Caught in a Cornish Scandal

by Eleanor Webster

  ‘It is not yet February,’ she told her mother, with limited sympathy. She knew that she should be happy that her mother was no longer listless in her bed and taking an interest in daily living, but she rather wished Mrs Lansdowne could be somewhat less voluble about it.

  Disgruntled and grumpy, she returned to her bedroom shortly before luncheon, leaving her mother to dust their remaining furniture. She sat heavily on the bed, feeling both physically aching and emotionally drained.

  A small part of her hoped that Mr Edmunds would take one look at her and run for the hills. Certainly the reflection within the looking glass left her in little doubt that she appeared pale and fatigued. Still, she doubted it would make a difference. Mr Edmunds’s interest in her was purely pragmatic and he was not harbouring any romantic feelings.

  Lil tapped on the door, which was ajar, entering before Millie had even responded. She sat on the bed beside Millie, angling her body in a manner suggestive of shared confidences. She looked particularly good with flushed pink cheeks and blue eyes positively sparking with excitement.

  ‘I have been talking to Frances.’

  ‘You have? I have not seen her today. Marta said she was sleep—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I woke her,’ Lil said with some impatience. ‘I needed to talk to her. And I felt it imperative to do so prior to Mr Edmunds’s arrival.’

  ‘Why? What has Mr Edmunds to do with this?’

  ‘We do not have to stay with our aunt. We are going with Frances to London.’ Lil made this announcement with all the drama of a magician producing the white rabbit from the proverbial hat.

  ‘What? Frances doesn’t live in London.’

  ‘She is going to rent a house, but, for the moment, she will stay with some great-aunt, Lady Wilburn...no, Wyburn. Anyway, Frances says she is quite lovely although very old and odd. But she absolutely adores debuts and balls. She will sponsor us both and we will meet wonderful people and you will have no reason to marry Mr Edmunds or worry that Mother might pressure me to marry Lord Harwood.’

  ‘But how will we possibly afford the dresses and such?’

  ‘Well, we are in mourning so we cannot go out a lot, at first. Also Frances still lacks energy, but she said that she could easily get some dresses altered for me and possibly even for you.’

  ‘I am a foot shorter and we cannot possibly descend on some poor elderly woman we do not even know. It is not sensible.’

  ‘Frances wants us to come,’ Lil said, with a certain obstinacy of tone. ‘And sometimes I think you are too attached to being “sensible”.’

  Millie gave a wry laugh. ‘If you knew... Anyway, Frances is vulnerable.’

  ‘Frances knows that. She says she has to get away from here and that our company would be good for her.’

  Millie paused, glancing towards the window and the sliver of sea visible in the distance. It would benefit Frances to leave Cornwall, she thought. It must be a constant reminder of her husband’s cruelty and the madness that was Mrs Ludlow. Moreover, Lillian’s company could prove helpful. She was young and had a joyful optimism. Providing adequate clothing might prove difficult, but marriage to Mr Edmunds would help.

  ‘It is a good idea,’ she said at length.

  ‘See!’ Lil clapped her hands with excitement, her cheeks flushing to a brighter hue.

  ‘For you, but not for me,’ Millie said hastily, placing a restraining hand on Lil’s knee. ‘I will marry Mr Edmunds. It will ensure that Mother has a place to live, enable me to help with your wardrobe and be in a better position to thwart Harwood.’

  ‘But I want you to be with me. You do not need to marry Edmunds. Tom...’ She paused and Millie saw the sheen of tears in her sister’s eyes. ‘Tom was wonderful, but he made mistakes. You do not have to make up for them. Or rescue me or Mother. Besides, I told Frances about owing Harwood money and she is quite certain that Mr Garrett or his solicitor can resolve the matter. And we won’t see Lord Harwood in London as he is not received in polite society.’

  ‘You seem to have chatted considerably with our guest.’

  ‘Yes, I like her. She did not tell me much about what happened last night though, so you need not worry. Although she said you were brave.’

