Chapter Six
Truth may sometimes offend.
There were several drawbacks to being married in the fashion forced upon the Benjamin Ellsworths, one of them being the lack of a wedding journey.
But Maria was almost glad of it. A wedding journey would have thrust them into each other’s company for an unbroken, extended period of time, and cost money they did not have.
Therefore, when Austin Ellsworth had been deposited at the gates of New College—with a bow toward Maria and a significant look at his brother—she was surprised by the driver of the chaise twisting around in the saddle and calling to her husband.
“Where to now, sir? Lord Dere said I was to take you wherever you liked.”
With only the two of them in the vehicle, Mr. Ellsworth had shifted down the seat, either to grant her more space or to relieve them of touching each other, or both, and he glanced at her. “Did you know about this? This…carte blanche?”
Maria shook her head. “I didn’t, but I will say it is exactly like the baron. He is the most generous of benefactors.”
For whatever reason, her husband’s brow darkened. “Don’t I know it.”
He shrugged. “Well? You are the bride, Mrs. Ellsworth. It is a cold day but fair. Would you like to drive out into the country before seeing your new home?”
Had she been with one of her siblings, how delightful such a jaunt would have sounded, stopping whenever they wished, to look at what they liked or to steal into an inn for a bite!
But with Mr. Ellsworth for a companion, every direction taken and every stop would have to be requested or negotiated.
And though he would likely defer to her throughout, knowing he submitted from courtesy alone would deprive the adventure of all its pleasure.
Straightening, Maria pinned on her brightest look. “What would you say, Mr. Ellsworth, to foregoing the drive? I am quite eager to see where I—where we, rather—will be living. And then perhaps afterward, when I am wrapped in my warmest cloak, we might…go for a walk?”
It was not untrue. She would like to see her home. But walking undoubtedly seemed the safer option. Then they would not be enclosed by themselves, forced to converse. If they walked, there would be sound and activity all around them, and any silences between them would be nothing.
He agreed at once, of course, and within minutes the driver pulled up to the door of 12 Pembroke Street, a narrow, modest building of four stories, as Mr. Ellsworth had described, with a painted green door and brass knocker.
A curtain twitched as they alighted, and Maria pretended not to see.
Mr. Ellsworth dug in his pocket to tip the driver, but the man waved his whip.
“His lordship said I was to say it was ‘all taken care of’ and to offer you both congratulations on this happy day. And between you and me, sir, with your missus cutting it short, I’ve done well for myself.
But then, so have you both.” Here the man winked—another thing Maria had to pretend not to see, though she blushed.
This second mention of Lord Dere’s generosity brought the shadow back to her husband’s countenance, and he was frowning as he thrust his hand in a different pocket to produce a key.
“Oh!” said Maria. “You have your own. Then we needn’t knock?”
“We needn’t. There is one for you too, upstairs.”
But before he could apply his key to the lock, the door flew open.
“Mrs. Chop!” he greeted her bluffly. “And you there too, Miss Pork? Good day to you both.”
Maria smiled shyly at the landlady and her sister, both of them thin as rails and sharing the same knobby chin and sparse, colorless hair. It was impossible to tell their ages, but Maria thought two people who looked less jolly or meaty would be hard to find.
“Come inside, Mr. Ellsworth,” beckoned Mrs. Chop in a wondrously low voice, as if a bullfrog hid in her linen ruff. “It’s cold out.”
Mrs. Chop and her sister shuffled backward to admit them, the landlady keeping one bony hand on the door to pull it shut behind, leaving the four of them crowded in the dim passage.
“Will you come into our parlor?” uttered Mrs. Chop.
“Thank you,” he answered. “Perhaps another time. My—my wife—is anxious to see where she will live, and then we plan on going for a walk. Er—Mrs. Chop, Miss Pork, may I present Mrs. Ellsworth.”
All three women bobbed in a curtsey, and Maria choked back a giggle when this resulted in her knee knocking against Miss Pork’s.
“Small blame to her for being impatient,” agreed Mrs. Chop, “after the new things you had delivered.”
“What’s that? What new things?” frowned Mr. Ellsworth.
