by Joan Smith
“Now it is time for us ladies to leave the gentlemen to their port,” Mrs. Swann said, pushing her chair back as she could not rise from it. “Don’t let the company overindulge, Scawen,” she cautioned, as the footman wheeled her out. She glanced at Horace Gurney, whose eyes were closed, his head resting on his chest. “Especially that one,” she added. “Wretched manners, to overindulge at the dinner table. I don’t know what that fellow is doing here.”
Lady Sykes was not tardy to escape to the saloon, where Mrs. Swann’s ill nature was easily diverted to tearing Lady Pargeter apart for not coming to her party. Lady Sykes quite enjoyed herself, as the conversation allowed many slurs on the missing guest, each accompanied by a look that told Fay which Lady Pargeter she referred to, and it was not the late Lady Pargeter. Fay just patted her diamonds and smiled.
Ere long, the gentlemen joined them. Jane looked hopefully to Fenwick, but it was Mr. Parker who was legging it toward her, his eyes gleaming with the hope of impressing her with more Latin and Greek. Mrs. Swann rescued her by commanding Mr. Parker to join her and tell her all about himself. Unfortunately, Lord Fenwick was caught in the toils of Mrs. Rogers, who had met a lady who knew his mama, and wanted to tell him all about it. Until the tea tray arrived, Scawen sat with Jane, apologizing and complimenting her.
“Mama meant no harm,” he said. “It’s just her little way. She likes you very much. Who would not?”
“I like her, too, Mr. Swann. I was not offended by her remarks, I promise you.”
“That is demmed decent of you, considering what she said about your—er, well, your body actually.”
“I believe she meant those comments as compliments.”
“Oh, certainly. And I agree. That is to say—By Jove, here is the tea tray,” he said, and darted off to recover his wits.
Mr. Parker also moved when the tea tray arrived. His pale eyes turned to Jane. Before he could grab a cup, Fenwick came forward and handed her one.
“I have brought you some tea to keep you awake,” he said, sitting beside her. “I had to move quickly to outrun Parker’s long legs, but I spare no pains when it comes to rescuing a damsel in distress. Well, Miss Lonsdale, how do you like the pentagon that is forming around you?”
“Please speak English, milord. I have had enough Latin for one evening.”
“Pentagon comes from the Greek, actually. As a schoolteacher yourself, you will pardon my foray into didacticism. A pentagon is a five-sided figure, having nothing to do with female swans, so far as I know. Mr. Parker has knocked our neat square out of kilter with his attentions. Was it perfectly dreadful, Miss Lonsdale? You are such a stoic, it’s hard to tell whether you were only bored, or ready to pick up your knife and stab him.”
“I was not so much bored as confused. I found myself wishing I knew German or Sanskrit, to show him how annoying it is to be spoken to in a foreign tongue. I prefer plain old Anglo-Saxon.”
“Even when it involves bosoms and hips?” he asked, with a laughing look. “She really is the limit. I adore her. Where else would you find such an original? If she were fifty or sixty years younger, I would make her my new flirt. Buy myself a Bath chair and go on the strut—er, wheel—together on Bond Street. Ply her with marchpane until I had the last tooth out of her head.”
“I do like her, in spite of all,” Jane said. “It’s so refreshing to meet someone who says exactly what she thinks.” It occurred to her that this was also part of Fenwick’s charm. Lady Swann was outspoken because she was senile; Fenwick, because he was so sure of himself, he didn’t have to worry what anyone thought. Scawen had not used the words “bosoms” and “hips,” but Fenwick did not hesitate to do so.
“I agree. There has been a deal of double entendre here this evening, with Phoebe and Fay sniping at each other. When I am angry or jealous, I prefer to just come out with it, so I shall say without demur that I do not care for your Mr. Parker. ‘I would have men about me that are fat. Yon Parker has a lean and hungry look.’ You may now inquire with feigned obtuseness whether I speak from anger or jealousy, Miss Lonsdale.”
“I can’t see that you have anything to be jealous of, so I must assume you are angry with him.”
“Just so. It would be infra dig for a marquess to admit he was jealous of a schoolmaster, so I shall pretend I’m angry that he stole the place I wanted at the table. That is the trouble when one’s pentagons have so many masculine angles.”
