A Cousinly Connection

by Sheila Simonson

  "I don't mistrust you," Vincent said miserably.

  "You trust me enough to know I'll see you established, but you don't trust me sufficiently to go on, day after day, living and working in my household. I'm sorry for that. Despite what you've been imagining, I do need your help."

  "Doing what?" Vincent interjected, torn between shame and exasperation.

  "Exactly what you have been doing."

  "I've done nothing you couldn't do better yourself."

  "I wish that were true," Julian said wryly.

  Vincent stared.

  After a moment his brother shrugged and took up the pen again. "I don't see any other course. You need to be your own man, and I should've admitted that to myself last spring. If it's Fern Hall, I'll fix a rent for the house."

  "No!"

  "Do you want legal counsel?"

  "Dash it, stop talking, will you?" Vincent rose and took an agitated turn of the bookroom. "I was foxed, Julian."

  "In vino veritas." Julian's mouth twisted in a smile. "Don't refine too much upon last night. I've been anticipating some such flare-up for weeks, but I was too blasted lazy to face up to the problem."

  Vincent placed both palms on the writing desk. "There's no problem!" he fairly shouted.

  Julian frowned but said nothing.

  "I ain't brainy," Vincent continued, "but I can see a wall when I run into it. You can't go splitting up the estate yet. Dash it, Julian, I don't expect it, and I ain't ready now if I did. It's the trifling bits of work you set me. Riding ten miles over to old such-an-one to find he don't need much more than a plain yes or no, and then ten miles back with nothing to do but watch the leaves wriggle in the wind. What's useful in that?"

  "Oh, God, Vincent. Twenty miles."

  "What?"

  "I can't ride twenty miles of an afternoon."

  "Well, dash it, you might've said so earlier."

  "I might have, but I don't like to admit it. The stupidity of the world is doled out fairly equally. Allow me mine!" He turned the pen, which had begun to look draggled, in his long fingers.

  "If I was you," Vincent muttered, "I'd tell me to go to hell."

  "No, you wouldn't. Ramshackle manners."

  After a moment Vincent grinned. "You're a complete hand, ain't you? I'll wager that paper's a fudge."

  "You'd lose. It's exactly what I said it was." Julian pushed the sheet across the desk. "I don't mind admitting I hoped you wouldn't take me up on it, however. You'd've had the devil of a time squeezing the rent for Fern Hall from me."

  Vincent examined the document with awe. "Julian?"

  "What?"

  "May I keep this awhile?"

  "Yes, of course." He smiled. "Next time I drive you wild you can fill in the blank spaces." The smile died. "I think I should take you to Yorkshire with me. You'd best have a look at Whitethorn."

  "If you're starting in again."

  His brother looked troubled. "I don't mean to force your hand, Vincent, but Whitethorn is clear. This year looks to be bad. I'll find it slow going in the next few years in spite of the Nabob. I think you should consider taking Whitethorn. You can't want to wait forever for Fern Hall."

  "I like Fern Hall," Vincent replied tranquilly.

  "Nevertheless I wish you will come with me to Yorkshire."

  "Very well. When?"

  "September."

  "Good God, we can't both be gone then. The harvest!"

  "Had you intended to swing a scythe?"

  Vincent grinned. "I might've done."

  Julian ignored that and returned to the point. "I think we'll know the worst by then. I'd prefer to leave later, but I must convey the twins to Harrow in September. In any case, the bailiffs will survive without us."

  "Dash it, let Thorpe take the twins."

  "That would be wanton cruelty to Thorpe. Besides I've promised to take Drusilla to London, and I fancy Polly will want to come, too."

  "A family reunion," Vincent said, disgusted. "D'you know your problem? You're too soft by half. Mark my words, Dru will be after you to take her to Yorkshire."

  "Then I'll definitely need your protection."

  Vincent laughed.

  "I'm placing the girls with Georgy," Julian murmured.

  Vincent sat up. "Say no more! I'll come. Dashed if I don't."

  Chapter XV

  Letter from the Honourable Maria Stratton to her cousin, Miss Jane Ash. Bath. August 1816.

  My dearest Cousin Jane,

  Only guess what famous news. We are to spend a month in London with Lady Georgianna Herrington!

  She has writ Mama the prettiest letter, desiring to be better acquainted with her Cousin's sisters. We couldn't guess what she meant, but Vincent says she is his and Julian's cousin and Julian's Friend, and she has found a splendid Tutor for Felix.

