Chapter 4 #2
“I have not spoken to him, my lady.” Mrs. Penrose went over to the fire and removed the pot. “I understand the stream will feed the sluicing and washing at the mine.”
Lady Radcliffe’s chest rose—in indignation, Frederick was nearly certain—but she caught his gaze, and her shoulders lowered immediately. “I see. I shall ask him for a gate to be put in, and I have no doubt he will oblige.”
“I would not wish to trouble him, my lady,” Mrs. Penrose said as she poured hot water into three cups. “I have no right to the water. It is his land.”
Lady Radcliffe smiled, her face warm with amusement and affection.
“It is I who will trouble him, Eliza, not you. Besides, I am sure it merely slipped his mind that a fence would inhibit your access. With all the water that runs through that stream, he shan’t begrudge you what is required for your garden and laundering.
But I confess, I hope you shall not be obliged to continue either for long. ”
Mrs. Penrose looked up as she poured. “What do you mean?”
Frederick was nearly as curious as she.
“Well,” Lady Radcliffe said carefully as she accepted a cup from her friend, “there are a number of things that must first be arranged, but I hope to have a new building constructed on the other side of that very stream.”
Frederick thanked Mrs. Penrose for his cup with a smile and a nod, then returned his gaze to Lady Radcliffe.
“I had hoped,” Lady Radcliffe continued, “that you would agree to be the schoolmistress there.”
Mrs. Penrose’s eyes widened, and she hovered over her seat. “Surely, you cannot mean that.” She lowered herself onto the chair slowly, her eyes on Lady Radcliffe.
“I can and do mean it,” her ladyship replied. “You know as well as I that the vestry is too small and damp to be ideal for a schoolroom, and with Mr. Chaffyn’s impending departure for Truro, we stand in need of a new teacher.”
“Oh, my lady.” Mrs. Penrose covered her mouth with a hand, her eyes glistening. “It would be an honor. You are too good to me.”
“Impossible.” Lady Radcliffe took her friend’s free hand. “There is no one better suited in the borough to the task than you. The children will be the most fortunate in the county to learn at your feet.”
Frederick was keenly aware that he was likely an unwanted audience to this tender exchange, but he did not regret being there to witness it—to see this soft side of Lady Radcliffe, who had kept him at arms’ length so far.
Lady Radcliffe’s gaze shifted to Frederick for a moment, then behind him. “Is that from the Navy Board?”
Mrs. Penrose followed her gaze to the table, where a letter sat. “No. It is from Captain Rathmore—you remember him?”
Lady Radcliffe nodded. “Samuel’s friend from the Navy, was he not?”
“Yes. In fact, he was promoted to captain after…” She cleared her throat and smiled. “He is much occupied, of course, but he is good to write every now and then and see how I am getting on.”
Lady Radcliffe smiled. “I am glad for it. Perhaps he can persuade the Navy Board to hasten the process.”
What process this was, Frederick did not know, and as the conversation shifted, he was destined to remain in ignorance.
Once they had partaken of their tea, Frederick and Lady Radcliffe said their goodbyes.
“I shall speak with Oswald as soon it as can be managed,” Lady Radcliffe promised. “It is ridiculous for you to make such a long and arduous trek when the stream is so near.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Mrs. Penrose said with feeling. “And it was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yorke.”
He bowed. “The pleasure was all mine, I assure you.”
Once he and Lady Radcliffe were on the lane toward the village again, it was quiet between them for a time. Her ladyship seemed to be in a reflective mood.
“What happened to her husband?” Frederick asked gently.
“He was a captain in the Navy, but he died at Lissa. She has yet to receive the pension she is due.”
Frederick grimaced.
“Just so. It has been very trying for her.”
“I can imagine,” Frederick said as a few raindrops sprinkled on them.
“Can you?”
He looked at Lady Radcliffe, who met his gaze squarely.
“Can you imagine what it is like to be gently bred, only to be forced to grow vegetables and wash other people’s linens to put food on your table?
To find the man you love and build a life with him, only to have that life snatched from your fingers?
To have to choose whether to listen to your stomach growl or hire a boat to go out fishing for food? ”
Frederick said nothing, thinking of his unvoiced complaints about his room at The Silver Pilchard. They seemed ridiculous compared to the plights she spoke of.
Lady Radcliffe kept her gaze on him for a few more seconds, then turned it ahead. “Mrs. Penrose’s situation is but one of hundreds in Trelowen, Mr. Yorke, and you are familiar with hers only in small part.”
“Perhaps so, but I can learn.”
She was clearly distraught by her friend’s plight and hoped for a connection that could help resolve it. Frederick had such connections—the type Mr. Oswald could not possibly possess.
He gritted his teeth, for he had promised himself not to use his brother’s name. Frederick was fortunate he could even stand for election on his own merits, for he had little property to his name. Just enough to meet the requirements.
But he had also promised he would do everything in his power to succeed at his goal. “I have connections that can benefit Trelowen and its people in ways you cannot imagine. My brother is the Duke of Rockwood—”
“Your brother might be the King himself, sir, and it would not change how I feel.” Lady Radcliffe pulled up on the reins, and Frederick followed suit.
“Why not?” he asked.
“You think my husband had no connections in London? That Brightmoor had none? What good did those do us?”
Frederick said nothing.
“In my experience, the men who boast of such connections use them only for themselves. To you, Mr. Yorke, Trelowen is naught but a feather in your cap.”
Frederick shook his head, but she pressed on before he could speak.
“Forgive me, but you have no more notion how to serve Trelowen than one of my fishermen would know how to drive a high-perch phaeton. I have already decided who I shall support in the coming by-election, and it is not and shall not be you. Allow me to take this opportunity to remind you once again that London is that way.” She nodded ahead.
Her words were intended to wipe out whatever flame of hope flickered within him, but somehow, they did the opposite.
More than ever, Frederick wanted to prove that he was worthy of her support, that she had misjudged him. In him, she saw a charlatan, an imposter.
But while he might not know everything about Trelowen, he would be a worthy MP if given the chance.
He held her gaze, matching her confidence with his own. “I am not going anywhere, Lady Radcliffe.”
Her nostrils flared slightly, but her mouth lifted at one corner.
“The more fool you. Good day, Mr. Yorke.” She urged her horse onto the lane that branched off of the current one, and though he watched her ride off, she never once turned back to look at him before the view of her was swallowed by the trees.