The Merry Month of May

by Joan Smith

  “No, she is riding home with Peter and the boys. We rode over, she and I.” Sara heard this with a sting of anger.

  “Why didn’t she ride back with you?” Mary asked.

  “She was tired.”

  “Then she won’t want to go to the village today. It is too late anyway. Can I leave you and Haldiman alone, Sara? I’m going to send a note to the Hall with Haldiman.”

  “You can trust me not to paint your sister green while you’re gone,” Haldiman assured her, with an arch glance at Sara.

  “One never fears any impropriety from Lord Haldiman,” Sara agreed, with a Mona Lisa smile that vexed him.

  Mary left, and Haldiman moved to take up her seat beside Sara. “I daresay I sounded like Jehovah when I arrived. I hardly knew what to think, seeing you wrestling with that popinjay.”

  “And naturally you leapt to the most lecherous conclusion,” she teased. “It was an innocent romp, no more.”

  “Of course. Is Idle staying long at Heron Hall?”

  “For the summer, I believe.”

  “He doesn’t usually make such a long stay. Is there a special reason for it?”

  “Yes, he is teaching London society a lesson. It failed to amuse him, so he is amusing himself by painting and having a ball, if he ever gets around to deciding on his theme.”

  “Meanwhile Mama and I have decided to have a party to welcome Peter home. The theme provides itself, so there is nothing to delay it except the preparations. We have decided on next week. Will that suit you?”

  Sara sighed happily. “Any evening suits me. I would cancel a trip to the moon for a ball.”

  “You’re dressed for it already,” he said, and used it as an excuse to study her, with her hair falling in a copper cascade on her white shoulders. “It seems—strange, to see you like this.”

  “Don’t worry, I shall pin my curls up for your ball.” She watched him watching her till their eyes met. It seemed a contest of wills that neither would look away first. The air became tense, charged with some indefinable emotion.

  “It looks pretty like that,” he said, and took a drink of his ale, still watching her over the rim of the glass.

  Sara flipped one curl over her shoulder and said, “Not at your formal party. At Swithin’s, perhaps, depending on what theme he finally chooses.”

  “I don’t think it’s proper for you two to be here, with no chaperon except Mary. Does your mama know what is going on?”

  “Of course. She has only to look out the study window and see for herself. We are not engaged in anything outlandish, you know. Sir Swithin is a gentleman.”

  “Not the sort of gentleman you’re accustomed to dealing with, Sara,” he cautioned. “He’s a high flyer.”

  A gurgle of laughter rose up in her throat. “Then perhaps I shall clip his wings. My last gentleman flew all the way across the ocean, as you perhaps recall.”

  Haldiman damped down the scowl that came so easily to him. “And now has flown back again,” he said. “I must go. Mama wants a new ear trumpet. She stepped on the last one.”

  “Mary wants to send a note— Ah, here she is now.”

  Mary came pelting out. “Please tell Miss Harvey there’s a sale at the Drapery Shop, and they have in new silks. I couldn’t take time to write it all.”

  “Big news! She will be delighted to hear it,” Haldiman said, and tucked the note in his jacket. “I am happy you ladies are befriending Betsy.” His smile included Sara. He noticed her sulky mood. Why should she poker up at a mention of Betsy, if she were not jealous?

  This whole business of encouraging Idle was just to repay Peter for his desertion. He admired her spirit. He wouldn’t have thought she would have the gumption. Yes, he had certainly misread Sara Wood all these years. She had turned into a delightful coquette before his very eyes.

  “Give our regards to your mama,” Sara said. He noticed she omitted Peter and Miss Harvey in her compliments.

  “Anyone else?” he asked, pinning her with a meaningful look.

  She returned a chilly stare. “Good afternoon, Haldiman,” she said, and began gathering up Idle’s paints and brushes.

  “I meant the boys, Rufus and Beau,” he said, and laughed as he walked back to his mount.

  Chapter Eight

  Lady Haldiman was happy to learn the next day that Miss Harvey planned a trip to the village. “Take a footman with you, Miss Harvey. Take the carriage. Take anything you like. You must not feel compelled to come darting back for lunch. I daresay the Woods will want you to take your mutton with them.”

