Cousin Prudence

by Waldock, Sarah

  The tragedy on Arthur’s face was comic to an outsider but none the less real to the boy.

  “Come and sit down Arthur, and tell us all about it,” said George, “and Prudence shall ring for tea.”

  “I don’t understand; who is Miss Bullivant?” demanded Isabella. “I have never heard of her.”

  “Yes you have Cousin Isabella,” said Prudence, “she is called Clara; it was she who made so many good suggestions about how to build up Uncle Henry’s health.”

  “She is the young lady who was with George and Emma and Prudence when I arrived at the house,” said John, “a pleasant young lady I thought.”

  “Yes; and she has written me a letter so smudged in tears apologising for running out in such a manner I’d never have deciphered it if I was not used to my uncle’s damnable hand – oh I do beg your pardon ladies!” he added in consternation.

  “Forgiven, Arthur,” said Emma, now in control of herself. “And she’s fled with Mr Paulson? Why did she need to flee?”

  “I have no idea,” said Arthur, “some strange idea in her attic I suppose; girls are like that. Look how Kitty had me run off with her just because she got the wind up about telling Uncle Gervase she did not want to marry him; and that turned out perfectly well. Would never have thought it of Paulson; always thought him a steady type; full of good sense. Anyway, as she did not want me, and it was her own business who she married I thought I’d come here for a bit of good company and some sensible conversation.”

  “Poor Arthur!” said Emma “You must stay as long as you like; though I warn you, village life can be both humdrum and full of gossip!”

  “Well, by Jupiter, if anyone wants to know, tell them I’ve come to make an offer for the redoubtable Hester who I hear turns not a hair at riding with Pru behind m’Uncle’s wild colts,” said Arthur in the sort of tone that suggested that his pride was dented far more than his heart.

  “She would undoubtedly slap your face,” said Prudence.

  “Cousin Prudence! What is this about wild colts?” demanded Isabella shocked.

  “Cousin Isabella, if you knew Arthur as well as we did you would know he is prone to the most outrageous flippancy and exaggeration,” said Prudence calmly, “Alverston was completing the final training of some colts and invited me to drive behind them with him; they were a little skittish and inclined to want to run. It was quite stimulating.”

  “Oh I see!” said Isabella.

  George mouthed ‘bravo’ at Prudence for her carefully balanced tone of disinterest; and Prudence smiled demurely at him. She knew that any defensiveness in her

  manner would have been noticed in a trice by Isabella. The amused near boredom made her cousin promptly lose interest.

  John Knightley on the other hand shot her a shrewd look. Prudence’s green eyes were limpid pools of innocence. John gave her a half smile of appreciation and a small nod of the head.

  What Prudence did was her own business; but he was pleased that she had spared Isabella worry.

  Arthur had opened his mouth to dispute his level of exaggeration, caught George’s eye and shut it again, flushing. George smiled. Arthur was still somewhere between the schoolroom and adulthood; but he was acquiring some measure of tact – when prompted at least.

  Emma had the happy idea of suggesting to her father that Arthur might visit him in his room; for Mr Woodhouse was well enough to find bed rest tedious but not well enough to do more than sit out in a chair for an hour. The diversion of a new face with a fund of good stories would cheer him up no end.

  Arthur was happy to oblige; everyone in town knew all his best stories – or had participated in them – so a new audience was welcome. He soon had Mr Woodhouse chuckling between deploring the risks that had been taken by such feats as races on the Great North Road without proper mufflers to preserve the health of the racers, never mind the prodigious speed at which they allegedly travelled.

  Emma did interrupt when Arthur claimed eighteen miles an hour for one team.

  “Doing it too brown Arthur!” she protested “Why Alverston does not claim more than sixteen miles an hour with his colts!”

  “Well it may be an exaggeration,” grinned Arthur, “but a sawyer will always claim to go faster in his curricle when not being timed, even as a fisherman always had a bigger one that gets away.”

