He pulled the napkin from around his neck and threw it onto the table. Then he stood and, with exaggerated neatness, tucked his chair in and bowed to both of them.
“In that case, I won’t inflict my filthy Newgate manners on you anymore.” He turned on his heel and left the dining room.
Florence turned to meet her brother’s look.
“A lifetime of habits is not easily broken.”
His gentle tone only increased her irritation. “And what if his very life depends upon forming new habits?”
“I know…” He sighed. “I’ll speak to him later.”
She turned to fold up her napkin, her own appetite at an end. “Don’t bother. I think he does these things deliberately.”
“I notice you lose patience quite readily with him. Is something the matter? Has he said or done something to you?”
Her fingers stopped their motion. “No, of course not.”
“If it’s his coarse manners, I know you are used to much worse at Newgate, or even at the workhouse. Is it the fact that he’s under your own roof day in and day out?” Damien’s quiet tone probed her.
She stood from the table. “No, I told you.” She gripped the back of her chair and tried to calm her voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was being impatient with him. I thought it was my duty to improve his manners, so that no one suspects his real identity.”
“Yes, of course, and I didn’t mean to interfere with that. It’s just that…sometimes one must use a voice of encouragement with a person.”
“Just as sometimes one must be tough with those one most cares about.” She remembered having to exhort her brother as a young lad to learn to use his wooden leg and not be afraid to go out and be seen, not to limit himself or hide in his room as his sensitive nature would have inclined him to do.
He seemed to understand her words. With a long sigh, he turned away from her. “So be it.”
Jonah sat on the edge of his bed, his ripped jacket bunched in his hands. There was no help for it. He’d have to go to Miss Hathaway and beg a needle and thread from her. He’d die before he’d ask her to sew it for him. He ground his teeth. No, it couldn’t be so hard to sew a few stitches. He spread out the area where the seam had come apart. Torn threads hung from each side. He tried bringing the edges back together as they should be, but they fell right apart as soon as he removed his fingers.
Only thread would hold them in place.
He’d never actually paid attention when he’d seen Judy sew a garment. In and out would go her needle.
He might be an ignorant lout, but he was no coward. If he could face the hangman’s noose without quaking, surely he could face one high-minded lady.
Resolved, he stood and marched to the door.
Chapter Eleven
By the time Jonah reached the sitting room, he wished he’d never climbed a tree that afternoon. He entered the softly lit room, where normally he would feel welcome. As usual, Damien sat reading aloud to his sister, and Miss Hathaway sat…stitching.
With a nod in Damien’s direction, Jonah crossed the room, feeling like a beggar having to face someone who held all the riches. The remark Miss Hathaway had made at dinner in her quiet, cultured tones about Newgate still burned like a branding iron. He wished he could shout at her, but he knew he was in a different world here, where no one shouted, least of all a gentleman at a lady.
When he reached her chair, she didn’t look up. She sat in a large armchair, like a queen on her throne. Jonah stared at the crown of her head. Her light brown hair, parted in the middle, was visible in front from the thin lace cap that covered the back of her head. Finally, as if aware of his gaze on her, she lifted her head. He wasn’t sure what he read in her gray eyes. Scorn? Or was there something else? Confusion?
“Yes?”
He must have been mistaken. Her tone sounded dry and emotionless.
“I was wondering—” He cleared his throat and began again. “I was wondering if I might borrow a needle and thread.”
Her arched eyebrows rose a fraction. “Needle and thread? Why?”
He could feel his irritation growing. “What d’ya mean ‘why’? Why would a body borrow needle and thread but to sew.”
Her fine eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “Do you need something mended? Bring it to me.”
“That’s all right. I can do it meself.”
“Myself,” she corrected. “Nonsense. Bring it to me and I’ll put it in my workbasket.” With the toe of her slipper she indicated the pile of linens in the wicker basket at her side.
“No…no, I don’t want to trouble you with unnecessary work.”
She looked back up at him. “Do you know how to sew?”
He could feel the flush spreading from his neck. Would that he still had his thick beard to hide behind. “Not exactly…but I can manage. It’s only a bit o’ stitching needs doing.”
Her brother had stopped reading as soon as Jonah had begun speaking, and probably heard every word of their exchange.
“Very well,” she said, her tone sounding reluctant. She bent down, reaching for her sewing box on the floor beside her workbasket. He moved to bring it closer toward her.
“Thank you,” she murmured. She lifted the lid, which was worked in some kind of colored thread, pink and white roses against a white background. Was every detail in a gentry’s household made to depict beauty in some form?
She glanced up at him. “What color thread do you need?”
He stared. He hadn’t thought about that. “Uh, dark.”
“Dark? What color ‘dark’?”
“Purplish-like. Like my coat.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is this thread for your new plum-colored coat?”
He looked down at his feet. His black leather shoes looked scuffed and had bits of mud sticking to them from today’s venture in the orchard. “Aye, ’tis.” He lifted his chin and stared back at her.
“The one you chose to wear to prune the orchard today?” Her voice had resumed its frosty tone.
