Chapter 8
On the dot of two o’clock, we heard clopping outside, and there was a faint ‘Whoa, boy!’ I peeked out the window from behind the parlour curtain and saw a gentleman dismounting from his horse.
‘It’s him. It’s Mr Pringle!’ I hissed.
Harriet’s eyes widened. She stood up, then at once sat down again and wrung her hands.
‘Zounds! I don’t know what to do with myself. Is he really here?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Now you don’t need to be concerned. Just act natural!’
‘I am, dearest,’ I said, amused, ‘Are you telling that to me or yourself?’
There was a knock at the parlour door. Harriet sat up poker straight on the sofa, her hands clasped in her lap.
‘Come in,’ she intoned in a regal voice, which made me want to giggle.
The door opened, and Mary appeared. ‘A Mr Pringle is here to see you, miss.’
‘Very good, Mary. Please show him in and bring us through some tea presently.’
She bobbed a curtsy. ‘Of course, miss.’
Harriet whispered to me, ‘I hope he likes scones. I asked Sue to whip up a batch while you were out. We can have them with jam and cream.’
It had been a while since my single bread roll at breakfast, and I’d missed luncheon, so scones sounded excellent. My stomach gurgled loudly in anticipation, and Harriet shot me a look of abject horror.
But she didn’t have time to scold as Mr Pringle strode into the room with a wide smile. We stood immediately, and he bowed to Harriet. ‘Miss Blackburn.’ Then he turned and did the same for me. ‘Miss Blackburn.’
We bowed in unison to return the greeting.
‘Mr Pringle, do come in and take a seat. How was your journey?’ Harriet’s voice was smooth, and I marvelled that she was all of a sudden poised and elegant. It rubbed off on me somewhat, and I found myself sinking to the sofa carefully rather than flopping on it like I usually did. Mr Pringle was gentry, after all, and I didn’t want him reporting anything back to his abominable friend. So I needed to be on my best behaviour.
‘My ride was very pleasant, thank you,’ he replied, sitting down and flicking his coat-tails out of the way. ‘Apart from the newly harvested hay in the fields quite setting me off into a fit of sneezing. I have an allergy, you see,’ he explained.
‘Oh dear!’ Harriet said, her face a picture of concern. ‘Do you need me to fetch you something?’
A big handkerchief probably , I thought, looking at his watery eyes and red nose.
‘No, no, I will cope,’ he said, sniffling. ‘Nothing a cup of tea won’t fix. I say, this is a jolly parlour.’ He looked around the room, and his gaze landed on our pianoforte in the corner. But he deliberately avoided mentioning it (no doubt in case I suggested performing) and instead chose to comment politely on other less traumatic aspects.
‘I do like the purple wallpaper and the nook over there with the armchairs surrounding the fireplace. It must be very cosy in winter.’
‘Yes, it is the warmest room in the house. Papa often jokes that he will move his bed in here,’ said Harriet.
‘Speaking of your father, I thought I might have a word with him afterwards, if I may?’
Ah, so he did want a new suit , I thought. But he did not want Harriet to feel she was tacked on to that task, so he hadn’t mentioned it in the letter. Very nicely done!
‘He is out with our cousin at present,’ I replied. ‘However, we expect them back shortly.’
What was taking Papa so long? I doubted it was for love of our cousin’s company. Perhaps he had taken Mr Humbleton visiting around the parish? But why do that if he was leaving next week?
There was a tap at the door, and Mary entered with a tray that held the tea-things, along with a cake stand of scones. Mr Pringle’s eyes brightened. ‘Ooh, scones!’ he exclaimed.
‘Yes, I had our cook make them specially for your visit,’ said Harriet, smiling and tilting her head towards him. ‘I hope you will partake in one or two?’
‘Thank you, I shall indeed. I adore scones,’ said Mr Pringle politely and proceeded to load a plate with several.
I watched anxiously in case he partook of too many. I intended to eat at least three ...
When he had finished preparing his scones with the accompaniments, Harriet nodded at me and began to pour the tea. Grateful to be finally let loose on them, I chose a big scone, split it in two, then slathered each half with butter and jam and added two generous dollops of cream. I took a large bite out of one half and hummed with enjoyment, not caring that I now had cream all over my nose.
Mr Pringle chuckled. ‘That is how it is done, I see.’
