by Jane Ashford
“It is indeed, as you have been continually saying.” Adrienne’s voice sharpened. “And I hope you do not think to set up that insipid child as your next flirt, Rollin. In the first place, it will not do, and in the second, it would drive me quite mad having her about. What a ninnyhammer! You should go to Brighton. You have nearly fixed your interest with Susan Chudley, and you should cement the bargain as soon as may be.”
Joanna could not hear what Sir Rollin said to this, but his sister’s reply came floating up from the front lawn.
“Not marry Susan? You must be mad! I warn you, Rollin, if you whistle this fortune down the wind, you cannot rely on me to keep you. Sometimes I think you want to ruin yourself.”
Again, Sir Rollin’s reply was an inarticulate murmur. But Joanna moved to the hall window in time to see Adrienne snatch her arm away from him and hurry to their barouche alone. Sir Rollin was laughing as he followed her.
Joanna was still thinking about this incident as she walked toward the vicarage at four. A host of new thoughts had been called up by her inadvertent eavesdropping, and she was not at all sorry to have overheard. Was Sir Rollin going to flirt with her? Was that why he did not go to Brighton and Miss Susan Chudley? The thought that the magnificent Sir Rollin Denby might make her the object of his attentions caused a flutter in Joanna’s breast.
And the notion that she had been expected to “make trouble” for Adrienne was also unsettling. It was clear now that the Denbys had known of her attachment to Peter. Joanna blushed as she thought of that. Then, her complexion returned to normal when she remembered what Adrienne had called her. A ninnyhammer, was she? An insipid child? She would show that horrid woman that she was no such thing. Perhaps she would make her brother fall in love with her, and forget the rich Miss Chudley. Joanna toyed with the picture of Sir Rollin smitten with love for her. A small smile played about her mouth.
These thoughts were interrupted by a shout from behind her, and Joanna turned to see a horseman coming across the fields. It was Peter, riding fast. In a moment, he had pulled up beside her. “Hullo, Joanna,” he said a little breathlessly.
“Peter.” It was less a greeting than a question.
“I hoped to catch you today. I know you often walk here. I haven’t had the chance before.”
Joanna frowned up at him.
Peter looked self-conscious. “That sounds odd, perhaps. I won’t try to explain. I’ve been, ah, busy lately.”
“Yes, with all the work on your house,” replied Joanna. She felt awkward with Peter for the first time in her life and hoped to steer the conversation onto commonplace topics.
But Peter said only, “Yes,” and sat on his horse looking down at her.
Joanna shifted from one foot to the other. She did not know what to say. Peter, the easy companion of her childhood, seemed almost a stranger suddenly. Yet, there was such embarrassment attached to his presence as would never have been associated with a stranger. Joanna looked up at him uneasily. Why did he not say something? Her brows drew together. Peter looked pale, and his light blue eyes held an unaccustomed hunted expression. The untidiness of his blond curls and the carelessness of his riding dress were highly uncharacteristic of the man who had been the neighborhood dandy since he was sixteen.
“Where are you going?” he blurted suddenly.
“To the vicarage, for tea.”
He nodded. Then, with a quick movement, he dismounted and looped his reins over his arm. “I’ll walk with you a bit.”
Joanna was disconcerted. “Oh, you needn’t; that is, it isn’t far. And I am late; I must hurry.”
Peter was looking at the ground. “That’s all right. I won’t keep you. But I want to speak to you, Joanna.”
There was nothing to be said to this, so they started off side-by-side. Peter said nothing more for a while. He seemed to be having difficulty with whatever it was he wanted to say.
Finally, when they were nearing the vicarage lane, he said, “Joanna, I meant to write to you. I really did. And I know I should have, but, well, what with one thing and another, I didn’t. I wanted to apologize to you for that. To tell you I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” murmured the girl, looking at the path.
“No, it isn’t. I behaved badly, and I know it. But things happened so quickly, you see, and I…well, that’s beside the point. I am sorry. I wanted you to know that. It’s what I tried to tell you at your mother’s party.” Joanna started to speak, but he shook his head. “You needn’t say anything. That’s all of it; I must get back.”
