by M C Beaton
He gave her a slightly baffled look. Mr Wilkins had been so obviously hopeful of a match between Lord Augustus and his daughter that it had thrown cold water on that young man’s affections. Penniless he might be, but Lord Augustus knew he was considered a catch. He was used to being pursued. He had great contempt for his friends who had stooped to marry rich merchants’ daughters for their dowries. Penelope Wilkins was worth more, so much more, than some fortune-hunting adventurer.
After Hannah had been served tea, she looked across the table at him. Her eyes turned blue and seemed, for such as Hannah Pym, to look unusually innocent.
‘I shall call,’ said Hannah, ‘for as you rightly accused me, I am a determined matchmaker. Penelope Wilkins is likely to fall for the first eligible man, and that will never do. I am determined to persuade her parents to take her to balls and assemblies. She will become accustomed to masculine admiration and will learn how to discriminate between the genuine and the false. With her strict upbringing, a man who marries her for her money and then neglects her after marriage will not do. She needs a lover as well as a husband. Someone who will take her in his arms and cherish her.’
The picture of Penelope in someone else’s arms was suddenly appalling to Lord Augustus. He glared at Hannah. He was sure she had meant to have just that effect with her words.
‘And you have much to do yourself, my lord,’ Hannah went on. ‘There is, after all, your uncle to be courted for his money-bags.’
‘Look here, Miss Pym. We have been through a lot together. I am reluctant to call you impertinent.’
‘I apologize most sincerely,’ said Hannah meekly. ‘And now I must see to Benjamin.’
She rose and left Lord Augustus to his uncomfortable thoughts. Those thoughts turned towards his uncle. His uncle was his mother’s brother. He was a retired admiral called Lord James Abernethy and lived in seclusion in Portsmouth. Lord Augustus had last seen him some ten years before. That ten years was a very long time. He could hardly shake the old man by the hand and say, ‘If you cannot give me any money now, could you leave me some in your will?’
His conscience gave a sharp, nasty jab and he blamed Hannah Pym bitterly for its awakening. In the clubs of London, waiting for relatives to die was a well-known occupation, or rather preoccupation. I wonder what it is like to be old and realize at last that one has not long to live by the visits of relatives one has not seen in years, he reflected.
The money he had won from Mr Cato would soon be gone. He had a small allowance annually from a trust fund, and his next payment was not due for another two months. He would need to find a pawnshop and pop some piece of jewellery.
He wondered what it would be like if he paid a call on the old boy and tried to entertain him and then just left without asking for anything. He felt a certain lightening of his spirit. Dammit, he thought, I won’t ask Uncle for anything. I’ll see if he can put me up for a few days, that’s all. And it would be only civil to call on Mr Wilkins. After all, he had paid for dinner.
Hannah swung open her casement window in the morning, prepared for her first sight of the ocean – and looked straight into the windows of the buildings opposite. But there were sea-gulls wheeling about and her nostrils twitched as she smelled tar and fish and salt.
But before she went exploring, Benjamin had to be attended to. The inn manager, already appealed to the previous evening, told her the physician would be along to attend to Benjamin within the hour. When Hannah went down to the coffee room, Mr Cato was just entering the inn. ‘Ship sailed yesterday,’ he said as soon as he saw Hannah. ‘My fault really. It doesn’t do to cut these things too fine. I’ll be here for another three weeks at least. What are your plans, Miss Pym?’
‘I have to wait and see that Benjamin is well enough to get up,’ said Hannah. ‘Then I must go out and find him new clothes. And then I shall see the sea for the first time.’
‘For the first time? Well! Might tag along with you. Got nothing better to do. Tell you what, you look after that footman of yours and I’ll go and get him some clothes. No, no. My pleasure. If I feel it all comes to too much, I’ll let you foot the bill. Why, there’s our Miss Trenton.’
Miss Trenton came into the coffee room and stood irresolute, her face a little pink and her eyes averted. But choleric as he was, the American seemed incapable of sustaining any animosity towards even such as Miss Trenton. ‘Over here,’ he called. ‘We’re making plans for the day.’
