For Myself Alone: A Jane Austen Inspired Novel (10 page)

16

Happy Birthday

My father and mother hosted a dinner party the following evening in honor of my twenty-first birthday, to which all our friends in Bath were invited. The wedding plans were well in hand, and the arduous work of the complicated marriage settlement had been completed only that morning, lending the occasion additional cause for joy. With good company and reasons to celebrate, it should have been the best of times. Instead, most everybody seemed out of sorts to one degree or another.

The party collected in the drawing room until the last of those expected should arrive. Mr. and Mrs. Graham appeared as jovial as ever. They plunged straight into conversation with my parents, with whom they were by now on the most intimate terms. But Susan, try as she might, could not hide her low spirits, even for my sake. And that which afflicted her necessarily affected Mr. Ramsey as well. I learned the cause of the trouble presently.

“Mrs. Ramsey called at Milsom Street this morning,” Susan explained when I joined them in the alcove by the windows. “At first, I hoped it was a compliment to me, a sign that she accepted my attachment to her son. It soon became apparent that it was quite the reverse. She said she considered it her duty to apprise me of certain facts: first, that her son is totally dependent on her good graces for his financial future; second, that she would not scruple to use her influence, up to and including the threat of disinheritance, to ensure that he makes a suitable choice of wife; and finally, that she does not have me down on her list of eligible candidates for the office.”

“Oh, Susan, she didn’t!” I groaned.

“She did.”

“Yes, I am ashamed to own that my mother is quite capable of such a speech,” Mr. Ramsey confirmed, “of making such a threat and probably of carrying it out as well. Although I have always believed myself her favorite, she will be at no great pains to secure an alternate should I invoke her displeasure. I have three younger brothers, Miss Walker, any of whom would be ready to take my place and happy to receive my inheritance. My father, God rest his soul, would have been more sympathetic to my situation, I daresay. A person’s wealth and status were of little consequence to him; he was a friend to one and all. I can only fault him for one thing, and that is leaving Mama in control of the purse strings.” He sighed.

“So, you see the desperation of our circumstances. We are entirely at her mercy.”

“Perhaps you will be able to win her over in time,” I suggested.

“God grant it, but I doubt it,” said Mr. Ramsey.

“Time is no remedy for what she finds objectionable in me. It cannot sufficiently aggrandize my family connections or double my small fortune,” Susan concluded sadly.

My birthday party was off to an inauspicious beginning.

Dinner awaited the arrival of Richard and Mr. Pierce. Whereas the rest of the company idled away the intervening minutes in artless conversation, Agnes applied them to a more specific purpose. She had not yet exhausted her displeasure with Arthur, and she lacked the self-command which might have made the prudent concealment of her feelings possible. Consequently, she once again turned to Mr. Cox as the most convenient means for demonstrating her resentment to Mr. Evensong. By conspicuous attention to one and complete neglect of the other, she effectively drove home her point. Although I had long been in the habit of excusing my friend’s whims of behavior as harmless folly, even part of her charm, in this case my sympathies were entirely on Arthur’s side.

When the Messrs. Pierce, father and son, arrived nearly half an hour late, Arthur’s fortunes suffered another blow. Although reasonably civil to everybody else, Mr. Pierce addressed
him
with a distaste bordering on contempt. Even Richard, who could generally be trusted to provide a joke or a droll story to support the morale of his companions, was of no assistance. As soon as he entered the room, I apprehended that his customary conviviality had slipped a notch. Irritable he arrived, and irritable he remained.

“Is everything all right, Richard?” I asked at my earliest opportunity.

“Yes, quite all right,” he said with more annoyance than conviction in his tone. “But, I detest being late! It renders it quite impossible for one to start the evening off well. Do not you agree? Unfortunately, I am at my father’s disposal, and he would… Well, never mind. I just hope we have not spoilt your birthday, Jo.”

“If your being late was the only threat to the success of the evening, I should think we could withstand it well enough. But I have observed a worrying trend.”

Although the party carried on, supported by the good spirits and determination of the livelier members of the group, the quality of the celebration suffered from these detractions. The event was meant for my gratification, but I could not be happy with my friends in such distress. Richard’s uncharacteristic peevishness disturbed me more than anything else for reasons that I could not well define.

