by Jane Ashford
When they reached the gig, Erland bowed. “Good day. You won’t forget, I hope, Miss Joanna?”
“Forget?”
“About our ride.”
“Oh…oh, no.”
As the gig drove off, Jonathan Erland watched it with a combination of amusement and irony showing in his face.
* * *
Selina Grant arrived at the Rowntrees’ about three o’clock. The two girls went directly to one of their favorite haunts, an arbor at the back of the garden overgrown with white roses. Here, they had played with their dolls and sat through long summer afternoons talking, reading, or writing letters. And here this spring, they had excitedly begun to plan Joanna’s wedding. On this sunny June day, the place was fragrant and filled with the humming of bees.
“Oh, Joanna,” said Selina when they were alone, “they are coming this very week. It may even be tomorrow!”
“What, so soon after the wedding?”
Selina nodded. “She wants to see the house right away and start the workmen redecorating. That’s what the housekeeper says. The servants are in a worry, wondering what changes she plans to make.”
Joanna sighed. “Mother will make me go when she calls on her. I know she will. She doesn’t understand at all.”
“Couldn’t you pretend to be ill?”
“She wouldn’t believe me.”
The two girls contemplated this grim prospect in silence for some moments. After a while, Selina said, “I wouldn’t come into the country on my honeymoon. What a slowtop Peter is. I should go to Paris.”
Joanna bridled.
“I daresay it was all her notion,” added Selina hurriedly. “She wants to take over the household as soon as possible.” There was a short pause. “I was never more surprised in my life than when Mr. Erland joined us this morning,” she continued. “When did he arrive at the Abbey? I had no idea.”
Listlessly, Joanna repeated what she had learned during his visit.
“No money!” exclaimed the other. “Well, what a take-in. After the way old Mr. Erland squeezed every penny, I should think there would be piles of it.” When Joanna made no reply, she added, “Do you think he is handsome?”
Roused, Joanna stared at her. “Mr. Erland?”
“Yes. He has a kind of masterful manner, does he not?”
The other girl was speechless for a moment, then she burst out, “Masterful? Selina, whatever can you be thinking of? He has no style at all. His coats look as if they were made for someone else. He has never even been to London, I believe.”
“Well, of course he does not compare with men of fashion,” Selina responded hurriedly. “How could he after all, if he has been abroad for years and years? I only meant he seemed a pleasant, well-mannered man.”
“As well-mannered as one can be who has never had the advantages of mingling with the ton,” said Joanna haughtily.
Selina began to giggle. “Oh, Joanna, you should have seen your face when you said that. You looked the picture of disdain, just like my Aunt Arabella from London.”
This idea did not displease Joanna. “He is well enough,” she continued in measured tones, “but he has missed the finer things of life and will never be truly cultivated.”
“Will you really go riding with him?” asked Selina. “Do you think your mother will allow it?”
Joanna frowned. “I don’t know. She said yesterday that I might dance at the dress party. I’m to come out in London next season, you know.” Suddenly recalling, she added, “Or I was to have come out. I cannot go now, of course.”
“What dress party?” asked her friend eagerly, for once ignoring Joanna’s plight.
“Oh, Mama plans to give one to welcome Mr. Erland to the neighborhood.”
“With dancing?”
“Yes.”
Selina clasped her hands. “Oh, if only Mother will let me dance.” Her face fell. “I don’t suppose she will, though. She is always scolding me for being pert and forward.” She grimaced. “How I hate not being out!”
Joanna was looking at the garden wall and did not appear to hear.
“But you, Joanna, you will dance. That means you are practically out already. You will be invited to everything once that is known. How lucky you are.”
“I shan’t come out,” said Joanna sadly.
“What!” cried Selina, aghast. “Not come out? What do you mean?”
Joanna shook her head. “My hopes are blighted. I shall dwindle into an old spinster like Miss Snell at Longton.”
“Well, yes, of course. But not go to London? Joanna!”
