The Lady Next Door

by Laura Matthews

  There was a hasty knock on the door, followed by Mr. Geddes’s excited voice. “May I speak with you, Miss Findlay?”

  The difficulties of running a lodging house had never been so apparent to Marianne. Before calling to Mr. Geddes to enter, she firmly said, “Thank you, Mr. Oldham, but I cannot marry you.”

  He had no chance to reply before Mr. Geddes hastened into the room.

  “I’ve worked it all out! Down to the very last detail! I’m sure you will see in a moment what a savings of time and energy it will be, Miss Findlay.” Mr. Geddes stood before them, pink with pleasure under his rumpled wig, only vaguely aware that Mr. Oldham was frowning, that Miss Effington was roused abruptly from sleep, while Marianne herself was utterly ignorant of his meaning.

  “What is it that you’ve worked out, Mr. Geddes?” Marianne asked calmly, a steadying hand to her aunt’s elbow.

  “A system of bell wires! Every room can be fitted with a pull, and there will be a board with bells on it in the servants’ quarters. They will know in precisely what room they are wanted, because the bells will be numbered, and a pendulum will continue to vibrate after the bell stops ringing. Imagine such efficiency! And the larger the house, the greater savings in time. Why, I dare say it will eliminate the need for several people just standing around in the truly magnificent homes.”

  Marianne accepted the drawing he offered showing wires and cranks and various other items which he identified with obvious enthusiasm. “It’s all very well to have a bell rope, Miss Findlay, though I realize that you don’t, but this system is by far more intricate and useful.”

  “I can see that it is, Mr. Geddes, but in order to install it, the walls would have to be opened to run the wires through, a very expensive proceeding.”

  “Yes, I thought of that, but I’ve devised a method where the openings would be minimal. And I would be willing to bear the expense, of course, if you would let me have it installed to use as a model for demonstration. Well,” he asked triumphantly, “what do you think?”

  His audience responded in a variety of ways. Miss Effington snorted, Mr. Oldham wrung his hands with frustration, and Marianne smiled gently. “I will have to study the plan and the rooms and give it some thought, Mr. Geddes. Understand, I think it a marvelous idea, but mine may not be the appropriate house in which to test the scheme. May I keep the drawing until tomorrow morning?”

  “Certainly! There is no need to make an immediate decision. I had just figured out how to keep the pendulum vibrating, and that was essential, you see. Otherwise, if the servants were occupied and couldn’t get to the board immediately, they would have no way of knowing which bell had rung. We could, of course, have bells with various tones but you know, Miss Findlay, not everyone has an ear for such things. This is by far the better method, I think.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Geddes.” As Aunt Effie struggled to her feet, Marianne rose with her and the gentlemen were dismissed, much to the old lady’s satisfaction.

  “Next time,” her aunt grumbled, “you might choose lodgers who only show up here to sleep.” Marianne didn’t even consider telling her the worst of the evening’s events.

  * * * *

  Dissatisfied with the results of his first offer, Mr. Oldham hung about the lower hall for some time in the morning, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Miss Findlay. He could not be content with her first answer; ladies were notoriously capricious, and the disturbance Mr. Geddes had caused was enough to shatter any woman’s fragile nerves. Unsure as to whether or not Miss Findlay had risen yet, he did not wish to tap at the drawing room door, so, when she did not appear, he eventually took himself off, and had the good fortune to find a chair at the corner.

  Marianne allowed the curtain to fall back after seeing him depart, and with a sigh, went in search of Mrs. Crouch, whose shopping expedition had been delayed on her employer’s unaccountable insistence. Although she meant to accompany the cook, Marianne had no intention of encountering Mr. Oldham along the way. This was to be Aunt Effie’s first expedition since her illness, and Marianne refused to have it marred.

  After leaving Mrs. Crouch to see to her purchase, Marianne and Aunt Effie walked slowly up Stonegate past the silk mercers and linen drapers, the glove-makers and tailors. In the windows of apothecaries and perfumeries there were displayed tincture of pearls for removing freckles, and Eau de Charm for bathing the temples (or taking internally for palsy), pulvil powder in a rosewood box, and perfumed pomatum. At the Minster end of Stonegate, was Charles Pearson’s where riding habits could be ordered—or clergymen’s gowns. Marianne instinctively averted her eyes from the fetching costume on display, but her aunt caught the subtle movement and halted in the narrow street. “You need a new habit, my dear. This is as good a time as any to have one ordered.”

