“So, then?”
“Then let them behave like rational creatures instead of hungry wolves. I would respect them all the more for it.
“Really, Josephine, how you carry on!”
“And do stop calling me that. You sound exactly like my father when he is cross with me about something.”
“Just as you wish then, Jo. But I do not understand why you insist on being so difficult to please. Enjoy your new power over men and make the most of your advantage. That is my advice.” She paused to return the admiring look of a passing gentleman. “I doubt you will hear Pamela Hurst complaining when men run after her because of her beauty. Why should you object when they chase you for your money? As long as it achieves the desired result, what is the difference if a girl’s fortune is in her face and figure or in the funds?”
“When you put it like that, I suppose there is no difference between the two; both are equally artificial.”
“There now, have I not set your mind at ease? It is all a matter of how you look at the thing,” Agnes concluded with satisfaction.
I had to smile at her manner of reasoning. From it, I could see there was nothing to be gained by debating the point any further. “Yes, of course,” I answered lightly, setting aside my peevishness. After all, nothing should be allowed to interfere with the pure enjoyment of a ball. If the circumstances were somewhat ridiculous, so much the better, for then the more easily might I find humor in them.
Agnes and I parted ways as the music from the string and woodwind ensemble at the top of the room resumed. An eager Mr. Hopkins arrived to claim my hand, leading me out onto the polished wood floor. As we went about our business, I was not surprised to discover him quite unequal to the task of sustaining his share in the conversation. I admit it; my mind soon wandered from my partner and my eyes did likewise. I began by absently surveying the room. Yet before long, without any conscious design, my perusal took a more specific turn. I scanned over the heads of the crowd for a tall, fair-haired man with a friendly countenance and a familiar form. Where was Arthur? I had seen him earlier, so I knew he must be somewhere about.
Arthur Evensong would have been a much more pleasing partner for me. He was no flatterer. He instead paid me the higher compliment of treating me as an equal. I had by no means any special claim upon Arthur. In fact, everyone in Wallerton acknowledged him to be Agnes’s rightful property, the parents of the two having long since settled the matter and the couple themselves showing every inclination toward the match. Yet Agnes would not have begrudged me a share of his attention, and I would have been grateful for it at that moment. For, if he had chosen to do so, it would have been in Arthur’s power to keep the wolves at bay.
As it was, I felt the greedy creatures closing in, circling and weaving all about me on the dance floor as if I were a plump rabbit, ready for the taking. Still, picturing the unsuspecting Mr. Hopkins and the others festooned with large, pointed ears and bushy tails poking out from under their cutaway coats gave me considerable amusement. I eyed my partner and thought, “Yes, we may have some sport together – the hunter and the hunted – but this is one rabbit who has no intention of being caught, at least not yet… and not by the likes of you.”
Mr. Hopkins was succeeded by several others of similar bent before I found myself unexpectedly at liberty. John Franklin, having sprained his foot, was obliged to forfeit his turn. Since the last thing I wanted at that juncture was to attract a replacement partner, I quietly eased myself away from the group of dancers, melted through the crowd of onlookers, and did my best to disappear into my surroundings. I had nearly made good my escape into the next room when a man addressed me from behind.
“Jo...”
I started, momentarily cringing at the sound of my own name. Just as quickly, I relaxed again and turned round when I realized the warm baritone voice belonged to Arthur Evensong.
“Why do you steal away into the parlor, Miss Walker?” he continued with a spark of amusement. “You truly have the look of a fugitive, skulking about in dark holes and corners. Have you committed a dreadful social faux pas or are you hiding from someone particularly annoying? Which is it?”
“The latter is a more accurate surmise,” I answered with a laugh. “I finally have a dance free and I am determined to keep it that way.”
“What a pity, for I would have gladly asked you.”
“And there is no one here with whom I would rather dance, old friend. Will you not stay and talk with me instead? Let us sit down; my feet are grievously in need of rest.”
Entering the deserted parlor, Arthur led the way to seats at its farthest reaches where it was comparatively quiet. A minimum of candles had been deployed there, and the dimness gave a soothing relief from the relative brilliance of the ballroom.
“Oh, what a pleasant reprieve this is!” said I, stretching my feet out in front of me.
“I am surprised to hear you speak so. I thought surely you must be enjoying yourself this evening, for you have never been in want of a partner. Of that much, I am certain. Is it not every young woman’s idea of bliss to be the belle of the ball?”
“Oh, I love to dance. The livelier the music, the better I like it. Still, I am tired… and a little disappointed with the quality of the company. I would much rather spend the evening with you and Tom, but I suppose that would not do. I cannot dance with my own brother, and Agnes would never spare you so long. Although in truth, you do seem to be neglecting her tonight, even without my interference. I have only seen you dance with her twice. You accuse me of skulking? I suspect, Mr. Evensong, it is you who has been hiding. Good heavens!” I said, feigning shock. “Surely it cannot be Agnes that you are avoiding.”
This taunt had the anticipated effect; a great blush, starting from Arthur’s crisp, white cravat, suffused scarlet to the tops of his ears.
“Well, you have done it again, Jo. My face is burning. I hope you are satisfied.”
