Chapter Four #2
“Frances and I met Mr. Tilson and Mr. Hearne yesterday while we were out driving,” spoke up Gordon, when neither his sister nor the young men said anything.
Then, recalling the muddy condition in which they returned the pony cart to the Tree Inn, he thought better of elaborating, lest Mrs. Dere make a fuss.
Frances, too, thought the remark ill-advised because she hastened to add, “As the gentlemen will learn, we are a small village, and in Iffley it is almost impossible to be out of doors without such encounters.”
“But I hear we are to add deliberate encounters to accidental ones,” said the one called Mr. Midgecomb.
He was another dark-haired man with a blade of a nose, and Frances was aware of Miss Eveleigh inching closer to her.
Not only that, but the next second Miss Eveleigh’s cousin Miss Jarvis materialized on her other side, hissing, “My cousin’s would-be beau. ”
Startled into glancing at her, Frances managed not to twitch when she found one of the woman’s eyes meeting hers and the other directed toward Miss Eveleigh’s “beau,” as if wanting to ensure neither engaged in any foolery.
Was it a warning? Or with her squint could Miss Jarvis not help her every expression being interpreted as foreboding?
Surely the latter, or would she not have said, “Hands off, miss! That’s my cousin’s beau”?
Yes. Maybe she and Miss Eveleigh meant to befriend Frances, in the way young ladies might, discussing and giggling over young men. To this end, Frances nodded, widening her own eyes, as if to say, “How fascinating!”
She was rewarded with both Miss Jarvis and Miss Eveleigh nudging closer, squeezing Frances like a walnut between a pair of nutcrackers.
“Do you think him handsome, Miss Barstow?” whispered Miss Eveleigh.
“I rather like his nose,” replied Frances boldly. “It’s like a scimitar and speaks of decisiveness.”
“What?” Miss Eveleigh frowned. “No—not him. I refer to the other one. Mr. Hearne.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s only that Miss Jarvis—”
The pair of nutcrackers tightened further. “I told her Mr. Midgecomb fancies you,” hissed Miss Jarvis across Frances to her cousin.
“And so he does, Annabel, but I was asking Miss Barstow about the other one. You know. Is he not beautiful to look upon?”
There was that word again: beautiful. Fortunately her companions now closed on her altogether and hid the rest of the group from view, or Frances might have been weak enough to venture a peek at him.
“He is…very attractive,” she admitted. “And possibly the most striking man I have ever seen.” Not knowing what Miss Eveleigh thought of him, however, she did not dare add, “Though he struck me as rather simple.” If Miss Eveleigh were already in love with him, Frances calling him brainless would not be appreciated.
Miss Jarvis took the matter out of her hands. “Jane—Miss Eveleigh—said she feared he was empty-headed and rather queer, however,” she confided to Frances. “But I told her when a man is that good-looking, it’s almost better that he not talk and spoil the effect.”
“And I told my cousin that one can’t merely look at a man the rest of one’s life,” returned Miss Eveleigh. “As the Bible says, ‘Beauty is vain, but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.’”
“And I said, what has that to do with him? That verse refers to a woman, and we are talking about a man,” Miss Jarvis parried. “What do you say on the matter, Miss Barstow?”
“Er—I think I would have to agree with Miss Eveleigh. I know I could not be content in merely having someone to look at all my life, and the Bible verse does not imply that fearing the Lord is a bad quality in a man—only that it is especially valuable in a woman. I’m afraid the world can be apt to judge women for their beauty first and foremost, even though beauty is fleeting. ”
“See, Annabel?” Miss Eveleigh declared. “I told you.”
Frances felt badly, however, for disappointing Miss Jarvis, whose strabismus prevented her ever being called beautiful, fleetingly or not, and whose one good eye now regarded her with reproach.
“Say you had to choose,” Miss Jarvis rejoined, rallying and poking a finger at Miss Eveleigh, “as you very well might, Jane, between the interesting-looking one who adores you; the pleasant fellow whose looks you can’t remember when you turn your head; and the curious quiz whose looks you can’t forget. Which would it be?”
“I can hardly say so soon, Annabel, and you’re as bad as Mama to press me. And suppose in the coming weeks, they all grow to prefer Miss Barstow here? Then I would be humiliated to have named any one of them.”
“It might be more pertinent, then, to ask which of the three your mama Mrs. Eveleigh prefers on your behalf,” suggested Frances daringly, and to her delight, Miss Jarvis and Miss Eveleigh smothered laughs.
“Well said, Miss Barstow.” Miss Eveleigh shook her head ruefully.
“To my chagrin, I know Mama would be satisfied with any of them, but if pressed she would perhaps choose the interesting-looking interesting one who adores me. I hope to come to my own conclusions, however. Who do you suppose Mrs. Barstow would choose for you?”
“Ah. My mama says she will not push anyone upon me, even if she comes to like him very much.” (The same could not be said of Mrs. Dere, but Frances knew better than to say as much.) “Neither she nor I am in a great hurry for me to marry, thankfully,” she went on, “and I confess I hope this summer to find equal pleasure in pursuing my acquaintance with the two of you.”
“Yes!” agreed Miss Eveleigh. “I only wish you could stay at Greenwood Hall with us because Annabel and I fear it will be so awkward trying to amuse these strangers by ourselves. And to entertain them in the country—! I know nothing of riding or activities out of doors and am not even a particularly strong walker.”
She favored Frances with a pleading, doubtful gaze, and Frances felt her heart warm.
Not only did Miss Eveleigh seem to welcome her friendship, but amazingly she also looked to her for some amount of guidance!
Mrs. Dere had been right after all. It had never occurred to Frances that her long walks and the ease they had given her with her surroundings were something to be envied, but so it was.
And however superior Miss Eveleigh might have felt to her in Oxford, she did not do so here.
A cock crows loudest on its own dunghill, she thought.
Oxford was Miss Eveleigh’s dunghill, but Iffley is mine.
“You will come every day, won’t you, Miss Barstow?” Miss Eveleigh pressed. “As soon as you might be spared, to stay as long as you can?”
“Mrs. Dere told me to expect it,” she answered.
But Miss Eveleigh’s evident relief moved Frances to add impulsively, “And I will tell you straight off, Miss Eveleigh, that if you find yourself ‘coming to conclusions,’ on the subject we discussed a moment ago, do let me know, and I will do what I can to keep out of your way.”
The girl rewarded Frances with a wide smile. “Thank you. Mama would weep to hear your generous offer. And only see how easily we are arranging the world! But if we are to be such intimate allies, won’t you call me Jane?”
“I would be honored,” replied Frances. “And I hope you will call me Frances in return.”
A pause followed, made awkward by the silence of Miss Jarvis.
She made no similar offer of exchanging Christian names with Frances—hardly to be wondered at, as she was older than they and dependent on the Eveleighs, as Frances was on the Deres—but Frances was sorry for it.
It must be dreadful to be considered only the squint-eyed, spinster companion of a young and pretty cousin!
But there was no time for further regrets. The gathering at the church door was breaking up, each party taking its separate way to meet again at dinner.