“Oh, now,” the landlady said, with a flicker of the eyelid which might have been a wink in a different person. “Like that, is it? You didn’t hear it from me, then, Mr. and Mrs. Ellsworth.”
Mrs. Chop said no more, leaving her hint to simmer like a pot of mystery chowder.
“Off we go, then, in any event,” Mr. Ellsworth resumed briskly. He reached for Maria’s hand in the gloom, only to brush her hip. Without thinking, she jerked away, bumping into Miss Pork for the second time.
“Pardon me,” the two said in unison, sounding like the bass and soprano parts in a chorus.
“We’ll send Rundall up with your dinner at four, shall we?” Mrs. Chop called after them as the couple headed for the staircase.
Mr. Ellsworth gave his assent and then preceded Maria up the steps, but not before she had seen that his brow had yet to unknit.
She was grateful to see a door at the top of the second flight of stairs, separating the upper from the lower apartment and allowing the lodgers a measure of privacy. While there was no separate lock on the outside, when they entered she saw a bolt could be drawn within.
The first of their floors contained merely a parlor in the front of the house, with a few chairs and a sofa grouped before the fireplace, a cushioned window bench, a modest library case of books, and a desk.
Compared to the coziness of her former home, Maria found it spartan, but she kept her face a careful blank.
Not so Mr. Ellsworth. Making a soft, choking sound, he put a fist to his mouth. Then he charged ahead of her, throwing open the door in the rear to a small dining room with table, six chairs and a sideboard.
“Good Lord,” he breathed.
“Is something the matter?” Maria peered around him, thinking they would not be able to host many visitors at a time with only six chairs. If she wanted to entertain her family, she would have to invite them in shifts.
“Pardon me,” he muttered, withdrawing from the dining room and taking the next flight of stairs two at a time.
Maria could hear him dashing about, flinging open doors, but before she could decide whether or not to follow him (and whether or not she should mind his not waiting for her), he was thundering back down.
Her budding indignation vanished when he reappeared, however, for he was pale and had produced a handkerchief to swab his forehead.
“Mr. Ellsworth—are you unwell?”
“I—I…” Flattening both palms on the table, he pressed on them, shaking his head. “I have had a little surprise. This must be what Mrs. Chop was smirking about.”
“What must be, sir?” she demanded.
But then he gathered himself, holding up a finger and backing from the room. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ll—if you would excuse me again. I must—a word with the landlady, and I will return.”
“Should I wait here?”
But he was already at the stairs, growling a response which she didn’t catch before the door shut again behind him.
In exasperation, Maria stalked to the dining room window to stare out on the strip of garden and dormant flower borders below. What on earth could be the problem? Had Mrs. Chop rearranged the furniture without his permission? Had Rundell not cleaned it to his standards?
She could hear the murmur of voices, low (Mr. Ellsworth) and lower (Mrs. Chop and/or Miss Pork), and could almost but not quite make out the words. If she were to creep to the door and open it a crack…?
But no.
That would be no way to begin a marriage.
Taking herself in hand, she decided she would finish her tour instead.
It did not take long, comprising only two bedchambers on the third floor, or one bedchamber and one dressing room, except the dressing room had a narrow bed in it, in addition to its own clothes-press, closet, and chest of drawers.
Questions bubbled up. Why did both rooms have beds?
Cocking her head but hearing no husband approaching, Maria opened the doors of the clothes-press and then every drawer in the chest, before scurrying to the front bedroom to do the same.
They were all empty. But two trunks—his and hers—occupied the front room.
All had been carried up but nothing unpacked.
Did this mean they would share the larger bedchamber, but she might have the choice of where to dress, leaving the smaller chamber to be occupied only when they had guests?
Or did it mean they would not share, and he meant to offer her the choice of rooms—?
All her life Maria had wished for her own bedroom, and only since Frances’ marriage a few years earlier had she been granted that wish.
But she had not been married when she wished it.
Her parents had shared a room when her father was living.
Every one of her sisters shared a room with her husband, and her sister-in-law Sarah did with Mr. Langworthy whenever he had shore leave, so surely…
Face burning, Maria hastily returned to the parlor to wait for him, and it wasn’t long before she heard his tread. Slower, and heavier than it had been before. Not for the first time did she think, I scarcely know this person.