  “She was the brave one.” Millie stood and paced to the window.

  ‘Mils, please, will you think about London?’

  ‘What good will London do me? To marry somebody who I know even less than Mr Edmunds? At least this way I can stay in Cornwall.’

  ‘Then do not go to London,’ Lil snapped. ‘Stay here. But do not marry Edmunds. You have kept this family going through Father’s death and Tom’s death and while Mother was ill. You have worked with solicitors. You have sold things. You have kept creditors at bay. I cannot believe that it is not possible for you to find another choice.’

  Millie looked at her sister, her cheeks now red with emotion. ‘I’ll talk to Frances about you going. But I will marry Mr Edmunds. I want Mother to have a home.’

  Lil pulled a face. ‘Well, you cannot talk to Frances now. Marta shooed me away and is quite determined that she rest.’

  * * *

  Mr Edmunds was ushered in by Flora. As usual, he wore knee breeches of an antiquated style. It was also apparent that his girth had increased since the manufacture of his waistcoat as this garment was quite stretched, the buttons pulling over his midriff. Unfortunately, he had not yet abandoned his love for the moustache.

  ‘How lovely to see you, dear Mr Edmunds,’ Mrs Lansdowne said.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Lansdowne. I hope this is convenient. Miss Lansdowne. Miss Lillian.’ He bowed in greeting to both young women. ‘I am so grateful that you have recovered, Miss Lansdowne. Although I note some injuries. Did you have an accident?’

  ‘I barely escaped with my life.’

  ‘An altercation with a bramble. Nothing more,’ her mother said.

  ‘Pesky things, brambles,’ Millie agreed.

  ‘I have a particularly robust blackberry bush. Do you like blackberries, Miss Lansdowne? You may well enjoy picking them.’

  ‘I look forward to such agrarian delights.’

  That was the thing about Mr Edmunds, he was affable, quite nice really, if one were looking for an uncle or an occasional dinner companion. His children were pleasant and his house nice. He was not overly fond of spending money, but likely this was better than many alternatives.

  Flora brought tea and Mrs Lansdowne busied herself pouring and serving. Millie took a cup, adding more sugar than was typical and stirring. She sipped the tea, hoping that the heat and sweetness would create a sense of reality.

  Surely after last night, she should be given a day before making any life-altering decisions? Of course, the fact that she’d failed to confide in either her mother or sister rather undermined this argument. She hoped tea and the subsequent proposal would conclude quickly. She wanted to talk to Sally. Was it usual to hope for one’s engagement to be expeditious, much as you might wish for the quick conclusion of a dull sermon? She hoped her mother would not become aware of any rumours about last night’s events. Or, if this occurred, that Millie was either many miles away or able to block her ears.

  Meanwhile, she continued to perform the correct rituals: smiling, talking, nodding, drinking and a myriad of other normal functions, even as her mind circled miles away from this room.

  Marriage to Mr Edmunds had initially sounded sensible. But how could she now marry anyone when her mind was so filled with thoughts of Sam? His touch, his smile, lying close to him, talking to him...

  ‘...there are actually several varieties, each of which has a different texture. Which is your favourite, Miss Lansdowne?’

  ‘Pardon?’ Good Lord, how could she marry the man when she couldn’t even focus on him for two seconds together?

  ‘Type of potato. There are more varieties than people realise.’
<
br />   ‘Um...yes... I really hadn’t thought.’ Would she spend a lifetime learning about potatoes?

  The tea dragged. If she had to accept Mr Edmunds’s proposal, she wished the deed done. The conversation had moved from the potatoes but, unfortunately, was no more exciting. They were now discussing sheep breeds.

  ‘I quite like the Cornwall Longwool myself. The wool is sturdy. Of course, the Suffolk sheep is excellent and, if I have sufficient funds, I might consider adding some to my flock,’ Mr Edmunds explained.

  Millie pictured the breakfast table each morning with Mr Edmunds in a too-tight waistcoat discussing potatoes and sheep while straining tea through is strands of his robust moustache.

