by Carola Dunn
“What can I do for you, Cousin?” she asked coldly.
“Fairest Selena, my beloved cousin, I am come to appeal to you one more time. Your eyes have been opened to the falseness of the high nobility, the unthinking arrogance of the aristocracy towards those but a step lower in the social scale. Allow me to console you. Do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage. I shall protect you from the world and make your happiness my only care. Let us be wed, I beg you on bended knee!”
Sinking to the floor, he almost vanished behind the great oak desk.
“You have been practising,” said Selena as he reappeared, somewhat discomposed. “That speech was a vast improvement over your previous efforts. Do take a seat and stop hovering!” she added.
With a sulky expression he sat down on the hard chair by the desk.
“Well, will you?” he demanded.
“Will I what?” she asked absently. To her own surprise she was considering the advantages of being married to her cousin. In spite of his gypsy mother he was of respectable birth. He was a fool, and a weak one; whatever his expectations she knew she could rule him with ease. His tastes might be expensive but the farm was doing better every year, she was well beforehand with the world, and she would hold the purse strings. He was good-looking (if she managed to break him of his passion for red), titled, and Milford Manor would remain in Whitton hands. As a married lady, it would be easier in many ways to do business, and however much one despised such conventions it would be more comfortable to be a wife than an old maid.
She looked at him, at his eager face, and avid eyes of Whitton blue. Above all, she knew his motives. He would never cast her into confusion, drive her to distraction with jealousy or fury, because she did not care. Nor would he laugh with her, tease her, thrill her with a touch, but Hugh was gone, whistled down the wind, to be shut out of her mind and heart forever.
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
He stared at her, mouth open in a witless gape.
“Of course, my own!” he gabbled. “Though naturally impatient for a decision which will decide my fate, I shall await your decision with what patience I can muster. My fate is in your hands, the decision is yours, only the impatience is mine! Or the patience,” he added, confused. Seizing her hand he planted a kiss on her knuckles before she could withdraw it.
“Oh do go away, Aubrey!” said Selena.
Obediently he left, backing out of her presence as if she were royalty. Amused, exasperated, confirmed in her belief that the baronet would adapt with ease to life beneath the cat’s paw, Selena sat contemplating matrimony for a few moments, then went to see Peter.
She climbed the stairs slowly, feeling tired. Peter rushed into her arms as she entered the nursery, and held her tight.
“Mrs. Tooting telled Finny you’re not going to marry Uncle Hugh!” he gasped, anguish in his voice. “Why because, Aunt Sena? Why because won’t you?”
She picked him up and sat down, holding him on her lap. He looked up at her, blue eyes full of tears, lips trembling.
“I was mistaken, Peterkin. We shall not suit after all.”
“You’re not ‘staken! Course you’ll suit just right, like me and Leo. Please marry him, Aunt Sena?”
“I’m sorry, love.”
“Promise you won’t marry Uncle Aubrey, ‘stead of Uncle Hugh.”
“I can’t promise. I don’t know what I’m going to do. You ought to have a papa, especially when you are older.”
“But not Uncle Aubrey!” The child sounded desperate. “He’s a bad man. I wish my own mama and papa didn’t die!”
Selena hugged him. “So do I, sweetheart.”
Peter pulled away from her. “Is Mr. Hasty going home today?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, surprised. “I don’t believe he has left yet. Do you want to say goodbye to him?”
“Mayhaps. I want to get down now.”
She released him. He slipped to the floor and stood facing her, hands folded, face blotched with tears, expression resolute.
“Are you all right now?” she asked. “Remember, I have not yet made up my mind, and I’ll think about what you have said. Don’t worry about it, Peter. Everything will turn out all right.”
She stooped to kiss him and went back to the library, wishing she believed her own words. She tried to consider dispassionately the pros and cons of marriage to Aubrey, an unprofitable exercise soon interrupted by the entrance of her mother.
“Bannister told me Aubrey came out looking smug as the cat that got the cream,” she said. “What is he up to now?”
“Bannister has no business reporting to you! It is none of his concern.”
“Now Selena, you know very well that all the servants have your best interests at heart.”