  At first Mama couldn't like the Idea, but Vincent and Goody have talked her round. Oh, Jane, shall you meet us? Vincent says Julian will bring us to Town when he takes Arty and Horatio to Harrow. I fancy that will be in September, and surely you will also be come to London by then if your Aunt Hervey means to return from Brighton direct to her house.

  Do say you will come to our rescue. Her ladyship is fashionable and elegant, and I know I shall disgrace myself, and if I wasn't so much in Alt I should be frightened to Death. Drusilla says Nonsense.

  Mama has brought Papa's niece Lucy Brackhurst to live with her--Lady Brackhurst's eldest and a quiz, besides doing hideous needlework we are obliged to admire. I don't see it, but they deal famously together. Goody will chaperon us to London and sends you her best Love and wishes you will find her netted purse, for she vows she left an Ear-ring in it.

  How are my Uncle and Cousins? How do you at Brighton? Oh, Jane, write soon.

  Yours, etc.

  Maria

  Post Scriptum: I have knotted a fringe.

  * * * *

  After many heart burnings and some wringing of her hands, Jane shewed Maria's letter to her aunt.

  Aunt Hervey puzzled over it, from time to time begging Jane to translate a phrase. Finally she set it down. "We shall certainly remove to London in September."

  "But the Graingers' ridotto--"

  "Pouf."

  Nor did reason move her, nor agitated reconsiderations.

  "Pouf," said Aunt Hervey. "You're hen-witted and cow-hearted. London it is."

  She was as good as her word. The first of September found Jane in London with nothing to do and the Town thin of company. Maria had not said when in September. Jane tried to recall when the autumn session at Harrow commenced. She was rather afraid and rather hopeful that it might be October. She dithered, paced the floor, caught up on all her correspondence, read five silly novels, and wondered if she should go mad waiting. Her aunt, however, was possessed of an almost religious calm.

  "Gowns," she said firmly.

  Jane resisted.

  Her aunt brought in a dressmaker.

  Jane selected all the fabrics and colours that made her complexion dull, her eyes muddy, and her hair hideous. Aunt Hervey sent the bolts back and chose peach and mint green and the softest primrose, and three bonnets so fetching Jane nearly fed them to her horse.

  "I will not turn myself into a Man-trap!"

  "No point in turning yourself into a guy, is there? My dear, if Meriden is as quick-witted as you say, he would be very much more likely to notice you in sackcloth than in crêpe de chiné. You surely did not go about Meriden Place looking the dowd?"

  Grumbling, Jane submitted. She even allowed her aunt's dresser to brush her hair into several startling--and charming--new modes, but she secretly decided that she would shave her head before she would allow anyone to see her so transformed.

  By anyone, she meant Meriden. He was too much in her thoughts. Surely he would pay a courtesy call. She half-forgot it was Maria and Drusilla she would be visiting. The odds were good she would not see his lordship at all.

  The girls called first.

  Jane had waited so l
ong that she had learnt not to start when a carriage drew up before her aunt's door. Thus she was taken unawares one afternoon at teatime when she returned from a ride in the Park to find Drusilla, Maria, and Miss Goodnight in her aunt's salon with Aunt Hervey in beaming attendance.

  After the flurry of greetings and embraces, Maria, who was looking bright-eyed and happy, said with satisfaction, "You see, Jane! We've come after all."

  "We escaped," Drusilla announced around a cucumber sandwich.

  "Drusilla!" Maria and Miss Goodnight said automatically.

  Drusilla swallowed and stuck out her jaw. "It's so. My brother is the most complete hand."

  "Which brother?" Jane asked feebly.

  "Julian, of course. I told him I was hipped as far back as June. So he caused his cousin to send for us."

  Maria gave a shriek. "You didn't! Oh, Dru, whatever must Cousin Georgy be thinking?"

  "I don't know," said Drusilla with dignity, "but at least Mama ain't thinking anything. I swore an oath not to tell anyone our plot, not even you, Polly."

  Maria and Miss Goodnight stared, clearly taken aback. Even Aunt Hervey, whose character in some ways resembled Drusilla's, looked startled at such unabashed duplicity in one so young.

  Jane began to laugh. "You're a bad, deceitful person, Drusilla, and your brother--to compound a felony!"

