A London Season

by Anthea Bell

  “No, pray don’t go—that is, if you would be so kind as to remain?” asked Elinor, slightly pink and decidedly breathless. “The fact is, I should really be rather glad of company, sir!” She cast a distracted look at the door, which the housekeeper had left ajar. A hearty voice with a distinctly ecclesiastical resonance to it was to be heard in the hall, its owner assuring Mrs. Howell that he would just hang up his hat, and then, why, he hoped he knew his way! “I—I am afraid that Mr. Spalding, an excellent man, of course, who is curate of this parish—only I don’t wish to—but Lady Emberley was so set on it, and whatever I say he still seems to think it is a settled thing, which I find excessively trying—dear me, I am explaining it all so badly!”

  “Let me guess!” said Sir Edmund, considerably entertained. “The excellent clerical gentleman, curate of this parish, is the—what did you call it?—provision my deplorable old cousin saw fit to make for you? And he is now intent upon either making you an offer of marriage, or renewing one he has made before?”

  “Yes, that’s it in a nutshell,” said Elinor, grateful for his quick perception. “Only he can’t do so if you are present, sir, can he?” she added in an urgent whisper, as heavy footsteps approached.

  “I hardly think so,” said Sir Edmund, encouragingly. In this opinion, however, he was to find himself mistaken.

  4

  It was plain from the outset that the tall and rather stout clergyman who now entered the drawing room, as good as brushing Mrs. Howell aside, was not to be deterred from any purpose he had in mind by so trifling a detail as the presence of a third party who was, in addition, a total stranger to him. Composing herself with an effort, Miss Radley performed the introductions. Mr. Spalding, advancing towards Sir Edmund with measured tread, shook his hand vigorously and at length. His ruddy, well-fleshed face wore a beaming smile, and with so much amiability in evidence, Sir Edmund was hard put to it to account for the instant dislike which he found he had taken to the clergyman. Jacob was a smooth man, he said to himself involuntarily, despite the fact that he had just learnt Mr. Spalding’s given name to be Samuel. Perhaps it was the smoothness of chin (freshly shaven for this visit?) and partial baldness of pate that suggested that patriarchal attribute. Sir Edmund judged Mr. Spalding to be about his own age. His bearing was one of great assurance, not to say self-consequence.

  “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Sir Edmund, delighted!” said he, effusively. “Well, well, and so you are the heir! Pray allow me to offer my congratulations!” Here his countenance suddenly assumed an expression of great gravity, as he added, “and of course my condolences upon Lady Emberley’s death too, sir! So excellent, so Godfearing a woman, so truly thoughtful of others—so gratifyingly appreciative of our parochial work here in bringing spiritual comfort to the poor, as we may see even after her death!”

  Sir Edmund suddenly recollected where he had met with the name of Samuel Spalding before. That gentleman must be referring to the solitary bequest made by Lady Emberley to anyone but himself as her designated heir: the sum of three thousand pounds left to the Reverend Mr. Spalding, of the Church of St Mary. In fact, Lady Emberley had made no stipulation as to its use for bringing spiritual comfort to the poor, who in Sir Edmund’s experience generally preferred the material variety. He interrupted Mr. Spalding’s encomiums to say civilly, but with no especial warmth, that he feared he himself had not met Lady Emberley for years, and though he supposed time might have mellowed her, he could not feel that her disposal of her estate did her much credit. “I myself,” he remarked, “am not at all satisfied with the way things have been left, as I have been telling Miss—”

  Far from taking this as implying any criticism of the bequest made to himself, Mr. Spalding cried almost gleefully, “Aha! I take your meaning, Sir Edmund, indeed, I take your meaning! I apprehend—”

  But here a loud trill upon the pianoforte interrupted him, and he glanced round, startled. “What in the world is that, Elinor?”

  “Sir Edmund’s ward, Miss Grafton, is practising on the instrument in the book-room,” she told him.