Dinner afforded a temporary reprieve from one source of aggravation. I had foreseen the problem of including Mr. Cox in this little gathering. However, he had by his frequent visits so insinuated himself into our society by this time that Mama considered it a serious breach of etiquette to exclude him. I could give her no just cause for doing so without casting aspersions on my friend as well. So invited he was, but placed as far from Miss Pittman at table as possible, thanks to my interference. This put it completely out of Agnes’s power to talk to, make eyes at, or court Mr. Cox’s attentions in any way during the whole course of the meal.  

Mama had ordered a very good dinner with my preferences in mind. We began with a delicate soup and finished with cherry-water ice, with everything in between being equally agreeable to the palate. To accompany these dishes, hearty servings of discourse on a variety of topics were brought forward.

Mrs. Graham shared the contents of a letter she had lately received from Kent, in which the governess apprised her of the excellent progress toward proficiency in music, drawing, and French that her younger daughters had made during their parents’ absence.

She boomed out proudly in conclusion, “There are few young ladies in all the county who can equal our girls for grace and accomplishment, though I do say it myself. Did you know, Mr. Ramsey, that Susan has a very fine singing voice? Madeline’s performance at the piano-forte grows more exquisite every day. And our little Laura is quite talented as well, I am sure. She is only just sixteen but already shows remarkable ability. Why, she painted the sweetest little table for us last spring, all covered with flowers – dog roses and honeysuckle, I think she said they were. I couldn’t quite make it out myself; I have no eye for art. But her drawing master raved about it excessively, and everybody who sees it remarks its beauty.”

Mrs. Graham then called upon her husband to verify all her assertions about their daughters – which he did with some diffidence – leaving the rest of the company little alternative. No evidence to the contrary, we had to allow that the Miss Grahams were the finest girls in the world. Mr. Ramsey had no cause to doubt it; Susan, with her spirits so depressed, had not the strength to oppose; and my mother diplomatically suppressed any impulse she may have felt to put her own daughter forward as being entitled to a share of the honors. Mama talked about her sons instead, an altogether safer choice. Mrs. Graham could not possibly take offence at this since she had no sons of her own to suffer by the comparison.

“Tom is doing very well at Oxford this year. Are you not, my dear? In fact, I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if you take a ‘first’ in your exams.”

Tom laughed heartily. “Well, I shall be excessively surprised if such an improbable thing should occur.”

“I am sure you are too modest,” said Mr. Graham.

“Not at all, on my honor. Now, if you want a true scholar, my friend Arthur, here, is your man.”

I instinctively glanced at Mr. Pierce to see how he bore hearing Mr. Evensong praised. With knife and fork firmly gripped, he directed his concentrated attention – and any feelings of hostility – against the defenseless roasted guinea fowl on his plate.

Mama gave Arthur his due, then turned the conversation to her other son. “Our oldest boy, Frederick, has already finished at Oxford, you understand. He is now at Millwalk, his estate in Surrey, and getting on splendidly. Why, we never hear from him but what he tells us of some clever plan he has for improvements. I am sure he will make a great success of the place. Mr. Pierce, how near is Millwalk to your estate? Wildewood is it called?”

“Yes, madam. I think it might be as much as twenty miles from one to the other.”

“Oh, what a shame,” Mama continued. “How comfortable it would have been for Josephine to have her brothers close by. Tom will be at Millwalk too, you know, at the rectory.”

The rest of the dinner came and went without incident, after which we all repaired to the drawing room, the men following not long behind the ladies. Claiming fatigue and an early business appointment next day, Mr. Randolph Pierce departed as soon as the rules of civility would allow him to do so. Before he went, however, he did take the trouble of thanking his host and hostess quite handsomely, favoring me with a fine parting sentiment in recognition of my birthday, and dismissively giving his son leave to continue in my company.

Much to Susan’s dismay, Mr. Ramsey left shortly thereafter under curfew orders from his mother. Half an hour later, Tom began to make noises as if restless to go as well, citing the long ride he and his friend had before them on the morrow. Mama, of course, opposed any further diminishment our party, and Arthur showed no sign of taking himself away so precipitously. He seemed instead determined to prolong his torment at the hands of Agnes and Mr. Cox, whose flirtations had recommenced forthwith.  

