Hide in Time (20 page)

“To Mary he sent the Archangel,
Gabriel.” He paused, adjusted his spectacles, and continued
slowly which gave even more emphasis to his words. “In her
impending condition, as an ordinary woman in a small town, imagine
the gossip.” He allowed time for consideration. “She’d
need to be greatly reassured.”

Alexandra listened intently, all the
time turning over the thought that one never knows who hears and is
influenced by what we say and do.

The parson finished with “To you
– how does God make his message known to this learned,
distinguished company?” In answer, he held high the Holy Bible,
showed it to all, lowered his eyes, paused, then slowly seated
himself next to Alexandra and winked! “Thank you, Alexandra.”

The entertainment was a display of
accomplishments, or lack of them. Feeble applause for the younger
Carpenter girl’s rendition of her own short composition on the
pianoforte signalled to Alexandra that it was time for her to read.
She placed her papers on the music stand and looked across the length
of the combined music and morning room; more than one hundred guests
hushed as she began to read in her low, spellbinding voice.

“I want you to imagine yourself
nearly two hundred years hence.” She paused. “Close your
eyes and see yourself travelling along a dark passageway and now, as
you open your eyes, you emerge into the light of ‘Christmas
Future’.” Not a sound was uttered by the audience, not
even by Jack who had been awakened by Johnson’s kick as he
passed by with a tray. Alexandra’s engaging story-telling
skills crowned her writing. She finished by saying, “And the
child sat down alone in the gutter, tired and hungry, and cried.”

She made her way back to her seat next
to Parson Raffles who cautiously stood and turned to face the stunned
audience. He rocked to and fro, appearing to be composing a response
that would combine the certitude of the writer with the ruminations
of the still silent guests.

At length, he ventured a summary.
“Honesty and wisdom despised, wealth squandered, corruption
still spreading like a plague, a time of plenty and a time of famine
– a world in which man has little time for the guiding,
inspiring love of God.” He paused, visibly convicted by the
profundity of the essay, pinched his nose and sniffed. “Miss
Mulberry has reminded us that we all have a part to play in shaping
the future of our world,” he rocked back and forth, “achieved
by caring for, and educating those close to us to obtain what she
calls the ‘ripple effect’. May God richly bless her for
this admonition.”

Thunderous applause followed and
Alexandra was called upon to acknowledge the audience’s
appreciation several times before they would allow her to sit down.

Charlotte Carpenter’s eyes could
kill for England.

Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham

“Alexandra! You cannot let this
happen!” Catherine’s eyes begged her to consider.
“Charlotte Carpenter as my sister-in-law, however wealthy she
is, would be a catastrophe!”

“Do not worry so, Catherine. I
have saved the family estate from bankruptcy and you from being
saddled with a harpy for a sister-in-law.”

“You are teasing, Alexandra.
Don’t think I don’t know you by now.”

“Teasing? Not so. I have sold my
Christmas story.”

“Alexandra! How wonderful. Who
to?”

“Your father is surprising. Much
under-rated.”

“I know,” said Catherine
smiling fondly. “There’s no point in telling some people
though because he disguises his genius so well.” Then she added
impatiently, “But what has he to do with it?”

Alexandra looked around the morning
room. The early rays of sunshine reflecting on the pale yellow walls,
sent a promise of warmth to the cold, fire-less room. “Your
father had invited a publisher to the soirée and he approached
me afterwards. Today I have received ten guineas in payment for the
collection of ten short stories.”

Catherine hugged her. She was an
affectionate young lady but this hug was strong and tight, as if she
were afraid of losing her. It remained unspoken, but they both knew
that events were playing themselves out in a manner that would
dictate their fates. Alexandra knew she could not presume on their
charity for ever. “Foxhills” needed a saviour.

Catherine stepped back but continued to
hold Alexandra’s hand. “Ten guineas? Why that is
extraordinary. Imagine what you could earn if you wrote a book.”

“I have already begun,”
whispered Alexandra conspiratorially. “It is about a young lady
who meets a young man at a Christmas soirée.” Catherine
moved towards the sofa. “He has ambitions to follow his father
into Parliament,” continued Alexandra. Catherine picked up a
large red cushion and threw it at Alexandra who caught it, chased
Catherine around the central table and then into the music room.

