“I am glad to see you, Jo, but I have hardly had a moment to miss you, what with all my other visitors,” she says with considerable animation, looking much like her old self again. “Your good brother has come every day, and Miss Ainsworth was here on Monday. And then, who do you think came calling Tuesday?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
“Mr. Cox!” she says, laughing. “Well, you needn’t look so surprised. Miss Graham wrote you that he might come, and so he did. He claimed some business brought him as near here as Guildford, but I cannot help suspecting it was just an excuse. He sat and talked with Mama and me for nearly an hour. Then, at his insistence, we took a turn in the garden together before he went away. Mr. Cox asked after you as well, Jo. Perhaps you shall see him when next he comes, for he said he will call again that he might be introduced to my father.”
“Well, I must say his visit seems to have done you a world of good, my dear. I did not realize that you cared for his company so very much.”
“I am not certain that I do, but does that mean I cannot enjoy the fact that he apparently cares a great deal for mine? It is flattering to be liked so much, you know, especially after everything that has happened.”
“Yes, of course, but take care, Agnes. The poor man may be falling in love with you. You would not want his broken heart on your conscience.”
“I’m sure I should be very sorry to break his heart. Still, I never asked him to fall in love with me, did I?”
However, invited or not, Mr. Cox declared his passionate ardor for my fair friend when he called on her again a week later, according to Agnes’s spirited report to me the next day. Apparently, after doing his best to ingratiate himself with her father, the young gentleman had once again taken her for a stroll in the garden. There he sought to recommend himself to her by expounding on the considerable scope of his worldly resources, and by elaborating on the extent of his love for her, which he allowed to be of equally prodigious proportions. Whilst the eloquent recital of his adoration did not fail to gratify, judging from the glow of Agnes’s cheeks as she retold it, neither did it succeed in winning for him the object of that affection. Agnes turned down his offer.
Surprised, Mr. Cox wondered if she could be perfectly serious in her refusal.
She was.
Would she like to take a little time to reflect before answering?
Not necessary.
Could she at least give him leave to hope for a more favorable response at some future point in time?
No, she could give him no such encouragement, but would he like to stay to tea?
Not likely. Apparently the unfortunate fellow left the place at once, entirely forgetting to visit his other friends in Wallerton, of whom he always claimed to be excessively fond.
“Poor Mr. Cox,” I lament after hearing the whole story. “I was afraid he had become too attached to you, Agnes. Were you not at all tempted to consider his offer? With Arthur out of the way, I suppose you are perfectly free to accept someone else.”
“I am free, but I shan’t accept the first offer that comes my way. Still, Mr. Cox has done me a great service. His proposal has taught me that I needn’t despair about my fortune being now so small. As he generously pointed out, I have other assets which more than make up for it. If Mr. Cox is eager to take me, with or without a dowry, surely there will be other men of consequence who feel the same. I am bound to like one of them well enough to marry. Therefore, I am through being downcast over Arthur Evensong. I shall never forgive him for what he has done…”
“Nor shall I.”
“…but henceforth I shall set my sights somewhat higher.”
I cannot help wondering if Agnes’s bravado is sincere or a mask for a heart still aching over Arthur’s abandonment. Either way, her new optimistic outlook is a refreshing change from the low morale under which she has suffered these many weeks. “Yes, I am sure there are any number of fine gentlemen who would be proud to have you, Agnes.”
~~*~~
When I return to Fairfield, I find Frederick in the parlor, reading the newspaper. He glances up as I enter. “Ah, there you are.” Presently, he continues in an off-handed way, “How did you find Miss Pittman today?”
“In tolerably good spirits, I am happy to report. I believe she has turned a corner in her recovery. She begins to seem much more like her old self again.”
“I am pleased to hear it.”
He returns to his paper, and I take up my needlework. We sit together quietly several minutes until Frederick makes another casual attempt at conversation.
“Your friend took this financial setback very hard, I think. I have done what I can to cheer her, but I daresay she would much rather it was Arthur who came calling. I am a poor substitute, to be sure.”
Since Agnes still keeps the change in Arthur’s standing to herself, I take care in my answer. “I would hardly characterize the situation in that way, Fred. I know your visits have been greatly appreciated, and I believe they deserve at least a small part of the credit for Agnes’s improvement.”
“Well, if I have been of any service, then I am gratified.”
We fall silent again, each of us attending to our own pursuits.
Finally, Frederick adds, “As you judge that my visits to the Pittmans have been of some little use after all, perhaps I should trot round tomorrow before I return to Millwalk. It is two days since I was last there, and I should hate to be remiss. What do you think, Jo? You know them better than I do.”
“By all means. In such cases, it is far better to err on the side of giving too much consideration rather than too little. Besides, I truly believe the Pittmans would be very glad to see you again.”
“Just as you say, then. I shall stop there on my way.”
28
Visitors
Mama does not have an easy time parting with her firstborn all over again, having grown quite accustomed to him being back in the nest during his protracted stay at Fairfield. The renewed separation leaves her prone to fits of melancholy for the next week. Each meal during that same period invariably begins with a deep sigh as she observes his empty place at table. Indeed, I am sorry to see him go as well, more than I expected. The same stolid manner that renders him difficult to know intimately has made Frederick a reliable rock in the storm of recent events.
