She was not to be defeated. ‘Very well, you may remain. We shall remove ourselves to the taproom!’ She swept towards them, all grace and haughtiness. ‘Mama, we shall allow these men to have the parlour.’ She clearly expected her mother to follow.
‘Oh, no! My dear, please!’ Juliana’s mama shot a look of entreaty at the soldiers.
Harry knew himself to be defeated. He spoke coldly. ‘There is no need for you to leave. We shall retire to the taproom.’ He bowed politely to the older lady. ‘I shall cause you no further distress, ma’am.’
He turned to Juliana. ‘Miss.’ It was the shallowest of bows, designed to show his disdain.
She responded with the slightest nod of her head, mirroring his iciness, but her eyes blazed.
Evans, who had been squirming in agitated silence, made his bow to the two ladies, then followed his friend out of the room. They closed the door behind them.
‘Well!’ Juliana exploded in a flurry of movement, pacing up and down the parlour. ‘What an insufferable man!’
‘Now, Juliana—’
‘So rude! So arrogant! Thinking he could just burst in here, uninvited—’
‘They did knock, my dear. You bade them enter.’
‘No, but—well, yes, I bade them enter, but only because he knocked. I did not bid him to stay!’
‘It is not seemly to draw attention to yourself in such a way.’
‘Oh, stuff, Mama! What should I do? Allow people to dominate me? Never!’
‘We could have shared the parlour with them, you know.’
‘Mama, you know you could not have rested properly with strangers in the room!’
‘But you must not appear hoydenish, Juliana. We are in England now and it is important you are not noticed.’
‘I care not if I am noticed or not. But I will not stand by and have your comfort disturbed by some boorish soldiers!’
Mama sighed. ‘I do not mind, Juliana.’
Juliana put her hands to her head in exasperation. ‘You know I am right, Mama. Why do you say you do not mind, when we both know that you mind very much?’
Mama had no answer to this. Looking at her confused face, Juliana relented. Taking Mama’s limp hand, she spoke kindly to her. ‘Mama, you cannot always please everyone. Sometimes you must think of yourself. Why, you are so kind, so yielding, that you would be insulted by every demi-beau and dunned by every tradesman in Brussels! How I used to hate it, when I was younger, watching them be rude to you or try to cheat you with false accounting. If I were a boy I’d have called them out over it! But you are so good, Mama. They sense your weakness.’
‘I do not believe those young men offered us any insult or inconvenience, Juliana. Oh, how I wish you would think before you act!’
Juliana was only half-listening. She moved to the window and stared out, lost in thought. ‘I swore when I was twelve I would grow up and take care of you.’
She would never forget the day she had made that vow. She had entered their little sitting room in the rented house in Brussels, to find her mama crying, sheets of paper with numbers on them scattered across the table. Twelve-year-old Juliana had been shocked. ‘What is wrong, Mama?’
‘Oh, Julie-Annie,’ her mama had said. ‘It is just these bills—tiresome grown-up things. I think the butcher has made a mistake with his reckoning again, but this time I have not the funds to pay the difference.’
‘What difference, Mama? What do you mean?’ Juliana had never been interested in the accounts before. Mama meticulously counted out the money every month and gave some of it to the landlord, some to the butcher, some to the other tradesmen. It had always been that way. Juliana’s father, a soldier, had died of a fever when Juliana was just a baby, so there had only ever been the two of them.
‘It says here that we had a haunch of venison, which I know we did not, for I would surely remember if we ate anything so extravagant. Well, I know we had only the bacon and the squabs this week, and the mutton for stew.’
Juliana was shocked. ‘You mean the butcher has added something to the list that we did not have?’
She took the bill from her mother’s trembling hand. There it was. Venison. They hadn’t eaten venison since April, when they had been invited to the Vicar’s house for dinner.
‘It must be a mistake,’ said Mama. ‘He does make mistakes, sometimes.’
But it wasn’t a mistake. Standing there, in that little parlour, with its faded French rug and damson-coloured curtains, Juliana suddenly understood something for the first time. The butcher was cheating her mother. Cheating both of them.
In an instant, Juliana suddenly made sense of things she had seen and heard before. Some people—unscrupulous people—would see her mother’s gentle nature as an opportunity to cheat her. Mama was so good, so giving, so pliant. But where she saw goodness, others would see opportunity.
‘He is cheating you, Mama! Why should you allow him to do such a thing?’
‘Oh, no, Juliana! It is an honest mistake, that is all. I shall not even mention it.’
Looking into her mother’s angelic, trusting blue eyes, Juliana knew there was no point in trying to persuade her mother of the butcher’s deceit. She would simply not believe it.
In that moment, Juliana understood something else. She and Mama were different. Her twelve-year-old self could not have explained how, or why. But she, Juliana, was different. She saw what Mama could not, would not see. And she could act.
‘I will go with you to the butcher’s tomorrow, Mama.’
This time, when Mrs Milford went to settle her reckoning with the butcher, her daughter was with her. The child calmly explained there had been a mistake with the bill. She made the point in full earshot of three other customers, who tutted in shock that such a thing should happen. The butcher looked into the girl’s resolute, angry gaze and immediately realised he had met his match. He apologised profusely to Mrs Milford, thanked her daughter through gritted teeth for pointing out the error, and assured them it would not happen again.
It hadn’t. And Juliana had been her mother’s guardian ever since.
She turned back, returning to the present and the parlour in Dover. Her mother was pressing her hands to her temples. ‘Mama, are you unwell?’
‘Just a little headache, my dear.’
‘Oh, no! What shall I do? Would you like a tisane? Some tea? Where is that tea?’ She moved to the door. ‘Landlord!’
He bustled towards the parlour, followed by a sullen serving girl carrying a tray.
‘At last! Please set it on the table. Thank you.’
‘Your carriage is prepared, miss, and ready to leave at your convenience.’
Juliana gave him a grateful smile. ‘Thank you.’ Now Mama, finally, could begin to settle.
Copyright © 2017 by Catherine Tinley
ISBN-13: 9781488086458
The Mistress and the Merchant
Copyright © 2017 by Juliet Landon
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