by Jane Ashford
Selina sat reluctantly on the extreme edge of the seat. “Well, I certainly do not want to interfere with your other, more important friendships,” she said petulantly.
“What other friendships? You are making no sense, Selina.”
“Am I not?” cried the other. “I suppose if you wish me to abandon my friendship for Constance Williston, I should simply slink away quietly and never bother you again?” She rose again. “Well, I shall.”
Joanna stared at her. “Selina, there is no question of abandoning anyone. Are you acting this way because I said I like Constance? Do be reasonable.”
Selina burst into tears.
Amazed and appalled, Joanna went to her. “Selina! You are my best friend and always have been. There will never be any question about that. Do stop crying.”
Selina gulped down a sob. “Th-then you will not go?”
“Not go? To tea you mean? Of course I shall. Selina…”
But the younger girl burst out sobbing anew and ran from the garden.
Joanna looked after her, perplexed. The fact that she was beginning to like Constance had nothing to do with Selina. What was the matter with her? As she thought more about the incident, Joanna became a bit annoyed. Selina really was being silly; no doubt she would see it herself before she got home, and they would make it all up tomorrow. Joanna shrugged and started inside to change.
Dressed in cherry-striped muslin and a chip straw hat, Joanna arrived at the vicarage just at four thirty. Constance greeted her at the door, seeming very glad to see her. Mrs. Williston awaited them in the drawing room, and it was not many minutes before the rest of the family joined them, including the four Williston children who were not away at school.
Constance’s parents received Joanna kindly, Reverend Williston inquiring about her father and Mrs. Williston chatting amiably about London and the likelihood of their seeing each other in town next season. But when tea had been drunk and Constance urged Joanna to come up to her bedchamber for a good talk, Joanna was happy to agree.
“Wasn’t it a splendid party?” exclaimed Constance as soon as they reached her room. “I don’t think I ever had such fun.”
A little surprised at her rapturous tone, Joanna nodded.
Something in her face seemed to catch Constance up. “Did you not have a good time?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” said the other, “of course.”
“Yes,” sighed Constance. “I shall never forget it.”
By this time, Joanna was thoroughly puzzled and rather intrigued. She had thought Constance a very reserved, and even perhaps a rather cold girl, but now she was speaking with amazing intensity. Joanna wondered what the reason could be. “What did you enjoy most?” she asked, attempting subtlety.
“Oh, the dancing,” responded Constance without hesitation, “and the talking, and, oh, everything.” Her blue eyes glowed.
“My mother took particular care with the supper,” said Joanna. “Did you like it?”
“Oh, yes!”
“What did you like best?”
“Oh, well, the, the…” Constance looked perplexed, then laughed aloud. “Oh, Joanna, I was having such fun that I do not even remember what I ate. But it was all wonderful.”
Joanna watched her new friend with astonishment, for she remembered that Constance had gone in to supper with Gerald. Had Joanna been forced to eat with her brother, boredom would have made her pay the closest attention to her food. Indeed, she still shuddered at the memory of a dinner alone with Gerald when they had traveled together to her aunt’s house. He had prosed on and on about some ancient Greek through the meal, so that though she had been scarcely ten years old, she could still name every dish she had eaten. “I hope Gerald did not weary you with talk of his studies,” she added tentatively.
“Weary me?” exclaimed Constance. “Not at all. I could never tire of hearing such marvels. Did you know, Joanna, that the comedies of Aristophanes contain many echoes of Aeschylus? It’s a small point to be sure, but reading in translation, one would hardly know it. Gerald says…” She stopped, blushed, then added, “but you don’t care for that, I daresay. Pardon me.”
Joanna’s mouth had fallen open a little, and she remained speechless under the onslaught of several astonishing ideas. That Constance should be genuinely interested in what she herself would not have hesitated to label the dryest of dull subjects was surprising enough. But she was beginning to realize something even more incredible. It really seemed that Constance had more than a casual interest in her brother Gerald! That any girl could like him was a new idea, but that the slender, superior Constance Williston did so left her unable to speak for a full minute.
Constance moved nervously under Joanna’s stare. “I, ah, I have always been interested in ancient literature,” she murmured, shame-faced.
Joanna recovered herself. She started to speak, then decided she would not add to the other’s embarrassment by referring to Gerald again now. They did not know each other well enough for that sort of confidence, perhaps. But later…Joanna smiled. “Have you?” she asked in a carefully neutral voice. “I confess I am very stupid about such things. I prefer novels, though I know they are inferior.”
Looking relieved, Constance hastened to say that she also enjoyed novel reading, and the awkwardness was passed off in an animated comparison of a book they had both read and liked.
When a pause came, Joanna turned the subject by telling Constance of the picnic being planned at the Abbey. “Mr. Erland has decided to have archery and games, too,” she said, “and the luncheon is to be quite grand.” She giggled. “Unless, of course, old Mrs. Smith makes such a fuss that he cannot have any gathering at all. He says she is outraged by the idea even now.”
Constance smiled. “I remember Mrs. Smith, I think. Was she not old Mr. Erland’s housekeeper?”
