Sally James

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A CLANDESTINE AFFAIR

Sally James

Chapter 1

The manor house at Appleacre had been built in the years before the squirearchy had considered it more appropriate to their dignity to hide themselves away from their tenants, screened by parkland, and was set but a little distance off the main road that entered the village from the north. It was true that a pair of imposing gates were placed at the end of the short drive, but they were rarely closed, and there was no lodge with a keeper to supervise the entrance of visitors. Opposite these gates was a small plain house built in the style of Queen Anne a century before, with a pleasant well-tended garden surrounding it. Its gate, much less imposing than the ones of the manor house, gave onto a flagged path that led in a few yards to the front door.

This door now opened, and a tall, stately girl emerged, paused for a moment on the threshold to throw back a laughing remark to some unseen person within, and then stepped down onto the path. She was smiling as she trod towards the road, her simple white muslin round gown revealing the grace of her movements, unhurried, yet firm. On her arm she bore a small basket, the corners of a napkin visible above the edges. It might have been some gracious chatelaine going to visit some poor dependant except that Mary Wyndham, on opening the gate into the road, crossed over this and proceeded through the manor house gates and along that drive.

This was straight, widening into a semicircle in front of the house itself, but before Mary reached it she struck off to the right, skirting the corner of the house and making for a part of the garden that was enclosed by yew hedges, and where she knew that at this hour she would find her friend and the children.

This enclosed garden had been a bowling green once, but had long ago lost the immaculate shaven look of such places. Now it was a sheltered playground for Caroline Grafton’s two older children, and they were usually to be found there in the afternoons while their mother sat and sewed, or often, to the horror of certain elderly ladies who maintained that such laxity would be the ruin of her children, romped and played with them.

Mary passed under the archway opening onto this garden and halted, the smile on her full red lips deepening, for Caroline was seated on the grass, her skirts spread about her, making a daisy chain. The little boy Peter, six years of age, and his sister Jane, a year younger, were vying with one another to find the daisies with the longest stems. But Jane soon saw their visitor, and with a shriek of joy ran across to fling herself onto Mary.

“Did you bring the toffee?” she asked breathlessly, and Mary laughed, holding her basket away from the flailing small arms.

“Jane! How very impolite of you!” her mother scolded, but with a hint of laughter in her voice. “You would spoil them, Mary dear!” she continued, rising to greet her friend.

“I did after all promise to make them some, Caroline,” Mary responded, and bent to put her basket on the grass. “Peter, Jane, here is some for each of you now. You shall have more when your mama says you may.”

Contentedly sucking their toffee the children wandered away, and Caroline sank down onto the grass. Mary dropped down beside her and idly began to thread the daisies that were scattered about them into a chain.

“When is Arthur due to return?” she asked.

Caroline smiled. “Sometime today, for his business in London was not like to occupy him above a couple of days, and he should have been able to start back this morning. He will arrive in time for dinner, no doubt, but he must be here tomorrow, for the evening party I am giving is on the following day.”

“The children are all well? What of Elizabeth?” Mary asked, referring to Caroline’s youngest child, a baby of scarce a year old.

“Much better. That cordial you brought her soothed her cough, and she is greatly improved. Where did you discover it?”

Mary laughed. “In an old household book that belonged, I believe, to my mother’s grandmother. I was hunting in the attics one day and came across it and other papers. Some of the recipes and hints in it appeared useful, though others contained the most revolting ingredients!”

“Now if I had happened on such a book I would most likely have tossed it aside without a second glance. You, however, make use of it! Mary, some man will discover a treasure in you! You are so competent!”

Mary disclaimed, blushing slightly. “I have no desire whatsoever to marry while my father needs me,” she said quickly. “I will bring you the recipe for the cordial so that you may make it whenever it is needed.”

Caroline nodded, abstractedly. She was not to be put off her favourite topic of late.

“It is astounding, you know, that we are the same age, and I have three children while you are not even married, even though you are eminently more fitted to run a household than I, and vastly prettier into the bargain!”

She put her head on one side and gazed frankly at her friend. Mary was tall, but not too much so, and she carried herself gracefully. Her figure was excellent, and she had pretty arms and shoulders, a long slender neck and a well-shaped head shown to advantage by the coils of smooth black hair that framed her face. Her complexion was faultless, white and rose, and she had a straight nose and a wide generous mouth. Her eyes, however, were her chief beauty, wide set, large and luminous, and so dark they might have been black like her hair. The expression in them at the moment, though, was one of acute embarrassment.

“You will make me inordinately vain,” she protested.

“Fustian! Besides being beautiful, you are modest and endowed with all the qualities a man looks for in a wife. You’d be wasted on Geoffrey Knowle,” she concluded, at which Mary blushed yet more fiercely.

“Caroline!” she protested, but weakly, knowing that once her friend was well launched into this subject it would be more speedily disposed of if she refrained from arguing.

“Has he offered?” Caroline demanded.

“No,” Mary replied shortly.

“But he has approached your father?

“Geoffrey would be incapable of conducting his love affairs in other than the approved fashion,” she commented, laughing slightly.

“Oh, Mary! You would be wasted on a country curate!”

“Apart from the fact that I have no wish to marry and leave my father, what other offers are likely to come my way?” Mary asked lightly.

“My dear, I know! It was tragic that your mother should have died just before your coming out, and that there has been no other opportunity. Why has your father not made a push to take you to London?”

