I look away, but I can feel his eyes still resting upon me.
“How are you, Jo? You look well.”
“I am, thank you. You must have had a wet ride,” I say, noticing the condition of his greatcoat as he removes it.
“Yes.” An awkward silence sets in. “Well then… I suppose I mustn’t keep you standing here in the hall. Is your carriage coming for you? I did not see it without.”
“No, I came on foot.”
“I gather that the weather has been more obliging here; it does seem a fine day for a walk.”
“Indeed it is.” I feel as if I can bear his concentrated gaze no longer. “If will excuse me now…” I move toward the door.
“Please, one moment,” he says, stretching his hand out as if to touch my arm, and then withdrawing it self-consciously. “Can you tell me, is your brother Tom at home?”
“I believe so.”
“I wanted a word with him. Would you mind terribly if I escorted you back to Fairfield?”
“No, not at all.” It is more than mere politeness that makes me answer him so; a particular purpose has just popped into my head.
“Thank you. Let me just look in on Mother first, and then we can be off.”
As I wait for him, I plan my strategy. By way of an experiment, I think I shall see how Arthur takes the news that I am no longer a wealthy woman. He will find out about the business soon enough anyway, and to see his reaction for myself might be enlightening. If indeed he has any designs on me, which seems to be the developing consensus, I may well be able to observe his disappointment when I tell him.
We walk a little in silence before I bring the subject forward. “You have asked me nothing about the reason for our sudden trip to London, Arthur. Have you no curiosity why Tom was summoned to join us there?”
“I am sure it is none of my concern.”
“Nor is it a secret. My brother will tell you if I do not. No doubt he has already apprised you of certain facts about the unfortunate outcome of my brief engagement to Mr. Pierce – the threat of a lawsuit arising from my putting an end to it.”
“Yes,” Arthur says uncomfortably.
“Well, a few days ago I had a letter from his attorney confirming it. We went to London to finalize some arrangements prepared for that contingency. You see, I had already decided that rather than allow the courts to take my fortune, I would prefer give it away. So that is precisely what I have done. I have given most of it to Tom, and the rest to other worthy friends.” I watch for some sign that Arthur understands the import of the information, but his pensive expression reveals nothing remarkable. Receiving no reply, I prompt him further. “So the money is gone… all of it.”
After a moment, Arthur asks, “What do you intend that Tom should do with this generous windfall?”
“I intend that he should use it to pursue his ambitions in architecture.”
“Then the money is not gone to waste. I should say instead that you have invested it well, and I am very happy for your brother.”
In amazement, I confess, “This is hardly the reaction I expected from you, Arthur.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, Jo. What did you wish me to say? That I am shocked? Well, I am not. I know you never cared about the money, that it was in many ways a burden to you. It seems the most reasonable thing in the world that you should put your inheritance to better use than… ” He breaks off mid-sentence.
“Better use than what?”
“Never mind. It is not my place to say.”
“I have asked for your opinion, Arthur. I invite you to give it freely and honestly.”
“It is only that… well… most people would probably advise you to hang on to your fortune with all your might, in hopes that it would soon secure for you a brilliant marriage. Yet it has always struck me that, with money for bait, what a young lady is most likely to catch is a greedy husband. You understand that as well, or you would never have attempted to keep your inheritance from becoming common knowledge when you went to Bath. That is why what you have done does not surprise me in the least.”
“You presume to know me very well, Mr. Evensong.”
“I hope that I do.”
I consider what he has said as we walk on. “So, you think I was right to do as I have?” I ask after some minutes.
“It matters very little what I think, but yes, I do.”
Suddenly, I become conscious of someone on horseback approaching from behind. I glance round to find that it is Richard Pierce.
~~*~~
The sight of Richard gives me a momentary start, but nothing more. Although I half anticipate being overtaken by a resurgence of the powerful feelings he once inspired, to my relief, it never comes.