  “Whatever do I need a habit for? I haven’t ridden in over a year.”

  “Then it’s time you did. Are you coming?”

  “We can’t afford it, Aunt Effie.”

  “Of course we can. We now have two lodgers who more than meet the household expenses.” Her aunt covertly lifted the spectacles and quickly observed the riding costume. “In green velvet it will suit you to perfection.”

  As the spectacles were whisked back into the folds of her aunt’s handkerchief, Marianne smiled ruefully. "There are probably any number of things we need more, but I don’t deny I should love to have something so elegant.” She drew herself up sharply. “If we are going to spend money on clothing, a morning dress would be far more practical.”

  “Ridiculous,” Aunt Effie snapped. “You’ve worked hard for the last year and you’ve earned something you want, not something you need. And perhaps it will induce you to hire a hack and get out into the countryside now and again.”

  “I can’t ride alone, Aunt Effie.”

  “We can spare Roberts to ride with you. Lord, it’s only a few shillings for some hacks.” The old lady’s mind was made up, and she stomped to the door, pushing it open with such vigor that the little bell jangled crazily. With less reluctance than she thought she should have felt, Marianne followed.

  They emerged some little while later into the sunny street, Miss Effington smug, and Marianne’s eyes sparkling with pleasure. In three days, the riding habit would be delivered to Micklegate and, after being fitted for the handsome, tailored coat and long, wide skirts, Marianne no longer felt the least compunction about purchasing it. Even the high-crowned hat with its plumes suddenly seemed a necessary extravagance. She could ride again. After the dim light of the shop, she blinked in the sunlight, only to find that they were being converged on from both directions, Dr. Thorne from their right, Lord Latteridge from their left. Marianne experienced a most unusual sensation, a feeling of panic. She had not told her aunt of the encounter with Lord Latteridge; had scarcely mentioned the rescue of the sailors, and although Dr. Thorne had called since, she had managed to keep discussion away from the incident itself, and of the progress of the wounded man.

  Both gentlemen were doffing their hats and bowing to her, acknowledging one another and waiting for her to speak. “Lord Latteridge, I don’t believe you’ve met my aunt, Miss Effington. Nor have you, perhaps, been properly presented to Dr. Thorne.” Marianne ignored the glint in her aunt’s eyes and the mutter of “Another Derwent.” With polished grace, the earl also ignored the murmur, and made a handsome leg to the old woman, since she made no move to offer her hand. Dr. Thorne was amused by the encounter, and Marianne shrugged slightly in despair.

  Under cover of the earl’s polite inquiries as to Miss Effington’s health, Dr. Thorne waved a hand at the shop they had come from and asked, “Are you to have a new riding habit from Pearson’s?”

  “Yes, a great indulgence for me.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, for now I shall have not the least hesitation in asking you to ride with me. Will you?”

  Marianne was very aware that Lord Latteridge had overheard this request and was watching her thoughtfully, b
ut before she could answer, her aunt interposed, “Well, of course she will. Marianne has been longing for a ride for ages, Dr. Thorne, and I have only but convinced her of the ease with which she can hire a hack. There must be half a dozen posting inns in York where they are available.”

  “There’s no need for that.” The earl’s calm voice broke into their discussion without the least hesitation, or the least offense, as it was accompanied by a charming smile. “Our stables here are full of horses which need exercise—my brother is out of town and my sister has yet to arrive. I pray you will avail yourself of mounts at any time you may desire them.”

  It was an extraordinary offer, considering he was barely known to either of the potential riders. For a moment, he held Dr. Thorne’s eyes with a kindly authority which allowed no refusal, and the young man grinned and said, “You are very generous, Lord Latteridge.”

  “Not at all. You would do me a favor. Perhaps Miss Findlay would allow me to accompany her occasionally as well.”