“Now, do not be cross, Arthur. I count it as a marvelous, almost magical, thing, the way you color at the slightest provocation. I have found it quite irresistible ever since we were children, as you well know.”
“I suppose I am only annoyed because I have no means to retaliate. You seem peculiarly immune to the frailty yourself, which is a shame. It certainly would become you much better than it does me.” The irritation in his countenance faded along with the redness. “As for Agnes, she would have me standing up with her for every dance if she could, which would be highly improper since, despite what everybody may think, we are not formally engaged.”
“Ah, so you would spare her reputation. How chivalrous of you, sir.”
“She may dance with whomever she pleases, and she must grant me the same freedom of choice, my preference being to remain mostly in the background.”
“Well, in this case, I am glad you were waiting in the background and that I stumbled upon you. At least I can have you to myself for these few minutes. I never see you anymore, Arthur. Why have you stopped coming to the house?”
“It is not by my own inclination that I stay away,” he said in a more solemn tone. “Your father has made it clear… well… We all understand that your circumstances are entirely different now. Others must command your attention at present.”
“Many things have changed, yes, but some things never should. I shall always remember my true friends and I hope they will do the same for me. You cannot believe me so weak as to lose my sense and forget my loyalties over money.”
“It is not just the money, though, is it? The attention and the expectations accompanying your inheritance are powerful forces. They cannot help but alter you.”
“To my mind, it is not my behavior that is altered! It is yours and everybody else’s.” I took a deep breath before continuing. “Now Arthur, I must return to the dance. Will you not shake hands with me before I go, and say you are still my friend?”
He took my hand and met my gaze with his startlingly blue eyes. “Of course I am your frien
d, Jo, now and always. Nothing shall ever change that.”
3
Papa’s Indisposition
“My dear, you simply must tell me all about last night’s ball,” my mother insisted after breakfast the next morning. The two of us had moved to the sitting room and taken up our needlework. “I did ask Tom earlier, but it was of little use. Men are generally hopeless when it comes to such things in any case. I depend entirely upon you for a full account. Are there any new romances afoot, any intriguing alliances taking shape? Tell me all about your partners and which girl had the prettiest gown.”
“I barely noticed what anybody wore, Mama. As for the affair itself, I cannot imagine that there is anything extraordinary to tell. It was just what you would expect and have seen a dozen times before: the usual people were there; the standard dances performed; and the supper edible, but not overly fine. We all had a delightful time, and nobody got overly inebriated or taken into custody.”
“What kind of a reply is that, child? I declare, your report is no better than your brother’s after all. If I had been able to go myself, I would not need to trouble you for descriptions. But I could hardly leave your father with his health in such a poor state.”
Effectively chastened, I apologized for my impertinence at once and answered all Mama’s questions, supplying the colorful little details of which she is particularly fond. Since being out in company is one of the chief pleasures of her life, missing the festivities of the previous night had been a true sacrifice. This she had dutifully borne in consequence of Papa’s troublesome indisposition: gout, the curse of many a well-to-do gentleman.
“I see Papa did not come down to breakfast again,” said I. “Is he quite unwell?”
“He is not in bed, but he keeps to his room this morning,” Mama replied.
“Can Mr. Trask do nothing more for him then?”
“The draughts he prescribes give little relief, and your father has thus far resisted the other recommendations – moderating his diet and taking the waters at Bath. I do not know how much longer we can go on like this, however. He is in a great deal of pain.”
“Then he simply must go to Bath. The hot mineral springs are said to be highly therapeutic. Do they not have the credit for Mr. Tupper’s cure a year or two ago?”
“Yes! You are correct, my dear. I had quite forgotten. I shall have to remind your father of Mr. Tupper’s enthusiasm for the place. And perhaps you could put in a word for Bath as well, Jo. Together we may be able to persuade him to take medical advice in spite of himself.”
“Oh, I do hope so… for his health’s sake.”
Yet, in truth, it was more than my father’s gouty legs that I imagined would benefit from a change of situation. A removal to Bath would be no hardship for me either, I believed. I found it a very compelling prospect to trade the society of Wallerton, which had lately become so irksome, for a completely fresh arena, one wholly unspoilt by prior knowledge of my circumstances.
Once again I mused over the paradox of my inheritance. Whilst it gave me a degree of independence that I had heretofore no right to expect, it had also made me its bondservant. Although with silken cords, I was tied to the thing nonetheless and could not escape the unpleasant effects it secondarily created, at least not in my own county. Elsewhere, with any luck, no one would know about my fortune unless I chose to tell them.
My mind was soon made up on the subject. Father simply must be convinced to submit to a season in Bath for his own good… and for mine. Any scruple I might have felt over attempting to influence him in such a matter I successfully crushed with the weightier notion that the goal – his recovered health – justified whatever means I had to employ. When, a few days later, I found him alone in his library, sitting with his legs propped up on cushions, I took my chance. I came in and perched upon the edge of his desk as I had been in the habit of doing from when I was a girl of six or seven.
“How are you feeling today, Papa?” I asked. “I have been so worried about you.”
