Journeys

by Murray, Tamela Hancock

  His butler greeted him at the door. “Gilbert Meara, Esquire, is waiting for you in the drawing room, sir.” He handed him Gilbert’s card.

  “Gilbert! What is he doing here?” Stratford returned his attention to the butler. “Did you make sure he had refreshment?”

  “I was aware that Mr. Meara was no stranger to you, so I offered hospitality. I instructed Cook to prepare a light lunch and tea, sir.”

  “Very good. Bring us more tea, if you will.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stratford didn’t delay in going to see his friend. “Gilbert! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  “Clearly I have taken you by surprise.” As they exchanged a hearty handshake and pats on the back, Gilbert quipped, “Might I ask you how you could have forgotten all about me?”

  “Forgotten you?”

  “Yes. I told you I would take you up on your offer for a stay here once I had a break in my legal caseload. I went to a lot of trouble to clear my schedule this month, but I did just that, as I promised.”

  “Yes, I do remember now. And I am glad you decided to make the trip.” Since he felt like a fool for forgetting he had extended the invitation, Stratford hoped his hearty welcome made up for his lack of attention to such details.

  “Hmm. You would have remembered in the old days. I suppose something—or someone—has caused you to become forgetful?”

  Stratford chuckled. “You know me too well. I was at church, and then I dined at the Syms estate.”

  “The Syms estate. I never heard you mention an eligible lady residing there since Lavonia Penn visited some time ago.”

  “Must an eligible lady be present for me to dine at someone else’s house?”

  “I suppose not, but I cannot think of a better reason, can you?”

  Stratford chuckled.

  Gilbert continued, “Perhaps she—whoever she is—will make up for the dull morning you no doubt spent in church.”

  “I spent the morning in church, yes, but I would not call worship dull.”

  “To each his own,” Gilbert answered. “Perhaps I should have been occupying a pew myself. But you know me and religion; the two of us have never gotten on.”

  Stratford refrained from shaking his head. Gilbert and he had been friends since childhood. Though as boys they had been acolytes together, leading the processional for worship each Sunday, Gilbert had always found church boring. As an adult, he became a devotee of the reason and rationality behind Enlightenment ideas and then abandoned any pretext of being a Christian. Stratford would not have chosen Gilbert as a friend had they met as adults, yet Gilbert remained a decent man, and Stratford kept him in his prayers, that he would be protected by God and would return to His church.

  Rather than sharing this information and risking Gilbert’s embarrassment, Stratford chose a quip more suited to Gilbert’s liking. “Still the heathen after all this time?”

  “I have not wavered yet, but during my visit I know you will do your best to make me love faith over reason. So I will not be staying long.”

  “If you are that fearful of being present in my house, then you must be wavering at least a little.”

  “Well, there is this woman I met. She insists that I should go to church.”

  “Then there may be hope for you yet.” Stratford kept his voice teasing. “So tell me about her.”

  They caught up on each other’s lives through the afternoon, conversing as though only days rather than months had passed since their last visit. As they lingered over a treat of white cake topped with an icing of a stewed fruit mixture, Stratford told him about Dorothea.

  “She sounds quite lovely in all respects,” Gilbert said. “Do you think you might convince her to become your wife?”

  “I admit the idea has crossed my mind, but I have not made a definite move yet.”

  “Why not?”

  Stratford debated as to whether or not he should reveal the whole story to his friend. He decided that sharing the details with Gilbert might offer him a new perspective, one from someone who could offer the objective opinion and understanding of a friend.

  Gilbert contemplated Stratford’s reasoning and situation. “I can see your viewpoint and why you decided to keep your benevolence a secret from her. But I think the time to tell all is drawing near. If, after all this time, her opinion of you changes, then you can take it as a sign from your God that she is not the person for you. And you can content yourself with the knowledge that you helped another Christian rise above a dire situation that was created through no fault or crime of her own.”

  Stratford set his empty dessert plate on the table beside the wing chair. “Thank you. Your opinion has set my mind at ease. I shall now look for the right time to tell her. I know not when that time will be, but I sense I will feel led when it arrives.”

  A servant entered and added a large log to the fire. The two men watched him. Stratford could see from Gilbert’s expression that he was immersed in thought. He had some thinking of his own to do.

  As the servant finished his task, Stratford ventured onto a new topic. “You said you wanted to commission a portrait at some point.”

  “I did, but I never took action beyond talking about it. I thought a nice portrait might decorate the front room of my office well or offer a fine addition to my own drawing room.”

  “Why delay? You are as handsome now as you ever will be.”

  “I see you are not above using flattery to convince me. So who is this fine man you want me to patronize? A vicar in need of a few extra crowns to feed a brood of orphaned children?”

  Stratford chuckled. “Not exactly. But this artist is quite good. Would you like to see proof?”

  “Why not?”

  Stratford stood. “Then tag along with me.”

  Gilbert followed Stratford into the library, where his barely dry portrait hung over the fireplace mantel.

  “Forgive the chill, Gilbert. I had not planned on spending any time in this room today.”

  “That is quite all right.”