  At last, Mr Edmunds stood, his waistcoat straining with the movement. ‘Thank you, Mrs Lansdowne, for a delicious tea,’ he said, with another bow.

  ‘We loved having you. So delightful. We live so very quietly, being in mourning for dear Tom and my late husband,’ Mrs Lansdowne said.

  ‘Of course, I am glad you let me join you. I wondered if Miss Lansdowne would care for a short stroll with me, seeing as the air is quite pleasant today.’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. I am sure it. A lovely idea, isn’t it, dear?’ her mother said with palpable eagerness.

  ‘Yes,’ Millie replied. She felt like an actor in a bad play.

  ‘Flora, could you get Miss Millicent’s wrap?’ her mother directed.

  The wrap was procured. Millie pulled it about her shoulders, noting abstractedly that Flora had grabbed Lil’s wrap by mistake.

  Not that it mattered. She was now a bad actor, in a bad play, wearing someone else’s costume.

  * * *

  While the weather was much improved in comparison to the heavy rains earlier in the week, it could not be described as warm. With a shiver, Millie pulled the wrap more tightly about her.

  ‘Please do show me around the gardens,’ Mr Edmunds said. ‘I am so enjoying the air and the many delights of your enviable green thumb.’

  Millie raised a brow as she surveyed the straggly grass, cracked sundial and flower beds, bare save for a few intrepid snow drops. ‘The many delights are somewhat limited at this time of year. It was kept better when Father was alive.’

  ‘So unfortunate. I myself have experienced loss.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Was it good etiquette to bring up the loss of one’s first wife while proposing to one’s second?

  And now she wanted to giggle, though she felt quite certain giggling during a proposal of marriage was not at all appropriate. And she should have worn boots. Her slippers were getting quite soaked and they could ill afford another pair. She really had not anticipated thinking about her wet feet, which were still sore with blisters, during a marriage proposal.

  ‘Miss...um... Miss Lansdowne, I...um...have heard so many wonderful things about you. You are kind and wonderful with children and have a myriad of other accomplishments. Therefore...’ Mr Edmunds paused, inhaling and then exhaling with several whooshes of breath, as though building the required stamina for an arduous task.

  He took her hand. Even through the cloth of her glove his palms felt surprisingly warm and moist given the cool temperature. ‘I have come to value you very greatly and enjoy our time together and am wondering whether you would do me the very, very great honour of becoming my wife.’

  Millie swallowed. Her throat felt dry, her tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth. She heard the thump of her pulse against her ears and felt her armpits prickle with perspiration despite the chill. She should say ‘yes’. It was sensible on so many levels. And while Mr Edmunds lacked personality, intelligence or physique, he was unlikely to break his neck.

  Except...

  ‘No,’ she said.

  Mr Edmunds blinked as though taking a second to properly comprehend the word. Indeed, Millie also felt shocked surprise. Then, the disbelief dissipated, engulfed in a flood of pure elation, a feeling of sudden freedom, like when she rowed on the sea or ran across the moors.

  She knew that this was the right decision. It was not even about Sam. It was about something more important. It was about her. It was about choice. One could not choose one’s circumstances, but one could choose one’s reaction to them.

  ‘But your mother said...’

  ‘You do not want to marry me,’ she said bluntly.

  ‘I do not?’

  ‘No,’ Millie said, removing her hand from his clasp. ‘You want our land because it inconveniently splits your own.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ he concurred. ‘But—’

  ‘I cannot see that you would want a wife you do not even know. I cannot pretend to care about sheep or potatoes. You cannot pretend to care about me. Surely we can determine an alternate solution which would work better?’

  He looked bemused, as though she was speaking a foreign tongue. Sweat beaded on his forehead. ‘What did you have in mind?’ he asked, his tone apprehensive.

  ‘We sell you the land for a price sufficient to pay off our remaining debt, which is less than the land is worth. You allow my mother and I to remain at the house for the remainder of her lifespan or until she remarries. You would be responsible for the structural maintenance while she would look after its day-to-day operations.’