“Very poorly. Very poorly, indeed,” he growled. “I suppose I should not grumble, though. After all, as your mother would probably point out, compared to what some people suffer, my complaint must be considered quite trivial. Still, it is enough for me, I admit.”
“Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one?”
“No, no. Stay where you are. According to Mr. Trask, too much wine is part of my problem. I swear he would see me bereft of that and of every other pleasure.”
“So, he recommends some alteration in your diet, then? Is there anything else you can do?”
“Well, he did suggest that taking the waters in Bath might be of use, though I put no stock in the advice.”
“Why is that? I thought you had a high regard for Mr. Trask’s medical opinions. I am sure I have often heard you say so.”
“Oh, I think he is quite a clever fellow. And when he is giving his orders to somebody else, it is all very well. But I reserve the right to decide what is best for me. Can you honestly picture me lazing about in Bath, Josephine? I should feel quite ridiculous bathing with strangers and imbibing those dubious waters. Besides, it would be a very costly undertaking. I can hardly justify such an extravagance.”
I frowned and looked away as if deep in thought.
This presently prompted Papa to ask, “What is the matter? Said I something amiss?”
Shaking my head, I replied, “Never mind. I know you must do what you think is right.”
“Come now, child. There is something troubling you. I can always tell. Out with it.”
“It is only that… well… I have seen how concerned Mama is about your health. I really think it is taking a toll on her nerves to see you suffer as you do. If there is anything that can be done to make you well, I believe it would be a kindness, as much to her as for yourself, to see that it is done.”
“So you think I should relent and go to Bath, do you? For your mother’s sake?”
“For her sake as well as for your own, I wish you would consider it.”
Father leaned back in his chair, folded his arms over his chest, and shook his head, a satirical grin playing across his face. “I do not know if I have ever before witnessed so much selfless compassion in one family,” he said with biting sarcasm. “In an amazing coincidence, your mama has also recommended that I decide in favor of Bath, as kindness to you. Now confess, Josephine. The two of you are in league together, are you not?”
“Really, Papa, I have no idea what you mean…”
“Oh, I think you have. You are simply surprised to be found out. Well, never mind,” he said in a softened tone, reaching for my hand. “I choose to flatter myself that you both have my best interests at heart. If we are to go to Bath, however, will you have the goodness to allow me at least the pretense that it was by my own choosing?”
“Certainly, Papa. You shall have all the credit for it.” I gave him my most winning smile and left him to his thoughts and his books, confident that the campaign was all but won. I expected he would make a temporary show of stubbornness in compliment to his pride. Then, with any luck, he’d come round.
And indeed, after leaving us in suspense for a full week, my father announced that he would allow himself to be taken to Bath after all. For this proof of his good judgment, Mama and I rewarded him with a liberal show of praise and affection.
So we were to go to Bath! With great difficulty, I kept my outward enthusiasm in check, reminding myself that this trip was not primarily intended as a holiday for me. Still, I could not contain my inner exhilaration over the promise of so much novelty. My head teamed with images of what the place would be like, the sort of people we might meet, and how I should behave to best advantage. For the most part, my good sense held sway, preventing a headlong plunge into unbridled optimism over what lay in store for me there. Occasionally, I did set loose my fancy, freeing my imagination to roam where it would. And it would ramble into some very
pretty places.
4
Farewell Party
It was mid-September, and Fairfield hummed with a vast deal of activity as the place prepared to give up all its principal occupants at once. In addition to the three of us bound for Bath, Tom and Frederick would be leaving as well – Frederick to take possession of his uncle’s properties, and Tom to Oxford to begin Michaelmas term. So, it amounted to a mass desertion of the manor house, which was to last some weeks.
As with any event of similar magnitude, my sociable mother instinctively felt the need to mark the occasion in some appropriate style. Accordingly, at the breakfast table one day she ventured, “Did you know, Mr. Walker, that we are not the only ones about to quit Wallerton? The Brownings will soon set off on a tour of the continent, and several of the young men are due to return to university. With all this leave-taking about to commence, it struck me that it really would be a kind convenience if everybody could be gathered at the same time and in the same place to say their good-byes. Would not you agree?”
“So you think we ought to host a party of some sort, no doubt.”
“Precisely.”
“But why should we expect people to come and celebrate our pilgrimage to Bath for the cure? It is tantamount to asking our friends to attend an official observance in honor of my gout,” he complained.
“Stuff and nonsense! Really, Mr. Walker, where did you get such a notion? No one in their right mind will think anything of the kind. We always give a little soiree in the fall. Everybody knows that. This year we have just had to move up the date a little, that is all.”
I believe husbands and wives generally understand when opposition will be in vain. Papa’s objections soon gave way, and the plan went forward for a supper and card party at Fairfield to be held a few days before our departure.
My mother was in her full glory as the preparations began. Resembling a general marshalling the troops for an important military campaign, she assessed the task before her, organized the servants, and set everyone to work toward the goal of perfect readiness. Serving as her assistant and understudy, I could not help but catch her excitement as we counted the days until the event.
For Myself Alone: A Jane Austen Inspired Novel Page 2
