Chapter Fourteen
The three girls leaned on the gate, watching the departing figures of their mother and Harry as they rode up the track.
“They make a perfect couple,” Mims said, with satisfaction. “I wonder how he persuaded her to ride out with him?”
Lissy gave her a smug smile. “It’s quite obvious to those of us who are grown up and who know about such things that they already like one another.”
Mims snorted her derision. “You can stop trying to make yourself look like an expert after one brief visit to a man our mother thinks you should marry. You don’t know any more about love and courtship than Megs does.”
Megs jumped down off the gate. “Do you mind? I know lots, thank you very much.”
Her sisters burst out laughing.
Lissy shook her head. “Really? You’re twelve, Megs, twelve. Remember that. And I’m eighteen and a woman grown.”
“You’re only a woman grown when it suits you,” Mims said.
Megs nodded. “What she said. And I know lots because I’ve seen the way Thomas looks at Peggy, when he thinks no one is looking. And how she looks back at him.”
“Thomas the footman and Peggy the maid?” Mims’ voice rose in obvious incredulity. “But she’s got that port wine mark over half her face.”
“Yes, Peggy and Thomas,” Megs said. “And if you took the trouble to look beyond the port wine stain you’d see she’s really pretty and has kind eyes. I’d say Thomas has very good taste.”
“I would too,” Lissy said. “But it’s not our ex-footman’s taste we’re meant to be talking about. It’s Mama’s and Cousin Harry’s.”
“Unless he’s blind, he’ll fall head-over-heels in love with her,” Mims said. “He’ll only have to spend a teeny bit of time in her company and he’ll realize she’s the woman he’s been waiting for all his life. I’m certain of that.”
Megs nodded. “I think so, too. Mama is the most loveable person in the whole world.”
“And she’s such a nice person she won’t say no if he asks her to marry him.” Mims clapped her hands. “You know how difficult she finds it to say no to people who ask favors of her. And they can be married by Christmas.”
Lissy shook her head, for once the voice of caution.
“I’m not so sure about that. Papa’s only been dead a few months.
There’s such a thing as waiting a discreet amount of time before remarrying, you know.
Mama might find it hard to say no to people, but she’s also very keen on doing what she calls the right thing.
She won’t want people, local people she knows, gossiping about her. ”
For a moment all three girls looked crestfallen. Then Megs clapped her hands. “What are we worrying about? If they fall in love with one another, what will it matter when they marry? I’m sure they’ll be happy to wait until a decent amount of time has passed.”
Mims frowned. “I think I once heard it’s at least a year. So that wouldn’t be until next summer.”
Lissy, her heart troubled as she thought of her mother, looked back up the lane, but the riders had vanished.
“Well, that shouldn’t stop us from working on this.
Adversity is only given to us to be overcome.
Come on, you two. If we want our plan to work, we should go and help Betsey and get all the chores done so Mama has the free time for riding every day with Cousin Harry. ”
Megs’ pert nose wrinkled. “But when will we get the time to ride?”
Mims laughed. “Once he’s proposed to Mama and she’s said yes. No, that was a joke, you silly. As soon as we’ve done these chores. Hurry up.”
They ran indoors as though chores were the most important thing in their lives, which today, they were.
The objects of their deliberation were already heading down the lane towards the nearest of the farms on the list Crawford had drawn up for Harry.
This was Maidwell Farm, the home of Farmer Herbert Bannerman and his wife Elsie, who, Crawford had informed Harry, had a large brood of eight children.
He was curious to meet the first of his tenants, never having been in a position to have anything like that before.
Mrs. Bannerman, a woman of matronly proportions and with a round, doughy face, was spreading her clean washing out over the bushes surrounding her vegetable garden when her visitors arrived.
Two very small but already mobile children were playing with pebbles on the path and a third was asleep in a wicker basket close by.
Mrs. Bannerman stopped her work, glanced quickly at her children, then let herself out through the garden gate and bobbed a curtsy. “Lady Madeley.” She glanced enquiringly at Harry, although she must have guessed his identity. He tipped his hat to her.
“Mrs. Bannerman,” Miranda said. “Allow me to present the new lord of the manor, Sir Henry Madeley, my husband’s long-lost cousin.”
