Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
“Naturally,” Maria agreed, hoping to bring the conversation to a close. “I had better be going, in any event. Thank you again for putting those in, Mrs. Lamb. Is there any post for Iffley Cottage?”
Rousing herself, the postmistress held up a finger, dashing inside to retrieve a small stack, and by the time she returned she had remembered Iffley depended on her not only to impart information, but to gather it as well.
“I hope Mr. Ellsworth is well,” she thus began, holding out the packet. “Don’t tell me he stole into the village as quietly as you! I couldn’t have missed him, for Mrs. Langworthy says he’s a tall, dark-haired man. Will we be seeing him in church tomorrow?”
Having known Mrs. Lamb since childhood, Maria was prepared for this interrogation. “Mr. Ellsworth is in very good health, thank you,” she answered, beginning to back away. “But I’m afraid he could not join me. He’s away at present, which is why I chose this time to visit my family.”
With every step Maria retreated the good postmistress advanced. “Indeed? And he had no objection? I would think he would want to make himself agreeable, after what passed. Where do you say he’s got to—”
But before Mrs. Lamb delivered half her speech Maria was turning on her heel and waving her farewell. “Pardon me for not chatting longer,” she threw over her shoulder, “but they are waiting for me at breakfast. Good-bye!”
Sarah chuckled when she appeared and delivered the post to Mrs. Barstow. “Aren’t you a brave one, bearding the lioness in her den.”
“I thought all Iffley might as well be informed of my return by the time they sat down at the breakfast table,” Maria said ruefully. “Then, when they see me at church tomorrow, I will almost be old news.”
“Good for you,” declared her mother. “I am glad you don’t choose to hide as your sister Jane did, when she first came to Iffley. Not that your situations were at all comparable.”
“Except in being scandalous,” sighed Maria. “Tell me, Mama, did the dinner at Perryfield go as you imagined? Did Lord Dere rise to champion me, while Mrs. Dere spouted thunder? I listened for a little while for the sound of his coach, to see if he would prevail for once.”
“They were…both startled by the news,” Mrs. Barstow remembered, “and somewhat distracted all evening.”
“I think they had a fight,” said Maria’s nephew Sebastian, his mouth not entirely empty of food.
From the look Sarah directed at him, he swallowed hastily and gave his face a swipe with his napkin.
“Yesterday at the rectory Mrs. Terry said Mrs. Dere has been sub—sub—” He frowned, trying to remember the word. “Subjuncted? Subordinated?”
His mother laughed. “You make her sound like a Latin clause, Bash.”
“Do you mean ‘subdued’?” suggested Mrs. Barstow.
“Yes! That was it. Mrs. Terry said to Mr. Terry that Mrs. Dere was subdued of late.”
“I have thought that too,” his grandmother nodded. “Mrs. Dere would never say so, but I suspect she has been missing Peter, now that he is at university. I certainly miss Gordon.”
“But Grandmama, they were already at Keele’s every day, as I shall be next year.”
“Yes, but they were day pupils there, which meant they came home every afternoon. Don’t you miss your uncle Gordy, Bash?”
Sebastian did and he didn’t. He missed Gordy’s liveliness, of course, but he undoubtedly enjoyed being, at ten years of age, the “man of the house” at Iffley Cottage, indulged and given much latitude to lord it over his younger sister Emmy.
To this was added the honor of now being included in Perryfield invitations (a privilege rarely accorded to Maria or Gordon at his age), whether because the Deres missed having Peter about or because of his new status.
On the other hand, while Sebastian liked the baron and his insect collection, Perryfield could be dull, sitting and behaving oneself while the adults talked.
The dinner yesterday had been one of those times.
“At any rate, when Mrs. Dere calls today, must I be there?” he asked.
“Of course not, sweeting,” Sarah answered. “But if you are not, you might watch Emmy for me.”
Promptly at ten o’clock, Reed admitted both Lord Dere and Mrs. Markham Dere to the parlor, where all three women rose from their work, Maria having borrowed needle, thread, and shirt from her mother because her own workbasket sat in Pembroke Street.
Mrs. Dere did not beat about the bush.
“Mrs. Ellsworth, I profess myself amazed to see you again,” she intoned when they were seated.
“Delightful,” murmured the baron with his shy smile.