As Miss Trenton came up to them, he said cheerfully, ‘Miss Pym has never seen the sea, so as soon as we make sure that Benjamin is all right, we’re going out. Care to come along?’
Miss Trenton sat down next to Hannah, her back ramrod-straight. ‘I cannot,’ she said quietly. ‘I need to go to an old friend who runs a seminary and ask for employment. That is, if she will have me.’
There was a startled silence. Miss Trenton gave a thin smile. ‘As you have both probably guessed, I do not own a private carriage. I am an unemployed governess.’
‘Yes, we knew you didn’t have a carriage,’ said Mr Cato bluntly. A shaft of sunlight shone through the leaded windows of the coffee room. ‘Going to be a grand day,’ went on Mr Cato. And to Hannah’s horror he turned to Miss Trenton and said, ‘Come with us. Put off your interview another day. We all deserve a holiday, hey?’
Tears started to Miss Trenton’s eyes. She felt after the evening before that she had known the bottomless depths of humiliation and could go no lower, but what she had to say, she felt, put her beyond the bounds of ordinary human friendship. ‘I cannot stay,’ she said, ‘for I would not be able to pay another night here. If I do not get this position, I do not know what I will do.’
She drew out a handkerchief and began to cry in earnest. Hannah still could not like her, but Mr Cato seemed considerably moved. ‘Come, madam, I will pay your shot,’ he said. ‘Dry your eyes and keep Miss Pym company while I get some duds for our footman.’
Miss Pym and Miss Trenton were left alone. ‘I suppose you despise me,’ said Miss Trenton in a low voice.
‘I despised you for your malice towards Miss Wilkins,’ said Hannah. ‘But for being poor? Nonsense. Wait here and I will see to Benjamin and we will have breakfast together.’
As she rose, the manager came up leading the physician, and Hannah took the doctor upstairs. He examined Benjamin’s head and said he should stay in bed quietly for the day, but that the wound was clean and there was no sign of fever. Hannah wrote all this down for Benjamin and then rang the bell and ordered a large breakfast for the footman. She then wrote on a piece of paper, ‘Do you want anything?’
Benjamin wrote in reply, ‘Books or newspapers?’
Hannah ordered the morning newspapers from the waiter who brought in the breakfast and then went back to the coffee room to have her own breakfast with Miss Trenton.
Mr Cato returned in triumph with a red plush livery, rather worn, underclothes, shirt, stockings, and a pair of buckled shoes. ‘How kind of you!’ exclaimed Hannah. ‘But will these things fit? The shoes, for example?’
‘Bound to.’ Mr Cato looked them over. ‘I have a good eye for size.’
‘Then I shall take them up to him,’ said Hannah. ‘It is very good of you, Mr Cato, and so I shall tell him.’
‘Don’t be all day writing things down,’ said Mr Cato with a grin. ‘You’ve got to see the sea.’
When Hannah had gone, he said to Miss Trenton, ‘Don’t go messing your face up with more tears, ma’am. The sun is shining and we shall all have a pleasant day. Then you may go to that seminary tomorrow and try your luck. She’s bound to take you, ain’t she?’
‘I do not know,’ said Miss Trenton. ‘Oh, I was so jealous of Miss Wilkins. I have taught so many girls such as she – pampered and spoilt with doting parents, never having to worry about where the next penny is coming from, never having to grovel.’
‘That’s the way of the world,’ said Mr Cato, ‘and a nasty old world it becomes if you turn bitter, Miss Trenton,
for people have a habit of giving back as good as they get. You cannot go around lying about carriages and puffing yourself up and sneering at people and expecting them to deal kindly with you, now can you?’
But such as Miss Trenton cannot remain in a state of humility for long. She began to feel that she was ill done by, that she had really done nothing wrong, that Penelope Wilkins probably was a trollop, but the prospect of a whole day’s holiday with her bills being paid at the inn by the generous Mr Cato was not to be thrown away lightly. So she bowed her head and looked suitably ashamed of herself and Mr Cato smiled on her indulgently and reflected there was good in everyone.
