Susan, who was originally scheduled to return to Kent at the end of April, successfully petitions her parents to extend her stay at Fairfield another month complete. We are by now accustomed to the regular correspondence she receives from Mr. Ramsey. One of these letters arrives on the first of May, and, although I am not privy to all its contents, my friend does share one portion of particular interest with me:
The most unexpected thing has occurred, Susan. You will never guess who has been visiting my mother in Mayfair: Mr. Randolph Pierce! I have it on the good authority of my youngest brother that the man has called on her several times over the course of the last two months. According to Kenneth, the two of them have become quite cozy. When I asked Mother about it myself, she was not very forthcoming. However, she did ultimately own that she began corresponding with Mr. Pierce on matters of mutual concern shortly after being introduced to him in Bath last winter. Apparently they share a common interest in politics, particularly church politics. I cannot help wondering what other interests may be drawing them together. Is it possible that my mother has a suitor? Good lord, what a thought! Miss Walker narrowly escaped having the man for her father-in-law. Now I could end with Mr. Pierce as my step-father instead.
“What do you think of that, Jo?” Susan asks when she finishes reading this out to me. “Is it a good or a bad development? I cannot decide.”
“I hardly know. If love is truly in the air, I could see where it might give both of them a more charitable view of others, which could have a positive effect on both your situation and mine. On the other hand, it is somehow unsettling to think of our common enemies joining forces.”
Another letter arrives, this one from Frederick, stating that he plans to visit us at Fairfield shortly. Knowing what I do from Agnes’s confidential report, I doubt that it is his family that he longs to see again so soon. My anticipation builds for the projected outcome. How delighted I shall be to have my brother married to my dear friend, and how much sweeter my visits to Millwalk thereafter.
Frederick is every day expected. Then, before we have any sign of him, Agnes calls one afternoon in quite a flutter of spirits. Her countenance evincing a mixture of joy and trepidation, she asks to speak to me alone.
“I have something to tell you, Jo,” she says. “But first you must promise you will not be angry. I couldn’t bear it if you were cross when I am so happy.”
“Whatever makes you happy is certain to please me as well,” I assure her. I can see she is holding back some great mountain of excitement. With a little more encouragement from me, it begins to tumble out. She thrusts her left hand forward for my inspection.
“Look, Jo! Look!” she cries, displaying a sapphire ring of stunning proportions. “It is an engagement present. Do you not wish to know from whom?”
“I don’t understand. Has Frederick already been to see you?”
“Oh, dear,” she says with a pouting lip. “I suppose you would think of your brother – a very natural mistake after our earlier conversation.”
“Mistake? What on earth do you mean, Agnes? Who else can it to be from?”
“Now prepare yourself, Jo. You may indeed be surprised, but I am going to marry dear Mr. Cox.”
“Mr. Cox! What of my brother? He cares for you, and you led him to believe that you returned his regard.”
“Your brother is very amiable, to be sure. And if he had been quicker to come to the point, I daresay I might well be engaged to him now instead. Still, with Mr. Cox being so very attentive… and so very persistent…
“Oh, Poor Frederick. Did you have no thought for him at all, Agnes?” I ask in exasperation.
“See, now you are cross. I was afraid you would be. Yet consider my struggle. On your brother’s account, I did try to resist Mr. Cox’s offer. In fact, whilst he was proposing, I even pictured myself at Millwalk again, to give me strength. Until the last, I swear I had every intention of answering him the same as before.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Well… Mr. Cox can be extremely persuasive. If you had been there, Jo, you would understand my difficulty. Depend on it. He quite overwhelmed me with the violence of his affection. From the way he praised my character, I knew he was most sincere. He pointed out how well suited we are, and how he should make my happiness his life’s work. He showed me this fine ring, saying it did not do justice to my beauty. Then he happened to mention that he will be a baronet one day. I believe that is when my determination to refuse him gave way. I was quite overcome, and before I knew what I was saying, I had accepted him!