  Stratford didn’t have to point out the picture’s location to his friend. The portrait loomed large in the room. He noticed that Gilbert’s eyes caught a glimpse of the painting immediately.

  Gilbert whistled. “That is certainly a fine piece of artwork. The detail is such that I can read the letter B on your signet ring with no trouble at all.”

  “You are not the first one to notice the fine attention to detail. It is one aspect that distinguishes passable artwork from the superb, would you not agree?”

  “Indeed. But why relegate such a fine likeness to obscurity here? Why not place it in the drawing room where everyone will see it?”

  “I will one day. But I am loath to replace my mother’s portrait that hangs over the mantel there now, God rest her soul.”

  Gilbert nodded. “I understand that sentiment completely.”

  Stratford watched his friend study the painting. “Some like to say that picture flatters me.”

  Gilbert looked at Stratford, then back at the portrait, then back again. “I would say it looks just like you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Gilbert continued to study the image, rubbing his clean-shaven chin with his fingers. “If I did not know better, I would also say the artist has developed quite a fondness for you.”

  Stratford startled. “Indeed? Why?”

  “The picture has a spark that shows a unique partiality to its subject. Can you not see it?”

  “I–I had not thought about it. I just know I do like the picture very much.”

  “So you should. Too bad your artist is a man.”

  Stratford laughed and welcomed the opportunity to deflect the conversation from himself. “A man of your wit should know better than to make such broad assumptions. In fact, the artist is a lady.”

  “A lady?” He studied the portrait again. “My, but she is quite good. I did not think a woman would have access to the type of training required
to learn how to paint in such a fine manner.”

  “She attended a finishing school suitable for her station.” Stratford regarded the painting himself. “And I do believe she possesses a degree of natural talent.”

  “True. Any determined student can learn proper strokes, but genius is needed to bring out the passion that exists in a picture such as this one. So who is our talented member of the fairer sex?”

  “Lady Dorothea Witherspoon.”

  “The lady you have been telling me about all this time? I might have known.” One of Gilbert’s eyebrows raised itself above the other. “So why not marry her instead of encouraging others to sit for her? You can trust me, but not every man will put aside the opportunity to charm the lady. Or is that why you asked me to sit for her? Because you know I would never pursue the object of your affections?”

  “Obviously I do not possess the sly wit that you do, Gilbert, because the issue of trust never entered my mind. I can trust Dorothea.”

  “So you say, but what of the men?”

  “If another man woos her away, then I will know that she was not fit to be my wife, and I would consider such a discovery now rather than later a favor from the Lord. In the meantime, I will have you to know that she possesses an admirably independent spirit and is taking portrait commissions in an effort to regain financial stability.” Stratford hastened to add, “She has paid mighty consequences for her father’s sins. I will not reveal the details, but she has sacrificed greatly to pay off his debts. Debts she did not incur herself.”

  “And you want your friends to buy this lady’s work in order to help recover her fortune.”

  “Something like that. But she is truly talented, as you can plainly see. If that were not so, I would not ask you to commission a portrait with her,” Stratford assured him. “She even told me she has sold everything she has ever painted. The only pictures she kept for herself are likenesses of her departed parents, God rest their souls.”

  “I can see why people clamor for her work.” Gilbert nodded. “Judging from this image, and the fact that you recommend her so highly, I have decided I will gladly contribute to the increase of her fortune in return for a fine portrait of myself. Not that I think the picture she renders of me will bespeak as much passion.”

  The butler chose that moment to interrupt to present a missive. Stratford excused himself long enough to read its contents. “Ah, we have an invitation for Tuesday evening.”

  “We do? I had no idea anyone would know I was visiting the country.”

  “I admit we do not have an invitation, but I do. And since you are my guest here in my home, that means we do.”

  “But I cannot impose.”

  “Of course you can. For you see, it is for dinner at the home where Dorothea is staying. I know the host well. They will not mind at all if I write to them and ask to include you.”

  “Considering how you rave over the cuisine you enjoy at the Syms estate, I would be most grateful. And I do look forward to meeting Lady Witherspoon.”

  ❧

  On Tuesday evening, true to his word, after gaining permission from Luke, Stratford took Gilbert along with him to dine at Helen’s. What he hadn’t been expecting were more guests. And when he spotted Lunenburg among them, anticipation turned to disappointment.

  “Well,” Lunenburg addressed Gilbert a tad too loudly, “I see we have someone new here. My, but the country is attracting all sorts of new people lately. I do not believe I have had the pleasure, Lord. . . ?”

  “Gilbert Meara, Esquire,” he answered.

  As formal introductions proceeded, Stratford noticed that his friend’s lips had pursed themselves into a thin line. His eyes took on a hard glint when he looked at Lunenburg. Gilbert was no fool, but surely he couldn’t discern a man’s character just by looking at his face. Yet he could see by the way Gilbert stared at him that something about Lunenburg disturbed him. Something was amiss.

  Stratford had no time to ponder the thought further as he discovered to his pleasure that he was seated by Dorothea. He wondered if she had contrived the arrangement and if she was the one responsible for his inclusion in the dinner.