“Yes. And she is driving the new Mr. Erland into a decline, he says.” She repeated to Constance some of the tales Erland had told her.
The other girl began to giggle. “She truly threw a roasting pan at the baker’s boy? You are not bamming me?”
Joanna shook her head. “The baker has sworn he will not take bread to her any longer. One of the other servants must fetch it from the village.”
Constance laughed again. “What is Mr. Erland going to do?”
“He wishes to pension her off and get a new housekeeper, of course, but he says he is afraid to tell her so.”
They laughed together. “I like Jonathan Erland,” said Constance then. “At least, what little I have seen I like. He seems a very sensible, kind man.”
“Oh, yes.” Joanna shrugged. “It is a pity he spent so much of his life in the colonies.”
Constance raised her eyebrows. “Why?”
“Oh, well, he has never been to London, and I daresay he is five-and-twenty at least. He has had no chance to become cultivated or to learn the manners of a man of fashion.”
The other girl considered this. “I suppose you are right. But I find his manners quite acceptable, for my part. Many so-called men of fashion might learn from his consideration for others.”
It was Joanna’s turn to look inquiring.
“Indeed,” continued Constance reflectively, “I’m not sure but that I prefer the slight lack of polish that Mr. Erland exhibits. I confess I do not trust a man, or any person, who does not occasionally show some uncertainty. It is usually a sign either of intolerable conceit or utter stupidity.”
Joanna blinked.
“No one lives who is not at some time uneasy or clumsy,” Constance went on more positively. “To pretend otherwise is hypocrisy, don’t you think?”
Feeling a little out of her depth, Joanna nodded. What Constance said sounded true, though if it meant that one must prefer the dowdy Mr. Erland to a London beau, she emphatically did not agree. However, Joanna could not formulate wha
t she felt in words smooth enough to match Constance’s. She changed the subject. “Do you know that Mrs. Finley means to hire a hermit?”
Constance had been lost in thought, but this jerked her back to the present. “What?” she said incredulously.
Joanna nodded. “She means to build a grotto, and she wants to hire an old man to play hermit within it.”
The other girl stared blankly for a moment, then collapsed in peals of laughter. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” she gasped.
On this subject, at least, they were of like mind, and the two spent an agreeable half hour discussing the Finleys’ plans for their estate and the obvious flaws in them. Joanna began to enjoy herself again.
It was by now nearing six, time for Joanna to think of going home. She said as much, and though Constance protested, they were soon standing together in the downstairs hall as Joanna tied the strings of her bonnet. When she took her leave, Joanna held out her hand and said, “Thank you so much for asking me. I truly enjoyed myself very much.”
“Oh, so did I,” replied Constance. “I hope we may do this again soon, and often.” Her genuine emotion was clear in her face.
“I, too,” said the other, once more flattered by this girl’s interest. Even if it stemmed partly from Constance’s feeling for Gerald, as Joanna now believed it must, she could see that more was involved. Constance did seem to like her, and to be rather lonely. “Let us go walking again soon,” she finished.
“Oh, yes,” agreed Constance, and the two girls separated happily.
Nine
The two weeks before Jonathan Erland’s party passed fairly quickly for Joanna. Between placating Selina and furthering her acquaintance with Constance Williston, she was kept fully occupied; the long warm July days were filled with walks, teas, and long confidential talks. She also saw a good deal of Erland himself, and was thus able to keep up with every fresh development in his scheme. They went riding again, without Sir Rollin this time, and she was liable to find him about the house at any moment, either summoned by her father to discuss his plan for the digging, or searching for her mother to ask advice about some domestic crisis. In the course of time, they evolved an easy, friendly relationship.
Of the Finley party, they saw little. Joanna did encounter Sir Rollin as she walked home from Selina’s one afternoon. He was riding his black horse across the fields and stopped to greet her briefly. But he seemed put out by something and soon rode on. The Finleys themselves remained at home, totally engrossed, so rumor had it, in renovations. When the neighborhood talk was not of the coming entertainment at Erland Abbey, from which no invitations had issued for years, it was of the amazing changes taking place at the Finley residence. Adrienne’s search for a hermit had begun, with disastrous consequences when old Mr. Jenkins was approached, and the small circle of society thereabouts was getting no end of enjoyment from observing her setbacks. Georgiana Grant insisted that it was as good as a play. Everyone looked forward to seeing Adrienne at the picnic, and perhaps picking up a bit more knowledge of her plans.
The day Erland had chosen dawned cool and clear. The guests were invited for two, and by a quarter past the hour, the Rowntree party was in the carriage and riding along toward the Abbey. Mr. Rowntree looked impatient; only the promise that he might wander in the ruins and plan the next step of his project had lured him out of his study. His wife sat beside him in the chaise, murmuring calming replies to his complaints and smiling at her two oldest children who sat across. Joanna, fresh and pretty in crisp white muslin with blue ribbons and a straw hat, smiled back. And she gave her older brother a sidewise glance to see if he shared the joke. Paying no attention, of course, he had chin in hand, staring out the window. With a small shake of her head, Joanna turned to look out the other side. She would never understand Gerald, whom she had fully expected to refuse to come to this picnic, but had shown no signs of that. In fact, he had been visiting them far more often than usual this summer, and she was wondering whether he had finally become bored with his studying.
