Chapter 7 #2
Mrs. Penhaligan placed the menu in front of her, but their main topic of discussion was what would be served at the gathering on Saturday. Caroline went through each suggestion one by one, adding her own notes and modifications before handing it back to the housekeeper.
“There be one other thing, m’lady,” she said.
“What is it?”
“A few of the servants be askin’ what time yer ladyship reckons we’ll ’ave done ’ere on Sa’urday.”
Caroline’s brows went up. “Oh?”
“Word is there be a gatherin’ on the beach that evenin’, and they be wantin’ to attend—if they’ve finished their duties, o’course.”
“What sort of gathering?” Caroline did her best to give her servants ample time for recreation, but it was not common for them to ask for it on a day as important and busy as Saturday would be.
The housekeeper gave her a significant look. “I only know what I’ve ’eard, but they say ’tis that London gent. ’E be announcin’ his campaign.”
Caroline frowned. So, he did intend to pursue election. More fool he.
But she failed to see the connection between his campaign and her servants’ desire for permission to attend a party at the beach.
“’E be invitin’ the village, m’lady,” Mrs. Penhaligan explained.
Caroline blinked. “To his campaign announcement?”
“Aye. Least ways, ’tis what they say.”
Caroline did not reply, for she was bemused. What in the world did Mr. Yorke think to accomplish by announcing his candidacy to the villagers, who had no say in the election?
“I told everyone below stairs that ’twas unlikely they’d be able to go, m’lady—no’ with the work we’ll ’ave that day. But I promised I’d ask ’ee. Now I can say I’ve done that.” She smiled and picked up the menu.
“Wait,” Caroline said, emerging from her thoughts. “What do the servants make of Mr. Yorke?”
The housekeeper’s brow ticked. “That all depends whether ’ee be talkin’ of the maids or the footmen, m’lady.
The maids be fair struck by ’im—as good as swoonin’ as they speak of ’im.
” She rolled her eyes indulgently. “The footmen don’t know what to make of ’im.
But I’ll say, there seems to be a great deal of talk ’appenin’ about ’im in all quarters. Curious, people be.”
Of course they were curious. A handsome London gentleman arriving in Trelowen was almost as exciting as if Prinny himself had arrived.
Evidently, Mr. Yorke had taken to heart what she had said about his not understanding the borough and was attempting to rectify that. There was no other explanation for it.
It was politics.
For her servants, however, it was needed excitement after a long, grueling day of work.
“You may tell the servants that, once all duties have been seen to after the gathering here, they may go.”
Mrs. Penhaligan nodded with a slight smile. “They’ll be that ’appy, m’lady.”
Caroline watched her housekeeper leave, her own curiosity over this development growing by the second.
The next morning as she made the ride to see Eliza, she was still mulling over Mr. Yorke’s decision. All of this felt a bit like playing chess—trying to decipher her opponent’s strategy.
That opponent was gathering up his pawns, but he was playing without a king, as far as she could tell. He had no way to win.
Caroline was the kingmaker in Trelowen. And while she did not believe anyone should hold such power, she was glad it was she and not Mr. Yorke who wielded it.
The only way Mr. Yorke’s decision made any sense was if he believed he could win Caroline’s support by persuading the villagers to prefer him to Oswald. He must believe she might shift her patronage to him.
Well, if he thought bringing her delicious fairings—for they certainly had been delicious—and charming impoverished villagers by inviting them to a party would make her change her mind, he was sorely mistaken.
She did not wish for a candidate who was able to charm people into liking him; she wanted one who was both reliable and familiar with Trelowen’s issues. Mr. Yorke was neither; Oswald was both.
As she reached the bend in the road where she had last met Mr. Yorke, she looked around, wondering if he would “happen” upon her again. But the lane was quite empty.
Eliza was in her garden when Caroline arrived, working in the soil, which was damp from rain during the night.
“Oh, no,” Caroline insisted when Eliza saw her and began to push herself up. “Do not get up on my account. I shall join you.”
Rising despite this, Eliza smiled and opened the gate of the small, leaning fence that surrounded the garden. “I am nearly finished.”
Caroline secured her horse’s reins to the loop on the cottage wall, then went to the garden. It was full of broad beans and leeks and gooseberries.
“How are you, dear Eliza?” Caroline took her friend’s dirtied hands.
Eliza attempted to pull them away. “You will sully your gloves.”
“That is precisely what gloves are for,” Caroline said, keeping her grasp on them.
Eliza smiled kindly at her. “I am well enough. Only tired. What of you, my lady?”
“Happy to see you,” she said. “I have been cooped up far too much for the past few days, arranging things for Oswald’s gathering.”
