by Joan Smith
“She would do very well for Mrs. Swann.”
Jane didn’t tell her aunt about Fenwick’s visit to Miss Prism’s Academy. If he had ever had any intention of offering for her, he wouldn’t do it now that Miss Prism had blackened her character, so it was best to forget it. It rankled that he had been checking up on her. That was not the act of a man in love. Nor was that cold note he had written. Why would he be considering an offer if he didn’t love her? She had no fortune, no position in society. Was it possible Harriet was mistaken about the man who had called on Miss Prism? But who else could it be, a young gentleman in a handsome carriage? Her mind was still brooding on this when she went up to change for dinner.
Chapter Sixteen
Scawen came to call after dinner. He took one look at the tall lady with the daunting face who sat beside Jane and feared his wooing would make no progress that evening. Miss Stowe was exactly the sort of lady who frightened him to death. She never smiled, she gave serious replies to any foolish comment he made. As soon as Lady Pargeter realized why he had become uncomfortable, she invited Harriet to sit with her and help her work the fire screen on which she was engaged. Harriet proved quite a dab at this pastime. She was always happiest when she was put to work. Fay informed her that it was Mr. Swann’s mama who required a companion, and while they worked quietly, she gave Harriet some idea of the family’s background.
Swann was then free to plod on with his courting. “I had no luck getting hold of the black swans from George Abernathy,” he said. “After pelting all the way to Radstock, they turned out to be white swans after all. Not a black one in the batch. I am thinking of buying some dye and dying Darby and Joan.”
“You were at Radstock?” Jane asked, interested to hear this had been his destination. “That is where I am from, Mr. Swann.”
“I know. I had a look at the vicarage where you was born, Miss Lonsdale. A dandy little house, very cozy. I can just picture you there. I met the vicar, a Mr. Wodehouse. Seemed a nice chap. I was going to ask you to go with me, but it would have been no pleasure for you had I been carrying home a pair of swans. You have to go at a slug’s pace to keep them calm.”
“I would like to have gone,” she said wistfully.
“Would you, by Jove? Then we shall go another time. Any time you like. Is there some special reason you have to go? Wodehouse told me someone had been inquiring for a copy of your birth from the parish register. I would have been happy to get it for you. You have only to ask, any little errands like that. Always happy to oblige.”
“But I didn’t send anyone on such an errand,” she said, astonished to hear his story. He had surely got it wrong. Swann had said he knew Miss Lonsdale, and Wodehouse had mentioned someone else who was after a birth certificate. “Are you quite sure it was me he was talking about?”
Swann wrinkled his forehead up like a washboard. “There ain’t another Miss Lonsdale from Miss Prism’s Academy, is there? I had a few words with Wodehouse. When I mentioned you were here with your aunt, he asked if you had left Miss Prism’s school. He knew who we were talking about right enough.”
“And that is when he told you someone had been inquiring after me?”
“They were the very next words that left his mouth. ‘Odd you should mention Miss Lonsdale,’ he said. ‘A gentleman was inquiring after her this very day.’“
“I wonder who it could have been.”
“I wager Phoebe has a finger in it somewhere. It would be this foolish notion she has got into her head that you’re Pargeter’s by-blow. I wager she sent Nigel to check up on you. She’s been sending out summonses to him all week, trying to reel him in to make a run at you. She fears you’ll inherit the whole estate when the year is up. It ain’t true, is it?” he asked with a scowl.
Jane stared in disbelief. “That I am Pargeter’s illegitimate daughter?” she asked. “Of course not! Where did she get such a ridiculous notion?”
“Daresay it was the will not being read for a year, and you landing in on Rampling—that is, your aunt—at this time. Phoebe thinks Pargeter arranged it, to introduce you to the local society, and see how you go on. Something of the sort.”
Jane laughed out loud, more in shock than amusement. “That’s ridiculous! I know who my parents are. I have an ivory miniature of my mama. I look very much like her.”
“Yes, but it ain’t your mama she’s worried about. It’s your papa. He was the one with the blunt, you see. If he was Pargeter, I mean.”
