Lady of Lincoln (7 page)

Mrs Trimmer’s eyes took on a decidedly martial sparkle, but before she could say anything Sir Gareth said with a twinkle, ‘It will, however, be difficult to call upon you when we do not know your direction.’

‘Oh, Miss Whittaker knows where we live,’ said Mrs Cummings carelessly.

‘Then she must bring us next time she visits you,’ Sir Gareth responded, bowing.

As the carriage was leaving with a clattering of wheels along the cobbles, Mrs Trimmer stared after it in indignation. ‘Oh, you have sons!’ she said, mimicking Mrs Cummings’s plummy tones with a fair degree of accuracy. ‘Detestable woman! Why, anyone would think that they were Barbary apes, from the way that she was speaking!’

Sir Gareth pursed his lips. ‘Well, now that you come to mention it,’ he murmured.

‘Oh, you!’ exclaimed Mrs Trimmer, laughing and hitting her brother in the midriff with her reticule. She turned to Emily apologetically. ‘I am sorry for speaking in such a way, for I gather that Mrs Cummings is an old acquaintance of yours, but really, I cannot allow anyone to speak disparagingly about
Oliver and James.’

‘I suppose that is why you have inflicted damage upon me which may be lasting and, who knows, even fatal,’ the baronet remarked, rubbing his midriff.

‘Nonsense,’ answered Mrs Trimmer calmly. ‘You are not hurt at all. In any case, you know that I am referring to strangers and bare acquaintances, not to those who, like yourself, know and love the boys already.’ She looked at Emily. ‘I do beg your pardon,’ she said. ‘We are monopolizing the conversation with family concerns, which must be dull to you.’

‘Not at all,’ Emily replied, feeling a little envious of their closeness. ‘It is simply that I am not used to the kind of
informal
relationships that you enjoy. And please do not worry about speaking about Mrs Cummings. I … I have sometimes found her a little trying, myself.’

‘Miss Cummings seems to be a sweet child, however,’ Sir Gareth remarked casually.

The three companions passed the last of the shops and continued walking, keeping the cathedral to their right. ‘How old is this place?’ Sir Gareth asked Emily after they had walked in silence for a short time. ‘Part of the west front looks Norman, but the rest of the building is not, surely?’

Emily proceeded to tell him about the construction of the cathedral, a subject that interested her very much. As they walked, however, the deterioration in the weather continued, so that by the time they reached Emily’s house, drops of rain had begun to fall. Bidding a brief farewell, Mrs Trimmer, no doubt concerned for her charming straw bonnet, hurried off in the direction of her own home at what looked suspiciously like a run. Sir Gareth, however, apparently oblivious to the rain, escorted Emily right up to her front door.

‘Would you like to come in?’ she asked him, not wanting him to get wet, but then feeling dreadfully bold, for she knew, as the baronet did not, that her father would certainly not be within at this time. 

‘Thank you, no,’ he answered, stepping close to the porch so as to shelter a little. ‘My sister will be expecting me to follow her.’

‘I … thank you for bringing me home,’ Emily stammered. She was now faced with a dilemma. The front door was rather heavy, and somewhat prone to shut of its own volition; so as long as Sir Gareth stood here almost in the doorway, she was obliged to hold the door open whilst she was speaking with him. Consequently, they were standing rather close to one another, and this had the effect of making her feel confused. If only he were not so very attractive!

So flustered was she that she actually missed most of what he was saying, only catching his last few words: ‘… quite
magnificent
.’

This word seemed to be so much in tune with her thoughts concerning his appearance that she found herself simply repeating it whilst looking up at him. He grinned down at her. ‘I was
referring
to the view from the cathedral tower in good weather, Miss Whittaker,’ he explained, his dimples more pronounced than ever.

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Emily, feeling as if she was all one blush from her head to her feet. ‘Of … course! That … that is what you meant. I knew it all the time …’ Her voice tailed away.

‘Of course you did,’ he answered her soothingly. ‘After all you could not possibly have been lost in the pages of some unsuitable novel, could you?’ She stared at him, quite unable to think of an answer. After a moment or two he spoke again. ‘As an excursion is clearly impossible today, may we presume upon your good nature on another occasion?’

‘Yes, yes of course,’ Emily replied, by now quite desperate to close the door on him before she embarrassed herself any further. ‘Please, do hurry home before it really begins to rain hard.’

