Lady of Lincoln (6 page)

They all looked at the picture. It was of a fair-haired young gentleman, captured almost at that very moment when youth turns to manhood. He was rather too sharp-featured for
handsomeness
, with a shock of fair hair and hazel eyes, very like Emily’s own. His expression was serious and he was dressed severely in black with a high, plain neck-cloth.

The elderly clergyman suddenly became still. ‘You knew my son Patrick?’ he asked quietly.

‘I certainly did,’ answered Sir Gareth. ‘This is a fine likeness, as I recall. He was with me at school, and we were to have gone to Cambridge together. His death was a sad loss, sir.’

Mr Whittaker shook his head. ‘A sad loss indeed,’ he agreed. ‘My sainted Patrick! He was to have gone into the church, you know,’ he explained. ‘Alas, we shall never know the blessings of
three generations all serving the cathedral, shall we, my dear Emily?’

‘No Papa,’ Emily replied dutifully.

‘But you must call again and we will have a long talk about Patrick,’ the canon went on.

‘Thank you, you are very good,’ Sir Gareth answered, but when her father turned to speak to Mrs Trimmer, Emily thought that she caught the baronet looking up at the portrait and smiling wryly. She could not help it; she simply had to look at him whilst he was unaware of her regard.

His dark hair, which he wore a little longer than was dictated by the current fashion, was swept back from his face, throwing the line of his jaw into relief. That chin of his was firm, very masculine with a hint of shadow that indicated a strong growth of beard, and the way that he lifted it seemed to say that he could be stubborn at times.

Her gaze travelled down to his shoulders, which so
substantially
filled that well-cut coat. She recalled James demanding that he feel his muscles. What would the baronet’s own muscles feel like?

Suddenly colouring at such an indelicate thought, she looked up, and saw that he was regarding her quizzically, and all at once she knew that he must have observed her staring at him. Then, to her great astonishment, and so imperceptibly that she could not be sure afterwards that it had really happened, he winked at her!

Looking away hurriedly, she discovered that Mrs Trimmer was inviting her and her father to dinner. ‘It would be a
splendid
opportunity for you to tell us more about the town and the cathedral,’ she was saying. ‘We do so want to learn all that we can.’

‘That is very kind of you, but I fear that Emily may not be able to come,’ said the canon politely. ‘She usually sits with her grandfather in the evenings. Furthermore, she has been away visiting friends recently, and has been neglecting her duty, and
she is not one to shirk, are you, my dear?’

‘No, Papa,’ Emily replied, feeling almost sick with
disappointment
.

‘I am quite sure that she is not,’ agreed Mrs Trimmer, ‘but on such an occasion, her duty would be calling her in two
directions
, would it not? Duty of kindness to the stranger is
important
too.’

‘Why yes, indeed,’ the canon agreed thoughtfully.

‘Perhaps, then, Miss Whittaker might sit with her grandfather earlier in the day; then if it would ease your mind, dear sir, I could send my old nurse round to sit with him whilst you are away from the house.’

‘That would be very kind, Mrs Trimmer. Emily, we are very grateful, are we not?’

‘Yes indeed, Papa,’ Emily agreed, wishing that she could make her own thanks without looking as if she needed to be prompted to do so.

She glanced at Mrs Trimmer and, seeing her smiling, suddenly remembered the fire irons and could not help smiling back. It occurred to her that in this new friendship with Mrs Trimmer, she might find the mutuality that her relationship with Nathalie would always lack.

‘Then shall we say next Tuesday?’ asked Aurelia. ‘Emily, I shall rely upon you to help me with finding dependable
tradesmen
to supply the things that I need.’

‘Of course,’ Emily replied, before her father could assure their visitor that his daughter would do all that was proper. ‘Shall I call round tomorrow, perhaps?’

‘Please do.’

With that, polite farewells were made, and the visitors were gone, and although they had only been there quite briefly, it seemed to Emily that the house felt quite empty after their departure. 

