by May Burnett
They stayed for over forty minutes, interrupting the schooling – but then this was a very special occasion. The Durwents and the younger Desboroughs arranged to meet again the next day, at teatime, after classes were over. William and Irmaline had been a great deal more eager to accept their new sister than Peter. Where was her older brother all this time? Still asleep? Not that anyone missed him.
Anthea and Cecily offered to show their visitors the gallery with its portraits of Cherry’s ancestors.
“By all means, I am very fond of old masters,” Cherry said, with a smile at Jonathan. “Is there a portrait of the sixth Earl, my grandfather?”
“Yes, with his wife and your mother as a baby, and the brother who died so suddenly. He was only eight when the family group was painted by Gainsborough, but you can already see how handsome he would be as a young man.”
“My uncle, he would have been,” Cherry said thoughtfully.
“Yes, but remember the match between Lady Mariah and our Father was only arranged because of his death,” Anthea said. “One might say that his demise was instrumental for your own existence.”
“When you look at it like that,” Charles Denham commented, “an almost infinite number of people and coincidences are responsible for the existence of every one of us.”
“I believe Lawrence Sterne wrote about that subject in Tristram Shandy,” Jonathan Durwent said. Anthea blinked. She had not expected a businessman to be well-read.
“I love that book,” Cherry said.
“It is very original, but I prefer his Sentimental Journey,” was Cecily’s verdict. Anthea wished she had read even one of these classics, instead of all those modern novels sent by the subscription library. She was feeling quite the dunce.
Before she could think of a way to change the subject, Charles Denham did so, with a smile at her. “You are undoubtedly the expert on your family portraits, Lady Anthea. I shall be hanging on your lips as you introduce your ancestors to the rest of us.”
He was actually looking at her lips. Anthea felt a blush creeping into her face.
Chapter 9
Be very careful what promises you make. No matter to whom and how high the cost, they must be kept.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823
Sir Christopher stopped dead, turning around to stare at Charles.
“You want to do what?”
They were walking amongst the marble statues and severely cut borders of the formal gardens. It was the first time Charles had been able to talk to his grandfather in complete privacy. Only a few hungry rooks were within hearing distance.
“I am planning to take orders, and devote my fortune to a good cause,” Charles repeated. “Is that really so shocking?”
Sir Christopher merely shook his head in mute dismay.
“On the return from St. Romain there was a storm – the kind that smashes ships like an iron fist from heaven. One mast was already down, and two men dead. We were within an inch of complete destruction,” Charles explained. “I was not exactly frightened, but pained at the prospect that this would be the end of all my hopes and plans for a future, a family, a long happy life.”
“Good Gad, Charles. I had no idea.”
“It was borne in on me that not only I, but the crew and passengers were all about to die. I hated the idea of ladies and children drowning even more than doing so myself.”
“Anyone would.” Sir Christopher stared at his grandson.
“So I made a vow, bargaining with the Lord, as stupid as it sounds. If we survived – not me personally, but the ship and all living creatures still breathing on it – I would dedicate my life to his service.”
“Oh.” The baronet turned to walk on, his brow furrowed. “Then you had no previous notion, or vocation, of entering the Church? It is only because of that vow?”
“Vows are binding, Grandfather.”
“Yes, but for all that, taking them is most often ill-advised. How exactly did you word your promise? Did you say I shall take orders?
“Not in so many words. But thinking it over afterwards, that seemed the closest interpretation. And it is not quite the first time I had considered the possibility. I briefly toyed with the notion in my youth, when I was fifteen or so, but at that time I decided that I was not good enough – virtuous enough – for a career that involves setting an example to others.” He smiled in memory of that serious, idealistic boy. “Of course, over the past years I have been able to gain a better perspective on the prevailing degree of virtue among laymen and clergymen respectively.”
“Have you?” Sir Christopher regarded him with fascination. “You realised that most of either group were hopelessly sinful, and you actually compared very favourably?”
“I would not put it like that.” Charles kicked a pebble out of the way. “Who except the Lord himself can truly judge what is in another man’s heart? I have merely realized that perfection is an unrealistic ideal. Just trying to be the best man – the best Christian – that I can be, has to be good enough, as long as I am sincere and humble about it, and never grow complacent.”
“But to throw your life away like that!”
“By what standard? If I had died at sea, as I came within a hair’s-breath of doing, would my life not be lost to rather less purpose? Are you telling me that all the precepts we are taught in the Bible, admonishing us to pile up treasure in heaven rather than here on earth, are not to be taken seriously?”
“Well, few people do.” Sir Christopher rubbed his jaw. On an elm branch above their heads, a rook cawed warning to its brethren.
“If you feel bound by your vow to be ordained, and become a parson, I will not try to dissuade you,” Sir Christopher said at length. “Even if it is the last thing I would have expected. In my opinion, government or diplomacy would offer greater scope for your intelligence and energy, but I suspect you will make an excellent vicar, and possibly bishop in due course.”