When they turned in through the Abbey gates and started down the avenue, Joanna leaned out to see who was before them. She saw at once that someone had been trimming the trees beside the lane, and the park looked tidier than it had in previous years. She saw the Townsend family alighting from their carriage in front of the house, and there was another vehicle just driving around to the stables. So they were not the first.
Jonathan Erland was there to greet them when they pulled up before the front door. He handed her mother down first, then Joanna. As the men followed, he gestured toward the door. “It’s easiest to walk through the hall, I think,” he said.
They stepped inside. Here, changes were less evident. The long corridor that went from the door to the library in the rear of the house was perhaps a little cleaner, and when they reached the library itself, Joanna thought it seemed cozier and more lived-in than before. But the Abbey remained a dark gloomy house, filled with worn outmoded furnishings and an overabundance of dust.
When they stepped through the French doors at the back of the house, and onto the terrace, however, this impression disappeared. Joanna could not restrain a pleased exclamation. The flagged terrace had been set up for luncheon, with small tables here and there and the wide stone balustrade serving as buffet. Several young people from the village stood waiting to serve. From the chairs, there was a fine view of the old abbey’s ruins, which spread down a slight incline behind the house.
To the left, an area had been set up for archery and other games, and to the right, by the ornamental pool, an awning had been erected for those who found the sun too hot. The shabbiness of the flower beds, the broken fountain, and even the slight musty smell emanating from the house behind were overshadowed by these amenities.
Joanna turned to find Erland smiling down at her. “You approve?” he asked.
“Oh, yes indeed. I never imagined it could look so fine.”
He looked around them. “Well, it may not be fine, but it’s certainly a vast improvement.” Hearing another carriage approaching the door, he added, “Excuse me,” and walked back into the house.
Joanna started off to look at everything. The tables had obviously been gathered from various corners of the house, but Erland had had them covered with white linen and decorated with small bunches of flowers. There were a few scattered chairs under the awning, which was pleasantly cool. She was just peering into the pond, trying to see to the bottom through the murky water, when Selina hurried to join her.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she exclaimed, excitement blazing in her pale blue eyes. Selina had been in raptures ever since her mother had given in to her pleas to be allowed to come to this party. “Isn’t everything perfect? Did you see the cunning targets? And the loo counters? I can hardly believe I am here!”
Smiling, Joanna agreed and the two girls walked around the area again, so that Selina might see everything close up, then went back to the terrace, where the host was beginning to marshal the group for lunch. The Willistons had arrived, as had several young men from Oxford and three other neighborhood families. Only the Finleys had not come, but sounds from the hall indicated that they were even now here, so Erland was placing his guests about the tables.
Joanna found herself sitting with Jack Townsend, Constance, and Gerald, hardly the table she would have chosen. As he seated her, Erland apologized softly. “I would have put you at my own table but I must be polite to the older ladies. Will you take a stroll with me later?”
“When you have put me beside my odious brother?” she asked playfully. “I don’t think I will.”
He laughed. “No, no, you mustn’t hold it against me. Recall my total inexperience at this sort of thing.”
“Well, I shall see.”
He smiled and turned away.
Luncheon was good. There was cold meat and cheese, accompanied by fresh bread and
butter and an assortment of pickles and relishes. Tall glasses of lemonade and mugs of ale were offered to the ladies and gentlemen, and for dessert, they were served luscious freshly sliced peaches, floating in sweet juice, and cakes of all kinds. Erland received a great many compliments on his choices, to which he responded with easy good humor.
Joanna enjoyed the meal, but not the conversation that accompanied it. Jack Townsend prosed on nearly the entire time about a horse he had bought and Gerald explained some boring poem to Constance, who persisted in looking enthralled until Joanna felt quite out of charity with her. She was very glad when dessert came and she could look forward to getting up and talking to someone else. She had just finished her peaches when a sharp exclamation behind her made her turn.
Selina was standing up, brushing futilely with her napkin at a large sticky stain on the front of her pink gown. “Oh dear! Oh dear!” she was crying helplessly.
Mrs. Grant got up and went to her.
“I’ve spilled it; I’ve spilled it all over my new dress,” said Selina to her mother, and the girl burst into tears.
Mrs. Grant put an arm around her shoulders and led Selina toward the house. Joanna flushed a little, in sympathy for her friend, especially when she noticed Sir Rollin Denby exchange a smile with his sister. “Oh, poor Selina,” she heard Constance say.
Wondering whether she should go and try to help clean the dress, Joanna rose uncertainly. Perhaps Selina would rather be left with her mother? Before she could decide, Sir Rollin came up to her.
“Are you also finished, Miss Rowntree?” he asked. “The young lady’s contretemps seems to have officially ended luncheon. Would you care to stroll a little? You can explain all of this to me, I’m sure.” He waved a hand to indicate the park.
“I—I was just going to Selina,” murmured Joanna, remembering his mocking smile and resenting it for her friend’s sake.
“I am sure she would rather you didn’t,” replied the man smoothly. “One doesn’t care for an audience at such moments, you know.”
