‘So you see the stars as tools, Mr Staveley? I daresay you must have to. But for those of us of a more romantic disposition the stars are much more magical than mere tools can be. The way in which they glisten and wink – like tiny jewels in a velvet sky – and the depth of them – look - they go on for eternity. I find them quite breathtaking.’
Mr Staveley stopped and looked up at them for a moment.
‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘I have to agree. There is no m...more b...beautiful a sight, whilst at sea, than a sparkling sky on a frosty night. And then, the night skies in the Carib...Caribbean – they have an almost inky texture. The stars there, though b...bright, seem – well, al...almost soft by co...comparison. But to me it is that which m...makes them so magical. Utility and b...beauty all in one. What more could anyone ask for?’
‘I should like to have the opportunity of visiting foreign lands,’ said Maggie, pensively, ‘to see the similarities and the differences between them at first hand. I should like, one day, to make a start with Jersey or Guernsey. After all, the packet boats go straight there from Weymouth quay. I might even manage a trip there on my own.’
‘You would b...be wise to choose a calm day, then, M...Miss Owens. I should hate to think of you getting seasick. I think I have m...mentioned b...before just how horrible that can make one feel. I have visited the Islands most infrequently. I should like to see them again some time. P...perhaps, if I have to wait a while for m...my commission, you will allow m...me to escort you there?’
Their promenade had led them beyond the Royal Hotel and they now stood together, Maggie still clasping Mr Staveley’s arm, listening to the peaceful waves as they quietly lapped to the beach. Just for the moment there was no-one else around – not a horseman, not a carriage, nor anyone else on foot – only the faint sound of raucous laughter emanating from the public bar at the front of the Royal Hotel to emphasise the silence of where they were standing. Maggie could feel a wave of happiness and contentment pass over her as she stood there, the gentle breeze fluttering her silk gown a little, taking in the darkness of the water and the twinkling stars way above it. She breathed in deeply. She felt, at that moment, that there was nowhere else on earth that she would rather be than here - standing on the Esplanade with Freddy, feeling the closeness of his strong body as she held his arm, looking together, silently, far out to sea.
Without quite realising it they had selected a resting place not twenty yards away from Mr Brewer’s property on the opposite side of the road and just as they turned to amble back home they heard the sound of a door opening, revealing the bright light of that gentleman’s hallway behind. Their eyes unwittingly drawn towards the light, they both had a view of Miss Brewer, looking more beautiful and more dainty than ever in an obviously most expensive evening gown, and of the back of Mr Augustus Rowley-Jones, who was just then engaged in bowing extremely low and lingeringly over her elegantly outstretched hand.
Maggie shot an anxious glance at her companion, who had determinedly dragged his gaze away and was attempting to cast her a reassuring smile, though she could see that the smile was somewhat insincere.
‘I think I have suggested b...before that we have b...both been destined to love unwisely, Miss Owens,’ he sighed, regretfully. ‘I do wonder at m...myself – m...milking the pigeon - thinking for one mo...moment that a lady as lovely as M...Miss B...Brewer would look kindly on a blundering beetle-head like m...me. How could I even imagine that she....’
Maggie could feel his agitation. It seemed to infect her as well.
‘Well, in my mind the lady is much more a fool than ever you will be, Mr Staveley,’ she broke in, stoutly. ‘To prefer gloss and swagger to honest love and a true heart – well – I know you will not like me saying this, Mr Staveley, but, really and truly, she is not worthy by half of you. She is not worth thinking of at all.’
Maggie was not quite sure how she had allowed herself to speak in so direct a manner, and as soon as she had said it she was worried that she had said far too much. She glanced at him, a little nervously.
‘You are too kind, M...Miss Owens. I know you mean well b...but I think you may be m...mistaken ab...about M...Miss B...Brewer’s character. I am sure that she cannot be quite as – quite as shallow as you make her out to b...be. She can b...be most thoughtful at times.’