“Bishop? I am not that ambitious,” Charles protested. “I envisage a life of service and usefulness. The vicar of a large parish is closer to people, and can do more for them, than a bishop. I would not seek that sort of preferment.”
“But you do plan to remain in England? Not go to some godforsaken disease-ridden tropical hellhole, to try and convert the natives?”
“No.” Charles had very mixed feelings about the value of such missions, and he had seen quite enough of tropical countries for one lifetime. “We ought to perfect our own behaviour and societies at home, before we go out spreading the word to the heathens. A good example is worth more than the rather questionable methods some missionaries employ.”
“Well, that is something at least,” Sir Christopher said, exhaling. “Trying to perfect the moral character of our fellow Englishmen is more than enough to keep you busy for the rest of your life.”
“I shall concentrate on the small part of it with which I hope to be entrusted. It will be a few months before I can be ordained, and it takes a while to get preferment, so there will be ample time to learn and train before I am actually allowed to minister to a parish.” Due to his degree in the Classics, he already had much of the training – but there was still the theological background he lacked.
“You are not going to vow celibacy, I should hope?” Anxiety rang in Sir Christopher’s voice. “The one thing our Anglican Church gets right, as compared to those Papists, is that our clergy can marry. I have always expected to see you continuing our line with a healthy number of sons and daughters.”
“No, I am not planning to vow celibacy.” Charles’s lips twitched. “You need not worry. I still hope to have a family, and several children, if the Lord should grant it.”
“Good. If you really devote your life to good works, you need to have a stable and happy home to provide an anchor, and succour for the inevitable disappointments. The right choice of a helpmeet becomes even more important than otherwise.”
“I suppose so,” Charles said, rubbing his ea
r. The subject made him subtly uncomfortable.
“A modest young woman of common sense and strong convictions, who can assist you in your work as well as bear your children, would be best,” Sir Christopher continued to expand on this subject. “You are good-looking and rich; it should not be hard to find a suitable girl, preferably among the gentry. Or ideally a vicar’s daughter who already knows exactly how to go on, whose connections would speed your preferment.”
“It is not urgent,” Charles said. “And I don’t know any clergymen’s daughters.”
“Naturally not, since you have just come back from abroad, but that is remedied easily enough. Ask Lady Anthea to introduce you to the local vicar and his family. If he does not have daughters of marriageable age, or if they don’t catch your fancy, they will know others…”
“Let me worry about that,” Charles interrupted this spate of helpful advice. The picture of Lady Anthea, evoked by his grandfather, momentarily appeared before his eyes. Too bad she was not a vicar’s daughter, and free. “Maybe it would be best to arrange for the training and ordination first. That way my future wife, whoever she is, will know exactly what she is letting herself in for.”
“If you begin your new profession still single, all the spinsters in your first parish will be after you,” his grandfather warned.
“What, a humble curate? It will take some time to get a parish of my own.”
“They will know your net worth to the last penny by the time you have been amongst them for a week, as well as your family history. An eligible young man with good connections will be in constant demand.”
“It was rather like that in St. Romain,” Charles confessed. “As assistant to the Governor, and expected to make a career in colonial government, I was of some interest to the local planters’ daughters.”
“Then you know what I mean. How is it that none of them tied you down? Were there no pretty, sensible girls on your island?”
“It was not the right time for me to contemplate matrimony. And just as well, as likely none of them would approve of my current career plans.” Besides, for most of the time he’d had a mistress who kept him away from the young girls. The first and last time in his life he would have one – Charles would contain his frustration until he could marry, and would only inflict his lusts on his wife from then on. It would not be easy, for he had a naturally strong libido. The typical pious Englishwoman would refuse to indulge him as extensively as Amanda had done, or engage in some of the activities that had particularly pleased him. No matter; that was part of the price for the vow he had taken.
They passed another clump of elms. Unlike the more formal gardens at the front, behind the Hall the extensive park was modelled in the more modern English style, imitating a natural landscape. A rivulet tickled into a lake with a small artificial island. As they crossed the prettily carved wooden bridge Charles did not have to slow down for his grandfather, whose pace was as strong and quick as his own. At least one thing he could be thankful for.
“Your wife and family will need and expect financial security,” Sir Christopher said at length. “You have inherited an easy competence from your parents – enough to maintain the style of a gentleman, and afford your wife the comforts, as well as the elegancies of life. But all that could quickly change if you waste your substance on large-scale charitable works. Those are like a bottomless pit; a single large school or hospital would soon reduce you to genteel poverty, if you tried to do it all by yourself.”
Charles nodded, aware that the warning sprang from his grandfather’s genuine concern and lifelong experience in husbanding the Denham family fortune. “I will not plunge into anything without careful thought and investigation, because I certainly don’t want to be forced to abandon a plan half-finished. But by my lights, spending my money on charity is the very opposite of waste.”