“They are all excessively inquisitive. Aubrey is up to nothing new. He proposed to me again and I told him I would consider it.”
“You didn’t!”
“I did, and I am. The one thing that troubles me is that Peter does not like him, but he needs a father and he would soon grow accustomed.”
“The thing that troubles me,” said her mother, “is that you do not like him!”
“I care not a fig for that. It will make life easier, for I shall not feel obliged to take his wishes into account.”
“Selena! Pray do not talk in that calculating way! It is not at all like you, and besides being highly unbecoming it . . ." There was a knock at the door. “Bother! Who is it?”
“It is I, my lady.” Dimbury stepped into the room, bowing deferentially. He had one arm around Polly’s shoulders, and after one look at the maid’s tear-stained face, Lady Whitton sighed and resigned herself to the interruption.
“Yes, Dimbury? What is it?”
“I fear I may appear impertinent, my lady, but I must ask Miss Whitton whether she has accepted an offer of marriage from Sir Aubrey.”
“Impertinent you are!” snapped Selena. “I must suppose that you are not run mad but have a good reason for it. Sir Aubrey has offered; I have not yet made up my mind.”
With a wail, Polly turned and buried her face in the valet’s shoulder.
“There now,” he said, patting her hand. “I’ve a bit saved up after all these years and if my lady throws you out, as I don’t doubt she’s a right to do but I don’t believe she will, well, you come to me and I’ll see you all right. Understand? I never wanted a wife,” he explained, turning back to the astounded ladies, “but I always did fancy a daughter. I’ll be off now, my lady, if you’ll excuse me, for there’s a deal of packing still to be done. Mind you tell everything now, Polly, there’s a good girl.”
With another fatherly pat, he detached himself from the weeping maid and left.
Lady Whitton swept forward, put her arms around Polly, and led her to a chair.
“Sit down, my dear,” she said gently. “What is the matter?”
“It’s Sir Aubrey!” The words burst out, interspersed with racking sobs. “He tell me we’d get married and go to Jamaica and nobody wouldn't know or care I’m not a lady. He said we’d have a grand house and pretty clothes and go to parties and balls and all. He said he loved me, my lady, and now he’s after Miss Selena again and me in the family way!”
“You are with child?” asked Lady Whitton in a faint voice. “Oh dear, my poor girl!” She sat down rather suddenly.
Selena pulled herself together and came round the desk. “Are you quite sure?” she asked searchingly, “and sure it was Sir Aubrey?”
“I’m no lightskirt, miss, there weren’t no one else. He promised he’d marry me. I’m that sorry, miss, honest I am, to be such a trouble to her la’ship. Oh miss, what am I going to do?”
Selena sat down on a footstool and took one of Polly’s twisting hands. “Do you still want to marry Sir Aubrey, after this?”
“I dunno, miss. He’s ever so handsome, and there ain’t no one else’ll marry me now."
“We’ll see what we can do, then. You can rest assu
red I shall not marry him! All the same, I doubt he’ll come up to scratch.”
Lady Whitton concurred. “You need not fear we’ll abandon you, Polly,” she comforted. “You will not need to take advantage of Dimbury’s kind offer.”
“Mr. Dimbury’s been that good to me, my lady. He seen I was moped right off, and bin like a real father to me. You won't throw me out, my lady, and the baby? I’ll work ever so hard to earn its keep.”
“We’ll decide what’s to be done when we know what Sir Aubrey will do,” said Selena. “Do you want to be present when we talk to him?”
“Oh no, miss. I never want to see him again, lessn he’ll marry me. You’ll tell me right off, miss?”
“Of course, Polly. You run along now, and tell Bannister I wish to see Sir Aubrey in here.”
“Right, miss. Bless you, miss, and you too, my lady.”
Polly jumped up, bobbed a curtsey, and scurried out.
“Poor child!” murmured Lady Whitton.
Grim-faced, Selena arranged a second chair behind the desk and invited her mother to join her.
“Like a court of law,” she explained. “I hope it will make it more difficult for you to sympathise with the defendant.”
