Chapter Seven
To be able to speak well is an ornamental and useful accomplishment.
Miss Eveleigh having expressed her wish to become a stronger walker, Frances had promised to acquaint her and Miss Jarvis with the Barstows’ favorite itineraries, and she waited for them outside Greenwood Hall shortly after breakfast.
“Do you think I ought to have called first and greeted everyone?” Frances asked. “I’m afraid I don’t know the etiquette of house parties, especially since I am not staying under the same roof.”
“Mama says the rule is that everyone is to do what they like every day until dinner, which she proposes to be served at four in the afternoon because we are in the country,” answered Jane.
“She had no notion when the gentlemen might want their breakfast, so she decided it would be set out on the sideboard, to be taken whenever anyone likes, though Annabel and I were so frightened of having to eat alone with the guests that I asked Mama when she planned to breakfast, that we might join her.”
“And were any of the gentlemen ‘up and doing’ yet?”
“Only Mr. Hearne, but he hadn’t much to say because he was more inclined to smile and look at the patterns in the paper hangings!”
“Mr. and Mrs. Eveleigh made several attempts to engage him,” Miss Jarvis took up the thread, “and he always replied politely, if not to the point.”
“And Annabel and I were stealing peeps at him whenever we dared because, of course, he is so very handsome, and the sunlight was falling upon him just so.”
“And while I was peeking at him,” continued Miss Jarvis, “he suddenly turned to me and asked, ‘Miss Jarby, how do you like the patch for your prosthesis?” She and Jane giggled.
“Annabel almost screamed to be caught out—”
“No, Jane, it was not only being caught staring, it was that I had no idea what my ‘prosthesis’ could be, but it sounded dreadful.”
“I don’t know what it means either, but the library has a copy of Mr. Johnson’s Dictionary,” suggested Frances. “Perhaps you might look it up there.”
“Never mind what ‘prosthesis’ means,” her cousin reproved. “Mr. Hearne of course referred to your strabismus, Annabel, only he is such a blockhead he could not recall the proper word.”
“Well, the two words aren’t a bit alike!
If he had called it my ‘bismuth’ or my ‘starboard’ that might have been excused.
In any event, Miss Barstow, being utterly confounded as to his meaning, I told him in my most freezing tones, ‘That remains to be seen.’ He then replied, ‘Exactly,’ and we ended no wiser than we were to begin with. ”
The young ladies had reached the upper field where the haymakers had begun the harvest, and they stopped to admire the lines of mowers with their scythes, swinging in rhythm, while the tedders followed, tossing the cut grass in the air and spreading it to dry in the sun.
“I love the country already!” declared Jane, taking a deep, satisfied breath. “You are so fortunate, Frances, to live here all the year round. The quiet, the air, the space, the liberty…”
“Iffley isn’t the country, precisely,” Frances told her, feeling pleased nonetheless.
“Not with Oxford so near. Why, if you chose, you might walk from Oriel College to this very spot in an hour. Though I suppose that would entail a two-hour walk, all told. But you would always be welcome to call upon us for refreshment, and Iffley Cottage is even closer to you.”
“A two-hour walk!” repeated Jane. “You overestimate me, Frances.”
“I always thought of town girls as lucky,” Frances admitted.
“I don’t mean London—London is another matter altogether.
But at Oxford you are in the thick of things.
There are so many people, many of them young, and there are all the shops and booksellers and comings and goings!
You might not remember that play Mrs. Dere and I attended with you four years ago, but I do.
Such things are not usual with me, so I thought on it often afterward. ”
“That play!” cried Jane. “Romeo and Juliet, was it not? Of course I remember, but not because of the quality of the play. Those were only students, you know, because in Oxford itself the traveling companies aren’t allowed to perform.
One has to go to Abingdon or Banbury or some such, which means I’ve hardly seen many plays myself, other than those got up by students. ”
“Truly, Jane?” Frances laughed. “When I met you, I thought you were so superior to me.”
“Likely she put on airs,” said Miss Jarvis, lifting her patch for just a moment to fix her good eye on Jane.
“I know I did,” Jane agreed cheerfully. “And I remember the occasion because it wasn’t every day I met another girl who didn’t already know how ordinary I was!
But what sort of cousin and companion are you, Annabel, to expose me so?