‘Felicity!’ Harriet had noticed my gutsiness, and I hastily wiped my face with a napkin. ‘Do excuse my sister’s manners, Mr Pringle. ’
‘Not at all.’ He promptly added another spoonful of cream to his half-eaten scone and bit into it with relish, earning a dashing cream moustache.
I was delighted at him following my lead. I was beginning to like Mr Pringle immensely; he was so much more fun than his friend. ‘See, Harriet, it is the only way to eat scones,’ I said with a laugh.
Mr Pringle merely smiled at Harriet’s tsking and took the cup of tea she handed him. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and said, ‘Tell me, Miss Blackburn ...’
‘Oh, please, do call us Miss Felicity and Miss Harriet,’ I begged him. ‘It will make it easier to know who you are addressing.’
‘Very well, Miss Felicity. Do you often visit the pond that lies between our two houses?’
‘On occasion,’ I replied warily, unsure as to where his line of questioning was going and who it might involve.
‘I only ask because I had the most interesting conversation with my friend Max. He was striding up the drive in a foul temper as I set off on my horse. Upon spying that his shirt was muddy and sopping wet, I enquired as to what had occurred, and his reply was quite extraordinary!’
I shifted uncomfortably at hearing this and concentrated on sipping my tea.
Harriet supplied the necessary question to prompt our guest. ‘So what did he say?’
‘He said, and I quote, “I was detained in the pond by Miss Felicity Blackburn.” Then without another word, he stamped into the house! Most peculiar. As I was already on my way here, I thought I might enquire as to the origins of my friend’s vexation.”
Harriet’s eyes were upon me. ‘Fliss, what did you do to poor Mr Fitzroy?’
I nearly scoffed at that; there was no ‘ poor Mr Fitzroy’ about it.
They were both looking at me curiously, so I took another sip of tea and a bite of scone and, after swallowing both, summarised the event.
‘It was of no consequence, really. I simply happened upon Mr Fitzroy swimming in the pond—without clothes.’
Harriet gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Mr Pringle grinned. ‘Ah, I see. How inconvenient for him.’
‘Yes, and for me since I had just arrived and wished to relax on my favourite shady rock. We determined a compromise in that I tossed him his shirt, he put it on, and then he was able to exit the pond with decorum ...’
In my mind’s eye, I saw again very plainly the wondrous sight of Mr Fitzroy emerging from the water—how his broad muscled chest had heaved with exertion, how his sodden shirt had clung to his shapely upper thighs, and, even though the lake was freezing, how he’d been delightfully well endowed ...
I swallowed and added, ‘That was the end of it. I don’t see why he needed to be so grumpy. Most countrymen I know would simply laugh it off.’
Mr Pringle looked at me for a moment as if weighing up his next words carefully. ‘There are a few things I can divulge about my friend that may help to explain his temperament. I trust this information will not be made public knowledge?’
‘Of course,’ said Harriet instantly. ‘We don’t make a habit of spreading gossip, do we, Fliss?’
I shook my head, thinking of Jane and some of the conversations we’d had recently. Well, it wasn’t spreading gossip as such ...
‘Max’s parents, though rich and respected in society, didn’t have much time for him,’ began Mr Pringle solemnly. ‘He was the youngest of seven children, and as you can imagine, their patience had quite run dry with demands from the other six ...’
Mr Pringle finished the rest of his scone and declared, ‘I must say, these are the best scones I have eaten in a long while. Please do give my compliments to your cook.’ Then he settled back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle .
Harriet beamed. ‘I shall! Would you like another cup of tea?’
‘I believe I should,’ he said, smiling at her, and she blushed.
Come on , I thought impatiently. Stop flirting with Harriet and tell us the rest of the story. I cleared my throat.
‘You were saying ... about Mr Fitzroy?’
‘Oh, yes. Max was packed off to boarding school at a young age. He saw his family only during term holidays and Christmas and sometimes not even then if his parents were travelling on the Continent. I’m afraid they rather liked their own company and found their children to be tiresome.’
‘Sounds a bit like Jane’s family,’ I commented. ‘Her brother Edward was adopted out to relations because there were too many of them to look after.’
‘Though you couldn’t say that Mr and Mrs Austen don’t care about their children,’ interjected Harriet. ‘More loving parents you will never meet. It was simply a matter of not being able to provide for them all.’