  With her new earphone firmly in place, she had no trouble hearing Miss Harvey’s reply. “Why, you sound eager to be rid of me, milady.”

  “Do I? Good gracious. I hadn’t meant to sound that way. You must be bored to flinders, hanging about the Hall with no young company.” Her two young sons glared her into silence.

  “I mean to be back in time for my ride,” Miss Harvey warned. “Will you be riding this afternoon, Rufus?” She darted a look at Peter to gauge his interest in this scheme. He looked ready to object.

  Lady Haldiman frowned and asked, “Rufus—why do you ask him? Surely it is Peter we’re worr— Peter you—you would be more comfortable with.”

  “I am perfectly comfortable with Rufus,” the young lady replied, with a saucy toss of her head.

  Oh dear! Lady Haldiman thought, but mercifully did not say. “I must speak to you in your study at once, Rufus,” she said, before he answered Miss Harvey’s question.

  As soon as the door was closed behind them, she turned a fiery eye on her elder son. “This is a fine piece of jiggery! You see what she is up to! She has seen what a tatty shambles the Poplars is and has decided to toss her bonnet at you.”

  “No, no. It is just her casual way.”

  “Eh? Where is my earphone?”

  “In your hand.”

  “No, I have it right here,” she said, and applied it to her ear. “I see how this came about. In your eagerness to keep her from Peter, you have given her the notion she may scramble to the top of the heap by exchanging him for you. You must give her one of your setdowns.”

  “You mistake the matter, Mama. If I don’t distract her a little, she will have Peter shackled before the month is out. I plan to join her and Sara in town for lunch.”

  “Sara? It is Mary she is going with.”

  “Sara will go with them. I may stop at Whitehern in the afternoon and watch the painting session. Idle is painting Sara.”

  “Why?”

  “To make an excuse to flirt with her, I suspect. That is why I mean to join them. She has some interest in him.”

  “Rubbish. No one in her right mind is interested in Idle. He is as close to a lunatic as makes no difference.”

  “The ladies seem to find him an engaging lunatic.”

  “Sara has more sense. But if you think it necessary, you must by all means keep Miss Harvey with you for the painting session. I don’t suppose Idle would like to paint her?”

  “I’ll suggest it to him.”

  “Only he must not do it here. He can paint her at his place. His mama is at home.”

  “He could paint her in our garden.”

  That was too close to please the dame. “Fish and company always stink after three days. There is nothing so bothersome as unwanted company. Best run along now.”

  * * * *

  When Miss Harvey arrived at Whitehern, it was only Mary who had on her bonnet. “Are you not coming with us, Miss Wood?” she asked Sara.

  “I have some work to do this morning,” Sara lied politely.

  “Can’t the servants do it for you?”

  “I am helping with some sewing for the church-altar cloths,” Sara added, to lend an air of authenticity to her lie.

  “You’ll destroy your eyes. Shall we go, Miss Mary? Lady Haldiman insisted on sending a footman along. I declare she treats me like a daughter. And Rufus couldn’t be kinder. I have to dash back to ride with him this afternoo
n.”

  Sara heard this with a twinge of jealousy. “What about Peter?” she asked.

  Miss Harvey narrowed her handsome eyes. “Why, he will be at leisure as far as I know. This is your opportunity, Miss Wood.”

  Sara’s nostrils pinched and she took out her ill humor on her sister. “Don’t be too long, Mary. Remember Swithin is coming this afternoon, so we must have lunch a little early.”

  “He doesn’t come till after three,” Mary reminded her, and without further ado the ladies left.

  Sara heard Mary’s excited voice chattering as they went toward the door. “What will you wear to Haldiman’s ball, Miss Harvey?”

  “Lud, you can call me Betsy. Everyone does.”

  The door closed with a slam, and Sara sat, breathing hard in her vexation. ‘This is your opportunity, Miss Wood.’ The bold girl had set her cap at Rufus! It was as plain as the nose on her face. To work off her anger, Sara took her ride in the morning and returned for lunch in better spirits, till she learned Mary had not returned.

  “We had a note from her,” her mother explained. “She is taking lunch at the Fife and Drum in the village. Now don’t poker up, Sara. They are with Haldiman, so it cannot be called fast. He sent his groom to tell us.”