Before Joanna could explain to her friend why it was impossible for her to go to London, even with Peter Finley removed from it, they were interrupted by the approach of her brother Frederick, limping down the path with the aid of his father’s walking stick. He came up and lowered himself beside them in the arbor.
“What do you want, Frederick?” asked Joanna impatiently. “We are talking.”
“I could see that,” retorted the young gentleman. “That’s why I came out. It’s dashed dull inside—nothing to do but read.”
“How did you hurt your foot?” asked Selina, and Joanna glared at her. Asking Frederick questions was no way to get rid of him.
Enthusiastically, Frederick launched into the story of his adventure at the Abbey. “I was just walking along the top of an old wall in the front part of the ruin when two of the stones gave way, and I fell. What a stupid accident.” He looked at his ankle. “The doctor says I shall be hobbling for weeks—worse luck.”
“But why did you wish to climb the walls of the ruins?” asked Selina. She shivered. “I don’t like it there.”
Frederick eyed her with contempt, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “I was looking for the treasure,” he whispered.
Selina’s eyes widened. She stared at him for a moment, then said, “What treasure?”
“Old man Erland’s treasure. I wager it’s in the ruins, though Jack Williston thinks it’s in the house. I might have found it that very day, and now it will be ages before I can hunt again. Someone will probably get in ahead of me.”
Selina leaned back and smiled condescendingly. “You cannot really believe there is treasure buried at the Abbey. It is too ridiculous.”
Frederick sat up straighter. “What’s ridiculous about it? Old man Erland was the greatest clutchfist in nature. Why shouldn’t he have hidden his money? Misers do, you know.”
“But he would have told someone before he died.”
The boy shook his head. “Not he. They never do. Can’t stand the idea of anyone else getting their hands on the money. I know it’s there. I was looking for a place that had been dug. I’ll find it, too, when my cursed ankle heals.”
“Well, you wouldn’t be allowed to keep a treasure, if you did find it,” snapped Joanna. “Frederick, do run along and look for Mama. I daresay she will play a game with you.”
“Not keep it!” cried her brother, outraged. “And why should I not? If I find it, it’s mine by right.”
“Nonsense. It would belong to the estate.”
Frederick looked defiant. “Then I shan’t tell when I do find it. I shall hide it again and use it when I’m older. To buy my own curricle.”
Joanna turned away with an exasperated exclamation, but Selina and Frederick argued spiritedly for some time over the relative merits of his plan. By the time they had finished, it was five, and Selina had to go. Thus, the two girls had no chance to work out a plan, and Joanna was left to discover for herself how she should face the new Mrs. Finley.
Three
Joanna heard no further word of the Finleys before the Thursday that Jonathan Erland was to dine at the Rowntrees’. As she dressed for dinner that evening, she wondered yet again when they would arrive. Waiting for the event was worse, she thought, than experiencing
it could possibly be.
As she brushed her brown curls into clusters over her ears, her mother came into the bedroom. “Oh, Joanna,” she said immediately, “not the blue dress. It’s so old. You must wear your new white muslin with the yellow ribbons.”
Joanna stared. “The new dress? But, Mama, you said I was only to wear it on special occasions.”
Mrs. Rowntree’s eyes dropped. “Well, this is a special occasion, is it not? How often do we have a dinner guest? And your father’s friends will be coming later. Do change, Joanna.”
Joanna frowned, then shrugged, turning to allow her mother to unbutton the blue dress. “I thought to wear the white at our dress party,” she said as she struggled out of it. “It is my best. But I suppose I can still do so.”
“Oh, no. You must have a new gown for that.”
Joanna stared. “Another new gown?”
Her mother laughed. “You will need a great many new dresses for your coming out, my dear. You must get used to them.”
Joanna frowned again, started to speak, then turned away to get the white dress from her wardrobe.
