Lord Wintringham stood near the fireplace, magnificent in evening dress but wearing an expression of insufferable arrogance. A short, thin gentleman of about the same age lounged beside him, leaning against the mantel in a much more relaxed attitude and considerably more dandified apparel. The third in the group was a fair young lady whose pretty face revealed both contempt and animosity. Her gown of pale rose sarcenet trimmed with ribbons and rouleaux filled Jane with envy.
Her gaze moved on. Slightly apart from the three, a second young lady perched awkwardly on a straight chair. She was obviously pregnant, very pregnant if Jane was any judge—no, not pregnant,
in the family way
was the polite phrase. Whatever one called it, to be present in that condition she must surely live here, though Ella had discovered the earl was unmarried. Her head was turned towards the door, yet she had no interest in the newcomers. She had a remote, inward look that Jane recognized.
Two matrons in their thirties or early forties, elegantly dressed and bejewelled, sat on a gold velvet love seat. The older bore a startling resemblance to the dowager countess, right down to the cold, censorious expression of pride. The other appeared more discontented than proud. Behind the loveseat stood two gentlemen whom Jane guessed to be their husbands, a red-faced squire and a weak-chinned nonentity.
On the other side of the fireplace Lady Wintringham surveyed her unwelcome guests through her lorgnette, her back ramrod straight. An elderly lady in black sat next to her, with a white-haired gentleman on a chair beside them. A small, plump woman in lavender hovered nearby.
It seemed to Jane that an age had passed since the butler had announced her and Gracie, but she supposed it could not be more than a few seconds. Was no one going to introduce them? With relief, she saw Mr. Selwyn and the two disgraced students, standing to one side in an uncomfortable group. She smiled at them and noted equal relief in their answering smiles.
Heartened, Jane looked at Lord Wintringham again. The awkward pause lengthened. The young man leaning against the mantel stirred uneasily and Lord Wintringham glanced at the dowager, who made no move to carry out her duties as hostess. He came over to them.
“Allow me to make you known to everyone,” he said stiffly. “You have met my aunt. Lady Wintringham, I believe.”
Jane curtsied. Miss Gracechurch gave a slight bow, and the earl went on to introduce the elderly couple and the plump lady, “My cousin, Miss Neville.” As he moved on around the room, presenting them to friends and relatives, Jane was sure she’d never remember all the names, let alone whom they belonged to. However, as they came to the contemptuous young lady, the drawing-room door swung open and Mr. Josiah Ramsbottom made a grand entrance.
“Evenin’, all.” His natural belligerence was diluted with genial self-satisfaction. Absorbing the impact of his brown-and-blue checked coat, his cherry-red waistcoat, and his daffodil-yellow knee-breeches, Jane at once felt her travelling dress to be quite acceptable. “Ye’ve a fine place here, my lord, my lady,” Mr. Ramsbottom continued. “Must cost a mint o’ brass to keep it up. Ye’d do better, happen, to tear the old parts down.”
In the stunned silence that greeted this advice, Bradbury’s announcement of dinner brought a visible relaxation. The bustle that accompanied the removal to the dining room permitted Mr. Ramsbottom’s shocking effrontery to be discreetly ignored.
The Honourable Miss Chatterton stepped forward as if to claim Lord Wintringham’s escort. The earl at once turned to Jane, standing beside him, and offered his arm. Surprised, she smiled at him and laid her hand on his arm, only to be reminded of her glovelessness. He did not appear to notice, but nor did he return her smile or show any sign of gratification at having her for his dinner partner. His face might have been carved in marble.
Miss Chatterton, on the other hand, scowled resentfully at Jane and whispered loudly to her sister, Lady Fitzgerald, “Look, Daphne, they have no gloves! What a pair of provincial dowds.’’
“Hush, Lavinia,” said Lady Fitzgerald as her solicitous husband helped her to stand up.
“Stands to reason they didn’t expect to need evening dress, travelling on the Mail,” pointed out Lord Fitzgerald.
Jane was pleased to find him seated beside her at the dinner table. However, the rules Miss Gracechurch had taught her dictated that she devote her attention to her partner during the first course.
She took a sip of the consommé, served in exquisite Meissen porcelain, and said to the earl, “This soup is delicious, my lord. Have you a French cook?”
“No,” he grunted.
“German china!” rang out Mr. Ramsbottom’s voice from farther down the table. “To my mind, there’s nowt to beat Worcester, or Crown Derby. Support British manufactories, that’s my motto. Not that I’d waste the ready on fine china for the servants to be breaking with their clumsiness.”
