by Robin Helm
The fiddle-players struck up a lively reel, and even many of those who were not dancing could not help but tap a foot in time with the music.
“What tune is that?” said Miss Gilbert. “I do not think I have heard it before.”
“’The Dog Amongst the Bushes.’ A Scottish melody, I believe.”
“I should have known.” Miss Gilbert rolled her eyes. “My life is plagued by dogs just now.”
“Indeed?”
“Well, one dog, at any rate. My brother Edmund is home from Eton for the summer, and his new dog is wreaking havoc in the household. He chewed my dancing slippers, you know, and I had to send to Kingston yesterday for new ones. Edmund is always with that dog, whether indoors or out of doors, and always calling for my attention to see some trick he says he has trained the dog to do. I am thankful to be out of the house and away from them both, even if it is just for the evening.”
“I have another possible escape for you: Miss Woodhouse has kindly offered to be hostess of a picnic for several young people in order to entertain my guest. Would you care to be of the party?”
“Oh, I should enjoy it above all things! I do hope the weather will not be too hot. Nothing is worse than eating out of doors in the heat, with flies and midges all around.”
When the dances with Miss Gilbert were finished, John saw George standing alone and went to talk to him.
“What is this? Deserted by everyone? I suppose it happens frequently with crotchety old men like yourself.”
“I am much too old to rise to that sort of bait, my dear brother. And if you were more observant, you would have seen me talking to Perry for the last half-hour.”
“Gossiping over someone’s illness?”
“No, just gossip about a local feud between Mitchell and Munnings.”
“The two farmers? What could they be arguing over?”
“All manner of things, evidently. It started with a dispute over an escaped bull that did some damage and has escalated to a small war. The latest battle has been over a load of manure—it has disappeared from one of the outbuildings where it was being stored to use on a field of barley.”
“And people think of London as a quagmire of criminal activity! Little do they know of the unbridled vice in quiet Surrey neighbourhoods!”
The musicians began another tune and George said, “You are not dancing this one?”
“No, I think I will sit this one out.”
“I saw you dancing with Isabella.”
“Yes. You were right, she has grown up. She has even thought of something to entertain Arthur: a picnic with some of the younger people. I have already asked Miss Gilbert to be of the party, and I think Isabella mentioned Newcomb and some other person. Miss Taylor would come in her role as chaperone, of course, and she thought to invite you, as well.”
“Good idea. You could picnic at Donwell—you remember those rocks near the edge of the wood where we used to have adventures when we were boys. It is not far from that stream, you know, and it is so dry now that it would be a pleasant spot.”
“That would be the perfect place. I don’t think Isabella had any particular location in mind. I’ll tell her. I suppose she is dancing now.”
“No, I saw her sit down over there by the window with Miss Dornan. I think Miss Dornan was feeling a trifle faint, and Isabella was sitting with her for a little while.”
“She always was kind-hearted,” said John approvingly. “I remember how patient she was with that little sister of hers!”
“Oh, quite. Isabella is very good natured. It is like her to think of something to help us entertain Arthur."
“Yes. Well, I suppose I ought to go talk to Newcomb. I haven’t seen him for an age.”
John walked off, leaving George to ponder what kind of blindness his brother was afflicted with that he would prefer Miss Dudley over Miss Gilbert or Isabella. Isabella, if not as stunningly beautiful as Miss Dudley, had far more character. Besides this, she was very pretty, had a compassionate disposition, and was the heiress of a far larger sum than Miss Dudley could be. True, she had no real influence in London society, which John appeared to think valuable. However, George was of the opinion that if John were received into polite society, he would tire of it in less than a year and regularly retreat to his own library instead of attending balls and dinners. However, he could think of nothing to say to John that would convince him of this; anything he could think of to tell him would provoke aggrieved repudiations.
The brothers convened in Donwell’s library late that night after Arthur had gone up to bed. John received a drink from his brother and gave a contented sigh. “As balls go, that was more enjoyable than I expected. As good I can expect any ball to be without Miss Dudley at it.”
“You behaved very properly. Danced with all the appropriate damsels.”
“One of us had to.”
“I wondered how long it would be before you grumbled about that.”
“If you wanted to stop my nagging all you had to do was dance.”
“I find it too much effort for too little return.”
“I would think keeping up conversation with half a dozen people would be a far greater effort.”
“For you, it would be.”
“True.” John reached down to scratch the ears of Homer, who was sniffing at his boots. “This is the most strenuous holiday I have ever had. Ah, well. I daresay I can endure for two more weeks.”
“Yes. It will be ever so much more tranquil when Arthur goes back to London.”
“Donwell will be more tranquil. I don’t believe I will feel tranquil until I can dance with Maria again.”
George said nothing.
“Tranquil,” continued John, “is perhaps not the right word. I think I will be anxious until I have won her hand.”
“And then, I suppose, you will finally be at peace. You can rest from the weary social round.”
“Yes.” John paused for a moment and then looked thoughtful. “Well, no, I cannot say I could rest from the social round. Maria would not wish to live retired.”
“Ah well, no doubt there would be compensations.”
