Degrees of Hope

by Catherine Winchester

  Malcolm and Honoria moved in over the Christmas period, and in the New Year their pattern of behaviour began to formulate. Honoria lived full time at the house, whilst Malcolm left for London during the week to manage his businesses, leaving on the Monday morning and returning on the Friday evening.

  Honoria quickly made a few friends among Marchwood society, but Malcolm seemed to have little interest. Indeed, they hardly socialised at all on the weekends and it seemed that the only activity that could tempt Malcolm away from his wife, was the shooting parties that Lucien or another local gentleman organised on the weekends.

  Sadly he had moved to Marchwood too late to partake in the game shooting for very long, as the law prohibited hunting game birds after the first of February. However hare had no season, so although the hunting parties were less frequent in the spring and summer, there was on average a shooting party at least every other month.

  Malcolm expressed an interest in hunting deer but whilst there were a few on his estate, Lucien didn't cultivate them or hunt them, although he did allow the steward and gamekeeper to cull them when their numbers grew too large.

  Lucien thought deer to be a proud animal and disliked killing them, though his excuse to other gentlemen was that there was less skill required to chase a deer to exhaustion and then shoot it whilst it was cornered. Hitting a pheasant, grouse or hare on the other hand, was difficult and much more sportsmanlike.

  Since the Marchwood estate was the largest for easily thirty miles and offered the best sport, local gentlemen abided by his likes and dislikes, even when one of them hosted a shooting party. Some of the gentlemen ventured further afield, to other estates in the county where they might hunt big game, but Lucien always declined such invitations if deer were being hunted.

  Besides which, deer stalking took place at dawn, whilst game shooting was an all-day activity and therefore, much more sociable. The ladies would congregate by the picnic tables in the garden whilst the men hunted, and then both parties would come together for lunch. Usually that was the end of shooting for the day and the afternoon would be spent eating and drinking, either outside in the sunshine if weather permitted, or in the Beaumont's new orangery if the weather wasn't so kind.

  Today was one such day in mid-March, and after the spring showers turned into actual rain, the ladies had decided that the gazebo tents they were sheltering under weren't going to be enough, and they rushed inside.

  Hope was giggling as they entered the orangery, having enjoyed the dash through the rain. Some ladies were upset that their gowns or hair had become wet, but most seemed to have enjoyed the excitement.

  Martha oversaw the rearrangement of the tables and furnishings as the servants brought them inside, whilst the ladies checked their appearance and wiped their damp faces with handkerchiefs. Honoria and Hope were over to one side, looking out at the garden through the windows as the rain fell harder still.

  They were looking in the wrong direction to see the men return, but Martha spotted them and greeted Lucien with a smile and a kiss. Each man had a servant with him to reload his guns and at this time of year, they also carried umbrellas. The rain was so heavy though, that in the dash to get indoors, most had made a hard target for their servants to shield, even with the umbrellas.

  Lucien didn't look too perturbed by his drenching. He had spent a large part of his childhood outdoors, roaming the estate on foot or horseback, so a little rain was nothing to him, nor to many of the other gentlemen. However, Martha noticed that Malcolm looked decidedly less happy, almost angry.

  She heard Hope and Honoria begin to laugh as MacDuff shook himself, spraying them with water. She watched as Malcolm's eyes narrowed as he observed them. Martha looked over to her daughter and her friend but they looked innocent enough, chatting and laughing as young women should, in her opinion. She couldn't see what might have upset Malcolm, but she thought it best to divert them before Malcolm became any more disturbed.

  “Girls! Go and fetch some towels for the gentlemen, please.”

  Although that was a servant's job, neither woman looked upset by the request, and they returned a few moments later and began handing towels out to the men who wanted one.

  The men had returned early, so it took a little while for lunch to be served. Most were content to drink and talk in the meantime, but Malcolm remained in a bad mood and Honoria remained at his side. Hope joined them but quickly sensed that she wasn't helping to reduce the tension between the couple, so she decided to leave them alone.

  Malcolm's mood improved somewhat as the afternoon went on, and Lucien did his best to engage the younger man in conversation.

  Lucien had never warmed to their neighbour, but he wasn't sorry that he had given in to his wife's demands. Over the course of his life, Lucien had needed to mix with many people that he didn't much like, so remaining cordial with Malcolm wasn't too difficult. Besides, it wasn't so much that he disliked the man, it was more that he couldn't warm to him.

  The rain didn't let up for the rest of that day, so there were quite a few shrieks as the couples made their way to their carriages in the late afternoon. The family headed to their rooms to change, then met again in the sitting room before dinner.

  The gas lights had already been lit and the fires built up, thanks to the cold and gloomy day, giving the room a warm feel, despite the overcast evening. The Hall had been fitted with gas lighting about five years ago, which on dark days like this was a blessing, because not only did they produce more light, gas was far cheaper than candles.

  Since it was just family this evening and they had been dressed up all day, both women had opted to change into the corset-less, artistic dress.

  “I think that went well,” Lucien began the conversation, as he sipped a glass of wine before dinner.

  “Very,” Martha agreed. Everyone had seemed to have a good time, despite the inclement weather.

