The Flood-Tide

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘Are you going out?' he asked her. It was an unecessary question, quite apart from the gloves, for Mary was in a walking-dress of some elegance, dark yellow silk with a mustard-coloured frill at waist and hem, the deep, square neckline filled in with a lawn so fine it was almost transparent. Over it she wore a sleeveless green silk pelisse puffed out at the back and drawn up into three swags by three seams in black piping and three large jet buttons, and fastened in front by emerald-green ribbon. The same ribbon trimmed her spotless lawn cuffs. Her hair was dressed into a thick plait which was turned up and pinned behind, while her side hair was puffed out into a series of fat curls, and the whole was crowned with a neat black hat, tilted forward at an impudent angle by the thickness of hair, and decorated with ruched green bands and bows, three white ostrich feathers, elegantly curled, and a glossy black cock's feather, jauntily erect.

  ‘I'm going in to York, to visit Celia Anstey - why?' Mary said. James waved a hand.

  ‘All that, for Celia Anstey? Curled hair, curled feathers and all, for Celia Anstey?'

  ‘Celia is a very sweet girl, and I dote on her,' Mary said. ‘What do you want, you impudent boy?'

  ‘You'll have the coach out, then? Let me ride in with you. I think you need an escort, sister dear.' He offered his arm to her with a mocking bow, but though she frowned at him, she accepted it. James always looked well, and it was pleasant to have a man beside one when riding in a coach.

  ‘What do you want in York?' Mary asked. 'I hope you are not going to spend the day soaking in some tavern, or in that dreadful club? You know that drinking too much will ruin your complexion.'

  ‘Oh, don't begin that old song again,' James said, leading her out into the courtyard. 'You don't sing it to brother William, I notice.'

  ‘William doesn't drink as much as you,' Mary said.

  ‘He does indeed - he drinks twice as much as me,' James said indignantly, and Mary paused, knowing it was true. But she was wary of William.

  ‘Well, he's older. Besides, he hasn't any complexion to ruin. And he doesn't smoke cigars, which I know you do, because I've smelt them on you at night when you come upstairs. And he doesn't gamble.'

  ‘Gambling is bad for the complexion too, is it?' James asked a little peevishly as they settled themselves in the coach. 'Anyway, who told you I gambled?’

  She gave a sigh of exasperation. 'Oh Jamie, it's common knowledge. All the girls talk about it, and John Anstey eats at the Maccabbees Club sometimes, and he's seen you there.'

  ‘Oh, all the girls talk about me, do they?' he said with a grimace. Mary looked at him sternly.

  ‘I don't know how much you are losing, but I'm sure it is more than your allowance - isn't it?' James did not answer. 'What are you going to do, when you run out of credit? They'll go to Papa, and then it will be all up with you.'

  ‘I'll do what I've always done - borrow from someone.' ‘But that's even worse. You must have debts all over the place. What when they want their money back?’

  borrow from someone else to pay them, of course.

  Really Mary, don't preach. I wouldn't have asked you to let me ride with you if I'd known you were going to dig into my little pleasures like this.'

  ‘James, they aren't so little any more, and I'm worried about you,' Mary said. 'You're getting a bad reputation in York and it can be only a matter of time before it gets back to Mother or Father.'

  ‘Mother and Father are too innocent ever to suspect anything, and I can manage Father Ramsay, as I always have. You needn't worry about me. Though I suspect it's your reputation you are fearful for. You don't want to be known to be my sister, the sister of a confirmed rake,' James said languidly.

  ‘Don't put on that air with me,' Mary said crossly. 'Save it for your lady friends. And if you think Mother and Father wouldn't mind about all this, you are very much mistaken. For heaven's sake, James, have a little sense!'

  ‘Oh don't worry, Polly, it won't get as far as Father. If I get into the soup, brother Ned will fish me out again. He's done it before. Marvellous economical old boy, is Ned. Never spends his 'lowance, puts it by for an emergency. Always good for a guinea or two at a rub, brother Ned.'

  ‘Well, if he's fool enough to give it to you, I'll say no more. But you'd better keep out of trouble for the next few weeks, while he's away.'

  ‘He won't be away long,' James said confidently.

  ‘Why should you think that? He's gone to visit his friend Chetwyn, and he hasn't seen him for two years or more. He won't hurry back.'