John’s brow cleared. “Indeed. Sir Robert Dudley is friends with all the influential men in the courts. I would probably be referred many cases from them if I were known to be associated with that family. And socially it would do me a great deal of good.”
“Well, that is a point to consider. Possessing a beautiful wife, being the envy of other men, having the influence of your wife’s family to raise you in your vocation… Very tempting. As you say—compensations.”
John opened his mouth to protest and then shut it. It seemed as if his brother was criticizing him for his reasoning, but he could not be sure. George was only repeating what he himself had said.
“Regardless,” he said, putting it all aside, “I must do what I can to secure my position.”
“Undoubtedly.” George got up from his chair to refill his glass. “Is the picnic all arranged?”
“It seems so. Miss Taylor approved the idea, and they both thought the place you suggested on the grounds of Donwell would be perfect. It is set for the day after tomorrow.”
“Good. A large party?”
“I hardly know. It is to be Isabella’s picnic, so she will issue the invitations and supply the food.”
“I hope it may be a pleasant day.”
“Yes, so do I.”
John went to bed that night feeling inexplicably dissatisfied. It was a shame about Arthur ruining his holidays like this. But no, it was going to be worth the trouble. He needed to stop repining.
_______________________
“I wish you were coming with us on this picnic,” said John as he sat with George at the breakfast table two days later. “Aged as you are, you would still be a useful addition.”
“You surprise me. I had thought such an ancient artifact as myself would be deemed an unnecessary burden on the party. I thought you would be blessing the parish meetin
g at the Crown that keeps me from joining you.”
“Oh, well, we are a tolerant lot. You could bring your cane, or at the worst, have the footmen carry a bath chair to save your weary bones the difficulty of walking. In all sincerity, I do wish you were coming. You have been known to exercise a certain damping effect on high youthful spirits, and since I received a note this morning apprising me that young Edmund Gilbert is to accompany the group, I wish more than ever you would be there to help.”
“Edmund must be very young. What is he, ten or eleven years old?”
“Yes. I think Miss Gilbert is too easily persuaded. Her note says Edmund teased her for an invitation to the picnic and would give her no peace until she gave in.”
“Then I am thankful to be a magistrate, which mandates my attendance at a parish meeting instead. But I will be here at the end of the day when you return to give you my deepest sympathy and hear the worst of the trials of the day.”
“I hope it will not be quite so dreadful. Isabella has kindly promised that she and Miss Taylor will help entertain Arthur with conversation, so at least he will be amused for a while.”
George frowned. “I hope Arthur is not too entertained by Isabella.”
“What do you mean?”
George took another sip of tea before replying. “Isabella has a considerable fortune coming. Thirty thousand pounds would be quite a catch for the younger son of what you so eloquently described as a rather ramshackle estate. As well, she is both beautiful and personable. Not likely to ward off undesirable young men with cutting remarks or cold looks. It could become, to say the least, awkward.”
“I see.” It was John’s turn to frown.
“Well, never mind. Miss Taylor will be along, and she knows how to keep things within the bounds of propriety.”
“Very true. No doubt she will do so. I will, however, keep my own eye on Arthur.”
_______________________
Miss Gilbert’s worries about an inconveniently hot day were unfounded. Indeed, there were clouds that seemed rather ominous, and although the heavens never did open and pour down rain, there were enough episodes of light drizzle to keep everyone anxious about whether they ought to turn back before the rain got heavy. The Woodhouses’ groom, who was leading the horse on whose back the picnic lunch was packed, gave it as his opinion (when asked by John) that they would all be soaked through before they returned home.
Young Edmund was in very lively spirits. He had brought his pup, a completely untrained spaniel, with him and was forever chasing after him, scolding him, throwing sticks for him, or calling on whoever was nearest him to watch Fergus perform some trick. The dog steadfastly refused to do any such thing. Miss Gilbert repeatedly tried to call her young brother to order, but he remained boisterous.
“This is what comes,” said Newcomb privately to John, “of inviting schoolboys to parties of pleasure!”
John nodded silently. Edmund was annoying, to be sure, but he had other worries. They had already gone two miles, and most of that time Arthur had been walking with the ladies. He could see them talking and hear occasional bursts of laughter. Arthur was definitely spending more time talking to Isabella than to Miss Gilbert. He watched with some anxiety as Arthur was the one to help Isabella and Miss Taylor cross the shallow stream on the stones that did duty as a bridge. Newcomb, determined not to be left out, spent a lot of time endeavouring to talk to Miss Gilbert. John was left trying to keep an eye on Edmund.
At last they reached the spot where they had decided to eat. The food, at least, was good, and John took care to sit next to Arthur and ask him enough questions about the current favourites in horse racing that Arthur was occupied. Miss Taylor and Isabella gratified Edmund by admiring Fergus, whose endearing actions included stealing food off the plates of the picnic-goers, barking at birds, and disappearing regularly into the nearby wood.