  His jaw dropped slightly. ‘Miss Lansdowne, I do not know what to say. You sound—you sound—’

  ‘As though I am presenting you with an alternative and objectively better choice.’

  ‘Just so. Except I am unsure if this agreement is in my best interest. Purchase of your property would require considerable investment, whereas marriage...’

  ‘One must provide for a wife. Besides, while you are a very nice man, I really do not want to marry you.’

  Mr Edmunds frowned, inhaling so deeply that she quite feared for the strain on his buttons. ‘I will need to think about this,’ he said. ‘Is your mother in agreement?’

  Millie shrugged. ‘I am uncertain, but it does not matter. It is not her story.’

  * * *

  Lil, Mrs Lansdowne and Flora descended on Millie the second she re-entered the house.

  ‘Mr Edmunds has gone. I saw the gig roll away,’ her mother said, waving a hand towards the window to emphasise her point.

  ‘I commend your power of observation.’

  ‘But I thought he would come in to share the glad tidings.’ Mrs Lansdowne still looked through the window pane as if hoping for the gig’s immediate return.

  ‘He is going to see the solicitor,’ Millie said.

  ‘Solicitor? It would be better to speak to the rector and read the banns. Have you decided on a date? Of course, it will have to be quiet, given, well, the situation.’

  ‘Mother, I am not getting married.’

  Lil clapped her hands. ‘I’m so glad.’

  Flora produced the smelling salts from her pocket, giving the vial to Mrs Lansdowne.

  ‘I told you to be sensible,’ her mother said, inhaling deeply.

  ‘I realised that “sensible” isn’t synonymous with marriage. And...’ she smiled at Lil ‘...I determined another choice.’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘I suggested that we sell the land to Mr Edmunds at a good price, sufficient to pay off our creditors. He will let you live at the house. Lil has apparently already arranged her debut with our guest, Mrs Ludlow, and I will be a companion or governess or perhaps live with you here.’

  ‘But—’ Her mother paused, inhaling the smelling salts. ‘But what of Lord Harwood?’

  Millie glanced at her sister. This was still a worry and certainly she had not included the sum mentioned in the promissory note in her calculations.

  ‘Mrs Ludlow and Mr Garrett will help me determine the best way to ensure that situation is resolved. We will consult a solicitor but I am determined Lillian will not marry him.’

  ‘B
ut you do not want to be a governess or a companion when you could have your own house. A single woman is not respected by society.’

  ‘That much is true,’ Millie said. ‘Hopefully, society will change some time. Meanwhile, I suppose I must settle for my own respect.’

  * * *

  ‘I cannot stay at Manton Hall!’ Frances spoke the second Sam entered the parlour of the Lansdowne residence.

  It was now late afternoon. He had spent the entire day talking to Sir Anthony and writing out a statement and was impatient to see his sister.

  However, she was not as well as he had hoped and he felt his apprehension grow as he observed her nervous movements. She stood by the window in the Lansdownes’ parlour.

  He stepped into the room. ‘You do not have to go back to Manton.’

  She jumped as though she had not been fully aware of him. She turned briefly to him and then back to the window pane, as if the grey world outside still drew her with a fatal fascination.

  ‘It looks so harmless from here,’ she said. ‘A silvery streak.’

  For a moment he was uncertain of her meaning, but then realised that she referred to the sea which was, indeed, but a streak of shimmering grey from this vantage point.

  She took her hand away from the pane, turning abruptly. ‘But I cannot stay here either. The sea is still too close. I can hear it, you know.’

  He stood still, uncertain. She gripped the window sill so tightly it seemed as though he could feel the tension twisting through her, taut like a piano string wound too tight.

  ‘One doesn’t hear the sea from here. It is too far away,’ he said.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, the movement almost violent. ‘I hear it and them—their voices.’

  He felt that horrid feeling of being in quicksand and not knowing what to do or say. It reminded him of the hopeless shock he had experienced last night when she had raised the pistol to her husband’s head.