Lord Augustus decided, not for the first time in his life, that a title was a very useful thing to have. No inn-keeper was ever vulgar enough to press for settlement in advance and he was able to hire a light carriage and airily ask for the charge to be put on his bill. He had discovered by inquiring at the inn that his uncle lived right in the centre of the town, and when he found the house his first thought was that his uncle was surely in straitened circumstances to live in such a place. It was a tall, narrow, dark building wedged between a haberdasher’s and a jeweller’s premises. He rapped on the brass door-knocker and waited.
After some time, a pretty little housemaid answered the door. She bobbed a curtsy and took his card and asked him in a shy whisper to wait in the hall.
The hall, reflected Lord Augustus, was more like a cupboard. It was a tiny place dominated by a large painting of a sailing ship in full rig on one wall. The floor was sanded and a narrow uncarpeted stair led to the rooms above.
After some time, the same little maid pattered lightly down the stairs with the instructions that my lord was to follow her to the ‘crow’s nest’.
‘How very nautical,’ murmured Lord Augustus as he made his way up the narrow staircase after her. ‘Why the crow’s nest, child?’
‘Because it’s at the top of the house, my lord,’ said the housemaid. Lord Augustus toiled up the stairs and then stooped his head to enter a small room that was like a ship’s cabin. His uncle did not appear to have changed much with the passing of the years. The admiral was a small, slight man with a thin, scholarly face. The room was decorated with souvenirs from the admiral’s travels – hideous wooden masks, small idols, brassware, carved ivory elephants, all lying about in a glorious jumble. At the window stood a large brass telescope.
Lord Abernethy, the retired admiral, had the same deep-blue eyes as his nephew. He did not rise to greet Lord Augustus but regarded him shrewdly. ‘And what brings you, nephew?’
Lord Augustus sat down opposite his uncle and sighed. He had been about to say that he had come to Portsmouth to visit the old boy out of the kindness of his heart, but somehow he now felt that lies, even polite ones, would not do; in fact, they might hurt. He wondered why it had never crossed his mind or the minds of any of his roistering friends that the relatives on whom they so assiduously preyed might only pay up because they were lonely.
‘The fact is, sir,’ he said, ‘that I travelled to Portsmouth to ask you for money. I then decided not to do so. I discovered to my surprise that I wanted to see you just the same, so here I am.’
Lord Abernethy looked quite shocked. ‘What has been happening to you, my lad?’ he cried. ‘Methodists got you? The only time anyone of my age sees anyone of your age is when he’s being sponged on. I admire your honesty, and yet righteousness sits oddly on you. We never were a righteous family, Gus, and that’s a fact. You wouldn’t like to try to wheedle some blunt out of me to put me at ease?’
‘I cannot, Uncle. I brought a conscience with me to Portsmouth in the shape of an angular spinster with a crooked nose who was, I believe, at one time an upper servant.’
A slow smile curved Lord Abernethy’s long mouth. He poured two glasses of wine, settled back in his chair, and said, ‘Begin at the beginning.’
And so Lord Augustus told him everything that had happened with the exception of kissing Penelope. He told the story well and in detail, giving thumbnail sketches of the passengers.
‘Carsey,’ said the admiral. ‘Lady Carsey of Esher. Now let me see. Old Carsey, that’s Sir Andrew Carsey, died last year. Fell down the stairs and broke his neck. Drunk, so rumour had it.’
‘I am convinced that Sir Andrew was probably pushed down the stairs by his loving wife and had brandy or something poured over his corpse,’ said Lord Augustus. ‘What a rapacious female.’
‘All sounds possible to me,’ said Lord Abernethy. ‘What did the bitch plan to do with that footman? Leave him to rot to death?’
‘I do not know. Miss Pym said that the butler expected the cellars to be free for inspection in two days’ time. That might mean she intended to kill him, or perhaps turn him loose, having had revenge.’
‘And this Penelope Wilkins. I know old Wilkins, of course. Bags of money. Give him a civil nod when I meet him, but nothing more, mark you. He still takes off his coat and works in one of his shops if trade is pressing. Aye, and is not above going on board ships at anchor to sell his wares.’
‘What is up with that?’ asked Lord Augustus.
‘Nothing at all, boy. Backbone of England, people like Wilkins. I merely pointed out the obvious that one does not socialize with such people.’