“I didn’t realize that angles have gender. What, pray, is a masculine angle?”
“Why, to be sure, men are the obtuse angles. The ladies, I have noticed, are usually acute.”
Their flirtation was interrupted by the arrival of Scawen, balancing a teacup in one hand. He drew a chair up and sat down, sloshing tea into his saucer.
“Just giving the old ears a bit of a rest,” he said. “Parker collared me at the tea table. Was asking me about some Pelopon war. Daresay it’s Latin for the Peninsular War. What was you two talking about?”
“You, and three other gentlemen, and a lady,” Fenwick replied.
“Eh? What was you saying about me? Three men and a lady. I never—heh heh.” Fenwick glinted a nervous smile at Jane. “It was about Mama, I suppose. I already apologized to Miss Lonsdale. Mind you, the dinner was dandy, barring the seating.”
“It was delightful, Mr. Swann,” Jane said. “It is your turn to dine with us next. Aunt Fay will be in touch with you shortly.”
“Look forward to it. And now I must get Mama to bed. I see she is nodding off. She’s not usually up so late. The excitement has gone to her head. Or perhaps it was the wine.”
Everyone gathered to take their leave of Mrs. Swann. “Come again soon,” she said, smiling all around and waving her hand.
While they were on the move, Mrs. Rogers decided it was time to leave. Mr. Parker had come with her, and also took his leave, making a special foray in Jane’s direction to say good night to her, in hope of being invited to call at Wildercliffe. Jane feared this would only encourage him to speak to his aunt, who was on visiting terms with Miss Prism, and withheld the invitation. Scawen encouraged the party from Wildercliffe to remain, but Lady Pargeter was looking fatigued, and Jane left with her.
“How did you like your future mama-in-law?” Fay asked, and laughed heartily. “What an evening. And on top of it all, I ate too much. I feel nauseous.”
“Mr. Parker was a bore. He has an aunt who used to work for Miss Prism. I hope he doesn’t call on me. I ignored his hints.”
“I invited the folks from Swann Hall to dinner the day after tomorrow. I shall need the extra day to prepare. We won’t invite Parker.”
“I’m glad you’re back on terms with one set of neighbors at least.”
“Two sets. I shall invite Lord Malton as well. That will give Lady Sykes something to think about.”
“I wish you two could get along better. She’s very nice to me.”
“You must not deprive us older ladies of our little animosities, Jane. They give spice to life. I don’t really dislike Lady Sykes. Under different circumstances, we could be friends. To tell the truth, I pity her—and she envies me. I rose higher than she. It is only we who were not so highly born as the company we find ourselves in who rip and claw at each other. I shall miss her, when she goes.”
It was sad to think of Swann Hall without its guests. Jane knew she would miss Fenwick, too.
Chapter Thirteen
Lady Pargeter was ill during the night. Jane heard her in distress and went to her assistance.
“I think it’s food poisoning,” Fay gasped.
“Shall I send for the doctor?” Jane asked.
But when Fay had cast up her accounts, she felt better and decided against sending for Dr. Cassidy. Jane sat with her until she was sure her aunt was not going to have a relapse.
“I wonder if Lady Sykes slipped something into my food,” Fay said. She looked wan and weak as she lay back against the pillows, lit only by the flicker of a lamp.
“Surely you’re joking!”
“She thinks Nigel will inherit Wildercliffe if I die. But no, I do not think she would go this far. Seafood often disagrees with me. No doubt that is the culprit. I’m feeling better now. Go back to bed, Jane.”
Jane said, “I shall just sit with you until you doze off.” She poured a glass of wine to while away the early morning vigil. When her aunt was sleeping peacefully, Jane returned to her own room.
She slept in the next morning. Fay was at the table, looking a little hagged after her troubled night but by no means ill, when Jane came downstairs.
In fact, Fay had a full plate of gammon and eggs sitting in front of her. After eating only a little, she said, “Oh dear. I feel the nausea coming on again!” and fled from the table.
She was soon back. She was not sick to her stomach on that occasion, but Jane was concerned about her. “Let me call the doctor,” she said, two or three times, until Fay agreed.