“I wish you happy, Peter,” blurted Joanna.
He had started to remount his horse, but now he turned back. “You’re a first-rate person, Joanna. I wish you the same. And I hope you…never mind.” He swung up onto his horse. “I’m not such a coxcomb as to say that I’m sorry I hurt you. I’ll just say again that I’m sorry.” And he turned his mount and rode off.
Joanna watched with wide eyes as he left. Peter had sounded so subdued and, not unhappy precisely, but pensive. He had not been at all this way in the past. What had been happening to make him seem so much older, she wondered?
Turning down the lane toward the vicarage, she continued to consider the conversation. She was not upset exactly, but she was preoccupied. She nearly walked past the Willistons’ garden gate and had to turn and retrace her steps to go in. Constance was there, reading, and she rose as soon as she saw Joanna. “Hello. You are just in time. I was about to get up.”
Joanna returned her greeting absently, and the two girls entered the house. The family was just sitting down to tea, and they joined them when Joanna had taken off her things. Conversation was lively during the meal; the young Willistons always had a great deal to say. But Joanna took little part in it. Twice, a remark addressed to her had to be repeated, and she lost the train of the talk even oftener.
When she and Constance went upstairs afterward, Constance asked bluntly, “What is the matter, Joanna?”
The younger girl looked at her. She wasn’t sure she should tell anyone about Peter’s apology. “What do you mean?”
Constance shrugged. “I do not mean to pry, and you needn’t tell me. But I can see that you have something on your mind. You’ve hardly said a word since you arrived.”
Joanna thought for a moment. She knew that Constance was trustworthy. And it would be comforting to talk over her experience with an understanding friend. Coming to a decision, she told the other girl the whole.
Constance was not surprised. “What he said was very proper. You deserved an apology. He might have done better just to write you in the first place, but as he did not, this was next best.”
“It was so odd,” said Joanna.
“It must have been.” The older girl looked at Joanna shyly. “I hope it was not too unpleasant. Your feelings for Peter…” At a loss for a way to finish, she stopped.
Understanding what she would say, Joanna nodded. “I have been thinking a good deal lately,” she replied. “And I do not think I ever really understood my feelings for him. We were always together, you see, and everyone had spoken of our marrying for so long that I simply took it for granted that I loved him.” She frowned. “And I did. But I begin to see that it was not the sort of love one feels for one’s husband.”
“He was like a brother, perhaps,” offered Constance. “I remember how you and he always played together.”
“Yes,” agreed Joanna, “I suppose he was. Gerald was always too busy for me, and Frederick was only a baby. Peter was more like my brother than they were.” Joanna smiled. “I was very foolish, I suppose. It was so pleasant being with Peter, I thought it would be just as nice being married to him. But I think now that marriage is not at all the same thing.”
Constance returned her smile. “I believe you are right. One wants quite a different sort of man for that.” She flushed. “Not different from
Peter, I mean, but one about whom one feels differently.” She shook her head. “I am getting all muddled.”
“No, I know what you mean.”
The two girls’ eyes met, and they smiled again.
“So,” added Joanna, “it has not been so hard to see Peter as I imagined it would be. And I feel as if I had learned a great deal in the last few weeks. I feel years older.”
Constance laughed. “Practically thirty.”
“Did I sound so affected?” laughed Joanna. “Not thirty. Perhaps nineteen. Or even twenty.”
They laughed together.
“But all I want for Peter now is for him to be happy. I hope he is.” Joanna’s expression showed some doubt.
Constance nodded, having nothing to say to this.
Joanna took a breath. “Well, let us think no more about it now. Tell me, did you enjoy Mr. Erland’s picnic? Everyone is talking about it today.”
“They are indeed. The Townsends were here this morning. I had a lovely time. Did you?”
Joanna nodded. She considered telling Constance about finding the treasure note, then decided not to. She had promised Jonathan Erland that she would tell no one.