A quarter of an hour later, she went down to the drawing room. Both her parents were before her. Her mother, looking splendid in deep rose pink, sat on the sofa before the fireplace, knotting a fringe. Her father, whose blue coat and bluff pantaloons looked a bit disarranged, was at a small table in the corner, leaning over a scrap of paper and talking to himself. When Joanna came in, Mrs. Rowntree looked up and smiled. “Very pretty, my dear,” she said. “The yellow ribbons were a good choice. Doesn’t Joanna look well, George?”
Her husband did not respond until she repeated the question. Then, he gazed vaguely in Joanna’s direction and murmured, “Ah, yes, just so.”
Mrs. Rowntree smiled and motioned for Joanna to sit beside her. The girl did so, but she was not smiling.
“Where is Frederick?” she asked.
“I thought he might eat his dinner in his room this evening. He will walk about on that ankle, so it is not healing as fast as it should. I have told Nurse to keep him in bed tonight. If anyone can do it, she can.”
Joanna nodded absently, and silence fell again. Her father continued to mutter. She heard him say, “Divided into three, and then six parts, one to be combined with saltpeter, another with sulfur, and so on.” She watched him for a moment with a wistful expression.
Mrs. Rowntree gazed thoughtfully at her daughter, as if trying to solve some abstruse problem of her own.
As the mantel clock was striking seven, the maid brought Jonathan Erland to the drawing room. He was dressed in his blue coat again, and Joanna thought his neckcloth ridiculous. It was almost as clumsy as her father’s. Mr. Rowntree came out of his corner, and they all sat down together.
“How comfortable this is,” said Erland immediately, leaning back in the armchair with a sigh. “You cannot imagine what a week I have had. I do not believe that there is a chimney at the Abbey that does not smoke, a corner that is not piled with dust and cobwebs, or a decent joint or bottle to be had. Mrs. Smith utterly cows me when I venture to complain. I do not understand how my uncle tolerated that woman.” He smiled to take the sting from these words, but it was clear that he meant them.
Mrs. Rowntree returned the smile. “Your uncle had a very limited and unusual conception of a housekeeper’s duties, I believe, Mr. Erland. He wished only to curb expenditure. Mrs. Smith excels at that, I think.”
“Only too well,” agreed their guest. “I think she buys spoiled meat because it is dirt cheap. And I know she tried to cheat the baker; he has complained to me. There’s no help for it; I must pension her off and find a new housekeeper. I can’t go on as I am.”
“No indeed,” put in Mr. Rowntree unexpectedly. “A man must not be distracted by domestic problems. It is fatal to the logical faculties. You must be surrounded by a smoothly running household to allow the mind to run smoothly as well.”
Mrs. Rowntree laughed a little, and Erland agreed with a smile. Only Joanna made no response. Glancing at her, Erland was surprised to see an almost resentful look on her face.
“Tell us more about your Canadian travels,” said Rowntree jovially. And Joanna resigned herself to boredom until dinner was announced.
Conversation over dinner consisted of Erland’s praises of the food and his answers to Mr. Rowntree’s questions about the wilderness. Joanna was glad to rise at her mother’s signal and retreat to the drawing room once more. She was heartily sick of Canada, she thought defiantly, and she hoped that rather than joining them, the gentlemen would go directly to the library, where her father’s society was to meet at nine. When her mother made an innocuous remark about how unfortunate it was that Gerald could not come this evening, Joanna said only, “Humph.”
She got half her wish. Her father did not appear after dinner. But Erland came in soon after them and sat down beside her mother on the sofa. He complimented her yet again on the dinner, then turned to Joanna with the air of a man who meant to become better acquainted. “I have not forgotten your promise, you know,” he said lightly. “And I mean to hold you to it, as soon as I can find the time.”
“Promise?” echoed Joanna blankly.
“Yes. Have you forgotten we are to go riding together?”
“Oh. Oh, no.”
He smiled at her, his gray eyes lighting. “I think perhaps you did. But as I say, I hold you to it. Perhaps on Saturday?”
“Well, I am not sure…” Joanna looked to her mother.
Mrs. Rowntree nodded. “That sounds like a splendid scheme. You have not taken your mare out all week, Joanna.”