“My father was a simple vicar. This farouche story is all in Lady Sykes’s head.”
“That’s what I thought,” Swann said, happy to learn his intended wasn’t a dashed heiress.
Jane was far from satisfied. Since she knew the real reason for the odd terms of the will, she didn’t for one instant believe she was Lord Pargeter’s daughter. She did want to discuss the matter with her aunt, however.
To arrange it, she said to Swann, “Would you not like to have a few words with Harriet? She is looking for a position. We thought your mama might want to hire her. Harriet is a very honest and conscientious worker.”
“Me talk to her?” he asked, aghast.
“You won’t be too firm, Mr. Swann? She’s very shy.”
“She don’t look it. Why would she be shy of me?”
“If you hire her, then you would be her employer. She will be concerned for the impression she’s making. We shan’t mention her working for you this evening. Just meet her, and see if you think she would do.”
Swann had a difficult time getting his mind around such an odd notion as that great ladder of a girl being frightened of him, but he wanted to please Jane. He agreed to talk to Miss Stowe.
He could sense her discomfort as soon as she was seated at his side. He set himself the task of putting her at ease, and decided after ten minutes that she was a pretty good sort of girl. Once she relaxed and learned how to smile, she’d do very well with his mama. Swann’s vanity was so minuscule as to be nearly nonexistent, but what there was of it thrived under her deferential manner. She was as easily pleased as a puppy. She smiled at any little joke, and said he must think her very stupid when she thought a pen was a pen, and not a female swan.
Jane took up the needle Harriet had abandoned. While she plied it, she told her aunt about the man who had been making inquiries of her at Radstock. “Swann thinks it was Nigel. Phoebe thinks I am Pargeter’s love child.”
Fay gave a deep chuckle. “I wonder what put that bee in her bonnet. The strange will, I expect. She would certainly send for Nigel if she thought you were the heir to Wildercliffe, though she mentioned the other day that she hadn’t heard from him, and thought he must be at Newmarket. It’s surely her doing. No one else would be so nosy.”
Tea was served half an hour later. Swann managed a private word with Jane over the teacups.
“I think your Miss Stowe will do very well for Mama,” he said. “I didn’t mention it to her—you said not to—but I think she’ll do.”
“Oh, I am glad, Mr. Swann.” Jane unthinkingly reached out and squeezed his fingers in gratitude. Swann latched on to them and squeezed back until her bones ached.
“Dash it, Miss Lonsdale, no matter if she was a Tartar, I’d hire her if it would please you.”
Jane saw the gleam of passion in his eyes. “Oh!” she gasped, and withdrew her fingers. “You mustn’t do it on my account, Mr. Swann.”
“Can’t you call me Scawen? I would like to call you Jane.”
“It’s a little early for that, Mr. Swann.”
He took it as a promise of future intimacies, and said, “I hope you won’t make me wait too long.”
He enjoyed a good tea. As he rode home, he felt his romance was on the boil. He couldn’t have done better if Fenwick had been there to egg him on.
After he left, Harriet admitted that she had found Mr. Swann most kind and interesting, and she hoped she had not made such a horrid impression on him that he had taken her in dislike.
“I d
on’t think you need worry about that,” Jane said.
The ladies decided to call at Swann Hall the next day to allow Harriet the opportunity to view her future home. While they chatted about Swann Hall, Jane’s mind was full of her own problems. She didn’t plan to tell Fay that Fenwick had been inquiring for her at Miss Prism’s. That was her own private shame. Nor did she want to tell Harriet Phoebe’s suspicions regarding her birth. Each of the ladies only knew half the story.
It was not until she was alone in her bedchamber that Jane could get down to serious brooding. She felt the two incidents were connected. It was beyond the realm of reason that two gentlemen should be inquiring about her at the same time. The obvious connection was that both Fenwick and Nigel were interested in courting her. Nigel because he thought she might inherit a fortune, and Fenwick because ... A heaviness began to creep over her spirits as realization dawned. If Phoebe had discussed this notion that she was Pargeter’s daughter and heir, then Fenwick would have heard it. Was that why he had shown some interest in her? Was that why he had gone haring off to Miss Prism’s to look into her character? She felt in her bones that it was.