“He wants us to be married right away, Jo!” she continues, “by a special license if necessary. And we shall live in his London townhouse until he comes into his other property and title… which may not be long because his uncle is exceedingly old, I understand. Think of it – Sir Phillip and Lady Cox! Oh, do say you will be happy for me. It really is for the best; I am certain of that now. Your brother will not regret me for long. Any young woman – well, almost any – will be proud to take him, I should say. He shall have very little difficulty finding another, someone to make him forget he ever entertained the notion of marrying me. Perhaps he never did! I might have been wrong about that all along. It would not be the first time my vanity led me astray, would it?” she finishes, laughing.
True enough. Yet, unfortunately for my brother, I know this is not one of those occasions.
I am too appalled to listen to any more. I get to my feet, plead a sudden headache, and leave Agnes without further comment. I fear my astonishment and displeasure over this development are not to be recovered from immediately. Indeed, I must own to feeling – somewhat irrationally, I suppose – a sense of betrayal as well. Not only has Agnes wronged my brother, but she has, apparently, also withheld from me the true nature of her interest in Mr. Cox these many weeks. For years I have considered myself to be her closest friend and confidant. How is it possible I have known Agnes so long and still understand her so little?
~~*~~
When Frederick arrives the very next day, I look for the first opportunity to disclose to him the news of Agnes’s engagement. By taking on the unhappy task, I can at least spare him the embarrassment of finding out in some other fashion, such as from the lady herself.
Frederick never flies into a fit of wild emotion, regardless of the provocation. Instead, when I tell him, he falls completely silent. Only the change in his countenance betrays the battle within. I avert my eyes, giving him time to recover his composure. Finally he asks, “Had you any idea that Miss Pittman was about to take such a serious step, Jo? You are her friend; she must tell you these things.”
“I never had the slightest suspicion. You may be very sure that if I had, I should have cautioned you accordingly.”
“Cautioned me? I hardly see where there was any need for that. If Miss Pittman wishes to throw herself away on some… some London dandy, it is clearly none of my affair.”
“But I thought…” I stop short, understanding that he would rather save face than be comforted. “Yes, of course. I only meant that I should have prepared you against the shock of the thing, since you are such a close friend to the family. It has taken us all by surprise – no one more than myself, I daresay.”
35
The Other Shoe Drops
Not surprisingly, Frederick’s stay in Wallerton is brief. With his stoic demeanor, it is impossible to judge the extent of his injury, but I pray his pain will be of short duration. My acrimony on his account simmers just below the surface for the better part of a week. During this interval I think it best to avoid Agnes entirely lest further irritation should heat my anger to the boiling point, doing irreparable harm to us both.
The tincture of time ultimately does its work, teaching me to view the situation with more philosophy than was initially possible. Although I still cannot credit Agnes’s explanation with any greater insight than the wisdom of self-interest, one of her statements does have the ring of truth to it. Her break
with Frederick is most probably for the best. Far better that he should suffer a temporary disappointment than the permanent misfortune of an inconstant wife.
Upon further reflection, I also decide that my friendship with Agnes, though damaged by this episode, is worth salvaging. Little time remains to us. All too soon, the more tangible gulf of distance will divide. I will lose my life-long companion to London in a matter of weeks, and thence to Hertfordshire when old Sir Edmund Cox – the current baronet – passes on, leaving his coveted lands and title behind. Therefore, I resolve to set aside my wounded feelings and my misgivings about this engagement.
Agnes’s head is awhirl with wedding plans, but I cannot enter into her frenzy, at least not with the pure enjoyment I had always imagined I would feel on the occasion. Still, the bride-to-be has more than enough enthusiasm for the both of us. When we are together – with Susan as an interested third – Agnes’s incessant chatter centers on the specifics of the upcoming ceremony and the expected glories of her future life, its wealth and status comprising the chief elements of pleasure. I notice Mr. Cox is mentioned mostly as an afterthought, as the convenient means of providing her all these benefits. At least for that he will have his wife’s gratitude if not her love. About the true depth of Agnes’s affection for her future husband, I can only guess.