‘Indeed,’ said Mr Pringle, nodding as if he understood what it was like to have too many mouths to feed and not enough income (I doubted he did). ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘the upshot of the matter is that because he spent so much time alone, Max has the unfortunate disadvantage of not having, shall we say, the ease of conversing with people he doesn’t know well. But I assure you once you get past the stern facade and his good opinion is secured, he is a most loyal friend and the most wonderful company.’
I should have to take Mr Pringle’s word about that since he was his friend after all. But hearing about Mr Fitzroy’s sterile upbringing did explain why his disposition was so gruff. I had thought him unfriendly, but perhaps it was just a mask for protection?
Hearing Mr Pringle sing his praises so thoroughly made me feel contrite about teasing him at the lake. No wonder he hadn’t known what to do in that situation or been able to ‘laugh it off’. Plus I still hadn’t apologised for my behaviour in the carriage that day from Overton. What he must think of me ...
‘Do you think Mr Fitzroy would perhaps ... Would he be open to ... a letter of apology?’ I asked hesitantly. ‘I wouldn’t like him to think ill of my behaviour or to bear a grudge against me.’
Indeed now, strangely, I felt I needed to do the utmost to win back his favour!
I waited anxiously as Mr Pringle frowned and considered, tapping his finger slightly against his teacup. ‘I think that a well-written letter would go some way to dispel any animosity on his part,’ he said at last. ‘It is true that he doesn’t forgive easily when wronged, and it would be awkward for future gatherings if not resolved quickly, especially as I’m thinking of holding a ball at Ashbury. What do you think? Would it be well received?’
Harriet let out a small squeal of delight. ‘Oh yes, Mr Pringle, a ball would be wonderful!’
‘Excellent! And please do call me Evan if we are to be on a first-name basis.’
‘All right ... Evan,’ Harriet said, blushing prettily.
Mr Pringle, or Evan, as I supposed I should have to call him now, inclined his head to her with a smile.
I rolled my eyes a little at the performance. It was obvious that he was very interested in my sister, and she in him.
It struck me suddenly that he might indeed propose to her, and Harriet would happily accept. And then she would move out to live with him and become mistress of the manor here, in London, or wherever he chose. That was a strange thought indeed, and it took me by surprise. I had been readily helping her to achieve a good match but not considering the reality—that she might get her wish. And then I would no longer have her here to talk and laugh with whenever I wanted. This was a selfish way of thinking; of course I wanted Harriet to be happy, but I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for myself at the same time as it meant that I would be left alone with Papa—a spinster !
As I mused about my fate and what would become of me, Harriet and Evan conversed happily about books they liked. Then there was the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway, and Papa entered the room without knocking.
‘Oh, Mr Pringle,’ he said with an expression of surprise. ‘Forgive my absence. I didn’t realise you were to visit us today.’ He gave a quick bow.
Evan stood and returned it.
‘Not at all, sir. It was a whim of mine early this morning at breakfast. I sent my footman over with a hastily scribbled note with my intention to call upon your daughter ... Miss Harriet.’ He smiled at her, and she gazed up at him, clearly smitten.
‘Ah, I see,’ said Papa, witnessing the attraction between the two lovebirds.
‘I’ve been playing chaperone, Papa,’ I said. ‘And consuming scones.’
‘Indeed,’ Papa said with a chuckle, seating himself across from me in an armchair. ‘Now what have you all been discussing?’
‘Mr Pringle, Evan, wishes to hold a ball at Ashbury,’ said Harriet excitedly.
‘Does he? Well, that is good news. I might get some commissions from gentlemen requiring new suits if that is the case. ’
‘Since I am here, perhaps I might take a little of your time to be measured for one?’ said Evan. ‘After you’ve had refreshment, of course.’
‘Yes, that is an excellent idea,’ said Papa, looking pleased a t the request. Harriet rang for Mary, and she came and took the teapot and the cake stand away to refill after I’d made a grab for the last scone.
‘Where is our cousin?’ I asked as I buttered my scone, hoping against hope that he’d left suddenly without the need to say goodbye.
‘He is rather tired after our excursion in the village. So he ha s retired to your, er, his room to relax and read his Bible.’
Papa looked at me carefully for a long moment as I took a large bite out of my scone, but I didn’t wonder too much why he was. No doubt he thought me rude for commandeering the last one without offering half of it to him, or I had cream on my nose again!