  Again the feeling of panic gripped Marianne, though there could be no possible reason for it. His friendly gray eyes were not insistent, nor his invitation pressing. In fact, it was hardly an invitation at all. One had only to say, “Thank you,” and it could be interpreted in any way one chose. Why then did she find herself unable to say anything at all?

  To her surprise he spoke as though she had answered him. “Good. The day after tomorrow at ten, shall we say? That will give Dr. Thorne a chance to take you riding tomorrow.”

  Dr. Thorne, apparently unmoved by this management of his affairs, nodded and remarked, “I should be finished with my rounds by one tomorrow, Miss Findlay. Will that be suitable?”

  Uncertain, she protested, “My .new habit won’t be ready for three days.”

  “Wear an old one,” he answered cheerfully, unperturbed. “I must see Mr. Boothe now. Tomorrow at one?”

  “Very well.” And he was gone, marching down the street with his springing step, not once turning to look back. Marianne watched until he turned the corner, unable to look at the earl, and feeling more stupid than she ever had in her life.

  Aunt Effie’s reaction to the scene was indecipherable. Although she could not object to the earl riding with her niece, and did not wish to object to Dr. Thorne doing so, there were other nuances which she did not understand, and was not sure she liked. Nonetheless, her sharp profile told nothing to her niece who stood inexplicably silent.

  “If we are to meet Mrs. Crouch in good time, we will have to finish our errands, Marianne,” she said with a nod to the earl. “I’m sure Lord Latteridge will excuse us.”

  “By all means. I shall call at ten on Saturday with a mount for you, Miss Findlay.”

  “Thank you.” This time the words meant acceptance; she felt powerless to say anything else and saw his bow and departure with an uncommon detachment. What the devil was the matter with her?

  Her aunt echoed this sentiment as she propelled Marianne toward the mercer’s shop. “I never thought I’d see the day you stood quaking before a Derwent, child. If you didn’t want to ride with him, you should have said so, but I thought you would show more spirit. Have you forgotten that his mother made a muddle of your life? Oh, I’m not saying it wasn’t your father’s fault to begin with, but her part was the more insidious. We could never have expected less of Sir Edward, loose screw that he is. And I say it even though my sister was married to him. You didn’t act this way with the brother. Are you so stricken with awe for an earl? Or are you alarmed that he harbors his mother’s opinion of you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Miss Effington eyed her keenly. “How did you meet him? Through the brother?”

  “No, he escorted me home from the promenade when Dr. Thorne had to see to his sailor-patients.”

  “And you never told me!”

  “What was there to tell? He didn’t realize who I was until we reached the door. I had no trouble talking with him then.” Marianne absently fingered a length of lace on the counter before her. “I don’t think Harry Derwent knew about my contretemps with his mother at all; perhaps his lordship doesn’t, either.”

  “If he doesn’t, he’ll learn. His mother is due shortly in York, according to Mr. Vernham. If he makes you nervous, why didn’t you refuse to ride with him?”

  “I don’t know, Aunt Effie,” Marianne said hopelessly, as she picked up a spool of embroidery thread. “Will this do for your seat-cover? Have you the matching thread with you?”

  “You can send a message that you won’t be able to ride,” persisted her aunt.

  And Miss Effington found that her niece had no more to say on the subject.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mr. Geddes was delighted to receive permission to place one bellpull in each of the three lodging units, provided he could obtain Mr. Oldham’s permission regarding his rooms (which would obviously be disrupted by the installation). Mr. Oldham thought to ingratiate himself with his landlady by agreeing, and the work was begun, but he found that Roberts had instructions to prevent his routine evening visit to Miss Findlay and her aunt, by insisting that the ladies were not receiving. At this point, he would have enjoyed rescinding his permission, but there was a hole in his wall and he could not very well call a halt to the work. So he sulked and awaited an opportunity to approach Miss Findlay for a second time.

  When Dr. Thorne called to take Marianne riding, there were two men working on the installation of a pull in her drawing room under Aunt Effie's fierce eyes. He pursed his lips and regarded the old lady wryly. “Do I detect the hand of Mr. Geddes in the current upheaval?”