Sir Gareth smiled and tilted his hat. ‘I am not made of icing sugar, Miss Whittaker,’ he said with a twinkle. ‘Anyone would think that you wanted to get rid of me.’ Then, after bidding her good day, he hurried after his sister. 

E
mily did not see Sir Gareth again until the following Sunday, when she attended the morning service in the cathedral. She sat in her usual place, and kept her head down when he entered, escorting Mrs Trimmer and the two boys. But even with her gaze averted, she noticed that he was looking very elegant in a coat of charcoal grey cloth that matched his eyes, and her heart churned inside her in the most disconcerting way.

It was very annoying that this should happen, she reflected, for ever since that meeting with the Cummingses in Bailgate, she had been telling herself very firmly that she should stop thinking about the baronet immediately. He did not belong to her world; he was clearly destined for someone like Jennifer Cummings. She would be very well advised to put him out of her mind. So she had kept out of his way, avoided all the Trimmers, and even responded to Aurelia’s kind enquiry with a message that she had a headache and needed a day or two’s quiet.

Then she had applied herself energetically to her duties, both at home and with the Bible class, forcing herself to think about other things. But now, she only had to see a shaft of sunlight picking out the silver flecks in his hair and she was as captivated as she had ever been.

She recalled a conversation that she had heard years ago between two girls who lived in the Minster Yard. They were both married now and living far away, but at that time one of
them had become infatuated with one of the younger clergymen who had come to serve in the cathedral. When it had been revealed that he had become engaged to be married, she had cried her eyes out. ‘It’s no good,’ she had wailed. ‘I know that he is not for me; but it does not seem to make any difference. When I see him, my heart beats twice as fast as it should, and I feel myself blushing. When he is not there I look for him, and I have to stop myself from walking past his house all the time, just so that I will catch a glimpse of him.’

At the time, Emily had thought that the girl was rather
foolish
. Now, she could recognize many of the same symptoms in herself. No wonder novel reading is frowned upon, she concluded. I will beat this infatuation. I’m thirty years old, after all; not a silly schoolgirl!

With all the determination that she possessed, she
concentrated
on the Dean’s sermon so fiercely that afterwards, that good man read carefully through his notes to try to find out what he might have said concerning the lost coin that had made Miss Whittaker look so annoyed.

After the service when everyone left by the west door, Emily hung back a little, not wanting to risk being made to feel small again by Mrs Cummings. As she was lingering inside, she heard a voice speak her name, and turning, she saw Dr Boyle standing next to her.

‘Miss Whittaker, what a pleasure to see you again,’ he declared.

Observing him now, having had a chance to admire Sir Gareth’s looks, she thought that he looked more like a weasel than ever; but he was a friend of comparatively long standing, so she smiled back at him and said, ‘It is a pleasure to be home, Dr Boyle.’

‘I trust you left Mrs Fanshawe in good health?’ he asked her, as they walked to the door together.

‘She seemed very well the last time I saw her,’ Emily informed him. ‘I have also had a letter from her which gives the
same news. I think that the presence of her husband has done her as much good as the sea air.’

‘Ah yes,’ the doctor agreed, bending gallantly over her hand in the doorway. ‘True affection must always make a difference.’

Looking up, she saw Sir Gareth, his sister and Mrs and Miss Cummings standing a few feet away. Sir Gareth was listening attentively to something that Jennifer was saying, but his eyes flickered towards the door, and Emily knew that he had seen them. She noticed, with a pang, that Jennifer was wearing what she had thought of as ‘her’ bonnet, and that she looked
ravishing
in it.

The fact that the doctor was with her lent her courage, and laying her hand on his arm in a way that she had not done before, she said to him, ‘Come, sir, I think you have not met the latest arrivals in the Close.’

Mrs Trimmer was very pleased to meet the doctor and asked him to leave his direction at her house. ‘I am sure that if you attend my friend’s family, you must be more than competent,’ she said, smiling.

‘You are too good, ma’am,’ the doctor replied, gratified.

Mrs Trimmer began to ask the doctor about a treatment for influenza which she had heard of elsewhere, and whilst Mrs and Miss Cummings were speaking with the dean and his wife, Sir Gareth came over to Emily’s side.