“In this case I cannot sympathise, or rather, only with Polly. If he will not marry her, he must go. I will not have a . . . a loose fish in the house.”
“Bravo, Mama! Stick to your guns, now, I hear him coming.” The baronet’s eager anticipation faded to puzzlement as he entered the library and found himself face to face with a pair of stern ladies.
“Did you not send for me, Cousin?” he asked plaintively, looking about for a chair with a helpless expression on his handsome features. Selena had taken care to move all the chairs to an uncomfortable distance from the desk, forcing him to stand.
“I did, Cousin. Or more precisely, my mother did.”
“Aunt?”
“We have just now spoken to Polly,” said Lady Whitton with an austerity foreign to her nature. “She is in great distress, and her story has greatly distressed us, also.”
“I didn’t do it!” cried Sir Aubrey at once.
“Do what, Cousin?”
“Seduce the wench,” he answered sulkily.
“Then how do you know that is what we are speaking of?”
“I suppose some other fellow has put a bun in her oven."
“Don’t be vulgar, Aubrey,” admonished Lady Whitton. “Polly has always been a good girl. You grossly deceived her with your promises of marriage.”
“She cannot have supposed that I meant it! I, a baronet, to wed a serving maid! It is unthinkable. She pretended to believe me in order to have a ready excuse for indulging her animal passions.”
"Aubrey!”
“I never realised how excessively vulgar you are,” said Selena wonderingly. “I always knew you for a fool, but this is beyond anything.”
“Selena, marry me! Nothing like this will ever happen again, I swear it. Give Polly her notice and we will forget she ever existed and live happily ever after.”
Selena was too astonished to answer.
“Indeed you won’t!” said her mother, standing up, her face pink with indignation. “You will marry Polly at once or you will leave this house for ever.”
“Dear Aunt, you cannot have considered the scandal. Whether I marry the creature or you bar me from the Manor, people will talk. The family name will be dragged through the mud.”
“I do not care that for scandalmongers,” said Lady Whitton, snapping her fingers under his nose and making him jump. “Do you marry Polly or do I call the servants to throw you out?”
“I’ll not wed a low-born slut.” Sir Aubrey was petulant but determined. “You need not throw me out, I’ll go. But you’ll call me back when Selena realises she’s on the shelf, I’ll wager."
“Go!” chorused the ladies.
“I’m going, I’m going. I’ll need some time to pack my things and order a carriage.”
“You have an hour,” said Lady Whitton inexorably as he backed out, this time as if he expected a knife in the back.
“If you are ever seen on my property after that,” added Selena, “I shall have you taken up as a vagrant."
“You’ll regret this!” muttered the baronet, and fled, not even pausing to close the door.
Pale and shaken, Lady Whitton sat down.
“I blame myself,” she said. “By my age I ought to be a better judge of character. Poor Polly! I must go and tell her.”
Bannister appeared in the open doorway, looking alarmed.
“My lady!” he exclaimed, “Sir Aubrey just came rushing out with a face like a thundercloud and told me to send to the Oak for a carriage. And here’s the chaise from the Crown just come for Mr. Hastings and him and Miss Delia playing least in sight. And Polly, what’s usually such a levelheaded lass, she’s in hysterics and Mrs. Tooting’s thrown another fit and Mr. Peabody’s sent to say he has to see Miss Selena this afternoon urgent and what shall I do, my lady?”
“Coming!” answered Lady Whitton and her daughter in unison.
Polly was soothed, Mrs. Tooting put to bed with a draught of vervain, Jem sent to the Royal Oak for a carriage, and Mr. Hastings found. While Mr. Hastings distributed his loose change in vails for the servants and said his farewells to the Whittons, Dimbury packed his luggage into the smart yellow chaise from Abingdon. As they set off, none too soon for the impatient postillion, they met in the drive the shabby gig from the Royal Oak, the only vehicle for hire in Kings Milford. The postillion turned up his nose, but Ted, the ostler’s boy, scarce returned from Iver, was too tired to do more than stick out his tongue in response.
“Young varmint,” said Jem, sitting beside him, from the lofty height of three years advantage in age. “You won’t never be a gentleman’s groom if you don’t behave proper.”
