Chapter 5
The next day, Harriet was well enough to get dressed and come downstairs to partake in breakfast. She still looked a little peaky, but Sue made her a soft-boiled egg and some buttered toast, which she consumed readily enough. We were lingering over a second cup of tea and discussing our plans for the day when Mary appeared with a letter for Papa.
‘Thank you, Mary,’ he said and laid it on the table. As he was reading his paper, he showed no immediate inclination to open it. Harriet cleared her throat softly, and I looked over, thinking she was ridding herself of some phlegm. But she was quite rigid, holding her cup of tea aloft but not drinking out of it. She widened her eyes at me and then swivelled them to the letter, which had a fancy red wax seal on it. Oh! I could tell what she was thinking—that it was from Mr Pringle and that she needed Papa to open it and tell us its contents right away. Her eyebrows moved up and down in consternation. She was right—he could be another twenty minutes at his paper! There was nothing for it.
‘Papa, may I ask who the letter is from?’ I said boldly, taking the reins. ‘It looks important.’
He lowered his paper. ‘I do not know. I haven’t opened it. I shall do so in a minute.’
‘Might you be persuaded to open it more quickly than a minute?’ Papa glanced at me and then at Harriet, who was trying but failing to keep her composure.
‘Very well. Since you two are suddenly so interested in my affairs.’
He broke the seal, opened the flaps, and perused the letter, which appeared to be quite short.
‘It is from Mr Pringle,’ he said, sounding pleased. ‘A most cordial invitation to dine with him and Mr Fitzroy at Ashbury Manor five nights hence.’
‘Just you, Papa, or ...?’ I asked.
‘No, he’s invited all of us, along with the Austens.’
Harriet emitted a long, slow breath. ‘That is wonderful news!’ she said.
‘Are you sure you will feel up to it, Harriet?’ enquired Papa. ‘You may like to stay here ...’
Harriet shook her head sharply, her cheeks now showing a faint flush of colour. ‘I am nearly well now, Papa. And in five days, I shall be fully returned to health.’
I quelled a smile. Even if Harriet were on death’s door, she’d insist on attending .
Papa nodded and, upon my asking, handed over the letter. I scanned it eagerly to ascertain any hidden meaning that would comfort Harriet further. But apart from it being penned by an elegant hand and in a hospitable manner, there was nothing.
I passed it along to her, saying, ‘It’s a good letter.’
‘It is a good letter,’ she agreed, running a finger over the swirling ink as if she might surmise Mr Pringle’s true intentions for the invitation. I too wasn’t sure of what he intended with his supper party. Was it because he wished to see Harriet again or simply wanted to forge deeper connections with the families of Steventon—one of which provided him with excellent hogget and the other which could make his suits?
While I pondered upon this and the unwelcome realisation that I would be forced into Mr Fitzroy’s company once more, Mary appeared again at the doorway.
‘Excuse me, sir, there’s another letter for you.’
‘Goodness, I am popular this morning,’ said Papa, beckoning her in and taking it from her hand. ‘Thank you, Mary.’ She curtsied and left the room.
This second letter was smaller than the first and had a simple wafer seal rather than a wax one. As Mr Pringle’s supper was firmly established and I could breathe a sigh of relief on Harriet’s part, I wasn’t too concerned about the other letter. But seeing Papa frown when reading it made me curious.
‘Who is it from?’ I asked him.
‘Mr Humbleton, your cousin. He’s inviting himself to stay with us for a couple of weeks. And the day he arrives falls exactly before when we are to dine at Ashbury.’
My heart sank. The one time I had met him I had found him very dull company indeed. But as the heir to our home, we couldn’t exactly say ‘No, don’t come’. So we would have to bear his presence as best we could, and I fervently hoped he had improved with age.
‘Does he say why he’s coming?’
‘Not in so many words. In fact, it’s all quite vague. Have a look and see if you girls can determine his intention.’
I took the letter and laid it on the table so Harriet could peruse it also. It was a short, almost perfunctory, note to say that he was taking leave from his clerical duties for a fortnight and desired to visit his Steventon relations. He would be arriving four days hence in the afternoon, around three o’clock, he thought, and would we be so kind as to prepare him a bed and that he looked forward to reacquainting himself with his fair cousins. I assumed that to mean Harriet and myself.
‘It seems innocent enough,’ I said after a pause. ‘Though a little presumptuous. Surely, he knows we have only three bedrooms. That means Harriet and I will have to share, unless we put him in the storage cupboard.’
Harriet tittered.
‘I know it is a disruption, but we shall have to make do,’ replied Papa evenly. ‘I’ll write to Mr Pringle and say there will be two more to attend his supper party.’
‘Pray, why two?’ asked Harriet.
‘Because I shall tell him Mr Humbleton is visiting, and Mrs Snelling is required as your chaperone.’
Papa didn’t expand on his reasoning, but I knew him well enough to surmise what he was thinking—that if he didn’t invite Aunt, there was a strong likelihood of him being saddled with Mr Humbleton for the evening. He was relying on her talent for conversation (read: gossip) to keep him engaged. Very devious indeed!
