The Lady Next Door (13 page)

Lady Horton was torn. It seemed unlikely she would glean any information about Latteridge from their dull discussion of poetry, and yet she was reluctant to see her niece the first of the two young ladies asked to walk out. On the other hand, it would not do to offend the earl by seeming to object to his secretary’s companionship for Janet. To deny Mr. Vernham’s request would be tantamount to impugning his character; there was no harm in a midday stroll in York. “Very well,” she said grudgingly, “but have her back in good time.”

The two escaped the house like truant schoolchildren, breathing an amused chuckle as the front door closed behind them. William tucked the book under his arm and asked, “Shall we walk toward Micklegate? There is a lady there, a Miss Findlay, whom I thought to introduce to you, if you would care to meet her. I let her know I might bring you, if I could spirit you away from Castlegate.”

Janet was slightly disappointed that she would not have a chance to spend the time alone with him, but agreed. “Does she share your passion for Thomson’s poetry?”

“I haven’t any idea,” he admitted. “She’s a neighbor of Lord Latteridge’s, and a delightful woman, with a sharp-tongued aunt and two eccentric lodgers.” William regarded her quizzingly. “Perhaps not the sort of household into which you would wish to be introduced?”

“Quite the contrary,” Janet replied. “You intrigue me.” And though this was perfectly true, she determined to school her thoughts more closely, as they had a tendency to bound away from her when she was with him. And that was foolishness. He was a kind gentleman who recognized her discomfort in the Horton household, who had taken special care to talk with her when the earl had visited Cromwell, and now again was thoughtfully providing her with an outing to meet his friend—a lady. She must guard herself against even the smallest expectation or hope bred out of her misery at the Hortons. In fourteen months, she would be free, and until then, surely she could be patient.

Unaware of her thoughts, William proceeded to draw her out on her youth, and allowed her to question him on his travels, pleased with her evident enjoyment of his anecdotes and disturbed by the contrast between her present situation and the life she had known. “This is Miss Findlay’s, and I live next door with the earl.”

He tapped the polished knocker and Roberts showed them directly into the drawing room, where Marianne and her aunt awaited them, a newly renovated chair providing the necessary seating. A faint odor of furniture wax clung to the air.

Janet found herself easily accepted by Miss Findlay, and keenly regarded by Miss Effington, the moment she disclosed the parish near Bury St. Edmund where  her father had been rector. The old lady actually dug her spectacles from the folds of her neck handkerchief and put them on. “Your village cannot have been a dozen miles from Long Mellford where I was raised. Do you know Willow Hall?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. The Conway family live there now, and they are great friends of our squire, Mr. Drummond. Mrs. Drummond took me there once, to go over the house and ground when the family was not in residence.”

"That was my father’s house,” Miss Effington said, her voice unsteady. “Is it . . . Is everything in good order there?”

“Indeed it is. Mrs. Drummond and I thought it the finest  house we saw, and we visited Mellford Hall and Kentwell Hall as well. The Conways take great pride in maintaining such a noble old building, and the grounds are delightful, especially in the summer.” Janet dug in her memory for some special impression of the visit which might be meaningful to Miss Effington. “I remember standing in the schoolroom looking out the latticed windows at a most magnificent willow tree, all lacy in the afternoon sunlight.”

Under that willow tree, Miss Effington had made her farewell to John Deighton, and there was a suspicion of moisture about her eyes as she murmured, “How lovely to think it is still there, that neither time nor tempest has brought it down. You wouldn’t know any of the neighbors, of course."

“I fear not, ma’am. We met the rector at the village church, and he showed us over the rectory, but I don’t believe he had been there very many years."

Marianne was watching her aunt’s face, and knew that she wished to ask about her gentleman-farmer, but realized it was useless. Instead, the old lady said, “My parents are buried in the churchyard there.”

Although the conversation drifted onto different topics, Marianne could see that her aunt’s mind was still in Long Mellford, and she took Janet aside just before she left. “I hope you will come again, Miss Sandburn, anytime. Would it be rude of me to inquire if you correspond with your squire’s wife?”

“Of course not,” Janet replied, surprised. “I do, regularly.”

“My aunt has lost touch with a former friend near Long Mellford, a Mr. John Deighton. I wonder . . ."