I did not wish Arthur away, yet I wondered at his will to linger in a situation that must only bring him pain. As the evening wore on, he repeatedly glanced from the pair of them to the clock and back again. Mr. Cox showed no inclination for an early relinquishment of his claim. At length, Arthur crossed the room and spoke to Agnes despite the presence of the third party. “I leave Bath at first light, Miss Pittman. May I have a few words with you now, before I go?”

“Certainly, Mr. Evensong,” replied Agnes, formally.

“Thank you. Mr. Cox, if you would be so kind…”

Mr. Cox began to rise.

“No, I beg you would stay where you are, sir,” Agnes told him. “Mr. Evensong can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not hear.”

“Agnes, please,” Arthur said with impressive self-control. “I wish to speak to you in private. Surely you owe me that much.”

“Owe you? I hardly think you have the right to demand anything from me, sir.”

“Perhaps that was an unfortunate choice of words, but I thought, after so long an acquaintance, a few minutes of your time was not an unreasonable request to make.”

Arthur waited. Agnes held her ground and kept Mr. Cox obediently by her side. As the exchange had grown more heated, it had fixed the attention of everybody else in the room. Accordingly, all eyes were turned in their direction to see the outcome. The awkward silence was unendurable. Arthur finally broke it.

“Very well, then. I will bid you good-night, Miss Pittman.” He turned and made his farewells to the rest of the company with more composure than could reasonably be expected under the circumstances. Tom recognized his cue and began his leave-taking as well. Arthur saved his parting words for me as I walked him down to the door. “I am sorry for the unpleasantness, Jo. I never meant to create a scene. This is a fine thing for your birthday.”

“Think nothing of it, Arthur. If an apology is due, I believe it should come from a different quarter. Now then, when shall we see you again?”

“I cannot say. I make for Wallerton tomorrow, to visit my mother and brothers, and thence to Oxford.”

“But you will come to Millwalk at Easter as planned, and then home again in May for my wedding.”

Arthur hesitated, a pained look in his eyes. “I doubt it will be possible. I think it unlikely that my commitments at Oxford will allow me so much time away. A short excursion at Easter may be manageable, but as for your wedding…”

“Do try, Arthur. It would mean so much to me – to all of us – to have you there.”

“I shall make no promises. If I can see my way clear, I will come. Failing that, permit me to give you my best wishes now: all imaginable happiness, Jo. Good bye and God bless you.” He pressed my hand and was gone, Tom following behind him.

17

From Bad to Worse

With the loss of Arthur and Tom’s company, little pleasure remained in the offing. The evening could not be over soon enough to suit me. I was tired from the strain of all that had passed, and yet I could not expect to rest until I claimed a few minutes tête-à-tête with Richard, in hopes of easing his trouble and making my own mind comfortable again.

Agnes dismissed Mr. Cox shortly after Arthur left, and the Grahams were not far behind him in taking leave. With Mr. Ramsey gone, Susan could no longer support any guise of cheerfulness. In kindness, her parents took her home where she could be miserable with more convenience. Agnes soon made her apologies and went to bed, after which my parents discretely disappeared as well.

At last alone with Richard, I collapsed into an armchair and relaxed my countenance, abandoning any further attempt to conceal the true state of my feelings. “That was a bit of a grueling exercise, was it not?” said I. “I hardly know when I have seen a more unhappy set of people so unsuccessfully trying to look as if they were enjoying themselves.”

“Well said, my dear.” He took a seat beside me. “The trouble between Miss Pittman and Mr. Evensong was plain for all to see, but what the devil was wrong with Ramsey and Miss Graham? I did not like to ask in front of the others.”

“It amounts to this. Mr. Ramsey has nothing to live on without his mother’s pleasure, and she intends to deny her consent for his ever marrying Susan. I pray they may yet come to some understanding, but at the moment there seems little chance of it. So, you can appreciate their distress.”

“Yes, of course. How glad I am that we do not face that obstacle. Fortunately, my trouble with my father is far less serious. He and I got into a whale of a row just as we should have been leaving the house today. That is what detained us, and that accounts for our contribution to tonight’s
festive
atmosphere,” he finished with heavy sarcasm.

“Did you settle the matter between you at last?”

“After a fashion. He shall never admit that he was wrong, of course, but I think he is now resigned to do his duty. It is a question of basic propriety, of common courtesy really. When a call is due, it must be made without delay. I fail to understand why he insists upon making such a to-do about paying his respects to an old acquaintance.”