“Thank you, madam,” Maria replied, though Mrs. Dere had said nothing requiring thanks. “I am glad to be in Iffley once more. It has been two months, you know, since London.”
“And perhaps only six weeks since your sudden and infamous—your sudden marriage. Your mother says that Mr. Ellsworth is in good health but away on a trip.”
“Yes, madam.”
“Will he be gone long?”
“I—don’t know,” she was forced to confess. “He said it would be a few days, but he was not precise.”
“But where has he gone? Anywhere in the kingdom would require a few days simply for travel.”
“I don’t know where he has gone either.”
Mrs. Dere’s beautiful blue eyes grew round. “You don’t know how long he will be gone, nor where he went? Do you not speak to each other about such commonplaces?”
“Not about those particular ones, no.” Maria managed a dismissive shrug. “He will tell me when he returns, and-and-and that will be time enough. Benjamin, I am learning, is quite an active sort, always with many irons in the fire.”
“An intelligent young man,” put in the baron. “Energetic.”
His niece by marriage frowned upon this interposition, but though it might have been Mrs. Terry’s reported opinion which swayed Maria, she could not help but think the frown had lost some of its usual power.
At least, Lord Dere bore up under it with unusual resolution and did not immediately retire from the field.
Mrs. Dere returned her disapproval to Maria. “There will be talk in Iffley, Mrs. Ellsworth.”
Having never been a favorite of the woman, Maria had little practice currying favor with her, and impatience tinged her response. “I know it. It cannot be helped.”
“But it could be helped, dear girl, by your remaining in Oxford with your—husband—until our little world has something new to talk about.”
“That is why I visited the Tree Inn this morning,” persisted Maria. “I thought, by showing myself at once to the source of most village gossip, I would have done with all the unpleasantness the sooner. Then I might—come and go as I please in Iffley.”
Mrs. Dere’s bosom swelled magnificently as she drew breath to retort, and Maria took advantage of the pause. “Lord Dere,” she blurted, “how sorry I was to hear from Mrs. Lamb that your steward has recently died of pneumonia.”
Whether it was the suddenness of her address or continued wariness of Mrs. Dere’s temper, Maria’s sympathy caught the baron off guard, and he made sputtering sounds, turning faint crimson, before muttering something unintelligible.
The measure did succeed in distracting Mrs. Dere, however, for she expelled her gathered breath in a huff. “I told him straightaway that he ought to offer for Mr. Waller who manages Greenwood Hall, but has he approached him? No, he hasn’t.”
The baron flushed darker. “Oh, well—I don’t like to steal a neighbor’s men.”
“What neighbor?” countered Mrs. Dere. “No one in Iffley has seen the owner of Greenwood Hall in this generation! It is simply tenant after tenant, or it stands empty. I wish they would sell it and have done.”
Maria rather regretted changing the subject as she had, since the poor baron seemed to have taken her place in the frying pan of Mrs. Dere’s displeasure, and she hurried to introduce yet another topic.
“I will always think fondly of the summer at Greenwood Hall when we performed A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” she said.
“If only Miss Eveleigh hadn’t married the year after!
Then perhaps the Eveleighs might have rented it again, and we might have got up another play. ”
But this was yet one more sore spot with their benefactress, and she gave a grim sigh.
“I vowed, after your sister Mrs. Hearne married Mr. Adam Hearne, I would indulge in no more matchmaking. But perhaps there, Mrs. Ellsworth, I failed you. Though, as the compromising position in which Mr. Ellsworth placed you was entirely unforeseen, perhaps not.”
“Mrs. Dere,” said Maria, flushing and sitting up straight as a ramrod in her chair.
“Pray let your mind be at ease. For not only would I have scrupled at any matchmaking undertaken on my behalf, but by fortunate happenstance, Mr. Ellsworth turns out to be the very gentleman I would have chosen for myself, had I met him under more conventional circumstances.”
While Maria congratulated herself on keeping hold of both her temper and her manners, Mrs. Dere, having never been overfond of her, clearly received this speech as an affront.
“Hmm. How delightful for you. I wish all those whom your marriage has affected might soon view it in a similar light. Especially if we are to have the pleasure of your company when and how you choose.” Pointedly she turned away to address Mrs. Barstow.
“Speaking of your children paying visits, Camilla, what does Gordon write to say? Peter claims he will have no time to return to Iffley until the end of Hilary Term, but that is nonsense, of course.”