  “I see. I see. Well, well, very agreeable, I am sure! But to return, Sir Edmund, to the matter of which we were speaking. You are thinking, I dare say, that no provision was made for Miss Radley here. But, my dear sir, there is no need to concern yourself, none in the world! Provision has been made, Sir Edmund—ample provision, and not, I trust I may say, in worldly goods alone!” The prospect of dilating further upon Lady Emberley’s benevolence seemed to exert a powerful effect upon the clergyman; his chest visibly expanded as he beamed again at his companions. “I surmise, sir, that with very proper modesty, and her customary delicacy of mind, Miss Radley has not thought it right to mention the matter to you. And to be sure, where betrothals are concerned, mum’s the word at a time of mourning!” He chuckled, evidently supposing himself to have uttered a witticism, and Sir Edmund, who was beginning to find him rather entertaining, noted with amusement that the expression on Miss Radley’s face was closer to sheer outrage than very proper modesty.

  “However, sir,” continued the clergyman, “I collect that, although you and Elinor were related to Lady Emberley on different sides of her family, you, as the heir, may in some sort be regarded as the head of the family, so discussion of the matter is not altogether inappropriate. Indeed, it may be that I should apply to you for your approval!” This seemed to be another joke, for he chuckled again. “I trust, therefore, that I commit no solecism, sir, in informing you, in short, that Miss Radley is to become my wife!”

  In short, Sir Edmund thought, was hardly an apt description for Mr. Spalding’s style of conversation, but after making this interesting announcement even he had to pause for breath, and perhaps for effect too. Miss Radley availed herself of the opportunity to say, mildly enough, “Never mind about applying to Sir Edmund! He is not related to me and I do think, you know, you might rather have applied to me first!”

  “You mean he hasn’t?” asked Sir Edmund, diverted.

  “Eh? What?” exclaimed the clergyman, momentarily—but only momentarily—taken aback. Next instant he had regained all his bland affability. “Ah, that is your modesty speaking, my dear Elinor, and very laudable too. But I am sure we need not stand on ceremony with Sir Edmund. After all, it is quite a settled thing!”

  “Oh dear, I do wish you would disabuse yourself of that notion, Mr. Spalding,” said Elinor, vexed.

  “Now, now, modesty is all very well, but there is no need to be missish!” remarked her suitor, a touch of impatience in his own voice. He addressed himself to Sir Edmund again. “While Lady Emberley was alive, of course, and in need of her cousin’s services and company, the case was quite different. Had the question arisen, I should have been the first to admit Lady Emberley’s prior claims! But now—” here he turned to his intended bride again “—now there can be no obstacle in the way of our union!”

  Elinor sighed. “Mr. Spalding, need we discuss this now?” she said hopefully. “It can hardly interest Sir Edmund.”

  “On the contrary! On the contrary!” proclaimed Mr. Spalding, who seemed to have a distinct predilection for saying things twice. No doubt, thought Sir Edmund unkindly, the habit served to swell his sermons to the requisite length. “I apprehend that Sir Edmund, very properly, is concerned for your future.”

  “Well, there is no need for anyone to be concerned for my future! It is entirely my own affair!” said Elinor, her indignation at last breaking through in a flash of temper. She composed herself again with an effort, and said, carefully, “Believe me, Mr. Spalding, I am truly sorry if there has been a misunderstanding, but it was never of my making. It may be that Lady Emberley led you to suppose I should accept an offer of marriage from you after her death, but I do feel I should point out that though you may think you have made me such an offer, that is not the case!”

  “Come, come, let’s have no quibbling!” said her suitor, a little testily. “You must be aware that it was to dear Lady Emberley I
spoke!”

  “Yes, Mr. Spalding.” Elinor compressed her lips as she cast her mind back to the very disagreeable scene with Lady Emberley that had followed. “And she spoke to me, and I told her, you know, that should you be obliging enough to make me the offer she foresaw, I could only decline it, though with the deepest sense of—of the honour you did me, and with a true appreciation of your worth!”

  “Just so, just so, and very right too while your benefactress was still alive! But, with her customary acuteness and foresight, it was of the future that Lady Emberley was thinking. Why, I owe it to her to unite my lot with yours!” he exclaimed, rather unfortunately.

  “Ye banks and braes of bonnie Doon...” warbled Persephone’s remarkable soprano in the next room. It caught his attention once again, and once again Elinor seized her opportunity to speak.