‘I
have heard from Mrs Fanshawe today,’ Emily told her grandfather that evening as she sat at his bedside. ‘She is keeping very well, she tells me, and she is so happy that Mr Fanshawe is with her.’ She sighed and put the letter down on her lap for a moment. ‘Was that how you felt with Grandmama?’ she asked him. ‘I suppose it must have been.’ She stroked the white, papery hand that lay on top of the coverlet. ‘I don’t mean to pry,’ she said apologetically. ‘It’s just that I—’ She stopped suddenly, then picked up the letter again.

‘The sea air is doing her good, she says. Mr Fanshawe is making her walk by the sea every day, and she is sleeping much better at night, but that may be because—’ Again she broke off. This time, she was silent for quite a long time. Then at last, she said softly, ‘Grandpapa, I met a gentleman this week. His name … no, perhaps I won’t tell you his name just yet, but …’ Again she paused. ‘Grandpapa, do you think it is too late for me? I mean, to have what Mr and Mrs Fanshawe have; what you and Grandmama had? This gentleman would never look at me, I feel sure, but—’ She stopped, hearing footsteps outside and, as the door opened softly and her father looked in, he heard his daughter reciting the words of the Lord’s Prayer.

The following day, as she had promised, Emily walked around the cathedral to the house where the Trimmers resided. She had
only just reached the gate at the bottom of the path when the two boys came hurrying out.

‘Miss Whittaker, Miss Whittaker!’ they both exclaimed, so
excitedly
that it was difficult to distinguish one voice from another. ‘Have you come to take us up the tower? May we go now?’

Seeing that she could easily find herself dragged through the cathedral doors by main force before she had even had a chance to speak to Mrs Trimmer, Emily said ‘I need to speak to your mama. Then perhaps we may talk about it later.’

‘We’ll take you in,’ said the older boy, who, Emily
remembered
, was called Oliver.

‘Thank you,’ Emily replied. Clearly she was not going to be allowed to escape without at least making some kind of future arrangement for climbing the tower.

Mrs Trimmer was with her housekeeper, but she stood up as soon as Emily came in with the boys. ‘Thank you, Mrs Gibson,’ she said. ‘You see, Miss Whittaker has come to see me just as she promised. I shall soon be able to give you all the
information
you need about procuring necessities for the house.’

Mrs Gibson curtsied and withdrew at the same time as the boys groaned. ‘Oh no, not shopping,’ they declared, in
despairing
tones.

‘Shame on you, boys,’ declared the deep voice of Sir Gareth from the doorway. ‘It’s the duty of every gentleman to learn to enjoy shopping; otherwise, who would be able to escort the ladies and appreciate the purchases that they made?’

Emily, looking at his smiling face, could well imagine the kind of shopping to which he referred. It would be a frivolous expedition, no doubt, conducted in Bond Street, or one of the other London thoroughfares, of which she had read but which she had never seen. ‘I don’t suppose we engage in the same kind of shopping,’ she surmised.

He smiled and inclined his head. To her great surprise on his face was an expression that might have been pity. ‘Then you will have to instruct me,’ he told her. ‘If you and my sister want
to engage in making any kind of purchases, then I will consider myself committed to accompany you. And,’ he went on, before anyone could interrupt him, ‘I will promise to carry any purchase made, whether it be eggs, turnips, or a dead hen, still with its head and feathers.’

Emily had to smile at that, but Mrs Trimmer assured her brother that they would not be making any such purchases. ‘A dead hen indeed,’ she exclaimed. ‘The very idea! I am simply calling on Emily’s expertise to show me which shops can be relied upon, that is all.’

‘But this is excellent!’ the gentleman exclaimed. ‘I may take all the credit for being gallant enough to offer to carry your purchases, without the inconvenience of actually having to do so.’

‘Now you are being absurd,’ retorted his sister. ‘Do you really mean to accompany us?’

‘Certainly,’ he responded at once. ‘And in addition, may I make a suggestion? After we have discovered all that the shops can offer, perhaps if Miss Whittaker is not too fatigued, she might be willing to escort us up the tower of the cathedral.’

‘Us?’ queried Mrs Trimmer.

‘Oliver, James and myself,’ he explained. ‘You know they will not be content until they have been right up there, and I would be glad to see the view, I must admit.’

‘Perhaps Emily does not want to climb the tower today,’ Mrs Trimmer ventured.