“It is very good of you to host it,” Eliza said, lowering herself to her knees again.
“He is my candidate. Speaking of which…have you heard news of the party Mr. Yorke has arranged to announce his campaign?”
Eliza opened her mouth to respond, but footsteps brought Caroline’s head around.
Mr. Yorke was approaching, a long pole slung across his shoulders, two buckets of water hanging from either end. He had shed his coat and waistcoat, revealing a billowing shirt and a pair of braces.
He smiled.
No wonder he had not been on the road to the cottage. He had beat her here, no doubt hoping to win her over by helping her friend.
“Oh, Mr. Yorke,” Eliza said, hurrying over to him. “You are far too good—and undoubtedly have ruined your back now.”
“Nonsense,” he replied breathlessly as he carefully lowered one bucket to the ground, then the other. “It was an invigorating walk.” He bowed. “Good day, Lady Radcliffe.”
She gave a little nod, her initial annoyance at him giving way to confusion as she looked at her friend. “What of the gate?”
Eliza gave a grimacing smile.
“Has it not been put in?”
Mr. Yorke rolled his broad shoulders as he reached for his waistcoat. “It has not.”
Caroline was momentarily speechless. She had assumed it had been handled. Oswald had said he would see to it, after all. But all this time, Eliza had been making the trip to the stream for her water needs.
“I am so terribly sorry,” Caroline said, her cheeks warming with embarrassment and frustration. “Oswald assured me…” She left the sentence unfinished, for no explanation would change the inconvenience Eliza had been subjected to.
“Do not apologize,” Eliza insisted. “It was very kind of you to broach the matter with him, my lady, and I did not expect anything to come of it.”
“Why not?” Caroline asked, confused by the comment.
Eliza hesitated. “Perhaps he does not wish for me to use the stream.”
“No, no,” Caroline assured her. “He was clear on that matter. It is only that he has much on his mind of late with the election and everything at Wheal Fortune.”
It was an understandable, though unfortunate, blunder.
She could not fault Oswald too much, for she should have asked him about the gate to ensure it had been handled.
She had been too caught up with her own troubles, and she was not preparing to take on the political burden of Trelowen like Oswald was.
“It must be difficult indeed to find time to devote to such matters,” Mr. Yorke said as he finished the last button on the waistcoat.
Caroline looked at him with a hint of surprise, for she had not expected to find him sympathetic.
“The majority of his life is spent haunting the halls of Trevenna Court, after all.”
Caroline shot him a flat look, but he only smiled incorrigibly—the sort of smile she wanted to kiss from his charming face.
Her body tightened.
Not kiss.
Slap. Or insult.
Yes. She could insult the smile from his charming face.
“Mr. Yorke has come the last three days to transport buckets of water,” Eliza said, smiling gratefully at him.
Caroline regarded him. “That is very kind of you, Mr. Yorke.”
He held her gaze, as though trying to determine whether there was something hidden beneath the words.
There was not. Whether it was done with ulterior motives or not, Caroline was grateful to him for helping her friend.
“It has been my pleasure,” he said with a little acknowledging nod and more calm than charm. Their gazes held for a moment longer.
“That is a wretched exaggeration, Mr. Yorke,” Eliza said, “for I know very well how little pleasure there is in the task. I am indebted to you.”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Yorke replied kindly.
“It is not nonsense. Indeed, I mentioned your kind efforts to Captain Rathmore last night in my letter.”
“Allow me to frank it for you,” Caroline offered. She still had a large stack of franked paper from Richard, and she was eager to encourage the correspondence.
The more she had considered the figure of Captain Rathmore, the more she had begun to harbor a hope that he might become a more prominent figure in her friend’s life.
The most prominent. Eliza deserved companionship and care, and this gentleman was the one man showing an interest in such a thing, not to mention the high regard in which she held him.
Eliza accepted Caroline’s offer with gratitude and fetched the letter from the small table in the corner while Caroline and Mr. Yorke looked at one another, she attempting to see through him to what his intentions were, and he…perhaps trying to see whether his efforts were meeting with success.
No doubt he would stay for tea and join Caroline on the ride home, determined to gain her support.
“I shall leave you to your guest, Mrs. Penrose,” he finally said. “Thank you for the leeks.”
“Mrs. Tonkin knows how to prepare them just right,” Eliza replied. “Thank you again, Mr. Yorke.”
He bowed to her, then turned to Caroline and bowed again. “Good day, your ladyship.”
“Good day, Mr. Yorke.”
She watched him until the door closed, wishing she could summon the same annoyance she had felt upon arriving rather than the reluctant gratitude she now felt.
He might be playing with only pawns, but with this move, the victory had been his.