  This had the effect of increasing Sara’s stiffness. She jabbed her fork at her food and scarcely ate a bite. In the afternoon she had another visit from Idle to look forward to. He came early to show her sketches for a water gala, which was what his ball had become.

  “With a sprung floor built over the stones behind the house for dancing, lit all around by torches,” he explained.

  Mrs. Wood looked askance at the drawing. “What if it rains?” she asked.

  He slid his second drawing from beneath the first. “Semper Paratus. In that case we remove inside to dance by this babbling brook. Achieved by a pump and hose led down to the ocean. Quite ingenious. I am amazed at how easily the idea came to me.”

  “How will you contain the water in your ballroom?” the lady asked, agog at such ambitious plans.

  “I have not overcome that little difficulty yet. Some sort of trough must be arranged. I want a serpentine effect, with wandering water.”

  Sara saw the ball would be a long time coming to fruition and urged him to lower his standards. “I dare not,” he told her. “London will anticipate a spectacle when I ask them to come so far. Nothing less than a miracle to behold will maintain my reputation.”

  “You are not aiming for canonization after all,” Sara scowled.

  “My aim is more difficult: to topple Prinny as the most ambitious host in England. Shall we go to the garden?”

  Mrs. Wood gritted her teeth and went with them, for she thought Haldiman might stop off with Mary on his way to the Hall and didn’t want him to find her lacking in propriety. The painting that day was decorous to the point of ennui for two of the three. Idle was completely absorbed in his work.

  At four-thirty the sound of a carriage was heard in the driveway, and soon Mary and Miss Harvey peeped over the bushes, with Haldiman behind them.

  As soon as the greetings were done, Mary burst into excited speech. “I got blue crepe for Haldiman’s ball, Mama, and Betsy bought pink. We’re going to have Miss Bracken make us up gowns in the same style. Betsy says it is all the crack in Canada for sisters to dress alike. We had lunch at the Fife and Drum with Haldiman. Betsy said she never tasted such tough meat, like tanned leather. In America they roast a whole cow on a spit.”

  “How elegant,” Sir Swithin said, “like the Hottentots in Africa.” He stuck his brush into the turpentine. “You may step down, Sara. Enough painting for one day.”

  Miss Harvey went to observe the painting and gave a snort of laughter. “I would give Sir Swithin a good Bear Garden jaw if I were you, Miss Wood,” she told Sara. “He has turned you into the prow of an old Viking vessel. What a wooden face and looking as grim as death.”

  Swithin examined his painting. “The lips require a little work; as to the rest of your criticism, Miss Harvey, I was trying for a rigid quality. Miss Wood is in a pensive mood, you see, reflecting on eternity. Some ladies do cease their idle chatter, from time to time—in England, I mean. May I see the crepe?”

  “If that is merely a smart way of telling me I am a chatterbox,” Miss Harvey said, “you are wasting your breath, Sir Swithin. I know it already, but you are a fine pot to be calling the kettle black, you old clapper jaw.” She laughed merrily at her rejoinder.

  “What do you want to see the crepe for?” Mary asked him.

  “I am interested in fabrics.”

  Miss Harvey’s snicker sounded like “man milliner,” but Mary distracted the group by producing her fabric for Idle’s examination. “It will do well enough for an ingénue,” he decided, and reached for Miss Harvey’s.

  “Pink? Pink for a lady your age—and of your ruddy complexion, my dear?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “It would make a lively Sunday frock for a child. I would have thought a mint green or celestial blue, to tone down those apple cheeks ... No matter, it will suit your bucolic coiffure.” On this dismissing phrase he turned to Mrs. Wood and said, “Some liquid refreshment, perhaps?”

  Betsy narrowed her eyes at his violet smock and said, “A pity I don’t have your fine discerning eye for colors.”

  Haldiman, embarrassed for her, added, “I must share the blame, Idle. I advised Betsy.”

  “So I assumed,” Idle remarked vaguely.

  Wine was called for in honor of Lord Haldiman, who would have preferred ale, and in the interest of restoring harmony Mrs. Wood said, “How did you like our village, Miss Harvey?”

