Julia and the Master of Morancourt

by Janet Aylmer

  “Does he mind not doing that anymore?”

  “No, for it really needs a younger man in charge now—Mr. Henry Hatton bought more land later on, several years before he died, so there has been much more to do now than before. Mr. Jones is quite happy looking after the park, and he gets more time to meet his old friends from the army in the local public houses.”

  “It must be pleasant to keep in touch with friends from so long ago?”

  “Yes. Some lads were killed or wounded of course, but others came home in one piece. A few married French girls whilst they were abroad, and brought them home when they had finished with the army. It must be odd having to leave all your family behind like that, though I suppose that the French girls were able to keep in touch with them before the Blockade.”

  “Oh, yes!” said Julia, “I had not thought of that. I know that some goods—silk for instance—are difficult to come by now because of the Blockade?”

  “Yes, although it’s surprising what you can get in Bridport if you really know where to look. One of the other men living in the village has a friend in that town, Frank, who has some very useful connections.”

  After some further conversation, Julia left her, and later went to tell Mr. Hatton what she had discovered.

  “Mr. Jones had served in France, you say, Miss Maitland? That’s interesting, and also other local people that he’s known for a long time? And she mentioned someone called Frank? That could be Frank Jepson. And that was a clever idea of yours about the silk.”

  “I am sorry that I cannot be of more use,” said Julia, “but I do not have much time left, and perhaps it would be unwise for my interest to be known.”

  “I agree, and there are other ways that information can be discovered.”

  How dull my life is going to be when I leave here, thought Julia.

  “This is your last evening, Miss Maitland. May I introduce you to the waltz in the ballroom tonight?”

  “Certainly, sir, although I have no means of knowing how long it will take me to become proficient. Would you say that you are a competent teacher?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Probably not, Miss Maitland, with my limp restricting my agility, but I hope that between us we shall do very well!”

  Julia then remembered something that she had wanted to ask him.

  “Would you mind if I try to make a copy, however amateurish, of the picture in your library? It would be a pleasure for me to have it when I am back in Derbyshire and,” she hesitated, “be a happy memento of a very pleasant stay here at Morancourt.”

  She nearly added, “with you,” but she suddenly felt so emotional that she feared she might burst into tears.

  “Oh! Of course you may do so if you wish.”

  “Thank you. I have been so busy enjoying myself that I have not had time to use the small box of paints and the few sheets of watercolour paper that I brought with me from Bath.”

  Julia turned and, without saying any more, went up the stairs to fetch them.

  It was some two hours later that Aunt Lucy came to find her.

  “Julia, I have been searching for you all over the house. Fortunately, I learnt that Mr. Hatton knew where you were. How is your painting?”

  Julia rose from the seat at the table she had been using, allowing her aunt to see what she had been doing. The watercolour was not a bad copy of the painting on the wall, and at the bottom Julia had just written “La Passerelle.”

  “What does that mean, my dear?”

  “It is a nickname, but I suppose that you could otherwise call it ‘Paradise.’ ”

  Her aunt, surprised, looked from the painting to her niece without saying anything, but she put her arm around Julia’s shoulders for a few moments and held her tightly.

  Then Aunt Lucy said, “It is nearly time to dress for dinner, my dear,” before she turned away and left the room.

  Julia looked out of the window of the library for a few minutes without seeing anything. Then she put her painting materials into the box and closed the lid, rolled up her copy of the picture, and hurried to take everything back upstairs.

  Mrs. Jones and the cook had clearly decided to surpass themselves in preparing the dishes on the menu for dinner. They had even, Julia discovered, prepared one of the desserts using the lemons that Julia had bought in Beaminster.

  “I suppose,” said Mr. Hatton, “that this is the Derbyshire pudding that you mentioned to me the other day?”

  “Of course, sir,” said Julia with an equally enigmatic expression.

  Aunt Lucy clearly enjoyed this repartee, and the rest of the meal. She was looking fully restored to health, and dinner passed with many happy exchanges of views.

  At nine o’clock, Aunt Lucy rose from her chair and said firmly, “Now my dears, I am going to my room to finish the packing with Martha. In particular, I shall be wrapping the miniature rocking horse very carefully as a happy memento of my dear friend Susannah. Thank you again for letting me have that gift, Mr. Hatton.”

  He bowed his head to her briefly in acknowledgment. “I shall not be coming downstairs again until tomorrow morning. But I do expect to hear that Julia has become an expert at the waltz when I see you both then, Christopher.”

  Mr. Hatton and Julia rose to their feet and wished her good night as she left the room. For a short while, there was an awkward silence.

  Then he said, “Miss Maitland, am I right in saying that Mrs. Harrison used my Christian name to give me permission to use yours?”

  “Yes, I suppose that you must be right, for I have never heard her call you that before.”

  “Then please come with me now, Julia.”

  And he walked from the end of the room around the side of the dining table and held his hand out to her. When she offered hers in return, he clasped it firmly, and they went through the house, pushed the stiff doors open, and entered the ballroom.

