Chapter Twenty-Three #2
The whole story was soon told (leaving out only Mr. Hearne kissing her), and Bash did run in and ask for his slice of cheese on bread, which his grandmother supplied as quickly as she could, but when he had run away again to enjoy it in the kitchen yard, Mrs. Barstow said, “You did right to refuse him, Frances, as far as you knew. Of course a lively, thinking girl like you would not have been happy with a husband whose mind could not…keep up with your own.”
“Mrs. Dere did not share your opinion. I didn’t mean her to know—and certainly not before you, Mama—but when she forced the truth from me, she told me she wished I had accepted him, thinking him the best match of the three. She also thought it a point in his favor that he preferred me.”
Her mother drew a deep breath. “Yes. Well. I would agree with that last, but you know already that Mrs. Dere and I are by no means universally in agreement.”
“It was not that I did not like him at all,” Frances went on. She had taken up some of the discarded grasses and now wound them in a twist. “I discovered he could have interesting things to say, given enough time. And—and he was kind and talented at acting and of course handsome—”
“And now that you learn he was not as simple as you thought, you find yourself reconsidering?” Mrs. Barstow finished when Frances broke off.
Her daughter sighed. “Yes. That’s it. Do you know, Mama, I even think Mr. Hearne was the true acting manager of the whole play because Mr. Midgecomb was always looking toward him, as if for approval.
But it all doesn’t matter now, does it? It doesn’t matter about any good qualities I thought he possessed.
It doesn’t matter that he kindly helped Miss Jarvis with her strabismus, or that he would not consent to wagering on us when Mr. Tilson wanted to.
Because if he is not stupid, it cannot be denied that he is a liar.
That he came among us—they all did—under false pretenses. ”
“Yes.” Mrs. Barstow echoed Frances’ sigh.
“Did—Papa ever lie to you, Mama? Or present himself as something other than what he was?”
“Never! Not once. Your father was honesty itself.”
Frances’ hopes quailed before such a round reply, and her mother must have seen it because she hurried to add, “Though I daresay, if Mr. Midgecomb put Mr. Hearne up to it, perhaps that is some excuse.”
Hating her own eagerness in wanting to seize upon this, Frances punished herself by replying, “Yes, I have thought that, but need they have continued with it? Need they have made us all feel ridiculous?”
“No, they need not have,” admitted her mother with a sorrowful look, “though sometimes lying is like that. It quickly grows out of hand.”
“Mama—I wish I could know more. I fear my curiosity and—doubt—will eat me up otherwise.”
“What are you saying, my dear?”
“That I wish I could go to Oxford and speak with Mr. Tilson or Mr. Midgecomb and just ask them what they were about. Jane says Mr. Tilson said Mr. Hearne was not in Oxford, you know.”
“Even if young ladies could call on young gentlemen thus, Mr. Hearne’s friends would certainly inform him of your visit.”
Frances drooped. “You’re right. Of course they would. And then I suppose he would imagine I was chasing him.”
Putting an arm about her shoulders, Mrs. Barstow said, “If you can be patient, sweeting, we might ask George to do a little prying for us when he returns for Michaelmas term.”
Frances brightened. “Why, there’s an idea! It will mean waiting a couple months for answers, but I don’t mind that. Then, even if George fumbles and bumbles and they guess I am behind the questions, after two months they will think me only idly curious, rather than desperate.”
Laughing, her mother gave her another squeeze. “That’s my girl. Besides, if Mr. Hearne really can provide some excuse for his perfidy, the longer Mrs. Dere’s temper has to cool, the more likely she will re-admit him to her good graces.”
A fortnight onward, a weary and rumpled Adam Hearne descended from the coach at the Angel Inn. After arranging for his trunk to follow, he trudged along the High Street toward Christ Church, passing under Tom Tower where the porter called, “Back for the feast, are you, Mr. Hearne?”
“Is it a feast day?” he asked, frowning.
He had looked forward to a quiet meal in his rooms, but if he meant to ask a favor of the dean, it wouldn’t do to shun the dinner in Hall.
In his current mood, the donning of dark coat, breeches, and gown for the procession to the high table sounded tiresome, but that would be nothing to how long the eating and drinking might run.
His friends found him at once.
Throwing himself in an armchair, Midge told the whole sorry tale of his failed proposal, while Tilson perched in the window seat, adding his own commentary.
“It’s over,” Midge concluded in dismal tones.
“It was as if all the progress I made this summer had never been. She thinks me a fool and wants nothing to do with me, which means I must dodge the Eveleighs the rest of my life, or at least until she is married to some luckier man and gone away to haunt me no more.”
Sadly lacking in sympathy, Adam straightened from his wash-stand, water still dripping from his face. “But you say her parents have forgiven you?”
