Born of Persuasion (7 page)

She recoiled. “Of course not. But you can imagine the stir it created. His parents are at a loss and have forbidden him to dine with them unless he wears the clothing of a gentleman, but he clings to that dreadful cassock; thus he only eats with the cottagers or at the workhouse. Even Henry is at a loss as to how to communicate with him. Edward listens to no one, never speaks to us now, unless it’s to lecture us.” She fell silent, waiting.

Her words wrought different results in me than she intended. Instead of softening my outlook toward Edward, they hardened it. I’d encountered his type before and seen their converts. Edward belonged to the sort that had persecuted me. He had become my worst enemy. Even friendship between us was now impossible.

On my right, the leaves enshrouding the sprawling branches of the ancient oak tree rustled in the wind—covering the very place where he asked me to become his wife. I wanted nothing
more than to fade back in time, to speak to the Edward that I remembered, to seek his solace and advice.

“Well?” Elizabeth leaned forward.

I found my clarity. “Well, what? What do you expect? I have my own troubles now. I warrant he has no wish to see me again either.”

Elizabeth’s nose scrunched like a hare’s. “Have you not heard one word? Not a day passes that he does not fear for your health, or worry about your environment. There are entire nights he can’t sleep for thought of you. Every day, every single day, he struggles with this desire to go to your village himself, to ensure for himself that you are being cared for. Without fail, every day your name appears in his journals as he agonizes—”

“Journals? Elizabeth!”

“Well,
I
don’t read them. Henry does. It’s for Edward’s own good.”

I stopped my ears, starting toward the cottage. Edward’s privacy—at least when I knew him—was sacred. To listen further was treachery.

“Julia, listen.” Elizabeth grabbed my arm. “Please.”

I stopped. “And will you be reading
my
diaries next?”

“That’s harsh. How can you ask me that?”

I picked up my heavy skirts and started downhill. “What other conclusion am I to draw? You’re reading his journals!”

With hurried, small steps Elizabeth managed to overtake me. “You must aid us. You owe it to Edward. This is nothing more than a fever he suffers from. He wasn’t the only one infected at university. But it will pass. He’s your betrothed. You can still compel him to acknowledge you. When this fades, would you rather be his wife, or have lost him forever?”

I gave an empty, bitter laugh to the wind. Elizabeth’s shoulders drooped with disappointment. She would never understand, for it was to Edward’s ears alone that I’d confessed what
I’d suffered at the hands of the church. Well, let him rot there now.

Yet my throat ached with tears as I hastened down the grassy slope.

“Julia!” Elizabeth lost no time in stumbling after me. “He’s going to have to confront you sooner or later. I tell you, you still hold power over his heart. Oh, don’t run, for heaven’s sake—you know I can’t keep up. I—”

Thankfully Elizabeth had never been a good sprinter. I managed to escape her—and the madness that seemed to be affecting her and Henry, as well as Edward.

MINE WEREN’T THE ONLY HOPES blighted that August. While cottagers and farmers scrambled to salvage a few baskets of their produce, left stringy and tasteless by the early frost, dark clouds congregated and released incessant rain.

Handfuls of ripening corn were sole survivors of entire fields. Wheat lay flattened and drowned. The poor and desperate gleaned what they could despite the icy rain and their painfully numb fingers, yet their harvest amounted to little more than lingering coughs and cellars filled with moldy vegetables.

Mrs. Windham also suffered loss. She bemoaned her garden, often walking from window to window lamenting her dead vines and barren flowers, speculating how many years it would take to recover the damage. It being too wet and cold for venturing outdoors, Elizabeth and I endured hours listening to her endless tirades, which inevitably concluded in tearful outbursts.

It was, therefore, with relief that I entered the drawing room one afternoon to find a merry fire crackling against the cold and an elaborate set upon the tea table. Mrs. Windham’s best china,
brown transferware, sat adorned with frilly lace napkins and matching tablecloth. A fourth cup promised a guest.

“Ooh!” Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide as she likewise took in the room. “Who on earth would call in this weather?”

Unable to conjure anyone foolish enough to ruin her dress by embarking outdoors, I shook my head.

