Chapter Eighteen
The whole Truth is the best antidote to Falsehoods which are dangerous chiefly because they are half-truths.
Frances was not a bit surprised when Mrs. Dere asked to speak with her apart, even requesting that she pick her up in the pony cart for a ride the following day.
“We might leave Chauncey at Perryfield again now,” Frances suggested when Mrs. Dere climbed in. “The days are so long and the weather so fine, and we are all used to walking back and forth to Greenwood Hall. I daresay the poor pony misses home. He pulled quite eagerly when I set him toward it.”
“If you like,” her benefactress answered, clearly having more pressing matters to discuss. “Perhaps we might drive down to Littlemore and return by way of Cowley? I will not beat about the bush because I know you young people have plans.”
Such a route would be longer than Chauncey had been driven for weeks now, but Frances made no objection and clicked her tongue to the pony. At least driving would give her an occupation while Mrs. Dere had her say out, and she need not look her directly in the eye when she lied.
If she lied.
If she found it possible to lie.
“I am pleased with you, Frances,” began Mrs. Dere when they turned into the Wallingford road.
“I always knew you to be a rational, biddable girl, not given to flightiness or insisting on your own way. You have been a good example this summer to Jane Eveleigh and to your sister Maria, and if all girls followed your lead, there would be far less nonsense in the world.”
“Thank you, madam,” said Frances, finding the praise contrarily unsettling. What dreadful thing would Mrs. Dere now put to her, to which she must acquiesce to maintain the woman’s high opinion?
“I asked you to give Mr. Hearne serious consideration, and I believe you have,” Mrs. Dere continued. “In fact, if I am not mistaken in my observations, you have grown fond of him and he of you.”
Frances’ hands tightened on Chauncey’s reins. No, no, no! This was not the impression Mrs. Dere should have! Could all that silly ogling and smiling she had wasted on Mr. Midgecomb and Mr. Tilson been for naught?
The pony slowed in response to the tug on him, only to have Frances follow it with a frantic flap. Reproachfully his ears flicked backward, but he gave a little lurch and resumed his earlier pace.
Still struggling to control her panic, Frances did not know if it made matters better or worse that, underneath it, she was nevertheless aware of a twinge of satisfaction: Mrs. Dere thought Mr. Hearne fond of her, despite Jane Eveleigh’s efforts to charm him?
The thought of Jane gave her momentary heart. She had made the Eveleighs a promise regarding Mr. Hearne, after all. Could she use this now as her escape?
No. Not yet. Let her keep that in reserve.
“Yes…” Frances ventured, “Mr. Hearne is just as agreeable as you told me, I have learned, but—but that does not mean his friends are—less so. Agreeable, that is.”
She did not have to glance over to picture Mrs. Dere’s raised eyebrows and tightened mouth, and for a solid minute there were no sounds beyond Chauncey’s hoofs striking the road and the creak of leather and cart.
“Are you saying, Frances,” resumed her companion after this interval, “that you find all three gentlemen equally likeable? Equally appealing?”
“Er—”
“That you make no distinction among them?”
Frances then hastened to make all the distinctions she could.
“Of course Mr. Hearne is the handsomest and Mr. Tilson the plainest,” she said.
“And I believe you told me Mr. Midgecomb has the best connections and the most money. Mr. Midgecomb is probably the cleverest as well, and Mr. Hearne the—the—” It would hardly do to say “the stupidest,” but Frances hoped it did not need saying.
“Just so.”
The cultivated strips of the Broad Field stretched away on their left toward Cowley as they approached Littlemore, and they could see the haymakers’ work was done.
“Let us halt here, Frances. There is space beside the road and never mind Littlemore. We must speak plainly and understand each other.”
With sinking heart, Frances obeyed, and when they were at a standstill, she faced her benefactress with what she prayed was a serene countenance.
“Are you telling me, Frances,” Mrs. Dere recommenced ominously, “that, apart from these observations, which might have been made on the very first day you met the Greenwood gentlemen, you have come no further in your understanding of them, despite all the time spent in their company?”
“Well—” she held up her palms, knowing it would only vex Mrs. Dere further if she added silly little things like Mr. Tilson dancing like a plowman.
“And are you telling me that you like them all equally, having no preference, one above another?” Mrs. Dere went on in the same disquieting tone.
Frances swallowed. “Madam, I do like Mr. Hearne’s looks the best—anyone would—but there is no denying he is—somewhat dull-witted.
