Chapter Twenty
A mother's fondness reigns Without a rival.
Keeping secrets had never been one of Maria’s strengths, but she promised to keep Miss Hancock’s.
Perhaps it was this embargo which made her careless of her own confidences, or else it was the unnatural quiet of dining by herself, or the fact that, however her husband felt about her, his mother’s affection seemed sincere.
In any event, when Mrs. Charles Ellsworth returned from her time with her elderly friend, Maria found herself sharing more of her day’s activities than she had intended.
“It would not be wrong, would it, for me to seek employment?” she asked, when the tale of T. Cheney’s advertisement had been told again.
“Not…wrong, no,” answered Mrs. Ellsworth thoughtfully as she warmed herself by the parlor fire. “There was a time in my life, as you know, when I also worked for money.”
“Yes—you told me you acted on the stage, and then you met Benjamin’s father when you were in service.” Both of which are worse than being a lady’s companion, Maria added inwardly.
As if she read her thoughts, Mrs. Ellsworth’s dark eyes twinkled at her.
“So I am not in a position to tell you that working would be wrong. But I had no one to answer to, Maria. When I went on the stage, my parents had died, and I had no money. And when I went into service, I went with another actor who was like a father to me. You, on the other hand, have my Benjamin to care for you.”
“But you know how quickly we married, Maman,” she tried the word out and was delighted when Mrs. Ellsworth beamed approval.
“It was fortunate Benjamin could keep his fellowship another year, or who knows how we might have survived! But a year will pass quickly enough, and think how much my contributions might help.”
That characteristic shrug. “Perhaps it is because I spent my day with a tiresome old woman, but if I was in your place, I think I would rather go on the stage again than be a companion.”
“I don’t think I could keep stage-acting a secret,” Maria laughed, “and our family friend, the baron’s niece by marriage Mrs. Dere, thinks I have already created scandal enough. She doesn’t even like it that my sister Frances’ husband owns a theatre!”
“You hope to keep this old-lady-companion post a secret?”
“I haven’t won the post yet, but…I would like to. For a little while, at least. Because it would be such a surprise for Benjamin!” Gleefully she told Mrs. Ellsworth of her plan for a new sofa for the parlor. “You said yourself we needed one.”
“Bah! I said why not move the sofa down from your bedchamber? You might move one of the dining chairs up there if you want to sit in your room.”
Maria colored at the need to lie when she was feeling confidential. “Yes, I know. But, as I said, I like to lounge upon it, lazy creature that I am, and one can hardly lounge in a dining-room chair.”
She felt even guiltier when the lie earned her a kiss.
“You are right. I told my Benjamin that you are like a dear little kitten, and everyone knows kittens must do a great deal of lounging, when they are not playing and stealing our hearts. Very well. You earn your secret sofa, and I will not say a word. But, if the old lady you must keep company with is like my dear Simonette and you are miserable, you must quit at once. It is true you are poor now, but you will come to trust Benjamin’s great energy as I do.
Someone so resourceful will always think of something. ”
“Thank you, Maman,” Maria said. “How wonderful it is to have you here. It was very sad and quiet at dinner, and I had to bear Rundell’s little mutterings about what a pity it was I was left alone, ‘for all that married women think themselves so fortunate to have husbands.’”
Mrs. Ellsworth clicked her tongue, half in sympathy and half in annoyance with the maid. “But surely you were not alone all day. You went to see your sister Mrs. Weatherill, did you not?”
Maria fidgeted in her chair. “Oh, yes. Briefly. But—I had better say—I also called on Miss Hancock. For the fun of talking over the assembly, you know.”
“Miss Hancock and Miss Allen?”
“Yes.” Maria pulled her stitch too tight and caused the linen she was embroidering to pucker. “Though I could not help that Miss Allen was there. It was Miss Hancock I wanted to see. The—other one—doesn’t matter a jot to me.”
Mrs. Ellsworth raised a thoughtful eyebrow, studying her. After a pause which seemed to Maria both pregnant and endless, she finally said, “The ‘other one’ Miss Allen does not matter a jot to anyone in this house.”
Maria looked up, hope written plainly on her features. “Do you really think so? After seeing them dancing together?”
“I do. I too was very curious to observe them, Maria.”
“He was…very cheerful. Very…easy. With her. I thought.”
“Exactement.” Her mother-in-law rapped knuckles on the arm of Maria’s chair. “A man who has feelings for someone is not easy and cheerful. Rather, he is on edge, uncertain of himself.”