***
My spirits leading up to the supper party were quite in contrast to my sister’s. Harriet’s were high because she was assured of seeing Mr Pringle again. Mine were subdued because I had to relinquish my bedroom to our guest as well as move my dresses to Harriet’s wardrobe, where they were squashed in next to hers. I also had to clear out my dresser drawers and my bookshelf. I wasn’t sure what Mr Humbleton’s reading tastes were, but I didn’t want him perusing my romantic novels! It was all a big upheaval and one that I couldn’t help grumbling about to Harriet. What was so important that he needed to visit us? And two weeks was a rather large amount of time for him to stay. But it seemed we didn’t have a choice in the matter. So we were forced to squeeze in together until he left.
As good as his word, Mr Humbleton arrived promptly at three o’clock the day before we were to dine at Ashbury. It was almost as if he had planned it to be so, but I doubted our clergyman cousin had mystical powers for seeing into the future. He’d simply turned up at an inconvenient time and would now have to accompany us. Aunt had also accepted the invitation and was looking forward to the occasion immensely. I wasn’t as enthusiastic, but I supposed the increase in number meant there was less chance of me having to talk to Mr Stonyface. I was still feeling embarrassed about my outburst in the carriage and knew I needed to apologise to him, but I had a feeling if the occasion arose to do so, the words might stick in my throat.
After the introductions were completed, Papa asked Mr Humbleton if he would like to rest after his journey or take tea in the parlour.
‘Some refreshment would be most welcome, thank you,’ our cousin replied, bowing again.
‘Excellent. I’ll have your bag taken to your room.’ Papa gestured to Mary, who had been hovering in the background, and she quickly acquiesced. ‘If you need anything while you are here, just ring for Mary, and she will see to it. She is most amenable.’
The two men walked down the hallway conversing, and Harriet and I followed behind. So far, Mr Humbleton had seemed genial, and his looks had certainly improved in the last six years since I had met him at my aunt and uncle’s house in Hertfordshire. I remembered a tall, gangly youth with a slouch and not much else to commend him. He still had the height, along with a full head of copper-toned brown hair and a face that was pleasant rather than handsome to look at. But he’d filled out and stood straighter; and his eyes darted about, looking at items—the vase on the table, the pictures on the wall, the rug—as if noting the details of his surroundings for future contemplation. Harriet and I had both been given this inspection also. Had we passed muster? I wondered.
When we were seated on adjacent sofas, Mr Humbleton ran his fingers over a cushion cover Harriet had painstakingly embroidered with the phrase ‘Love and Be Loved’, and he murmured, ‘Fine work.’
He certainly seemed to be interested in soft furnishings .
‘I do hope you find everything to your taste,’ said Papa politely. ‘I’m sure you are used to much finer parlours.’
Mr Humbleton met his gaze steadily. ‘Indeed I am not. I was just this moment thinking to myself what an excellent aspect this room has. It catches the afternoon sunlight perfectly. If I were an artist, I would most certainly feel the urge to take to my easel and paint. Sadly, I am not blessed with such talents.’
Not being able to help myself, I enquired, ‘Where do your talents lie, Mr Humbleton? Are they perhaps more of an ecclesiastical nature?’
He smiled at me affably. ‘Indeed, Miss Felicity. I like to think I do justice to my calling. As well as the Sunday sermon, I provide counsel to my parish whenever it is required and have been told I do much to ease their spiritual suffering.’
‘Do you like to read at all, cousin?’ This from Harriet, who always had her nose stuck in a book.
‘Only the Bible’ came the reply. ‘Anything else, I fear, is much too diverting from the one true path.’
No one quite knew what to say to this, but I was glad that I’d removed my romantic novels to Harriet’s room.
The ensuing conversation with Mr Humbleton, unfortunately, did not elevate much beyond the weather, confirming my previously formed opinion of him. After his tea was drunk and a slice of pound cake was eaten and declared ‘very palatable’, he retired upstairs to rest and read the Bible before supper, leaving us still unclear as to the purpose of his visit.
***
On the evening of the supper party, we rode in Mr Humbleton’s carriage to Ashbury Manor. He’d taken one look at our buggy and deemed it unsuitable for such a venture. Aunt rode with us also; and with five persons (not to mention our dresses, shawls, top hats, and walking sticks jammed in together), it was hot and stifling. I was relieved when we arrived.
Mr Humbleton handed Harriet down from the carriage and then myself.
Before letting go of my gloved hand, he pressed it slightly and murmured, ‘I look forward to becoming better acquainted with you, Miss Felicity, beginning this evening.’