“An old acquaintance? Do you mean Miss Fennimore?”

“Quite.”

“You have called on her yourself, I suppose.”

“Yes, earlier today. However, it seems that she is now beneath my father’s notice, although he was friendly enough with the family not that long ago, until Mr. Fennimore’s affairs collapsed.  Now he does not scruple to snub them, one and all. Yet I maintain that Miss Fennimore deserves our consideration, despite her father’s reduced circumstances!”

This little discussion, which I had anticipated being equally therapeutic for us both, had tended instead toward providing far more relief for Richard than for myself. Whilst his burden presumably lightened as he gave expression to his frustrations, that very venting served only to add to my trouble. After having observed Richard’s familiar manner with the lady at the ball the other night, his mere mention of Miss Fennimore might have been enough to disturb my peace of mind. Now I could not help noticing the feeling with which he defended her claim on his attention, the passion he suddenly demonstrated for the observation of proper civility to this “old acquaintance.”

Despite my effort to conceal it, a hint of my consternation crept into my reply. “Miss Fennimore is fortunate indeed to have such a champion looking out for her honor. I hope she appreciates your loyalty and enthusiasm on her behalf.”

“Now, Jo, you cannot seriously be jealous. I told you, she is nothing to me personally – just an old friend of the family. And as an old friend, I should hate to see Miss Fennimore ill-used by anybody, especially by one of my own relations.”

My battle for self-command waged on. “Do not say it,” I silently counseled myself. “If you are wise, you will hold your tongue for once.” However, as is so often the fate of good advice, this example also went unheeded. Instead, against every fiber of my better judgment, I escalated the confrontation. I could not seem to help myself; I opened my mouth and pure poison poured out.

“Oh,
do
call her Margaret, Richard,” I said, mimicking Miss Fennimore’s affected coyness credibly. “Remember, she insisted that you should. After all, you have known her ‘ever so long.’ And, as anyone at the dance could plainly see, you are on very familiar terms with her!”

Richard’s reaction to this pretty speech was immediate and severe; it struck me like a physical blow. He froze, gripped me with a cold stare, and then delivered an equally icy reproof. “Do not take that mocking tone with
me
, Josephine. I will soon be your husband – your lord and master, if you please. I believe I have the right to insist you to treat me with more respect. There is a fine line between pert opinions and impertinence; you have just crossed it.” He stood, adjusted his cravat, and fiercely tugged his waistcoat into smart order. “I know this has been a trying evening for you, so I am prepared to overlook your remarks. Perhaps tomorrow, by the clear light of day, you will recover your sense. For now, I must go before I lose my temper altogether. I bid you good night, madam.”

Before I could say a word to stop him, Richard turned on his heel and was gone. No kiss; no embrace; no tender parting word. I was left alone and utterly wretched. It was a misery of my own making, of course; that glaring fact did nothing to ease my pain. Richard would never have gone away angry had I not been so horrid to him. His annoyance with me was completely justified.

For half an hour, I stared out the drawing room window, down at the darkened street, praying that Richard would return so that I might humbly beg his pardon. When he failed to appear, I resigned myself; I had no alternative but to wait until the morrow to make amends. I went to my bed that night with a heavy heart, my confidence in the power of our mutual affection to overcome this difficulty my only comfort.

~~*~~

During the course of my uneasy night, I resolved to linger in suspense of Richard’s forgiveness no longer than necessary. The trouble had been my doing – solely mine. Hence I intended to be the one to seek out the remedy as well. Yet before anything could be done toward that end, another event intervened. While we were all at breakfast, the morning post arrived with a letter for Miss Pittman. Stating that it was from her father, Agnes opened it, silently read the contents, blanched alarmingly as she did so, and hastily excused herself from the room.

The remaining three of us looked at each other in puzzled amazement.

“Perhaps I should go to her,” I proposed. “Shall I?”

“Best allow her time to recover her composure first, my dear,” Mama advised. “She will not thank you later for witnessing her current suffering, whatever the cause. I wonder what Mr. Pittman could have communicated to unsettle her so completely. I do hope none of her family has been taken seriously ill.”

In deference to my mother’s recommendation, I tarried longer than my own sensibilities would have advocated before going to my friend. I found her in a state of considerable agitation, crying fitfully and filling her trunk.

