Chapter Thirteen #2
Miss Hancock obeyed, releasing Maria and darting back to her chair, but Miss Allen stood like a block.
“Miss Allen,” Maria hissed again, trying to pull her arm free. “Miss Allen!”
Then the Ellsworths’ door opened again, more decorously this time, and Benjamin called, “Maria? Er—my dear? My mother has come.”
He strode into the parlor, followed by a pretty older woman with silver curls. “Come meet her, Maman.” At least, Maria assumed he meant to say “Maman,” for it came out more of a strangled “Ma-ahhh.”
“Ah, but she has visitors,” murmured Mrs. Charles Ellsworth, peering around her son, who had halted and now blocked her path like a pillar of salt.
“Ne reste pas là, chéri,” she chided, slipping around him to stretch out both arms to Maria.
The next moment, however, she was struck by the same condition as her son, and her arms dropped back to her sides like falling guillotine blades.
“Mais—Benjamin, did you not tell me you married the other one?”
It was a scene never to be forgotten by any present, though certainly their response to the memory would change with time, shifting from mortification to disbelief to—eventually—wild amusement.
For an endless moment (that might only have lasted three seconds in reality), as if they had each sprouted roots, not one of them moved.
Benjamin gaped at Miss Allen. Mrs. Ellsworth stared at her son.
Miss Allen frowned in puzzlement. Maria could not meet anyone’s eyes, thinking, “What will they think, to find her here?”
Even innocent Miss Hancock hesitated, perplexed by the undercurrents roiling beneath the surface. Why, Mr. Ellsworth might even be swaying slightly on his feet! One thing was clear to her, however: the call had better be cut short.
Thus Miss Hancock blurted, “Oh, goodness. Look at the time. Verity, hadn’t we better—Oh!” This last emerged as a chirp when Mr. Ellsworth slumped heavily to the carpet.
That broke the general spell.
“Dear me,” gasped Maria, scurrying to crouch beside him. “Dear me! Benjamin! Oh, Mrs. Ellsworth, should we lift him to—to the window seat? It is too bad there isn’t the sofa anymore, for the bench is rather short for these purposes.”
After much fussing and arrangement, it required the combined efforts of the four women to drag him onto the bench, and if Miss Allen happened to be placed where Benjamin’s head lolled against her bosom, Maria tried to smother her jealousy as unworthy.
“I’m afraid I haven’t any smelling salts,” she fretted, when he lay (mostly) on the cushioned seat. “Nor a fan.”
“This will do,” said Mrs. Ellsworth quickly, untying her own bonnet to wave the brim in her son’s face.
“Better give him some space,” said Miss Hancock, pulling her cousin back.
“He must be ill,” observed Miss Allen. “I’ve never thought him the swooning sort. Or else he’s had a wretched shock.”
“Shock? Nonsense,” returned Mrs. Ellsworth. She made room for herself in the window seat to block him from view, continuing to wave her bonnet. “He is certainly ill.”
The others murmured polite agreement, though each privately thought it would be hard to find someone stronger or healthier looking than the young man before them.
Maria, at least, appreciated her mother-in-law’s quick thinking and tried to turn attention from her husband’s unconsciousness.
“Er—Mrs. Ellsworth, it is a great pleasure and honor to meet you, all the same. We—are very glad you’ve come.
” She dropped a belated curtsey, wondering if her mother-in-law would rise to embrace her, but Mrs. Ellsworth stayed where she was.
“I believe you are already acquainted with Miss Allen?” she therefore continued.
As if she hadn’t learned the answer when Mrs. Ellsworth entered the room and made her rash remark!
Maria had wanted to faint herself. (Had Mrs. Ellsworth wished her son married the “other one” as much as he himself had wished it?)
The speed of Mrs. Ellsworth’s fanning increased, and, under cover of her skirts, she administered furious pinches to her son’s hand. “Yes. We have met. Some months ago in church. You may not remember, Miss Allen. It was brief.”
“But certainly I do,” returned that young lady. “It’s not often I see new faces at St. Mary Magdalen.”
So that was why Benjamin recoiled at the idea of attending church there!
“And this is Miss Allen’s cousin Miss Hancock,” choked Maria. “Miss Hancock, Mrs. Charles Ellsworth.”