“Excuse me Miss Leigh-Fox,”
said Mrs Lamb, “It being Monday…” she attempted to
continue amidst the hilarity.

“Monday, 20th February in the
year of our Lord 1815,” said Catherine in her best mock-serious
fashion, “Monday – and you wish us to attend to the
weekly menus?”

“I do, Miss Leigh-Fox.”

“Then let us do so quickly,”
Alexandra said, “then we can go for our ride, Catherine.”
With a flourish she produced a sheaf of papers. “All done!”

Cook stared at the menus and with a
loud sigh said, “It is customary to consult with me before the
menus are made up and for the very good reason that the butcher ain’t
goin’ t’ like this. He ain’t been paid for
Christmas yet.”

“What!” said Alexandra in
feigned horror, “You’d better pay him with this then.”

The cook’s face, plump, pink and
highly flexible, reacted with sheer joy. “Four guineas. My, I
shall be able to hold my head up when he calls for payment this week.
Doesn’t quite cover it, of course, but…”

“You want more?” mocked
Alexandra as she grabbed Catherine’s hand and pulled her out
into the cold, windy day. Then to Catherine she added, “More
will come. I should have thought to do that earlier. I’d no
idea the situation was quite so critical. I have a little money of my
own.”

“Adam doesn’t want you to.
You know that,” hissed Catherine whilst being dragged, arm in
arm, to the stables for their customary ride.

“There’s no need to tell
him – you liaise with Mrs Lamb now so he has no need to speak
with her.”

Billy was holding the reins of Holly
and Black and assisted them both to mount; Catherine side-saddle and
Alexandra in her preferred manner. She had christened Billy, William
Sidebottome, pronouncing it ‘Siddybotome’. “In
tribute to you, Billy, for keeping our secret that I don’t ride
side-saddle,” she had said. He had replied, “I know
you’re not Laura now, Miss Mulberry, but I can’t repay
Laura for her kindness so I shall repay you. You are so like her.”
When Alexandra asked how he knew Laura and in what way had she been
kind to him, he said he couldn’t remember. She had wondered if
Laura would have jested so with a loyal groom; wouldn’t it have
been kinder to call him ‘Smith’? She also wondered why he
neglected to call her ‘Miss Laura’. It was all very odd.

Billy led them out of the stable yard;
he appeared to want to say something, smacking his lips and making a
little coughing sound.

“What is it, Billy?”

“You know them wheel-boards, Miss
Mulberry?” He looked her directly in the eyes before he
continued. “I’ve made six so far but the wheels are
difficult to get hold of. I’d got some truckles but I’ve
run out now. The wheelwright says he’ll give me a hand to find
some old roller skates, but a little payment might go a long way.”

Alexandra hoped truckles were what
she’d imagined, not that it mattered. “I must get
scribbling,” she said enthusiastically, “but I can give
you a guinea when we return. That ok?”

Billy beamed. “The lads in the
tavern wanted to show you how useful they are. D’you think
you’d be able to take a look?”

Alexandra looked at Catherine’s
puzzled face. She’d forgotten the wheel-boards; the writing had
taken over and she’d never explained to Catherine. She leaned
towards Billy. “Tonight? After dinner?”

“You’re on!” he
responded.

Alexandra’s face lit up. They
could communicate like no others.

~

When Catherine and Alexandra returned
from their invigorating gallop, they just had time to change before
the welcome ritual of afternoon tea in the sitting room. Still
flushed with the exercise, they entered together and were surprised
but delighted to see Parson Raffles with Adam and Father Fox. The
gentlemen stood to greet them. Jack, as usual, was missing. They
seemed a little uncomfortable, though the parson was kindly and
attentive towards Alexandra.

“How is your writing? Another
story nearly finished?” he enquired.

Alexandra could not help smiling.
Talking about her writing was a rare pleasure. “I am making
slow progress, though I think I shall have finished a slim volume of
short stories within a month or two.”

“Your talent is God-given, Miss
Mulberry,” the parson began.

“Oh please call me Alexandra.”
She felt accepted now: why was everyone so formal all the time?

Parson Raffles and Adam exchanged
glances. Glances which Alexandra could not interpret though she
thought Catherine might have done, for she looked from one to the
other and then to Alexandra with an air of concern.