  “I do appreciate your feelings, Mr. Spalding,” said she, with what Sir Edmund thought commendable restraint. “But your mind may be quite easy now! You have done all that Lady Emberley could have expected of you. And if, as it seems, plain speaking is to be the order of the day—well, Sir Edmund, you see that you may be easy in your mind too, since your cousin had a very respectable future planned for me, and it’s entirely my own fault if I felt I could not comply with her wishes!” The glint of humour was back in her eyes as she looked from one gentleman to the other. “Besides, you know, Mr. Spalding, I shouldn’t make a good wife for a clergyman. There are many who would suit you far better—think, for instance, of Miss Dunn.” For a moment, Mr. Spalding looked much struck by the suggestion. “I feel sure,” she pursued, “that before long you will be very much relieved I have refused your obliging offer!”

  The one he hasn’t even made her yet, thought Sir Edmund, who was having some difficulty in preserving his own gravity, and found the task even harder when Mr. Spalding rejoined, apparently with genuine indignation, “Not at all! I own, I have sometimes wondered if Miss Dunn ... but no! Miss Dunn is all very well, all very well in her way, but I am persuaded that you too would make me an excellent wife, accustomed as you are to habits of thrift and economy, and full as you must ever be of a sense of obligation to those ready, in a spirit of true forgiveness, to overlook the past!”

  “We will not say any more upon that head, if you please,” said Miss Radley, her amusement entirely swept away again.

  But Mr. Spalding in full spate was not readily to be halted. “For now that there is inculcated in you, as I do sincerely believe and trust, a salutory understanding of the inevitable consequences of deviation from the right way, I need have no apprehension as to your ever conducting yourself with the least impropriety, or other than as befits the wife of a man of the cloth! I have upon occasion, I freely admit, observed a certain frivolity in you, but once that is checked, I am persuaded you will enter into the state of matrimony in a truly fitting spirit. And consider,” he said, as one producing a final and irrefutable argument, “that henceforth you will have at your side a husband, able to direct and advise you in all that you do. The benefits of that, to a woman, cannot, I believe, be over-estimated!” he concluded with great satisfaction.

  Sir Edmund was here obliged to turn his head aside and devote his whole attention to a goldfinch perched on a bough just coming into leaf outside the window, lest his unseemly grin of amusement be seen by his companions.

  There was little enough amusement in Miss Radley’s own face as she said, rather wearily, “Well, I see it must be plain speaking indeed! Mr. Spalding, pray believe that I mean it when I say I am not going to marry you. Ever!”

  The bluntness of this actually shocked Mr. Spalding into the use of monosyllables. He asked, baldly, “But then, what will you do?”

  “Look about me for a post as a governess.”

  A distinct note of grievance, which the charitable (but not Sir Edmund) might have ascribed to disappointment at the dashing of his hopes, crept into Mr. Spalding’s voice as he inquired, “And who, pray, will employ you? You could hardly have expected to marry at all—and here you have a man of, I hope I may make bold to say, the highest respectability, prepared to make you his wife! What better prospect could you look to find? How, after what I am constrained to call your rash conduct of the past, can you hope to—”

  “I wish you wouldn’t feel constrained to call it anything at all!” said Elinor, with spirit. Sir Edmund silently applauded her. “It is in the past, you know!”

  “It is not, however, the kind of thing that can be forgotten!” pronounced the clergyman sternly. “Oh, dear me, dear me, no! A young woman’s good name, once sullied but enough of that!” he added rather hastily, seeing a dangerous flash in Miss Radley’s eye. “Where, I ask, will you obtain a post? I shudder, I repeat I shudder to think what might become of you! I cannot, I must not, I will not permit it! My conscience would not allow of such a thing! Sir Edmund here will, I am persuaded, lend me his support in dissuading you from your ill-advised intention of attempting to obtain paid employment of a respectable nature, doomed to failure as such an attempt must be!”

  “Then,” said Elinor, her patience cracking, “I shall just have to attempt to find work which is not of a respectable nature, shan’t I? And you will have all the satisfaction of being able to say it is exactly what you expected!”

  She regretted this little outburst the moment the words were out of her mouth, but had not much time to rue her lack of self-control, since Sir Edmund, his sympathy growing in proportion to her evident distress, had decided it was time he took a hand in bringing this scene to an end.