  Drusilla smiled seraphically. "He is taking me to Yorkshire."

  Yorkshire? Jane's heart sank. For some reason she had assumed. Meriden would squire his sisters about Town. Absurd.

  Oblivious of Jane's apprehensions, Drusilla nodded, and Maria said, "Julian wishes Vincent to see the Yorkshire property, and since Drusilla don't care above half for dressmakers and plays and such, he's taking her with him, too."

  "And Goody," Drusilla added.

  Miss Goodnight looked martyred and did not meet Jane's eyes.

  Jana suspected Meriden had cut her a wheedle. Poor Goody. Yorkshire. Jane's gloom thickened.

  "It's not fair for Vincent to have all the fun," Drusilla was saying. "I wish to see York. There's a wall and ruins and the minster. And I shall stay with Julian's friends while my brothers conduct their business. I daresay I'll have a famous time while you're nosing about tedious cloth warehouses, Polly. Goody don't mind."

  "Oh, no, not at all," Miss Goodnight murmured in faint accents.

  Jane eyed her former companion with sympathy, and, it must be admitted, envy. To agree to such a journey. She turned back to her cousin.

  "Drusilla, does Lady Herrington know you'll be leaving her?"

  "Of course. Julian and Cousin Georgy are thick as thieves. It was all arranged ages ago. Oh, Jane, don't you wish you was coming?"

  Jane's Aunt Hervey had listened to that interchange with a glint in her eye. Jane scowled at her and said repressively, "I am very happy here with my dear aunt, Drusilla. However, I hope you have a pleasant journey, and that you don't try Goody's patience too far. Or your brother's."

  "Which brother?" Drusilla's grin was so impudent Jane longed to box her ears.

  "Either." Jane turned pointedly to Maria. "How do you go on with Lady Herrington?"

  Maria's eyes shone. "Splendidly. She is so elegant, and so kind. Shall you call on her?"

  "Certainly," said Jane's aunt.

  Jane nodded.

  Maria heaved a sigh. "Bath will seem duller than ever when we return, but at least I shall be all the crack in my London gowns."

  "Aunt Louisa will be planning your come-out soon," Jane murmured.

  Maria forced a smile. "Oh, I'm to make my come-out in Bath. A small dinner party. Mama says I may go to the Assemblies after Christmas."

  "Of all the shabby things!" Jane bit her lip. "I beg your pardon, Maria." She looked from her cousins to Miss Goodnight. "I had thought my aunt meant to bring you town in the spring."

  Maria's eyes welled tears. She shook her head.

  "Her ladyship's health." Miss Goodnight fluttered her hands helplessly.

  "Oh, Lord," Jane said, exasperated. "Maria, my dear, we must contrive something." She cast a beseeching look at her Aunt Hervey, but that lady was observing an interesting pattern in the carpet and would not meet Jane's eyes.

  Maria swallowed a sob and said, with a pathetic attempt at wit, "I shall be nineteen in the spring. Old cattish."

  "Mutton dressed as lamb," Jane said crossly. "Do try not to be mutton-headed, love. Does your...his lordship know of your mama's intent?"

  "No. That is, I'm not perfectly sure. He sees so many things without being told. He may have guessed, but he has been very kind to give us this treat. Besides, the London house is sold. What can Julian do? He cannot present me."

  "Marry," said Aunt Hervey.

  Drusilla and Maria stared, and Drusilla gave a small unsisterly hoot. "Julian?"

  Aunt Hervey cast Jane a malicious look. "Well, my dears, he is a young man, Just at the most susceptible age. Eight-and twenty by now, is he not? As Lord Meriden he must be considered quite the catch. I daresay if he were to move about in Society, all the ladies would throw their caps at him."

  Maria said doubtfully, "Julian is not very romantical."

  For once Drusilla kept quiet.

  Miss Goodnight's mild eyes lit and she said warmly, "I think his lordship would make an excellent husband. Indeed, Mrs. Hervey, a capital idea." Abruptly she descended into incoherence. "Er, that is, poor Lady Meriden, one could not expect her to exert herself...his lordship with a wife to lend the girls countenance...Fern Hall..." Her voice trailed off.

  Aunt Hervey smiled and said in rallying tones, "Well, Maria, shall I turn matchmaker?"

  Maria gave her a shy returning smile. "It would be very obliging in you, dear Mrs. Hervey."