“I shall be delighted to do so,
Alexandra, and in turn, I shall be pleased if you will call me
Emmanuel when we are amongst friends, as now.”

“Raffles,” said Alexandra,
“May I call you Raffles? It trips off my tongue so much more
easily.”

“Trip away,” said Raffles
enjoying her playful mood.

The air of formality had been broken to
good effect, courtesy of Raffles’ innate sense of fun, and
Catherine busied herself pouring tea and passing little buns around.
Father Fox seemed to be in a world of his own.

“This God-given talent,”
resumed the parson, “it…” he hesitated, “I
wondered…”

Adam stood up. Alexandra noticed he
looked… no she could not put a word to it. As a writer, she
thought she ought to be able to, but he’d turned away before
she could capture it. Father Fox puffed on his pipe and blew smoke
rings and, as Alexandra watched him, she noticed he was shaking his
head so that the smoke rings rose in two columns.

“I wondered…” but
Raffles failed to voice what he wondered and tried tackling the
subject from a different angle. “Marriages are in the offing.
Would you write a poem to be read at a marriage celebration?”

Alexandra felt her blood drain to her
feet. That’s why Adam was pacing the room and unable to meet
her gaze. “No.” she said emphatically, “Poetry is a
separate discipline.” There was a long pause before she added,
“I’m sorry. I know I could not do that.” Not for
Adam’s marriage to some other woman.

Father Fox triumphantly blew one very
large smoke ring.

Small talk followed, tea was drunk and
Raffles left hastily. Johnson cleared the tea plates and cups, and
Father Fox accompanied a reluctant Catherine from the room pausing at
the doorway to say, “I am pleased to have you here, Miss
Mulberry.” Then he turned and Alexandra could have sworn she
saw him wink. Was he saying that, no matter who else came, she would
always be welcome?

“May I speak to you for a moment,
Alexandra?”

Adam and Alexandra were alone.
Alexandra’s stomach somersaulted: she felt quite sick. Surely
he could not be marrying that Carpenter girl? Should she donate her
diamonds? Would that be enough to save any foolhardy decisions…?
What was she thinking! Interrupting her runaway thoughts, Adam said
tenderly, “I need to speak to you of marriage.” He sat
down, grasped his hands together and looked her straight in the eyes.

Alexandra tried to pre-empt what she
was sure would be coming. She wanted to entreat, ‘Why? She’s
not good enough for you. You don’t have to do it,’ but
all she could do was place her hands across her lurching stomach.
Nothing in his eyes prepared her for what followed.

“Raffles has had a growing
affection for you. He is convinced that Providence has sent you and
he wishes to ask for your hand in marriage.”

Alexandra clutched the arm of the sofa
and, involuntarily, her other hand covered her mouth. Not at all what
she was expecting and not at all the reaction she should have liked
to give. Within a few seconds, she composed herself, though no words
would come.

“If you were to give him some
encouragement, he will offer you a comfortable home, he has a good
living and, as you know, he is a man of integrity and can lighten and
endow his clerical duties with considerable wit.”

Alexandra was still shocked. “I…”

“He had planned to ask you
himself but his courage deserts him. You do not need to give me an
answer – just show some encouragement to Raffles.”

“Do you need me to marry, Adam? I
would rather you allow me to contribute to the household expenses.
You have refused…”

“No, Alexandra,” he smiled
oh so bally tenderly and then as if to stick the knife in further, he
flashed a broad smile.

It was in that moment she knew she
loved him. She had tried to do otherwise, but she loved him till it
hurt. Tears began to fill her eyes. Couldn’t they just run away
together? Leave Raffles to marry a God-fearing woman well versed in
scripture?

“No, you do not need to do that.
Nor would I wish you to. I cannot hide from you that Jack is the
cause of our troubles and it is Jack who must be prevailed upon to
change his ways.”

Alexandra pondered the idea of Jack
changing. He was robbing his family of everything of value. He seemed
to have few redeeming features and it was clear that no marriage
could be arranged for such a dissolute and increasingly impecunious
rake. She stopped to ponder her expression – such words would
make a good description of a villain. Her thoughts on writing had
distracted her. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked at Adam.
How could she tell him that he dominated her thoughts?