Maggie thought it best not to argue the point, so she simply inclined her head a little and looked out once more into the darkness of the sea. She would like to have reassured Mr Staveley that her own heart, at any rate, was quite secure from the charms of Mr Wright – that his gentle warning to her had been welcomed and heeded – but she felt that the moment was not quite right – that the moment was all about Mr Staveley and his own disappointments and not about her at all – so she resisted the temptation and focused on his needs instead of on her own.
‘Well, I hope things turn out well for you – you deserve a piece of luck, Mr Staveley,’ she said, realising, regretfully, that they were approaching Grosvenor Place once more. ‘And that your journey to London goes without too much unpleasantness in the morning. But thank you so much for a splendid evening out. I have not enjoyed myself so much for a lifetime. I shall remember it with pleasure for a very long time to come.’
She smiled into his eyes as she said this and allowed him to open the front door for her. She had realised that she was just as reluctant as he was to see him go away.
‘I’m so glad you enjoyed it. I have very m...much enjoyed it all m...myself.’
Chapter 26
‘Well, you have to hand it to Miss Brewer – she is certainly a determined young lady and always gets what she sets her sights on in the end.’
Mr Berkeley had just informed his wife that her observations at the assembly had been quite correct, as usual, and that Mr Rowley-Jones had finally submitted to the inevitable and acquired Miss Brewer’s gracious promise to become his affianced wife. Andrew had relieved Annie, her maid, for the rest of the evening and was busily engaged in brushing out Kathryn’s hair.
His wife eyed him ruefully in the mirror.
‘I know she does. I’m only relieved that she set her sights on broader horizons than you, when you were foolish enough to get yourself entrapped by her fascinating little ways.’
‘I wouldn’t call Mr Rowley-Jones broader than myself, Kathy. If anything he’s a little more athletically built than I am. But in terms of income – and what she might plan to do with it – I would have to agree that he’d have run rings around me at the time. And thank goodness he could. I shudder even now at the thought of how close I got to losing you. Thank God I invested when I did – before she got access to the money. I wish Mr Rowley-Jones joy. I somehow doubt she’ll prove a tractable young wife.’
Kathryn silently agreed.
‘But what of poor Mr Staveley?’ she asked him. ‘Whatever will he do when he finds out that she has simply been leading him a dance?’
‘I doubt he’ll be delighted, that’s for sure – although maybe he’ll realise the error of his ways at some time – as I myself quickly came to do. I must say that I thought the whole thing a little odd. Sophie Brewer is a sharp young thing. Even with his inheritance Mr Staveley cannot be worth more than a couple or three hundred a year and she could surely not rely on prize money to bring it up to what she would see as a reasonable competence. I did wonder for a moment whether perhaps she was truly attracted to him, though I thought it most unlikely. He’s not exactly – well, suave and sophisticated, is he?’
‘Not like you, you mean, Andrew?’ smiling. ‘No, he is not – although I personally consider him to be much the better deal of the two. I always think there is something of you about him. Not in looks or anything (despite you both being quite generous in build) – just – well, I don’t know. He just seems very kind and caring, that’s all.’
Maggie, learning the same news from an overheard conversation between Mr and Mrs Wright the next morning, received it with feelings which very much coincided w
ith those of the Berkeleys. She, too, felt a good deal of sympathy for Mr Staveley. After all, he was a kind young man. He had suffered some injustice already in his life. He had obviously felt a good deal of affection for Miss Brewer, whether she was deserving of it or not, and, as far as Maggie knew, she had certainly given him no consistent indication that his attentions to her were unwelcome. He had left for Town reluctantly but from a strong sense of duty. And while he was away the object of his regard had shown her hand at last and achieved the outcome which Maggie, remembering their overheard conversation in the Berkeleys’ shrubbery that time, now suspected had been a long time in gestation. Poor Mr Staveley. Maggie didn’t like to think how he would receive the news. She certainly didn’t want to think of him hearing the news from Mr or Mrs Wright, without any warning beforehand. Of course, it was always possible that he might see an announcement in a newspaper somewhere – or that perhaps Captain Wright might learn of it in a letter from his wife, and happen to mention it to him. But there was no guarantee of either of these things occurring. And in the meantime, there he was in London, trying to secure a ship, whilst wishing all the time that he might be here in Weymouth, with the fascinating object of his admiration nestled closely by his side. Maggie frowned as she mounted the stairs to the schoolroom. Perhaps Mrs Staveley might be in correspondence with her son? Maggie wasn’t sure. Nor was she sure exactly how much the old lady had known of Freddy’s attachment – but she was his mother, after all, and mothers often have a second sense for that sort of thing. Perhaps when she next visited her she might just drop her a hint about it. For Mr Staveley would most certainly need to be informed.