“That is to say, they’ve forgiven the future Earl Witherwood,” grinned Tilson.
“Still, I admit my opinion of the lady rose in inverse proportion to my disappointment with the parents, for the possibility of one day being Countess Witherwood made no difference to her. Unlike me, she must not find long odds irresistible. I would have liked her even more if she or that Miss Jarvis had lent me a few quid at the races. Then you would have found me a rich man today!”
“Rich, fiddlestick,” retorted Midge. “You returned from Port Meadows so well oiled that you probably would have dropped the coins in the gutter before you could put them on anything.”
Tilson had the grace to give a rueful chuckle.
“You might be right about that. And Adam, I may as well confess to you too that I talked nineteen to the dozen at the races and may have let slip an unsavory detail or two. I mean, there we were at the betting post, so I might have mentioned us betting on the young ladies—”
“You what?” choked Adam. “To Miss Eveleigh?”
“And Miss Jarvis,” Midge interposed.
“But we didn’t bet,” protested Hearne. “That was the whole point!”
“—Yes, well, I’m pretty sure I said I was the main culprit.
Accepted full responsibility. Pretty sure.
” Screwing up his features, Tilson considered the ceiling.
“I couldn’t swear to it. Whatever came out of me, they did look shocked and ran away directly, but still—” Seeing his friend groan and throw down the cloth with which he had dried his face, Tilson added defensively, “Oh, come now, Hearne! Don’t tell me you’re going to turn musty moralist on me.
I suppose now you think you must dodge the Eveleighs as well? ”
“It’s not the Eveleighs I care about,” was Adam’s curt reply. “It’s who they’ll tell.”
“Who? Barnes?” Tilson referred to the college’s censor theologiae, the dean’s deputy, responsible for Christ Church discipline. “I daresay he’s heard worse. And we didn’t even bet after all, more’s the pity.”
“I don’t care about Barnes either. I meant Miss Eveleigh’s friends in Iffley, the Barstows in particular.”
“What about them? The chances of seeing any of them again are infinitesimal. No dodging necessary.”
Adam shook his head. “I don’t intend to dodge the Barstows.
Quite the opposite. I intend to win back their good opinion, if at all possible.
” See the questions bubble to their lips, he took up the sodden cloth again and began to fold it in neat thirds.
“Because I intend to marry Miss Barstow, if she’ll have me. ”
“You? Marry?” gasped Midge.
“But you swore you’d had enough family unhappiness for one lifetime,” Tilson reminded him.
“So I have, with more to come, it looks like,” Adam rejoined grimly.
“Perhaps no other outcome was possible, when my father married my mother. But I am not my father, and Miss Barstow is not my mother. By marrying her—” his voice cracked.
He could not say such words lightly. “—That is, if she will have me, I would wriggle my way into her family and so share in the happiness they possess in abundance.”
“Well, there’s one of us made,” Midge complained after a silence. “You’ll be engaged before you can say Jack Robinson because no lady can resist your cursed face.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” replied Adam, repressing a sigh.
Miss Barstow had resisted his cursed face easily enough when she thought him empty-headed; would anything change now that she thought him deceitful?
And then he’d been fool enough to steal a kiss from her, adding insult to injury!
Though how he could have been expected to resist he couldn’t say, with her fresh, pretty face come so close to his own.
“To bad you didn’t take my bet,” said Tilson. “Miss Barstow’s odds weren’t as long as Miss Jarvis’, but they would have paid nicely. What’s your plan of attack? Are you sprucing up to go and present yourself at once?”
“I can’t now. I’m expected in elsewhere and returned to Oxford only to secure Jackson’s permission to take a leave of absence.”
“Leave of absence!” echoed his friends.
“For Michaelmas Term only. I hope. More unhappy family business which cannot be put off. But I have been working on a letter to Miss Barstow’s mother and one to Lord Dere, in which I beg all their pardons again, because I would like to call upon them when I return and not have doors slammed in my face. ”
A pained groan escaped Midge. “May you have better luck with the groveling strategy than I did.”
Taking up his gown, Adam regarded it distractedly. “A good reminder. I suppose now I had better include a paragraph of additional groveling about those nonexistent wagers because that news has doubtless made its way to Iffley as well.”
“Mea culpa. Mea culpa,” mock-mourned Tilson, beating his breast.
“And fair warning, Midge,” Hearne continued, ignoring this, “now that Miss Eveleigh has rejected you decisively, I hope you will allow me to explain how the ruse came about in the first place. I alone am to blame for the acting of it, but it might soften their hearts to learn why I thought it necessary.”
Another groan from Miles. “Fine. What’s the harm? Make my humiliation complete.”