Harry now doffed his beaver hat to Mrs. Bannerman. “Enchanted to meet you, Mrs. Bannerman. I see you have a fine brood of children, although I’ve heard you have more than the three I see before me. That must be a lot of hard work for you.”
Mrs. Bannerman’s cheeks bloomed with color and she smiled at him.
“Thank you, Sir Henry, and yes, your information’s right, and I’ve five more.
Three girls at the dame school in the village every morning learning their letters and numbers.
Me and Mr. Bannerman can’t abide folks with ignorance, so we want to give all of our children, boys and girls, the best start in life we can.
We’ve one boy at the grammar school in Market Harborough, and the fifth, John, our oldest, is away at Christ’s Hospital School in London.
His teachers here said he was clever enough with his numbers that he could go into the Royal Mathematical School there.
He’ll be a navy officer one day, I’m told.
” She beamed with pride, as she well should.
This was clearly a family with aspirations that their children should better themselves.
Harry had heard of the London school she spoke of, which had been set up to educate poor but clever boys, but to find a child from one of his tenant farms was there surprised him.
He’d thought they only took London-born boys.
“I am most impressed by your son’s prowess, Mrs. Bannerman, and if there is anything I can do to further his progress, believe me, I will.
My own father and grandfather were naval officers themselves, so I might be able to do more than you think. ”
Mrs. Bannerman positively glowed with even more pride, if that were possible.
In fact, she looked as though she might burst with it at any moment.
“My, oh my, Sir Henry, thank you. My husband’ll be over the moon once I tell him what you’ve said.
He’s out in the top field with our man Reg at the moment, both of them busy with the autumn ploughing, but do come in and I’ll put the kettle on.
Just let me collect the little ones out of your way.
” She went back into the garden to gather her children up.
Harry took a wary glance around in search of a useful mounting block but didn’t see one.
The wall, perhaps, might do? Throwing caution to the wind, he dismounted, attempting to conceal the wariness with which he did so.
However, he rather suspected Miranda had noticed.
There didn’t seem to be much he could get past her apparently gentle gaze.
He turned towards her. She’d already kicked her dainty booted foot out of the stirrup. “Might I be of assistance?”
For a moment she looked down at him from on high, her eyes bright with something he couldn’t identify. He held out his arms to catch her, glad he was unencumbered by his cane.
Her lips curved in a smile that was for once neither gentle nor bland.
A smile that made his insides threaten to twist into a veritable knot.
She nodded. “You may.” And she slid down into his arms. For a brief moment he held onto her, their eyes locked, before she looked away, a delicate flush coloring her cheeks, and stepped back.
“Thank you.”
Had he imagined the tremble in her body?
But the moment was gone. He tied the horses to a couple of rings fixed in the garden wall and Miranda followed Mrs. Bannerman into the house, as though that moment of intimacy had never happened.
Harry hadn’t counted on such a short journey on horseback stiffening his leg up so much, but it had. For a moment he leaned on the wall, glad no one was around to see, then drew himself up straight and followed the ladies inside.
Mrs. Bannerman’s tidy kitchen was warm and cosy with a fire burning in the hearth. She’d pushed a black kettle over the heat and it was now singing with enthusiasm.
“Do sit down, Sir Henry, Lady Madeley.” She put the baby’s basket bed down near the fire and handed the two small children, who might well have been girls, a couple of rag dolls to play with.
They weren’t smartly dressed, but their clothes were clean and their faces shining as though well-scrubbed with regularity.
Harry and Miranda sat at the table in a pair of age-darkened oak chairs, and Mrs. Bannerman busied herself with filling a large teapot, not dissimilar to the one Hester owned, and fetching out what must have been her best cups and saucers, sugar and milk.
Harry took the opportunity to look around the room.
Ancient, smoke-darkened beams above his head were hung with bunches of herbs and onions, as well as a contraption he recognized as useful for drying clothes on wet days.
A sideboard as old as the chairs, but well-polished, held the lady’s no doubt prized china collection, and the children were sitting on a colorful rag rug in front of the fire.
A cosy, welcoming room. A room the family probably spent most of their time in.
A room he would have liked to spend time in himself.
“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Bannerman,” Harry said. “As well as children to be proud of.”