  “Very clever of you, Doctor.” If her niece refused to use the proper tactics, Miss Effington was quite willing to make up for this oversight. “Marianne would be impressed by your shrewd guess. We are to have a system of bellpulls to call the servants. A simple brass bell on the table is not good enough for Mr. Geddes. Nor would a silver one be, presumably. No, no, one has to have a System. Daily we become a more Efficient household owing to that young man’s persistent inventive genius."

  Her sarcasm amused the doctor, and he laughed as she waved him to a seat. “Is Miss Findlay at home?”

  “She has not forgotten that you are to take her riding and will be with you in a moment. What sort of horses are they?”

  “Spirited but well-trained. Does your niece require a particularly gentle mount?”

  Aunt Effie regarded him as though he had lost the small ground he had made with her. “Does she appear to you the sort of girl who needs a hobby horse, Dr. Thorne?”

  "Not at all,” he protested, his eyes dancing. Before he could attempt to reclaim ground, Marianne entered in an old blue habit hopefully adorned with a new fall of lace at the cuffs which she had, at her aunt’s insistence, just completed attaching.

  “I’ve kept you waiting, Dr. Thorne. Forgive me.”

  “I’ve had the pleasure of a little chat with Miss Effington,” he replied with a grin, “and other than your own companionship, what more could a fellow ask?”

  “Obviously nothing.” Marianne bent to kiss her aunt’s cheek. “We shan’t be long, I imagine. If you need anything, Roberts and Beth are both here.”

  Miss Effington nodded her satisfaction. "I told you the lace would help. Don’t hurry back on my account.”

  Knowing that Aunt Effie believed that the longer she spent with Dr. Thorne, the more likely he was to take an interest in her, Marianne laughed. “Very well, dear, but I shall be back to dine.”

  Satisfied, the old lady watched them smugly as they departed, the doctor informally attired in buckskin breeches and her niece, even in the old habit, quite a lovely sight. All the doctor needed was a little encouragement, Aunt Effie decided as she settled to her embroidery, and he would see the advantages of aligning himself with such a personable girl. If need be, Miss Effington was willing to make the supreme sacrifice—she would find some other relation to live with so they could start a married life alone. Of course, she di
d hope that would not prove necessary, but she was, for her niece's sake, resigned to the possibility.

  Her disappointment would have been grave had she been party to their discussion on that ride. Far from showing the slightest inclination to develop their friendship into something more lasting and intimate, the two participants, out from under her eye, squabbled like brother and sister on every matter, from the direction in which they should ride, to who was the more accomplished maker of cordials.

  “You must realize, my dear Miss Findlay, that as an apothecary, as well as a surgeon, I am expert in the precise mixing of various ingredients. Do you, for instance, make your Barbados water only with orange and lemon peel?”

  His expression clearly indicated that he was attempting to trick her, but she merely laughed. “I do, Dr. Thorne. Do you add some spice?”

  “My Barbados water,” he assured her with mock haughtiness, “is an old family receipt which is never divulged to anyone outside the family, excepting our servants, of course, who are usually the ones to actually make it. I shall bring some for you.”

  “Too kind,” Marianne murmured with unconvincing humility. “You do have an advantage, I daresay, with all those jars and pots of outrageous herbs and spices. I came across a receipt for a cordial that called for wormwood, calamus-aromaticus and galingale, among any number of other exotic ingredients. It sounded more like a Pectoral Julep for easing a cough.”

  “And did you make it?”

  “Heavens, no! I made a simple shrub instead, and it served very well.”

  “Unadventurous woman! Have you no desire to explore the mysteries of finer cordials?”

  “Not if they use up all my red poppy seeds and saffron root,” she retorted. “Shall we cut cross-country to that stream?”

  “You are mighty ambitious for a lady who hasn’t been on horseback for some time,” he protested. “Don’t you think we should keep to the road?”

  For an answer, she guided the bay mare onto the harvested field with a jaunty wave of her hand, and set the horse to the gallop. With an exasperated snort, the doctor took off after her, calling, “Your aunt will skin me if any harm comes to you.”