A trickle of unease ran down my spine. For politeness’ sake, I could do nothing but nod and follow Harriet up the steps. But I now had a strong suspicion as to why Mr Humbleton was visiting. The meaning of him wishing to become ‘better acquainted’ with me could not be misconstrued: he was looking for a wife! The notion filled me with dread. I liked him even less than Mr Stonyface, and that was saying something! This evening would be trying indeed if I now had to avoid two gentlemen. Thankfully, Jane would be there. And maybe if she liked the look of him, I could steer Mr Humbleton in her direction!
So intent was I on dissecting this piece of information and formulating my plan of action that I almost bumped into Harriet in the entranceway.
‘Is it not wonderful, Fliss?’ she whispered, gazing up at the high coffered ceiling. A wide staircase wound up to the first floor, which was adorned with archways and lit here and there with small lamps.
‘Indeed,’ I whispered back. ‘But remember, it is only rented. He does not own it.’
‘But still, he has the means to rent it. That is something.’
A footman took our shawls, and I was wondering what we were to do next when a Welsh accent rang out, ‘Good evening!’ Mr Pringle came striding across the black-and-white-tiled floor with a welcoming smile on his face. He cut a fine figure in a fashionable dark-blue tailcoat, brocade waistcoat, high-collared shirt and white linen cravat, along with a pair of well-fitting breeches. I felt Harriet sway a little—whether it was because of his tight breeches or simply seeing him in the flesh after all this time, I was not sure, but I gripped her elbow for support nonetheless !
‘Miss Blackburn.’ He bowed to Harriet.
She dipped slightly, inclining her head towards him. ‘Mr Pringle.’ I rejoiced that her voice was firm and clear and did not shake at all to belie her inner feelings, which I was sure were all aflutter.
‘Miss Blackburn.’ It was my turn to bow.
‘And Mr Blackburn and Mrs Snelling. How delightful! I trust your journey here was pleasant?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Aunt. ‘We came in a carriage rather than the buggy, you see. So it was quite comfortable.’
‘Wonderful!’
There was a shuffle as my cousin, who had decided it was time to make his presence known, stepped forward.
‘Mr Percival Humbleton at your service, cousin to the Misses Blackburn.’
He bowed so low that I heard his neck creak. When he was again upright, the prattle started. ‘I must say, Mr Pringle, your home is most impressive. Such fine stair banisters!’
Mr Pringle didn’t falter. ‘Thank you, sir. You are most kind and very welcome. Now let us join the rest of our party in the parlour while we wait for supper to be served.’
We moved off after him down the hallway, and I steeled myself to see Mr Fitzroy. But upon entering, I found that there was Jane, her brother Henry, and Mr and Mrs Austen. There was no sign of Mr Pringle’s stern friend. Perhaps he had decided not to attend? Having prepared for this moment for several nerve-racking days, it was a disconcerting to find I needn’t have bothered.
I accepted a glass of Madeira wine from the footman and sipped it, then took a couple of larger swigs. The warming effect of the liquor made me feel more relaxed, and I looked around the room, admiring the general splendour.
My gaze alighted on Jane, who was wearing a fetching blue silk gown with a delicate white embroidered neckline. She was observing Mr Humbleton conversing with Papa, Mr Austen, and Mr Pringle from across the room with a critical eye; and I wondered what she would make of him. I sidled over.
‘Our cousin Mr Percival Humbleton, in case you were wondering,’ I said in a low voice.
‘Ah, that will be the reason for the extra place at the table. Is he visiting you for long?’
‘Two weeks,’ I replied, resisting the urge to wrinkle my nose. ‘Would you like me to take you over to meet him?’
Jane glanced at me sharply. ‘I can wait for Father to make the introductions.’
She wasn’t a fool. My hope that I’d be able to divert Mr Humbleton’s attention onto her sank like a stone. I was going to have to think of something (or someone) else fast. I took another large sip of wine to fortify myself.
‘At least Mr Stonyface isn’t here,’ I said to her in a low voice. ‘That would make this evening very unpleasant indeed.’
‘But he is,’ Jane returned, peering over my head. ‘He’s just come in. He’s talking with Henry.’
Slowly, I turned and saw Mr Fitzroy, tall and stiff postured, dressed impeccably in evening black. My stomach clenched at seeing his handsome face, cool and austere. His eyes locked with mine, and a tangible shudder went through me. I sensed that he might come over, and then I’d have to go through with my apology speech. Quickly, I turned my back to him and drained my wine.
‘Goodness, you must be thirsty,’ said Jane. ‘Let me get you another.’
Before I could stop her, she’d taken my empty glass and whisked away to the footman for a refill, leaving me vulnerable to the attentions of Mr Fitzroy. Alarmed, I looked over to Harriet, who was conversing happily with Papa, Aunt, and Mr Pringle. I needed to go over there now and join their posse ...
‘Miss Felicity.’ Mr Humbleton appeared by my side without warning. ‘I have just been informed that supper is to be served forthwith. May I escort you into the dining room? ’
I groaned inwardly. If he escorted me in, he would then be sitting next to me for the duration of the meal. ‘Yes, you may,’ I said dully, and he proffered his elbow. I took it, resigned to my fate—for the supper at least.