Chapter 18
‘There will be a shooting party at Upper Plumbthorne this summer,’ said George, lowering the letter he read over his eggs.
He had been back at Hawkdean for fewer than twelve hours, had expressed his displeasure at many things including her hiring of Frankie, and was now beginning to organise her life.
‘How generous of Neville,’ said Thea tactfully. ‘I hadn’t realised he had his shoot ready.’
‘First season,’ said George absently. ‘You will accompany me.’
Thea stilled, knowing her initial response was not the one that should be verbalised. She was sore from his chiding over all the things she had done wrong, but the defiant bit of her swelled. ‘I am sure you should not want me in the way.’
‘On the contrary,’ said George. ‘Neville is keen to provide Cecily with entertainment of her own and we can help with that. My sister and Emma will apparently attend.’ He squinted at the letter again. ‘And Mrs Henry. You will be there also.’
Thea nodded. At least Harriet would be there. She sipped her coffee and tried not to look sour about it. There was no point arguing, George’s moods had worsened now his doctor had recommended laudanum for a pain in his shoulder and she had learned to be increasingly wary around him.
‘You might even learn something,’ said George. ‘Crumpacker is invited and so apparently is Lady Foxmore. I suppose it can’t hurt to make the most of our mutual connection.’ He smiled toothily at Martha, who inclined her head generously towards him.
‘Mr Crumpacker is due today, I believe,’ she said.
‘Good,’ said George, going back to his paper.
‘With Mr Fenwick for the children’s tutoring and Mrs Jenkins, Lady Foxmore’s housekeeper,’ said Thea.
George raised his eyes to her, and then to Martha. ‘You are bringing your housekeeper, Lady Foxmore?’
‘I permitted it,’ said Thea quickly, before Martha could respond. ‘Lady Foxmore has been kind enough to send her carriage for them all.’ George raised an eyebrow.
‘We have plenty of carriages to send, I am sure?’
‘The duchess has been so generous as to host me at Hawkdean for the past month,’ said Martha carefully. ‘However, now you have also arrived back, Your Grace, I thought Mrs Jenkins may ease the burden on Mrs Phibbs and I had to send my carriage for her in any case.’
‘Indeed,’ said George. ‘I am grateful to you for entertaining my wife, Lady Foxmore, and we would wish you to stay at least for the duration of Crumpacker’s visit of course. You will have business at Denbury afterward, I am sure?’
Thea swallowed. She knew he would be prickly about people in his space and had to navigate this carefully. Martha knew so too.
‘Of course, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘The duchess and I have much to catch up on and I am grateful for your hospitality, but I shall return to Denbury later in the spring. I hope the duchess might be able to visit me there.’
‘Perhaps,’ said George. ‘Although she is needed here for the house and estate, I am sure you understand.’
Thea prickled. She was neither in control of where she went, or who she had in her house, and she knew the situation must be just as vexing for Martha.
At least George seemed to assume they were pleasant companions for one another.
Despite that, she knew he would create a problem, just because he could.
‘Naturally,’ said Martha, but before she could go on, there was a knock at the door.
‘The Foxmore carriage, Your Graces,’ said Fletcher. ‘Just entered the long drive.’
The carriage rounded the bend by the trees in front of the house, two handsome bays cantering at its head. They slowed to a trot and then to a nodding walk as the carriage drew to halt in front of the house.
The household waited in a semi-circle for the welcome as the footman jumped down and was about to open the door, but before he could it flew open itself, almost catching him in the face. A round and apparently very angry Mrs Jenkins barrelled down the steps.
‘Insufferable, rude man,’ she muttered to herself as she strode, elbows out, to the back of the carriage where she picked up two trunks, one on top of the other, and made for the door.
Suddenly remembering herself, she checked to a halt, dropped the trunks on the driveway with a crunch and backed up towards George and Thea. She bobbed a curtsey.
‘Delightful to see you, Your Graces,’ she managed gruffly.
George ignored her entirely; he was only present as it was his duty. But Thea grinned. ‘Good journey, Mrs Jenkins?’ she asked, amused.
Mrs Jenkins lifted an eyebrow at the gentle tease. ‘You have to eat with him, I don’t, thank goodness.’ What did that mean, Thea wondered? She only nodded as Mrs Jenkins headed into the house, past Sanders who was presently trying to lift one of the trunks she had abandoned without ceremony.
Another two forms crunched from the carriage onto the gravel of Hawkdean. ‘Mr Fenwick,’ Thea said. ‘How wonderful to see you. The children will be delighted.’
He bowed. ‘The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace.’ Musket stood on his hind legs to welcome him.
It was then that the other gentleman approached.
He was not much taller than Thea, skinny and with a mess of ginger hair.
He stood around four paces from George, looking awkwardly at Martha.
Musket ceased his welcome of Mr Fenwick and began to bark angrily at the ginger intruder.
The gentleman stepped back until Mrs Phibbs gently picked the small but mighty terrier off the drive. Martha stepped forwards.
‘Mr Algernon Crumpacker, Your Graces,’ she said. Mr Algernon Crumpacker dipped his head once, seemingly distracted.
‘A pleasure, Your Grace,’ he said, eyes flicking nervously from the floor to the still rumbling terrier in Mrs Phibbs’ arms.
‘You are welcome I am sure,’ said George flatly.
Crumpacker stared at him and nodded briefly. George returned to the house and Crumpacker looked at Martha.
‘The pleasure is all ours, Mr Crumpacker,’ tried Thea, bobbing generously. ‘I understand you are here to help us with our botany?’
‘As much as is possible,’ he said, not meeting her gaze but instead looking around himself and wrinkling his nose. ‘I do find amateur botanists quite impossible to direct, but I endeavour to make my best effort.’