  “Dear me, I am most glad to hear it an exaggeration,” said Mr Woodhouse, “for that must surely be coming close to the speed at which human life is in jeopardy because the air can no longer enter the lungs properly at high velocities. A most frightening prospect to be suffocated by sheer speed! I have heard it said that at perhaps twenty miles an hour and certainly twenty five, life would become extinct in very short order!”

  “You are very knowledgeable about such things papa,” said Emma admiringly.

  Mr Woodhouse felt so cheered by Mr Alver that he managed to come downstairs for an hour on the morrow where he, John, George and Arthur debated the reasons for the cold weather. George held to the theory that Alverston also endorsed that it was caused by dust from volcanoes blocking out the sun, the theory propounded by the famous experimental scientist Benjamin Franklin; John held that it was caused by sunspots, which was a theory he had heard spoken of in a London coffee house that had been put forward by an eminent member of the Royal Society whose name John could not recall. Arthur held the theory that dust in the atmosphere caused the dry fog all right but that it was caused by all the musket fire over years of war. Mr Woodhouse sighed and said that if Arthur was right then it was a judgement on all mankind for their wickedness in fighting wars and he only hoped it might not be a precursor to Armageddon.

  John said that this was highly unlikely as temperature had been known to fluctuate before and had not ice fairs been quite common in the mid seventeenth century, for there was a most famous one held in the reign of Charles II when bonfires were lit on the Thames with no diminution to the thickness of the ice and all kinds of extravagant diversions were devised for the amusement of that flamboyant monarch.

  Mr Woodhouse was moved to go and look for the almanac he had purchased at the beginning of the year to

  see how accurate it might be so far in the hopes that there might be further excellent prediction; but upon turning to the entry of the second week in May found only an entry that the ‘warm weather that promotes growth is set fair for yet another week at least with the promise of gentle showers to aid the growing of the land.”.

  The rain had been falling steadily all day and there had been no sun since the day Emma and Prudence had taken the boys for a walk.

  Mr Woodhouse said,

  “Well at least this may be useful for one thing; and the fire burns low,” and proceeded to cast the offending publication into the grate. The other men applauded.

  Prudence had meanwhile managed to instruct Alison how to launder Mr Woodhouse’s linen without making it properly starched; the efficient maid found it scandalous that she should compromise her skill.

  “Humour the old man,” said Prudence, “he is more concerned with comfort than with style; and at his age, why should he not be? It is only the leaving out of a process of the laundering. That feckless piece in the village, poor woman, never starches his points at all; and nor should you. He will not notice, save that he might notice that the linen is softer for your careful ironing which is most excellently done.”

  Alison was flattered to be praised and agreed to humour the old man, whom she privately described to her sister, who was in service with the Westons, as a ‘silly old gaga with a maggot in the head about his imagined illnesses and only happy when he had something to be Friday-faced about’.

  Still, the position was a good one, the food for the servants not skimped on, though there were no rich leftovers to be had because the family ate frugally and plainly themselves – another of the old man’s maggots in

  the head as Alison described it – but there was no doubt that the servants were not overworked nor treated with
unkindness nor disrespect. Mrs Emma was a fine housekeeper and scrupulous too – there was no putting any may game over her – but a good manager right enough; real Quality was Mrs Emma, ready with a word of praise as quickly as of censure, and Miss Prudence the same.

  It may be said that the staff had less respect for the worthy Mrs Isabella although she was considered a kindly mistress in Mrs Emma’s absence.

  Emma had raised an eyebrow or two at the way the weekly bills had risen during Isabella’s tenure in her stead and there had been a sudden rush on the part of Cook and Alison and Cowley to justify themselves for the extra expenses. Emma permitted them to discuss the need to feed the nursery maids and the children and light their rooms before pointing out one or two ways where this might have been done more economically and hoped that should she leave Hartfield in Isabella’s care again the servants might recall her words and be guided by memories of her disapprobation since they were clearly not guided by Isabella.