  Gradually the talk turned to Easter, which was at the beginning of April this year and of course, Gus and Bart would be returning home from school.

  “Honoria's brother will be visiting too,” Hope injected into the conversation.

  “Do you know anything about him?” Lucien asked.

  “Only that Malcolm doesn't like him, which is a fine character assessment in my book.” Hope smiled. “All I really know is that his name is James, he's training to be a priest and Honoria adores him, which is most likely why Malcolm doesn't.”

  “That should make for an interesting visit.” Martha said.

  “That's one way of phrasing it,” Lucien smiled at his wife's tact. “We will have to invite them over whilst he's here.”

  “Maybe we could have a family day,” Hope said. “Take the boys, Charity and Honoria's family out for a picnic or something. Hopefully the weather will be a bit better by then.”

  “That sounds lovely,” Lucien smiled. He missed his boys when they were at school and always lessened his work load during their holidays. His only complaint about the day Hope suggested, was that the Arundells would be there.

  “I'll speak to Honoria and make arrangements,” Martha said.

  Lucien shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I, um, I should mention that it was noted by a few gentlemen today, that Malcolm doesn't seem to be returning invitations. He has accepted invitations from many other gentlemen without even a dinner in return,” he said, changing the subject slightly.

  “He does work in London all week,” Hope argued.

  “I know and believe me, I don't mind him imposing on our hospitality because his wife is your friend, but you should have a discrete word with Honoria.”

  “Why can't you have a word with him?” Hope asked.

  “Because these things are better done behind the scenes. A gentle word in his ear from her will save him the embarrassment that my talking to him would cause.”

  Hope couldn't argue with that but, “What if he won't listen to her?”

  “Then his invitations will begin to dry up.” Lucien shrugg
ed.

  “Sometimes I think he'd like that,” Hope said softly.

  “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

  Hope had not shared her feelings about the marriage with her father, because she didn't want to break Honoria's confidence.

  “I just... sometimes I think that he wants to isolate Honoria, to keep her like a princess, locked up in an ivory tower.”

  “I'm sorry?” Lucien looked confused.

  “He does seem possessive at times,” Martha supplied, sparing her daughter. “I think that ideally, his wife would see no one but himself. He even seemed jealous of Hope today, because they were laughing together.”

  Lucien frowned, not because he disbelieved his wife, for he trusted her instincts almost as much as his own, but he had simply not observed such behaviour before. Indeed he thought Malcolm rather too cold a man to ever be possessive or jealous which, whilst they were negative emotions, did imply a certain amount of passion.

  “Trust me,” Hope told her father. “The next time they're here, I'll occupy Honoria for a while and you take a close look at him. I can almost guarantee you that he won't like it.”

  “I will,” Lucien nodded.

  Chapter Four

  Easter came quickly and Martha and Lucien welcomed their boys home from Rugby with open arms.

  Martha hated that they spent so much of the year away from home, but she knew that a good education was vital to be successful in life. Indeed if there was such a thing, she would probably have sent Hope and Charity away to boarding school also. Thankfully there wasn't, so she got to keep her girls with her all year round.

  “Oh, my darlings,” Martha said as her sons got out of the carriage in the driveway. She took both boys into her arms and held them tightly.

  She no longer accompanied Lucien on the train to collect them, as her displays of affection at the school gates often drew teasing from the other boys.

  “Look at you,” she said to Gus as she pulled away. “I swear that you've grown a full two inches since Christmas. And Bart, what a fine young man you're growing into.”

  Hope and Charity waited patiently for their turn and then hugged both boys.

  It didn't take long before the Hall was ringing with their cries, as they raced their younger sister to the upper landing. Hope smiled and followed them inside to make sure their antics didn't get too out of hand, whilst Martha leaned into Lucien, who put his arms around her.

  “I always feel a little out of sorts until they get home,” she confessed, although Lucien was well aware of how it pained her to be separated from her children.

  “Whatever shall we do with you when they get married?” he teased.

  “Oh, they aren't going anywhere; we'll just build them and their wives a new wing.”

  Lucien laughed, because he was fairly certain that she was only half joking.

  “Come on,” he said. “I've travelled three hundred miles today to bring your sons home. I need a large whisky and comfortable chair.”

  “All right, Granddad. Come on.”

  Martha received a swift pat to the rear for her cheek; in retaliation Martha playfully elbowed him in the ribs, then dashed inside before all-out war could erupt.

  Hope, Gus and Bart were in the town square, listening to the 'soapboxers'. Every Sunday, anybody who felt that they had something to say came to the bandstand and set up a soapbox; literally a wooden box that they would stand on whilst they preached.

  Reverend Thomas, from the Baptist church and Father Patmore, from the town's Episcopal church, regularly came to debate with each other after the morning service. Their verbal sparring always drew a crowd, since both men were quite entertaining, even although Reverend Thomas was getting on in years. Sadly they had finished by the time the children arrived today.

  Instead they had a choice between a man espousing the virtues of drink and demanding lower prices and less regulation (to be honest, he looked as although he had already imbibed a little this morning), a farmer arguing for the Agricultural Compensation Bill and finally, a gentleman arguing that the Reform Bill that the Liberals were trying to push through Parliament, didn't go far enough. They paused to listen to the last speaker.