It is not shyness, as you supposed. At least, he is not shy with me.
But when he does speak, it is—it can be—a slow and plodding process.
” Even as she spoke, she knew this was not entirely fair.
Mr. Hearne was indeed slow and plodding, but he often had surprisingly interesting things to say, when all was said and done.
The most interesting example being his confession that he liked her. Her mind, her person, and her family.
“And I like Mr. Midgecomb in general,” she carried on. “Especially now that he has gained in confidence and no longer stammers and stutters. And—well—who doesn’t like Mr. Tilson?”
“Are you saying the good qualities of each of these gentlemen counterbalance each other, and that, if any one of them were to make you an offer, you would consider him as agreeable as the next?”
“Oh—I don’t know about that.”
“Frances,” said Mrs. Dere again. “You are not a silly girl, but you are answering me like one. I will not deny that you have been…generous with your smiles and attention lately, but I attributed that to your characteristic friendliness and high spirits. Some might have called it flirting, but I knew you were too sensible for that. Unlike Miss Eveleigh, who, I am sorry to say, grows sillier by the day. From showing no interest whatsoever in young men, she now seems to think of little else. She will lose her chance with Mr. Midgecomb is she is not careful. But she is not my concern. My concern is you. Tell me frankly, Frances, what would you do if any of them proposed to you?”
“Have you considered, madam, that, if Jane and I are being silly, perhaps the young men are too?” she prevaricated. “That perhaps they have not made up their minds any more than we have?”
But Mrs. Dere was too intent to be led down another path. “That might be the case, but it is not my present concern any more than Jane Eveleigh. Answer my question, please.”
The crisis upon her, Frances learned it was one thing to indulge in daydreams about deceiving Mrs. Dere, and another altogether to sit with her two inches away and lie to her face.
“I would refuse them all,” she whispered.
Mrs. Dere drew a long breath. “All? In spite of claiming you find them universally agreeable?”
“Yes.” She was scarcely audible.
“You are merely flirting, then?”
This Frances could not bear. Because it wasn’t true! Later she would think Mrs. Dere might have been wilier than she realized because the accusation worked. Frances heard herself telling the truth, cost what it might.
“I will make a full confession,” she said softly.
“And you will be angry with me, but you are perhaps already angry with me. I’m afraid it is true that, with Mr. Midgecomb and Mr. Tilson, I was merely flirting.
Because you seemed to like Mr. Hearne for me, and I did not want him, so I thought I had better have an excuse not to accept him.
At first I thought Mr. Midgecomb would be completely safe to…
encourage…because he was so fond of Jane, but now I cannot tell.
So then I thought I had better transfer my attention to Mr. Tilson, but, while he is truly an agreeable companion, I don’t care for him in that way at all. ”
“So, not the least bit ‘equally agreeable,’” said Mrs. Dere. “And you thought all this trickery necessary, simply to avoid having to accept Mr. Hearne, if he were to ask you?”
“…Yes, madam. I thought it best.”
“And your liking for Mr. Hearne has not increased? I will concede that he is not a quick man. Not a clever one. He will not be the first to arrive at an idea. But he does not strike me therefore as a stupid one. Once he has gone through his process of deliberation, he seems as capable of reason and even insight as those with more obvious, more superficial wit.”
“Perhaps.”
“Only see how much wit he can put into his acting. If he were the thorough blockhead you suppose, I do not think he would be capable of it.”
“Perhaps,” Frances repeated. Though part of her—and not a tiny part—agreed with Mrs. Dere’s assessment. “He is indeed a good actor,” she admitted.
“I will tell you candidly that I persist in thinking him the best match of the three and persist as well in thinking you might learn to like him if you let yourself. The other two have not grown on me in the same way, though they seem respectable enough; therefore Miss Eveleigh is welcome to them.”
“Miss Eveleigh—Jane—has told me she prefers Mr. Hearne,” Frances blurted, before she could think whether or not she had been told in confidence. Though how could Mrs. Eveleigh suppose Frances would not tell Mrs. Dere? It was entirely possibly Mrs. Dere already knew from Mrs. Eveleigh herself.
That Mrs. Eveleigh had said nothing, however, was plain from the sharp look Mrs. Dere threw her.
Her bosom rose and fell, but her voice when it emerged was steady enough.
“Well. To each according to his taste. I will only say that, if Mr. Hearne prefers Jane Eveleigh to you, I will end in thinking him a blockhead after all.”