If Marianne hesitated to ask, Janet did not hesitate to offer. “I will be writing Mrs. Drummond soon, and I shall ask if she will inquire of him from Mrs. Conway. How nice if we could supply her with some news.”

“Well,” Marianne laughed, “she would snap my nose off if she thought I’d asked, but I know she’s curious as to how he goes on. Thank you.”

As William and Janet walked back to Castlegate, she said, “I thought Miss Effington a dear. Why did you say she was sharp-tongued?”

“She usually is. You disarmed her by coming from Suffolk. What did you think of Miss Findlay?”

The question was innocent enough, but Janet read significance into it and tried to answer carefully. “I liked her. She’s warm and frank and very good-natured.”

“Yes,” William mused, “and a handsome woman, with no lack of spirit or intelligence.” He grinned at Janet. “Shall I tell you what she said to Sir Reginald Barrett?”

“Please do.” Although she felt disheartened at his dwelling on Miss Findlay, she could not resist laughing at the story of the gold buttons. “I don’t suppose he was pleased.”

“Far from it.” His expression became serious. “He has said some insinuating things about her to Lord Latteridge in his pique. They have no foundation, of course, but in his own fertile mind, and I trust he has not imparted his scurrilous tales to anyone else. I would not have taken you there if I thought there was a shred of truth in them.”

"Anyone can see Miss Findlay leads a perfectly blameless life,” Janet responded indignantly.

“Sir Reginald is offended that she takes lodgers. Micklegate is not, to his mind, the proper place for aught but family town houses of irreproachable dignity. When Harry Derwent, Lord Latteridge’s brother, called on her during her aunt’s illness, Sir Reginald put an unsavory connotation on the visits.”

“I see.” While she appreciated the unhappy position in which this put Miss Findlay, Janet saw clearly that it did Miss Findlay no good to have gentleman callers, and if Mr. Vernham wished to visit, it was wise for him to have a female companion. She bit her lip and said with determination, “I shall call on her frequently.”

Startled, William broke his leisurely stride. “You mustn’t think I told you this to incite your compassion, Miss Sandburn! Miss Findlay doesn’t even know of Sir Reginald’s slurs, and I doubt she would pay him any heed. But I thought you should know the situation; perhaps I should have told you before I took you.”

“Nonsense. My parents were very firm about not listening to malicious gossip, Mr. Vernham. I like Miss Findlay and, when I can get away from Castlegate, I shall visit her.”

“Let me be your escort,” he begged, a light dancing in his eyes. “Lady Horton may not have a footman or maid to spare for accompanying you, and it would give me the greatest pleasure.”

Disturbed by the smile he bestowed on her, Janet dropped her eyes from his. “Thank you. I shall look forward to seeing Miss Findlay again.”

“And me?” William asked gravely.

Janet allowed herself to glance at him, and smile. “Of course, Mr. Vernham.”

* * * *

Marianne and her aunt were forced to suffer a visit from Mr. Oldham every evening at teatime. These visits were short, as Miss Effington could not tolerate him, and soon insisted that they were retiring, but on this evening after Miss Sandburn’s call, Aunt Effie was deep in reminiscences of Willow Hall, and Mr. Oldham’s droning attorney’s voice soon lulled her to sleep, dreaming pleasantly of those long-gone days of her courtship. No better opportunity was likely to present itself, and Mr. Oldham prided himself on always acting at the first knock of opportunity—not waiting for the second or third pounding, which any fool could recognize. He was instantly at Marianne’s side reaching for her hand.

“Sit down, Mr. Oldham," she said sharply, refusing to yield so much as a finger to his clasp.

“But we have matters of great moment to discuss, my dear Miss Findlay,” he protested in an urgent whisper. Although he desisted in his attempt to gain her hand, he did not move from her side.

“I cannot imagine what they might be.”

“Can you not?” He raised a coy eyebrow.

“Sit down, if you please.”