‘Oh no, I should be quite happy to go,’ Emily assured her. ‘It is a favourite view of mine.’ The boys, who had wisely kept quiet whilst this matter was being discussed, let out a cheer.

‘Why do you not play in the garden until we return?’ said their mother. ‘Nurse will keep an eye upon you.’ This they agreed to do, whilst protesting vigorously that they would have no need of Nurse’s attentions.

In no time, the three adults were walking out of the cathedral precinct and through the Exchequer gate into Castle Square. There they paused for a few minutes to look around, and Sir
Gareth asked Emily to tell them about the castle.

‘It was built by the Normans, but this part of Lincoln was a stronghold even in Roman times,’ she informed him. ‘It is where the assizes are held, and the sheriff’s court, and it also houses the county gaol. I don’t like going there much,’ she confessed.

‘Then you must behave yourself better, and thus avoid being committed so frequently,’ Sir Gareth replied in tones of mock severity.

She stared at him uncomprehendingly, then made the same sound, half choke, half chuckle, that Mrs Trimmer remembered from the previous day. Sir Gareth, hearing it, drew the same conclusion as his sister: this lady did not often get the chance to laugh.

‘I visit some of the inmates,’ she told him unnecessarily. ‘Some of Papa’s congregation at St Mark’s get themselves into debt, you see.’

‘I see.’ It occurred to Sir Gareth that this spinster lady who led a very narrow and uneventful life in some people’s eyes, must find herself going into situations that were far beyond the experience of those who would make such judgements about her. ‘Do you pay their debts for them?’

She shook her head. ‘If we did that for one we would have to do it for all; then we should be in debt ourselves. No, I
generally
take them some home comforts, and news from their loved ones. Then on the other hand, I try to keep an eye on the
families
and help them to organize their affairs, so that the debt can soon be paid.’

‘Very commendable,’ the baronet murmured.

Suspecting a slight, she flushed and said, ‘It is not as exciting as going on the strut in Bond Street no doubt.’

He looked back at her narrowing his eyes. ‘On the contrary, I would have said that it was much more exciting,’ he answered her smoothly. ‘Besides, we do not all spend our time walking up and down and looking in shop windows, you know.’

Realizing that she had made unfair assumptions about him,
Emily turned away, murmuring, ‘I beg your pardon’, in
mortified
tones, and thus did not see the twinkle in his eye as he inclined his head in gracious acknowledgement of her apology.

Mrs Trimmer, feeling that the conversation needed a lighter touch, said, ‘No, some of you spend half your time in Jackson’s boxing saloon.’

The baronet laughed. ‘I do try to look in there whenever I can,’ he admitted. ‘No doubt, though, Miss Whittaker will think that just as frivolous as looking in shop windows.’

‘Not at all,’ Emily answered in a flustered tone, wishing that she did not sound like a middle-aged spinster. Then, not
wanting
to seem abrupt, she went on, ‘Do you really fight in there, or are you just pretending?’

‘I have always wanted to ask that, but I have never had the courage to do so,’ Mrs Trimmer interjected.

‘Yes and no, Miss Whittaker,’ the baronet replied with a
twinkle
. ‘No, the fighting is not real, insofar as it is not done in anger; although I must admit that on one occasion, I saw two fellows there who clearly had a grudge against one another and things got a little savage. But the activity is just as strenuous as in a real fight and the moves are the same.’

By this time, they were walking along Bailgate and Emily began to point out the various shops to them.

‘Do you go marketing yourself, Miss Whittaker?’ Sir Gareth asked.

‘Certainly I do,’ she replied. ‘It is one of the things that I enjoy the most.’ Again he cast a pitying glance in her direction. Did she never have the chance to do anything simply for her own enjoyment?

It was quite a novelty for Emily to have companions with whom she could visit the shops. When she had been growing up, there had been very few other girls of her own age about. Then, with Patrick’s death, it was as if the outside world had become closed to her. Her mother had lost the will to live, and had gradually dwindled into an invalid, eventually needing
nursing and constant care. She had finally died when Emily was twenty-three. After the family’s period of mourning was over, there had been no lady who had seemed to feel it to be her responsibility to bring Emily out, so she had stayed chiefly at home, going out to make necessary purchases for the house, or to take her Bible classes, or attend worship in the cathedral, but seldom being invited to social functions, apart from the
occasional
dinner with other clergy families.