  “I am not, I think, mean,” said Emma to Prudence, “but just because one is more than comfortably off does not mean that one should be in any wise profligate.”

  “I quite agree, my dear Emma,” said Prudence, “and I feel just as you do; some economies may be false, such as purchasing any but the best wax candles; but there is no need to throw money away lest you find it all rolls into the River Tick . Only wealth generates wealth after all; and one wishes something to leave for children and grandchildren.”

  They did not however say anything to poor Isabella who was, after all, in indifferent health and could not be expected to be as firm a mistress of Hartfield as Emma.

  Chapter 27

  Alverston arrived back in London at almost ten o’clock on the second Wednesday in May, under the baleful eye of a red moon not yet full. He thought that the best chance he would have of seeing Prudence at such a time was to get to Almack’s; and he almost scrambled into evening clothes, to the shock of his valet, dressing in the ridiculously short time of some forty minutes; and even choosing a simpler style than normal in which to tie his cravat. He fell into the door of Almack’s as the doorkeeper was coming to lock it.

  “Welcome back to town My Lord; you are just in time,” said that worthy.

  “And no thanks to the deer that ran across the road and caused my cattle to shy that I had to check they were unharmed,” said Alverston, “thank you for your welcome….”

  The coin slid neatly and easily out of sight.

  Alverston checked his appearance in the mirror in the entrance; decided that sometimes good enough really was just good enough; and walked into the ballroom, looking around for Miss Blenkinsop.

  He could not see her.

  Her height should set her apart from all other ladies, even seated…….

  Alverston frowned.

  He did not believe that a woman of fortitude like Miss Blenkinsop would eschew Almack’s during his absence; she had too much delicacy of spirit to be so discourteous. He started to look around for someone who might tell him whether the Knightley ménage were in good health.

  “Gervase! Georgie did not tell me you were back in town!”

  Lady Elvira had him surrounded and thoroughly rompéd thought Gervase.

  “Largely because, my dear Elvira, Georgie is only now recognising me and realising the matter herself,” he drawled, “I arrived in town just an hour ago.”

  Elvira gave a little scream of delight.

  “Oh GERVASE! And you just scrambled into evening wear to come to Almack’s to see me?” she laid a plump white hand on his arm.

  “Well to come to Almack’s any way,” said Gervase. “I was hoping to see the Knightley family actually.”

  Elvira gave a screaming little laugh.

  “Oh the provincials? But Gervase my dear, you are quite out of luck; they have left town, for good it is said; I expect that they found some shabby-genteel to marry that wretched girl too; poor creature, QUITE unmarriageable at that size; no wonder she fled the ridicule. I gather you made a game of her by taking her up behind those dreadful colts you are breaking; and she has fled in hopes of avoiding you as much as anything else,” and she gave her affected little laugh again, “it’s all over town that you taught the mushrooms a lesson and then dropped them you know!”

  She faltered and fell back a step; Alverston’s face blazed with fury and his swarthy skin was taught across his cheekbones and as pale as it ever got, his eyes grey ice. He shook her encroaching hand from his arm and strode out of Almack’s.

  Lord Greyling was enjoying a game of loo, but he knew when to throw in his hand; and when his wife said ‘Roger I need you to take me out of here,’ in that tone of voice was one of them.

  He meekly accompanied Georgiana out of the assembly rooms and left her giving orders to the coachman to take them to Alverston’s.

  Presumably it was something to do with that prime bit of goods Alverston had been wont to let warm his bed

  once, since Georgie had cast a fulminating glance on Lady Elvira; but Roger Wrexham Earl of Greyling, who loved his wife dearly, preferred to leave any thinking that did not involve land management or the fall of cards to Georgiana.

  Georgiana had a key to her brother’s house; and proceeded to let herself in.

  Alverston was, as she had guessed, in the library. He was pouring a stiff drink that did not look as though it was his first.

  Georgiana adroitly relieved him of both glass and decanter and handed them to her husband.

  “Roger, take this away and dispose of it. You may as well drink what he has poured out,” she said.