“It’s settled then. You must come. Your mare will be wanting the exercise.” He looked into her eyes. “And I am sorely in need of guidance. I know there must be some charming rides in the neighborhood, but I have lost myself four times searching them out. You must show me.”
Joanna smiled at the idea of Erland lost in the fields. “All right,” she said, though she was not certain she really wished to go.
Erland opened his mouth to say something further, but at that moment, one of the maids came in and announced, “Mr. and Mrs. Peter Finley, ma’am, and Sir Rollin Denby.” And before Joanna and her mother could do more than open their eyes in astonishment, the three callers were walking into the room.
Joanna’s eyes were drawn first to Peter, in spite of herself. He stood between the two strangers, looking somehow small and rather uncomfortable. His pale blond hair had been cut in London and was brushed into a modish Brutus. But it was his clothes that made Joanna blink. Peter had always been interested in fashion and had driven his Oxford tailors nearly frantic with constant requests for the very latest in London styles. Joanna had admired his clothes excessively. But she had never seen anything so magnificent as the outfit he now wore. His coat was pale blue and his pantaloons the palest fawn—the cut was exquisite. And the height of his shirtpoints, the arresting pattern of his waistcoat, and the mirror gloss of his high Hessian boots nearly overwhelmed her. She swayed slightly and was hardly able to stammer a reply when her mother greeted the trio and made the necessary introductions.
Joanna sat down again and tore her eyes from Peter to study his wife. She had received the impression of height when the callers came in, and now she saw that, as she feared, Adrienne Finley was tall. Indeed, she appeared to be slightly taller than Peter, who was a slight gentleman. Her figure was statuesque and her blue evening dress magnificent, especially since she wore it with a stunning string of sapphires around her neck. But when Joanna raised her eyes to Mrs. Finley’s face, she felt some slight relief. The newcomer was not beautiful, and she was not truly blond. Her hair was a light brown, as was her complexion, and her rather prominent eyes were green. With a start, Joanna realized that her scrutiny was being returned, and she dropped her eyes. Adrienne Finley smiled.
As Joanna looked at the floor, Peter gre
eted her mother and nervously apologized for their unannounced call. “We were just—just passing by, you see,” he stammered. His eyes avoided theirs.
“Peter, darling,” drawled his wife in a deep, careless voice. “You may as well tell the truth.” She smiled brilliantly at Mrs. Rowntree. “It is completely my fault that we intrude on you. I am so eager, you see, to make the acquaintance of all Peter’s neighbors, our neighbors now, and to get everything comfortable and clear.” Her emphasis on this last word made Joanna jump. When the younger girl looked up nervously, she found that Mrs. Finley’s eyes were still on her face. She dropped her eyes again.
Mrs. Rowntree made a rather unintelligible reply.
“I do think it’s important for neighbors to understand one another, don’t you?” Adrienne went on sweetly. “One can be made so miserable by misunderstandings when one lives so close.”
Joanna’s mother had by now recovered her poise, and she agreed blandly, ignoring the edge in her guest’s voice. Mrs. Rowntree expertly turned the conversation to London and addressed Peter again. The rigid set of her mouth revealed what she thought of this unusual situation.
Adrienne joined the conversation, and though she continued to express strong opinions, it seemed that she felt she had made her point. After a while, Joanna was able to raise her eyes once more. She turned with some curiosity to the party’s third member.
Sir Rollin Denby did not much resemble his sister: he was a tall man with the shoulders and bearing of an athlete and the careless arrogance of one who usually got his own way. His hair was black and his complexion dark, almost swarthy. His eyes were a sparkling hazel. At first, Joanna thought Peter the better dressed, but as she looked again, she realized that the cut of Sir Rollin’s dark blue coat was far more subtle and complex, his less noticeable neckcloth much more elegant, and his waistcoat a marvel of understated fashion. She raised her eyes again and met his. He smiled at her, and a chill seemed to run quickly down her spine. She had never before seen such a man.
