Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Good morning, Mrs. Dere,” Mrs. Barstow greeted her when courtesies had been exchanged. “I hope you left the baron well?”
“Very well. Though we were greatly surprised by a letter we received this morning from Mr. Adam Hearne. I have been given to understand you received one as well.”
“We did, yes,” admitted Mrs. Barstow, bracing herself for what lay ahead. She was not a woman built on the same majestic scale as Mrs. Markham Dere, but she could summon dignity enough when pressed. “A very well-written, manly, honest letter, I felt.”
“May I see it?”
After a hesitation, Mrs. Barstow relinquished it, and Mrs. Dere gave it a swift perusal.
“Yes,” she said when she had finished. “It is very like ours.”
Frances could not help herself. “Might we—hear yours, madam?”
With her most beneficent smile, the mistress of Perryfield produced it. “Read it aloud if you like, Frances.”
Like Lord Dere, Frances would rather have examined it privately first, but she obeyed. “‘Dear Sir,’” she read, “‘I take the liberty of writing to you in hopes of explaining myself, my recent visit to Iffley having ended in a manner unsatisfactory to all.
‘As you and everyone else learned after the play performance, the Adam Hearne I presented during my stay at Greenwood Hall was not in truth the same Adam Hearne my family and Oxford acquaintance would recognize.
I had in fact assumed, from the time of my first meeting the Eveleigh family, the persona of a simpleton, for lack of a better word, a disguise I maintained throughout my time in Iffley until my discovery.
‘The only excuse I can offer for my conduct you will find inadequate, I fear.
Not being marriage-minded myself, I had promised Mr. Midgecomb I would not interfere with his own attempts to win a bride, and this was the trick I chose on the impulse of a moment when we met the Eveleighs in the High Street.
I had no idea they would then proceed to invite us for an extended stay in Iffley, thus obligating me to continue the ruse and my friends to uphold it.
The complications soon multiplied, as such things tend to do.
‘It was never, never my intention to ridicule the kind people I met, and many were the times I wished I might simply throw off the disguise and begin again as myself. If, through your goodness, I am fortunate enough to secure a pardon, this is the very thing I would like to do upon returning to Oxford. I cannot say at present when this might be, but I hope before the close of the Michaelmas term. Sir, if you would kindly respond to this and tell me if such a thing is possible, you will find me your obliged and humble servant, Adam Hearne.’”
A little silence met this, Frances hastily folding the sheet and returning it to Mrs. Dere before anyone noticed how her hand shook.
Not being “marriage-minded” himself? What did that mean?
Did it mean he had changed his mind when he met her, or were their exchanges just a pastime, an amusing “complication” of the ruse?
She would never know unless the Deres permitted Mr. Hearne to show himself in Iffley again.
“As you see, Mrs. Dere, it is very like the letter I received,” Mrs. Barstow rejoined. “Apart from the additional line in mine saying how the small rehearsals at Iffley Cottage were particularly fond memories.”
“But—has the baron said how he will reply?” Frances asked.
Mrs. Dere’s lips compressed further. “Need you ask? Sadly, it is a simple matter to take advantage of my uncle’s too-soft heart.”
(The Barstows knew well that Mrs. Dere considered their very presence in Iffley Cottage a case in point, but the sting of their dependency had blunted through overfamiliarity, and they waited for her to continue.)
“I saw he had forgiven him at once! As if that man had done no more than dribbled wine upon the tablecloth, or something like! Therefore I insisted on helping the baron write his reply, which I have already entrusted to Wood to give to Mrs. Lamb.”
“Then…he was not forgiven?” persisted Frances with a sinking heart.
Mrs. Dere heaved an un-Mrs.-Dere-like sigh.
“He was,” she admitted. “The baron would not hear otherwise. But I made him add that, though he bore Mr. Hearne no ill will, he unfortunately thought it inadvisable for him to return to Iffley anytime soon, and that, if he did, he could not vouch for him being as widely received as before.”
“You mean you will not receive him at Perryfield?” gasped Mrs. Barstow, unable to prevent a glance at Frances.
“I will not.”
“Oh, Mrs. Dere. I am very sorry to hear it.”
“You are familiar with the Italian proverb? ‘Sbagliare è umano, perseverare è diabolico’?” She paused to allow this wisdom to penetrate, but then gave an impatient twitch at Maria and Gordon’s puzzlement.
“In essence, Mr. Hearne has fooled us once, to his shame, but if we allow him to do it again, the more fools we.”
“Oh, Mrs. Dere,” said Mrs. Barstow again, holding up helpless palms, “I do not think he means to deceive us again. Ever. I believe the sincerity of his apology.”