  “No, Mr. Spalding,” he remarked, “I’m afraid I can’t in all conscience join you in wishing Miss Radley not to accept a position! I’m sure your concern for her welfare does you credit, but you will see that you may set your mind at rest when I tell you that, at the very moment when you called, I was doing my best to induce her to accompany me to London.”

  In the ensuing silence, Elinor gave a small gasp of shock and surprise, while Persephone supplied musical commentary in the form of a dazzling series of voice exercises.

  “You, sir? Mr. Spalding’s naturally protuberant eyes appeared to be on the point of popping right out of his head. “You? Well! You amaze me. I must say you amaze me! Elinor, going to London with you?”

  “Yes: to undertake the charge of my ward, Miss Persephone Grafton, whom you can hear singing in there,” said Sir Edmund frostily, not at all caring for the suggestion of a leer which he fancied he saw begin to creep over the other man’s face. “From my point of view, it all falls out most fortunately. I urgently require a companion and chaperon for the child, since my sister Viscountess Yoxford, to whose house in Upper Brook Street I am taking her, is in delicate health. And here is Miss Radley, precisely the lady I would have wished to find for that position, about to seek a situation on her own account! Moreover,” he said, rather enjoying himself as he tried to vie with the clergyman in unctuousness, “the fact of our being connected, however distantly, through Lady Emberley makes the arrangement quite particularly suitable for all parties concerned, doesn’t it, Cousin Elinor?” he inquired, bending his very blue gaze on Miss Radley.

  The expressions of amazement, amusement and relief rapidly chasing one another over her face as she appreciated the adroitness with which he was extricating her from her predicament were, he thought, a joy to behold. In a moment, voice quivering only very slightly, she responded demurely, “Y-yes, Sir Edmund. Thank you: it is all just as you say.”

  “You are going to London?” exclaimed Mr. Spalding again, as his mind, not naturally quick, laboured to take in all the implications of what he had heard. “To Lady Yoxford’s? To Upper Brook Street? As chaperon to Miss Grafton? But surely that would mean going into Society!”

  “You doubt, sir, that my sister has the entree to Society?” inquired Sir Edmund.

  His assumption of an air of well-bred hauteur cast Mr. Spalding into confusion. “No—no, Sir Edmund, to be sure! I mean yes! I mean, of course not—that is, I don’t do
ubt it! Well, upon my word! But—but take, for example, Almack’s!” He turned to Miss Radley as he uttered the name of this most exclusive of all social meeting places in the metropolis, as if producing an irrefutable argument. “Acceptance there ... how will you contrive?”

  “Without the least difficulty,” Sir Edmund answered for her, still with the air of one patiently, but with boredom, elucidating the obvious. “I believe my sister Isabella is acquainted with most of the Lady Patronesses, probably all of them, and in any case, I have only to drop a word in Emily Cowper’s ear myself. I am tolerably well acquainted with Lady Cowper through her brother Frederick, you understand,” he added, addressing himself to Miss Radley. “I was for a while in the city of Munich, when Fred Lamb was British Minister there.”

  “W-were you indeed, sir?” breathed Elinor, fascinated as well as amused by the part Sir Edmund had chosen to play.

  “But,” put in Mr. Spalding, almost querulously, “you can’t go into Society, Elinor! What would people say? Can it be—I ask myself, can it be—that you have not revealed all to Sir Edmund? That you were proposing to perpetrate a deception—to enter Lady Yoxford’s household under false pretences? I am amazed—I say again, I am amazed! I am disappointed in you! I ask myself—I repeat, I ask myself—can this thing be?”

  Cast into the greatest confusion herself by these utterances, Elinor could not help glancing hopefully at Sir Edmund, who was proving such an unlooked-for tower of strength, and indeed he was already coming to her aid again.

  “You repeat yourself a good deal too much, sir, if I may say so,” he told Mr. Spalding crisply. “If it is any of your business, which I take leave to doubt, let me assure you that I am entirely in Miss Radley’s confidence. The matter to which you refer,” he added haughtily, without any idea of what they were discussing, “is not of the smallest consequence. In agreeing to chaperon my ward, Miss Radley is doing me and my sister a very great favour. And now, sir, I am in some haste to complete my business in this town and make arrangements for our journey on to London.”