  ‘He won't stay long this time, because Chetwyn's Papa, the old Earl, is ill, and they won't want him hanging around the house making a noise. Ten to one he'll bring Chetwyn back here with him. And then there'll be two of them with spare guineas.’

  Mary sighed, but left it at that, seeing that there was no future in arguing with him. There was some truth in the idea that she was concerned for herself, for most of her friends had been in love with James at some time, and all of them had been flirted with by him, and it did make things uncomfortable when his name came up in conversation; especially with Celia Anstey who, whatever she said, was still very much under James's spell, which made her petulant on the subject.

  ‘So where is it you are going in York? You didn't tell me,' Mary said, to change the subject.

  ‘Oh - I'm going to visit - another of your admirers,' James said with a certain awkwardness that Mary did not quite understand.

  ‘Who can you mean?'

  ‘Tom Loveday,' James said with a grin. 'Poor Tom, how he talks of you, sighs over you - quite touching to see it.'

  ‘Be quiet, you impudent creature. And how long have you been friendly with Tom Loveday?'

  ‘Ever since you came home, and he thought cultivating my friendship might bring him in your way,' James said with a grin. Mary drew her dignity on.

  ‘We had better change the subject, or we shall certainly quarrel. Talk about something else, pray.’

  They went into the city through the Micklegate, and crossed the river, but as they were about to turn the corner into Spurriergate, James rapped on the roof and said to Mary, 'You had better let me out here.'

  ‘But Tom Loveday lives in Coney Street, doesn't he? We go right past the door - we can drop you there.'

  ‘Ah, no, I forgot to say that I want to see my hatter first - a matter of some urgency. That's in Jubbergate, you know. I can slip through the lanes from here.’

  Mary fixed him with a stern glance. 'You are not going to the club, are you?'

  ‘Certainly not.'

  ‘Nor an inn somewhere? Do you swear you are not going to do something more to disgrace us all?'

  ‘Mary, dear, I swear I am not going to drink or gamble, now or at any time today. Now will you let me out, before we have a dozen angry carters around our ears?'

  ‘Oh, very well.’

  She let him out, and watched him walk quickly away down one of the alleys that formed a maze amongst the mean dwellings on either side of Peter Lane and Feasegate, and then knocked on the roof, and the carriage moved on. They passed, as she had said, right by the Loveday house, an old and shabby building on Coney Street, the more unhappy-looking by contrast with the smart new house of the Ansteys further along on the Lendal. She suspected James of having a kind heart underneath his air of indifference, and it occurred to her that he might have preferred to arrive at Tom Loveday's on foot, rather than emphasize, by coming in a coach, the Lovedays' poverty, which meant they could not afford a coach of their own.

  At the Anstey house she was warmly received by the younger Ansteys, Sir John and Lady Anstey and John all being out. Her hat, as she had anticipated, caused great enthusiasm.

  ‘Mary, darling, what a love of a hat! What a perfect darling of a hat!'

  ‘And what a cunning way you have done your hair! I simply adore the plait - did you copy it from your brother, Mary dear?' This from Celia, who had been rather sour since her younger sister Margaret had become engaged to Edgar Somers, while sh
e, who had now reached the dangerous age of twenty, had never even been offered for.

  ‘She knew how much you admired it, dear sister,' Margaret retorted, willing to take revenge for the small needlings she had had to endure recently. But Mary had not come to cause quarrels.

  ‘Try it on, Celia, do. I'm sure it will suit you better than me,' she said, reaching for the pins of her hat.

  ‘I heard that hairstyles were coming down this year,' Margaret said with interest, 'but I see no sign of it happening. I wonder the Court ladies can bear it. It must be so uncomfortable.'

  ‘Oh it is - but terribly amusing. Did I tell you of how Lady Meldon dressed her hair for the Royal Birthday ball in Naples?’

  The time passed happily, and tea was brought in, and Mary told them of Flora's last letter, in which she described the multitude of delicious cakes and biscuits and pastries the Scots were accustomed to serve with tea. 'It is quite a meal with them,' Mary was saying, when a servant came in and spoke in a low voice to Celia, who coloured and said, ‘Yes, of course, how stupid you are. Show him up at once.' The servant bowed and departed, and Celia said, trying for unconcern, 'Your brother James, Mary, is below asking for you. I did not know he was in town today.'