  There, to her surprise, Julia found that there were four groups of candelabra with the candles already lit. The curtains had been drawn against the night, and the drabness of the decorations did not seem to matter as much as they had before.

  “First,” he said, “please stand back over there and I will try to give you a demonstration of my part in the dance.”

  Julia stood still at the side of the ballroom, and Mr. Hatton began to hum to himself.

  “It is a tempo, like this—ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three.” After he had established the rhythm, he began to move his feet in time, holding his arms out to an imaginary partner, turning his body and crossing the length of the ballroom as he did so, back and forth.

  “You are not meant to take this too seriously, Julia!”

  As she had been smiling at him since he began to hum the tune, she did not have much difficulty with that.

  “ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three,” he continued for a few minutes more.

  “Now, Julia, for your part. The ladies have to echo, reflect, the same steps but whilst moving backwards, and facing their partner. That must be more difficult, I suppose? Try it first on your own.”

  Julia began to move slowly across the ballroom, humming the tune as she did so, “ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three.”

  He smiled at her encouragingly.

  Julia then went back in the opposite direction, repeating the tune as she went, “ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three.”

  “Bravo!” he exclaimed. “Well done, Julia.”

  The sound of her name on his lips gave her such a warm feeling that Julia was able to reply, without any constraint in her voice, “Thank you, Kit. Now what next?”

  “Now we must dance the two parts together. You put your hand on my shoulder, and I have my arm around your waist—like this.” And he came towards her, indicating that she should lift her right hand onto his shoulder, then he pu
t his left hand round her waist, and with his other hand clasped her free hand.

  The feeling of being so close to him made her feel—she could not have described it in words—there was a warmth, an excitement, a trembling feeling within her that she had never felt before. He said nothing, but he held her hand even more tightly, which made her sure that he felt the same.

  After a little while, he cleared his throat and said, “Now, Julia, we must move together. That is, I mean, in the same direction.”

  She realised that he was trying to make a joke, and to make some sense of how he was feeling as he began the tune again.

  “Now, let us begin. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three. ONE, two, three.”

  After an unsteady start, they began to move together as one around the room, from the end by the tall windows to the other, where a tall mirror hung above the stone fireplace. Just occasionally, his slight limp impeded them. Julia could see them both in a reflection in the mirror, looking over Kit’s shoulder at their image as they turned and moved as one. She could not have said how long it was before they stopped, nor would she have cared if the ballroom had been full of people instead of just the two of them—the couple in the mirror.

  At last they came to rest, but he did not release her. Instead, he gently took his right hand from her left and held her head against his shoulder.

  “Julia,” he breathed, “we must, we have to, find a way to be together forever.”

  She could think of nothing useful to say, nor wished to lift her head from his shoulder, storing the memory in her mind so that she might never lose it.

  Finally he let her go from his embrace and held her at arms’ length, waiting until she could meet his eyes.

  “Julia.” He stopped and could not go on, his voice thick with emotion.

  She found the strength to speak. “Kit, we will, I am sure we will somehow. Please, please, don’t make me cry. I am so happy, and this can’t be the end of the story.”

  For a moment, she thought that he was going to take her in his arms again. But after a short step towards her, he steadied himself and said, “No, I cannot risk it. I may not be able to control myself, and that is not what I want to happen tonight. Julia, we must go now to the bottom of the stairs, and say good night as we normally do.”

  Then he held out both his hands to her, and when she put her hands in his, he lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them once before letting them drop and then leading her to the foot of the stairs.

  There he said formally, “Good night, Miss Maitland, and thank you.”

  Julia afterwards could not remember how she replied before curtseying to him and turning to go up the stairs.

  The next morning, all was hustle and bustle as their trunks were loaded onto the carriage, and the various farewells said to Mrs. Jones and her staff.

  If Aunt Lucy was observing them carefully, she did not show it, but said good-bye formally to “Mr. Hatton” before getting into the carriage. Julia and Martha followed her, the coachman took up the reins as Mr. Hatton mounted his horse, and they started down the drive. Most of the time, the road back to Beaminster was too narrow for him to ride beside them but, once they reached the town, the travelling chaise paused in the square, and Aunt Lucy said, “Martha, please go now, and make a small purchase of that Blue Vinney cheese for us to take home to Bath.”

  To Julia she said, “Get out of the carriage for a few moments, my dear, and say good-bye to Mr. Hatton.”

  Julia did as she was told, and Mr. Hatton dismounted and gave the reins of his horse to the coachman to hold. They walked away from the carriage for a few steps, and then stood together on the cobbled sideway.

  Suddenly, something that had been niggling at the back of her mind came to Julia, and she said, “Mr. Hatton, can you please ask Sir James to find out the name inscribed in the church register for the christening of Frank Jepson? And then can you please write to me or to my aunt at Banford Hall to let me know the answer?”

  Whatever he had thought she was going to say, it was not that, and all he could reply was “Why, Miss Maitland?”

  “Because Sir James said that he was illegitimate.”