Thea raised her eyebrow, beginning to understand Mrs Jenkins’ vexation. ‘Indeed, we will do our best to benefit from your superior knowledge,’ she told him, without breaking a smile.
He looked up at the house but still addressed her. ‘I hope you will not be offended, Your Grace, if I am perhaps not so effusive as I am certain many of your other guests perform to be?’ It wasn’t a statement, it was a question, and Thea wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
‘Well, I–’ she began. He cut her off.
‘It is only that I am rarely impressed by any collections outside the tropics, Your Grace. I do not mean it as a slight; it is simply that people cannot grow plants as well as nature. That is a fact, and it is disingenuous to imply otherwise.’
‘Oh,’ she said, feeling a little deflated. She had hoped, at least for some encouragement from a garden advisor, if she had to have one at all.
‘I think it is important that I am absolutely clear.’ He addressed her but kept his gaze on a point high up on the house, his hands behind his back. ‘I do not believe that this is because you are a female, but because you are a human.’
‘I see,’ said Thea, not understanding yet whether she was reassured or offended. Before she could decide, Crumpacker went on.
‘Lady Foxmore educated me very early on in our acquaintance that the female mind is quite as good as, if not better than, that of the male and that her courage often surpasses his. I am ashamed to say I was ignorant of the fact before that point.’
Thea’s eyes widened. ‘I can imagine Lady Foxmore educating you in that. And of course, she is quite correct.’ She shot a look at Mrs Phibbs who only raised an understanding eyebrow.
How could he be so liberal and yet so objectionable at the same time?
She hoped he didn’t say the same to George or she would have to find a new botanist.
He nodded again. ‘Indeed, she is. I will see my room now,’ he said. And without another word disappeared into the house.
‘Well,’ said Thea, unsure of how to react to Mr Crumpacker.
‘He takes a little time to settle in but–’ said Martha but was cut off by Mr Fenwick.
‘I’ll go and see,’ he said, winking at them both. He followed Mr Fletcher into the house.
‘He’s a little different,’ said Martha. ‘Better with plants than people.’
‘I understand that,’ said Thea. ‘How long before he’s in the garden do you think?’
‘If Sanders unpacks for him, less than a quarter hour I would say.’
‘Then perhaps we should take a walk in the garden,’ said Thea. ‘Not sure I fancy him coming upon Frankie unaccompanied.’
Martha’s eyes widened. ‘Indeed. Let’s head round by the east wing and the frame yard. We can check on the seedlings in the cold frames.’
Thea followed her and together they descended the steps through formal hedging, passed the flower border with shoots just beginning to emerge into the spring warmth and took a right through the oak door in the stone wall. Thea nearly ran right into Martha as she came to an abrupt halt.
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ said Martha.
‘What is… oh,’ said Thea.
‘Morning,’ said Miss Bellegarde awkwardly.
Thea didn’t come upon George’s mistress often, but if she did it was usually at a distance where they could tactfully avoid one another.
She wore an expensive silk dress that she hutched up out of the dirt with one hand.
Her face was powdered almost completely white with stark red rouged cheeks and a high hairpiece, even for walking in the garden of a morning.
Although they were both happy and aware that they fulfilled different functions in George’s life, somehow the social conventions were difficult to navigate when everyone thought they should be uncomfortable.
Now they were standing right in front of one another and Thea could hardly just leave.
‘Lady Foxmore, please meet Miss Bellegarde,’ she said. ‘Miss Bellegarde is a guest of George in the country. Miss Bellegarde, Lady Foxmore is my friend.’
‘Pleasure,’ said Miss Bellegarde, clearly disinterested.
‘You were admiring the cold frames or the estate wagons?’ asked Martha, eyeing Miss Bellegarde. Clearly, she had more patience with rude botanists than she did with rude ladies of the night. Or afternoon. Or mid-morning, or whenever George fancied it.
‘Nah,’ said Miss Bellegarde in her east-London accent. ‘Just passing through. Have to get out the ‘ouse sometimes.’
‘Of course you do,’ said Thea. ‘And you are very welcome. Will you be staying with us all summer?’ Her voice had become even more affected, she noticed, as it did when she was trying too hard.
Miss Bellegarde shrugged. ‘Depends how long he wants me ‘ere.’
‘Of course it does.’
There was an awkward silence.
‘We must be getting on,’ said Martha, and stalked off without taking her leave. Thea inclined her head in acknowledgement and followed her. Miss Bellegarde only raised her chin a little.
‘Crikey,’ said Martha, ‘I had expected him to choose a little more refinement than that.’
‘I’m sure she is lovely. And has her own talents,’ said Thea, trying to be as little judgemental as possible.
‘I have no doubt,’ said Martha. ‘He keeps her in nice dresses at least, unless she got it elsewhere.’
‘Not everyone poor is a crook,’ said Thea, considering her lessons of the year before. ‘We don’t know her situation and this may be the only way she can make a living.’
‘Nevertheless,’ said Martha. ‘You have a prostitute living in your house. I should ensure that the valuables are well monitored.’
Thea stopped and took Martha’s arm, turning her towards her.
‘Don’t let Frankie hear you saying that will you?
’ she said with her voice low. ‘You know how I found her in that house for ladies out of necessity. We all have a capacity to choose goodness or vice, but sometimes the choices are taken out of our hands.’
‘Humph,’ snorted Martha, stalking away. ‘Still don’t trust her.’
‘Which one?’ asked Thea.
‘Neither,’ said Martha simply.
Thea wondered if Martha and Frankie would ever be able to grow the respect between them. The last thing she needed was a war over the petunias between her gardener, her lover and a rude botanist. She rolled her eyes at Martha’s stubbornness and followed her towards the glasshouse.