Bannister instructed Ted to wait, and went off. Jem suggested that he tie up the horse and come round to the kitchen for a drop of something to warm him.
“‘Tis a raw day,” he said, and Ted, agreeing, followed him.
Bannister sent one of the housemaids to inform the baronet that his carriage had arrived.
“Ooh sir, do I ‘ave to?” she wailed.
"You can't come to much trouble in half a minute, Doris, now can you?” he asked. “You come right back down straightaway. I’ve a nasty feeling, what with all the commotion, as all the servants is too busy to help the Bart with his bags.”
Not only the staff but the family was invisible when the baronet descended the stairs. He rang the bell in the hallway several times, with as little result as his chamber bell had produced. Scowling, he managed to bring down all his luggage in four trips. As he stowed the last portmanteau in the rear of the gig, young Ted appeared, rubbing his hands.
“Ready to go, guv?” he asked, examining with interest Sir Aubrey’s hot and flustered face. “Cold day, innit. ‘S a rug inna back ‘fyou wannit.”
“Devil take the rug,” growled the baronet as his driver swung up onto the box. “Let’s get moving!”
Its breath steaming, the bony piebald horse hauled him away from the silent Manor.
* * * *
The Whittons gathered in the dining room for luncheon.
“How cosy,” said Lady Whitton brightly. “Just family again.”
“I’m going to Bracketts this afternoon, Mama, if you do not need me,” announced Delia, helping herself to a large slice of cold chicken and some bread and butter.
“I believe I shall go to John Peabody’s, instead of waiting for him here,” said Selena. “I need to get out of the house.” She cut up an apple, took two bites, and pushed her plate away.
Their mother sighed. “It does seem quiet, does it not? I expect we shall soon become accustomed again. You may go, Delia, if you make sure to return by dark. And both of you dress warmly.”
“Yes, Mama.”
By the time Selena returned to the Manor it was raining, a cold, steady, drenching down
pour. She changed out of her wet riding habit, putting on a round dress of Thibet cloth in a muddy green colour she despised. She had had it for years and generally wore it for inspecting the cow byres and pigpens, but it looked the way she felt at the moment: drab.
She went to see Peter, suddenly realising that she had not told him of Sir Aubrey’s dismissal. How right he had been! Uncle Aubrey was a bad man and she and Hugh would suit perfectly. What did she care if he was going to marry her for Peter’s sake? That would have been part of her motive too, after all, quite apart from the fact that she loved him desperately. Only it was too late now. She opened the nursery door. Mrs. Finnegan, snoozing in her rocking chair, blinked owlishly at her. There was no sign of her nephew.
“Where is Peter, Nurse?”
“He went down to his granny a few minutes ago, dear. Oh my, but it’s nearly dark! I must of dropped off. Forty winks just don’t seem to be enough at my age.
“When did he go, Finny? What time?”
“Right after his lunch, it was. He says he sees a carridge in the drive and he’s got to say good-bye to Mr. Hasty. That’s what he calls Mr. Hastings.”
“But that was hours ago! He was not with us when Mr. Hastings left. What did he do after I talked to him this morning?"
“He were ever so quiet for a while, then he goes to his treasures,” she pointed at the carved and painted wooden chest in the corner, "and sorts out his favourites. He says he wants to play Dick Whittington and the cat and will I tie his stuff up in a bundle, which I does. Then Doris come up with lunch, saying all’s at sixes and sevens below, so when Peter’s ate, not that he did eat much, being downright fidgety, and he says he’s going to see his granny I says not on your life while they’re all in a fuss. Then a whiles later I catches him a-trying to sneak out with his bundle. He says kind of desperate like as he’s got to see Grandmama now, so I lets him go, first taking the bundle off of him, for Mrs. Tooting don’t like toys all over below stairs, as well you know, Miss Selena, having tried that trick on your own account a dunnamany years agone."
“He’s run away!” said Selena. “He asked me if Mr. Hastings was leaving today. I wonder if he thought he would take him to Iverbrook? But he cannot have hidden in the chaise—Mr. Hastings would surely have found him by now and brought him back.”