  “Only householders who earn more than twenty six shillings a week will qualify for the vote. Hard working men who don't earn enough, are essentially being told that their work isn't good enough! Does that sound fair to you?”

  Hope watched him closely, enjoying the passion that he clearly felt for his topic. He had the crowd on his side as well, and they were nodding along with him and cheering when he said something they especially liked.

  He didn't seem to be working class though, for his suit was well tailored and his pocket watch was gold, not something that the working classes usually managed to purchase. These kinds of views were unusual among the gentry though, and she liked that he had an open mind.

  He was tall, an impression which standing on the soap box only added to, and his blond curly hair, falling over his forehead, gave him a slightly dishevelled look which Hope found very appealing. She smiled slightly as she listened to his speech.

  “Have you seen him before?” Hope asked her brothers, for new speakers here were unusual.

  “No,” Gus answered. “You haven't seen him whilst we've been away at school?”

  “No.” Hope came here most weekends to listen. If her brothers were at school and her parents busy, she brought her dog with her for protection.

  “Is it fair that men who put in equal hours each day but earn less, often through no fault of their own, should be denied the vote?” the soapboxer demanded.

  “What about women!” Hope heckled him.

  He smiled at her but it was rather condescending. “It's well known that women don't have the temperament for politics,” he answered. “They lack the energy for sustained bouts of cerebral activity-”

  Hope didn't bother to listen to any more; she turned and walked away. If she had a penny for all the hundreds of times when someone had told her that women were naturally inferior, she would be very wealthy. Well, even wealthier.

  There was a time when she would have stayed and debated with him, arguing her point but although she was intelligent and her arguments were logical and well reasoned, she had never succeeded in changing a speaker's mind. Their prejudice was too deeply ingrained to allow a little thing like reason or logic to sway them.

  Actions spoke louder than words, she knew, and so she was determined to run her business to the best of her ability. In fact, her parent's outerwear business only employed two men, other than her father. Many women held responsible positions there, as overseers and buyers. Hope wanted to make similar changes to the gloving business but her parents were right, she couldn't just turn out employees who had worked there all their lives in favour of women.

  Still, she had got them to agree to promote from within the firm in the future and since all of the glovers were women, she was hopeful that within the next ten or twenty years, the proportion of women in management positions would be much more equal.

  She could hear Gus and Bart arguing with the soapboxer, and it pleased her that at least her brothers weren't blind to society's injustices, although it still saddened her that two disenfranchised groups couldn't work together for their rights. The working class man, the lowest on the social ladder, still looked down on women of every class.

  Today was the day of the picnic with Honoria and her brother, so Hope had offered to come into town to collect a special chutney that her mother had forgotten to order. She and MacDuff headed to the preserves shop now and bought three jars, then she returned to her horse and put them in the saddle bag. Since Bart and Gus weren't there, she untied the horse from the railing and led it back to the square.

  The boys were still listening to the orators, although the one who had offended her earlier was gone. She headed towards her brothers, and they peeled away from the crowd when they saw her.

  “Are you ready to go?” Gus asked, c
learly wanting to stay a little longer.

  “You stay,” Hope said. “I was going to stop in on Grandma if I had time anyway.”

  “Are you sure?” Gus looked worried.

  “I don't stay indoors all day when you're away at school,” Hope smiled. “Besides, I've got MacDuff with me if I get into any trouble. Help me up?”

  Gus gave her a leg-up and once she was seated comfortably, she said goodbye and headed back towards Marchwood Hall, MacDuff trotting beside her.

  Her grandma lived in a cottage on the estate. When she had moved there, it had been a small hamlet of houses, collectively known as Woods Hole. Now there were almost fifty houses in the village and it was almost indistinguishable from the town, since it too had grown over the past twenty years.

  She got down from the horse and tethered her loosely by the side of the cottage, got some things out of the saddlebag, then knocked on the kitchen door and went in.

  Lizzy was sitting at the long kitchen table peeling potatoes for dinner and MacDuff settled himself on the rug by the range.

  “Hope, love, 'ow are you?”

  “I'm good, Gran.” Hope bent to kiss her cheek. “I can't stay long today; we're having a picnic so I have to get back and help Mama.

  “Sit yersen down, love, I'll put some tea on.”

  “I'll get it,” Hope assured her.

  Lizzy Dawley looked exactly as a grandmother should, with a kindly face and her grey hair swept back into a loose bun. There had been a time when she had almost starved herself to keep her family fed, and although that was hard to believe by looking at her now, she looked older than her years and was still quite frail and feeble at times.

  “Where's Mary?” Hope asked as she prepared the tea. Mary was the only unmarried daughter and remained at home to care for her mother.

  “She's out back, feedin' t'chickens.”

  Hope got a third mug out for her, assuming that she'd be back soon.

  “Mam sent some things for you,” Hope said as she worked. Martha was always sending little bits and bobs over to her mother, usually bringing them herself when she had the time. “Just some fruit preserves and a plate of biscuits that Cook made.”