  Helen had invited a couple of other ladies to even out her table. Noticing this, Stratford made sure to thank her doubly for allowing him to include his friend at the last moment. Helen, ever the gracious hostess, professed she didn’t mind. After consideration, Stratford surmised she was likely not fibbing. Both of the extra women were nearing the age whereupon if they didn’t make a match soon, they were doomed forever to spinsterhood. Stratford noted that Gilbert played the consummate gentleman by paying close attention to their conversation. He entertained them with witty comments and stories so they laughed often during the evening.

  Still, Lunenburg kept everyone at the table—except Stratford—mesmerized. “One would not believe the tremendous investment opportunities awaiting the shrewd man in Africa.”

  “Africa!” Helen said. “Really?”

  “Indeed. The Dark Continent is filled with diamond mines and gold for those waiting to tap into its rich veins.” He leaned so far over that Stratford thought the frill of Lunenburg’s shirt would touch his plate soiled with streaks of brown gravy. “Because around this table sit my dearest friends and intimates in the country, I will reveal a great secret to you. Please, I beg of you not to share this confidence with anyone outside of this room. This opportunity is only for you.”

  “Opportunity?” Luke prodded.

  Lunenburg leaned back into his seat. “Yes. My group of investment advisors met just yesterday, and I learned about a new mine that has been recently discovered by our men in the southern part of Africa. Of course, we went to considerable expense to finance their trip. We have plenty of money to keep them afloat in fine style, but if I beg them with enough passion, they just might let you in on what could be the greatest discovery of gold in a hundred years.”

  Helen sent a look to Luke that reminded Stratford of a dog begging for a bone. “Oh, we must have a part of such an enterprise. We must!”

  “Helen, you never need to worry about such affairs,” Luke admonished.

  “Oh, my, I do beg your pardon,” Lunenburg proclaimed. “I am afraid that in my excitement, I have breached etiquette and brought up the dry subject of business in the company of the ladies.”

  “Oh,” one of the spinsters insisted, “but our father will be delighted that we were present to learn about such an opportunity. Might we tell him?”

  “Will Lord Bennington take me to task for bending your delicate ears?”

  “Not if he can fatten his coffers,” the other spinster noted with a chuckle.

  “Then by all means, tell him to see me soon. He must hurry before it is too late and all the remaining partnerships are sold.”

  “Oh, indeed!”

  “As for you gentlemen, we can discuss more of the details soon.” He eyed each man.

  “Can you be more specific?” Luke asked.

  “I must speak to my primary partners and get their go-ahead first. I will let you know as soon as I hear from them just how many more investors they are willing to add to their present number.”

  “Do not delay. Tell us as soon as you know,” Luke urged.

  Stratford wondered if he was the only person who could see through Lunenburg. He cut a glance to Gilbert, and judging from his blank expression, he had no intention of joining the meeting. Stratford decided to dismiss thoughts of diamonds and gold and spend his attention on Dorothea, who proved to be a delightful companion as always.

  Time flew by much too fast. In the twinkling of an eye, the dinner party came to a close and they were bidding each other farewell at the door.

  “I shall see you tomorrow for our sitting,” Lunenburg made sure to tell Dorothea.

  Stratford’s stomach turned, but he pushed the feeling away in lieu of something more urgent. “That reminds me. Dorothea,” he asked her, “did Gilbert mention how impressed he was by the portrait you painted of
me?”

  “So impressed that I would like to commission my portrait with you,” Gilbert said on cue.

  “Oh, how lovely,” Helen didn’t hesitate to observe.

  “So you will be staying here awhile, Mr. Meara?” Dorothea confirmed.

  “Yes. Do you have time in your schedule for me? I understand you are quite a popular artist.” Gilbert gave Stratford a sideways glance. “Of course, my source is a bit partial.”

  “Oh, no one can exaggerate her popularity, socially as well as for her artwork,” Helen said.

  “Really, you do exaggerate,” Dorothea protested. “But for a friend of Stratford’s, I will make time.”

  “Delightful,” Gilbert said. “Thank you.”

  “And I thank you, too.” Stratford cast one last longing look Dorothea’s way as he ascended into his waiting carriage. He took delight in noticing that she didn’t take her gaze from him until he had boarded.

  “You really are besotted with her, are you not?” Gilbert asked after the door was shut.

  “Such idle talk.” Stratford looked outside into the darkness. As they exited, he observed the wrought-iron gate that kept the Syms estate secluded from the outside world and remembered that he needed to contract a craftsman to shore up the mortar on a few places on his own wall.

  “Who do you think you are talking to, man?” Gilbert prompted.

  Stratford didn’t answer.

  “Why not make your intentions known before that snake with whom we dined does?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Stratford asked.

  “I mean, he was ogling Lady Witherspoon all night, and if you had half an eye you would have noticed.” His friend’s tone was sharp, obviously meant to bring Stratford to his senses.

  “If the snake to whom you refer is Lunenburg, yes, I have an idea.”

  “Lunenburg. Baron Hans von Lunenburg, right?” Gilbert confirmed.

  “Yes.”

  “What an elegant name he has chosen for himself. I wonder how he managed to concoct it.”

  “Concoct it? Whatever do you mean?” Stratford asked.