“Oh,” said Maria, this opinion pleasing her so much that it made her playful. “Is that why he is so easy and cheerful when he is with me?”
Mrs. Ellsworth wagged a finger. “No, my kitten. He is easy and cheerful when he is with you because you are a comfortable person and you bring him joy.”
“Maman,” cried Maria, impulsively clapping her hands and crumpling her work.
“You say such lovely things. How I wish you could stay with us forever!” How could she not enjoy the company of someone who liked her genuinely, and who said such heartening things, and whose presence required Benjamin Ellsworth to pretend affection for her?
“We will see,” Mrs. Ellsworth answered with a smile. “My own dear Charles made me promise I would not let the boys convince me to stay for a month, and he said if I did not return by Candlemas, he would fetch me himself. But that is not yet. Therefore, tell me about your visit to St. John’s.”
Maria’s spirits sagged a little, considering how soon Candlemas would be upon them, but she rallied.
A lot might happen in that time. Benjamin might come to love her.
Heaven knew, in her own case, the few weeks she had known him had been sufficient.
But her heart had been free, free as his might now possibly be…
“Miss Allen seemed to have a dozen callers,” she began, going on to describe the morning’s scene and reminding Mrs. Ellsworth of the different players.
“Not that she seems to care for any of them,” she concluded.
“Not even the baronet, whom I could tell her aunt Mrs. Marlow liked. Miss Allen was polite to all, of course, but not encouraging.”
Mrs. Ellsworth scoffed. “Bah. I do not know if ‘encouraging’ is in her nature.”
“Do you know her so well?” asked Maria, curious. “I thought you met her only once before you found her and Miss Hancock here, the day you arrived.”
Her mother-in-law drew a slow breath, her gaze pensive.
“When Benjamin introduced me to her the one time, it was in church. And she was the same way you describe. Polite, but not encouraging. I thought—and I told him—that I had hoped he would attach himself to someone with as…warm a temperament as his own.” Again she smiled and gave Maria’s arm a pat.
“Someone who would be affectionate with him, as you are. Why should he have to wonder or guess if his wife loves him?”
And indeed, when Benjamin finally came home that evening, accompanied by his brother, his now-customary salute to her ear or the top of her head met instead the smoothness of her cheek.
“Darling!” he blurted in surprise.
“Dear Benjamin,” she murmured. “How were your new students and the Classics Society?”
He had to give his head a clarifying shake because both the kiss and the lowness of her voice had suddenly made him wish he had found her alone. “Er—middling new students, dull Classics Society.”
“Do you mean the boys were middling in terms of intelligence or age?” pursued Maria.
“Both,” he answered. “Nicholas Stubbs, nine years old, good at composition and poor at arithmetic. Thomas Binns, age ten, good at arithmetic and poor at composition.”
“And why does Nixon’s give them to you, Benjamin, instead of to the teachers and masters of the school?”
He shrugged in a way that reminded her of his mother. “The teachers and masters have many students and not enough time to devote to them.”
“Why, then, you ought to suggest young Nicholas and Thomas go to Keele’s instead!” she declared. “My brother Mr. Weatherill and Mr. Keele do all of their own teaching, no matter how middling the boy.”
“Are you suggesting I rob Peter to pay Paul?”
“I suppose so, if ‘Peter’ is Nixon’s and ‘Paul’ is Keele’s.”
“My charming goose girl, you have got it all wrong,” Benjamin chuckled. “Because ‘Peter’ in this instance is your poor husband, and ‘Paul’ is Keele’s. If I sent Nicholas and Thomas to Keele’s, what would become of the tutoring money their fathers pay me?”
“You see,” Mrs. Ellsworth told her complacently. “I said he was energetic and resourceful.”
That made Benjamin’s grin slide away. “Were you speaking of me?”
“Of course we were speaking of you,” his mother answered. “You are what we have in common.”
But her son was watching his wife. “And do you fear you will starve for want of bread, Maria?”
Thinking of the contributions she herself wished to make to the family strong box, Maria tried to steer him away from the subject with teasing.
“Not at all! But I wanted to be a good daughter-in-law and give her the chance to sing your praises. For what mother does not think her sons the best in the world? There was not one thing I could say in your favor which she would not try to better.”
“Oh?” He leaned nearer on the arm of his chair. “And what were some of the things you said in my favor…dear heart?”