Mr. Oldham had heard that women were exceptionally nervous when being offered for (he had no personal experience), and he grudgingly took his chair, balancing himself on the edge of it, so that by leaning forward, he might be as close to her as possible. “I believe you are aware of my position in York, of my industry in adding to my personal substance, of my genteel background. Perhaps you are unaware,” here his features contorted into something resembling a smirk, “of my admiration of yourself, though I have, in my own humble way, attempted to indicate the depth of my emotions. You are, in every way, a suitable wife for a man such as I—attractive, well-bred, capable of running a household, aware of the value of money, as well-read as most women of your station, and, even if this house is your only dowry, I am not such a small man as to quibble at its meagerness.”

Marianne regarded him with astonishment, rapidly turning to annoyance, which she attempted to hide from his fatuous gaze only out of inherent politeness. “You honor me with such a proposal, Mr. Oldham, but I . . ."

There was a hasty knock on the door, followed by Mr. Geddes’s excited voice. “May I speak with you, Miss Findlay?”

The difficulties of running a lodging house had never been so apparent to Marianne. Before calling to Mr. Geddes to enter, she firmly said, “Thank you, Mr. Oldham, but I cannot marry you.”

He had no chance to reply before Mr. Geddes hastened into the room.

“I’ve worked it all out! Down to the very last detail! I’m sure you will see in a moment what a savings of time and energy it will be, Miss Findlay.” Mr. Geddes stood before them, pink with pleasure under his rumpled wig, only vaguely aware that Mr. Oldham was frowning, that Miss Effington was roused abruptly from sleep, while Marianne herself was utterly ignorant of his meaning.

“What is it that you’ve worked out, Mr. Geddes?” Marianne asked calmly, a steadying hand to her aunt’s elbow.

“A system of bell wires! Every room can be fitted with a pull, and there will be a board with bells on it in the servants’ quarters. They will know in precisely what room they are wanted, because the bells will be numbered, and a pendulum will continue to vibrate after the bell stops ringing. Imagine such efficiency! And the larger the house, the greater savings in time. Why, I dare say it will eliminate the need for several people just standing around in the truly magnificent homes.”

Marianne accepted the drawing he offered showing wires and cranks and various other items which he identified with obvious enthusiasm. “It’s all very well to have a bell rope, Miss Findlay, though I realize that you don’t, but this system is by far more intricate and useful.”

“I can see that it is, Mr. Geddes, but in order to install it, the walls would have to be opened to run the wires through, a very expensive proceeding.”

“Yes, I thought of that, but I’ve devised a method where the openings would be minimal. And I would be willing to bear the expense, of course, if you would let me have it installed to use as a model for demonstration. Well,” he asked triumphantly, “what do you think?”

His audience responded in a variety of ways. Miss Effington snorted, Mr. Oldham wrung his hands with frustration, and Marianne smiled gently. “I will have to study the plan and the rooms and give it some thought, Mr. Geddes. Understand, I think it a marvelous idea, but mine may not be the appropriate house in which to test the scheme. May I keep the drawing until tomorrow morning?”

“Certainly! There is no need to make an immediate decision. I had just figured out how to keep the pendulum vibrating, and that was essential, you see. Otherwise, if the servants were occupied and couldn’t get to the board immediately, they would have no way of knowing which bell had rung. We could, of course, have bells with various tones but you know, Miss Findlay, not everyone has an ear for such things. This is by far the better method, I think.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Geddes.” As Aunt Effie struggled to her feet, Marianne rose with her and the gentlemen were dismissed, much to the old lady’s satisfaction.

“Next time,” her aunt grumbled, “you might choose lodgers who only show up here to sleep.” Marianne didn’t even consider telling her the worst of the evening’s events.

* * * *

Dissatisfied with the results of his first offer, Mr. Oldham hung about the lower hall for some time in the morning, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Miss Findlay. He could not be content with her first answer; ladies were notoriously capricious, and the disturbance Mr. Geddes had caused was enough to shatter any woman’s fragile nerves. Unsure as to whether or not Miss Findlay had risen yet, he did not wish to tap at the drawing room door, so, when she did not appear, he eventually took himself off, and had the good fortune to find a chair at the corner.

Marianne allowed the curtain to fall back after seeing him depart, and with a sigh, went in search of Mrs. Crouch, whose shopping expedition had been delayed on her employer’s unaccountable insistence. Although she meant to accompany the cook, Marianne had no intention of encountering Mr. Oldham along the way. This was to be Aunt Effie’s first expedition since her illness, and Marianne refused to have it marred.