Chapter Ten #2
He probably supposed I would have no one to tell. No one to talk to without him present, save the Weatherills, who already knew.
She must tell the truth now. The truth was its own defense. The truth was inarguable.
Her chin lifted. “He made no mention of any engagement, I daresay, because it was all very sudden. We—met and married within a fortnight.”
“Love can happen very fast,” interposed Miss Hancock breathlessly. Her mild blue eyes met Maria’s, and Maria wondered if Mrs. Terry had already told the whole story to George Denver, who had related it in turn to his intended.
Nonplussed by her visitor’s thunderbolt, Mrs. Marlow’s tapestry work halted, needle poised in mid-air.
“Mm,” she managed at last. “We—we congratulate you, Mrs. Ellsworth.”
“Yes,” seconded Miss Allen.
“Thank you.” Maria hesitated. Should she say more? Clearly they were dying to learn more, and she could not blame them. She would have been eager herself. But what if—when they knew the full story—they were no longer willing to spend time in her company? Dear, dear.
Yet, if Mr. Marlow might come home and tell all (and ruin all), before he did Maria must learn what she could of Miss Allen. If only Mrs. Marlow would go away! It might be easier for three young ladies to chat.
Before she could hit upon any plan, however, Miss Allen did it for her.
“Aunt,” she said abruptly, rising, “I think Rebecca and I will walk in the gardens. And it would be lovely if you could join us, Mrs. Ellsworth.”
“I would be glad of it.”
Whatever Mrs. Marlow’s standing, she obviously was under her niece’s thumb, for she merely pressed her lips together and uttered, “What a lovely idea, Verity.”
A minute later their cloaks were on, and Miss Allen led the two other girls through Canterbury Quad to the outer grove, a snow-patched, spreading lawn flanked by intertwined lime trees.
It was no exaggeration to say that every head turned along the way, and several removed their caps or bowed to Miss Allen, the fortunate few receiving a nod in return.
The path was wide enough that they could walk three abreast, with Miss Allen in the center, of course, though it had been Miss Hancock Maria had purportedly come to see.
For George’s sake she did want to further her acquaintance with his beloved, but she could hardly talk across Miss Allen.
Miss Hancock must have thought the same, for she twice leaned forward to peep sidewise at Maria, flashing an apologetic smile.
Maria, meanwhile, was making mental notes of her exemplar.
Miss Allen is reserved and queenly. Miss Allen is not familiar with strangers.
Unconsciously, Maria pursed her mouth in imitation, bending her head in the tiniest of nods.
However popular the gardens might be on a fine day, they were deserted on this winter one, and when they had followed the path to where the garden fronted Park Road, there was not another person in sight. Miss Allen stopped then and regarded Maria frankly.
“Did you really come today, Mrs. Ellsworth to meet Miss Hancock or to meet me?”
“Verity?” cheeped Miss Hancock, staring.
Maria instantly forgot to be reserved and queenly.
“To meet Miss Hancock, Miss Allen! If you will pardon me, I did not know who her family was, beyond the Marlows.” She wasn’t lying, and yet she colored.
She could not help it, Miss Allen being who she was.
Moreover, supposing she had come out of curiosity or jealousy or some such—why should that matter to Miss Allen?
“Verity,” a hesitating Miss Hancock prompted, “why do you ask if Mrs. Ellsworth wanted to see you? Did you think, because I am here as your companion, that I could not have my own friend?”
While Maria’s heart revived somewhat at the word “friend,” Miss Allen rolled her eyes, tossing away the leaf bits.
“Oh, Rebecca, for pity’s sake. I hope you will not always be throwing your penury in my face while you are here.
Of course that isn’t what I meant. One hasn’t anything to do with the other.
I asked Mrs. Ellsworth for the very reason I mentioned a few minutes ago.
That is, when I met her husband and danced with him, he said not a word about getting married.
I had understood, from general gossip, that he had nothing more to marry on than your Mr. Denver. ”
“He hasn’t, really,” Maria felt obliged to admit.
Incredibly, she thought she had better tell them the whole story, if only to allay Miss Allen’s suspicions and to assure Miss Hancock of her good intentions.
“New College kindly extended Mr. Ellsworth’s fellowship another year—despite his marriage—but we will have to practice strict economy,” she explained, “and he will have to look about him for whatever work he can find. And I’m afraid Miss Hancock is not the only one struggling with penury, if she is indeed so.
