, Aunt Millicent decided to pay a visit to the Pump Room in spite of the weather. Prue, she felt, was not well enough to join her in this expedition, but there was no reason why Letty might not be cheered by the outing, and she had no doubt that a drink of Bath’s mineral water, ill-tasting though it was, would be beneficial to her. Strictly admonishing Letty to don a pair of thick-soled galoshes, Millicent opened a large umbrella, and the two ladies ventured forth under its protection. With the umbrella above and the galoshes below, they walked the short distance from their lodgings on the North Parade to the Pump Room without too serious a soaking.

The Pump Room was surprisingly full of people who had been tempted out of their houses by a need for social intercourse stronger than their instincts to stay warm and dry at home. Letty looked around the imposing room with interest. Opposite the entrance was the focal point of the room—the pump itself, set before a window so large it provided light for the entire room. In a recess of the wall at some distance from her on the left, she could see the famous equation clock that had been presented to Bath by its maker, Thomas Tompion, almost a hundred years earlier. In a matching recess in the wall to her right sat a small group of musicians playing a selection of country airs. The music, combined with the cheerful sound of voices echoing in the high reaches of the ceiling, made a very pleasant din, which did much to lift her spirits.

Millicent, after pressing Letty to drink a glass of the much-praised mineral water, took her arm and began to parade around the room, searching among the other strollers for a familiar face. Letty had barely time enough to note that the occupants of the room were preponderantly of middle-age or older when a feminine voice was heard behind them calling, “Lady Upsham! Lady Upsham!”

They turned to find a large-bosomed, gray-haired matron approaching them with a look of eager recognition. Trailing reluctantly behind her was a short, spectacled, thin-faced though handsome youth looking decidedly embarrassed. Aunt Millicent’s face broke into an unaccustomed smile. “Why, Mrs. Peake! How good to see you here!”

The two women touched cheeks, and Mrs. Peake turned to introduce the young man. “I don’t believe you’ve met my son, Brandon, Lady Upsham,” she said, pulling the young man forward.

“How do you do, Mr. Peake? I thought you were at Oxford,” Lady Upsham observed. Brandon Peake opened his mouth to respond, but Millicent, not really interested, went on. “And I don’t think you know my niece, Letitia Glendenning. My brother’s eldest daughter, you know.”

Before the two young people could bow, the ladies had linked arms and proceeded to circle the room. Brandon Peake and Letty fell in behind them, Brandon surveying Letty shyly from behind his
spectacles. Letty, searching for something to say, noticed that the young man carried a book with his finger marking his place. “I’m afraid we’ve interrupted your reading,” she remarked.

“Oh, no,” he said earnestly. “Not at all. I had hoped to find … That is, by your leave … I mean, I’m delighted to discover someone like you to talk to.”

“Like
me
?” Letty asked.

“Well, yes … I mean … By your leave, someone more in my … That is to say …”

Letty smiled. “I know what you mean. Someone under the age of fifty.”

Brandon colored and smiled gratefully. “Yes, by your leave, that’s
just
what I mean. We’ve been here for over a fortnight, and you’re the first person of my age I’ve met.”