“Doubtless he would have done so had I asked him. But I have no desire to parade myself in the marriage market with neither fortune nor grand connections to recommend me,” Mary rejoined a little tartly. “I am content keeping house for him and Matthew, and I ask no more.”

“Will you accept Geoffrey if he offers?”

“I have the utmost respect for Mr Knowle, and am convinced that he will make an estimable husband,” Mary said slowly, and Caroline suddenly gurgled with laughter.

“What female in her right mind considers whether the man she loves will be
estimable!
”
she exclaimed. “Oh, Mary, Mary! I do not mean that I wish you to marry a rake, or a gambler, but when you fall in love I promise you that the worthiness of your lover will be the last thing that you will consider!”

“I cannot imagine the necessity of considering it,” Mary remarked. “I know all the young men in the locality, and none of them has shown the slightest partiality for me. And since I am not like to meet many others, my prospects are limited.”

“It’s my belief they are afraid of you,” Caroline suggested. “You are so
capable.
Naturally Geoffrey would appreciate that, for I understand he expects to obtain a living soon from his uncle, and you would be an asset to any parson. But could you love him?”

Mary considered this. “He is good, and kind, and of good family, though a younger son. But I have no wish to desert my father. What would he do without me?”

“You would not be so reluctant to leave for a man you loved,” Caroline commented shrewdly. “Your father could be just as comfortable with an efficient housekeeper. You must confess, my dear, that he takes little heed of anything outside his books!”

       Mary laughed. “I do! He is forever losing track of what he intended to do because he suddenly thinks of a new reference and must immediately look it up! I do not believe his book will ever be completed, but he is content. His income is sufficient for modest comfort, and now that Matthew has finished at Oxford he has fewer worries.”

“Is Matthew enjoying being in London?” Caroline asked, realising it would pain Mary to be told that her father was inconsiderate and selfish to keep her immured in this small village, with no company other than what she might find at the vicarage and the manor, and small likelihood of meeting with suitable young men. Mary’s lack of fortune Caroline disregarded, certain that Mary’s beauty would attract men who did not need to marry for money, and convinced also that four and twenty years would be no disadvantage to a sensible man.

Mary smiled at the mention of her brother. “I have not had a letter for some time, and the last one was a most scrappy affair,” she admitted. “He was so full of all the entertainments to be found in London, and the vast number of people who had invited him to parties, that I felt positively honoured he had spared the time to write at all! I can only hope he does not let it go to his head! His income from our uncle’s legacy will not permit him to live extravagantly. I am convinced I can count on his good sense not to get into debt, or to waste his substance by gambling, but the first few weeks in society must have an exhilarating effect.”

“Arthur said he would look for him,” Caroline remarked. “He did not wish to seem interfering, of course, but he thought Matthew would not be averse to meeting an old friend from home.”

“I am positive he would not!” Mary declared. “You are both of you much too good to us all!”

“Nonsense! It is entirely self interest,” Caroline laughed. “If you were not here, who would bear with my starts? And help me when I become disorganised? I know that some of the old dowagers consider me hopelessly unfitted to run a household, but if you were not here to help and encourage me they would have proof of it! Now, for this party I am giving, I must have your advice. I have made myself a new gown and I cannot decide whether lemon or pale green ribbons would be best. I’ll take the children to Betsy, and then do come and advise me!”

They spent the next hour happily discussing the latest fashions, and then Mary parted from her friend and walked slowly home. It was true that she did not particularly wish to accept an offer from Mr Knowle, who had been living in the parish for the last three years as curate for the elderly vicar, Mr Johnson, but she was uncertain whether this sprang from lack of feeling for him, or a reluctance to leave her father.

Caroline spoke justly when saying Mr Wyndham did not appear to notice anything which went on outside his study, but Mary knew that nonetheless he was very fond of her and relied enormously on her company. Barely sixteen when her mother had suddenly died, she had immediately taken the running of the household into her own hands, and had dealt competently with every domestic matter since that time. Yet however efficient a housekeeper could be found it would not be the same for Mr Wyndham without her companionship.

As for Mr Knowle, Mary was certain she did not love the young man, though she felt friendship towards him. He had been interested in Mr Wyndham’s work on the ancient Greek writers, and spent hours discussing the precise meanings of the words to be translated, or the phrases to be understood. Although she did not particularly desire marriage, she knew that few enough chances of it would come her way, and when her father died her life would be very bleak. With liking and friendship to begin with, perhaps love would come after marriage, she thought. When Mr Knowle did make his offer she ought at least to consider it very carefully.

That he would make an offer she knew. Already he had approached her father and requested in the proper form that he might pay his addresses to Mary. Mr Wyndham told him it was a matter for Mary to decide, and then, casually, had informed Mary that she ought to be prepared for the coming declaration. For several days, undecided, she had shrunk from meeting Mr Knowle, but still was no nearer to a decision. Fortunately, when they had met it had been in the company of others, and she was spared an embarrassment. It could not be put off for ever, though, and as she reached the gates she paused, still sunk in thought, but vaguely aware of the sound of carriage wheels approaching.

They came from the north, and whatever equipage it was seemed to be in desperate haste. The village street was only a hundred yards distant and Mary, her attention now fully engaged, hoped the driver would slow his reckless pace to negotiate it. Appleacre was not on a post road, and since the villages further south were served by a far superior road that passed by to the east, they saw very little traffic.