Soon a worse realization took hold of her. Fenwick was in Bath, not ten miles from Radstock. It was Fenwick who had been inquiring regarding her birth! “A gentleman” was what Swann had said. He hadn’t seen the man, or given any description of him. Fenwick was vetting her. He had gone to Miss Prism’s first. Even the wretched account Miss Prism had given him wasn’t enough to deter him if she were to inherit Wildercliffe. He was nothing else but a fortune hunter—and here she had thought him something quite out of the ordinary.
What did she know about him, after all? Not all noblemen were rich. He might be a gambler in debt to his ears; he might be a womanizer. He might be any dreadful thing, behind that handsome, smiling mask of the gentleman. The first time she had seen him he had been snooping around Lord Pargeter’s room. He had only come here to see if he could make mischief. Well, he had made plenty—and much good it did him. He couldn’t break the will, and he wasn’t going to nab an heiress. She gave her anger full rein. She had every reason to be angry with him, and no reason at all to feel the sad regret lurking beneath the anger, because he had never really cared for her.
His teasing and joking were only to keep her in curl until he found out whether she was an heiress. That was why he had written that note. It suggested interest without in any way compromising him, if what he learned at Radstock didn’t fit in with his plans. Now that he knew she was only a humble vicar’s daughter, she would never see him again. That should have been some relief, but it only increased the ache in her heart.
Chapter Seventeen
Jane wished she could stay home the next morning when the ladies were preparing for the visit to Swann’s, but she knew Fay would dislike it. A companion did as her mistress wished, even when her mistress was also her aunt. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to be married to Swann after all. He would be easy to manage, and at least she would be her own mistress.
A smiling Scawen met them at the door. He complimented both the younger ladies on their bonnets. Jane noticed that Harriet blushed up to her eyes and said that it was most obliging of him, as her bonnet was aeons old.
“It just suits you,” he said. Even this ambiguous remark Miss Stowe took with a smile.
Harriet was introduced to Lady Sykes, who subjected her to a close scrutiny and a barrage of questions. Mr. Gurney had not yet arisen. Phoebe sat alone, her eyes glittering with suppressed excitement. She refrained from battle until she had established exactly who Harriet was.
Before long, Scawen said, “I thought you might like to take a hike upstairs to meet Mama, Miss Stowe. She is expecting you. She always likes to meet any new callers.”
“That is very kind of you,” Harriet said, rising to follow him from the saloon, murmuring, “Excuse me” and “Sorry” to left and right as she departed.
Jane heard Harriet demurring and Swann reassuring her as he led her toward the stairs. “I am so nervous, Mr. Swann.”
“Nothing to be nervous about, my girl. She won’t bite you. Even if she did, she’s missing half her teeth.”
Once they had left, Lady Sykes sat like a poisonous adder, primed to spit venom at her victims.
“Well, Miss Lonsdale,” she said, wriggling in anticipation of the ammunition she had to pummel the enemy. “So you have brought a teaching friend to join you at Wildercliffe. Why was Miss Stowe turned off? Not for carrying on with the music master, I hope? Such a forward creature would not do for Mrs. Swann’s companion.”
Phoebe’s snapping eyes, even more than her barbed words, revealed that she knew the story of Fortini. It was no hypothetical “music master” to whom she referred.
“No, she was dismissed for defending my fair name when Miss Prism unjustly accused me of misbehavior.”
“Unjustly?” Phoebe laughed ironically. “Miss Prism has a sterling character. She hasn’t the reputation of accusing anyone unjustly. Her school is most highly regarded, which makes it imperative that she not have women of loose morals teaching her girls.”
Lady Pargeter took up her cudgel with a fulminating eye. “She is less stringent in her requirements of her male teachers,” she said. “For your information, Lady Sykes, the music master made improper advances to Miss Lonsdale.”
“A likely story!”
“It is of no interest to Miss Lonsdale or myself whether you choose to believe it or not, but it happens to be true,” Fay said grandly. “As a matter of curiosity, might I know how you came to be aware of all this?”