‘Quite. But I wonder what work is like, Uncle. Such an exhausting bore trying to fill in the day with nothing but amusement. Such an expensive bore, too. While I am pursued by duns and lightskirts and matchmaking mamas, Wilkins probably falls into a dreamless sleep at night after a hard day’s work and owing no man a penny.’
‘But that is what the merchant class is expected to do,’ pointed out Lord Abernethy crossly. ‘I do not like the turn this conversation is taking, nephew. I will put it to you frankly. Wilkins is one of the best, and yes, we have all heard in Portsmouth of the ravishing daughter he guards so close, but there is a gleam in your eye I do not like. I urge you not to entertain any tender feelings towards this little bourgeoise.’
‘I have already been warned off by Miss Pym,’ said Lord Augustus with a reluctant laugh. ‘She considers me not good enough.’
‘Impertinent baggage!’
‘And between you, you have quite made up my mind for me. I shall call on the Wilkinses as soon as possible.’
Lord Abernethy glared at him and then his anger vanished as quickly as it had come. ‘Whom you call on is your affair,’ he said. ‘I have not seen you since you went into the army. Did the life not suit you?’
‘I had several unfortunate experiences,’ said Lord Augustus drily. ‘I was in Flanders with the 33rd under Colonel Wellesley to join the Duke of York’s famous Ten Thousand.’
Lord Abernethy began to sing,
‘The Grand Old Duke of York,
He had ten thousand men,
He marched them up to the top of the hill,
And he marched them down again.’
‘Yes, that campaign,’ said Lord Augustus. ‘It was a hell of freezing cold. Wellesley decided that the French would never fight in such bitter conditions but would hole up for the winter, and instead, they came speeding down the frozen canals, defeated the Dutch, and drove all us exhausted redcoats into Hanover and a new hell of cold and wretchedness. But the failure of the campaign can really be laid at the doors of the army brokers, those rascally crimps who created a flood of new field officers. For a cheap sum of money, anyone could be an officer – criminals, decrepit old men, schoolboys, and even madmen.
‘After that, I went to India.’
‘Should have made your fortune there,’ pointed out his uncle.
‘Everyone tries to make a fortune out of India. Let me tell you, sir, it is not just Warren Hastings who is at fault. Rapacity cannot be laid at the door of one man. Every grade of the East India Company, from the clerks in Leadenhall Street in London to its military and civil servants out east; every rank in His Majesty’s army; and the whole array of native Indian rulers down to freebooters scouring the villages – all
expect to rape India and line their pockets, and so I found out. I arrived in Calcutta a month before the hot season. I have never taken part in such a hectic social life. Major-General John St Leger was there. All the notables had their “seats”. The diarist William Hickey had what he called his “little chateau” at Chinsurah, complete with verandas and Doric pillars. We rose every morning early and then played trick-track, or backgammon, as it is called here, till three-thirty in the afternoon. Then we dressed and took dinner at four and then began to push the claret about. At a dinner given by the 33rd, twenty-two healths were drunk in large goblets, after which we were permitted to go on drinking out of glasses of a more moderate size. Then, at two in the morning, we reeled to our palanquins and were borne to our quarters. I was weary of it all, but determined to stick it out until I had fought in at least one successful battle.
‘And so it happened, I was in the Battle of Tipoo. We sailed from Calcutta to Madras and the ship ran on to a reef, but we all managed through sheer strength to refloat her. Then the pox of a captain, Captain Frazier, supplied us all with contaminated water, so we all got the bloody flux and that epidemic of dysentery killed fifteen good men. So, as you know, we won at Tipoo and I did well from the prize money. I sold out and took the next ship for home and prepared to spend all my energies in enjoying myself until the money had gone, and so I did.’
‘And what are your plans now?’
‘I think I shall return to the inn and see if any of the stage-coach passengers are left. You see, sir, we had so many adventures that already I miss their company.’
‘You may rack up here as long as you like,’ said Lord Abernethy. ‘Meanwhile, I’ll get my hat and walk with you to the inn. I have a desire to see these people. But you will find your adventures have given you a pair of rose-tinted glasses and that they will seem but a very shabby lot now.’
* * *