With him gone, I revert to making my visits to Agnes alone. Though the trend is definitely for the better, her moods still vacillate between her former despondency and her new-found confidence. Whenever her spirits are low, as they are this particular day, I cannot help remembering that Arthur is principally to blame. Still, since revisiting that subject can do neither of us any good, I direct the conversation along more positive lines.
“What a fine day it is, Agnes. I believe spring is nearly upon us at last. Shall we not walk into Wallerton? I need to stop at Colby’s to buy some ribbon to trim out my new bonnet, and I could use your help. You know very well that your understanding of finery is far superior to mine.”
“No, I could not possibly go into the village. Not yet. We had much better keep to the garden.”
“Soon, then. We cannot stay at home forever, hiding as if we have something to be ashamed of. Let us not give the gossips that satisfaction; they mustn’t be allowed to think they have beaten us.”
“I suppose not,” Agnes agrees half-heartedly. “Perhaps by next week I may feel up to it. Or someone else might assist you with your shopping. Your friend Miss Graham will be here shortly, will she not?”
“Yes, and you will like to see Susan again too, I’m sure. She arrives in a fortnight and is to stay through the whole of April. You shan’t mind if she joins us on our outing to Millwalk, shall you?”
“Not at all. But there is another member of the proposed party whom I should very much like to see excluded.”
“Arthur.”
“Yes; Arthur.”
“Well, perhaps he will choose not to come, to spare everyone that discomfort. Or you m
ay be strong enough to bear it by then, Agnes. It is still a few weeks off, and you are improving every day. What a triumph it would be for you to show him exactly how little you care what he does.”
~~*~~
The first three months of the new year slip away quietly with very few social engagements to disturb our routine at Fairfield. Our style of life is now decidedly retired. We entertain no company – a hardship for my mother – and what few dinner or card parties we hear of, we do not attend, either for want of inclination or want of invitation.
Unfortunately, this withdrawal from local society tends to lend credence to the rumors circulating about some trouble with my engagement to Mr. Pierce. My evasive responses to such civil inquiries as, “Have you purchased your wedding clothes yet?” or, “When shall we meet your young man?” no doubt contribute to the general curiosity. Gradually my neighbors stop expecting answers from me and begin supplying their own. That there has been a rupture is soon considered an established fact. So I am told by reliable sources. It seems the only question that remains in people’s minds is which of us has made it; who is the jilt and who the jilted?
In due course, March makes way for April with its brighter weather and wildflowers blooming in the park. The advent of Spring also brings the promise of Miss Graham’s arrival and the much-anticipated excursion to Millwalk. Yet the outlook is not entirely sunny. The weeks ahead hold at least two causes for concern as well. I will likely have to face Arthur at Easter with my feelings for him still in a state of considerable ambivalence. And what has been heretofore only a threat of legal action might well become a reality requiring a difficult decision on my part.
That issue has never been far from my thoughts since my trip to London. Whilst I busy my other faculties with purposeful activity, my mind wrestles with the all-consuming questions day after day. Dare I hope that Richard will defy his father, preventing the suit altogether? If not, how far should I go to avoid paying any claim? Should I trust my fate to a jury or take matters into my own hands? Is the money worth the trouble it will cause to keep it? In the end, might I not be just as happy without it? And, if I am honest with myself, I will admit there is still a small voice inside my heart that favors a yielding to Richard’s request, not for money but for my return to his arms.
Meanwhile, Susan comes as expected, and a poignant reunion ensues. After a separation of over three months with only written correspondence to sustain our friendship, the first two days of her visit are necessarily given over to recanvassing in person all the events, thoughts, and feelings that the weeks apart have supplied.
“We have barely touched on your trip to London as yet, Jo,” Susan remarks the second day.
“I am really not at liberty to discuss any of the particulars. At all events, you are doubtless more interested in my consultation with Mr. Ramsey than the one with Mr. Gerber.”
“In point of fact, I have heard all about it in a letter from the gentleman himself. Still, I would be more than happy to listen to your report as well, especially if you take care to praise Mr. Ramsey a great deal.”
“So you correspond with an unmarried man, Miss Graham? This is quite shocking,” I tease. “Many a young woman has lost her character for less.”
“As you know perfectly well, there is nothing improper about an engaged couple writing letters, and that is what we consider ourselves to be. Only Mrs. Ramsey would be shocked by that, and she needn’t ever know.”
“What about your parents?”
“They are far more understanding. I believe they like George nearly as much as I do myself. They will be delighted to see us married whenever circumstances allow.”
“By which you mean overcoming Mrs. Ramsey’s objections?”
“Yes, or failing that, we will risk her wrath and be married without her consent when Mr. Ramsey is established in his own right. Either way, it is bound to be a long engagement.”
“Ah, but he is well worth waiting for, is he not? Shall I remind you of all his admirable qualities? You did suggest that I praise him a great deal.”