At the same time that I see Richard, he recognizes me. “Miss Walker! How fortunate,” he says, dismounting at once and coming to my side. “I was just now on my way to Fairfield.”
“Yes, we have been expecting you, Mr. Pierce,” I respond guardedly. “You remember Mr. Evensong.”
“Of course. How do you do?” he says with a scowl. Arthur acknowledges Mr. Pierce with a small bow, and Richard goes on. “Now that I am come, sir, perhaps I may relieve you. It would be my honor to escort the lady the rest of the way. We have personal business to discuss which does not concern you.”
Arthur gives not an inch of ground. “That is an honor I had hoped to reserve for myself, Mr. Pierce.”
“But surely, you will yield to the lady’s wishes,” Richard counters.
“Naturally. What is your command, Miss Walker? Shall I stay or go? I am completely at your service.”
Looking about myself, I discover that Arthur and Richard are not the only ones awaiting my answer. Our little gathering has drawn the notice of several passersby. Any stranger in town attracts a degree of interested speculation, but a gentleman overheard to be called Mr. Pierce – the known identity of my reportedly jilted lover – must arouse particular curiosity.
“We all have the same destination in mind,” I say with feigned cheerfulness. “Let us walk on together.” We do so, mostly in a tense silence, until we reach the grounds of Fairfield. Once safely away from prying eyes, I stop. “Arthur, would you mind…?” He takes my meaning and moves off a little to stand his watch at a discrete distance. With a measure of privacy established, I continue, “Mr. Pierce, there is no need for you to go any farther. I can tell you now that you have wasted your time in coming.”
“That cannot be true. Did you not receive my letter?”
“I did.”
“Then you know the measures I have undertaken on your behalf, how I am prepared to intervene with my father to protect you. You shall be spared the embarrassment of appearing in court, and your fortune will remain nearly intact. All this I have done for you. Surely you cannot fail to perceive it.”
What I perceive in that moment is that he presumes himself heroic for offering to rescue me from the peril into which he himself has placed me! I can hardly keep my indignation in check. “Do you desire my thanks for your trouble? Is that why you are here, sir?”
“I do not require your thanks, but I did expect you to be pleased. I hoped to learn that you think better of me now than you did before, that you take my efforts as clear evidence of my steadfast regard for you.”
“So you still profess to be in love with me, do you? To want me back? With my carefully preserved inheritance into the bargain, I suppose.”
“I would marry you tomorrow, Josephine, fortune or no fortune.”
“Fine words, Mr. Pierce. It is interesting that you should put your offer – and it was a renewed offer of marriage, was it not? – in those terms. For, as it happens, I no longer have any fortune. It is gone. I instructed my solicitor only a few days ago to dispose of it because of this tiresome lawsuit.”
He starts noticeably. “The money is gone?”
“Yes, all of it.”
“You must be joking. Only a fool would give up twenty thousand pounds to avoid payi
ng three!”
“Then I am such a fool for that is precisely what I have done,” I say without flinching. Richard stares at me askance for half a minute, as if taking my measure. “What is the matter, sir? Are you no longer in such a hurry to marry me?”
“I… I am astonished by what you tell me. What am I to make of this outlandish story? Can it be true, or is this another test of my constancy?”
“Where is the difference? If it is true, then, by your own declaration, I am a penniless fool. If it is not, then I have lied to you most cruelly. Either way, I suspect you will find it extremely inconvenient to marry me. In fact, I suggest that a hasty withdrawal of your proposal might be the wisest move, Mr. Pierce. I have some experience in these matters, and I would advise you not to lay yourself open to a nasty breach-of-promise suit by involving yourself any deeper.”
“Well… since you put it that way… I… I,” he stammers.
I see that he needs one more little push to assist him, to make his course clear, to warm him to action. “Go home, Richard. It is over,” I say with solemn finality.
This does the trick. His practiced mask of affability begins to crumble; his eyes narrow; his mouth tightens into a hard line; and, for the first time, I remark in his handsome countenance a decided resemblance to his father.