Mrs. Windham’s rustling skirts sounded behind us as she emerged from her bedchamber, smoothing her bodice. Upon spotting us, her eyes narrowed at me. “For heaven’s sake, Julia! What on earth are you thinking, wearing that?”

I glanced down at the dress I’d worn every day this week. After my father’s death, I’d dyed it black because the sleeves were already too short. Mama hadn’t ruined any of her good dresses either, stating there wasn’t need, as we were not truly mourning.

“Why?” Mrs. Windham’s mouth trembled as her eyes screwed up with tears. “Why would you wear that?”

I gave her a slight curtsy. “I had not an idea it offended you.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Mrs. Windham’s tears dried as suddenly as they had appeared at the sharp rap which sounded on the front door. “Make haste! Do not stand there babbling. Have the goodness to go change. Hasten back.”

I obeyed, listening to the bustle of the house as I started to unbutton my dress. When Hannah’s trundling footsteps sounded in the hall, I knew tea had been delivered. There was no time. I gave up, rebuttoned myself, and grabbed a shawl to hide the deficiency before hurrying down the hall, wondering whose visit had caused such a commotion.

As I opened the drawing room door, however, I caught sight of Elizabeth, sitting arms crossed. Giving me a look as black as thunder, she silently communicated all was not well.

“. . . you’ll soon see for yourself,” Mrs. Windham was saying, still shielded from my sight by the door. “Such a charming young lady. Such air and grace. Ah, I believe she is here now. Julia, please enter.”

Enter I did, though in utter confusion.

Mrs. Windham gave me her evil eye upon finding me in the same clothing, but I scarcely noted it as my gaze was drawn across the room. The woman seated there was nothing like the normal guests who flowed through Am Meer, plump and gaily dressed. Her narrowness made her elbows and shoulders seem as though they stuck out at odd angles. Drenched ostrich feathers hung limply from her hat and straggled down her back. She clutched a stained drawstring purse against her stomach. Her mouth soured as she stared at me. “This is the girl?”

“Yes. Quite lovely, is she not?” Mrs. Windham forced a laugh, waving me forward. “Step into the light, Julia. Let Miss Pitts better view you. As you can see, she’s modest. Holds her tongue, keeps her place.”

“Fifty pounds, you say?” Miss Pitts’s tone was clipped.

“Yes, fifty.” The false sweetness disappeared from Mrs. Windham’s voice.

I felt like stone as I stared in horror at this strange apparition. Then it flashed in my mind where I’d seen her before. Once, Elizabeth had pointed her out while we were at market, stating she made her living by arranging marriages amongst the lower classes. Even then, I’d inched closer to Mama, wondering who would trust such a miserly looking creature with their future.

“That’s not per annum, mind you,” Mrs. Windham said, moving toward me when I did nothing but stare. “This is coming straight from my purse. Just a one-time dowry, you understand.”

“Has she experience tending children?” Miss Pitts’s beady eyes blinked as she continued to examine me as one might a pig at market. “Hugh Kellie gots more’n he can handle. Think she can manage young Abe?”

Mrs. Windham made a snorting noise, pulling me two steps into the room. “No, indeed! I’ll only pay twenty if it’s to the likes of him. Haven’t you a merchant, at least? I tell you, she’s as good as a gentleman’s daughter. Too good for Hugh Kellie or his ilk.”

I turned my dazed stare on Mrs. Windham, wanting to remind her that I
was
a gentleman’s daughter, yet words fled me. All I could think was that my fortune had sunk so low that my only choices were to marry lowborn or become a servant.

Miss Pitts frowned. “Aye, but Kellie would be willing to start the banns this coming Sunday if the girl’s agreeable. You said the sooner the better. Fifty pounds would set him up right well and rid you of yer problem.” Her sharp gaze turned on me. “Hugh Kellie might not be a merchant, but his farm always turns a decent profit.”

“I tell you—” Mrs. Windham lifted both hands as if to push the idea away—“I shall not pay more than twenty for him. I do not like the man.”

Miss Pitts’s mouth twisted, but she appealed to me. “What say you?”