  ‘He came in with me, but I dropped him off. I expect he only wants to know what time I shall be going home.'

  ‘Well, he shall take a dish of tea, at least,' Margaret said, sliding her eyes at her elder sister.

  Benjamin, the next youngest, cried, 'I must go and tell Alfred that James Morland is here. He will not like to miss him. What a capital fellow your brother is, Miss Morland.' And he jumped up and dashed away. The servant reentered with James, and Celia, inquiring graciously and with perfect self-control if he would like tea, sent the servant for fresh china and hot water, and invited James to sit down.

  ‘Upon my word, Miss Anstey, I did not intend to intrude upon you,' James said, sitting beside Celia readily and smiling his most charming smile. 'I only asked your servant to inquire at what time I should come for my sister, but—'

  ‘Please don't apologize, Mr Morland. Your presence is very welcome - to all of us. What brought you to York today?' Celia said. 'We don't often have the pleasure of seeing you.'

  ‘If I had known, ma'am, that I was to have the pleasure of taking tea with you, and Miss Margaret and Miss Elizabeth,' with a bow to each of the Anstey sisters, 'I should not have wasted my time elsewhere, and would have been on your doorstep the sooner.’

  Mary watched all this, marvelling at his performance, and seeing how it had its effect on each of them, making Celia a little more at her ease, Margaret a little less loftily detached, and Elizabeth, who was not yet seventeen, a great deal more tongue-tied, pink, and admiring.

  ‘But where have you been, Mr. Moreland?' Celia persisted, for something to say.

  ‘Oh, I have been to call on my old friend, Tom Loveday,' James said easily. Celia looked puzzled.

  ‘But Mr Loveday is not at home. He has gone to Harrogate these three days since, to visit his aunt who is sick.’

  Mary, lifting her gaze from her teacup to her brother's face at that moment, thought he looked disconcerted for the fraction of a second, but his answer was pat.

  ‘Oh, yes, certainly - so I discovered when I went to call. That was why I spoke of wasting my time.'

  ‘I wonder you did not know of it,' Margaret said. 'I wonder Mr Loveday's sister did not tell you of it.' ‘How might she do that, ma'am?' James asked. 'I have not had the pleasure of seeing Mrs Skelwith since—'

  ‘Oh but Mr Somers - my fiancé, you know - told me that he had seen you talking to Mrs Skelwith on the corner of Petergate the day before yesterday, but as he was in a hurry he did not stop to speak to you,' Margaret hurried on, eager to bring in a mention of Mr Somers. James bowed his acknowledgement with perfect aplomb.

  ‘Ah yes, I had forgot - I did happen to meet with Mrs Skelwith, quite by chance, as she was returning from somewhere or other - but it was nothing of a meeting. We barely spoke three words, you know, for we were both in a hurry. I am not surprised she did not mention her brother, for there was no time.’

  The door opened at that interesting moment to admit John Anstey, just returned, closely followed by the servant with the tea things.

  ‘Ah, here you all are! I'm glad to find the party not broken up. Miss Morland, your servant. Pour me some tea, Celia, there's a dear. What a dashed fast walker you are, James! I saw you in Stonegate, just ahead of me, and called out to you, but you did not hear me, and dashed off so fast I could not have caught you without running. But I guessed you were coming here - I knew Miss Morland was to visit today.'

  ‘There, you see, Miss Anstey,' James said, smiling at Celia, 'you see how I rushed to get here, even though I had no hope of being invited to take tea.'

  ‘What nonsense you talk, Mr Morland,' Celia said. 'May I refill your cup?'

  ‘Thank you, ma'am - oh, and here are Alfred and Benjamin. Capital, capital. Do you know, it occurs to me that we have enough now for a round game. What do you say? Miss Anstey, would you care for a hand or two of something? Speculation, perhaps?’