“Very well; I will not plague you any more,” he says. “I see you have quite made up your mind, and I refuse to demean myself by begging you to reconsider. It seems that I have been completely mistaken in your character, Miss Walker. You are far from the prudent, amiable woman I believed you to be. You may consider this interview, and any interest I had in our continued association, at an end. I bid you good day.” He bows stiffly and returns to his horse, muttering under his breath as he goes.
Arthur promptly steps forward. “Leaving so soon, Mr. Pierce? What a pity. Here, do allow me to give you a leg up.” He does so and receives a sharp glare for his trouble. Mr. Pierce then administers the crop to his mount and rides away with nary a backward glance.
My mind is composed, but outwardly I am trembling from the confrontation. Arthur immediately draws my hand through to rest on his steadying arm, securing it with his own. To my surprise, I do not recoil from his unexpected touch. Instead, I tell myself that there is no harm in accepting the support of a gentleman’s arm when it is needed, and that the small but unmistakable flutter of pleasure it excites is only a manifestation of gratitude for his kindness.
After strolling on in this manner for several minutes, he ventures, “Will you be seeing Mr. Pierce again?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“That’s the spirit, Jo.” He presses my arm and his deep voice quavers with intensity. “Though you may despise me all the more for saying it, you are well rid of the scoundrel. He was unworthy of you.”
I neither despise Arthur for saying so, nor do I feel the need to challenge his characterization of Mr. Pierce. Although I do think it strange that, of the two of us, I can view Richard with the most charity. I cannot hate him as an enemy for he no longer has the capacity to do me harm. I almost pity him his impotence. He never had the strength to stand up to his father, and now he has lost his ability to influence me. I begin to wonder that he ever could.
38
Aftermath
Tom loses no time making good on his plan to take the grand tour of the continent, his version of which will heavily feature the architectural wonders of each destination. Before setting sail from Ramsgate, however, he will for the last time accompany Arthur back to Oxford, in order to conclude his affairs there. After only two weeks at home, he takes his leave of us amidst a torrent of tears from Mama – proportional to the increased time and distance of the upcoming separation – and a flood of advice from Papa about the perils of travel, prudent money management, upholding the family honor, and so forth.
“I swear I will make you all proud,” he declares. “Jo, I owe you everything. How can I thank you enough?”
“This is all the thanks I require: learn what there is to know about architecture; write to your mother once a week – a proper letter, mind, not the few scant lines with which she usually has to make do – and when you return, be prepared to entertain us nightly with stories of your travels. Oh, and pity us not a little for remaining behind whilst you go adventuring.”
All this Tom faithfully promises to do.
Shortly after my brother departs, I receive a letter from Susan overflowing with gratitude and incredulity at the gift she received from me. Her continuing comments confirm the results I had hoped for:
“I have written to Mr. Ramsey, explaining our good fortune and who we have to thank for it. He agrees that our lovely new nest egg will allow us to marry far earlier than we could otherwise have expected. There will be no long delay in order to scrimp and save enough to set up housekeeping, thanks to you. As soon as ever George is called to the bar and secures a position, we intend to go ahead, with or without Mrs. Ramsey’s blessing.”
This response, from the last of the three beneficiaries, utterly validates my decision to divest myself. To know that I have put the money to good use, that I have helped my friends in a tangible way… What could be better?
Others are less well pleased than Susan. A correspondence containing copious quantities of vinegar, tempered with not so much as a trace of sugar, arrives from Mr. Randolph Pierce. Considering the size of his perceived loss, his outrage at my action is completely predictable and nearly as rewarding to me as the reactions of those who gained by it. However, the final satisfaction springs from Mr. Gerber’s advice that the lawsuit against me has been officially vacated. The end to the whole unfortunate affair with Richard seems at last within sight.