So Maggie received the news with a good deal of sympathy for Mr Staveley, a sympathy which she felt was genuine, and deep. But she also received the news with some different feelings which related much more directly to herself. For while she felt sorry for him and wished that he might not feel too hurt she also discovered that she had received the news of Miss Brewer’s engagement with what felt suspiciously like – well, joy. This joy, she found, stemmed from two rather different sensations. The first – of purely altruistic origins – reflected the reactions of Mr and Mrs Berkeley. Just as Mr and Mrs Berkeley had done, she could only consider that the young gentleman had actually had a lucky escape through Miss Brewer’s defection to Mr Rowley-Jones. She felt that, although he may not recognise it for quite some time, Mr Staveley had nevertheless been provided with a most fortuitous deliverance from a potentially disastrous marriage - a marriage which could only have resulted in disappointment on both sides and, probably, a lifetime of debt and despair. The second sensation, though, was somewhat different. The second sensation was much more personal, much more intriguing and much more exciting than anything else - a novel thought which she was more than a little astonished to discover lurking secretly in her mind. For Maggie suddenly recognised that the feeling of joy that was just then coursing through her veins stemmed from a totally unexpected realisation. It was the realisation that, now that Miss Brewer was entirely out of his reach, he should finally have to accept what his common sense had been telling him all along and abandon his romantic dreams of making her his bride - that in time an affectionate gentleman like Mr Staveley must most certainly grow to love again – and the realisation that it was she, Maggie, who was ideally placed to reciprocate that love.
Chapter 27
As it turned out, Maggie was prevented from immediately visiting Mrs Staveley as she had planned to do. She herself was fully engaged over the next two evenings, and on the third evening it so happened that it was Mrs Staveley who was engaged, as Mr Robertson, her curate friend, had previously promised to see her whilst he himself was in town. On the first evening Maggie had agreed to entertain some acquaintance of Mrs William on the pianoforte – Mrs William having determined that she might capitalise on the excellence of her execution without any actual exertion or expense of her own, and Maggie being more than happy just to indulge in one of her favourite activities – and, particularly, one of the activities which she had so enjoyed sharing with Freddy – in return. She thought about him as she ran through their much-loved pieces, and smiled rather unbelievingly to herself. How strange life could be at times. What odd and totally unexpected largesse it could throw at people – largesse that came whenever and however they were least prepared for it. How little people actually knew about themselves, be they ever so wise. For her – Maggie Owens – to fall for Mr Staveley. The gauche, bear-like Frederick Staveley. The thoughtful, sympathetic, loving, lovable, adorable Mr Staveley. She shook her head and laughed wryly at herself and executed her piece with a great deal of gusto. He had become so important to her – so important to her happiness – totally without her noticing it. And yet, surely that was so like him - it was just like him to catch one unawares like that. He was modest, unassuming, unremarkable in many ways and yet – yet, there was such a spark to him, such a depth of humanity and sensitive understanding. How could he not have become important to her? She really didn’t know.
On the second evening she had agreed to assist her friend Mrs Robinson, the housekeeper, in sifting through a surprisingly large number of letters of application for a housemaid’s vacant position. Servants in Mrs William’s household, for some reason, did not appear to stay for very long. And although it prevented her from visiting Mrs Staveley, in many ways Maggie was grateful for the diversion. She had been feeling very restless. Now that he had secured his place within it she was finding that she could not get Freddy out of her mind.