He lifted his chin a notch higher. “The same.”
She turned back to her collection of threads and rummaged among them. “You’d think if a person is being fed and clothed, the least he can do is keep his clothes in one piece.”
She could have slugged him and it wouldn’t have hurt as much as those words. Before he could recover himself, she had found a spool and held it up to him. “Is this the shade you were looking for?”
He stared at it, momentarily forgetting her cruel gibe. The thread looked to him the exact shade of his coat. He shook his head in amazement.
He was about to reach for the thread, but she was now taking a needle out of the pincushion and stuck it sidelong into the spool of thread.
He held out his hand. Instead of giving him the spool, she said, “Bring me your coat, Mr. Kendall.”
Hathaway cleared his throat. “Uh, Jonah, my sister does an excellent job of mending.” Humor underscored his quiet words. Jonah turned slowly to face him.
“I would be in rags otherwise. I seem to come in every day with some damage to my clothes.” His face took on a more serious look. “There’s another reason we need your clothes in tip-top condition.”
Jonah cocked an eyebrow.
“The wealthiest man of the parish, the Duke of Winchester, will be issuing an invitation to us to dine at his house.” Hathaway paused, seeming to assess Jonah, in a gentler manner than his sister’s yet in no way less thorough. Jonah felt he was being weighed and judged. “Reverend Doyle asked us if we wanted you included in the invitation. I told him that, yes, we would naturally want you included.”
Jonah’s eyes widened. To be invited to a duke’s table? A man so high and mighty he could be the king. Never in his wildest imaginings in his village could he have envisioned sitting down to Lord Aston’s table on his estate and he’d only been a baronet. Jonah had never even stepped into the man’s kitchen.
“Why should I even want to be among those kind of folks?” he began. He had enough difficulty as it was satisfying the high-and-mighty Miss Hathaway.
“That’s a good question,” Hathaway said, surprising Jonah by taking his question seriously. “The main reason would be because you are a guest in our house, and we want you to be treated as one of us.” He coughed before Jonah could say anything to this astounding phrase. “The second reason is that it will be the first time Miss Hathaway and I are to go to this man’s residence. I’ve only met him a handful of times at Marylebone Church. He is a very powerful man, a member of the House of Lords. Reverend Doyle has told him about me, and the duke is desirous of making my acquaintance.” Hathaway’s eyes fixed on him. “The Duke would be a very powerful ally if ever we would be in need of help.”
Jonah stared back at him, gradually understanding. He wasn’t so thick he didn’t know the danger he was in every day that he stayed in the Hathaway house. “You mean if ever I’m discovered?”
Hathaway nodded slowly. “In any event, it would look strange now that the rector knows of your presence here if we didn’t want you invited. He would begin to wonder why.”
Jonah shifted on his feet. The mere notion of going to this lord’s house already made his stomach knot up. “I don’t know. I can’t even dine at your own table without doing or saying something that’s not right.” He looked back at Miss Hathaway, but she shifted her focus away as soon as he did. Was she sorry for the remark she’d made?
“That’s why it’s so important to follow Miss Hathaway’s instructions and emulate her manners. She doesn’t mean to scold. She is just concerned that you not do or say anything that would lead people to suspect you are anything but Mr. William Kendall, gentleman farmer from the north.”
Jonah rubbed the back of his neck. “I still don’t like it.”
Miss Hathaway spoke up for the first time. “Mr. Kendall may be right. He might very well do or say something to disgrace himself. If he feels he’s not ready to be seen in civilized company…” She left the sentence dangling.
He locked gazes with her again. This time she did not look away and he swore there was a challenge in those clear gray eyes of hers. “Afraid I might belch if the inclination so took me?”
She pursed her lips, as if seriously considering his suggestion. “Perhaps. If you think I’m particular, you have seen nothing of polite society. You shall be seated at a great table with upward of twenty guests. You will have to make conversation with the lady at your side. You will be faced with countless covers of food. You will need to know enough to take a few bites from each but by no means wolf down everything in front of you. The same with the goblets of wine constantly being replenished before you.” Her slim hands began to gesture as she spoke.
“On no account can you permit yourself to become inebriated. An intoxicated man is not a discreet man. Do you understand me?” Her look was uncompromising.
“Oh, I understand you fully.” He swung back to Hathaway before his sister could see the distress her little description had caused him. “I’ll leave it up to you, sir. But I can’t promise you anything. I’m a countryman born and bred. My ways aren’t the ways of the gentry. You can try to fill me with all the niceties you can in a fortnight, but my head is thick and sometimes it doesn’t make sense why a man must hold his fork so and not so.”
Damien laughed out loud. “I would say not to worry your head about the details overmuch. Just follow my sister’s lead as much as possible. We’ll endeavor to have you seated beside her at the table. In the meantime, why not bring her your jacket, which I conclude must have undergone some wear and tear this afternoon?” His blue eyes twinkled.
Somewhat reassured, Jonah turned to leave. Only at the last second did he remember to nod to Miss Hathaway before leaving.
A gentleman did that.