Fay retired to her bedchamber, and Jane brooded over a cup of coffee until Dr. Cassidy arrived. Jane accompanied him to her aunt’s bedchamber, but was dismissed while he made his examination.
Jane rushed out to meet him when he came downstairs. “Is my aunt all right?” she asked.
“She is fit as a fiddle,” he said. “She should get plenty of rest, take daily exercise outdoors, weather permitting, and limit her drinking of wine.”
“I shall see that your orders are followed,” Jane said, happy to have her own ideas of a healthy regimen confirmed by an expert.
“At her age, one cannot be too cautious. But she’s fine. I foresee no difficulty.”
“She’s not that old,” Jane said, surprised.
He gave a frowning pause. “She’s not so young as she might be. Well, I am off to see Mr. Willis. He nearly severed a finger in a sawing accident yesterday. Good day, Miss Lonsdale. I shall look in on your aunt from time to time. Be sure to call me if there is any trouble.”
She thanked him, and accompanied him to the doorway.
Lady Pargeter was up and about by lunchtime, with no apparent ill effects from her bout of nausea. It was the day Jane was to go to Bibury with Mr. Swann, but she felt she ought not to leave her aunt alone. When she mentioned this to Fay, her aunt overrode her.
“Run along, Jane. I’m delighted to see you and Swann hitting it off. I have plenty to occupy me, arranging my dinner party. I shall put it off a few days. It seems almost impolite to return the invitation so soon, as if one did not want to be in arrears. Having them back so soon gives it the air of a duty, rather than a pleasure. I plan to enjoy my little dinner party. Lord Malton promised to drop in this afternoon, so I shan’t be alone. I’ll ask him to accompany me on a walk about the park, as Cassidy recommended. It will do Malton good as well.”
When Mr. Swann arrived, he had Fenwick with him. Swann was so unaccustomed to courting that it never occurred to him he was ruining his chances by bringing along a gentleman ten times more attractive than himself. He had some vague notion in his head that the outing would be livelier with Fenwick along. Miss Lonsdale would like it.
And indeed Miss Lonsdale was delighted to see this enlargement of the outing. For all his good qualities, there was no getting around the fact that Swann was unattractive. His wrinkled jacket, on this occasion, was decorated with bits of fluff that turned out to be swansdown. He had spent his morning at the lake with his gun, keeping an eye on his cygnets. He had spotted a falcon nearby, and didn’t want to lose one of his precious brood.
The three set out for Bibury in Swann’s lumbering carriage. It was ancient, the side walls wearing a season’s coat of dust. The team drawing it was an indifferent set of bay plodders. The left rear wheel squeaked for lack of oil. Swann, however, noticed nothing amiss.
“A dashed fine day,” he said, smiling amiably. “I thought you might like to have a look at the church, Miss Lonsdale. Or have you visited it already?”
“I haven’t been in it. I should like to see it.”
“A dashed fine church. Norman. That’s French.”
“Yes.”
“There’s a river in town as well. It has no swans. You might see a clutch of ducks, I daresay. Really a very nice little town, Bibury.”
“Yes. Picturesque,” she replied.
Seeing that the outing was not rolling along in such a jolly manner as it might, Swann cast an appealing eye on Fenwick.
Fenwick interpreted the look and tried to oblige. “This talk of churches and rivers is all very well, Scawen, but you must know that when a lady visits a village, what she is really interested in is the shops.”
“Oh, we have shops,” Swann assured Jane.
“We’re not speaking of butcher shops and greengrocers,” Fenwick rattled on. “What an out and outer like Miss Lonsdale wants to see is the drapery shop, and the ladies’ toy stores.”
“I make no claim to being an out and outer,” Jane objected.
“Such modesty, and you wearing the most ravishing bonnet ever devised!” Fenwick said, glancing at her new low poke in a deliciously conspiratorial way. “Of course, you’re a dasher, but it doesn’t do for a lady to do her own crowing. That is our duty, eh, Swann?”
“Yes, by Jove. A regular out and outer. You will show all the gels the way, Miss Lonsdale.”
“No doubt that Norman church will be full of low poke bonnets in emulation of your new chapeau, come Sunday,” Fenwick said.