While the courtesies were upheld, Benjamin’s eyelids began to flicker.
“Euhhhh…” he sighed.
“Ah! He recovers,” his mother announced, with a ruthless shake to his shoulder. “Benjamin, mon cher, réveille-toi! Benjamin, tu vas bien? Wake up, dear boy.”
While the young ladies might have taken a gentler approach, there was no doubt Mrs. Ellsworth’s method worked. Her son groaned again and blinked up at her. “What happened? Where am I?”
“You are home in Pembroke Street, where we arrived to find your dear little wife entertaining visitors, Miss Encock and Miss Allen,” Mrs. Ellsworth explained slowly and clearly.
“C'est pas dr?le? The same Miss Allen you know! We did not know she and Maria were acquainted. But you fainted and scared everybody because you have been feeling unwell.”
Mrs. Ellsworth’s performance reminded Maria forcibly of when her sister Frances prompted them during home theatricals, and she hoped Miss “Encock” and Miss Allen wouldn’t notice. Benjamin at least voiced no protests, merely struggling to sit up, his brow furrowed.
“You remember Miss Allen, of course,” Mrs. Ellsworth persevered. “But who knew she and your Maria were friends?”
“I only met Miss Allen myself the other day,” Maria spoke up, praying she did not sound defensive.
That is, praying she didn’t sound like the sort of girl who would hunt down her rival out of morbid curiosity or a desire to crow over her.
Though what had she to be ashamed of, when her own husband fainted at the sight of his former beloved?
“I don’t mean she isn’t a friend—only that I don’t know her well,” she went on. “At least, not yet. It was Miss Hancock I had gone to meet because she is engaged to a family friend. And Miss Hancock happened to be staying with her cousin Miss Allen.”
“Ah, I understand.” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “You hear that, Benjamin? They only just met.”
“I heard, Maman. I may have disgraced myself by fainting, but there is nothing wrong with my ears.”
“Would you like a glass of wine, Benjamin?” Maria asked, though she hated to leave the room.
He shook his head shortly. “I’ll be fine. It must be the warmth in here, after the cold outside. Please never mind me. Tell me about this ‘family friend.’ Would it be that George person you mentioned? George Denzing?”
“Denver, yes,” Maria corrected. “Miss Hancock is George Denver’s sweetheart.”
“We congratulate you, Miss Encock,” said Mrs. Ellsworth.
“Thank you.” Miss Hancock gave a shy nod, but then hastened to add, “Well, we certainly must be on our way. We wish Mrs. Ellsworth a pleasant stay in Oxford and a thorough recovery to Mr. Ellsworth, don’t we, Verity?”
“Indeed,” her cousin replied, calm as calm. “Mrs. Charles Ellsworth, how pleasant to see you again. And—Mr. Ellsworth, I felicitate you on your recent nuptials. Mrs. Benjamin Ellsworth has told me how it came about. With what—suddenness—you formed an attachment to each other.”
“Yes, yes, isn’t it marvelous?” agreed his mother, now springing up to pat Maria’s shoulder. “You told them how you were coup de foudre, then, my new little daughter?”
Maria tried to say “yes,” but only a gulping sound emerged.
Like a rusty mechanism, Benjamin jerked to a stand and marched across the room to pat Maria’s other shoulder. “You—er—shared that with your new friends, did you…dear heart?” he uttered.
Mrs. Ellsworth gave her a squeeze (far more gently than she had been jostling her son a few minutes prior), and Maria succeeded in replying, “Yes, I did indeed—er—Dumpling.” (Dumpling?
Where had that come from? She had never called anyone “Dumpling” in her life!) Then both her husband and mother-in-law rested their hands on her, making Maria feel like a criminal taken into custody.
The endearments must have done for Miss Allen because she took her cousin’s arm and steered her doorward. “Well, again, my hearty congratulations. Rebecca and I will leave you now. We had no idea you expected family today, Mrs. Benjamin Ellsworth, or we would never have intruded.”
Maria made polite demurrals, and, awkward as it was to have them there, she was not altogether sure she wanted them to leave. For then what would be left but her, her husband, his mother, and this charade of a marriage, already stumbling at the threshold?