“Agnes, dear, what on earth has happened? Why are you packing your things?”

“Here. See for yourself,” she said, thrusting her letter toward me. It read as follows:

My Dear Child,

     I do hope that you have enjoyed your stay in Bath. Unfortunately, I must now insist that you return home at once. This will no doubt come as quite a blow to you – both cutting short your holiday and the reason for it – but it cannot be helped. You see, my dear, I have suffered a severe financial setback, the complexities of which I will not attempt to describe here. Suffice to say that we must retrench immediately. My attorney has drawn up plans for economy which I hope will save us from total disgrace, but it will require great sacrifice on the part of us all. Do thank our dear friends, the Walkers, for their hospitality, and beg their continued fellowship through the difficult time ahead. Pray, get yourself home as soon as possible, Agnes. Your presence is wanted at every moment, most particularly by your mother, who has been very cast down by this grave disappointment.

Your Loving Papa

“Oh, Agnes, I am so sorry.”

“Our family is ruined, Jo. Ruined! I shall never be able to show my face in society again. What will become of us? Are we to be cast out to starve in the hedgerows?”

“Do try to calm yourself, dearest. Surely the situation cannot be as desperate as that.”

But Agnes would not be comforted. The depth of her distress was beyond the reach of my ministrations. Indeed, there was little of use that I could do, except to assist with the practical preparations for her departure and to solicit my father’s help in arranging her transportation. Within the space of three hours following the arrival of the ill-fated news, Papa had supplied Miss Pittman with the necessary funds for her journey, and safely deposited her and her luggage on the next outbound post chaise for Hampshire.

“What a sad business this is, Jo,” he lamented as the coach pulled away, wheels rattling on the uneven cobbles. “I feel the loss of our young guest and the misfortune of her family exceedingly. At the very least, I wish Miss Pittman might have remained until we could deliver her to Wallerton ourselves in another week or two. I hate to see her traveling post. Still, I can understand her father’s impatience to get her home. A family must close ranks at such a time.”

I saw Agnes’s forlorn face once more as the coach turned the corner before passing out of sight.

“Well, well, there’s nothing more to be done for them at present, I suppose,” Papa continued. “And since this mission has brought us out into the town, I believe it shall be as well for me to take myself to the Pump-room now as later. Will you accompany me, my dear, or do you have errands of your own?”

The sorry business with Richard flooded back into my mind. “Now you mention it, I do have something to do on Bond Street, if that’s all right.”

“Perfectly, perfectly. I daresay your time will be better spent there than waiting on me. Go about your business and I will see you at home later. But keep your wrap close about you; it is very chilly this morning.”

I fully intended to go to Bond Street as I had told my father I would. But I had to see Richard first, to make my apologies without further delay. I should have gone even earlier, with Agnes in tow for propriety’s sake, had not fate taken a hand. Now my determination to be restored to Richard’s good opinion gave me the boldness to march up to the door alone. The servant who answered recognized me and reported that the gentlemen were not at home. Since he expected them shortly, he invited me to await their return upstairs in the drawing room.

Not many minutes passed before I heard noise below – the sound of the front door closing sharply followed by the raised voices of Richard and his father quarreling.

“But, Father, why must I come away so abruptly? Give me another week.”

“Absolutely not! This was never intended as a holiday, as you well know. Now, with our business successfully concluded, any more expenditure would be a pointless extravagance. You have thrown away enough of my money, sir. It is time you came home and earned your keep.”

They were moving in my direction. As I considered my awkward position and if I should make my presence known, the opportunity to do so was lost. I remained where I was, immobilized by Richard’s words, which I could not help overhearing.

“I have done everything you demanded of me, sacrificing my plans and the woman I preferred in order to secure you a rich daughter-in-law. Have I not earned a little gratitude for a job well done?”

“Gratitude? No, I’ll not thank you for your trouble nor pity your sacrifice either. Need I remind you that securing Miss Walker’s fortune would have been entirely unnecessary had you not gambled away so much of your own? You have no one to blame but yourself for your current situation.”

With that, the two men opened the drawing room doors wide and discovered me within. They stared at me and I at them, all three of us momentarily stunned silent. Then, with an involuntary cry of anguish, I fled the room, the house, and Richard.