My mind whirled to comprehend this situation. Which was better—to take a husband, even a cottager, or to be banished to Scotland to nurse a bedridden woman? I felt myself flush scarlet as I confronted my dilemma, something I’d avoided brooding upon since learning that Edward had taken orders.

I started to shake my head in confusion. Then the stubborn part of my personality that neither my father nor my vicar—nay, not even Mama—had ever managed to squash rose up, fierce and protective. My voice trembled with anger as I turned to Mrs. Windham. “I will marry a gentleman or not at all. How dare you invite this woman here!”

Mrs. Windham’s mouth fell open. She tottered back a step, for she had never seen me in temper before.

“Oh, a hoity-toity one, ain’t she? Holds her tongue, keeps her place, indeed.” Miss Pitts stood and placed her hand on a protruding hip bone, giving me a long, hard look before she turned and gathered her wet shawl from where it was hanging over the chair. “Not a penny to her name, but only a gent will do.
Too high-and-mighty for charity? Well mebbe I’m too good to offer her my services!”

Mrs. Windham gave a tittering laugh and hied from me to her. “Do not leave. I . . . I fear I made the mistake of mentioning Macy and Greenham on her first morning here.” Her mouth quivered as she laid her hand on Miss Pitts’s arm. “The child cherishes a notion of marrying one of them. It is a romantic fancy, nothing more. ’Tis all she speaks of. Mr. Greenham this, and Mr. Macy that, from dawn till dusk.”

I opened my mouth in disbelief.

“Ah, so you fancy her ladyship’s visitors, do you?” The visitor gave me a rude smile. “Aye, you and half of London are ready to seize those fortunes. But we must stay realistic.” As hastily as she’d taken up her shawl she put it down and retook her seat. She held out her hand, making known her wish for tea, which Mrs. Windham obliged.

“’Tis the first rule.” Miss Pitts stirred sugar into the brew, never taking her eyes off me. “Why, even in this here village, most of the girls hope I can persuade one of Lord Auburn’s lads to wife ’em. Not that I wouldn’t fancy that young vicar at nights for myself, aye?” To my horror, she gave a ribald laugh, exposing her rotted teeth and gums. “Not one of my girls married that high yet, missy, but as yer good friend Mrs. Windham can attest, I’ve found right many of them proper husbands, and most of ’em robust young lads too. Not a ol’ man amongst ’em, least not the dirty kind.”

I folded my hands over my bodice, unwilling to dignify such a speech with an answer. Mrs. Windham could not force me to marry, and I would not waste my breath acknowledging such a woman. Elizabeth also glared from the window seat.

“Good girl.” Miss Pitts gave me a nod and then turned to Mrs. Windham, who anxiously watched me. “Got common sense, leastwise. Knows a good argument when she meets it.” She gave me what I think she intended to be a friendly smile
while I stiffened. “Can’t live here forever, can you, what with the price of meat the way it is? Trust ol’ Nellie to find you a proper husband. See if I don’t.”

“I’m determined,” Mrs. Windham said in a teary voice, mistaking my scorn for compliance, “to do right by her. She has not a soul in the world, except us. Lost her mother only five months ago and her father barely a year before, though that was no great loss. A more severe man I have yet to see. Used to speak to her and her mother terribly. I assure you, it quite curdled my blood to hear him rant so—”

“Mama,” Elizabeth hissed from her perch.

“Aye, that’s the wicked way of things.” Miss Pitts ignored them both, spreading her skirt over her lap. “As if we haven’t got enough problems of our own, and then someone offs and leaves their kin to live at yer expense. There’s no excuse for it.”

“I warrant you find her too thin and pale,” Mrs. Windham continued on her own vein. “I cannot present her to my acquaintances looking as worn as a shadow. But surely you know someone who won’t mind.”

I trembled with anger. Perhaps I ought to have picked up my skirts and swept from the room, but for some reason I wanted to know exactly how they evaluated my situation. What was being said there was likely the truest picture of everyone’s thoughts.

“’Tis bad enough birthing a daughter nowadays,” Miss Pitts said, her chair creaking despite the fact a good wind could have knocked her from her feet, “but to keep no dowry for ’em? Not a thought of who they’ll marry without a brass farthing to their name.”