“I should think I love Mr. Cox well enough. I would never have agreed to marry him otherwise.”
This, or some similar response, is her answer to my every attempt to examine her on the subject. My doubts do not signify, however. Agnes has made her choice, and I hope it will prove a happy one.
~~*~~
What was to have been my wedding day at last arrives. I have no desire to mark the occasion with an observance of any kind. Although one portion of my heart persists in keeping Richard’s flame alive to torture me, his memory and the pain associated with it continue to subside. So short was our time together and so many weeks have elapsed since, that he begins to seem like a relative stranger to me. In truth, until the end, I never knew the real Richard, and yet I might have been made his wife today. The very idea shocks me.
Other than a few weak moments, briefly lapsing into sentimentality, I finish the day without much regret at still being single. My chief distress stems from the knowledge that the wheels of legal machinery will likely soon be set in motion against me, now that I am clearly in breach of my marriage contract.
A few days later, Susan and I pay a call on Mrs. Evensong and little John. When we return to Fairfield, my father is pacing the entry hall, wearing a frown and a deeply furrowed brow. “There you are,” he says, his eyes settling upon me with a portentous weight.
“What is it, Papa?” I ask.
From his waistcoat pocket, he pulls a letter addressed in an unfamiliar hand. “Perhaps you would care to join me in the library, Jo.”
So it did come, and exactly when it might be reasonably looked for. I know immediately what the ominous letter contains, of course. Its arrival forever extinguishes the small spark of hope, the frail, secret wish I had continued to nurture, that Richard might override his father’s plans.
Susan gives me a sympathetic squeeze of the hand, and I reluctantly go to face my fate.
After closing the door, Papa answers my unspoken question. “Yes, the letter is from Mr. Pierce’s attorney. I have taken the liberty of examining its contents. There is nothing that should surprise you; it is exactly the kind of nonsense we were told to expect. Sit down, Josephine, and have a look for yourself.”
The letter reads as follows:
Freeman Court, Cornhill
Pierce against Walker
To Miss Josephine Walker
Madam,
My client, Mr. Richard Pierce, has instructed me to commence an action against you for the breach of your promise to marry him, claiming damages in the amount of twenty thousand pounds for the disappointment of his expectations. A writ to that effect has been issued against you in the Court of Common Pleas. Hence, it is incumbent upon me to recommend that you retain the counsel of an attorney directly and to then inform me, by return post, who will accept service of the aforementioned writ on your behalf.
Your humble servant
Mr. Clarence Dewberry
“Twenty thousand pounds! So he wants the lot. He would leave me without a penny of my uncle’s money to my name,” I summarize.
“Now, Jo,” says my father, “Mr. Gerber did warn us that the initial demand would be high – just a starting point for negotiations.”
“Yes, I know. Still, even though it is not altogether unexpected, it is astonishing to see such a sum in writing.”
“I am truly sorry that it has come to this, my dear. I should have done more to protect you, to prevent your falling into this trap. As your father, it was my duty…”
“You are not to blame, Papa. We were all taken in by Mr. Pierce, and he himself is little more than a pawn in his father’s hand. It is a miserable business all the way round.”
“Indeed. Well, we must inform Mr. Gerber at once what has happened. There may be no absolute need for us to travel to London again; the whole thing could be handled through the post. However, it did occur to me that since Miss Graham is obliged to leave us in a few days and our carriage must, therefore, travel the distance in any case, you and I might just as well be in it. Perhaps we could prevail upon your brother to meet us there as well, if you like.”
“Oh, yes. I would not lose Susan’s company a day sooner than necessary. And I believe I shall be more confident that everything has been done properly if we are all assembled in Mr. Gerber’s office together.”