  “I liked it enormously. The church is so sweet and ancient. I said to Mary I was afraid the roof might tumble in on our heads, didn’t I, Mary? I swear the parson must have been here since the flood. He insisted on showing me around, so kind of him. He called me Mistress Harvey. ‘I’m nobody’s mistress, sir,’ I told him. That made him look sharp.”

  “I warrant it did,” Sir Swithin smiled benignly, and goaded her on to further solecisms. “What did you think of the shops?”

  “There is only one worth the name as far as I could see. It was ever so amusing. I do pity you poor ladies, having to buy your wares in that dinky little everything store. Mind you, the buttons were lovely. I bought a dozen of pearl and some jet beads to take home for Mama. Lovely wine, Mrs. Wood,” she added aside to her hostess.

  “Thank you.”

  “Not so sour as what they serve at the Hall. I like a good glass of cider myself on a hot day. Mind you, we wouldn’t call this hot in Canada.”

  She went on to regale the company with the proper method of making cider and roasting beef and generally running a proper village. Sir Swithin listened with a fatuous smile gracing his lips and an anticipatory gleam lighting his eyes.

  “Well now, God will know where to go next time he is creating a world, Miss Harvey. If you have no further instructions for us, I shall go home. In England, we walk by putting one foot in front of the other. Do you have a better method to recommend?”

  She gave him a teasing smile. “In Canada, our asses use all four feet, Sir Swithin.”

  Far from offending, her barb won her a smile. Idle appreciated a quick wit. “Touché, Sauvage! Have I underestimated you?”

  “That was naughty of me!” she blushed and looked at the others to see if she had gone too far. She saw only surprise, swiftly turning to amusement.

  “But we gentlemen adore a naughty lady,” Idle assured her, and even delayed his departure. “You will, perhaps, have some ideas to help me with my ball.”

  “You’re too slow off the mark,” she replied, flushed with victory. “I am helping Rufus prepare our ball. He is having one to introduce me to the neighborhood, aren’t you, Rufus? And to celebrate Peter’s return, of course.”

  Sara looked sharply at Haldiman. He showed no objection to this description of his ball.

  “Too cruel,” Idle pouted, and fin
ally left.

  Before long, Miss Harvey, who had by then implored the whole company to call her Betsy, picked up her parcel and told Haldiman she was ready to go. “If we hurry, we can still get in a canter before dinner,” she informed him. “Thank you ever so for the wine, Mrs. Wood. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mary. Good-bye, Sara.” She left, hanging on Haldiman’s arm and chattering away.

  “I had a wonderful time,” Mary sighed happily.

  “What did she mean, she’d see you tomorrow?” Sara demanded.

  “She is going to teach me to drive, if Rufus will lend her his curricle.”

  “Rufus! Now that is too forward, Mary,” her mother exclaimed. “Even I do not call Haldiman Rufus.”

  “Betsy does. In Canada people are much friendlier. We discussed it at luncheon, and after Betsy teased him a little, Rufus agreed it was too formal for us to use his title.”

  Mrs. Woods eyes flashed. “She is a brazen hussy! You will not follow her example, Missy. We are not in Canada now. And that was a nasty thing to say to Reverend Kane, too. Talking broad to a minister of the church. What next, I ask you!”

  Mary gave a sly smile. “Next you will have to address her as Lady Haldiman I expect. Ruf—Haldiman is very sweet on her.”

  Mrs. Wood swallowed her ire and seethed in silence. If the hussy was, indeed, to become the next Lady Haldiman, it would not do to offend her. Indeed, her friendship could do Mary worlds of good. With Mary’s fortune from Aunt Cloe, even a noble match was not impossible. When all this was mentally reviewed, she spoke in a calmer voice. “I daresay no harm will come from a little driving on the back roads, but you must be sure to take a groom or footman with you.”

  “Lady Haldiman will provide one. She treats Betsy like a daughter,” Mary replied happily.

  Mrs. Wood darted a look at her elder daughter.

  “It is beginning to sound serious. Imagine Haldiman having a ball for her. He would not do that if he were not seriously smitten.”

  “The ball was to mark Peter’s return,” Sara said. “Haldiman didn’t mention Miss Harvey when the idea first arose.”

  “Killing two birds with one stone,” her mother said. Mrs. Wood was astonished, but by no means against the marriage. As well as giving Mary a leg up the social ladder, it left Peter free to marry Sara.