“In that case, I foresee constant struggles between what is best for your family, and your charitable impulses. Your wife may not appreciate seeing you spend more on the poor than on her.”
“If she feels like that, I would have picked the wrong woman.”
Sir Christopher shook his head. “Now you are being absurd, Charles. Only a saint would not resent having her children’s inheritance diminished in favour of strangers, no matter how needy. And saints are scarce on the ground here in England.” He smiled. “Fortunately there is a solution. As the bulk of the family fortune is still mine, I shall establish a trust, so that the capital cannot be touched and is secured to your children. I may even specify that your wife is to receive half of the income directly.”
“Your fortune is yours to leave as you please,” Charles said, a little stiffly. He could not like the idea of being in effect passed over, the way women were often left inheritances, without direct control over the principal. “If you really want to settle half the income on my wife, pray do not mention it to anyone beforehand. I would not want mercenary considerations to sway any woman’s decision to accept me.” That half would amount to at least five thousand pounds annually, far more than many families led perfectly comfortable lives on. A vicar’s or curate’s wife with such a sum at her personal disposal would be better off than almost all her peers.
“I promise I won’t say a word, and after all you may yet change your mind.”
If Sir Christopher really believed that, he did not know Charles as well as he should. Once a decision was taken, he tended to move ahead with full energy, trampling all obstacles in his path.
“Don’t wait too long to pick your wife. You are twenty-six, an excellent age for matrimony. Still young enough to see your grandchildren one day, and yet sufficiently mature to have left the follies of youth behind.”
“What follies are those, Grandfather?” Charles had never been particularly prone to excesses, one reason why he had been entrusted with his position in St. Romain, despite his young age. The closest he had come was his liaison to Amanda, but nobody in England even knew of that past chapter in his life.
“I suppose you never committed any to speak of,” Sir Christopher conceded. “I was worried about that at times. It is only natural for a young man to sow wild oats.”
“Some men cannot stop once they have become accustomed to that lifestyle,” Charles pointed out. “It never appealed to me, to be honest.”
“Well, in that case, maybe you really were meant to become a parson. What an odd notion, to be sure – but whatever you do with your life, Charles, you know I shall always be proud of you.”
Chapter 10
A lovely bride is doubly welcome when she is also rich.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823
Anthea found her mother in the stillroom with Aunt Helen, funnelling drops of syrupy liquid into a small bottle.
“What is that? Who is it for?”
“Fennel and horehound mixed with honey, for Perkins’ father,” Lady Desborough said. “Your grandmother swore by it for stubborn coughs. The recipe is written in the blue-bound book, as you ought to know.”
Anthea nodded, a little guiltily. Perkins, their long-serving butler, was well over middle age; his father, living in one of their tenant cottages, was close to eighty. Her mother and aunt had often tried to teach her the preparation of home remedies, an old tradition in their family passed down from mother to daughter. Somehow Anthea had always found something else to do, until the Countess had given up trying to interest her. It was not that she did not want to heal people, but Anthea had a fear of mixing up ingredients and bottles, and inadvertently killing some unlucky patient. She preferred to leave the task to those who were more naturally meticulous.
“Is there something you wanted?” The Countess pressed the small cork into the bottle, and wrapped two layers of thick brown paper around the medication, to protect the glass from breaking.
“I have guessed why you took that ring and bracelet,” Anthea said, “it turns out they really belong to Cherry, I suppose? Did you too have to give up a part of your
jewels?”
Her mother exchanged a glance with Aunt Helen, and gave a tiny shrug. “Indeed. It is no great matter.”
“Maybe not,” Anthea said slowly, “but I could not help noticing that Silas and Lady Winstanton were not at all pleased about the news that my sister had been found. Can it be that her existence affects my dowry? I cannot imagine any other reason why it should matter to them.”
The Countess frowned. “Such financial details should be left to your father to settle with your fiancé. You should not be bothered about them at all.”
“But if they affect how much my future family values me,” Anthea objected, “I certainly need to know.”
Her aunt threw her a sympathetic glance. “Indeed, I do believe Anthea has a legitimate reason to be informed, especially in the light of Lord Winstanton’s peeved reaction. Not what one would hope for from a devoted lover, I must say; and that mother of his strikes me a rather mercenary woman.”
“Helen!” Lady Desborough said reproachfully. “These are not matters to discuss before the children!”
“As she is to be married so soon, Anthea is not a child any more, and cannot be treated as such.” Mrs Trevor was expressing her niece’s feelings exactly. “Lady Winstanton is to be her mother in law, and may not easily cede control. Would you send Anthea to that household in ignorance, Hester?”
After a long pause, the Countess conceded, “You may be right. But it should be her father who explains these tedious matters to Anthea, and Peter too, I suppose.” She took a deep breath. “I shall speak to him. Come to the library an hour from now, with Peter. Your father will know best what you need to be told.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Anthea threw her aunt a grateful look for her support. “I shall be there, and Peter too, if I can find him. He is hardly ever about.”