Accordingly, an express is sent off to the solicitor with the news of the recent development and our plan of coming to London. Another goes to Tom, stating that his attendance is also required. Papa takes it upon himself to break the news to my mother and leaves me to inform my friend.
“This is too cruel,” exclaims Susan in response. “What have you ever done to deserve being treated in this fashion, I should like to know? Of all the ungentlemanly things of which a man might be capable, this is near the top of the list. To steal a woman’s fortune just because she will not marry him? Abominable! I underestimated Mr. Pierce, it seems. I never before believed he would go through with it. Well, I hope this London solicitor of yours will know how to deal with him.”
“I have every confidence in Mr. Gerber, and Mr. Ramsey thinks very highly of him as well.”
“I wish George had already made barrister. He would represent your interests in court as vigorously as anyone, I daresay, and make the jury see that there is no merit whatever in Mr. Pierce’s claims.”
“I am sure he would. I am sure he would indeed.” Despite the circumstances, I smile at Susan’s vehemence, which rings out in equal force in defense of my innocence and in praise of Mr. Ramsey’s as-yet-unproven talents in the legal arena. “But, in any case, I do not expect to need a barrister; the matter will never come to trial.”
“How can you be so certain, Jo? You do not intend to give in to these demands, I hope.”
“No. That is the one thing I have sworn never to do.”
36
The Decision
My father, Susan, and I set forth for London on Wednesday. Mr. Ramsey, by prior arrangement, meets us at the same lodging house we patronized on our previous visit. He serves as a welcoming committee of one and as a messenger from Mr. Gerber, delivering a note advising us at what time the solicitor will see us the next day.
“We are much obliged to you, Mr. Ramsey,” says Papa. “Will you not stay and take supper with us? I know your commitments prevented you before, but there is an additional inducement this time,” he finishes with a nod to Susan.
“As luck would have it, sir, I am currently between terms, so my time is my own. Nothing would please me more than to stop for a few hours in a place with such charming company.”
It is a very congenial gathering. Having by now recovered from the shock of the lett
er’s arrival, I set a cheerful tone and the others take their cue from me. We have only this one evening together, as the Graham’s carriage will come to take Susan to Kent on the morrow.
Miss Graham’s parting with Mr. Ramsey’s that night is rendered more poignant by the fact that their separation is likely to be of some duration. Mr. Ramsey says he despairs of being able to elude his mother’s watchful eye long enough to make a sojourn to Kent, and Susan has no expectation of returning into town in the foreseeable future. My farewell to her the next morning is likewise tinged with sadness.
“When do you suppose we shall see each other again?” Susan asks at the curb before boarding the carriage sent to fetch her home.
“Not these many months to come, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“It is your turn to visit me. Promise that you will.”
“I promise to come to Kent for your wedding, dearest, and to be your faithful correspondent until then. Will that do?”
“You mustn’t tease me so, Jo. My wedding is a long way off, as you are well aware.”
“Perhaps it is and perhaps it isn’t,” I say lightly. Then, handing my friend a sealed letter, I continue, “At any rate, here is the first installment on my pledge of correspondence. You see how seriously I take my commitment; you are not yet gone and already I have written. I put a little surprise inside for you, but you must not open it until you reach your destination. Then it will be as if the letter arrives the very moment you do.” We embrace, and then Susan climbs into the carriage. “Goodbye, my sweet friend,” I say as the coach pulls away.
Not long after Miss Graham’s departure, Tom arrives and I explain to him the situation. He reacts with predictable indignation, venturing to disparage Mr. Pierce in terms even more unflattering than Susan dared to employ. When he at last exhausts the preponderance of his ire, Tom asks what he might do for me. What service in defense of my honor would please me best? Would I give him leave to challenge the scoundrel to a contest in one of the manly arts, where he might expect to have the pleasure of bringing profound insult down upon both Mr. Pierce’s person and reputation?
For Myself Alone: A Jane Austen Inspired Novel Page 22