Inevitably, an unfortunate footman promptly dropped a soup plate, and Bradbury, with no more than a twitch of one fingertip, sent him from the room in disgrace. After a startled pause, the subdued murmur of conversation resumed.
Jane tried again. “Hot soup is particularly welcome in such cold weather as we have been having. In the north, the frosts have been unusually severe this year. Has it been the same in the south, my lord?”
“No.”
“Not for me, me lad.” Mr. Ramsbottom waved away a footman. “Consommy you can call it but it looks to me like the stuff we give ’em in the poorhouse in Manchester. Fills the belly but it don’t put flesh on a man’s bones. Give me good roast beef any day, and I will say a spot o’ Yorkshire pudding goes down nice, for all I’m a Lancashire man.” His remarks were addressed to the whole table, but little Miss Neville cowered, scarlet-faced, at his side as if she were to blame. Everyone else pretended they didn’t hear.
Jane persevered with her own difficult neighbour. “I was unable to see the countryside for the fog. I daresay it is very pretty, with the Thames flowing nearby?”
“Pretty enough.”
Two consecutive words! Congratulating herself, she pressed on. “Does the river cross your land, my lord?”
“It forms one boundary.”
“Fish!” The word exploded from Mr. Ramsbottom’s lips as the soup was removed with a large turbot in lobster sauce, a dish of eels, and various vegetables. “You might as well throw good money into the sea as waste it on having fish carried up from the coast when you live so far inland, and there’s always good river fish to be had. Not but what turbot’s a fine dish, but extravagance is what I don’t hold with. I’ll take some o’ those eels, too, young feller-me-lad.”
“Do you fish in the Thames, my lord?” Jane asked quickly.
“Occasionally.”
“Have you rowboats, or punts?”
“No.”
“The river bank must be a delightful place to hold picnics?”
The earl vouchsafed no answer, presumably unable to find one short enough. Jane gave up and concentrated on her dinner. She couldn’t help wondering why My Lord Winter had chosen to seat her at his side if he had no desire to converse with her.
“Ah, here comes the solid victuals,” observed Mr. Ramsbottom with satisfaction as the second course arrived—a baron of beef, a leg of mutton, and various ragouts and fricassees. “I don’t hold wi’ them fancy sauces, though. Often as not they’re just a way to hide second-rate meat, and the cook’s pocketed the difference. Not that I’m saying your ladyship would let ’em get away with it!” He bowed gallantly to Lady Wintringham, beaming.
Her ladyship failed to appreciate the compliment. Her glare would have frozen a lesser man to the core, but Josiah Ramsbottom applied himself to his “solid victuals” with undiminished cheer. For some time no more was heard from him but an occasional demand for another slice of beef.
Jane turned to Lord Fitzgerald. He grinned at her and remarked, “Interesting chap, that. Did you travel far with him?”
“Only from Oxford, thank heaven. Mr. Ramsbottom gave me a great deal of useful information on how to avoid being cheated when buying muslins.”
“I must get him to tell me how to avoid being cheated by my tailor!” He embarked on a long and involved story about an argument with Weston over a set of gilt buttons, interrupted now and then by his rather asinine laugh. Jane failed to grasp the point of the story, except that the tailor had won, but she didn’t mind. At least Lord Fitzgerald was friendly and good-natured. She liked the way he turned frequently to his wife, on his other side, urging her to eat a morsel to keep up her strength.
Though Jane would have liked to discuss Lady Fitzgerald’s pregnancy with his lordship, she knew the subject was considered indelicate. Once or twice she caught Gracie glancing at her anxiously and would have liked to reassure her that she was minding her tongue. Then she realized that Gracie was actually concerned about Lady Fitzgerald. The urge to speak out redoubled, but Jane restrained herself.
Gracie was sitting beside Mr. Selwyn. Jane had noticed them talking together during the first course. Now Gracie was attempting to converse with the lacklustre gentleman to whom they had not been introduced owing to Mr. Ramsbottom’s eruption into the drawing-room. The gentleman appeared to be as monosyllabic as Lord Wintringham.
The earl was now well matched. His other neighbour was the lady who so closely resembled his aunt, and she made no effort to break his silence.
Jane laughed at the conclusion of Lord Fitzgerald’s story and asked him a question which started him off on another. A remove of game pies and roast fowl came and went, and was succeeded by a third course of fruit pies, pastries, jellies, cheeses, and savouries. Mr. Ramsbottom pronounced his contempt for such
fal-lals.