I had little myself to offer Mr. Ellsworth, beyond a family connection. ”
“He must have been quite taken with you, then,” said Miss Hancock warmly, “to put aside more practical considerations.”
This part of the truth was harder to share, but Maria persuaded herself the first admission must surely be the worst. Hadn’t her sister Jane said that, to blunt the edge of scandal, the most effective things were time and honesty? And Jane would know, having outlived her own disgraceful episode.
Maria’s hands gathered in fists.
She couldn’t do it. She would make some excuse and run away. Let them hear the story from Mr. Marlow!
No—yes—she could do it. She could do this. She would. Because if she ran away, she couldn’t have Miss Hancock for a friend or spy further upon Miss Allen.
But to tell this whole, mortifying truth, she permitted her pride one tiny falsehood.
“Oh, indeed,” she said with a duck of her head, “we are certainly fond of each other. Deeply.” Then, as if she would be punished if she delayed longer, she hastened on.
“But perhaps matters would not have been so rushed if he had not, while suffering the effects of illness and fever, found his way into my bedchamber at a London inn. When I—and others—woke to discover him there, it was decided a hasty wedding would be…appropriate.”
Gasps and incredulity mixed with skepticism met this revelation.
“Mrs. Ellsworth,” Miss Allen frowned, “you say you are new to Oxford, so I will give you a piece of friendly advice. Such jests are not advisable, and certainly not in polite company. Think of your reputation, if you will not think of Mr. Ellsworth’s.”
“But I’m not jesting,” Maria admitted, shoulders sagging. “And it was because everyone was thinking of my reputation and Mr. Ellsworth’s that we are married—so soon, I mean.”
At this insistence, Miss Allen’s disapproval gave way to shock, and she regarded Maria with something like horror.
“Mrs. Ellsworth,” whispered Miss Hancock, touching her arm with tentative fingers, “perhaps it would be better not to share such a story with people you don’t know very well.”
Instead of being comforted by this, Maria scowled, wishing she might rip her arm away. “Miss Hancock—though I did just meet you, I ask you to be candid with me. Did Geo—Mr. Denver, rather—already tell you my story, having heard it from Mrs. Terry?”
“He did,” the young lady confessed, looking like she wished she could contract her height a foot or two.
“Exactly,” agreed Maria, unable to prevent a defensive note entering her voice. “And Mrs. Terry and George Denver are family friends. And if my friends will talk about me, how much more those with whom I am not even acquainted! Therefore you will understand why I chose to tell you my story myself.”
“That does make sense. Oh, you are very brave,” cried Miss Hancock.
“I don’t know about ‘brave,’” answered Maria, “but I do see it as the lesser of two evils.” Still, it made her feel better that Miss Hancock understood and did not condemn her.
The two shared a rueful smile, Maria thinking it too bad that Miss Hancock must be Miss Allen’s cousin and companion!
For that meant any invitation to Miss Hancock must either include Miss Allen or offend Miss Allen, and though Maria very much wanted to know more of Miss Allen’s history with Benjamin Ellsworth, that was quite a different thing from wanting to befriend her.
Just as Maria concluded this, however, she observed with surprise that Miss Allen’s demeanor had undergone a material change. She warmed; she unbent; she beamed.
“It is brave of you,” declared Miss Allen.
“Not everyone would have the courage to trumpet something so distressing. But you love him, you say? And love conquered all, did it not? I fear, had I been forced to marry someone under such circumstances, I would be desolated, but I suppose you would have been desolated not to marry him, since you loved him.”
Miss Allen’s sudden eagerness contrarily caused Maria to draw back, uneasy. Why, for heaven’s sake, had she told that little lie about the Ellsworths being already fond of each other? It had gained her nothing, and anyone who saw them together would see through it in minutes!
“Speaking of my husband,” she blurted, throwing all the cheer she could muster into her manner, “he will be returning from his duties soon, I daresay, and I did have a few things I must see to before then, so I had better be going home. What a pleasure to meet you both, however, and so kind of Mrs. Marlow to receive me, all unknown to her!”
“Oh, but—” Miss Hancock sputtered, before dropping into her answering curtsey, “—when might we see you again?”
“I hope soon. Sometime. Soon!” Maria called back, already dashing away.
To herself she added, “It’s not another lie—how often people say to others that they hope to see them again soon, when everyone knows they might not or will not and possibly don’t even want to.
It’s mere courtesy to say such things. I have done my duty to George and Mrs. Terry, in any event.
They will have to forgive me for not doing more. ”