‘Tell me, are there really three hundred and twenty-seven steps up to the top of the tower?’

‘Yes really,’ she answered with a smile. ‘Do not tell me that you are losing enthusiasm, sir.’

‘Certainly not,’ he replied with mock indignation. ‘More screwing my courage to the sticking place, really.’

‘Please do not limit your interest to climbing up the tower,’ she begged him. ‘There is much more to be seen in the
cathedral
.’ Then it occurred to her that he might think that she was fishing for the chance to show him round, and she coloured. ‘That is to say … of course, you know that that is the case for
you are now in it,’ she said hastily. ‘At least, you were until a few minutes ago.’ Then she wanted to slap herself for sounding like a silly middle-aged spinster.

‘So I was,’ he agreed. ‘I do seem to have an unfortunate
ability
to embarrass you,’ he went on, confounding her.

‘No, no, not at all,’ she responded, still sounding flustered.

‘To distress you, then,’ he said.

‘To distress me?’ she echoed blankly.

‘Mm. When we were shopping the other day, I managed to upset you in some way, and I have been trying to decide how I might have done it.’

‘No, no, there was nothing; nothing,’ she told him, trying to speak calmly. ‘It was not anything that you had done …’ Her voice tailed away, and involuntarily, her gaze lit upon the bonnet that adorned Miss Cummings’s golden head. The beauty turned and smiled winningly.

The baronet smiled back, looked at Emily again and said ‘Ah,’ a note of understanding in his voice.

‘I beg your pardon?’ she said startled.

He looked at her without speaking for a moment, then said, ‘I’m very sorry if you were hankering after that bonnet, but the truth of the matter is that it’s not your colour.’

Again she said, ‘I beg your pardon,’ this time in a voice that was frankly puzzled.

‘I said, it’s not your colour. Take it from a man who knows. Cream, perhaps, or gold, or straw colour, but not white. It would not flatter your complexion at all, believe me.’

At that moment, Aurelia approached them, saying, ‘Do not forget, Emily, you and your father are to dine with us on Tuesday.’

Forget? When it was the first dinner invitation that she had received and been able to accept in months? ‘I shall not forget, Aurelia,’ Emily replied quietly.

‘Are we upon first-name terms, now?’ Sir Gareth asked,
grinning
at her.

She looked up at him, coloured, said ‘Excuse me,’ and hurried off home.

‘Gareth, how could you so put her out of countenance?’ his sister asked him later.

‘I’d be able to tell you a good deal better if I had any idea to whom you were referring,’ he answered her lazily. They had enjoyed a good meal, the boys were upstairs, and Mr Trimmer was in his study. Sir Gareth, choosing not to sit in the
dining-room
in solitary state, had brought his glass of port through into the drawing-room.

‘I am speaking of Emily Whittaker, of course,’ his sister replied, her eyes on her sewing.

‘I still don’t understand what you mean,’ he told her, after he had taken another sip of wine.

‘You know perfectly well,’ his sister retorted, putting down her work. ‘She has said herself that she is quite unused to the kind of banter that comes so naturally to you. You embarrassed her very much, and for what reason? You knew perfectly well that she and I were on first-name terms already.’

‘I’d forgotten,’ he answered blandly. ‘Anyway, if she’s
embarrassed
because of a little gentle teasing, then she needs a good deal more banter, not less.’

‘She needs you to leave her alone,’ Aurelia said severely. ‘You will only arouse expectations that you have no intention of fulfilling. If you must flirt, flirt with such as Jennifer Cummings, who know how to play the game.’

‘And I suppose that I won’t arouse expectations in her breast – or, which is more important, in the rather more ample breast of her mother?’

‘And if you did, she’s a charming child …’ Her voice tailed off.

‘Aurelia, I did warn you, didn’t I?’ he said, his voice suddenly serious. ‘Don’t play games with my future. When I decide to marry, I, and only I, will choose my wife. Miss Cummings is just
as you have described her – a charming child. But I have no desire to look as though I am marrying someone who might well be my daughter.’

‘Well, in the meantime, just take care that you don’t hurt those you’re tangling with. Emily Whittaker and the doctor clearly have an understanding. I should hate it if any
thoughtless
love games of yours spoiled her best chance of a good match.’

He stared at her incredulously. ‘A good match? With Dr Pimple? You must be joking!’