  “Yes dear,” said Roger, who did not despise Alverston’s best brandy at any time.

  He took it away to a small parlour where he and it were unlikely to be disturbed.

  “Gervase,” said Georgiana, “what did that vulgar creature say that had you storm out with an expression I’ve not seen on your face since papa whipped you for the window that Percy broke?”

  He looked at her.

  “Is it true that the story is all around town that I amused myself making a fool of Prudence Blenkinsop?” he demanded. Georgiana stared.

  “I never heard such ridiculous rubbish in all my life,” she said. “I have a letter from Pru for you as it happens; Emma’s father was taken ill so they left in a hurry to be with him. As all the world knows; Pru even managed to write a quick note to Lady Jersey, so far from being in any ridicule she’s in rare good odour with the leaders of fashion. Are you sober enough to read it? I have it in my reticule on the principle that when you DO turn up from having been out of town it’s as likely to be somewhere unexpected as anywhere.”

  “I had not had time to get drunk,” admitted Gervase, “I had only had the one glass. So she does not hate me and did not try to put as much distance between herself and me as possible as Elvira hinted?”

  “Oh Elvira!” snorted Georgiana “She and I have already had high words because she was expecting to get you into the parson’s mousetrap…”

  “GEORGIE! Where did you come by that vulgarity?” demanded Gervase.

  “You I think. Unless it was Percy,” shrugged Georgiana, “doesn’t one usually learn vulgarity from one’s brothers?”

  “Well if it was I then I apologise….leg-shackled I will accept from my sister but…. She was expecting to marry me?”

  “She seemed to think it was all over bar the ring on her finger; as I said, I disabused her, said you had a father to ask permission of but that there was an understanding…. I’m not wrong am I?” she said anxiously.

  “Well I hope not,” said her brother. “On what terms did you leave Pru – uh, Miss Blenkinsop?”

  “Sisterly,” said Georgiana firmly. “Now just read the letter; I am quite sure that Pru puts anything in a far better way than I could. I am going to separate Roger from your Napoleon Brandy before he starts giggling. There’s nothing quite as unbecoming as a middle aged man giggling.”

  “At least Roger becomes genial in his cups; it was the te
st I enacted before I let him marry you,” said Gervase.

  She paused.

  “Oh Gervase! How very sweet you can be!” she said, much affected, before going in search of her husband.

  Gervase Alver Lord Alverston broke the wafer on the letter which his sister passed him. The scent from it was more reminiscent of Georgie’s reticule than of Prudence; but one could not have everything.

  He read the firm, boyish cursive script.

  “My dear Gervase,

  May I say that although you may be able to SPELL Prudence with facility I fear that often you are less apt at observing it. If I am to marry you it would be my duty as your wife to attempt to curb such distressing tendencies, but may I say I hope I shall not altogether succeed.

  “To get to the burden of my budget of news; Emma’s father has fallen ill and we must return forthwith to Hartfield. We had planned to return in any case for his peace of mind, but had intended to await your return that we might see you ere going and talk about the letter that you wrote to me. Unfortunately this development has necessitated a change of plan.

  I hope when you read this you will communicate with me concerning any future plans that might be made.

  Trusting that this will find you in good health; and may I say, My Dear Lord, that I hold you in the Greatest Regard.

  Your(largely) obedient servant, Prudence Blenkinsop.

  P.S. at least my handwriting is legible.”

  Alverston gave a shout of laughter, having smiled his way through reading it.

  “Ah, but Miss Blenkinsop, I do intend to have Prudence for the rest of my life,” he said to himself. “John; I need John. Damn, the nags are tired…..”

  Georgiana came back into the room.

  “You are not to set out right away,” she said firmly, “you may not be foxed but you are bosky, drinking brandy on an empty stomach and besides, what good will it avail you to arrive at past two o’clock in the morning? Go and sleep for a few hours; it will do you the world of good and then you will not look like a bedlamite and worry the life out of Pru. I will have a servant wake you.”