  He looked at her blankly, and then comprehension dawned.

  “So the surname recorded should not have been his father’s?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  He smiled at her warmly, and then said out loud, “What a pleasure it is to know someone with such an inquiring mind.”

  Then he leant forward and whispered in her ear, “Good-bye, dearest Julia. We shall meet again, never fear, and all will be well.”

  She smiled at him, wordless and now almost in tears, before he squeezed her hands briefly, and she got back into the carriage next to her aunt. Once Martha had returned with her purchase, the coach was soon on its way out of the square, and she could not bear to look to see him getting smaller in the distance. Very little was said between them on the way back to Bath. The constraint of Martha’s presence did not allow for any personal conversation, and Aunt Lucy seemed intent on observing the scenery passing by the carriage window. Julia’s mind was full of many thoughts. Although they must have stopped at an inn for the night, in retrospect she had no recollection of its location. Sufficient to say that it was on the second day in the afternoon that the coachman gathered his horses and held them back as they drove down the long hill at Holloway into Bath.

  Julia found it odd to be back in her aunt’s house in the city without Emily being there. It was not that Julia minded the house being much quieter, but her friend’s lively presence had been a constant entertainment. Before they went to bed that night, her aunt said, “Tomorrow, Julia, we will discuss how we will occupy ourselves. I am planning to leave for Derbyshire in about six days’ time. Now try and get a good night’s sleep, my dear.”

  Julia had not realised how tired she was, and Martha did not wake her the following morning until about ten o’clock. Aunt Lucy had finished her breakfast by the time her niece descended the stairs and was sitting in the drawing room reading another letter from her sister, Olivia, Julia’s mother.

  “I should tell you, Julia, that I have no intention of taking Olivia’s advice to travel back through London. You can tell me more in the next day or two about this Dominic Brandon, but it is much more important for you to get home in a happy frame of mind to see your father.”

  Julia’s immediate reaction was that her mother would be very angry at this news, but Aunt Lucy had already thought that through.

  “I will leave writing to tell your mother for a day or two. I suggest that you might like to send a letter at the same time, to thank the Earl and Countess for their kind offer of accommodation in London. But you have my authority to say to them that I was adamant that we should travel back north through the city of Oxford and Market Harborough.”

  “I had guessed,” said Julia, “that you understood many things that I have not been able to explain, and I’m very grateful for that. Thank you. I should be very glad to have a talk with you before I leave Bath.”

  She embraced her aunt, and at her suggestion went to her room to find one of the books from the library that she had not yet finished reading.

  Together, they settled into a gentle routine during the next few days. Although Julia had enjoyed Emily’s company very much and the busy social round during her previous stay in Bath, she was glad of the opportunity to see more of the city’s character during this second visit. Aunt Lucy did not suggest attending concerts or going to balls. Instead they walked around the centre and along the handsome terraces of houses that lined the streets. They had a pleasant wander up and down Milsom Street looking at the shops, sometimes eating a cake at a table in Mollands’ pastry shop, varied by a visit to the Pump Room to take the waters. Then they made a diversion into the lending library in the Orange Grove, and visited the shops nearby, where they chose some more gifts for Julia to take home to her family.

  On a sunny morning, Aunt
Lucy took her niece with her to walk across the fields below the famous Royal Crescent, where the terrace of thirty houses formed a most impressive curve overlooking the green sward which ran down towards the river bank. There was a constant procession of fashionable people walking to and fro on the grass, meeting and greeting their friends as they went.

  On the way home, towards the centre of town, they were passed by a sedan chair, with the two chairmen labouring under the weight of a rather large gentleman.

  “That man,” said Aunt Lucy, “would be better to walk back into the city, rather than ride and give those poor chairmen such a heavy load to carry!”

  Julia agreed and was about to ask how much it cost to hire a chair when her aunt surprised her.

  “I have made an appointment for you this afternoon, Julia, with one of the best dancing masters from London, Mr. Thomas Wilson. He is said to be the most expert teacher available in Bath with a knowledge of the waltz, and I thought that you might like to improve your skills.”

  This remark brought Mr. Hatton firmly back into Julia’s mind, and the memory of that happy evening when they had crossed and crisscrossed the floor in his ballroom at Morancourt, if not always in step together, at least of one mind.

  “Oh, dear aunt, how kind you are, thank you!”

  Back at Aunt Lucy’s house, Julia went looking for Martha to help tidy her hair, but could not find her anywhere. Coming down the stairs from her bedroom, Julia came across her aunt and asked whether she had seen Martha.

  “No, my dear, for she’s not here in Bath at present. I have given her a few days’ holiday, and she has gone to stay with her elder sister in that village near Gloucester. Martha will be back here in the city next week.”

  “But will you not want her to go with you to Derbyshire?”

  “No, I shall be taking Eliza instead, one of the housemaids who has helped me before when Martha has been unwell. That seems a much better course, so that Martha has no opportunity to gossip with your parents’ servants in Derbyshire about our stay at Morancourt.”