‘I am not,’ she retorted. ‘I had it from the dean’s wife. Local people are living in expectation of an engagement
announcement
, apparently.’

The baronet shook his head. ‘No, no,’ he said decisively. ‘She’s a pretty woman, and would be prettier if she dressed becomingly. She could do so much better for herself.’

Alan Trimmer came in at this point, having looked up the reference that he had wanted to find. Whilst he and his wife indulged in a little domestic conversation, Sir Gareth looked down into his wine and thought about Emily Whittaker.

Why was it that he kept feeling an impulse to tease her? Looking back on their brief acquaintance, he had done so on almost every occasion when they had met. It was certainly not because he wanted to embarrass her as his sister had suggested. After considering the matter, it occurred to him that the reason had something to do with wanting to encourage that slightly rusty, unaccustomed laugh of hers. Her life had been too
serious
.

Of course, there were times when seriousness was called for. As a landlord with a substantial estate to administer, he had many matters to deal with, some being of the utmost gravity, but he believed that life was to be enjoyed as well. It seemed to him that the canon’s daughter had missed much of the
enjoyment
that life could bring. He would like to correct that; if the consequence was that the light of amusement came more into
those lovely hazel eyes, then he would be very well satisfied.

‘Would you not agree, Gareth?’ The baronet looked up blankly. He had no idea what his sister might have said. ‘Good heavens, you were miles away,’ Aurelia exclaimed. ‘What were you thinking about?’

‘Oh, nothing much. I was just thinking that it was a pity Miss Whittaker has no one to laugh with,’ he told her.

Aurelia made no comment, but simply repeated the remark she had made before and which he had not heard. But at the back of her mind, the beginning of an idea began to form.

‘I am going out to dinner tonight, Grandpapa,’ Emily told her grandfather on Tuesday afternoon. ‘Mr and Mrs Trimmer have invited us, and Mrs Trimmer’s nurse is to sit with you while I am out.’ She paused. ‘Grandpapa, would you think me very wicked if I said that I wished I had something pretty to wear? All my clothes are so dull and unfashionable, and I want to look my best. Do you think that I should wear the brown silk? Yes, so do I. I will come and show you how I look before we leave.’

Emily had three evening gowns, a black one, a grey one and the brown silk. The latter was not any more fashionable than the other two – they were all several years old – and cut lower in the waist than the current style dictated but the colour was more becoming to her creamy complexion, and the fabric was of an excellent quality.

In the past, she had usually worn the gown with a white shawl. Since Sunday morning, however, she had been thinking about the white bonnet that she had longed for, and Sir Gareth’s comment that it was not her colour. Her father was not mean with the housekeeping, and she had a little put by that she had been saving for a special occasion. On impulse,
therefore
, she had gone to the mercer’s in Bailgate on Monday and bought a length of yellow silk, and some matching fringe. Since then, she had worked diligently until she had managed to produce a shawl whose colour enriched the brown of her gown
rather than deadened it.

That evening when she got ready, it was with some
excitement
that she added the finishing touches to her outfit. Feeling very daring, she had bought a length of yellow ribbon at the same time as the fabric for her shawl, and now she used it to arrange her hair into a slightly looser style than usual.

When she was ready, she went to her grandfather’s room. She had decided not to go downstairs until it was time for her and her father to leave. She did not want to risk being sent upstairs to dress her hair in a more severe style.

‘Well, Grandpapa, what do you think?’ she asked him, as she twirled around in front of the bed. ‘Do I look smart enough? Grandpapa, I am so excited. I hope it is not wrong but I can’t help it.’ She hurried over to sit next to him, loving the way in which the silk rustled as she moved. ‘Grandpapa, do you remember my saying that there was a gentleman? Well, he is to be there tonight. Do you think he will like me?’ The little clock on the mantelshelf chimed, and Emily stood up, then leaned over to kiss her grandfather’s withered cheek. ‘I’ll come and tell you all about it tomorrow. Goodbye, dear Grandpapa.’

She left the room, not noticing that on the coverlet, the thin white hand twitched faintly.

To Emily’s relief, her father made no comment either about her hair or her new shawl, but simply offered her his arm so that they could walk the short distance around the north side of the cathedral from their own home in Priorygate to the Trimmers’ house in Minster Yard.