You’d better keep your patch in place, if you know what’s good for your proboscis. ”
She and Frances fell to laughing, and even Miss Jarvis smiled.
“But really, Frances, if I was insufferable when you met me before—”
“Not insufferable! I only meant I felt provincial next to you.”
“—It was a sham. Ask anyone who knew me from school. I am a lieutenant, not a general. And while I am being completely honest, I will confess I am afraid of this matchmaking business. It was like something took hold of Mama in the last year, and then she could think of nothing else but my being married! If I told you how many times she pointed Mr. Midgecomb out to me…! I had to affect utter indifference in self-defense! Not that it did me any good, in the end, because that only made her devise this party scheme.”
“And? You have now spent two days in company with the gentleman, so surely you have made your decision,” teased Frances. “Not only is Mr. Midgecomb fond of you, but he turns music well.”
“You may laugh, Frances, but I was glad I was spared a tête-à-tête with Mama at breakfast because I knew she would interrogate me on the subject.”
“Did you not speak with Mr. Midgecomb at dinner?” asked Frances.
“We tried, but his nerves still keep him tongue-tied when he addresses me.”
“That will only improve with time, so let us hope that when his tongue is loosened, he will have sensible things to say. I myself sat beside Mr. Tilson, and he proved both sensible and agreeable. Moreover, because of our conversation, I can now picture his face in my mind easily, which I could not do before.”
Jane elbowed her. “Are you indeed picturing his face in your mind now, Frances? I will try not to fall in love with him, then.”
“Pooh. Fall away.”
They were a smaller gathering for dinner, and, glancing about, Frances suspected this would be the usual company for the duration of the house party.
Mrs. Eveleigh had politely told Mrs. Barstow the previous evening that any and all of her family were welcome to join them for dinners, and Mrs. Barstow had just as politely thanked her and said it would be more likely that Sarah and her children accepted her offer, in various combinations.
On this occasion, however, Sarah had remained at Iffley Cottage to help put up the abundance of raspberries, an arduous task requiring much stirring over a low fire and pressing through a colander, so it was only Maria and Gordon who ventured over in the pony cart.
And of course the Deres and Terrys could not be expected to spend all their time at Greenwood Hall, leaving only Peter Dere to run over from Perryfield and George Denver from the rectory.
Therefore they were eleven at table that evening—a few too many for general conversation—and as the Eveleighs’ paid all due attention to precedence, Frances supposed this would be the usual “young people” configuration, with Sarah’s presence only moving Frances from Mr. Eveleigh’s right hand to his left and placing Mr. Tilson either across from her or beside her.
It also meant Mr. Midgecomb would have every chance in the world to win both Mrs. Eveleigh and her daughter because he would always be seated between the two, with Mr. Hearne always opposite and at the longest diagonal as possible from Frances.
It hardly matters where Mr. Hearne is placed, she told herself, for he never seems to speak unless spoken to, and smiles upon the fish course and his fellow guests with equal warmth.
Yes, Mr. Tilson made a far better dinner partner, and they spoke easily of the morning’s activities.
By the time the dessert of nuts, olives, and dried fruits had been removed and the company rose to retire to the drawing room, Frances had learned the young men spent the morning in “letter-writing, reading, and some exploration of the country roundabout, walking as far as Temple Cowley.”
“Goodness! How strenuous. You had better hope no one suggests dancing, or you might all collapse in a heap.”
“Bother! We may not be such regular walkers as you, Miss Barstow, but we are not so feeble as that,” Mr. Tilson answered. “We did, however, have other hopes for how the evening may be spent…”
“Yes? I will help you, if I can.”
“We thought we might hear more music from you young ladies or read extracts from Enfield’s The Speaker.”
“Let it be The Speaker, by all means,” said Frances, glad to find the girls’ plans coinciding with the young men’s, and she wondered briefly if Mr. Hearne had anything to do with that.
She and Jane and Miss Jarvis had all spent time practicing on the Perryfield pianoforte when they called, and they had not played their entire repertoires the evening before, but they would certainly have no objection to postponing the next musical recital. “I will make the suggestion, sir.”
But to her surprise, when she sat beside Jane Eveleigh, who had been bidden by her mother to prepare the tea, Mr. Hearne ambled up to her, book in hand.
“Here is The Speaker, Miss Barstow.” He tapped his temple as he had in the library. “You see? Miss Barstow. Your name has made its way in.”