The ride and especially the conversation continued at a merry pace until they reached Bibury, where they stabled the carriage and went on the strut. It was a rare treat for Jane to be walking out with not one, but two gentlemen. She gained her fair share of ogles, but it was at Fenwick that the ladies took a second look.
“Let us get the church over with first,” Swann said, and set out at an ambling gait for the far end of the High Street. “There it is,” he said, when it came into view.
It was a squat stone church built in the Norman style with rounded window and door. Swann just pointed to it. He had no details to add regarding its age, history, or construction.
“That’s that,” he said. “Or would you like to step inside and see the—the windows and pews and pulpit and all that, Miss Lonsdale?”
“I shall see them on Sunday. It’s such a fine day, let us continue our walk.”
They just glanced in at the various shops as they strolled toward the bridge, where they stopped to look for ducks. Swann formed a horn of his fingers around his lips and emitted a creditable imitation of a duck. When the birds paddled toward him, he pulled a handful of bread crusts out of his pocket. A shower of crumbs filled the air and clung to his coat and trousers as he broadcast the dry bread. Half a dozen birds came swimming forth to gobble up the crumbs.
“Now we have seen the church and river. What would you like to do next, Miss Lonsdale?”
As a stranger in the neighborhood, Jane had nothing to suggest except to walk back to the shopping area.
“How about an ice?” Fenwick suggested.
“A nice what?” Swann asked, frowning. “Oh, you mean a nice cup of tea. Good idea, Fenwick. We shall just ankle along to Miss Daugherty’s Tea Room.”
“I believe Lord Fenwick meant an ice,” Jane said, speaking slowly and clearly.
Swann considered it a moment. “He can have an ice at Miss Daugherty’s if he wants. You and I shall have a nice cup of tea.”
Jane would have preferred an ice, but she went along without complaint. The tea room was a modest affair with five tables, two of them against the windows, giving a view of the street beyond.
“We shall sit by the window where we can see the crowds passing by,” Swann said, drawing a chair for Jane.
She glanced out the window, where one housewife hurried past, carrying a parcel, and two boys played with a dog.
“There is Bibury High Street,” Swann said, pointing to the street they had just left as if it were an entirely new feature.
Jane feared Fenwick would say something that might
offend Swann. “I thought it was Paree,” he might say, or some such thing, but he just smiled at her, with a lambent glow in his eyes. “Does Miss Daugherty still make that gingerbread?” he asked Scawen.
“Yes, by Jove. The best gingerbread in the Cotswolds,” Swann said. “I thought you was having an ice, Fenwick.”
“I changed my mind. We cannot let the ladies have all the prerogatives.”
“Eh? I am sure there will be plenty to go around. If there ain’t, Miss Lonsdale can have my piece. I can have a gingerbread any time.”
Miss Daugherty was able to provide sufficient tea and gingerbread for all three. Swann settled back with a sigh of contentment as Jane poured.
“I like to see a lady pour tea,” he said. “It’s homey, somehow. I picture long winter evenings by the grate, with Miss—with a lady pouring tea, and a hound curled up at my feet. You don’t get that in London, Fenwick.”
“Tea, hounds, and grates—and of course, ladies— are all available in London.”
“Aye, but you don’t know enough to stay at home and enjoy ‘em. You’re always gadding about to balls and routs and plays. You don’t fool me,” Swann said wisely.
“For shame, Fenwick,” Jane said, then turned to Swann. “Milk and sugar?”
“Plenty of both.” She fixed Swann’s tea and handed it to him. “Here you go. A nice cup of tea.”
“You pour very nicely, Miss Lonsdale, if you don’t mind my saying so. Very dainty. You didn’t spill a drop.” He took the cup and promptly sloshed tea into his saucer.
“Thank you, Mr. Swann. I never balk at a compliment.”
As he lifted the cup to his lips, drops of tea fell to his waistcoat, to join the feathers and dust and bread crumbs there. Jane had to restrain herself from chiding him, as she was accustomed to doing with her awkward students.
“Just milk for me,” Fenwick said. They exchanged a look half of dismay, half of amusement, at Swann’s performance.
As Swann lifted his cup, loosing another shower of drops, Jane could no longer restrain herself. “The tea is dripping on your waistcoat, Mr. Swann,” she said. “Perhaps if you dried your saucer with the napkin ...”