On the return trip, just as John had secured the position at Isabella’s side, there was a mishap. Miss Taylor, crossing the stream again, slipped on one of the rocks and turned her ankle. John gave her his arm to lean on, and then spent the next twenty minutes watching Isabella and Arthur walking alone together ahead of them. He wondered if he would have thought there was anything untoward in the circumstance if George had not expressed his worries that morning. As it was, he was sure that Arthur was showing too much appreciation for Isabella.
As they neared the end of their journey, Miss Taylor’s ankle was found to have swollen considerably. The picnic things were taken off the horse and Miss Taylor perched on him instead, and the horse was led slowly back to Hartfield. John and Arthur accompanied the ladies into the house. They saw Miss Taylor delivered into the care of the housekeeper, who made clucking noises over the swollen ankle and began to give directions to the housemaid about poultices of warmed vinegar and finding a low stool on which to rest the damaged limb. Young Emma appeared, and John was glad to see her truly concerned for her governess. Mr. Woodhouse was more than concerned; he was nearly overcome with worry. Emma suggested that Mr. Perry be send for.
“You see,” she said conspiratorially to John, “Even though Serle knows what to do for a sprained ankle, it will make Papa easier if we ask Mr. Perry to come and look at it.”
John offered to bring the request to Perry on the way back to Donwell, and he and Arthur left Hartfield with the thanks of all three Woodhouses falling on their ears.
Arthur was in good spirits as they walked to Highbury. “Glad you introduced me to Miss Woodhouse. It has made this venture into Surrey worthwhile.”
John was silent for a moment, pondering how to answer. “I am glad you enjoyed the picnic,” he finally said.
“Oh, that was all very well, I suppose, but if Miss Woodhouse had not been in attendance, it would have been quite dreary.”
“She is very charming. But then so are Miss Gilbert and …and several other young ladies around here. Miss Hughes, for example, is thought to be very amiable and attractive.”
“Newcomb says Miss Woodhouse is to have thirty thousand pounds.”
“Did he? Well then he should have mentioned that Miss Gilbert is not without fortune either.”
“Oho! You keep trying to lead me away from the subject of Miss Woodhouse. I thought you were devoted to Maria, but I see that I have underestimated your ability to imitate Casanova. No doubt two ladies are more entertaining than one—so long as they live in different counties. No, no,” he added, as he saw John’s fist tighten. “No need to display your temper. No insult intended.”
John was silent for a moment longer and then took a deep breath, willing himself to unclench his jaw. “I have known Miss Woodhouse nearly all my life and consider her a friend.”
“Oh, quite. That much is clear. But if you don’t want her for yourself, why put a rub in my way?”
“She wouldn’t have you,” said John, not caring how rude he sounded. “She prefers the quiet life.”
“We shall see. Haven’t you ever heard that all women love a rake?”
“Well, I give you leave to try,” said John, thinking that he would certainly drop a word of warning into Miss Taylor’s ear.
They had reached Mr. Perry’s house by this time, and John delivered the message. He was assured that Mr. Perry would go as soon as possible to see the afflicted governess. The rain that had been threatening did finally pour down as they left Highbury, and they arrived back at Donwell dripping wet.
John was the first of the two to finish changing into dry clothes, and he went into the library to find his brother. George listened sympathetically to the ordeals of the day.
“You were right about Arthur and Isabella,” John said as he finished his narrative. “Arthur informed me that all women love a rake, and that Isabella’s fortune made coming into this district worth his while.”
“You don’t suppose he poses a real danger to her, do you?”
“No… not really. No, of course not. Not with Miss Taylor and Mr. Woodhouse there, watching over her.�
�
“Quite so.”
John paced over to the window and looked out at the rain that was still coming down. “Do women love a rake?”
“I don’t think they do, as a rule,” said George. “And a good thing it is for you, too. Unless you are considering becoming a profligate in order to endear yourself to Miss Dudley.”
“Miss Dudley? Oh, I see what you mean. No….no.” He wandered over to one of the comfortable library chairs and sat down. “I am rather sorry for bringing Arthur to Donwell. And will be much more so if he brings trouble to any of our friends.”
“Well, consider it good practice. If you are to have even closer ties to the Dudley family than you do now, it will probably be your lot in life to spend your spare moments getting Arthur out of scrapes.”
“That is a very lowering thought.”.
“Bear up, dear brother, and remember the compensations.”
“Yes, the compensations. Quite right. I will do my utmost to remember them.”
George thought he had never seen his brother look quite so discouraged.
_______________________
John’s penitential mood lasted through the next day when he took Arthur with him for his call to the Bates’. He had been putting off this duty but could no longer salve his conscience in doing so. Arthur was not particularly keen on coming with him; Miss Bates’ reputation as a talker had become known to him and he was reluctant to waste a good afternoon in such a fashion. He put forward the idea that they should call on the Woodhouses instead, but this was met with such disinterest by John that Arthur resigned himself.
As they passed the Crown, they encountered Newcomb who was just coming out the door.
“Ah, Knightley! Dudley! This is providential! Cox and Saunders are here in the Crown, and we thought we would have a game of whist. I came out to see if there was anyone who would play with us, and here are the two of you. Will you play? If there are five of us we needn’t play whist, you know—Vingt-et-un or Speculation would do as well.”