Only one more chore remains before I can put it behind me completely. With the need for secrecy over, it is time to announce the change in my situation to the world, or at least to the good citizens of Wallerton. After much consideration of how best to do it, I decide to call on Mrs. Oddbody, to make her a present of the information that I have broken off my engagement.
“You don’t say?” she exclaims, feigning surprise at the news. “Why, Miss Walker, I never had the least idea that there was any trouble of the kind. Certainly there have been rumors, but I assure you I am not one to listen to the tittle-tattle of every servant and tradesperson I meet with.
“It is a pity things have turned out so badly for you, my dear. Still you mustn’t sink into despair; you will only lose your bloom if you do. This unfortunate affair will blow over eventually, without so very much harm done to your reputation, I trust. Nowadays the scandal of a broken engagement is not considered completely fatal to a girl’s chances, not so much as it once was in any case. I daresay, given enough time, another gentleman will come along to claim you. Was there not a curate from Surrey who liked you before? Perhaps you should encourage him to renew his addresses. Or you might look to an older man to secure your future; they are often far less particular, especially where there is fortune to sweeten the pot.”
At this point, I impart the short, sanitized version of the disposal of my inheritance and the reason for it. I believe the old lady’s surprise is now genuine. At all events, it is done. With the pertinent facts imparted to Mrs. Oddbody, I am confident she will spare me the trouble of explaining the state of affairs to everyone else in the surrounding community.
~~*~~
Although I am aware of a renewed hum about Wallerton, I am by now accustomed to ignoring the sound. If I have brought shame upon my family name, I am sorry for it. Otherwise, the idle talk of my neighbors will not much distress me. I am already assured of the loyalty of those persons whose opinions I value most. As for the rest? Well, let them be careful of casting stones lest their own behavior be found less than perfect when subjected to close scrutiny.
My original wish – that other sensational events would occur to distract attention from my situation – is nearly granted. Recent proceedings at the Pittman household have run a strong competition
with those of my own. First, there was the news that a portion of Mr. Pittman’s wealth had been recovered through the efforts of Mr. Gerber’s associate in the law, Mr. Cobb. And Agnes, nearly simultaneously, put out the information that the much-touted understanding between herself and Arthur Evensong was at an end. Now, after only a minimal delay, she has announced her engagement to Mr. Cox.
The nuptials are to take place next month in London, so thither go Agnes and her mother, to meet the groom’s family and purchase the wedding clothes. When they return, I receive a most animated report from Agnes.
“My dearest friend, I was never so happy in all my life! I flatter myself that I was quite a success in London society. That is where I truly belong, Jo. I only wish you had been there to witness my triumph. And nothing could be more gratifying than Mrs. Cox’s way of treating me. You know how I dreaded the thought of seeing her. But the very moment I was introduced, there was such an affability in her behavior as really should seem to say, she had quite taken a fancy to me. Now I know whence Phillip takes his good looks; I would have recognized Mrs. Cox for his mother anywhere.”
She goes on to praise, with equal enthusiasm, the beauty of Mr. Cox’s sister Lucille, the style of his house in Berkeley Square, the fashionable wares to be found in the shops on Bond Street, and the grandeur of the church where the wedding will take place. “It reminds me very much of the Abbey in Bath, although by no means with so many fine stained-glass windows…”
As I listen to these effusions, everything I hear seems to confirm what Mrs. Evensong suggested before. Agnes is vastly contented, with no thought of Arthur to spoil her pleasure. But if she will not remember his sin against her, it seems somehow the more important that I should, as if I must dutifully carry on the task in her place. Although the idea sounds unreasonable, even to me, it explains the way I feel and why I am bound to continue suffering over the incident when, by all indications, Agnes has long since forgotten it.
The whole tangle is never far from my mind. I am dissatisfied with all of us: with Arthur for obvious reasons; with Agnes for accepting Mr. Cox; with myself for not being able to get past it; and with poor Mrs. Evensong for stirring up importunate questions in my mind.
For Myself Alone: A Jane Austen Inspired Novel Page 24