Jane turned back to Lord Wintringham.
He looked unutterably bored. She resolved to break his reserve or die trying.
CHAPTER FOUR
With mingled dismay and curiosity, Edmund observed the glint of determination in Miss Brooke’s blue eyes. What notion had the chit taken into her head now? So far, she had behaved with surprising propriety, even laughing at Fitz’s dullest stories.
However captivating her laugh, Edmund had no intention of attempting to amuse her. She was useful as a foil against Lavinia, but he owed her no especial courtesy. On the contrary, in fact. He feared that by bringing her in to dinner he had set her up in her own conceit and he might be forced to give her a set-down.
Nonetheless, he awaited her words with no little interest. Anything must be preferable to his cousin Amelia’s disdainful silence.
“I must beg a favour, my lord,” Miss Brooke began, and he automatically stiffened in preparation for refusing whatever encroaching petition she uttered. “Would you mind telling me who everyone is? You see, I have been little in company and I have not the knack of remembering names. Besides, you were interrupted when you were so kindly introducing us to your guests.”
“If you wish.” He felt a ridiculous sense of disappointment at so ordinary a request. “Next to me is my cousin, Lady Amelia Danforth. She is Lady Wintringham’s daughter.”
“I guessed as much. They are very alike, are they not?” Miss Brooke had the wit to speak softly—and the effrontery to raise her nose in the air and peer down it superciliously. She had caught Amelia’s expression to the life, and Edmund could not prevent his lips twitching. What was worse, she saw it, damn her impudence.
“Lady Amelia and my aunt are both uncommonly fastidious,” he said coldly. She was unabashed. “Next to my cousin is my brother-in-law, Mr. Henry Parmenter,” he continued. Parmenter bore an undeniable resemblance to a codfish—a boiled codfish, at that. Miss Brooke wisely made no attempt at mimicry.
“Hmm,” was all she said, but she gave him a commiserating look.
“Miss Gracechurch and Mr. Selwyn you know. Miss Neville is a distant cousin of mine who acts as companion to my aunt.”
“She seems sadly woebegone.”
Edmund had scarcely noticed his poor relation for a long time. Now he saw that she was indeed in low spirits, with lines of tiredness and anxiety on her plump, round face. The position of companion to Lady Wintringham was no sinecure. There had been some talk awhile since of Miss Neville’s going to keep house for a widowed brother, but her ladyship had declared that she could not manage without her. Should he have taken the trouble to ensure that his little cousin followed her own inclination?
He resented Miss Brooke’s disturbing his conscience. “No doubt you would be woebegone if obliged to sit beside the Manchester merchant,” he snapped.
“Not at all. Mr. Ramsbottom’s manners leave something to be desired, admittedly, but he is not by any means difficult to converse with.”
Her quizzical expression brought a tide of heat to his cheeks. He had not been put to the blush in years and it did nothing to improve his temper. He had no desire to continue the conversation, but if he fell silent now, he would be proving her point.
“My sister, Mrs. Parmenter, is next.” Wife of the codfish. He dared her to comment. “Then the Honourable Eustace Tuttle. He and his wife are old friends of my aunt.” Toad-eaters who bolstered her high opinion of herself and were often to be found living in clover at the Abbey, hanging upon his sleeve—to mix several metaphors. “Lady Wintringham you recall, I trust. Then one of the two young men you brought with you, I forget his name.”
“I cannot see from here without peering. Tall and apologetic or short and chirpy?”
Again his lips twitched involuntarily. “Tall and apologetic, ma’am.”
“The Honourable Aloysius Reid. You see, we had aristocratic company on the Mail, though Mr. Reid rode outside so I had no opportunity to become better acquainted.”
“I see.” He wondered if she was on the catch for a noble husband to save her from the miserable life of a governess. So bold a female would have little trouble entrapping a meek youth like Reid. Edmund disliked the thought intensely. He would keep an eye on the two while they were under his roof, he promised himself.
“And beside Mr. Reid?” she queried.
“Mrs. Tuttle, my aunt’s friend, and beside her, Lady Amelia’s husband, Lord Danforth.” A good enough fellow if one expected no more of a man than to keep his acres in order, ride bruisingly to hounds, and drink himself into a stupor after dinner. Still, Cousin Amelia seemed satisfied to lord it over her rural neighbours.