  Everyone was happy at the idea of a card game, and the gathering became quite boisterous, with James at the heart of everything, laughing and teasing and carrying everyone along with his spirits. When he and Mary were in the coach afterwards to go home, however, his spirits seemed to desert him suddenly, and he leaned back in the coach -almost slouched in his corner - and thrust his hands in his pockets, and sighed. Mary glanced at him, and saw how unhappy he looked, and was silent for a moment, wondering whether to broach the subject. Eventually she said gently, 'You did not come into the city to see Tom Loveday, then?' James did not answer. 'What was it, Jamie? What were you doing in Stonegate?'

  ‘My bootmaker lives there, Mary, besides a number of shops—'

  ‘And the Maccabbees Club,' she said quietly. He coloured.

  ‘I was not at the club. I told you I was not going to drink or gamble. Do you doubt my word?'

  ‘No,' she said. 'But as you will not tell me what you were doing, I must suppose it is something you would not like the family to hear about.'

  ‘Suppose what you wish,' he snapped, and they were both silent. But he did look unhappy, and Mary felt a little sorry for him. Whatever it was he was up to, it evidently did not answer.

  ‘James, do be careful, won't you?' she said, and he looked up, and sighed, and nodded.

  ‘Yes,' he said. 'I have to be.’

  It seemed to Mary an odd thing for him to say, but he volunteered nothing more, and they passed the rest of the journey in silence, he brooding, she wondering what fresh trouble he had got himself into now.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Lord and Lady Meldon returned from their visit to Scotland at the beginning of August, bringing with them, to everyone's astonishment, Flora's brother Charles.

  ‘Angus told me in his letter that Charles was coming to Scotland,' Flora explained. 'That's why I decided to go up for a visit. I didn't gay anything, because I was so afraid he would not come after all. Right until the moment he walked in through the door, I was sure something would prevent him.’

  She smiled affectionately at her brother, and he responded with a quirk of his lips, though Jemima thought he looked too astonished to find himself here to have much pleasure in it. He was very changed, she thought, much weatherbeaten, and looking older, and tired, with deep lines around his mouth that spoke of hardship and grief.

  ‘We heard from William of your dreadful misfortune, Charles, and were so grieved for you,' she said. 'I hope your wife did not take ill from the experience?'

  ‘She is well enough now, ma'am,' he said briefly, and his strange accent startled her. 'We did not know at the time she was with child. We have another son now, Louis.'

  ‘How very dreadful for her! Poor creature! Did you not bring her with you, to England?'

  ‘We couldn't have afforded it,' he said. 'I had to come, on business, to sort m
atters out with Angus. But I couldn't have gone away again without visiting you.'

  ‘We are glad to see you,' Allen said warmly, 'and I hope now you are here you will stay for a good, long time. You intend to settle permanently in Canada, I gather?’

  Charles nodded. 'And I must return as soon as possible. I take ship in ten days' time from Liverpool.'

  ‘So soon?'

  ‘My wife is alone with the children, apart from our servants. She is a brave woman, but things have not been easy, and the place where we live is—' he gave a curious grimace, 'not like this.'

  ‘You are the best - the only - judge of your own necessity,' Allen said. 'You must let us know if there is anything in particular you wish to see or do while you are here, and we shall try to arrange it for you.’

  Charles's face lit for the first time in a smile. 'I should like to see my American Garden,' he said. 'Does it flourish still?’

  Jemima and Allen exchanged a smiling glance. 'It does indeed,' she answered. 'The eastern dogwood was beautiful this year, and the Chilean holly has grown enormously.'

  ‘And while you're here,' Allen put in, 'you must come and look at my potatoes. I think I have created a new variety, and if it is successful, I shall call it the Morland, and make us both famous.’

  Charles raised an eyebrow. 'I had almost forgotten the old scheme, that first sent me to Maryland.'

  ‘If you're going to discuss potatoes, kindly go elsewhere and do it,' Jemima said. 'They have become an obsession with my husband - do you know, in his club in York they call him "Potato" Morland behind his back? And we have them at almost every meal—'

  ‘That is a gross exaggeration!' Allen protested, but Jemima went on undeterred.

  ‘—but it is all in vain, for he will never persuade Yorkshire people that potatoes are other than cattle feed.'

  ‘Charles, I cannot let you listen to this. Come at once to the garden, and see how I have cared for your protégés,' Allen said.

  *

  Charles followed him out, but at the door he paused and turned, and said abruptly, 'I can't thank you enough for what you've done, for me and all my family. I had to come, to thank you.’