Drawing herself up, to the very tip of her chin and nose, Mrs. Dere regarded her with stony incredulity. “Do you mean to say, Camilla, that you intend not only to grant Mr. Hearne your pardon, but that you will receive him again, here at Iffley Cottage?”
Every Barstow (and one Langworthy) held his breath.
Mrs. Markham Dere being the cross they must bear to enjoy the baron’s grace and favor, they had never before flouted her will if they could possibly avoid it.
Moreover, for the past several years, there had always been Frances standing in the gap to keep the woman content.
What would happen if both those Rubicons must be passed?
Mrs. Barstow swallowed audibly, but when her voice emerged, it was steady. “I will. I will receive him here. I could not feel—that is, a pardon would not be an entire pardon for me, if I gave it with such a condition.”
If possible, Mrs. Dere straightened still further, until she gave the impression of being seven feet tall. “Am I to understand that you would deliberately oppose the baron’s and my wishes in this matter?”
Mrs. Barstow did not need to look about her, to feel the wordless urging of her family. That’s it, Mama! You tell her, Mama! Nor did she need to hear them to know that, even while they encouraged her, they did so with inward trembling.
“I—do not mean to oppose you or Lord Dere,” she replied at last. “Almost everything we have we owe to the baron’s generosity. We could never forget this. But, yes. Should Mr. Hearne call at Iffley Cottage again, I would receive him. And—and I intend to write to him and say as much.”
Mrs. Dere’s demeanor could have frozen a lake in midsummer. “I see. I see. Camilla—if I might have a word apart with you and Frances?”
If she had asked the others to line up and have their legs chopped off, please, they could not have obeyed with more reluctance.
But when they withdrew—Mrs. Dere even marching over to the door to ensure they were not lingering just on the other side—she folded her arms over her chest and regarded them.
“Frances, have you shared with your mother what passed between you and Mr. Hearne?”
“If you are referring to his proposal of marriage, Mrs. Dere, then yes, she has.”
“I did, yes, madam.”
“But don’t you see? That cannot be considered an honorable offer, under the circumstances!
Camilla, I understand you wishing your daughter to marry well.
This Mr. Hearne seems to have independent fortune enough and—somehow—a respected name and the esteem of his peers.
I confess I liked him myself for these reasons and for that purpose, until I learned of his dishonesty.
Then I was glad Frances refused him! And I would have you be glad too.
You must take care to weigh his actions against his worldly advantages. ”
For the first time that day, Mrs. Barstow lost her temper, and her mild blue eyes flashed.
“Mrs. Dere, if you believe I would approve of any marriage between Frances and a dishonest man, no matter his ‘worldly advantages,’ you mistake me. When I say he has been pardoned and may return to call upon us, it was specifically so that Frances, whose judgment I trust, could determine for herself whether or not she liked him. Liked him as he truly is.”
“As he chooses to present himself on the next occasion!” cried Mrs. Dere, flaming up in turn.
“A man who begins by acting a part rarely ends in putting all deceit aside. You must tell her, Frances. You must tell your mother that no further interviews with Mr. Hearne will be necessary. He passed himself off as an agreeable gentleman and will doubtless do so again, but we will have none of it.”
“I—”
“But Mrs. Dere, what would Mr. Hearne have to gain, if he were to pursue a girl like my Frances? She is a diamond, and we love her, but for a man of ‘worldly advantages’ she has little to offer. If he were to return to Iffley, therefore, it could only be from affection!”
“Oh? And would a connection to the baron and Perryfield be nothing? The baron, with his wealth and influence, who has showered favor upon his dependents? Nothing to be gained, indeed! Tell her, Frances. Tell her you want no more to do with the man. There will be other gentlemen in the future, ones without such a stain upon them.”
But Frances could not, could not tell her what she wanted to hear. She advanced a step closer to her benefactress, lifting a placating hand. She had smoothed Mrs. Dere’s feelings a hundred times over the years, but never had so much been at stake.
“Mrs. Dere, you know how much I value your opinion. How often I have relied on your judgment,” she began. “How grateful I have been for your generosity and favor.”
“But…?” prompted that woman ominously.
Frances thought she might sway, her heart flew with such dizzying rapidity.
“But I feel this is so personal a situation that I must trust my own judgment most of all. That is all I ask—a chance to meet Mr. Hearne again and to discover for myself who he might be at bottom and—and whether I might like that person.”
“I have done here, then,” snapped Mrs. Dere, collecting her bonnet and gloves. “If you will be fools, be fools. If you will act in express contravention to Perryfield and what I ask of you—if you will show yourself so undutiful, so ungrateful—”
“Mrs. Dere—”
“No, let me go, Camilla. You have drawn a line, and I will stay to my side of it. Indeed, if Mr. Hearne shows his face in Iffley again—if any of them do—then everyone must decide which side of the line he will take. Good day to you. I will show myself out.”