“I enjoyed myself immensely. Gerald took me all around the ruins and showed me the work they have been doing there. It is fascinating.” Constance smiled mischievously. “Have you heard that Mr. Templeton has been taking instruction in the use of a shovel?”
This diverted Joanna from her thoughts. “Instruction?”
Constance nodded, still smiling. “Yes. He has engaged a college gardener to show him the way of it.”
“No. You made that up to roast me. He can’t have.”
“But he has. And he is coming along very well, according to the last reports. He hopes to be able to join the digging quite soon.”
Joanna burst out laughing.
“Gerald says that it is an edifying sight, watching Templeton go at it in the flower beds below his chambers. Last Tuesday, he worked so hard he blistered his hands and had to have them wrapped in cotton and ointment by the housekeeper.”
Joanna laughed harder.
“He has said that when he masters the shovel, he means to go on to the trowel,” finished Constance.
“Stop, stop,” gasped Joanna. “It is all a hum, I know, but I cannot stand any more.”
“It is not a hum,” retorted Constance. “Gerald told me the whole; he has seen it.” She grinned. “I have never been so amused as when he described the flower beds.”
“Indeed not.” Joanna was trying to imagine her solemn brother telling such a story. “I wish Gerald might amuse me so. He never tells funny stories at home.”
Constance flushed a little. “Well, but I am sure, that is, he may not realize…”
Joanna smiled at her now. “He may not find the company so agreeable, I think.”
The older girl’s flush deepened. “Oh, I don’t…”
“Well, I do. It is obvious Gerald likes you, Constance.”
Constance raised anxious eyes to Joanna’s. “Do you think so? Truly?”
“Yes. And I am very glad of it, though how anyone can like Gerald I do not see.” She shrugged.
“But he is so brilliant, so knowledgeable, and with that so kind; I do not see how…”
“Enough!” cried Joanna. “Let us leave it that I am very glad.” She looked at her friend teasingly.
Constance flushed again, smiled, and looked down. “Of course, there is nothing in it. Sometimes, I think he likes me a little, but then, I am not sure. It is all uncertain.”
“Well, I have never seen Gerald so interested in anyone. And he has been visiting us much more often lately, you know.”
“Has he?”
The shy eagerness in Constance’s tone made Joanna smile again. “He has. You needn’t worry, Constance—I shall help you all I can. I should like it above all things to have you for my sister.”
The older girl’s eyes filled. “Thank you. But you will not do anything…”
“I shall be perfectly discreet.”
This made them both laugh.
“How odd it is,” continued Joanna, “to be thinking of Gerald in such a way. I cannot imagine wanting to marry someone like him.”
Constance grinned. “But we have already seen how one feels about brothers, have we not?”
Joanna laughed again. “We have. Do you feel the same about yours?”
“Absolutely. They are impossible creatures.”
“How lucky that we needn’t consider them,” Joanna laughed. “Oh, Constance, it is such fun talking with you. I have not laughed so much in weeks.”
The other girl’s smile faded. “Indeed, Joanna, I am so glad to have a friend in you. When I came back from school…” She paused.
Joanna flushed a little. She did not like to think of her earlier treatment of Constance.
“Well, I am just so happy to be friends,” added Constance in a rush.
“And I,” agreed Joanna.
They exchanged a smile.
“Come,” said Constance, “let us go and sit in the garden for a while. It is cooler there.” And the two girls walked downstairs together, very pleased with their new, closer relationship.
Eleven
Sir Rollin arrived at the stroke of ten the next morning. Joanna, dressed and ready for riding, drew a breath when he took her hand to greet her, remembering the conversation she had overheard the previous day. She briefly raised her large dark eyes to his, and he smiled down into them more warmly than he had ever done before. Joanna blinked and looked down again.
Her mare was brought round, and Sir Rollin lifted her into the saddle. His groom fell in behind them as they trotted down the lane in front of the house. The sun was warm, but not yet hot, and a light breeze stirred the leaves of the oak trees beside them. “A fine day,” said Denby.