  "Of course, Meriden may have plans of his own," Aunt Hervey reflected. "For the ladies of Yorkshire. Shall you be going to Harrogate, Drusilla?"

  "My dear," said Miss Goodnight gently, "Mrs. Hervey was speaking to you."

  Drusilla blinked. "Oh. No. Vincent may, but I don't care to. I daresay it's quite a distance from Whitethorn to Harrogate, and besides it's no use. Julian don't dance."

  There was a constrained silence in which Jane cast her aunt a repelling look. Aunt Hervey, however, was attending to Drusilla still.

  "You said you were to stay with your brother's friends?"

  "Yes."

  "I believe Mr. William Tarrant was an officer in his lordship's regiment," Miss Goodnight interposed. "Until the Peace. That is, the first peace, before that fellow Bonaparte escaped. The estates march. Mrs. Tarrant has writ Drusilla and me a very comfortable letter."

  Aunt Hervey smiled at her kindly. "Has she marriageable daughters?"

  "Aunt!" Jane hissed.

  Miss Goodnight looked flustered. "Oh, dear, no. Quite a young family. A boy in leading strings and his lordship's goddaughter, who is not one year old."

  Catching Jane's scowl, Aunt Hervey said mildly, "I see I must give up hope of immediate success. What a good plan it was, Maria."

  Apparently Maria agreed, for she looked so downcast that only the prospect of a visit to Jane's mantuamaker cheered her.

  * * * *

  Lord Meriden did not call, but Jane had the felicity of meeting Vincent in the Park. She and her aunt, surfeited with shopping and visiting, were taking a turn in the barouche when a handsome young man hailed them.

  Aunt Hervey told the coachman to stop. "It's Vincent Stretton. Shall we take him up?" She greeted Vincent, ignoring Jane's feeble protests.

  He returned the greeting in his best manner and climbed in beside Aunt Hervey quite cheerfully when she invited him. Jane allowed her aunt to carry the burden of conversation. In truth, she was surprized out of her self-absorption by the changes in Vincent.

  He was impeccably turned out, of course. Apart from a ruddier complexion, his appearance had not altered since spring, but he seemed nonetheless quite different. Confident, grown up, much less affected.

  "You've seen my sisters?" he asked her presently.

/>   "Yes, and paid your cousin, Lady Herrington, a morning visit."

  His eyes lit in a way that reminded Jane painfully of his brother. "Is she not splendid, Jane?"

  Jane murmured assent. Clearly Lady Herrington had won his heart.

  She listened to his raptures with a smile and wished she could concur. A half-hour courtesy call had given her very little opportunity to form an opinion of Lady Herrington's character. That she was beautiful--such red-gold hair, such white skin, such brilliant green eyes--there could be no doubt. She had seemed friendly enough in a languid way and was on easy terms with Miss Goodnight.

  Maria went in awe of her. Drusilla, of course, was not awed by anybody, but once Jane caught her ladyship looking at Drusilla with raised brows, and to Jane's surprize Drusilla subsided. Lady Herrington's languid manner may have been affectation. Jane did not know. It was hard to imagine her ladyship and Meriden with anything in common.

  Vincent, his raptures exhausted, edified Jane with an account of the move to Fern Hall and Felix's tutor and the twins' ponies--then said, rather diffidently, "Jane, your father has writ Julian a stiffish note over his letting Meriden."

  Jane's heart sank. Bless Papa.

  "I wish you will just drop a word in his ear." Vincent's beautiful brow furrowed. "I'm sure my uncle meant it for the best, but you know, it ain't fair to devil Ju. He is fixing up Fern Hall, and mending walls and draining bogs and whatnot, just as my uncle told him he should, and that costs the earth. It's in good hands--the old place, I mean. I've dined with the Nabob." Vincent flushed. "He ain't a Nabob, really. That's just a joke between me and Julian. He's a...a Cit, but dashed civil, and his wife was one of the Skeffingtons. They take the greatest care of everything, and they're not encroaching. Will you tell Uncle John that?"

  Jane was as much touched as embarrassed. Clearly Meriden, as well as the new tenant, had won Vincent's allegiance.

  She was glad to assure Vincent of her intercession in the matter and even gladder to find him on good terms with his brother. But, Vincent, she thought wryly, the Nabob was a joke between your brother and me before you were on speaking terms with Meriden. She cleared her throat. "I trust Lord Meriden is well?"