“You can’t hope to keep a scandal like that quiet for long! I wager Bath is humming with it by now. I wonder what Lady Fenwick will make of it.”
“That is of no more interest to us than what you think of it, Lady Sykes,” Fay retaliated.
Phoebe turned a disparaging eye on Jane. “You want to keep on your aunt’s good side, Miss Lonsdale, for you will never find any other position with the sort of reference Miss Prism will give you.”
“My niece is not looking for another position,” Fay shot back. “I wouldn’t part with her for any consideration.”
Jane felt a pronounced desire to flee the room, but until Harriet returned, she must sit and be insulted. She hadn’t the heart to defend herself, nor was it necessary. Aunt Fay could and did do a much better job of it.
After a deal of gibing and verbal sparring, Swann’s heavy tread was heard on the staircase. He and Harriet duly appeared in the saloon.
“What, no tea?” Swann said, looking around.
“Lady Sykes and I have been having such an interesting conversation, she forgot to order it,” Lady Pargeter said.
Swann said, “I’ll do it this instant.”
“Not on our account, Mr. Swann,” Fay said, rising. “I have quite lost my appetite, and I am sure my niece feels the same,” she said, with a disparaging glance at Phoebe. “Miss Stowe, are you ready to leave?”
“Certainly, milady,” Harriet said. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Swann accompanied the ladies to the doorway. “I am taking Harriet to see the swans this afternoon,” he said to Jane. “I hope you’ll come with us.”
“Thank you, I have seen the swans,” Jane said in a weak voice. She only wanted to go home and forget this awful visit.
“There will soon be some new ones for you to see. Had a letter from Fenwick this morning. He has got a line on a black pair for me.”
Jane waited on tenterhooks to hear if he had anything further to say about Fenwick. She bit back the nearly overwhelming urge to ask. Swann immediately spoke of other things, arranging a time to call for Harriet.
The conversation on the drive home was about Harriet’s meeting with Mrs. Swann.
“She seemed to like me,” Harriet said shyly. “Mr. Swann is sure she will hire me. He didn’t like to ask her in front of me, you know, but he feels she will have me. Is it not fortunate, Jane? We shall be neighbors, and Mr. Swann
is so considerate, I’m sure he won’t object to my calling on you. He says his mama usually sleeps the afternoon away.”
“That is good news,” Jane said. She had to force herself to simulate enthusiasm, for her mind was elsewhere.
Swann had heard from Fenwick. That was how Lady Sykes knew all about her disgrace. Fenwick had sat right down and written all the details of his investigation to that dreadful woman. Probably warned her not to send for Nigel, now that they knew she was penniless. The frustration grew in Jane until she wanted to haul off and strike someone.
“And of course, you will call on me,” Harriet said. “Mr. Swann says I can have the use of his carriage when he is not using it, and the donkey cart any time I like, as soon as he gets it painted, and gets a donkey.”
“He is very considerate,” Jane said.
She was too upset to notice that Scawen was showing Harriet all the consideration he used to lavish on her, nor would she have cared a groat if she had noticed, except to be happy for Harriet.
Swann came immediately after lunch to take Harriet to see the swans. Malton arrived half an hour later. As the day was so fine, he invited Lady Pargeter out for a drive.
“You come with us, Jane,” Lady Pargeter said.
Jane was happy to have a while to herself. “I would prefer to take a walk about the estate,” she said. “I need some exercise.”
“You do look a little peaky,” Malton said at once. Jane sensed that Malton wanted his lady to himself.
As soon as they left, she took up a novel and strolled out into the park. She had no intention of reading, but the book made a good excuse to sit under a tree on a balmy day and think. Her first thoughts were of Fenwick’s perfidy. This was so painful that she forced her mind into the future. Her situation wasn’t desperate by any means. Her aunt would never turn her off. She could be useful during Fay’s confinement, and afterwards help with the baby. She had no experience of infants, but it couldn’t be so difficult. Women had a natural instinct to care for children. There would be a wet nurse, of course, to tend to the feeding and help out.