So it was several days after Mr Staveley’s departure before Maggie finally found an opportunity to visit his elderly mama and by the time she did so, as well as suggesting that she might wish to notify her son of Miss Brewer’s engagement, Maggie had discovered a further reason for seeking an interview with her. Primed by what Freddy had told her about the state of his mother’s finances she had made it her business to watch and listen out for any activities, any incidents in relation to his mama which could reasonably be thought to be odd. And in so doing she had realised that Mrs William appeared to have taken responsibility for so much of the management of Mrs Staveley’s day to day existence – from the food she was taken for breakfast and dinner - she normally ate these in her room except for when there were guests - to whether and when she should bathe – that the poor woman appeared to have absolutely no more say in the running of her own life than a two-year old child might have done. More than this, from the remnants of meals left for collection on Mrs Staveley’s little table Maggie could clearly see that the range, amount and quality of the food provided for the old lady upstairs was far inferior to that enjoyed by the rest of the family down below.
So although it was several days before Maggie could call on Mrs Staveley, once she had done so at least it appeared that the visit should bear some fruit. Mrs Staveley was more than receptive to Maggie’s blushing suggestion that her next letter to Freddy could usefully contain a hint about the new status that Miss Brewer had recently acquired for herself. Yes, she did write to her son from time to time – she had been an avid writer in her better days, though she was finding it singularly difficult now - and yes, he may well be interested in the news. She should certainly tell him about it the very next time she wrote.
‘And does Mr Staveley respond to your letters, ma’am? I have not heard you mention it before.’
Maggie was savouring the opportunity to talk about him – to speak his name out loud to his mama. It felt oddly exciting.
Mrs Staveley gave Maggie a sweet little smile.
‘No, my dear,’ she sighed. ‘I receive no replies. He always used to be a dutiful correspondent – not that he had much to say – he is a gentleman, after all, and gentlemen do not generally enjoy writing letters as we ladies do – and his handwriting is not so easy to decipher – but he would always send something in response. I should like to have heard from him. I should like to know how things are coming along.’
Maggie found herself thinki
ng that all this sounded odd. Mrs Staveley could be a little forgetful, that was true, but it seemed singularly unlikely that she should forget the existence of something like a letter that would obviously mean such a lot to her. She had come to know Mr Staveley quite well in recent weeks. Nay - she had come to know him very well indeed. She blushed at her thoughts. He was a kind and considerate young man. He was obviously most attached to his mama. In spite of what she had just told her, Maggie could not imagine him omitting to reply to every one of the letters she had sent to him.
‘Well, perhaps I should look out for one,’ she said. ‘I feel persuaded that Mr Staveley will certainly write back. If I see that there is a letter directed to you I shall pick it up and bring it here for you in an instant.’
Mrs Staveley cast her a grateful look.
‘I should be so pleased if you would, Miss.... err – my dear,’ she said. ‘I do wonder, you know, whether perhaps my nephew and niece take a little too much upon themselves at times.’
‘So you suspect that they are keeping your letters from you, Mrs Staveley?’
The old lady leant forward from the comfort of the armchair that Freddy had acquired for her.
‘They are keeping everything away from me, you know, my dear,’ she whispered, confidentially. ‘They are taking my whole life away bit by bit and bleeding me quite dry. They are taking every decision from me. Every little choice I had – whether I go out or stay in, whether I eat downstairs or in my room – every little choice I had is now no longer available to me. I even have no say in what I do with my money any more. I have no life left to me. My nephew and niece have taken over it all.’
Chapter 28
Maggie normally had very little to do with her employers – and, in particular, with the slightly more feminine of the two. For one, she was kept well occupied for the bulk of the day during the week and, apart from Mr Wright’s one disastrous foray into the schoolroom, neither he nor his wife took any interest at all in the education of their first-borns. For another, they tended to entertain, and be entertained, a good deal of an evening – which, from their particular points of view, was probably just as well, as, having so little in common with one another otherwise, their evenings should probably have proved to be particularly silent affairs. Saturday afternoons, apart from the usual duties – escorting one or other of the children to some external activity or preparing the schoolroom for the following week’s lessons – were generally spent on personal tasks – washing and mending her linen, washing her hair, cleaning her room – whilst after church on Sundays she was generally able to practice on the pianoforte in the music room, safe in the knowledge that everyone else was gone out.
An Indelicate Situation (The Weymouth Trilogy) Page 14