But it is Susan who takes up the office of elucidating Mr. Ramsey’s perfections, with which she is the one more intimately acquainted. According to her, his character has no rival for loyalty and integrity; his temper is mild as a lamb’s; his nimble mind navigates the mechanics of the law and the subtleties of poetic verse with equal dexterity; and in the countenance and person of no other man does the ideal of understated male beauty more comfortably reside.
“And yet, to all this you must add one more enormously important quality, Susan: his excellent taste. For without it, where would you be? Had he not shown the wisdom to prefer you to every other woman of his acquaintance, none of his merits would signify in the least.”
“True.” We both laugh. “He is a prince among men, Jo. That is my honest opinion, and I make no apologies for it. Oh, if there were but such another man for you, someone worthy of you this time.”
“Well, never mind that. I have sworn off men for the time being. After all, I had my chance. Mr. Ramsey was my dance partner first, as you will recall. Perhaps I should not have been so quick to give him up to you.”
On the third day of Miss Graham’s visit, we call on Miss Pittman together. After spending a pleasant hour renewing and improving the acquaintance, Susan and I announce our intention of continuing on into the village. Although every enticement available is brought to bear in the case, Agnes cannot be persuaded to join us.
“Are you sure that you are robust enough for such a perilous expedition?” I ask Susan in mock concern as we go on our way. “Consider carefully. By accompanying me, you risk being censured as soon as you are known in Wallerton. Although most of my neighbors can now behold me without severe agitation, likely as not I will give offence wherever I go.”
“I am relieved to hear you joke about it, my dear. It is exactly as I expected; you have risen above your misfortunes. But really, is the rumor of a broken engagement the best this town can do for scandal?”
“I’m afraid so – no murder or mayhem to relieve the monotony. The Pittmans and I have done what we can, but it is meager fare at best for the true connoisseur. I shall have to conjure up something more substantial for the next course. A breach-of-promise suit… with a twist, perhaps; that should satisfy everyone’s appetite. What do you say, Susan?”
“I say, God forbid you should be so accommodating! Let the gossip mongers find their next entertainment elsewhere.”
Susan credits me with rising above my circumstances when, in truth, it is partly due to her encouragement that I have the confidence to do so. Together, we freely move about the town, making calls of charity and business. Somehow, I can better bear the looks and the whispered remarks of others with her by my side. Agnes, who has no strength, thought, or courage to spare from herself, is incapable of doing me that valuable service.
True adventures are more difficult for us to come by in Wallerton than in Bath; that is to be expected and not very much regretted. What amusement we can find, Susan and I are glad to share with Agnes. The real excitement, however, arrives late one morning in the form of an unannounced visitor: Mr. George Ramsey.
Upon being informed of the gentleman’s presence, Susan and I are the first to join him in the drawing room. Mr. Ramsey has just enough presence of mind to greet me before turning his full attention to my friend. I am thrilled to see the couple reunited so happily – and by my means too – but I cannot help feeling myself an intruder almost immediately. As the hand-holding and whispering of endearments commences between the lovers, I wander across the room to the window, affording them a few minutes to themselves.
Their privacy does not last long; my parents soon enter. “Why, Mr. Ramsey,” begins Mama, “what a fine surprise this is. We did not expect you. At least I did not. Perhaps Miss Graham… That is to say… Well, we are all very pleased to see you, I’m sure.”
“Have you come on business or otherwise, Mr. Ramsey?” Papa asks pointedly, gl
ancing between the young man and his lady.
“Business mostly, sir. I am here on a commission from our mutual friend Mr. Gerber. He asked me to give you this,” he explains, handing over the portfolio he has brought with him.
Papa opens the parcel and takes a cursory look inside. “These papers must be important, requiring early attention, if delivery by a messenger rather than the post was called for. What were your instructions, Mr. Ramsey? Are you to wait for an immediate reply?”
Mr. Ramsey goes quite red in the face. “Nothing so urgent, sir. I confess I was rather looking for an excuse to get out of London for a few days. I let Mr. Gerber know that if he should have an errand or anything wanting delivery, especially to Hampshire, he should call on me.”
“I see. Yes, of course. I understand precisely what you mean, Mr. Ramsey. So we may examine this material at our leisure?”
“Yes. If there is a return message, I shall be happy to carry it back to London in a day or two. I am completely at your service, Mr. Walker. I have taken a room at the Red Bull for the next two nights.”
“So, we shall be seeing a lot of you in the meantime, I gather,” Mama says eagerly. “You will join us for dinner, I hope. We have been sadly lacking in company at Fairfield since we returned from Bath, Mr. Ramsey. With both you and Miss Graham here, it will seem like a real party.”
29
Anticipation
The agreeable Mr. Ramsey consents to stay to dinner and beyond, much to everybody’s delight. No one could be more gratified than Susan, but Mama is also very well pleased – pleased with having a full table again and pleased with herself for her foresight in ordering such a fine meal even before she knew the young gentleman would be at hand to eat it.
For Myself Alone: A Jane Austen Inspired Novel Page 18