“Isn’t it?” she agreed.
“And you are looking ravishing, Miss Rowntree.” The man’s hazel eyes sparkled as he surveyed her. “I must say that rose pink becomes you admirably.”
Joanna looked at him sidewise. “You didn’t say so the last time we rode together,” she ventured.
“Did I not? Yet, I’m sure I meant to. I know I thought it. Perhaps I was tongue-tied by your beauty.”
The girl puzzled over this for a moment, then dimpled. “I don’t think you ever are.”
Sir Rollin laughed. “Do you not?”
Joanna looked over at him, a little breathless. She had never before had an opportunity to flirt, and she found it very exciting. Sir Rollin, as always, looked complete to a shade. His buckskins and top boots were flawless, and his olive-green coat stretched across his wide shoulders without a wrinkle. Joanna followed the intricate folds of his neckcloth with something akin to awe. She knew from Peter’s early efforts just how hard it was to tie such a complex design. With a happy sigh, she told herself that she was flirting with a true nonpareil.
Sir Rollin’s smile broadened a little. “Shall we have a gallop?” he asked. They had by now come to some open country.
“Oh, yes,” answered Joanna. She spurred her horse, and they leapt forward. With the breeze in her face, she threw back her head and laughed. All the unsettling things that had happened in the past few weeks seemed to drop out of her mind, and she felt she hadn’t a worry in the world.
They finally pulled up two fields away. Joanna was breathing faster, her cheeks flushed nearly the color of her habit and her dark eyes shining.
“You ride very well,” said Sir Rollin as he reined in beside her. “Do you hunt?”
“A little but I don’t often get the chance. If we take the road here, we can go around by Longton.” Joanna thought of the acquaintances she might see in the village. It would be splendid to bow to them while riding beside Sir Rollin.
“N
o, let us go that way,” replied Sir Rollin, pointing in the opposite direction. “I haven’t ridden along this part of the road.”
Slightly disappointed, but agreeable, Joanna turned her mare. They crossed another field and entered a lane. As they rode, Sir Rollin chatted easily. He was more attentive than before, saying nothing that might make Joanna uneasy or puzzle her, and was clearly exerting his not inconsiderable charm. He talked of hunting in Leicestershire and told an amusing story of his discomfiture over a five-barred gate, then shifted to riding in Hyde Park and some of the follies committed there in the name of fashion. He soon had Joanna laughing and enthralled.
After about twenty minutes, they came out near the back boundary of the Abbey park. “Ah,” said Denby, “we are at Erland’s. I didn’t realize that this lane led here. Shall we go and see how your father’s investigations are getting on?”
Joanna frowned; she had no desire to see her father just now. “I’m not certain Papa is here today,” she said.
“Oh, yes. Look there.” Denby pointed with his riding crop to a cluster of men standing in the ruins. And before Joanna could speak again, he had started toward them. She followed perforce.
The group consisted of her father and brothers, Jonathan Erland, Templeton, and another student Joanna did not know. Her father held a bit of muddy crockery and was turning it this way and that and musing aloud. “Possibly a chalice, or a reliquary. Yes. I like the idea of a reliquary. You see this curving portion here.”
Templeton gazed at him with awe-filled eyes. “Yes, sir,” he murmured.
Gerald moved restlessly. “You know, Father,” he said, “it seems to me nothing more than glazed clay. Surely a reliquary would be more ornamented?”
“Perhaps.” Mr. Rowntree held the fragment up to the light and squinted at it.
“Dash it if it doesn’t look just like my cousin’s chamber pot,” muttered the other student.
Templeton whirled to glare at him. “Clodpole,” he began.
But Mr. Rowntree interrupted him, exclaiming, “That’s it! That’s precisely what it looks like. You have a keen eye, Carstairs. A chamber pot. Very interesting. Mark it down, Gerald. A chamber pot here in the cell. Perhaps one in each. We shall see.”