This opportunity to show another lady the shops was a
pleasure
that seldom came her way, therefore, and she made up her mind to enjoy it, even though the sky had clouded over, and the day that had begun so promisingly now seemed set to deteriorate.

Mrs Trimmer seemed interested in all the shops, not just the ones that were noted for their good food, and Emily made up her mind to show her new friend the bonnet in the milliner’s shop window that had caught her eye. To Emily’s surprise, Sir Gareth also came over to the window, and to her
embarrassment
, raised his quizzing glass in order to get a better look at the head gear in question.

‘Yes, it is charming,’ Mrs Trimmer agreed. ‘Quite charming.’

‘I agree,’ Sir Gareth answered. ‘Charming, but definitely not for you, Miss Whittaker.’

He had not intended to insult her. In London, he was a gentleman whose impeccable taste had frequently been called upon by friends of both sexes. He had a fine eye for colour, and his own dress was always well chosen and appropriate for his dark colouring. Female acquaintances consulted him with regard to their choice of wall coverings, carpets, curtains and other furnishings. They invited him to their gardens, and asked his opinion about their flowerbeds. When they could, they persuaded him to go with them to the dressmaker or milliner so that he could enable them to be as well dressed as he was.

This expertise was sometimes something of a burden to him, for if he was not firm, he could find himself dispensing advice twenty-four hours a day. However, for certain favoured friends,
he was prepared to offer his help, and so when he saw Miss Whittaker, a pleasant woman with whom his sister was disposed to be friendly, possibly intending to purchase a bonnet which would not flatter her in any way, he could not help speaking out.

To Emily, however, his remarks simply told her what she had already suspected: she was too old even to think of wearing something so pretty. She looked up at his face and, as he glanced down at her, he saw from her expression that he had hurt her. Before he could work out how he could have done it, they were addressed by two ladies who had approached them from behind.

‘Miss Whittaker, what a delightful day,’ said the older lady, whose name was Mrs Cummings. She was accompanied by her daughter Jennifer, and she greeted the canon’s daughter far more effusively than usual. As she did so, her glance flickered speculatively towards Mrs Trimmer and, more particularly, her brother. ‘Are you going shopping?’

Feeling disappointed, although she could not think why, Emily introduced her new acquaintances to the two ladies.

‘Are you shopping as well, Sir Gareth?’ Mrs Cummings asked.

‘Not as such, ma’am,’ the baronet replied politely. ‘I’m simply here to guard these ladies from all the perils that Lincoln might provide.’

‘How gallant!’ Miss Cummings exclaimed admiringly, and cast down her lashes.

‘And how are you enjoying Lincoln, Mrs Trimmer?’ the young lady’s mother asked. ‘Miss Whittaker and I know it well, do we not?’ By such means, Mrs Cummings managed to engage both Emily and Aurelia in conversation, leaving Sir Gareth free to entertain Jennifer, a circumstance which, from the girl’s expression, seemed to please her enormously.

In this way, they walked to the end of the street. Emily responded to Mrs Cummings’s pronouncements about the
various
shops and tried to suppress the resentment that she was
feeling
at her suspicion that that lady appeared to be taking over her new friend. At the same time, she was very conscious of the
conversation going on behind her, Jennifer’s tinkling laughter being punctuated by the richer sound of Sir Gareth’s deep voice.

At last, they reached Mrs Cummings’s carriage, and Sir Gareth politely handed the ladies in. ‘It has been so agreeable to meet you, Mrs Trimmer,’ said Mrs Cummings, smiling graciously. ‘So pleasing to have some interesting female company nearby, for a change. You must call and see us very soon, and of course bring your husband and your brother. We have some delightful gardens which you will enjoy exploring.’

‘Thank you, you are very kind,’ Aurelia replied, smiling. ‘My sons will enjoy doing so as well.’

Mrs Cummings opened her eyes very wide. ‘Oh, you have sons!’ she exclaimed. ‘Well, I am sure they will … will …’ Her voice tailed off.