By the next day, Jonah had made up his mind that things were going to change. After that last remark of Miss Hathaway’s reminding him how they were feeding and clothing him, he decided he’d had enough.
He might have lost everything else, but he still had a shred of pride left. He left the parsonage right after his morning lesson with the curate. He would show Miss Hathaway he wasn’t the worthless man she thought he was. Sometime in the night the resolve had formed and by dawn had hardened. He may not be able to act like a gentleman among the titled folks, but there were a few things he could do to prove he wasn’t a complete sponger.
One of them was boxing.
He remembered the competition Albert had mentioned a few days ago. Now, he stood at the corner of Hyde Park and studied the announcement nailed to the thick trunk of an elm tree.
Bill “The Bull” Elliston Challenges Any and All Comers to the Ring.
Purse of Twenty Guineas to the Winner!
Saturday, 25th of March, behind the Reservoir, Paddington
Jonah’s resolve strengthened as he read the announcement. He’d not only step up to the challenge, but he’d beat every man there and win the purse!
He pictured himself throwing down the money at Miss Hathaway’s feet. Even she couldn’t scoff at the sum of twenty guineas. He’d never been beholden to any man. He would certainly not be to a woman. He kicked at the dirt at his feet, and in doing so, noticed the dust covering the toe of his new leather boots. They were softer and more comfortable than any shoes he’d ever possessed. Warmer, too, against the cold March wind.
He’d be able to pay for them and more with the prize money.
He’d have to ask Albert to be his second. He knew of no one else he could trust. A man usually needed two assistants, a knee man and a bottle man. Maybe Albert knew of someone who’d come with them. Would Albert even agree? They’d have to keep it secret from Miss Hathaway. He remembered her disapproval the day Albert had first mentioned the fight.
There was also the risk of appearing at a public fight. Would he be recognized? The kind of people attracted to a fight were the same as would have been at Newgate that day.
Jonah looked around him now. It was one of the few times he’d stirred from the parsonage. It didn’t escape him that where he stood was the old site of Tyburn Tree where many a man had been hanged.
He’d only crossed the street to Hyde Park, and already he felt exposed. But no one seemed to pay any attention to him. A few people strolled far away on the grounds of the park. Occasional carriage traffic passed through the tollgate on their way out of the city. But for the most part, he was alone at the outskirts of the city, the vast park to the south of him and mostly fields to the north. He could almost fool himself into thinking he was living in the country again. The air even smelled fresh here, unlike the neighborhood he’d known during his sojourn in London.
Would his appearance in the ring be sufficiently different from the man who’d stood on the gallows almost two months ago?
“Albert, what would you say to being my second? I’ve been thinking about that fight you mentioned the other day.”
Jonah had waited until he and Albert were on their way to do the evening milking to broach the subject of the boxing match.
Albert turned to him with a twinkle in his eye. “Think you can beat The Bull?”
“There was a time I was known as a bit of a champion.”
Albert shook his head. “The reverend probably wouldn’t approve. Miss Hathaway certainly won’t,” he added, concern deepening the lines around his mouth.
Jonah looked away. “She doesn’t approve of anything a man would take pleasure in.”
Albert rubbed his chin. “She would probably
say that when a man discovers the pleasures to be had in the Spirit, he’ll no longer find pleasure in worldly pastimes.”
Jonah spit in the grass. “Well, d’ye think ye can be my second?”
“Let me think on it. I’ll have to talk it over with Mrs. Nichols, that’s for sure.” He chuckled. “She’ll likely want to come watch you fight, anyway.”
Jonah peered at the older man as they entered the barn. “You don’t disapprove yourself? You’re a religious man.”
“I’m a believing man, if that’s what you mean.” He eyed Jonah from under his gray eyebrows. “I’m thinking you’ve got something to prove and I’d rather be at your side than let you go it alone.”
Jonah looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t want Miss Hathaway to be angry at you.”
“A man can’t make his peace with God until he faces his demons.”
“I don’t go boxing to face any demons. I go to face a flesh-and-blood man and prove I’m stronger and cleverer than he is, so I can bring home a pot o’ money.”
Albert laughed as he brought up a stool to the cow waiting in her stall. “Well, maybe you’d better begin training before the match. It’s only a few days away.”
By the Saturday of the fight, the temperatures had risen, and the morning felt balmy. Jonah was sure it was a favorable omen.
He’d been working out in back of the barn for the past few afternoons, whenever the curate and Miss Hathaway had gone away on their different rounds. Albert had filled a burlap sack with sand and hung it from an oak tree.
Albert had said they’d have to tell the Hathaways about the fight come Saturday, but Jonah had been adamant.
“You know she’ll forbid it,” he had argued.
Albert’s face had been troubled. “But you can’t keep it from the Hathaways.”
“I’ll just say I’m out working in the back fields on Saturday. I aim to win that prize money.” His look had hardened. “I need to win it.”
He flexed his muscles, feeling in prime shape. The good food he’d been enjoying at the Hathaways’ was showing its effect in his regained weight. With all the work in the garden and orchard, his muscles had toughened.
The Making of a Gentleman Page 16
